Once in a lifetime.

I'm sure most of you have heard or read about the tornado that destroyed most of Joplin, MO, this past weekend. That's only about 45 minutes away from where we live, though we were lucky enough only to get some wind and rain. And some beautiful skies.

After the rain had passed us by and the sky was absolutely beautiful, I was doing laundry while my husband was in the living room, keeping an eye on the news to see what was happening in Joplin, and yelling in my direction occasionally about how I needed to come look at the sky; it was changing every second, and I was missing it, he said. "This is a once in a lifetime sky!"

It occurred to me that every sky is a once in a lifetime sky. Never again will we see that exact color scheme with those exact cloud patterns laying on top of it. And I wondered, why don't we stop to appreciate every once in a lifetime sky?

As tends to happen, my thoughts broadened. Not only is every sky a once in a lifetime sky, but every moment is a once in a lifetime moment. Never again will we be at this exact place in this exact moment being exactly who we are right now; we are ever-changing, the world is ever-changing.

How many beautiful moments do we pass by in our lives because there's something to distract us from it? Or because something boring or aggravating or terrible is still on our mind from a moment previous? Or because we're in a hurry to get to the next moment?

What would it take to pause and find the beauty in every moment, the way we can pause and find the beauty in an orange and blue sky with a double-rainbow after a devastating storm?

I challenge you to stop, once, in the middle of your day -- especially if it's a busy day -- and find something once-in-a-lifetime around you, or within you.

Identity.

Given my current job situation (the situation being that soon, I will no longer have my job), I've noticed that as a result, I've started shifting my identity into something different. For years (eleven of them) I've been The Webmaster, and I've never really liked it. I always felt the need to say that I was The Webmaster but don't blame me, it was like that when I got here and I intend to fix it, or The Webmaster but no I will not do your fluffy puppy website in my spare time, or The Webmaster but I'm not a computer geek, I'm an "artist" and the Internet is my canvas. Anytime I would identify myself as The Webmaster, I would sort of cringe on the inside. That's not who I am. I'm not that stereotype. It's my job, but it's not me.

In five weeks, I will no longer be The Webmaster. How amazing is that??

For several weeks while this knowledge was settling into my mind, I became The Webmaster but not for much longer. The past couple of weeks now I have caught myself casually shifting into The Life Coach. EEEEE!

I'll admit it, there's some fear and hesitation around that. What if people don't know what that is? What if I have to answer questions? What if they think it's nuts or think I'm crazy or pat me on the head like oh, of course you are dear, that's so cute, like it's a fake job and not something real or understandable my mainstream societal standards? But you know what? That's good practice for me to get better at explaining what coaching is, what I do. And you know what else? I don't cringe when I say it; I smile.

It's funny how in today's society one of our favorite questions is "So, what do you do?" Our jobs somehow define us, and there are all these beliefs floating around about What You Do being Who You Are.

I've seen this cross over into way more than just the job arena, too; I frequently call my clients on listing "doings" when I ask them "being" questions.

The cool thing about coaching is, it's both. It's a way of being, and it's what I do.

So if you could be whoever you choose to be, what would you be doing? How would you identify yourself in a way that would make you smile?

Disciplining your inner four year old.

Part of being a mom is figuring out what method of discipline works best for your kids. Every kid is different (and I know I will learn this even more clearly if/when there is a #2). Things that work for some kids don't work for other kids. Things that work for your kid might not work for your kid next week. Things that work for your kid may not work for you. It's a constant act of trial and error, assessment, reassessment, giving up for a while and just hoping they'll be good no matter what, realizing no matter how well you're handling things they might still just be a holy terror for a while, wondering if their recent diet of grilled cheese and popsicles may be a factor, and trial and error again.

The same can be said for ourselves. I know I'm grumpy when I have too many pastries.

While I was rearranging the 4 year old's star chart recently, the thought occurred to me: if I were parenting my own inner 4 year old, what would I put on my star chart?

This of course led to tangent thoughts: What reward would I want to earn with my stars? What if it weren't just about a star chart and I were constantly parenting my inner child?

