Category: Random

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Random

I’ve been memed!

I’ve been tagged for a meme by Shawn at Letters to My Daughters. In this meme, I’m told to share four things that were new to you in the past four years. Four things you learned or experienced or explored for the first time in the past four years. New house, new school, new hobby, new spouse, new baby, whatever. Then you have to say four things you want to try new in the next four years.

Four New Things

  1. Marriage: almost three years now. I’m always surprised to remember something from my life before Ryan and be reminded that we haven’t always been together.
  2. Motherhood: sixteen months and I still don’t have it all worked out. More on that Monday.
  3. Marketing: just under two years in Internet marketing. It’s weird to get into an industry that you’d never even heard of and get to be the assistant editor of one of the top search marketing blogs in so short a time.
  4. Mortgage: just under two years (actually about two weeks before I got my first job in search marketing). Sometimes I say I own a house; if you catch me on a quick day I’ll say I own a mortgage.

Four Things to Come

  1. MBA: No, not for me. I want an advanced degree, but not in that. This has been Ryan’s goal and if it still is, I want our family to work together for that goal.
  2. More kids. Again, more on that on Monday.
  3. Maybe move? Depends on our job and family situation.
  4. More conferences? Right now I want to, but of course that also depends on our family. I’d love it if Ryan and Hayden could come with me to conferences, but I’d feel bad for ditching them all day while I’m in meetings, and I don’t know how Hayden would do with the late night parties. He’s a bed-by-eight kinda kid.

Tag? I have to tag people? Hm… Let’s find someone I’ve never tagged before… I’ll tag Kasie (~the art of life~), Zabs (MommyZabs), MamaZen (The Zen of Motherhood) and CamiKaos.  (Note: if you’d rather participate in the one word meme, feel free!)

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Random

To be so young and so serious

Things are going well here in Seattle. It’s a little weird to be “working” again. Actually, since I’m at a conference, it’s almost like being back in school. Except I never had a laptop in school (Thanks again!! to my brother-in-law who let me borrow his at the last minute). But I type notes frantically and study instead of making friends and type as much as I can but actually hear very little. People keep asking me if I feel as though I’ve learned things here. I’m like, “Are you kidding? I’m not listening; I’m typing!”

On a related note, when I look up and see other people on laptops checking their email, surfing or playing solitaire, I want to shout them, “Hey, you or your company paid a lot of money to get you here and you should pay attention!” Come to think of it, I felt the same in college when people were playing on their laptops in class.

I was really surprised at how young some of the people that I’ve come to “know” through their industry blogs really are. Or look. I know when I talk to these people—some of whom are surely older than I am—I feel as though I’m the old one. After all, I can hardly make it a paragraph without mentioning my husband or son. To be married and have a kid makes you old, right? at least one person (who was old enough to have grandkids) was surprised to learn I’m so young.

I don’t feel like I look terribly young. Maybe I do. Maybe I’m a poor judge. I was at a Mary Kay facial thing a few weeks ago and someone asked me if I was engaged. I told her, “No, I’ve been married for three years, almost.”

“Wow,” she said, “you look good.”

Um… what part of three didn’t you understand? It’s not a long time ago. And I know I don’t look 18, thanks.

Sigh. Should I keep you in suspense? Care to guess how old I am? (Family members: hold your tongues fingers.)

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Random Work

Ask and ye shall receive

Friday morning I was suddenly reminded that the event of the year for my industry, Search Marketing Expo Advanced (SMX), was impending. I’d wanted to buy tickets long before, but frugality, homebodiness and an insatiable need to be with my son won out. Tickets were sold out now, plus I’d have to travel to Seattle.

I lamented my case to my husband, who recommended that I e-mail my boss, Andy, to see if he had any extra passes. I demured. And that afternoon, Andy posted on the blog—he had come across an extra pass. Did any readers want it? I said I did, but so did a couple other readers, who wouldn’t have to travel.

Andy decided I deserved it (how deeply flattering!). And now I’m in Seattle.

