I Am My Mother

It's official. I've turned into my mother. Something I swore at the age of 16 would never happen. There were several good reasons I could never act like her, but the most important one was that I am a Sagittarian and she's a Virgo. Anyone who knows even a little about astrology understands the importance of that single fact in securing the impossibility of my ever turning into my mother.

There are also examples.

In 1987 or 88, the song It Takes Two by Rob Base was released. Simply hearing the first thumping beats of this song would raise my heart rate and make me gyrate. My mother and I would be riding along calmly in the car, that song would come on, and I would scream... "THAT'S MY JAM!" and crank up the volume. She would purse her lips, frown at me, and say, "Oh my Lord! Are you deaf, Child? Why does the volume have to be that loud for you to hear your song?" And she'd turn the volume so low I could only hear whispers of my jam. If I was lucky, I got to keep listening to the song, but on some days, it was WLOQ, the local jazz station, that she switched to. She always played her music so low you really didn't hear the smooth jazz until you were stopped at a light.

I'd never be like that.

In 1984, I started high school. I was involved in a lot of sports and clubs and activities and was invited to different social events. Sometimes, there would be activities on Friday and Saturday nights. When I would ask my mother to go to the events on both nights, she'd always complain and say I'd just gone out the night or weekend before. Hm. What does going out on Friday have to do with going out on Saturday if you don't have anything to do on Saturday? Why does the fact that I went out last weekend have any bearing on my desire to go out this weekend if I'm an A-student, good kid and all my chores are done?

I'd never be like that.

But the one that really got me. And I think I have a witness on this one from my younger brother and a few cousins that stayed with us from time to time. The clincher was... if I was ever caught sitting still watching television or talking on the phone or looking in the kitchen cabinet for something to eat, my mother would search, hunt, scavenge for something for me to do. It's almost as if my mere presence of relaxation annoyed her and she was determined to alter my status. She'd walk in from the garage and see me flipping through a magazine at the kitchen table and start looking around. "Althea get up and put these things away," she'd say, gesturing to boxes of food on the counter. Or, "Althea, put these dishes away," as she would open the dishwasher to see clean dishes resting on the racks. "Althea, why is your room so messy? Make your bed and put these clothes away."

I'd never be like that.

Or would I?

"I refuse to be like Mom," I say silently when I catch myself about to do it. But most times (and I hate to admit it), I can't help myself. Something about those boys sitting in front of the big screen playing Call of Duty - Black Ops when there's folded clothes to be put away, and dirty dishes on the counter, and an overflowing trashcan...

"Un Unh! Turn it off. I know ya'll aren't in here playing that game when this place looks a hot mess."

I see the knowing looks pass between them. I hear the sigh that little one hasn't learned how to stifle yet. And, yes, he got more work because he sighed out loud. And yes, I also did that thing my parents used to do if we acted ungrateful. I went through the full list of how grateful they should be to have me as a parent.

"I know you didn't just roll your eyes. Look around. You have a nice house to live in, clean clothes and dinner on the stove. I take you where you want to go and let your friends come over and play. You have every video game known to man in here. I wish you would sigh again!"

Not only have I turned into my mother, I've gone beyond where she was. I admit it. And I'm not sure how I feel about it. Perspective changes as we get older. Perspective changes as we have children. Perspective changes as our children get older.

I am not completely like Mom - I let the kids play their music loud with me in the car (except for that one song by Soldier Boy, Hey You There - what a stupid song); and I let them go to as many social activities as they want as long as they do well in school, do their chores and have good manners at all times.

And today, when my son was leaning on the door of the kitchen pantry, looking for something to snack on, I stopped myself from glancing around to find something for him to do. I resisted the strong, strong, strong urge to tell him to do the dishes, take out the recycling and get started on his homework. I allowed him to eat, text and sing a song before I asked him to do all that.

Watch What You Wish For

It's my birthday week. I've been anticipating and planning it for more than six months. My 40th. A true landmark year in terms of birthdays.

For my Sweet Sixteen, my parents planned a beautiful formal affair at a local civic center. My father, a professional photographer, took the pictures of the guys in their 1980s suits and matching Jerricurls. My boyfriend at the time, Jamal, had on a tuxedo with tails. I wore a fuchsia satin floor-length gown made just for me by a family friend - the same seamstress who made my debutante gown and wedding dress years later. I love to celebrate birthdays.

For my 30th birthday, I planned a grown-and-sexy pajama party. The pictures are under lock and key and what happens at an Althea party stays at the party, but I will tell you that the lingerie and silk pajama coed fashion show was something that will be remembered in many people's minds for various reasons. Uh... well... those that were sober and can recall the events of that night. I love to celebrate birthdays.

I love birthday celebrations so much, I go as far out as I can with my sons' birthday parties. I was just reminiscing with a cousin last weekend about Lil Maurice's 1st birthday. He wasn't even walking when I scheduled the inflatable bouncing machine, the husband-and-wife clown team, and ordered an elaborate Sesame Street cake that was large enough to feed our entire street of neighbors - many of whom came to celebrate the birth of the wild-child's baby. I love to celebrate birthdays.

Anyway, I'm three days away from the big 4-0 celebration. Six months ago, I was trying to decide between a huge bacchanal adventure on a Caribbean island I hadn't visited yet, or a month of partying with my friends in various cities where I'd lived. But in August, my close girlfriend and studio manager became very ill, and my mindset and daily life activities were... what's a good word?... altered.

After two months of daily and weekly hospital visits, teaching multiple fitness classes, handling studio issues I hope to never see again, and still being an attentive mother, wife, daughter, sister and friend, I didn't want to party. I didn't even want to talk about my birthday. I just wanted to sleep. In fact, two months turned into three months and then four months. Hard and difficult decisions about life, and my business, and my family had to be made during those four months. Really hard and difficult decisions.

So, a month ago, my husband asked me - for maybe the 10th time - "Althea..." (when he says my full name, this means he's really serious) "Althea, what do you want to do for your birthday?"

