Get Smart

It becomes increasingly distressful to watch television coverage of the Democratic race for the party’s nomination. It becomes increasingly evident that America is home to some of the laziest and all together most vulnerable minds in the world. Why is it that we take more time in our daily lives to talk about what happened on Desperate Housewives than we do to discuss the positions of Clinton and Obama and McCain on health care, education, the war in Iraq, the economy, the rise in high school drop out rates, etc.?
Why is it that we allow the media, in its pursuit of ratings and advertising dollars to dictate what we hear and what is important to us? Because we love it.
We welcome it.
We allow it, and at the end of the day, we PAY FOR IT!
We are so much a part of the problem that we can no longer identify it. We are being force fed a steady diet of American Idol and The Office. We are being educated on major issues that affect our economy, our ability to educate our children, our ability to get health care, our ability to protect the air we breathe and the water we drink, by media outlets that deliver in sound bites.
We, the grown-ups who make the decisions on who holds office and sets policy and writes legislation by Cliff Notes. That may be giving too much credit to the level of detail we are actually getting. It is absurd, and what’s more…it is dangerous.
People will jump all over the relationship that Barrack Obama had with his former pastor and worry that it implies, by association that Obama is a racist. How many of us have been in church when our priest railed against homosexuals or divorced mothers and we sat silent in our pews ready to accept it and return the next Sunday to Mass? How many of us have been at cocktail parties in polite company and sat silent as a black joke or a Jewish joke was told? Are we homophobic or racist or anti-Semitic?

What about John McCain? He has used some of the most horrible language in the Halls of Congress and against his own wife. He is known for his horrible and explosive temper. Have we all at some point in our lives lashed out? Become so angry we were red faced? Or Hillary Clinton, what about her rumored ill temper or excruciatingly high standards and intolerance? Or her marriage to a man that people either love or hate?

All of these questions mean exactly NOTHING. They mean nothing if you are not able to tell me who you support or do not support because of their stance on issues that actually mean something. I don’t care if any of them go to church. I do care if they can identify the various ethnic and religious factions killing each other and our troops in Iraq. I care if they have a plan to fix our broken health care system and restore dignity to the elderly and the poor when they need medical care. I do care who has a plan to help us wean ourselves from our addiction to oil and demand, in fact LEGISLATE that Detroit produce cars that get higher fuel efficiency. I care who understands that foreign policy is a nuanced art and not a game of cowboys and Indians.

I want to hear about why John McCain thinks he can bring change and help get this country back on track if he is aligned with Bush and thinks that the country is in fine shape. I want to hear from Hillary why she thinks that her ties to Lobbyist money will not require her to appease them should she occupy the oval office. I want to hear from Barrack Obama that he has a real and executable plan to bring greater equality to the country and start by fixing our broken public school systems. I don’t care if they can bowl, or drink shots of bourbon. I don’t care if they are divorced, religious, vegetarian, or pretty. I don’t even care if I like them. If you had a choice between the very best surgeon whom you did not care for personally or the third best surgeon whom you really liked to perform surgery on your daughter, which candidate would you choose? Do you care if you like them and want to have them for dinner? Do you want the best person for the job or the person that you want to hang out with at the yearly Holiday party?

It is time to stop being lazy and start caring about who leads the largest economy, the most well armed military, and the most powerful nation in the history of the world and say who really gives a hang about American Idol? It is time to be grown-ups and read the whole book, not the cliff notes. Ask yourself why you should care if the next President can take the steps to avoid war, not seek it. Is the next President smart enough to bring industry back to our soil and employ Americans in their hometowns? Is the next President forward thinking enough to invest in solar and wind power and create an entirely new industry to develop and build the infrastructure we will need to use it? Ask yourself questions that matter, not questions that entertain.
I know who I am voting for, and I know who I hope to see in the White House. I hope that America will rise to the very important occasion of participating fully in the process which defines us-voting. We can not wear flag pins and put yellow ribbons on our cars because we love democracy and then refuse to take the time required to make sound and informed choices in our selection of such high offices. Being a patriot has nothing to do with slogans or buttons or even flags. Patriotism is about believing so strongly in our system that we force ourselves to consider all sides, all options, and all realities. Being an American is about understanding that our way of life is predicated on one thing and one thing only – our Constitution. The person who is sworn to uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States should be able to rely on an electorate that has taken, at the very least, the time to understand exactly what they are voting for and why.

