Love In A Paper Towel

Finally. A resolution of many new year's past has been realized- the waste free lunch. Waste here is of course relative, as only the kids really know which foods get tossed or, the grail of goodies, traded. But the waste that I can control is now under control. It's not that much more difficult to send a packed lunch free of plastic baggies and aluminum foil. It is quite a bit more difficult to make sure that the reusable food storage makes its way back home to be cleaned and reused the following day. (Hint- invest in double the storage...just in case. Actually, I can just about guarantee the backup set will be employed by the third day of the new program.)

There is one disposable, yet still evergreen in its impact, item that I am unable to bury for good- the love note. Though it has improved in its efficiency, there are no plans for its ultimate demise. Once sent on a separate post-it, it has evolved into a two-fer on a paper towel: "wipe your face, sweetie and oh, how I love you". I've tried multiple writing utensils and had finally landed on the ultra fine-tip Sharpie for the job, but recently invented a three-fer approach that mitigates the risk of my youngest smearing his face with a juicy-wet ink, and saves me the effort of holding a wiggly-bumpy paper still in place under the pull of the pen's tip, all the while just still waiting patiently for the caffeine to do its own job. To accomplish this feat, I pull off two paper towels and lay them together. Then, create a crease one-third of the way from any of the edges. On this crease I cut a tear-drop, thereby rendering a heart shape in each paper towel, ready to safely convey my motherly love. The bonus (hence the third objective met): two little paper hearts that I deliver to the front-gate of my husband's coffee cup each morning. Silent and sweet, the last moment of its kind before a day full of ____________. Good morning.

Lego My Lego

We all have our obsessions, the thing that makes us go bonkers with desire. For my little guy it's Legos. He can spend an awful lot of screen-time time searching for collectable Lego sets, building Wish Lists with five-digit price-tags. He really isn't picky though- an equal-opportunity collector as excited by Atlantis or Space Police as he is his beloved Star Wars. And the mini-figures...he knows which square-people come with which brick set and will advise me excitedly when one is popular enough to be featured in various sets, facilitating multiple options for scoring a "min-fig" (as they are known by "brick masters".) Because the little building blocks seem to power his imagination with absolute jet-fuel, it's an obsession that is well supported by all of us.

Until recently, the only way to make him really happy was a new box of blocks. (Or a new box of rigid-edged foot-finders.) But we don't have a Lego Tree and it's a long wait for the holiday and birthday double-whammy that is December through February at our house. About a year ago I made light-sabers in the required colors (anyone that follows Star Wars knows the very significant difference between a green or red or purple saber.) I used old poster tubes, metallic paper and packing tape. He loved them and battled them to their death. He doesn't really seem to build with the blocks as much as he embodies them with personality and agenda, so could this approach not work with his drive to collect Lego sets? We tried it out by making a Star Wars carrier ship (the Republic Cruiser, to be exact) using empty toilet paper rolls, cut pieces of clear packaging and some plastic strapping. He loved it! It lives right next to the official Lego X-Wing that cost $60. But would this approach work with the.....the mini-fig?

Last week, in a hurry to satisfy his hunger, I printed out a few images of the mini-figures that he ached to acquire. I asked him to paste them to a piece of a used cardboard box, and then we helped him cut out around the more detailed perimeter of the image. They went into immediate service with not one size comparison nor mention of plastic inadequacy. Now he can search the internet for a new character for his collection, and minutes and zero dollars later, we have a full-size figure ready to rumble. As a fan of the Antoinette Portis books, I should have known it would work. One quick and almost thoughtless solution on my part and our guy has proven that his imagination is much larger than my wallet could ever be, feeding his obsession one free piece of trash* at a time.

*Another footnote about trash? My friend recently posted on Facebook that now she is a parent, unexpected visitors can plan on finding toys and food crumbs gone astray. Any visitor to my house, planned or otherwise, should brace themselves for the mound of craft supplies aka recycling perpetually growing in the corner of our kitchen. Of course the reality is that it isn't really free in any way, but this upcycling-waiting-to-happen strecthes our grocery dollar that much further. Not too trashy.

