Place. My Anxiety with Old Stories in Plastic

As I mentioned yesterday, I’ve just started searching for all of my old blog posts. I know when I moved from wordpress over to my own hosted domain, that I backed everything up. I think I’ve found that file, but I have no idea how to import old posts or what that could/would/should look like. I JUST found that many of the posts I remember are still here, which I’m so over the moon about!

This is such an odd feeling. But I feel like I’ve just found a chest of old love letters that had been forgotten about. Words and stories that I once poured over 10 years ago, when my kids were Littles. I keep finding files that are filled with pictures of these tiny humans that I adore sitting on an old park bench behind a funny thing they used to say or do.

I’m so very thankful that these exist or they might have been forgotten forever. But I’m sad that I left them all like I did. Shouldn’t they have been protected? Placed in a special spot, wrapped in plastic like my Grandmother’s couch or the little runway paths she had to cover high traffic carpet areas?

I’m feeling a bit melancholy (pronounced like Will Ferrell says it in MegaMind though, with the emphasis on the wrong syllables–that’s the only way I can ever hear that word, ever.) I miss those stories. I miss those times to capture those strings of words. I miss all of the stories that I didn’t write down. I stopped writing and share some because the kids got older and I didn’t think it was fair to them to share my thoughts on their stories without getting their permission first.

I think most of all, I just miss those tiny humans. The ones that loved their momma so big and had to be tucked in at night and didn’t have phones and wanted to cuddle with me on the couch. Now they are big, busy, distracted, and while I’m sure they still love their Momma, it might not feel quite as big at the moment. One is away at school and calls me to tell me all the ways that her world is hard and complicated. Trust me, I’m here for every single bit of it, with an empathetic ear and little tragic optimism. And the other one tesll me when he needs some lunch money and who is coming to pick him up to take him to practice and can he please practice drive to the mall? And again, I’m here for that and just happy that I get more than one word in a text.

I’m also worried about the missing stories. The ones I haven’t found yet. The ones that are maybe lost in the ether somewhere when that domain went away and I stopped paying for the hosting. Where are those stories? What if I forget them forever?

I need to do something with the found ones. Save them. Print them. Publish them as a book of short stories. Maybe a cautionary tale to other Mommas to remind them to tell their stories, write them down. Put them in a safe place.

Maybe even In plastic.

(And thanks Peppers for the sweet Welcome Backs that I’ve gotten! Y’all are sweet!)

Track. Back On It.

Recently, I started taking a hot yoga class. I love all things beach and sauna and hot and sweaty like that, so this is so up my alley. The poses are challenging for me at times, but I love the spirit of the room. Everything about it feels encouraging. The space. The music. The too adorable yogi instructor. Even if I can’t hold my pigeon or tree pose, I still feel motivated to keep trying.

Every now and then I check my reflection in the mirror and I’m kind of surprised. I feel like I look much different than I actually do. In my mind, I’m all lean and tall and willowy and flowy, because that’s how yoga seems to make me feel. But my reflection gives off a different vibe. It looks short and full and stiff and struggle-y. So, I choose not to look at the mirror very often…because I love the way I feel in my mind’s eye yoga.

The times that I do look in the mirror, I am always drawn to a woman near the front of the room. She wears a purple headband and she is always smiling. Smiling. Like her resting face expression is just this simple pleasant little grin. I don’t know how she does that through the pigeon but she does. Smiling. Like she knows a secret but she’s not telling. And I think I love her and her face. I’ve decided. I want to be like the purple hot yoga lady when I grow up.

Once upon a time, I started my own blog. It was a simple thing. Full of verbs and action stories, documenting my simple life with its big stories and reflections. It was a big leap of vulnerability but I was embraced by a community of other writers doing their thing, with their words, on their pages. And it was a good thing.

Somewhere along the way, I got distracted. And the blog became something else and I got lured in by numbers and awards and thoughts of hey, maybe this can be something else, something bigger. And maybe it could have been, but along that path, it got complicated. And I found myself in a land of overthinking and trying to understand hosting and domain registrations. Words like Google ads and monetizing would keep me up at night, make my stomach hurt and kept me from the verbs and the nouns that I had come to love so much. And more importantly, I lost the connection to the one thing that had drawn me in here: connection.