The Wonderful World of Consumer behavior

I have not written in a long time which is okay because as far as I know – no one reads this but those forced to do so for fear of a pop-quiz. Those people would be my partner Janie, my sister and my mom. I think that is it. Yep.

We are getting up at 4:00 am to prepare for a 5:45 am flight to Disney with Ingrid and Sean. This is our first trip to the Magic world created by Mr. Walt. We have been receiving a ton of advice from friends and family and in some cases complete strangers. I think that going to Disney for the first time is a bit like being pregnant for the first time and everyone is just brimming with advice. Alas, I am not a planner and that really bums some people out. My husband is a planner and has our days charted and mapped. I go along for the ride. This is good for my children because if we were left to my devices we would be wandering around the park with our mouths open surprised and starving. Who knew that planning your meals at this place would be a project challenging enough for the Secretary of State. So, we have a “meal plan” and this is supposed to be better than anything ever – better than crack and no addiction.

I have clothes layed out, bags packed, documents prepared, money, tickets, sun block, camera – AND my Blackberry, cell phone and laptop. Well, what would a vacation be without my work? I ask you how can I possibly survive without email and phone from the command center of marketing consulting and media buying? There are Ads to be sold and contracts to be signed.

I am very much looking forward to the 80 degree days as we here in southeastern North Carolina have been struggling through these 60-75 degree days for this very long winter. I do not dig cold weather. I do not like rain, even though we really need it and that Govoner in Georgia and his good wife have been praying for rain every day for 6 months or better. I wonder if that explains all this wet stuff? I am excited to see my children light up with excitement and wonder. I never went as a child so this is a pretty cool experience for Adam and I to do this for them.

I will say hello to Mickey for y’all and no we are not doing a character meal. Sorry. I just did not want to do that, I may change my mind.

You Know it's True

Ingrid is still sick. She feels like dirt, in fact she mentioned that she feels like a cow's butt smells. I did not make that up. But she did tell me this:

Me: How are you feeling?

Ingrid: Not good.

Me: Can I do anything?

Ingrid: My nose, my nose!

Me: Yeah honey, your nose is running.

Ingrid: It's running fast! I can't catch it.

Me: Ya know what, you are absolutely right.

Ingrid: I know, but that doesn't help me.

She is a smart cookie.

Homesick

It is a rainy, grey, blustery, yucky day. I don’t like it, not one little bit. I have a hard enough time making it through the winter but rain and gloom make it all the more difficult. I am feeling melancholy as it is. Sean is sleeping over at his friend’s house tonight, and although I am thrilled for him (let’s see if he makes it) I am sad because I will miss him. I always miss my kids, even when they are in the next room. I remember when I came home from the hospital with Ingrid and I was in pretty good pain for the first couple of days. She was a good baby and I loved her instantly. I could hear Adam and Sean in the living room, Sean was a little more than two. They were singing Bob the Builder songs and wearing bandanas on their heads, and dancing. I sat in bed nursing Ingrid and I cried and cried. I felt guilty and sad and mean and just horrible. I felt like I had injured my son by daring to produce another off-spring. How could I of all people bring anyone that would squarely compete with him for attention, food, and college funds into the world? What the hell was I thinking?

It was irrational, and it was scary and I was depressed. I think that the reason I was depressed after I delivered both of my children was due in large part to the very large ass and stomach I had acquired during my pregnancy. Jesus, could anyone have told me that the #3 with Sprite was an express train to a size 14? Anyway, it was awful. The best description I have ever heard to describe missing your child or children is “homesick.” We all know what that feels like. It is crippling and achy. It makes you weepy and tender, it brings you to your knees with wanting. That is how I feel when I miss my kids.

Watching these little steps that he is taking and those that Ingrid is taking make me proud and fearful. I am sure that I understood that motherhood would be filled with emotional car chases and that everyday would be a challenge and a triumph, but I don’t think that I ever could comprehend just how much of my home would live in them.