When our kids ask us for, say, an extra cookie, or another new toy even though he just got a new toy (because Daddy really wanted the new toy, too), when is the answer yes, and when is the answer no? How do you explain to your kid why this time it's okay, but next time it may not be? And, what occurred to me this morning, when your kid yells at you and demands that extra cookie or new toy, do you give into his demands or do you dig your heels in and demand right back that he ask nicely for things or he Does Not Get Them?

I'm a dig-my-heels-in, I'm-just-as-stubborn-as-you-are mom, personally.

So why, then, when my inner child demands I WANT THAT PASTRY RIGHT NOW BECAUSE, UM, BECAUSE IT'S THERE AND I WANT IT, do I say, "Oh, okay Inner Child! Here's your pastry!"? How could I handle that, instead?

If I were talking to my kid (and having a Good Mommy day, and this wasn't the 50millionth time I had to answer this question), I would explain that eating sweets without eating something healthy is bad for your body, and I know it tastes good, but later with lunch we can have some strawberries instead. So, what would it be like if I were to catch my inner child's demands, realize them for what they are, and explain things in the same way? "Okay, Self, I know you'll like that cherry tart, but you're gluten intolerant, remember? And remember that you're trying not to eat processed sugar? Is that pastry worth getting a headache and being grumpy? You have gluten free cookies made with organic sugar at home! Let's wait until we get home, okay?"

Honestly? My inner child would throw a temper tantrum and say BUT I WANT IT NOW, THOSE COOKIES AREN'T THE SAAAMMMMEE AS A CHERRY TART.

And then I would tell my inner child that it's being rude and now it absolutely can't have it because of how it's acting.

So just as parenting your own actual child requires a lot of trial and error, bargaining, and explanation of consequences, what would it be like if you were to put that kind of effort into "parenting" yourself?

Getting a taste.

Just recently I was commenting that I didn't really know how to be home with my son by myself all day, even though I've always wanted to be a stay- (or work-) at-home-mom. For years I've been saying that web pages (what I've done professionally for the past 11 years) just aren't my thing anymore. A year ago I bought the domain name for my would-be coaching business, and promptly created a placeholder that has remained there ever since. Ever since the windows were installed in our house just after we bought it five and a half years ago, I've been thinking to myself that I really ought to finish painting the trim.

What do all these things have in common?

I found out almost two weeks ago that in three months, my position will be eliminated.

It wasn't that great of a shock; we've been warned of budget cuts for the past two years. In this round of cuts we knew our department would be losing two positions. Since my position was merged into this department, it had never really been the most important service being provided in the eyes of those deciding things like what services will be provided, so I sort of figured that my position would be one of the cuts. Finding out for sure, though, makes it real. That's different than probably.

So now, glance back at the first paragraph and guess how many of those things have either moved up on the priority list, or have become sudden real possibilities?

The house has been on the market for nearly three years and still I'd always put off all the little things like painting the window trim, little things that I felt like we needed to hide when we'd leave the house for someone to view it, which would end with the curtains being drawn and the house feeling dark. Along the same lines as the bathroom shelf I mentioned recently, it didn't take that long to paint the window trim; I open the curtains constantly now and it feels so much brighter in here, not to mention the good feeling that comes with being able to show off more of the house rather than feeling like I have to hide it.

I have a gazillion sick days saved up that I'll lose at the end of my job, so instead of cramming doctor's appointments into lunch hours, I'm taking half-days (we can't take sick leave hourly) and using the remaining time to clean up the house or just take some me time. (I played a video game the other day. By myself. For as long as I wanted.)

My father-in-law has been sick, and since my in-laws watch the little one during the day, that left me without childcare today... which, by the way, also counts as a sick day. I spent today with my son in a totally different mindset than the last time -- what could this be like if it were an everyday thing? Would I make breakfast every day, or cook up extra sausage and muffins early in the week to reheat later? Oh look, I can look through a cook book and toss something in the crock pot to be ready for dinner with absolutely no rushing around after work! I can do laundry! I can wash dishes as I go, because I'm not hurried! Oh, and since my father-in-law is still sick, I get to learn even more about what it's like to stay home with my kid and take care of my house all over again tomorrow! And I can already see the bottom of the laundry hamper! Well, one of them.