Saturday I’d convinced myself that I deserved/needed/would enjoy some time away from Hayden. Not that I don’t love him, of course (I know you understand). But ever since he was born, I realized that motherhood was the one job I’d never be able to take a vacation from, no matter how burned out I got.

And here I am on vacation (ish).

So, we shall see how my son and I hold up apart. A huge thank you to my friends who are watching him today and tomorrow. I’ll be home very early Wednesday morning, and back into motherhood.

But today, I’m playing the part of the experienced professional. Oh, and I’m also pretending to be outgoing and friendly, which is a lot harder in person than it is online and in print. (Luckily, an opening social last night broke the ice, so I should be okay. I hope.)

Blogging may be a bit light until Thursday, but I’ll try to get a couple posts in.

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Kids/Parenting Random Fulfillment

Through a glass, darkly

I’m always fascinated by seeing myself from the outside. I don’t much care what other people think of me, but I’d love to know how they’d describe me. I’ve asked my husband a few times, “How would you describe me to someone who’d never met me?” (He’s always responded with a helpless “I don’t know!”) Last night, I suddenly gained the tiniest glimpse into how other people see me.

We were at a church activity. There was a girl there that I’ve always thought seemed really nice, if a little shy. Although I knew just about everyone there, and we all live in the same neighborhood, none of my “regular” friends were there, so I couldn’t slip into my comfort zone. I decided to approach this girl, since she and her husband were sitting alone and I was alone as Hayden and Ryan ran off to play with the other kids in the park.

Luckily, we had a very obvious conversation starter—she is 8 1/2 months pregnant. Aside from the fact that she is a very cute and nice girl, being a mom, I feel drawn to soon-to-be mothers. (It’s a good thing this wasn’t happening about this time last year, when I would have probably hissed something like, “RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN!” or said something more sage like, “Make every night a date night while you still can.”)

So I plopped myself down on the table next to them and struck up a conversation. My favorite way to do this is to verify their names, even though with my position at my church I already know everyone’s names—well, all of the ladies’ names, at least. It never hurts to double check, and it makes it easy for me to introduce myself and reduce their discomfort at not knowing my name.

What do you say to someone so close to the beginning? I’m sure she realizes this is only the beginning, even though it feels like it should be the end.

I didn’t impart any sage words to her. I just chatted with her. I asked about the name they’d picked out and where they found it, how they met, what she did, what he did. While her pregnancy and impending parenthood was a large part of the conversation, I realize now that I did focus on her quite a bit (her husband soon wandered off to play with the kids)—which might be nice. Might be the last time in a long time.

Oh, that glimpse thing, right. As we started talking, she commented on how cute Hayden was. He had been running around the pavilion, enjoying everything immensely, emphatically intoning his jibberish (which he would direct to my new friend a few times during our conversation, and even slap her knee for emphasis), squealing at other children or dogs in the park, riding in a neighbor’s wagon, and playing with all of the teenage boys of babysitting age.

She asked how old he was. As I told her, for a split second, I could see our scene as if from far away. I was one of those people I’d always thought had it all together—a young mom who was pretty, active in church, outgoing (or at least friendly), but not so uptight that she had to hover over her toddler every minute. She was a good mom and she was still her own person—but being a mother defined in large part who she was. Even though you knew her as a person, you often (or always) thought of her in conjunction with her child(ren). To me, these were the women with six month olds who brought me sumptuous dinners that lasted two, three or four nights after Hayden was born and was flat on my back for a week.

I suddenly understand why my neighbors thought I was taking motherhood in stride when Hayden was born (while I was dying!).

I think everyone, at some point, sees another woman while she’s out in public—dressed, well-coifed, at peace with the world, social and with child in tow—and thinks, “Man, she’s really got it all together.”

Guess what, my new friend? I don’t. But I’m slowly getting my act together.

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Random

Valediction

I didn’t know until just now that ‘valediction’ is the proper word for “saying goodbye.” It’s the opposite of salutation.