Ingrid is home sick today with me and with the germs that I so generously shared with her. She is in our bed right now and Adam is reading to her. She has bright pink cheeks and eyes that look like she just left a Frat House party, but she is so happy. She is in comfy clothes and she has her Dad, and his attention, his voice and his love. I am in here writing and working and trying to tie up my day. I can hear them, only faintly, and I am again over come by the guilt of being bedridden with my work load, sequestered with my projects. Work deadlines, like babies require your complete attention. I miss her, and if feels like the day that I was missing Sean and listening to him sing Bob the Builder songs with his Dad. I guess that I will always miss my kids if I want to raise them to be their own people. I will always miss my kids if I want them to be self sufficient and secure. I will miss my kids because I don’t want them to live in my basement and make their friends on-line.

The Next Generation of Men

I have often wondered if the ability to deal with children is intrinsic in women and a learned skill for men, because by all observable evidence it is. I think that it is similar to the chain reaction vomit syndrome; I throw up when I have to witness anyone but one of my children throwing up. It is some sort of internal primal mechanism that allows us to care for our sick young with out barfing on their heads.But when it comes to continuous screaming and crying, kicking and writhing, it takes a creature with ovaries to manage the chaos. Women react and respond to outrageous behavior differently than men, and it is not only in matters of unruly children. Women react differently when they encounter road rage, rude people in the grocery line, unexpected home repair issues, etc. Once you roll all of these issues into a category and determine one's ability or lack thereof to deal with them, it is a matter of coping mechanisms--and women have them.It is not meant to suggest that women possess a superiority over men in a general sense, it is merely pointed out here to illustrate what I believe to be a very important skill to teach our young sons, and a behavior or talent to foster in our daughters. Any mother raising a son(s) and a daughter(s) can attest, they are hard-wired differently at birth, and anyone who is married can attest that those differences become more pronounced with age.I am not offering clear advice here on how to teach this skill to boys, because I do not know myself how to go about doing it. I only attempt to encourage my son to take his time, to take a deep breath, and to remember that the calamity, no matter how great, can be dealt with. There is always a huge eruption when a piece of Lego goes missing, especially a Lego piece that is part of a Star Wars Clone Battle Fighter (seriously, I know this shit now), and if the matter is not taken seriously and met with complete urgency on my part there will be tears. Wailing. Gnashing of teeth, locusts, perhaps floods. The Universe hates missing Legos. His reaction always seems to me to be so totally overblown, and although my daughter is extremely dramatic (she is four and it is what four year old girls do), her reaction to a similar challenge is never panicked.I think that at the core of this for my son is that his primary reaction is believing that the situation is hopeless and therefore the only thing to do is panic. What can be done? How will I survive? Instead of realizing that the black piece of plastic that he had in his hand and in his sights 20 seconds prior did not grow legs and walk away. There is no measure of time between 1) Where did I put that? And 2) Holy Shit it is gone, gone, gone forever! There is the tipping point. Male humans do not have a pause. They do not stop, adjust, recalculate, and begin. Can we teach that?I hope so, I am trying. Women live their whole lives utilizing this process. Stop – I got my period. Adjust – these jeans will not zip today and I must select something else to wear. Recalculate – I think that this “Mamas and Papas” style house dress looks pretty. Begin – I can wear this to the party and everyone will think I am being “hip”. Coping leads to recovery.I do not think that there is a magic bullet, I know there is no one way to teach the process of challenge recovery to our boys, but there are multiple ways to teach them. I firmly 100% agree with the much celebrated comments made by Sally Field when she accepted her Emmy award: “If mothers ran the world, there would be no goddamned wars.” Because women know how to pause. Can we teach this to our sons? Can we all make a vow to at least try? What if that simple skill alone could become part of the one wish we all have – World Peace?This is a grand over simplification on my part, but we are growing human beings here--which is no small task. We are helping to create the leaders of tomorrow, men and women. I say let's help them embrace the differences and value the skill sets they hold in common and value and endeavor to learn the skills that they do not. What a wonderful generation that would be.