I've been crocheting more, as I realized I'd stopped making fingerless gloves that I was making so many of for a while, simply because people stopped asking. And then I felt stressed out and trapped and like I needed to do something but didn't know what, until I figured out that, oh yeah, that whole crochet thing was totally my creative outlet. Now I'm figuring I can build up a stock and sell them at the hippie store around the corner, and/or craft shows, and/or on etsy, and bring in an extra few dollars occasionally (in case that few dollars makes a difference).

I realized that after saying so many times "I am so done with websites!" that this time, I am so done with websites! I don't ever have to do them again if I don't want to when this job ends. I love me some barter so I'll keep up the ones I love doing, or love what I'm getting in exchange, but I am done being a webmaster. I actually started giggling when I realized that. I'm free! Now it's all on my own terms.

Like my own. That domain name I bought a year ago for my would-be coaching business? The one I kept telling myself I really ought to build a website for? The coaching I kept telling myself I really ought to start building a clientele for? Now that I finally got my kick-in-the-butt from the Universe telling me, "Okay! I'm giving you all these things now! You figure out what to do with them!" it took me a week to build the website from the ground up. And I love it.

And here it is: Life Spiraling Forward

Please, take a peek, and you know anyone who you feel that would resonate with (including yourself!) please feel free to shamelessly promote me as much as you want! I even have a sweet "hey, my new website is up!" price special going on for the first five folks to sign up. And if I find out they came from you, you might get a present. Just sayin'.

I've been having conversations with the Universe about this house attracting its new owner this month, and after a long dry spell we've seen a huge increase in traffic, which is pretty rewarding and says to me that the Universe listens. So I'ma keep talkin'!

You know, I didn't used to be this way. I used to be a worrymonger (which I would occasionally worry about). This "new" way of being, the way of seeing opportunities, feels so much brighter. (And hey, if you'd like to learn to do the same thing, there's a link up there for a life coach...)

Thoughts as a medicine cabinet.

Our house has been up for sale for quite some time now, and though we really haven't had any activity recently, we've become restless with the state of limbo we've been in. Our new house, which belonged to my husband's late grandparents, is just sitting there waiting on us. We've put some work into it here and there -- refinished the hardwood floor we discovered under the living room carpet, started painting what will be Raiden's bedroom -- and have moved some of our extra stuff over in various spurts, but we have finally grown restless with the restlessness. We're moving there. For real.

Though at times it feels like this process is really dragging out (and, let's face it, after almost-three years, it really is) we're lucky, in a way, that we get to take our time with it. There's no mad flurry of WE HAVE TO PACK RIGHT NOW OR ELSE and that allows us a little space to really go through what we have while we're packing it. Keep; yard sale or donate; trash. We've had several moments of "I forgot that even existed" and "So that's where that went! How did it get in there?!"

The most significant for me, so far, came yesterday afternoon. Raiden had become a holy terror and it was very obvious that it was because he was tired (though he refused to admit this, of course), so after getting him down for a nap, which pretty much never happens anymore, Rich and I were able to get some packing done without having to 1) stop a million times to entertain a three year old, or 2) feel guilty ignoring our three year old. Rich took to the bedroom; I stationed myself in the bathroom.

My first stop: the medicine cabinet above the washer. Storage tub in front of me and trash can to my side, I started going through all the stuff we had piled in our bulging-at-the-seams cabinet, deciding what to keep at the house we're still living in, what to go ahead and take over to the other house, and what to get rid of entirely. My being a pseudo-hippie came in two-fold in this scenario: 1) I had at least a couple dozen bottles of Standard Process supplements in the cabinet that have been there for who knows how long and for who knows what purpose, and 2) this made me think. It occurred to me, especially after a recent conversation with my fabulous coach (her website, her blog), that it was an analogy for thoughts.

I had all this stuff stored in my cabinet and though I knew vaguely that it was there and that I wasn't using it, I hadn't taken the time before then to really look at what the stuff was, how it was serving me by staying in my cabinet, when I picked it up in the first place, when it outlived its usefulness, or if I would ever use it again.