I sighed, and rubbed my eyes and sat back from whatever task I was engaged in. I blinked a few times, as though that would help me find the answer in my crowded mind. After a minute or two, I replied with a weary voice... "I just want to go to the mountains alone and sleep. I want to meditate and think and read and write and plan. I want to get a couple of spa treatments while I'm there and I want to eat good food that I don't have to cook." There, I'd said it. I'd made up my mind. And I meant it. No party, no people, no major celebration. Peace and quiet and me-time. No problem, right?

Big Maurice made all the arrangements. A long weekend at Chateau Elan. It wasn't the mountains, but it was far enough away to be away and close enough to have dinner with hubby, the kids and my brother on my actual birthday. Chateau Elan - known for fantastic amenities and top-notch spa treatments - was my new focus. I just had to make it to the week after Thanksgiving. No problem, right?

I started with getting substitute teachers for my classes at the studio. Then I started wrapping up open items on the studio to-do list. Then I started planning what I would do with 4 quiet days to myself. I'd start on Wednesday with a late wake-up, breakfast with my twin who is also celebrating his 40th on the same day, an acupuncture session and then an afternoon of shopping at the outlets. Then on Thursday, I'd wake up late again, pack my clothing slowly and take a leisurely drive up 85 to the resort. My list of birthday weekend to-dos included things like planning my 2011 creative calendar, reading about chakras and meditation, soaking in a hot tub of scented water and listening to lounge jazz with a warm eye-pillow resting on my face.

What really happened was Big Maurice had a major meeting at his office on Wednesday, so I woke up early to get the kids off to school. I got stuck in traffic trying to get to my birthday-twin breakfast. My twin was in a bad mood the whole morning, so I spent the morning trying to cheer him up. I raced to the office after my acupuncture appointment to handle payroll and still missed getting my younger son from the bus. I sped through the crowded afternoon streets to meet him and do homework, cook dinner and begin laundry. My husband fell asleep on the couch around 9:30pm while I cleaned up the kitchen and yelled at the boys to "GO TO BED NOW! I MEAN IT!"

Okay, so Wednesday didn't work out as planned. No biggie. The real birthday activities weren't supposed to start until Thursday anyway.

Today - Thursday morning - I woke early again to get the kids ready for school because Big Maurice had to race to the office. My older son walks downstairs and calmly informs me that he forgot to tell us, but the band concert schedule was printed wrong at the beginning of the year and he actually has a band concert tonight at 7:00pm. As I look up from the computer screen of emails waiting to be answered, I gaze around the room at all the stacks of mail, unfolded laundry, shoes and bags everywhere and I remember...

Four months ago, I started asking - repeatedly - for a day with no appointments, classes or meetings. A day to be in my house to clean and declutter. In fact, I wrote two blogs about the clutter in my home and how my life was not allowing me to tackle it. It all came back to me. And I realized, at that very moment, that I'd gotten exactly what I'd wished, prayed and asked for. For my birthday, no less. A full day with no appointments, meetings or classes.

I now have a full day to clean and declutter my house until my younger son comes home from school and needs a snack before homework. I now have a full day to clean and declutter my house until my older son needs to find his band shirt and a clean pair of black pants and needs to be taxied to the school early to prepare for the concert. I now have a full day to clean and declutter before running to Walmart to restock the pantry and cabinets with food and toiletries before I leave for the weekend. And I will do all of this with joy so I can truly relax and enjoy my leisurely drive up 85 with my meditation books and scented eye-pillow.

I love to celebrate birthdays. Especially when I get exactly what I wish for...

The Clutter Monster - Part II

The Big CM - otherwise known as the Clutter Monster - is still lurking on tables and ottomans and beneath my bed and around bureaus and next to chairs and sofas. And I'm still irritated by its simple existence.

As I explained to you in full detail in my previous blog, "stuff" - a.k.a. the Clutter Monster a.k.a. CM - is affecting my sleep, work and peace.

I know the simple solution is to just handle it - clean it up, throw stuff away, shred paper, give away never-worn clothing. But there's one thing necessary to make it happen that is in short supply most recently - time.

I am the queen of time management. So much so that I lecture on it... yep, that's right. I have a full multi-slide presentation with bullet points and fantastic graphics and hilarious photos to illustrate the simple steps to being successful in the daily juggle of managing life. Time management.

One of the key points that I not only stress in my workshop, but live by, is the realistic to-do list. It's on my computer, in my cell phone and constantly running through my mind - in order of priority. Seriously.

• A form with a past-due deadline for the IRS related to my business's sales and use tax: top priority, gotta happen today, no matter what.
  
• Need to find a substitute teacher for our most popular class which starts in 2 hours because the teacher just sprained her ankle and I am teaching another class at the same time: top priority, gotta happen in the next 1 hour and 45 minutes, no matter what.
• 500 word magazine article that's both humorous and informational about acupuncture for seniors due yesterday because it's going to print at 5:00pm today: top priority, gotta happen today, no matter what.
• Water is leaking from the ceiling onto the hardwood floors of our studio in the middle of the youth jazz and hip hop class from three different pipes: top priority, gotta handle it NOW, no matter what.

You know, stuff like that. Forget the other small things like scheduling physicals for the kids before the registration deadline for soccer, or getting an updated passport before the international flight departure of two days from now at 7:45 am. Those are 2nd tier priority items.

But what does any of this have to do with CM all over my house? Everything.

When I wake up in the morning, I start hustling kids. I roll out the door with them and step right into the front of a class. I step out of class and put out at least 1-2 fires before I jump in the car and head to the next class or meeting. I get back in the car - nibble on a banana or grape or (more likely) a few gummi bears - and drive back to the office to attack items 1-3 on the priority list and head back home to meet child #1 and give him my undivided attention for 40 minutes before child #2 comes home and they begin to fight and argue and wrestle and break things. While they fight, I cook dinner and assist with homework simultaneously before packing them in the car/van to drop someone off somewhere and drive quickly back to the studio to teach one or more classes or workshops. There are two alternatives at this point. I either drive back home to break up a fight between the children, check homework, write checks for this trip or that year book, become a nurse practitioner in order to sew up the gash on the ankle of some child, and listen with rapt attention to husband on phone in another time zone about something work-related; OR I dial in to catch the end of a conference call for some organization I'm an officer for, or run to an evening meeting in Yoga-attire (apologizing simultaneously for being late and being inappropriately attired), or do a quick shower and change to make it to a business networking event or charity event to promote my business. Regardless of the choice, by 10:00pm I am finally sitting still and I relish the silence. I just want to lie down. The last thing I want to do is tackle the clutter surrounding me as I sit like a zombie.