A Little Black Rain Cloud

It is a cold, wet, dreary day. If I were Winnie-the-Pooh I would call it a blustery day, and follow-up a ha-rumph with a little smile. If I were Pooh Bear I would go visit Piglett and then pay a visit to Rabbit in search of something sweet. If I were Pooh, I might just think myself out of this little dark rain cloud that has been following me about all afternoon. Ah, alas where is A.A Milne when you need him to write you up a dose of “better?”

Instead, I will go and crawl into bed with my kids and maybe even Adam and watch a movie and eat some popcorn and feel better for having changed into comfy clothes. I will put butter on the popcorn because I think that I earned it – which is silly, but oh well. I will fall asleep surrounded my children and feel better for having allowed them to sleep in our bed. I will dream of things and places that involve people I love and a little sunshine, and I hope that tomorrow I will wake up as Pooh Bear and not Eyore.

Calling Don King!!

Okay, so Jane and I were on The Big Idea with Donny Deutsch last week, and for those of you who missed it! I am trying to get the video for the site, because I know that you want nothing more that to watch Jane and me sitting there staring at Don King and smiling and thinking….wait, what does boxing have to do with t-shirts? What is he saying and why is he yelling at Donny Deutsch? Are they totally going to throw down? And looking to Carson for a little support but he was staring too…and I don’t think he could take Don King. It was sort of like being a little drunk and not knowing if you are making an idiot of yourself at the party trying to sound not a little drunk and not a little stupid.

But I will tell you that if you watch for no other reason than to get a gander of the make-up that we have on…….I will understand.

Carson Kressley was so funny I thought, wow, there really is a difference between FUNNY people and funny people. He is FUNNY. He is also really nice and amazingly authentic for a celebrity. Not that I have met a lot of celebrities, but the two that I have met…hands down Carson wins the real human award. He also wears fabulous clothes and looked very fresh and clean and spanky.

Donny Deutsch was great to us and he really seemed to care about making us and our product look good. He was supportive and encouraging and everything one could hope for in a good looking rich uncle! He is not my uncle, and he is not Jane’s uncle either. I am just saying that he is a good representation of what I would personally want in a good looking rich uncle.

Then there were all of the really cool people that we met in the green room. The green room was not however, green.
Everyone was nice and acted like we totally belonged there, and that our t-shirts were the best thing since TiVO or microwave popcorn. It was fun and exciting and I can’t wait to do it again. So if anyone is reading this and they want us on their television show, we are available.

Back to calling Don King. I am going to call Don King. He gave us his personal business card. He told us to call. I am going to call and remind him that he said to let him know if he could do anything for us, and I can think of a lot of things that he could do for us, so I am going to call him – tomorrow.

I sent an email to Caron’s PR person, who was lovely and said that we should contact her. We also found out today that a really great, fabulous and all together wonderful shop here in town is going to carry our shirts!

But, Don King. I am calling Don King………..but does anyone know if his guy won the fight?

Life 101

It is the small lessons in life that require our complete attention, and not the huge, wailing issues that are our greatest teachers. I find lately that I am much more dialed in to the subtle prerequisites for my life as a mother that are proving the greatest tests of my aptitude for the job.

I often fail.

But, sometimes I pass. Being patient is not one of my strengths. This proves to serve me well in a career as a sales person, however not so much in my post as a mother.

My daughter is five, going on Hannah Montana. She is filled with snappy answers, piss and vinegar, self confidence and outright defiance. She makes me so proud! I am learning from her that getting the answer I want is not always the answer that I need. I am learning from her that listening is a far more important part of communication than speaking. I am learning from her that she may be incorrect, but she is not wrong.

I am learning from her that in order to teach her the grace necessary to be a good looser, or to admit being incorrect, I have to allow myself to be human and make mistakes. I am learning that once I detach my ego from an issue I am a much better detective in my search for a solution.

These are not easy lessons and they can be subtle and easily missed. If I am patient however, if I listen, if I make it about the issue and not about me…..I am finding myself worthy of at least a B+ in this course. Yeah!

Getting caught up.....