What about thoughts? What thoughts do I have sitting in the back of my mind that I know are there but don't really pay any attention to? How can these thoughts be serving me (or even "serving" me by allowing me the freedom to stay stagnant when moving forward is scary)? Where did they come from? Do I still need them? Will I ever need them again? Could someone else I care about benefit from me keeping them around?

I recently discovered the power in letting a thought go and replacing it with another, and even the power in realizing I could let it go.

What was funny to realize while cleaning out my cabinet was that if something was full, I had a hard time throwing it away. It was taking up a lot of space and I knew I would never use it again, but the thought of getting rid of something that hadn't really been utilized still bothered me. It made me wonder what big, full, useless thoughts may be occupying my mind, keeping me from replacing them with something I felt better about.

---

Later in the adventures of bathroom tidying, we removed a shelf we had never liked. There had been a built-in cabinet when we first bought the house, and I don't remember when we removed it or why, but the section of wall behind where it had been was painted a different color than the rest of the wall. We even color-matched the paint and picked up a quart a while back, but never painted it. Instead, we got an ugly shelf and decided that hopefully the clutter on it would cover up the ugly wall. It was functional, but it's always bugged me.

After the shelf was out, the wall was painted and the new shelf was in, I wondered aloud, "Why didn't do do this when it was for us??"

One of my favorite questions on my new-coaching-client questionnaire is, "What are you tolerating?" I was reminded again that I ought to ask it of myself occasionally, too. And then move on it. It didn't take that long to move the shelf or paint the section of wall. There was no reason to let it sit there bothering me for however many months or years it has been that way, when an afternoon took care of fixing it.

What else am I tolerating? How much energy am I giving the annoyance it's causing me, compared to how much energy it would take to do something about it and then be happier with it?

---

So what about you? What's hanging out in your brain's medicine cabinet? What is your unpainted bathroom wall that you're hiding with clutter on an ugly shelf? And when will you do something to change it?

Routines.

I never meant to be a working mom. Still, I have dreams of being a stay/work at home mom if/when there's ever a child number two. But something occured to me this morning.

My mother-in-law, who watches my son during the day, is sick today. So am I - in fact, I'd already had serious thoughts of calling in sick today, even before she called in sick herself and solidified that decision for me. I laid in bed with the little one to help him sleep longer while I read a bit until he woke up, later than usual. And he immediately hurt my feelings, saying that he didn't want to spend the day with me, he wanted to spend the day with Mamo.

It had upset his routine. He's three. I get that.

We played a bit in bed before I was absolutely starving and got up to make breakfast. While I was cooking, after we ate, and in the rest of the day since, I realized that my routine has been upset as well.

That was a pretty startling realization, actually, because what it showed me was that, since taking care of my son, by myself, all day long, during a weekday, is not my routine, I'm really not sure how to do it. What do you do with a three year old all day long? I know how to parent in the two hours or so between getting home from work and getting him ready for bed, and I know how to parent on the weekends in the rush of getting chores caught up from the busy week preceding, but apparently, I realized, I have no idea how to be a stay at home mom for just a single day.

This is where the justifications kicked in, all the reasons that couldn't really be it and that today was an exception, not an indication of a lack of parenting skills.

I'm sick today, and it's harder to be an involved parent when your head aches, your chest tickles when you breathe, and your nose is stuffy and raw. Anyone's patience is thinner when they're not feeling well, so of course the constant sound that accompanies a verbose three year old is getting on my nerves; I wouldn't always want him to be quieter, it's just that I'm sick. I'm only extra busy with chores today because it's so rare to have time during the week to do any of them; I wouldn't be ignoring my kid(s) for chores every day if I were home with them every day.

This just isn't our routine.

And perhaps staying home with Mommy during the day wouldn't be such a novelty to him, either, if it were an everyday thing. Maybe he would want some space instead of taking advantage of the ability to have constant Mommy attention.

It just makes me wonder what kind of a relationship I would have with my son if things had worked out differently. It bothers me, as a mommy, to realize that taking care of my son is out of my routine.