In fact, the reality that I am constantly in my car, changing clothes and shoes and accessories and bringing props and music and mats and blocks and belts and oils to and from one destination to another means the CM has followed me out of the house and into my car. My husband calls our minivan the Disaster Recovery Vehicle because it's full of food and bottled waters and mats and blankets and... stuff.

I think that all I need is a day or two without interruption and appointments, and I think I can tackle the CM. I really do.

So as fate would have it, I got just that. Last weekend. The fairy godmother of women-who-do-too-much waved her dainty wand over my dredloc'd head and POOF... kids and husband gone (sort of) and only 1 appointment at the studio. I had a whole afternoon and evening, two days in a row, to clean my house! Yay!

Uh, no. What actually happened was... I laid on the sofa in my most comfy yoga attire and watched movies and ate oatmeal cream pies and doughnuts. For real. I'm not lying. And I had a great time, too. In fact, I didn't really see the CM all around me. All I saw was the sun shining through the window, warming my bare toes as they wiggled off the end of the couch above a stack of utility bills and credit card statements lying on the floor where I left them next to the shredder. Bliss.

The Trampoline

My mother’s 2007 Christmas gift to the children sat in our garage until April 2009. If I told you why, that would lead to another story, and I want to stay focused today. It was a trampoline for my sons. It was the largest, most industrial, safest trampoline my mother could find, because… “I don’t want my grandbabies getting hurt out there.”

I remember the day my husband and brother put the trampoline up. It was so large, we couldn’t find a space in our back yard – which is a wooded forest – to put it. When we tried putting it in a clearing between our house and the neighbor’s, we received “feedback” from the neighbor. So, several tree cuttings later, the trampoline sat squarely in the middle of our back yard… in direct view of my bedroom windows.

When you were a kid, do you remember the house where all of the kids from the neighborhood hung out? Well somehow, that house became my house. When the trampoline first went up, there were no more than 3 kids allowed on it at any one time, and the older kids directed which children, based on weight and height, could participate at the same time. It was very systematic and I proudly watched from my bedroom window as they fairly managed equal amounts of jump time.

In the beginning, there were only 5 or 6 boys gathered in my backyard after school. But as the school year ended and summer rolled around, the number grew to 10, then 12, then more – girls too. And eventually, the restrictions lessened so that about 6 - 8 kids of various sizes were jumping at once. One day, as I watched with concern, two children aimed balls at the jumpers and they began a dangerous game of Jump-Away-Dodge-Ball. Instead of running outside and putting an end to the risky business, I watched, mesmerized, as the kids were actually able to dodge the balls and flip and fall and get back up. They laughed and high-fived each other as the ones that were hit were replaced by the ones aiming balls into the pit.

Winter soon rolled around, and I was sure the trampoline would be forgotten as the weather turned cold. But the creativity of children is amazing. They found that jumping and falling and bumping into each other with thick, fat coats on was even more fun than jumping without the extra padding. A new game of Bumper-Bodies was created and whoever fell off, was out. Now this may sound unsafe, and it probably was. But as I watched from my bedroom window, ready to spring and run to save a hurt child, they would bump someone off the edge and, he or she would roll softly onto the bed of dead pine needles and leaves. Unscathed, they’d get up, dust off, and get back on.

In January, it snowed, and this brought on a new game of See-Who-Can-Make-The-Snow-Bounce-Highest. That game was combined with Bumper-Bodies and Jump-Away-Dodge-Ball (note: balls were replaced with snowballs that week). And the kids never stopped coming.

One day last month, I noticed there were no kids jumping in my backyard. For the previous 12 months, there had been kids moving vertically in my backyard every non-rainy day. So the absence of bouncing children was a bit strange. Upon closer inspection, I noticed there was a strange dip in the normally taut material in the center of the trampoline. Hm. Eventually, my sons and 4 of their partners in crime trooped into the kitchen with serious faces. “Uh, Mom…”

I’ll spare you the lengthy details of 6 boys trying to explain how they broke the trampoline, but I will tell you that it involved a highly complicated game of heaviest, largest children on one end all jumping as hard as they could at once while small children lifted the rim on the opposite end. Don’t ask… I still don’t understand the concept.

I knew this would be the end of the trampoline and my backyard as the clubhouse. And I have to admit, I was actually a little sad. I would miss seeing how the kids communicated and interacted. I would miss watching them argue and then figure out solutions to their disagreements. I would miss watching new children become part of the Trampoline Family. But most, I would miss watching how innovative they were as they created fresh new ideas for games and activities on the trampoline.

So, you can imagine my surprise when the next afternoon, there were at least 7 kids in my backyard. I stopped what I was doing and sat, mesmerized again, as they worked like little ants to carefully take apart the trampoline. Over the next week, they pulled, pushed, propped, and pitched the poles and metal from the rim of the trampoline. Then they stretched the fabric and netting over the corners of the poles and rim. By the next weekend, they had a covered clubhouse. The twins from up the block brought chairs, and another child from across the street brought an old wooden crate his parents had thrown out to be a makeshift table. Children from everywhere brought books, and toys, and stuff, and things. (I’m not sure how I feel about all that stuff in my backyard, but we’ll discuss that at another time.)

There is a lot to learn from observing children. My sons and their neighborhood friends clearly demonstrated three important facts:

1. When you get tired of playing the game, create a new one. It can be just as much fun as the old one – maybe better.
2. There’s room for everyone to get in the game if you take turns and follow the rules. You don’t have to turn anyone away.
3. When the game becomes obsolete, reinvent it.