So. Thanks to one of my wanna be BFFs, Danielle LaPorte, I recently made my way back to her Desire Map book and reconnected with my core desired feelings: Connection. Purpose. Presence. (Thanks Danielle–anytime you want to meet for some coffee or tea, I’m so there for you, babe.)

And I realized that I just miss writing. I miss stringing words together and seeing how they land on the page. I miss reading other people’s writing and being able to comment and say Hello and connect with their stories and lives. I miss writing for the sheer act of writing. To tell a story. To document a fleeting thought. To question. To reflect. I lost my purpose for MommyVerbs, which is so silly, because it was always right there in the tagline. Engage each day with action words, to make good things happen. Purpose.

So, I’m trying to make my way back. Back to MommyVerbs. Back to writing. Back to Connection. Purpose. And being Present in the act of putting words to paper/screen.

The other site still lives over at MommyVerbs.com because I do seem to own that internet real estate space until 2019. Even though it overwhelms me and has never really felt like home. There are words stored there and I can’t quite pack them up just yet. But for now, I’m going to dust off these shelves and pull in a chair and a comfy fuzzy blanket and settle in for a bit. See what happens. See who still lives in the neighborhood. Invite them over for some cookies and a glass of wine. And Reconnect. Repurpose. Re-presence. (That’s not a word, I used to do that all the time in this space…play and make up new words. It’s what I do here, clearly.)

756 words to say very little other than to make a declaration of sorts. I’m going to be the equivalent of the purple hot yoga lady on a blog. I’m just going to smile through it all. I don’t even remember completely how this all works. So, I will apologize if some of you receive an email or your readers ding you to check in. Just imagine me smiling though my pigeon pose, which they tell me opens up my hips–I’ll take their word for it.

Just over here smiling, seeking connection. Writing for a more authentic purpose. And trying to be present, here, now, to make good things happen.

Let’s all Go, Do that.

 

Collect. — Calling All Signature ‘TagLines’

Last year,  I decided to change my personal signature line.  You know what I’m talking about. The way we sign our letters, notes, emails. I have been a closet collector of others’ ‘tag lines’ over the past year or so.

“Peace and Cheers”
“Love and Light”

I adopted the phrase, “Enjoy the Day” and tried to make it mine. Take care and Enjoy the day. Thanks and Enjoy the day. The idea was to bring focus to really enjoying each and every day. There’s nothing wrong wth that. Let’s really be intentional about finding times in our days to enjoy. Have fun with. Notice. Pay attention.

But then I discovered that it wasn’t enough.

In my professional life, I am constantly talking to folks about actively engaging students in their learning. Whoever does the most work, learns the most. Students have to be actively engaged in their own learning in order to get the most out of it. I swear I say that every day.

And I decided that was what I want to do each day. I don’t want to just enjoy the day. I want to engage it. I want to engage with it. I want to get dirty and make a mess with it. I want to mess up and make it right. I want to pay attention, but actively give attention to it. I want to be an active participant with each day. I want to notice it, but also make a note of it.

I’m here to do the work. I want to learn the most. So for the past year,  I have been using the line:

Engage the Day.

But again…it is time for a change. 

With a new year comes a new tagline. A new focus. A few new goals.

My experiences recently trying to help organize The Giving Tree Food Pantry Angel Tree have taught me some very important lessons.

Lessons about faith.

Lessons about hope.

Lessons about believing.

Lessons about doubt.

Lessons about needs and wants.

Lessons about enough.

Lessons about action.

Lessons about being still.

Lessons about what is important.

Lessons about what is not.

So, I’m playing around with finding a new personal signature line for 2014:

Faith. Hope. Fishes and Loaves.

What do you think?

I know. I know. They are not verbs. But they might as well be.

I figure it might raise a few eyebrows, maybe a few questions. Either way, should be a fun conversation starter of sorts.