Which becomes doubly weird when you think about the concepts for valedictorian and salutatorian. I suppose one was originally supposed to speak at the beginning of the graduation service, and one at the end.

On this date several years ago, I was the one on the end. I’m a total sucker for coincidences of dates. I graduated May 25 and it was a Friday, so I think this is really awesome.

Anyway, here’s what I said.

To the board of education, Mr. Hicks [the soon-to-be-ingloriously-ousted principal], [my high school] Administrators, Distinguished Platform Guests, family, friends, and the graduating class of [not very long ago], welcome. As Mr. Hicks would say, I have 180 seconds to address you.

I begin today with a poem that my mother found in a high school yearbook.

I will tell you, young tree,
That you will quake
When you must leave a familiar
Forest home and reach high to
bright places.

Your limbs will ache
for companions to
bleach the darkness and
shine like the sun.

In bitter, killing loneliness,
Your soul may ache.

But remember,
You have roots
no one can kill.

When you are distressed
Feed on this
And you will always
Find spring.

For us, the graduating class of [not very long ago], high school is our roots. Our teachers, our peers and of course, Mr. Hicks, will be the foundation to which we can return throughout our lives for stability and for sustenance. For the past four years, we have learned and we have grown in the “forest” of [our school], nurtured by the roots of our teachers and our principal. Now, at the end of our high school careers, we are to leave our familiar forest home and reach high to bright places. Even though, at times, it will be difficult to be on our own, we will always be able to draw on the roots which we’ve established here—to remember the lessons which we’ve learned, whether these lessons are academic or otherwise. With this strong foundation, we can be prepared to grow to new heights. The foundation of [our] High School cannot be replaced in our memories. [Our school] will be the spring to which we may return whenever winter lurks outside of our doors. I thank you, Mr. Hicks, and I thank all of our teachers for providing the strong foundation for the rest of our lives, the foundation which has supported us throughout high school, and will continue to support us now. Under your guidance and tutelage, we have learned to form our own opinions and thoughts. With your help, we have gained abilities, skills and confidence.

Armed with these thoughts, skills and with our confidence, we, the graduating class of [not very long ago], step out into the world. We have been prepared with our roots and now we set out to test these roots. The future is uncertain, of course, but we will always be able to remember this time in our lives. The footing which we’ve established here will provide for our futures. From this point on, we have a new beginning. As we go our separate ways, we will always have our common . . . experience to draw upon. The strong support for our lives which we’ve established throughout our high school careers will remain with us and help us as we pursue other careers. We are now ready to continue in our lives. Our time in the forest has come to an end, and we are ready to stretch our branches in the bright sunlight, and to see what we make of our roots.

That’s all I have. I usually leave the closing (the valediction) unwritten so I can say something I really mean, like, thank you for helping us establish our roots and to the graduating class of not very long ago, grow.

Now, not so very many years later, I realize that the vast majority of the graduating class there weren’t really prepared for whatever was coming next (although I think my friends in the advanced program were pretty well prepared for the college workload!). Looking back, I really doubt that some of my high school classmates used anything they learned in class ever again.

But that was my school. How do you remember high school (aside from the socially awkward phase only to be rivaled by middle school)?

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Random

The wrong impression

Yesterday some nice missionaries came by my house. I’ve never had missionaries from another faith talk to me (I know, shocking), and it was a good first experience. We talked about the Bible and Satan’s influence in the world. I could have gone on and on about my beliefs, but I respectfully listened instead and ended up politely declining their offered book about the Bible. (I hardly have enough time to read the Bible, let alone read about why I should be reading the Bible.)

They thanked me for coming to the door (which might have been a rarity in my neighborhood, though I’m sure many people were legitimately not home, despite having cars parked in their driveways) and bade me a good day.

As soon as I shut the door, I bowed my head pensively—and noticed my shirt. I bet they must have thought they hit paydirt when they read what it said:

My shirt