Beauty is in the Eye of the Holder

We are lucky to have a phone that rings often. Blessed with the Nickelodeon Parents' Pick Award as Best Kids Party Place in Chicago, many of these calls are about birthday parties. Our artsy, craftsy, super-duper-kooky parties. The kind of parties that kids don't want to leave. Or when they do, they are still walking on sunshine. Seriously. We've been called "angels in aprons." A relative remarked that perhaps we've been drinking highlighter fluid for breakfast...and it was a compliment. Our workshop is a like a little Willy-Wonkavator of creative fun.

I suppose it's a fair question: "So, what do the kids do at a craft party?" Maybe another way to ask the question would be, "What craft activities do kids do at your parties?" And the answer is simultaneously easy and complex. You ask us this question, and we will ask you three or more questions in return before supplying an answer. Why? Maybe once it was because the phone call was too early on a Monday morning, but it's usually because there is no one answer. There may be a finite number of art supplies and craft materials that immediately come to mind, but the combinations are infinite and when you throw trash* into the mix.....you never know what's going to come out on the other end. As easy as it would be to have a standard set of projects, a menu to choose from, we really prefer to know the guest-of-honor a bit before suggesting an activity to help celebrate a big day. And even when a project is perfectly planned and facilitated, you still never know what's going to come out on the other end. That's the beauty of it.

We wouldn't have it any other way. The visible self-esteem of a young artist that believes that they really are an artist. The beauty in the eye of the holder, as they proudly present their creation to a parent or caregiver. If it could be bottled... well that would be highlighter fluid. It's why we do what we do every day. It's why things so often erupt into spontaneous dance-parties of joy. It's the Everlasting Gobstopper of the work week that never ends. As tired as I might be this Sunday eve, I can't wait to get to work in the morning and cook up new ways to make fun.

*We don't make much of it. Keep an eye open for how every piece of packaging can be repurposed and the materials almost craft themselves.

How May I Help You?

Who likes networking?  Television networks I get, and the Cisco kids have taught me something for certain, but I mean the act of "cultivating productive relationships for employment or business"?  It is indeed an important part of what makes the world work, and didn't HSM remind us, we're all in this together?  It's not what you know, they say.  But isn't it?  How does one make human connection in this big, fast world?   To make it work, you really ought to know what you're doing.


I volunteer for a most fabulous national organization- the Step Up Women's Network (SUWN).   The always inspirational and eloquent Managing Director of our Chicago chapter often reminds us when we gather for meetings and events to "network powerfully".  If I was talking to my IT brethren of yore and asked them to network powerfully, they would know just what to do.  But some people are scared to move on this encouraging suggestion of interpersonal adventure. For some people, initiating a relationship that just didn't exist moments before feels a little....icky.  Like being approached on an average car lot (or the street corner, or in front of the grocery store, or...) by someone that wants something from you when you're just "looking".   Or like cold-calling.   But it doesn't have to be that way.  


Sure, LinkedIn and Facebook and _________ make it easier to get the party started.   And thanks to the "powerful networkers" and some amazing women that I have met with SUWN, I have developed a new perspective on the networking event.   It might always feel awkward to approach a group of talking and laughing beauties and expect that you are welcome to insert yourself.  But you can start by talking to one person, and then give as much of yourself as you possibly can in that moment.  What can you do for them?  Maybe they feel funny, too.  Maybe the depth of the relationship will not emerge for days or months or years to come.  And the moment when you need something might come, and it might still leave you feeling like a bother or a burden. But good people doing good things will find each other, and support one another, and help other good people get their good things done.   