So. Now I’m coming out of the collecting closet and I want to know…

What is your signature tag line and why did you choose that? What does it mean to you? What’s the story behind it?

Send me a message or leave a comment and I’ll put together a post, tagging you of course, to share and inspire others!

Happy Taglining!

Faith. Hope. Fishes and Loaves.

MommyVerbs

Haiku. — It’s a Verb Now… A Thing I Do.

The Daily Post’s Weekly Writing Challenge: Haiku Catchoo

When I’m out of time

and it is almost midnight

and there’s been no post…

It’s time to Haiku.

Haiku is now an action.

I verbified it.

Afraid to Haiku?

Nonsense. You can do it, too.

You just need a pen.

And a free hand to

count syllables as you write.

Five. Seven. And five.

Never mind rhyme, just

count the syllables and string

your words together

To tell your story.

But you have to be concise.

And use words to … move.

If you are writing,

then it all counts toward your

… NaBloPoMo goals.

Question. — A Prompt to the Rescue!

I have now officially been daily-blogging for 38 days straight. 38 days. I have 3 days left to meet my self-imposed countdown to my birthday.

NaBloPoMo says that I have 10 more days.

We’ll see, NaBloPoMo , … we’ll see.

So, it is 9:50 p.m. after a long, long day AND after just reading a work-related email that just raised my blood pressure by many points and annoyed me to no end.

But, I’m not one that quits easily, so I went to the record store WordPress Reader to check in on my friends. (Name the movie reference in the comments. Random, meaningless points and my endearing movie quote adoration goes to the readers with the correct answers!)

Thankfully, PhrogMom’s Weblog was there for me, to the rescue, with a link to Suzie81’s Blog and her challenge to answer a few questions.

With the clock ticking, knowing that this deadline is looming and being so close to this finish line…

I’ll take it. Thanks to both PhrogMom’s Weblog and Suzi81’s Blog for the inspiration tonight…and saving my bloggy arse at the last minute!

1. Why have you chosen your blog name?

I have always loved action words. Verbs are my favorite. I wanted a name that would help me keep my writing focused on engaging in action words every day. I’m a Mom and knew that most or many of my stories would be about this parenting journey. So, MommyVerbs was born.

2. When you have an hour of free-time, what do you do?

I write.

3. If you could choose to stay a certain age forever, what would it be?

I’m completely cool with where I am right now, counting down to 41. Bring it.

4. If you could learn to do something, what would it be?

I would love to learn to play the guitar. I regret not learning to play a musical instrument. What an absolute gift it is to be able to make your own music whenever you want it. This is why I am pushing piano lessons on the kiddos…trying to convince them that they want to do this!

5. What would be the first thing you would buy if you won the lottery?

Plane tickets. For four. For lots of places.

6. What is the thing that makes you absolutely unique?

I am me. First child. Type A. People pleaser. Daughter. Sister. Wife. Mother. Teacher. Writer. Entrepreneur-wanna be. Book tour ready. Oh. Not unique?

Well then, here’s something else. I have become more and more claustrophobic as I have gotten older, but I love to have really heavy blankets on me at night. I feel like I sleep better if the blankets are ‘pushing me down’ at night. I think it is also a subconscious way to decompress and wind down after multi-tasky spinning all day long.

7. What is your favorite blog?

I don’t know that I have a favorite favorite….but I am thankful to many new blogger friends here in WordPressland: Rarasaur, Jenn’s Midlife Crisis, BonneVivanteLife, Lead Our Lives, who have made me feel so at home ever since I arrived. And I love and admire the work of Finding Joy and Momastery and I Want A Dumpster Baby and so many others…I could go on and on…and on.

So there it is. #38. In the books. A few questions answered.

It’s late. Call it done. As it is. Done.

Let’s all, Go. Do that.

Complicate. — Thanks a Lot Windows 8.1

When I was a kid … and sleepover-slumber-party-try-to-meet-up-and-play-together plans with my friends were getting out of hand, I remember my Mom would always say,

“When it is this complicated, it’s not meant to be.”