Okay, I know that this is a blog from a mother, but let’s face it, I write about a lot of topics, not just parenting. I came across this beautifully composed piece of Hysterical Snack Food on You Tube. I must admit that I was searching to see if our time with Don King and Carson Kressley last night on The Big Idea with Donny Deutsch had made it on yet.Like Alice down the rabbit hole, following the addictive path on which You Tube thrives, I found it. There are few things in this world that bring me more pleasure than making fun of Ann Coulter, so I thought that I would share it with all of you!

As soon as I recover from having spent 8 hours in airports and getting 4 hours of sleep I will write about our day in New Jersey at the CNBC studio. It was fun and exciting and wonderful. I am afraid that on my limited intellectual capacity from delays due to snow, and the delays due to mechanical difficulties, and the delays due to “this is travel in these United States, welcome aboard!” that I would forget some of it. So I shall endeavor to share that with you tomorrow.

What do you want to be remembered for?

What do you want to be remembered for?

Yesterday I took my daughter to a birthday party for a little girl in her class. As is my practice, when I attend any event that includes a good number of mothers, I wear a Mamaisms Gear shirt. I should, right? Our intention is to honor and promote the collective, generational wisdom of mothers to mothers and the world. (here endith my mantra). So, I wore my “watch your mouth” shirt. It seemed apropos for the gathering of 5 year olds.

There is a weird disconnect between the other mothers and myself sometime only because not only do I work, but because my husband is a stay at home dad, they have a much more consistent experience with him at school functions. I know a few of them and have had the pleasure of becoming friends with a some, a woman from Boston being on of my most favorite people I have met in a long time. We were all standing around yesterday chatting and laughing and I realized how incredibly lucky I am to be a part of this day, this moment and this period in my life and the life of my daughter. These are great women, really great, solid human beings and I can only hope that Ingrid has an opportunity through the years that she spends with their children to get to know them.

While we are talking, one of the women tells me that she likes my shirt and asks me where I got it. So, I tell her that it is my (along with partners) company and that we have a website and that we hope to get them into some local shops soon. She loves it and then tells one of the other women there about what we do. So we are talking about the shirt and the site and the company and I tell her that we work with the Child Advocacy Commission and that 5% of our profits go directly to them. She stares at me and says; “I am on the board of the CAC, oh my God! You are that company! We just got a memo about you all last week.” She actually had tears in her eyes as she told me about her work there and how she chairs the yearly Gala Fundraiser and Auction. She told me all about how before the planning starts for the Gala every year and they set their goals they talk about what services and programs will be cut if they do not hit those benchmarks. The services and programs that affect the lives of women and children every day of the year. For some women and their children the CAC is the only hope that they have to fix their lives, address their fears, find safety, and embrace the promise of a better tomorrow.

We talked more about her work, her husband’s work at the sister organization the Parenting Place, and their dedication to volunteering in the community and helping those who need it. I felt so incredibly fortunate to be having the conversation and grateful for the opportunity to get to know her. I realized that she, just like me, believes that one person’s dedication and the collective responsibility of a community can change the world, because even if you only help one child, you have absolutely impacted the world.

We talked about letting go of the compulsion to keep your home perfect and your floors spotless and the freedom that comes with concentrating on what is important, because as she put it; “do you want to be remembered for a clean house?” is that what you want people to miss about you? Your gleaming hardwood floors? Really?

How do you want to be remembered? This is a question that I will ask myself every day from now on, because I don’t want to be remembered for a clean house, or a perfect body, or even a great sense of style. I want to be remembered for the time I gave away, the love and the help I accepted, the affection and the respect I gave to those I love, and the mother, wife and friend I strive to be. I want to be remembered as someone who let go of the little stuff, and laughed at her own foibles. I want to be remembered as someone who asked herself that question and did her best to use her life as a means of answering it.

Women and the XX Model

As a working mother and a wife I am often asked ‘how I do it’, and I suspect that most every women out there whether she works outside of the home or not is asked the same question on a regular basis. I offer two answers; 1) because I have to, and 2) because I can. Not only am I able, I have the opportunity.