Our house is still the house where all the neighborhood kids hang out. And I think I like that…

Woman vs. Wasp

I know better than to think that 15 minutes is more than enough time to gather my notes, computer, fix myself up, check on the kids home from spring break, and drive to the studio for my private training client. I'm right.

3:40 pm
That's what the glowing red numbers indicate on the digital clock beside my bed. I had come home from work since the boys were home for spring break. They were doing their usual thing - picking on each other, screaming names at each other, throwing pillows and sharp objects across the landing and down the stairs at each other. Nothing special. So I had holed up in my bedroom, spread stacks of papers, receipts, invoices and contracts around me on the bed, and propped my cute little MacBook on the lap desk my mother gave me for Christmas.

(Note: I LOVE my lap desk. My mother loves holidays and preparing gifts - especially for holidays (see my blog "Vacation"). What makes her even more special is that she knows her targets well and always gives gifts her recipients will use and cherish. Hence my appreciation for the lap desk - she knows I love to sit in my bed and she knows I love to work on my laptop. Now I do it on my lap desk.)

As I finish paying the last invoice online and noting it in one of my many black cash books, I glance at the clock and see the time. 20 minutes before my next client.

3:45 pm
I file and repack all the stacks and zip my precious Apple notebook into my computer bag. I (reluctantly) climb down from the bed and go to inspect myself in the bathroom mirror. Everything looks good, so I smooth down my shirt, blot a little shine from my face with a hand towel, and exit my private sanctuary grabbing my computer bag as I go.

3:48 pm
"Mommmmm, my eyes are BURNING," my preteen says as he rubs his red, puffy, allergy eyes. Tears leak out of the corner of his left eye as he tries to see through his swollen lids.

Sigh... I run back to my bathroom, dig through my makeup case until I find the bottle of Allergy eyedrops. As I run back out and tilt his head back, my cell phone rings. I prop the phone between my shoulder and ear and start whisper/pointing directions to the preteen who really hates getting drops in his eyes.

Soccer coach wants him to play a tournament in Charlotte, NC next weekend. Can he make it? Hm, can he drive himself up there? Sigh... I'm holding my computer bag, two purses (one black, one brown - I have to match and I haven't had a chance to switch them yet), a cell phone to my ear, squeezing a bottle of eyedrops into a squirming preteen's eye and trying to think of my husband and my work/travel schedule for the next weekend. "Uh, can I check with my husband and get back to you by 5:00 today?"

3:55 pm
I put the bottle of drops on the table, ask the boys not to fight until I get back home (yeah, right), snatch my keys off the counter and run out the door. I have exactly 5 minutes to drive 6 miles through stop lights to my 4:00 client. I can do it!

3:58 pm
I am cruising through the 1st of 3 stop lights and talking to my husband on the cell about the soccer tournament when I notice a huge gold and black wasp as big as my pinky finger sitting calmly on my leg.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHGGGGGGRRRRRRHHHHHHHAAAA!"

I beat, slap and pound on my leg with the cell phone. The wasp and my cell phone go flying across the car. As the protective case around my cell phone smashes apart (thank goodness for those hard plastic cases), my mind registers that I am driving 45 mph down a two-lane street. I look up and notice I am careening into the other lane and swerve back into mine. Then I hear my husband's tiny voice somewhere in space - "Thea, Thea, Thea!"

I grope around on the floor of the passenger side with one eye on the wasp climbing the passenger-side door and the other on the street. I calmly smile into the phone, "Oh, hi Maurice. Sorry about that. A wasp was on my lap." Out of the corner of my eye, I see the wasp climbing to the level of the window. "Uh, I have to go now. I'll call you back, okay?" I drop the phone on the seat next to me and check the time on the dashboard.

4:01
Normally my being a minute or two late wouldn't be a problem. But our studio isn't open until 5:00pm in the evenings. That means my client will be waiting outside of a locked, dark studio in the heat and pollen. We don't treat our clients like that.

So... I start to calculate. I am now 2 miles from the studio and the wasp is resting peacefully on the ledge between the door handle and window of the passenger side. I figure I can make it. I keep driving and hoping...

4:02
The wasp gets caught in a breeze coming through the window and flies across the car toward me. I scream again - louder and longer than last time - and start flailing my arms around my head. Yes, I'm still driving - without hands. My good sense gets the best of me, and I grab the steering wheel with one hand and grab a bunch of my long dredlocks with the other. I start swinging my hair like a weapon, not knowing where the wasp is or caring - all I know is that I can hear it buzzing so it's too close to my head for comfort and it MUST GO.

My mind starts to work again and I see a driveway into a neighborhood. I slow down, pull in and stop right in the middle of the lane. Too bad if someone is trying to come home, I can't move right now. Shaking, I scan the car with laser-like vision and listen acutely for the buzzing I know so well. Nothing. Then I start itching. I feel like the wasp is climbing up my arms and down my back and across my neck. Ew.

4:03
I pull cautiously out into the street and finish the commute into the parking lot of my studio. I see my client peering through the front door window and I imagine her wondering if I've forgotten our appointment or whether she has the right time. I take a second to glance at myself in the rear-view mirror, tuck a stray loc, smooth down my eyebrows (they always stick up anyway), and pick up all three of my bags and parts of my cell phone.

4:05
"Hi Patti!" I say brightly, like nothing has happened. "Sorry I'm late - come on in and let's get to work."

Vacation

My husband and I have never been traditional holiday people. We may not put up our Christmas tree until Christmas Eve - not because it's a ritual or anything... more likely because we are so busy, we just don't get around to it until the last minute. We don't celebrate Valentine's day or exchange gifts on our birthdays or go out for our anniversary - not because we're making a statement or anything... we are literally so busy traveling around the world, running multiple businesses, volunteering with organizations, doing stuff with our kids and extended family, that the event creeps up on us and we just don't have time to prepare.