Ugh. I hated to hear that. Because it meant that I wasn’t going to be able to do the thing that would totally be a ton of fun if only the 17 steps worked out just perfectly.

And because it meant that she was right.

When things are unnecessarily overwhelming,

maybe it is not meant to be.

Like tonight. I am tired. It is 11:05 p.m. I just had to restart my computer because it selfishly wanted to get the new Windows 8.1 update which was promised to take only a few minutes and I could keep working. But in reality, it took what felt like 17 years and now my eyes are too tired for me to write anything.

Like the holidays. Work schedules and travel plans and photo opps and seating placement and hotel reservations and dinner menus and shopping lists.

When things get complicated, we may just need to simplify.

Let’s all, Go. Do that.

Mark. — How will you remember?

As a social studies educator, I have always been fascinated by the intricacies and complexities of public memory.

It is the art and science of remembering.

Remembering and honoring a place. Or a person. Or an event.

Our land is full of monuments and statues and signs. All of these are a mark.

A mark that is thoughtful and intentional and sometimes even political. But ultimately it serves as a way of remembering.

A unique way of marking time. A way of memorializing for now. And for future generations.

This morning, the awesome preacher in the little church in the little town doing big things shared a story of Samuel.  Specifically, I Samuel 7:12 “Samuel then took a large stone and placed it between the towns of Mizpah and Jeshanah. He named it Ebenezer (which means “the stone of help”), for he said, “Up to this point the LORD has helped us!”

(Semi-related, he also threw a shout out to MommyVerbs and the pilgrimage to the 40th birthday tattoo as well, as he played around with a tattoo machine as a prop this morning. Have I mentioned that I love this little church in this little town doing big things?  Well, I do.) 

In MommyVerb’s lingo: Samuel took a large stone and created a memorial. He marked this place as a way to honor a monumental event in order to always remember what happened … here…then.

Which makes me wonder…how do we leave our mark?

What do we leave behind as a momento that something important happened here? That we did something that matters. Something that needs to be remembered? That we loved and were loved. That we helped and were helped.  That we created and were created. That we forgave and were forgiven.

We are surrounded by these. By these marks. It might be a gravestone. It might be a tree planted as a memorial. It might even be a road sign or a historical placard. 

Or it might even be a scrapbook of pictures.

Or a book …or maybe even a little ol’ blog.

All of these things say, … I was here. I helped here. I was helped here. I hope I made a difference.

Why do these marks matter? Once something has happened, once someone has been there…and then it is over or they are gone…why does it matter? Why does it need to be carved in stone? Why does it need to be remembered?

Because. Because it does.

Because what we do and what we believe and how we live and how we act…it all matters.

And it needs to be remembered.

So. Write it down. Take the pictures. Plant the trees. Pile up the rocks or get the tattoo.

As a way to remember.

Because where we have been and what we have done with the people that are important to us…

it all matters.

Let’s all, Go. Do that.

Today’s Action Challenge: What is your mark? How do you want to be remembered? What is your memorial to your life’s work and passions? Design it yourself. What does it look like? Is it a sign? Is it a park? Is it a living flame? What is the experience of remembering all of the awesome that is you?

Let’s all, Go. Do that.

Schedule. — What’s Wrong with this Picture?

Yesterday, I got an email that canceled Y’s morning Girl Scout meeting.

So, I got out my handy dandy white out tape that I L.O.V.E. and erased it from the page.

Which is when I realized…

So, you would think that I got a great deal accomplished.

You would think that I really made a dent in the never ending To Do list.

But I didn’t. I worked all day long on this project or that project.

And still I don’t feel like I finished a single thing.

Which frustrates me just as much as this:

That is just wrong. 855 emails. You have got to be kidding me. I blame it on NaBloPoMo and the already self-imposed 41 days of blogging that started back on October 13th.

This MommyVerbs post brought to you by a day spent  mostly in pajamas, laptop on my lap working on a few projects, interrupted often by tickling sessions with the boy child and quick trip to town with the family, but still almost utterly unproductive. I did take a shower eventually. And I made the bed. 