Dont' get me on my soapbox about how America is the only civilized country whose mothers are ripped away from their babies at 6 weeks or 3 months after birth, because the productivity and the status quo and the almighty dollar are given more importance than family. Or the tangent soapbox about how 6-12 weeks of maternity leave don't really give American babies the chance to breastfeed for as long as the WHO recommends. Or the other tangent soapbox about my disappointment that it is normal in our society for someone else to be raising our children for us, save for the few hours after work and busy weekends. Or the seemingly-opposite soapbox about how parents aren't given realistic expectations as to what it will be like to take care of a new baby or raise a child, that they are told it should be happy all the time and they should be able to do it themselves when really, parenting can be very frustrating and the more help you can find, the better!

Because I have a lot of those soapboxes.

And a lot of them would just lead me back to being very sad at realizing that I really wasn't sure what to do with my son, for one whole day at home together, because it's outside of both our routines.

Medical impossibility.

I was digging through the cabinet last night, scrounging for something to eat, as I was feeling unusually picky last night when normally I couldn't care less, but that's really irrelevant. Raiden came in the kitchen with me and started looking through the cabinet as well. He saw the bear-shaped honey container and asked, "Is this for Weston?" (Mel's baby.) I told him no, that's for us.

"Daddy and me and you and me?"

I chuckled and said, yes, Daddy and me and you and me.

He thought it was silly that I repeated it that way and expanded it, something like, "Daddy and me and you and me and Daddy and you and Daddy and me and you and Daddy and me?"

I laughed and replied with something fairly similar.

He asked, "What about the rest of us."

I said, "That's all of us. You and me and Daddy."

He asked, "Can you get a baby in your tummy sometimes?" (He almost always says "sometimes" rather than "sometime.")

I asked something like, "You want me to, huh?" and he said that yes, he does, and that when he's older, he'll have a baby in his tummy. I told him that only girls can have babies in their tummies, so he'd have to help a girl get a baby in her tummy. AND THEN QUICKLY MODIFIED that only grown-up bodies can do that. Then I chuckled a little and told him to go tell Daddy what he'd asked me.

(As an aside: my son knows probably more than most 12 year olds are comfortable with about the whole Where Babies Come From process. He doesn't know the specifics, but he asks questions and I give him real, age-appropriate answers. Over several talks about this he knows that it takes a mommy and a daddy to make a baby, that the daddy helps put the baby in the mommy's tummy, that it's a different part of the tummy than where your food goes [which was clarified when he informed me that "When I was a little baby, I was in your tummy, and you ate me!"], and that then the baby has to grow until it's healthy enough to live outside of the mommy's tummy, and it comes out a special kind of baby door that only women have, and that babies are supposed to come through the door head-first, and when he was in my tummy, he turned around and had his feet at the door, so the doctors had to cut open my tummy to get him out instead. To this he said, "NO!!!" and I said, "Yeah, I wasn't thrilled about that either, kid.")

He ran in the living room excitedly and asked, "Daddy! Can you help Mommy get a baby in her tummy sometimes?" He smiled and asked him a few questions about if he'd like having a baby around, and if he wanted a boy baby or a girl baby. He said he wanted a boy, and Rich asked, "What if it's a girl?" Raiden said NO, he wants a boy. I yelled in and told him to explain that we don't get to choose, which I then heard him do, and he re-asked if it would be okay if it was a girl baby, and Raiden said yes, it was.

Several minutes later when I was back in the living room, having finished eaten the bowl of cereal I settled for as dinner, Raiden came to sit on my lap, and I asked him again if he'd like a little brother or sister, if he'd prefer a girl or a boy.

He replied *drumroll*:

"Can it be a robot?"

...

*laugh*

I told him that no, it couldn't be a robot, that humans grow human babies. He said, "NO!! Please please PLEEEEAAAASE can it be a robot?"

I said, "You want the baby to be a robot." It wasn't a question. It was an eyebrow-raised statement.

"Yes! Like THIS BIG!!" he said with his hands held high above his head.

I yelled into the kitchen, where the husband was foraging for grapes, that Raiden has now requested that the baby be a robot. "A BIG robot!" Raiden clarified.

We finally settled on: Okay, we'll try to grow you a robot brother, but, you know, no promises.