A dear friend and previous colleague of mine recently made contact on my behalf with someone that she thought might have contacts local to me that I ought to know.   This special someone second-removed jumped right in, reached out to a few people closer to me geographically, and sent me a message to let me know that she had done so.  In the message she referred to one of the contacts like this:  "he's one of us."   Ah, good people doing good things.   He probably has a LinkedIn page and a Facebook account, but I'll be choosing to network socially, adding him to my MAN and my WAN in person.  


PS- SUWN has created another excellent way to give and to get.  Check out  Sugar and Spice and give something nice.


PPS- Another friend and previous colleague once just decided to start sending out an occasional email to his friends and contacts titled "Friends Doing Good Things" and it's now in self-service blogform.  Beautiful. 

Does a Smaller Footprint Mean Fewer, or Just Smaller, Shoes?

After living in the same lovely house in California for 9 years, my husband and I packed up everything we owned, our two adventurous children and incredibly loyal and flexible dog, and moved to Chicago (oh, and my Mom was packed in there, too, just not as a permanent part of the move.)  And "owned" is past-tense because the amount of things that we owned at the time was diminishing rapidly by virtue of a sizable roll-away garbage dumpster, along with a healthy number of trolls that would reliably pick clean our alley each day.  Friends, family and local charities all benefited from the purging of belongings in order to lighten the load (a phrase which has more meaning as one funds a cross-country move.) The house to which we were moving wasn't so much smaller in living space or even storage capacity, but it lacked the advantage of a long-lived-in home in that we hadn't yet figured out all of the insane ways to store away lots of stuff that we didn't really need to keep... that subconscious system that starts with the "junk drawer" and then becomes so incredibly efficient at enabling the collection of uselessness that its function becomes autonomous and invisible.

Our story of home turned out a little different than we had planned, and we moved from the new Chicago home just shortly after one year of landing here.  "California grows nuts" we were told as we packed again and this time moved 2 blocks north into a smaller abode-  the trade-off being a very short walking commute to both our business and an excellent public school for which the new address qualified us for enrollment.  And we purged again.  Even the children are getting good at it, and our buying habits have shifted such that the move and the purge should have been easier.  We stashed larger pieces of furniture and appliances in storage at the business, and began another chapter of life with less stuff and, as they say in Denmark, more life.

As I lay procrastinating on a lazy Sunday, I began to think about the lava of shoes that has crept out of the closet (a large walk-in) as well as out of smaller armoires and under-bed storage around the master bedroom.  What volcano have we landed upon that one woman's shoe collection, most of which go unworn in a new climate and new profession, can take over square footage?  I half-nap and think, do I really have to get rid of these things, these friends of the foot, these size-never-changes accessories that are always ready to bring a smile to the worst outfit?  Isn't this problem a function of needing to buy more of a storage system?  And then I remembered hearing about a guy named Dave and his quest to live with just 100 personal things.  And the aforementioned people of Denmark.  And how often "clean the closet" or "rotate the wardrobe" show up on my weekend to-do list.

Refreshed with the idea of living with less, I arose and, after skating past the lava with barely a scalded little toe, immediately found Dave's list.  But I really like my shoes.  I love my shoes.  I can probably get rid of quite a few pairs and still feel grand abundance.  But for a girl like me, with really good intentions, could the plural of the thing just please please please count as one?  I could make it fair for the family by granting the same stretch to my son (legos), my daughter (earrings) and my husband (books.......well really we all hoard books but we'll let the Master of English hold the bag.)  Thank you, dear muse of minimalist virtue, we appreciate your support.

Wipe Your Nose on Me Anytime

I've always wanted to write books for children. I once wrote a story for my daughter's preschool class with about 12 hours notice of its due date, and the collaboration of mother and daughter was a touching story of a mother's frustrations with a roller-coaster workday, ending with the yummy tummy-butterflies that accompanied preschool pick-up time each day, complete with crayoned illustrations. Since then my eyes seem to be wide open to topics that translate readily...if they were only accompanied by a free-pass for the time it would take to better explore them. Laugh if you will, but one of ideas on the list is about a Mom that gets used for a multitude of services- jungle-gym, dinner napkin, chauffeur, maid, and snotty-nose tissue. While sometimes a parent's affection might be dismissed, these other services are always in demand. And for a working parent juggling so many demands, these lovingly provided favors can take on the nasty smell of burden when things get to be too much.