Take that NaBloPoMo.

🙂

Miss. — Guardian Angels come in all shapes, sizes and species.

Today, I am missing a friend. 

He’s been gone three years…and not a day goes by that he doesn’t enter my mind. 

I like to think of him this way. 

Doing this job: Cayman. Guardian Angel. 

*************************************************************

Cleopatra, better known as Cleo, was sitting in her yard looking out over the houses on the hill.  If only I could go exploring, she thought.  Cleo, a young boxer with black and brown fur, and big brown eyes, knew that the world was bigger than her own backyard.  The blue, warm skies and her own puppy sense of adventure and abandon, encouraged her to go out exploring.  She didn’t think about what would happen next.  She didn’t think about how she would get home, she just started running.

Oh, it felt so good to be free and on her own.  She smelled things she had never smelled before.  Cleo found new mailboxes and yards of grass and trees just begging to be sniffed.  She met new friends and said, “Hello!” wagging her brindle-colored tail.

Cleo had no worries in the world.  She walked down the street, head held high and was proud of her own foolish bravery.

Then Cleo noticed that the sky had started to get dark. She wasn’t sure which way to go, and she started to get worried.  She wished she had thought to pay closer attention to which way she came.  “How will I get back to my home? Who will help me?” she said to herself.  Cleo was now very scared.

What Cleo didn’t know was that there was someone watching.  There was someone who could help.

**********************************************************************************************************

Cayman.  A mature, stoic black Labrador was on his first day at his new job–Guardian Angel.

On Earth, Cayman was loved by many, who now missed him terribly, their hearts broken by his journey across the rainbow bridge.  He knew his family was sad, and he was watching as they loved on his memories and fun times.  He was watching them as they planted a tree in his honor.  He was watching … and wanted to be with them again, but it was time for another adventure.

Cayman had spotted the “HELP WANTED” ad right way and and knew he had all the right job requirements that made him perfect for this new assignment.

He was smart. Loyal. Friendly. Aware. He knew the dangers of the world. Knew to walk in the grass, not in the road.  To avoid fast-moving cars.  He was fast. He could chase a ball for hours without getting tired.  He had special skills, too.  He could swim and dive into any water.  He was kind with children and watched over them, taking this responsibility very serious.  His owners used to let him babysit X and Y when they went out to play.  “Take Cayman with you” was a job he took with pride.

Cayman had had many jobs in his lifetime.  Friend.  Guard Dog.  One of his favorite jobs was retrieving the newspaper from the driveway each morning.  His people would let him out the front door and he would immediately set his sights on the green plastic bag with the newspaper inside, just laying at the end of the driveway.  He ran with great speed and purpose, picked up the paper in his mouth and ran all the way back to deliver it.  Most days, this was an easy task, but Cayman always knew when it was Sunday because the paper was so much heavier and harder to carry.  Sometimes he would have to drop it and readjust his hold, to deliver all of the pages intact.  Cayman ran inside and dropped it on the kitchen floor in order to receive his well-deserved treat.

Cayman also held the title of “Perimeter Checker” for his people.  Every day, several times a day, Cayman walked around the edges of this entire yard.  Most people thought he was just wandering around, but Cayman knew better.  He knew how important it was to keep a daily check on the grounds, to know the lay of the land and any changes that occurred in between checks.  He knew what animals had visited, how the grass was growing, found any lost toys or balls, made sure that there was no litter or garbage in the yard, as his people loved to keep their yard looking neat.  He knew to stay in the grass, stay off of the road, although he did enjoy taking advantage of the walking path at times to keep his feet dry from the morning dew.

All of these skills and experiences made him perfect for this new job.  Not many dogs are selected for an assignment on their very first day.  But Cayman was different.  He didn’t need any training, he was ready.

**********************************************************************************************************

Enter Cleo.

Cayman watched as the young pup headed out of her yard, walking down the middle of the street.  Cayman shook his head, “silly pup.”