Women multi-task as a matter of instinct, we are solution seekers by way of survival, we are negotiators, and nurturers, we are the most natural net-workers in existence. All of our hard wired female mechanics are designed to problem solve. To take care of multiple issues as once. If you have ever seen a mother in a grocery store managing multiple children, or for some, one is more than enough to provide evidence, then you know what I am writing about. Women are far better at letting go of ego for the greater good, again, see real life illustration – any labor and delivery room in America.

Women think differently than men. We process information in a different way, we listen in a different way, we understand in a different way because we as women ALWAYS look for common ground. We seek out the “how we are alike” and not the “how we are different.” You can take women from any culture, socio-economic class, or religion and find 900 ways in which they are different, but they will always find common ground in their children and in their being female.

Women are resilient. We bounce back better and faster, we think on our feet. Women seek the advice of others for everything from serious issues, to medical questions, to suggestions for gifts. We LOOK OUTSIDE OF OURSELVES FOR THE KNOWLEDGE AND INFORMATION THAT WE DO NOT OURSELVES POSSESS. This is a key to why women are good at managing and multi-tasking. We understand that the collective efforts of a well organized group with a strong leader are far more effective than the single stoic monarch.

This has brought me to the recent and challenging conversation I have had with myself.

I am thinking a lot lately about the idea of change as it has become a movement unto itself in the upcoming elections. This is very, very good news to me because clearly our continuation of the same mentality, direction, and leadership is no longer working. What does this demand for real change mean, and what does change mean really?

It may come when for the first time we are able to vote for a person who checks another box. We are able for the first time to vote for and elect a person who checks the box marked ‘F’. The United States of America has been under the leadership of and in the hands of white men for over 220 years. What is change?

We have been advised by and managed by men in almost every major leadership position for over 200 years with the exceptions of a few Secretaries of State in Albright and Rice, and now Pelosi in the Senate. These are all huge accomplishments when you consider the fact that women were only “given” the right to vote in 1920 (across the country after the hundred year battle through the states).

Change is going to have to come through a change in perspective and that change will only arrive through a new prisim and that prisim is available in one model – the XX chromosome. I have been an Edwards supporter since this battle began, but I am going to change my vote. I am going to vote for Hillary because I want a new perspective. I want a multi-tasker who will seek solutions. I want a person who will find similarities rather than determine differences; I want a person who will embrace the power of collective wisdom and the journey that is required when creating something of value; a person who understands that all issues have multiple sides, and that all problems have more than one solution. I want a leader who will think before taking action and will weigh loss of life, all life, not just American life, as a critical variable in any decision. I want a leader who is strong and passionate, real and human, compassionate and empathetic, and a representative of the greater good.

Why am I voting for Hillary Clinton? I offer two answers; 1) because I have to, and 2) because I can. Not only am I able, I have the opportunity.

A tough choice I am so happy to have

Today I find myself in the unique and unfamiliar position of thinking about which ground breaking position I want to take in the upcoming primary election. I am torn and struggling and it is really becoming an important issue in my life.
Do I support the man who I think finally brings a real dialogue to the forefront of American politics about poverty? Do I stand with and behind the first woman to ever present a real opportunity for the female intellect to be present in the American political reality? Do I stand with the man who evokes feelings and emotions rooted in my need to bring equality to the world by voting and protesting, by marching and writing? Who do I support and how do I decide which of these people deserve my vote?

My husband, a (thankfully) die hard liberal and progressive discuss this on a daily basis. I have been squarely behind Edwards since the campaigns started, but Adam has been unable to decide who he wants to support. He is committed to the process, committed to the candidates and committed to getting a democrat back in the white house. But, really it is like trying to decide between rocky road and mint choc chip. You like both and the day and time and what you ate before will dictate the choice.

What did I eat before I voted? What will my breakfast have to do with my vote in March? Did I eat a big plate of Gloria Steinem or a fat milkshake of MLK Jr? Did I listen to a little Arlo Guthrie on the way to the polling place or Patti Smith? Was I reading Silvia Plath or Alice
Walker? Do I want to be a woman supporting a woman or a liberal progressive supporting a black man? Should I be a bleeding heart fiercely attached to Edwards for his personal understanding of poverty and his first hand understanding of what it takes to be a self made man? And what of his wife? His brave, cancer ridden beautiful wife?