This morning my children allowed me to sleep in late. Oh, and I mean in. For me at least, 9:20 am is like lunch time. I got up groggily and thanked them for their returned favor. They obliged because I had promised a lazy day of pajamas, books and Wii. But after one cup of coffee, the spontaneity bug bit me and within no more than a half-hour, we were speeding along to the movie theater for a popcorn breakfast and unplanned theatrical journey. My wild things and I saw Where the Wilds Things Are, and as they munched one portion after another of salty and "buttery" goodness, I held back one salty drop after another. Maybe its PMS, but the story was incredibly touching as I saw so much of my own son in this quirky character struggling to be himself in a big, disinterested world. There were ups and downs in the film, and it would be easy enough to watch it superficially for a yuck at the monsters' body-slamming flops. But as I sat there with a snuggly, warm boy next to me, I was reminded of how significant everything we do and say as parents, or just as the big people, is in the lives of the smaller ones. I was already a fan of the screenwriters, and of the not-for-profit contributions of the one (of which my own children are the lucky benefactors), but I think I could go as far as to recommend the film as necessary viewing for any busy parent.

So today's written reminiscence is small, as I rush to get back to making the hem of my sweater available for salty, dirty, sticky, gooey love.

Excuses. Excuses. Bravo!

Rationa Liza might be my Harry Potter character name. With a dismissing flick of the wrist I'll generate a magical, unbeatable excuse for whatever I need to substantiate, rational or not. Subscribe to, or worse, buy over-the-counter, too many magazines? It's fashion research for my job. Watch too many movies (in pajamas, in bed)? It's entertainment research for my job. Getting a new cell phone? It's mobile technology research for my job.

Well, how does a girl like me rationalize my Bravo cable series addiction? When it was just Real Housewives of OC I could blame the initial home-sickness after our big cross-country move from southern California to Chicago. And when Project Runway was still connected by umbilical cable-cord to its birth-parents.....it was research. But Top Chef? (I did a catering stint with my Mom....good enough?) Flipping Out? (Don't get me started, I love this one.) The Rachel Zoe Project? This, venti-cup swigging, big-shade bearing little blondie has something to teach, and I have been her willing student from the first episode to the recent season finale earlier this week. I've even had the theme-song (see link at 42 seconds) in my head all week long (and I think I've now created my own remix in that head and if I could only get it out I might have a hit bigger than Tardy for the Party.) You may need to watch this season's episodes to follow along, but below are perhaps the top 3 management lessons to be gleaned from the show. Pay attention Rodge now that you're at the helm.

1. Don't ignore your employees

It's easy enough to get caught up in our own importance, but has Rachel really not noticed how unhappy Taylor has been? Being busy just can't be an excuse. Your people are your biggest asset and Rachel treats the dresses and accessories better than her star player. Words aren't even necessary to detect how unhappy Taylor is, or how much Brad could use a little more instruction and a little less buddy-time. (He's come so far, but when we stop teaching and learning we stop evolving.) Whether they be self-directed and self-sufficient or newbie novices, we are no longer a team when we stop communicating.

Put a little structure in place to make sure that there is ALWAYS time to communicate with your people, even for a brief time, regularly. Religiously. It might even take less time than waiting in the queue at Starbucks or fondling vintage __________ (Chanel, Halston, etc.)

2. Don't delegate big decisions that are your own to make

Sure there are learning opportunities for employees that are growing into their next role. But first giving Taylor and Brad the "opportunity" to decide which of them would forego the Paris trip, and then following this up with delegating the decision to Taylor because she is senior to Brad? Meanwhile hoping that Brad would make the "right" decision, and testing him in a contest he didn't know he was in. Tisk tisk.