Cayman watched as Cleo smelled mailboxes and new scents, and he knew that she wasn’t paying attention to how far away she was traveling.  Cayman knew that she wasn’t leave a trail to find her way home again.  Again, “silly pup.”  (Cayman would make some kind of face or look here.)

Cayman watched as cars whizzed by, Cleo didn’t even notice.  Cayman watched as she walked up to strangers and other dogs, and he knew that she didn’t know the dangers all around her.

Cayman watched as it got darker and darker outside.  He knew that Cleo wouldn’t be able to find her way home and it was getting colder and colder.  Cayman knew all too well the comforts of a warm house and a nice, big fluffy bed to sleep on.  Cleo would be scared to be outside by herself.

It was time for action.  Cayman looked around again and led Cleo to a nice house on the corner.  The lights were on and the cars were in the driveway and Cayman knew.  Cayman told her how nice these people were and that they would help her and take care of her.  Cayman told her how to get to the back door and directed Cleo to scratch at the door and ask to be invited in.  Cayman knew these people would let her in.

And they did.

Cayman’s people looked at each other and somehow knew. Knew that Cayman had sent this young, naive pup there for help. Knew that they would be able to find her home and get her back safely.

And they took comfort in the fact that Cayman was still there, taking his job as seriously as he had done before, watching.

Because puppies … and people … will need him again. Someday.

Story originally posted on January 8, 2013. Reposted today because I’m missing him.

© Sharon Zuckerwar and MommyVerbs, 2010-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sharon Zuckerwar and MommyVerbs with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Press. — That Almost Wasn’t. Now On To the Next Thing.

Soon after I first started blogging in the WordPress community, I remember stumbling upon the Freshly Pressed page.

I think back on it now like it was the mystery glowing gold suitcase in Pulp Fiction. I still remember the “oooohhhhh”s and “aaaahhhhs”s I mumbled as I marveled at how these amazing authors were selected to be highlighted on this page.

I was in awe. I loved their words. And I loved the look of their little blue circle W badges on their pages. So pretty.

I even wrote about wanting to be freshly pressed here, here and here. And Ok. Yes. Even here.

But it wasn’t happening. I wasn’t getting ‘discovered’. I wasn’t getting anyone’s attention.

And over the next few months, I began to fully realize and recognize just how…H.U.G.E. the WordPress community actually is.

It is B.I.G.

And with B.I.G., come complicated logistics, making it hard to find my lil’ ol’ blog.

Just a couple of weeks ago, I heard from a precious blogger friend of mine that she was having some struggles because of some unpleasant followers of her bloggy goodness.

So, I began to question whether or not it was worth it. To be Pressed or not to be pressed?

Maybe it was just too much trouble.

Maybe there is something to be said for growing readership organically. Not too fast. But one, by one. Making connections and friendships along the way.

Maybe I should just focus on what I can handle. In my crazy, need to take a pause, tired working Momma kind of life, I should just focus on what I can handle.

Maybe I should focus on  my blog as it is meant to be.

But then.

Then.

I got this beautiful email from WordPress Editors when I checked my phone like I do upon waking at 4:30 a.m.

From the lovely Michelle, telling me “Congratulations!”

And then

Then.

It was all different.

I remembered why I wanted to be freshly pressed after all.

I immediately felt butterflies in my stomach and resisted the urge to wake up the best friend/partner/hubby so early to share the news.

I ran through the internet to get to the post to make sure that there were no typos, no silly errors.

And then

Then.

I smiled.

I. Am. Freshly. Pressed.

I have a little blue Circle W. of my very own on my sidebar.

And I have so enjoyed the little diddleding that my phone has made over and over and over today as I meet new bloggy friends and respond to new bloggy messages.

It is every bit as mysterious glowy gold as I thought it would be.

I. Am. Freshly. Pressed.

Yes.

Now. As I have been saying all day long, ” On to the next thing.”

Let’s all, Go. Do that!

Thanks WordPress. This is a super fun ride. I’m not getting off anytime soon.