Sassafrass

This is not a shoe blog: Guess the blogger by her shoes (part 2)

Congratulations, Jennifer! You win a copy of Project Everlasting and dominion over the easiest contest with the most obvious clues and best odds of all time. No, really, it is an accomplishment. Seriously, you rock. You got the answer right and you won the drawing.

If you haven't already, check out Jennifer's blog, My Beautiful Baby, where she writes honestly about her own divorce and funny anecdotes about said beautiful baby. That hair, those eyes. Sigh. 

Today's isn't going to be so easy. That is, mama's getting stricter with the clues. Or rather, no blatant clues from the sucker lady operating Sassafrass from behind the big pink velvet curtain. The prize is another sweet summer read, Notting Hell by Rachel Johnson.

I had a fabulous time doing the honors of being the author's very first blogger interview and then meeting her a few days later. The book is an easy read that's perfect for the beach or while the kids tear up the lawn while you pray a small bit of tan seeps through your SPF 75.

Now on to the shoes:

And that's when the bomb (and the lightbulb) went off

I've needed some time off. Somehow, my career exploded last week and I spent nearly all weekend frantically catching the shrapnel in my arms. I realize this is no way to describe work that I truly love, but this is how it felt.

Like madness. And this made me frustrated and anxious and like sleeping in all weekend long. But I had five deadlines that landed on Saturday, three of them articles that require a great deal of investment and concentration and leave me feeling emotionally and physically exhausted. I also needed to blog during a deadline that I would usually designate as a no-posting time.

The good thing is, I listened to my husband who said to focus on one piece at a time and then sent me to Starbucks while he took care of the boy and the dishes and the laundry and flipping through Bob the Builder episodes.

Another good thing is that I finished. By Sunday night, I was depleted but I was done. My shoulders and chest muscles were cramped up from spending so many days at the laptop and my contacts were foggy from staying up until 2 a.m. so many nights in a row, but I did it. I felt proud of myself and I celebrated with a lot of caffeine and a little more sleep.

The tough thing is, there has been very little reprieve. Lil E's birthday is this week and his party is this weekend, which has called in family from both coasts. I want to concentrate on those celebrations and yet, there are still deadlines.

Another tough thing is, one of my jobs is on the line. A job that I love. I certainly don't want to focus on that drama or disappointment but it is still there. So I'm trying to put it aside for just long enough, at the suggestion of my mother, to just go about the business of writing -- ten, thirty or even sixty minutes at a time.

An even tougher thing is that my sweet, huggy, talkative boy has become consumed with separation anxiety.  He's also been acting out in a way that is the hallmark of being THREE but is also the hallmark of parents who are so busy getting through that small explosions are the way to demand full attention or his way or not putting cucumber on his plate as he requested because that's the way Big Josh from co-op likes it after all rather than using polite words he does actually have in his vocabulary.

I'm not sure what all of this means for me yet. But I know I need some time to be still to find my way to the answers or rather, the process to undo all these crossed wires.

I know this: I want to thrive. I want to turn off my laptop and give my evenings to my family and myself. I want to get back exercising my body, quieting my mind and to stop thinking of a walk or a nap or a manicure as unattainable luxuries that I cannot afford on many levels. I want to release this tension. I want to stop living in survival mode.

And so I began simply on Sunday morning by resigning as the co-chair of a committee I love and helped found four years ago. Now I am working up the courage to turn my thoughts about quitting one of my four jobs into action. This isn't just about work. It is about where I am and what I ask of myself and when to say, "Enough. I've had enough." And mostly, it is about all of that being OK.

Tomorrow, I will chase more of those pieces and then on Thursday, I will devote my whole day and complete attention to Lil E. He only turns three on that one day and I will be there fully.

After that, the peace-making mission in my life will begin as the war of work and home and me have been lately: One thing at a time.

MotherTalking Notting Hell: The longest post ever about the shortest conversation of all time

Rachel Johnson is funny.

If I were to place her on the grrrlfriend spectrum, I'd guess she's the one who would be quite frank about how often her kids were bathed when they were young and could turn a few quick pomtinis into one of those nights you long for with your favorite women, lingering over politics and parenthood and the why itsy-bitsy panties are fabulously inappropriate to wear when you're preschool mommy of the day. 

At least that's what I imagined when I got the invitation to interview her as a part of her tour across America to promote Notting Hell.