To make up for our lack of gift giving and scheduled celebrations, we party and gift-give for no reason at all, any time we feel like it. The thought of a unique gift my husband picks up for me in a Yoga Studio in Japan during his travels has real meaning and becomes that more special.

It wasn't until our first child became old enough to understand and experience Christmas that we actually had to spend time advance-planning gift purchases and making an elaborate display of putting up a tree. That first year didn't go so well. I remember stressing over what to get for him and our tree was a naked, hot mess. My brother, mother, and father-in-law had to come to town to help us hippy, rogue parents get our #%*! together. We've come a long way since then, but only with the children.

We started planning vacations 2x a year for places and activities the kids would love. Skiing with their god-brothers in the mountains of Virginia, flying in a helicopter over the Grand Canyon, swimming in the ocean waves of St. Kitts & Nevis with their cousins, throwing slime on each other at the Nickelodeon Hotel in Orlando. They've seen and experienced more in 11 and 7 years than most adults do their whole lives. And my husband and I love creating the adventure.

But there comes a time when Mom and Dad need to get away... alone... with each other. We've had plenty of opportunities over the years. When we drop the kids off in Miami to stay with my mom for a few weeks in the summer, we could fly down to the Caribbean for a few days of R&R, but we never do. When my father-in-law comes to visit for a week during the winter, we could drive a couple of hours away to a bed-and-breakfast in the mountains, but we never do. In fact, I started thinking about all the times my husband and I have enjoyed a trip alone since our first son was born in 1998. I came up with 3x - Montego Bay in 1999, Negril in 2003, and San Diego in 2004.

FACT: My husband and I are work-a-holics. We know this. Others know this about us.

My husband's job requires him to fly to far-reaching destinations like Hong Kong, Barcelona, and Tai Pei on a regular, weekly basis. I own and run a Yoga & Fitness studio and manage my fitness outsourcing company keeping me on my toes about 12 hours a day, 6 days a week. In between our hectic work schedules, we are the parents you see on the soccer field every weekend and volunteering in the classroom once a week. Additionally, we both hold leadership positions with organizations unrelated to work and our kids.

We need a vacation at least once a year.

Two weeks ago, I decided I needed to get away and shut it all down. The meetings, the classes, the presentations, the clients, the laundry, the homework (that's getting harder and harder for me to remember), the fights to break up between the kids, the grocery shopping... I had to get away. My husband has been in three different time zones in the last 10 days. He's been presenting, meeting, and networking with 3 different cultures for more than 4 weeks straight. He needs to take a break. His last conference for the month was scheduled to be in Las Vegas ending on Thursday 3/25, and we decided on whim that I would come and hang out on Thursday and we'd vacation with each other until Monday.

Las Vegas. The last time we'd been there as a couple was in 1995 when we played hooky from our respective jobs and he drove in from LA and I flew in from Baltimore. We finagled our way into a suite at the MGM Grand, scored free tickets (which we sold on the street) to the Jackson Family Reunion concert, and my husband was interviewed by MTV on the strip. (It aired that night, his co-workers saw him, he got in trouble... but it was fun).

15 years later, I'm sitting in the picture window of a suite on the 28th floor of The Palazzo Hotel on the Las Vegas strip. Yesterday, I slept about 10 hours straight, ordered room service, then slept another 2 hours. Today I am scheduled for 3 hours of spa treatments at the Canyon Ranch spa located in our hotel, and my husband is going to enjoy a couple of the treatments with me.

We've dined at fabulous restaurants without fighting with a child about eating his vegetables and reminding the other to chew with his mouth closed. We've partied until 4:00 am without stressing over a babysitter. We've shopped in stores that don't have video games and toys. We've slept until 10:00 am without being awakened by Spongebob Squarepants on the television and a wrestling match in the bed next to ours. We're actually vacationing like two grown adults without a care in the world.

While I do feel completely relaxed and stress-free, I have to admit that I miss my babies. Everything I see makes me think of them, and a little part of me wishes they could be here, too. But, for once, I'm practicing what I preach to my clients and workshop participants all the time: Take a little time for yourself so you can be a better wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend to those around you.

I'm doing me (and my husband, too;).

How Far Will A Mom Go?

There are two kinds of moms in the world. Moms that were born to mother daughters and those that were meant to mother sons. I’ve always known I was the latter. I don’t mind dirt and bugs and wrestling in the house – I’d prefer those things weren’t in my house, but it doesn’t bother me when they appear. In fact, I enjoy kicking off my shoes and engaging in an impromptu foot race through the dirt or rolling down a hill into a pile of leaves. I prefer wearing sneakers to heels, and I refuse to wear hose.

One Saturday in March, I enjoyed a proud-mother-of-a-son moment at the GSA soccer field. As my older son fervently ran up and down the field, my 7-year old struggled to climb over the chain-link fence separating one field from another. Other boys climbed up and hopped over, but my little one kept falling back in frustration. After a few failed attempts, my husband said, “When you get to the top, grab the bar and push yourself up with straight arms. Then step on the bar with one foot and you can swing over to the other side.”

Miraculously, my son climbed to the top, pushed himself onto straight arms, stepped on the bar and jumped over onto the ground below. My heart swelled with pride as I shouted, “Good job, Man!” and turned back to the game.

The following Sunday, I drove my older son and his teammate to a game about an hour away. It was a cold and rainy day, so I sat in the car on the edge of the field and tooted my horn whenever they made a good play. At the end of the game, my son and his friend raced to the car, got in and we headed home. The next morning, he came to me and asked, “Have you seen my cleats, Mom?” Red flag alert. Warning, warning.

For any other child, this wouldn’t be a major problem. Cleats missing? Just buy new ones and keep it moving. Unfortunately, it’s not that easy for us. My son has to special order his cleats because his feet are extra wide and flat. Additionally, he has special orthotic inserts that were made for him by a therapist in Maryland.