I write this tonight after a long day of meetings, on the road, in the chill of Chicago making sales calls. I am tired and curious. I am challenged and strident. I am pissed off and resolved. I am a democrat breathing deep for the first time in years, proud and confident that our time has come and our day is near. Confident and biased that our world will soon be safer and our country will be healed.

I don’t know who I will vote for on the day I am tasked with the choice, but I do know this, I would much rather struggle to select from three brilliant, strong and visionary leaders than to have to choose from a field of people I do not believe in, and can not rely on.

It is a new day and I am so very happy to be considering my choices of a black man, a woman and a self made southern gentleman. I have never been so god damned happy about an election in my life.

Thinking too much about thinking too much.

Whenever I drink coffee or tea at night I wake up at 4:30 in the morning and I lay in bed sandwiched between my two children (another post, another day) and I think about everything that I need to do to keep my shit together and keep going. I have to get marketing copy written for the t-shirt company, I have to write up an agenda for the meeting I have in Chicago next week, I have to get the insertion orders back from three clients and find out why I still have not heard back from two big advertisers for their Q1 campaigns. It is the never ending stream of consciousness that is my brain.

I am trying to figure out the best way to get our shirts into the hands of and onto the backs of mothers and women in general. Because I am one of the working mothers that I am trying to reach, I realize just what an elusive bunch we are. We read magazines, and use the internet for information about the products we buy and the organizations we support. We are as diverse as it gets, and yet the one thing that we have in common – our children, can be enough to bring us all together.

The goal of our shirts and the messages that they carry is just that – all of the things that make me different from a conservative, home schooling mother in Nebraska are diminished when we embrace the fact that we all want the same basic things for our children.
We want them to be happy, successful, healthy, loved, secure, smart, fulfilled, etc. We all have very different ideas of what those qualities are and how they are manifest in our day to day lives, but at the end of the day, we all love our kids.

And, one of the most fundamental of our ideas, that we all love our kids, is completely indifferent to social status, economic status, ethnicity, religion, or location. That is a truism that is all too often over looked or taken for granted, and we become convinced that we, as a nation or a population, love our children more than a mother in Sudan, or in Iraq. It is simply not true, and my question here is; what would the world be like if we accepted that mothers everywhere love their kids, and if we embraced the fact that human lives are valuable and matter regardless of what language you speak or what god you worship? This is the question that we should force ourselves to answer and the one that we should demand our leaders consider as they sit around huge cherry wood tables and play RISK with our lives and the lives of our children.

Okay, so this is what happens when I think too much about thinking too much. I decided that I would no longer wait to come up with a really tight bit of copy for my blog, and rather just try to get into the habit of writing every day and see how that works out. Stay tuned….

The Scent of your Life

I always knew that her perfume would be on me for hours
and I always regretted when it finally drifted away, but the cigarette smoke never did.
Not until I showered.

I always knew that she would hug me so tight that her little arms had to strain to keep me in their circle
and I always waited for the jingle of her charm bracelet to signal my release.
A release that I never really wanted.

I always think about how her voice, and her touch, her love and her admiration were enough to bring me back from any edge,
from any doubt, from any reason to not believe.

Her ability to identify the obvious, with out annoying,
To state the truth without injury,
And to bring it all home in one statement;
“blood is thicker than water, baby, and don’t you ever forget it.”
She didn’t say “baby” in a soft or endearing way, but more in the way that a little Italian woman should say it
Just before
She sucks her teeth. “blood is thicker than water, baby….” It is.

Then one day, she said; “love is thicker than water baby.” Love.

There is nothing that my grandmother has ever done with more perfection than love me, and nothing that she has done with less perfection than to love herself. It was the pouring out, not the gathering in that filled her heart.

Love is thicker than water, and it is thicker than red sauce. It is thicker than hate and it is thicker than smoke. It is thicker than time and
It is thicker than Vodka. Love is the thick remembrance of days past and sweet smells that become your memory of who you are.

Blood is thick indeed when it is the love of a little Italian woman you share it with.