After actually reading Notting Hell months earlier and giving way too much late night debate with myself over the boom of questionably-called "mommy lit" and whether I was being very American in thinking this very well might be Bridget Jones all growed up, I jumped at the chance to chat with Rachel Johnson, if only for a few minutes in between signings.

I admit, my inner Brenda Starr came running -- clicky heels, eyelash extensions, steno pad and all -- to the surface.

True to my J-school preparation, I spaced my three serious and two cheeky questions (prompts, really, a la Charlie Rose or JuJu Chang) on my yellow notepaper, ready to listen, nod, uh-huh and write down furiously.

Alas, the interview barely happened.

Thanks to time zone confusion and a packed schedule, my moment of glory gave way as Rachel* ran from one event to meet her agent and I heard the cry from the crib, "Mommy, I'm all done with nap! I want to GET OUT NOW."

I put my pomtini back up on the bar (OK, we all know it was my third cup of coffee and I carefully balanced it on a pile of co-op schedules, calendars and a file folder full of post ideas, but for a brief lapse in real time, it was felt like a shiny walnut gateway to me).

Maybe another time. Interviewing British columnists-turned-fanfared-mommy-authors one moment, wiping a tush the next. It's a glamorous life, this blogging mama thing.

And then as Lil E and I zoned out with a fishy cracker snack to a little post-nap Bob the Builder, the great bartender in the blogosphere nudged my drink back toward me. Rachel called.

"JESSICA!," she yelled enthusiastically into the phone. And then apologies and chatter about her crazy schedule and something I expected less than her actual return phone call, "You're the blogger! You're my first blog interview!"

I beamed. It's not like I am some kind of blogebrity or any of that craziness. I am quite a newbie and honestly, it made me smile to be in good company.

Rachel answered one of my questions, something about all the product name-dropping in Notting Hell and the culture of consumerism among mommies in that book and many, many neighborhoods. In the whirlwind of finally speaking and a conversation that reminded me of when I catch my best friend from grad school in the midst of one of her doggie walking business "client appointments," I think I wrote down three random quotes. My notes read: Baby Gap practically gives clothes away for free -  Character friendships/competition (which is actually part of a question I intended to ask but never squeezed in) - Yummy mummy group with perfect hair and...?

Not exactly the investigative stuff of award-winning human interest features. But it was easy to just listen and laugh as Rachel talked a mile a minute for just about four miles/minutes before she landed in her literary agent's office and had to hang up.

I was dizzy when I said goodbye. And I was glad, even if I didn't gather up blog-propelling goodness in a 300 second interview, I got a bit of Rachel on the phone.

I did have enough time to tell her I'd be at a MotherTalk salon later in the week where she'd be leading a circle of women in a book discussion. There'd be another chance to get all that note-taking in, not that it really seemed to matter.

Hours later, as the witching hour before dinner approached and I was on hold with the pediatric nurse to discuss Lil E's emerging seasonal allergies, an unfamiliar number beeped in on the other line. When I checked my messages later, I smiled to hear Rachel's voice for one more brief moment.

"Jessica!" she launched again and then left her apologies and cell phone number and abbreviated travel schedule should I like to call her back for another interview attempt.

And really, it didn't sound at all like an author whose book I powered through and wondered about and took note of the pleasingly unsuspected ending. It sounded like that grrrlfriend who wants to talk but is so in her own life that you can't be frustrated at all you've only chatted in passing; you're cheered up a wee bit just to hear her on your voicemail.

By coincidence or divine timing or the crazy way this city strings people together, I had that MotherTalk event ahead of me.

I'd been following MotherTalk since I met Andi Buchanan, who gave new life to virtual book discussions and literary salons among bloggers and authors and the women who read them, at The MotherLode last fall. Since then, I'd met my friend Danielle of Foodmomiac fame.  Danielle got the invitation to the salon and asked me to join her at the event hosted by Kim from Hormone-Colored Days and Scrambled CAKE on Chicago Parent.  Kim, who I'd emailed about meeting in person last year but could never make work. It -- and we -- all came together out in the suburbs with a room full of women, a table full of local snacks and bottles of wine opened exactly at the right point of a Friday night for a mama.

We met, we mingled, we scribbled each other's names into an ice breaker sheet with descriptors written down like, "I work outside the home" and "I'm a blogger" and "I believe No Child Left Behind is ruining our educational system" and "I have a really fat ass."