Like any good mother, I asked the coach, emailed the other kids’ parents, and even the called the other team’s coach to see if anyone had picked them up. No luck. Unfortunately, no one had a telephone number to the soccer field either. So, I got in my car during a 2-hour break between appointments that Monday morning and drove 45 minutes to the field. When I got there, the field was closed and locked… by a 6-foot chain link fence. I parked my car, got out and stared at the fence. Could I squeeze through the small opening between the two fences that were chained together? I tried and the immediate answer was... no.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the fence with both hands and poked the toe of my left sneaker into one of the links. I talked to myself all the way up the fence… “come on, you can do this. Pretend like you’re on the Amazing Race.” You know, stuff like that. When I got to the top bar, my husband’s voice came into my head like Obi Wan Kenobi from Star Wars. “When you get to the top, grab the bar and push yourself up with straight arms.” My arms were shaking from the climb, but I DID IT! I stepped on the top bar like he said, but there was NO WAY I was gonna jump down 6 feet – I’m not the Bionic Woman or the Six Million Dollar Man. So I gingerly stepped over onto a metal support bar and jumped 4 feet down instead.

It would have been great if the adventure ended there, but you know it didn’t. The field was more than a quarter mile away and my time was running out. I jogged across the parking lot and gingerly picked my way over the muddy field to the bench where the team had sat the day before. No cleats. Nothing. I sighed and turned around to go back, when it hit me. I would have to scale that fence again to get back to my car, and there was no support rail on the other side. I’m a praying woman, so prayer seemed appropriate at that moment.

Amazingly, as I jogged back, a truck came lumbering down the drive and parked behind my car. At first, I thought someone had seen me and reported me to the police and they were coming to drag me away for trespassing. But no, it was the Port-a-Potty clean-up man. He unlocked the chain and opened the fence, and I thought I heard angels singing and playing harps at that very moment. Not only did he let me out, but he also had a telephone number that went directly to the field director.

Some people might say this story is nothing more than luck, but I know a few things:

1. I have never scaled a fence in my life and I have never received instructions on how to do it. One week after I hear instructions on how to scale a fence, I had to do it.
2. I would have broken something I need to walk if I had jumped off that fence to the other side. The cleaning company came and unlocked the fence just as I prayed for assistance.
3. No one had a telephone number for the park and none was posted at the fields. The clean up man had a direct number to the Director of the field, and the Director was able to check the lost-and-found.

Call it what you want, but I didn’t miss the power of multiple coincidences. And, as always, I’m thankful for small blessings.

Business Meeting @ Chuck E. Cheese

I recently had a flashback to Fall 2002. I was living in Baltimore and my fitness outsourcing business was just beginning to grow. I had 2 corporate contracts and new companies were calling me to hire teachers for their fitness centers. There was a fantastic Pilates and dance instructor I'd been dying to bring on board, but we could never seem to get our schedules to mesh.

"Can you do 11:30 on Monday?"

"Uh, let me see... nope, my oldest has a playdate. What about 5:30?"

"Nope, soccer practice at the Y. How about Tuesday at noon?"

"Can't. The 2-year-old has TumbleTina class. Can you do earlier at 9:30?"

"Uh-uh. Sesame Street 9-10." (sigh)

Finally, we agreed that the only way we would be able to meet was to schedule a business playdate at the local Chuck E. Cheese. I don't like to use the word "hate", so I'll say, I truly dislike attending functions at Chuck E. Cheese.

Anyway, Chuck E. Cheese it was on a weekday around 11:45 am. Our 4-year olds chased each other in the jungle gym, while her 2-year old tossed colored balls into the mesh netting enclosing the ball bath. We each held a child, nursing, to our breast as we wrote quickly into our Franklin Planners and notebooks (yes, I was still doing Franklin Planner in 2002. I'd had a bad experience in 2000 when my Palm Pilot died unexpectedly and I didn't know when or where I was going and couldn't find numbers to call anyone to find out. It was 3 years of fear and mourning before I could return to electronic scheduling).

An hour and a half later, our meeting was done, the kids had all been fed, and a playdate had been knocked out all at once. Triumph.

Fast forward to 2010. A contact from the Chamber of Commerce called me and indicated we needed to meet immediately. Both of our schedules were booked solid with meetings, luncheons, and presentations. We both sounded fatigued and stressed as we scanned our Blackberry and Outlook calendars, trying to find any open 2-hour slot in the next few days.

Suddenly an idea came to me. Jeju Spa. The Korean bath house located only minutes from both our homes. Jeju is not your typical American spa. Yes, it has saunas, whirlpools, steam rooms and massage. But it also has wifi, CNN on plasmas, and computer work stations tucked quietly behind gigantic saunas Jeju refers to as "igloos."

"Can you meet me at Jeju tomorrow morning? I have a window of time between kids leaving for school and my first presentation at 11:45am."

"Perfect. If we meet at 8:30, I can fit in accupressure and still make my 11:00 meeting at the Chamber."

When I combine relaxing barefoot on a heated marble floor with closing a business deal as the scent of jasmine and sage float in the air... bliss is the only word that comes to mind. The spa is my golf course, and it's definitely a step up from Chuck E. Cheese.

Pit Stop

Each and every one of my days is scheduled from waking to sleep. Not like my husband's schedule in which he is constantly in fear of a flight cancellation between Amsterdam and Barcelona or Tai Pei and Hong Kong. His scheduling concerns are bit more lofty than mine, but not nearly as complicated. Why not? Because he only has to worry about his own schedule.

Not one of my days looks anything like the next day or yesterday. And I like that. Being a Sagittarian that craves variety and freedom and excitement and hustle, I love planning my days with the anticipation of something new and different coming up in a day or a week. But anything I schedule for myself also involves some major arranging (and rearranging) for my sons and their activities.There's that one time I was called by the casting director of Tyler Perry studios to be an extra on a taping of The House of Payne and I spent the majority of my day on set in makeup and wardrobe. And that time I decided to teach for a week once a month in Jamaica. It took 4 months before I grew bored and stopped going.

The point is, I need variety in my mommypreneur lifestyle. For me, but not for my kids. My older son is a lot like I am - he's a free spirit, always ready to go anywhere, for any reason, with anyone. My younger son... not so much. He craves routine and schedule and order. And as a responsible mom, I provide it for my kids even though it goes against my natural character.