Managers get to take a bigger paycheck because they get the joy of making the hard decisions (well, maybe not in the case of entrepreneurs just starting out, but you get the picture.) Involving employees in the fact- and opinion-gathering to prepare for a big decision can be a team-building experience when managed well. Delegating it is a no-no.

3. Don't not believe it can be done (at least not visibly)

How many episodes this season began with one of Rachel's "oh my god, dis-as-ter" pep-talks? The only pep was in that tall cup. I'm not advocating blind belief. But if the leader doesn't believe it can be done, and doesn't coach her team accordingly, then those laws of attraction are going to work just fine. Against them. So maybe some of this was a set-up by the producers to create tension in the show, but she shouldn't have ever given them the chance to catch those speeches on camera unless she talks in her sleep and they filmed all night long.

Your job as the leader is to create vision, manage the demand and deliver on commitments. Don't even tell yourself in the mirror that it can't be done unless you want it to not be done.

I could go on but alas my dinner is ready on this chilly Sunday evening (ok, a few more....don't play favorites by bff'ing one of them, don't disregard the input of your staff that does the real work....) So now it's out there. My MBA is from Monday Bravo Antics.

We're Out of Glue Sticks!

Oh, the gravity of the situation. Have you ever been reminded that "it's not brain surgery?" I have a six year-old that is the master of this advice. (He's also the master of the neologism, but more on this on another day, after he has signed a waiver to not sue me or register for a lifetime of therapy because of my disclosure.) If I complain of aches from sitting in a chair in front of the computer too long, driven by deadlines: "why don't you get up and take a break?" If I mention that I'm hungry: "why not have a snack, Mom?" You see the pattern. Sage little man.

Sometimes we catch ourselves at the workshop talking fast, furiously and very very seriously about something relatively important. Like, "which color tulle would make the very best fairy wing?" "Where can we possibly get the crunchiest fall leaves even though they have really just begun to fall?" Or, "We're out of glue sticks! We really need at least six more of the jumbo glue sticks. The kids love the bigger glue sticks." Certainly, we take our jobs seriously. We want to be the best at what we do and want our Wishcrafters to feel, without having to be explicitly aware of why or how we do it, our commitment to their experience. And so we find ourselves taking our purchase of cleaning products or our choice of music for the morning.....seriously. It's almost hard to use the word. But, like I said, it's relatively important. Relatively.

Every company wants a dedicated employee. And no company wants a dead employee. (Ok, well maybe the banks that take out janitor life insurance policies in an attempt to be financially creative.) So, with little Six-Year-Sage in mind, let's not implode over budgets or Olympic bids or box-office results or parking tickets or idle talk or too many buffalo-plaid shirts in the stores. I recently heard some smart grown-ups advise a group of women to be a "lighthouses". To not run up and down the shore trying to shine the lights for the incoming ships (or customers or book deal or...) Be the best little lighthouse, shining the light with verve and joy and commitment and stability. And jumbo glue sticks. The ships and the waves and the fog will still be there. Where will you be?

Leadership Kills

The following realization on my part took place in just the few short hours it took to run household errands today, unlike the other lifetime-achievement awards I seem to be bestowing on myself most recently. I should admit- I'm not usually the grocery-shopper of the family (thank you, husband, who has a nasty cold today) and it probably could have taken a lot less time. We had just a few stops (Stanley's, Trader Joe's) but I was enjoying the time alone with my daughter, and I think the feeling was mutual, so we both seemed to be making gestures to make it take a little longer. While the daily spirited inquiry into my child's day at school is usually met with the "nothing" and "I don't know" brand of answer, today the conversation blessedly led to the topics to which I wish I had daily access (as often happens when we have the time to just be with your child.)