Each and every day of the week and weekend has a routine. Tuesday for instance is 3:45 - younger son home for snacks, homework and mom time. 4:20 - older son home for snacks, attacking younger brother, and talking non-stop, while I multi-task clean-up, dinner, and prepare to leave for classes at the studio. 5:30 - babysitter arrives. 5:45 - I leave for work. 6:30 - older son leaves for soccer. 7:00 younger son and babysitter interact. 8:00 older son home from soccer. 8:30 we all eat dinner, kids shower and get ready for bed. 9:30 I start yelling to the kids to stop talking and playing and "go to sleep." 10:00 I repeat yelling to the kids. 10:30 I may possibly still be yelling to the kids to "GO TO SLEEP! I MEAN IT THIS TIME!" Every Tuesday looks just like that without fail. It bores me to tears to have that much routine, but it's perfect for the boys.

Last week, I decided the kids (and I) needed change and fun and excitement in our schedule. We needed to rekindle our relationship as mommy and boys just like a married couple needs variety to keep the relationship interesting and fresh. I struggled to remember the last time the boys and I had been on a road trip together or racing each other in go-carts or doing any of the things we used to do on a whim. Not in a long time.

Last Wednesday, my night class at the studio didn't start until 7:45 and neither child had practice or something scheduled to do. So, at 5:30 I announced... "Hey guys, grab your coats and wallets. Let's go the mall." Now I know the mall is not really a big deal to most people. However, getting to spend an hour or two just walking through the mall for no good reason is not something I ever do and definitely not with my kids since they grew out of the stroller.

By 5:50, we were at the mall and the boys were excited as they punched each other through the sliding glass doors. We started with the indoor skate park where teens were skateboarding and blading over smooth hills and high-fiving on ramps high above the ground. Then we went to the book store (my boys and I are all book worms. I could have stayed in the bookstore for the rest of the visit, but alas it only lasted 15 minutes) where the boys discussed the latest release of Diary of a Wimpy Kid and the new book and movie series that looks just like Harry Potter to me. My older son wanted to spend all of his money on 3 books in the new like-Harry-Potter series, while my younger son discussed the merits of saving your money and checking in the library first as he resolutely returned his book to the shelf (at least I got one to carry on my genes for spending wisely). We then spent the next 5 minutes at the register as I turned my older son's POS into an extended math word problem. I apologized to the people standing in line behind us, but if you don't teach them early about money, tax calculations and change, they'll be fools as men, and this momma is not raising any irresponsible fools.

We eventually left the bookstore to walk and window shop. Our next stops included the Lego Store, the Japanese import store (they carry real swords and Japanese comic books which were both of major interest to my sons), and the candy store (where I refused to allow them to buy handfuls of sugar). As we stood at a kiosk purchasing a new wallet for my older son who recently lost his wallet full of money and gift cards (sigh), the younger one saw a trampoline and trapeze at the end of the hall. His little face lit up and he started to dance.

"Oh Mom, can I jump on that thing?" he asked excitedly pointing to a little child jumping barely 2 feet of the trampoline.

I thought about it. Normally, I would say no and we'd rush out of the mall to the next scheduled appointment. Looking at my watch, I quickly calculated the time we had left. There was time. So why not?

"Sure, Honey. Let me finish working with your brother on this wallet thing, okay?"

He started to dance and spin and hum, which he does when he's really happy. We made our way to the booth and saw that there were two activities that could be purchased for one price. The boys calculated the per person fee, put their money on the counter and raced into the kiosk kicking of coats and shoes as they went.

After 5-10 minutes of back-flipping, jumping to the ceiling of the mall, and sliding through elastic bands, we were finally able to pack up and leave - right on time to put me back on schedule for my class at 7:45.

On the way home, the boys talked about how much fun they'd had and tried to remember the last time we'd done something fun for no reason in the middle of the week. They couldn't. Neither could I.

Poking My Fat

It's Friday night and I'm doing what I love to do most... sitting quietly in my bed without any demands on my time and energy from work, family or friends. Tonight, I'm alternately checking all of the emails that have backed up over the week and updating my social media pages.

During my email review, an email regarding my son's soccer schedule peaks my interest. Why? Because anything dealing with soccer seems to affect my entire life. Parent meetings, player evaluations, training schedules, tournaments, away games in thunder storms that aren't canceled until we drive about an hour from home in the downpour. Crazy little things like that seem to take me away from stuff I like - teaching Yoga, networking and socializing, laying in my bed to read a good book, etc.

Anyway, the point of this particular blog has nothing to do with emails, soccer or my desire to do what I want to do. It has to do with butt fat. Stay with me for the correlation...

So, I'm reading this email about the upcoming Spring soccer game schedule when my son comes barging into the room and starts animatedly describing how he's slaughtered and demolished his father in a game on the PS3. He jumps around showing me exactly what happened on the screen, and when he finally slows down to take a breath, I interject...

"Honey, I think you need to take a look at this schedule. There are some conflicts on here that we need to discuss."

He stops mid-slide, picks himself up off the floor and lopes over to where I'm sitting comfortably against some pillows in the bed. He looks at the computer screen and absentmindedly begins to poke softly on a tiny bed of fat that has spread out from the side of my buttocks to peek out of the top edge of the comforter. As he keeps reading and poking, I look down at the little ripple of fat that he's poking. He notices me looking at his finger sinking down into the pillow of brown and says...

"It's just so pokey, Mom." Like that explains everything.

Hm. Pokey. Is that how I want the extra inch of meat extending from my hips to be described? As I'm contemplating this, my husband comes into the room, sits down on the other side of me and starts to mimic my son, pressing gently into the butt-fat on his side.

"Ooh, it is soft."

I just sit there in confusion. How do I really feel about having hip-butt-fat to poke on? Every woman wants curvy hips, right? But how much curve is just right and how much is too much? Should I be concerned about this and start a new exercise program to focus on hip-butt-fat, or should I embrace the softness that screams "I AM WOMAN!"?

Almost simultaneously, they suddenly stop poking, get up, and start punching each other and yelling about who's better at Super Mario Bros on the Wii as they tumble out of the room.

And I'm left to look at my hips. Hm...

Why I Wore My Robe In The School's Front Office

I have a perfectly legitimate reason for standing in the front office of my son’s elementary school in my robe and a raincoat this morning. See, what happened was…

My husband, being the kind and considerate man that he is, quietly prepared for work without waking me. Before leaving, he reset the alarm clock for 8:00 am – the time my older son needs to get up and get ready for middle school. Slight problem… I needed to wake up at 7:00 am to start getting the younger son ready for elementary school.

At 7:45, I woke slowly and blinked uncomprehendingly at the alarm clock. Did the clock mean 7:45 as in the bus would be pulling up to pick up my younger child in 10 minutes? The child that was still slumbering peacefully upstairs?

Since I wasn’t scheduled to teach or attend any appointments until 11:30 am, I could wake him, get him ready and drive him to school. No problem, right? Right. I put on my red and white flowered robe, went upstairs, woke both kids, talked with them while they got ready, and made them breakfast as we packed lunches.

I glanced at the clock, saw that I had 15 minutes before the drive-thru child drop-off lane at the school would close, and leisurely suggested my son grab his coat and backpack since we only live 5 minutes from the school. I put on a pair of black sneakers with my red and white robe and threw on a short, hot pink raincoat. I thought to myself, “thank God for the drive-thru child drop-off,” and proceeded to reach for my keys in the key jar.

Keys. Where were the keys? I looked around the key jar, I dug in the bottomless pit of my mom-purse, I searched my coat pockets from yesterday. Nothing. Nowhere. I glanced at the clock. 5 minutes had elapsed. Only 10 minutes left. The keys had to be somewhere. I searched the kitchen table, the family room couch, and the floor beneath the dining room chairs. Nothing. Nowhere. 3 more minutes gone. My younger son began to feel my mood changing and he became tense. “Mommy… am I going to be late?” This was not a question I felt like answering right at that moment.

Just then, I saw my husband’s house keys on the dresser in our room. If his keys were here, that meant… Yep. He’d taken my key ring to work. My ring with the van key on it. Where in the world were the spare van keys?! I dug everything out of the key jar until I found it and raced out the front door with my son jogging breathlessly behind me.

Sigh… the last car was pulling out of the drive-thru child drop-off lane onto the main road just as I was pulling in. I had no choice but to drive up to the front of the school and park. Then it hit me – I was still wearing my red and white flowered robe with black sneakers and a short hot-pink raincoat. I blinked twice, took a deep breath and walked proudly into the school’s crowded front office like it was normal for a woman to be dressed as I was in a public place. I signed my son in, kissed him goodbye and walked back to my van with my head held high. Just then my cell phone rang.

“Hey Althea, the 9:30am Yoga teacher just canceled. Can you get here and teach her class in 20 minutes?” Sigh…

The Adventures of Mommypreneur!

The last thing I did before going to bed last night was mentally go through my schedule of activities for the following day:

7:45am Attend Governmental Business Meeting
11:00am Conference Call w West Coast
12:00pm Teach Corporate Yoga Class
2:00pm Conduct Audition & Interview for New Studio Instructor
3:30pm Get Younger Son from Bus & Mommy-Time
4:30pm Older Son Home & Mommy-Time
7:30pm Lead Meditation Discussion Group at the Studio

Here’s what actually happened:

6:45am Younger Son Vomiting & Diarrhea

7:00am Older Son Disgusted & Concerned at the Same Time

8:00am Washing Younger Sick Son's Soiled clothing and Linen

9:00am Consoling Sick Son, Cleaning Poop Off Floor & Arranging Doctor’s Appointment

9:30am Paying Bills Online, Typing Newsletter, and Responding to Business Emails

10:30am Rushing Sick Son out of Bathroom to Make Doctor’s Appointment on Time

10:45am Late for Doctor’s Appointment & Stuck Behind Slow-Moving Cement Truck

11:30am Still Sitting in Dr. Waiting Room While Sick People Cough Around Me (Ew)

11:45am Using My Cell Phone in the No-Cell Phone Zone in Dr. Waiting Room To Find A Sub For My Yoga Class

11:46am Staring Down Angry, Coughing Man That’s Staring At Me For Using My Cell Phone in the No-Cell Phone Zone

12:00pm Soothing Crying Sick Son While Dr. Flanges His Ears and Swabs His Throat

12:30pm Dropping Off Sick Son’s Prescription @ Drugstore

12:45pm Enjoying Chinese Food with Sick Son Who’s Not So Sick Anymore

1:30pm Rescheduling 2:00 Audition, Writing a Magazine Article, and Folding Laundry

2:30pm Returning Missed Phone Calls, Preparing Notes for Meditation Class, and Entertaining Sick-Not-So-Sick-Anymore Son

4:30pm Discussing Why Preteen Girls Need to Work Their Triceps in PE with Older Son

5:30pm Cleaning Kitchen, Cooking Dinner, Responding to Emails, Updating My Company’s Facebook Twitter LinkedIN YouTube SlideShare Blogger and Wordpress Accounts

6:30pm Kissing Husband, Asking Him About His Day, and Smiling As I Listen Attentively

6:45pm Printing Handout for Meditation Discussion Group

7:30pm Using my Soothing Voice to Lead 12 People Through Breath and Visualization Exercises in the Dark

8:45pm Discussing My Favorite Topic, Mind/Body Connections, With Meditation Class Members

9:00pm Listening to Mom Chastise Me For Letting Her Grandson Get Sick

9:30pm Walking Around in Circle in Kitchen Confused About Where I Should Be and What I Should Be Doing

10:30pm Looking With Dismay At The Mess of Papers and Bills and Crap I Left On My Bed at 9:30am

10:31pm Leaving Bedroom Because I Cannot Handle the Mess and Clutter Right Now

11:00pm Blogging About Today Because I Can’t Get In My Bed To Go To Sleep