Today my daughter shared with me that she really needs to "do something" about the desk assignments in her class. Reportedly, the new arrangement has left her with table-mates that interfere with her ability to focus. Being the leader that she already is, she is ready to take action and approach her teacher with an alternative suggestion. And being the leader that she is yet to be, she is becoming frustrated with the reactions of her daily neighbors that refuse to cooperate with her attempts to make peace. We talked about the growing pains that accompany learning leadership skills, whether they be about doing the leading or learning to work as a team and follow another's lead. As if a new academic topic isn't enough of a challenge for the day, my daughter is actively testing out her burgeoning skills and feeling the burn. Ooh, leadership kills.

Feeling very parental, I reminded her that every moment of conflict is an opportunity to practice being the best person she can be, and that she ought remember to practice "leadership" in sticky classroom situations. An hour or so later, a funny thing happened. It was seamless. As we unloaded the grocery bags from the car, she suggested a game-plan for moving the many bags from our parking spot to the entrance of our building in order to be most efficient. Without even responding, I followed her lead. I would have normally at least acknowledged her, but today I was in awe. She then took action to begin moving the bags toward the elevator. Without complaining about the bag's weight! Without whining about how something hurt and therefore prevented her from participating in a household chore! As our immediate task neared completion, she called out to confirm that I had the last bag so that she could initiate the next step in this assembly-line. What is going on here? My little leader led me- quite directly, so confidently and most naturally. Maybe my job here is done.

Deft-Jam

No, I'm not writing about rap music (though coincidentally I did learn on my drive today that my 6 year-old son clearly understands the distinction between rap and rock, and that he has a fierce preference for the latter, perhaps more pronounced since his adventure at The Hideout barbecue for Bloodshot Record's anniversary last night.) Really, I want to ponder on deft jam, or rather, the deft hand one must use when picking raspberries. I've loved this berry's delicate flavor since first encountering an amazing framboise dessert at a "fancy dinner" with my parents in Newport Beach. And I have admired, sometimes from afar, the prices at our ginormous Whole Foods. But today I discovered a different kind of value in this fruit.

After picking apples (and surviving a don't-let-me-do-that-again Haunted House) at Jollay Orchards, we decided to try our hand at picking what was left of the raspberries. (Full disclosure would tell you that I was actually trying my shaky hand and that I did jump when another berry-bush limb climbed up the back of my shirt to say "boo".) Picking apples is manly sport- climb up a ladder and grab that ripe fruit with a full, muscular hand. But raspberry picking is an altogether different experience. Pull too hard and the very acceleration from stem to basket yields a berry-bloody mush. Once I established my technique, however, my green papier-mache basket runneth over. If you're willing to hunch down and lift up the prickly, low-lying stems you can hit the jackpot. But don't get too zealous or your prizes won't even make it to the basket (well, many of them didn't make it to the basket, but that's because I needed to test them and make sure their tasty quality rendered them worthy of the patient thigh-burn workout required for the process.) The deft hand and yoga-like balance required to select and pick these ripe raspberries was another "SLOW" road-sign....which makes at least two weeks in a row of the universe throwing me this hint.

Earlier this week at the workshop we were remarking on hard-walkers (if you live in a multi-level home or apartment, you probably know if you have one above you or not.) Is someone a hard-walker because they are in a hurry? Because they are just heavier, working harder against gravity? Or because, rather than be present in the moment and their bodies, they are flopping along to the their next task? Think about how you're sitting as you read this- are you holding your body in a way that engages your muscles (and maybe thereby prevents some sort of backache later?) When you approach a chair to sit, do you flop on in, or do you control the bend of your legs and the contact of your bum with the seat? A smart and inspiring man once showed me the power of capturing this presence, and I have to admit that I lose that presence too often. He taught me to look for cues that I could use to remind me to breathe, find center, relax, repeat. And then off I went rushing to my next deadline. So thank you, raspberries, for showing me today the calming power of a deft hand in preparation for a def jam.