It has been a while since I blogged about work.
In keeping with the law of attraction and knowing that I can control my thoughts, I have been trying to focus on the more positive aspects of my life.
For instance, my 5 year old son read books to me this morning during some special pre-work cuddle time. He's reading! When did that happen!?!?!?
But to provide an update on the job search, I am still searching, but have narrowed my scope. After thinking more about moving my family and giving up the rich community of friends and neighbors I have spent 9 years cultivating, I have decided I do not want to move my family just to get away from an asshole boss. So, I am looking only locally for a while and we'll see what happens. A couple executives are expected to retire in the next two years and I may be well positioned for those jobs, but time will tell.
Thanks for all the support.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Monday, March 3, 2008
Who's Selling These Cookies Anyway?!?!?
It's that time of year and if you went anywhere this past weekend, you were likely asked,
"Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?"
Now, here's the question, who asked you, the Girl Scout or her mom?
I took my daughter to her site sale in front of Bookstar on Saturday and she proceeded to sell cookies along with another little girl from her troop. The other girl's mom and I, though, had different opinions on the appropriate level of our involvement. Personally, I like to be asked and have the entire transaction with the Girl Scout herself. I view this as a learning opportunity and an important step in growing self-confidence and poise. Others view it as a fund-raiser and are more apt to ease their daughters into the responsibility.
So, there we were. I stood off to the side whereas the other mom was behind the table. I only said things like "good morning" to others whereas the other mom asked "Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies".
Again, it never ceases to amaze me the hundreds of little decisions that go into parenting and how amazingly personal and intimate those decisions can be.
Maybe I expect too much out of a 7 year old. Maybe I'm unique in wanting to deal with the girl and not her parent.
But maybe I'm not . . .
"Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?"
Now, here's the question, who asked you, the Girl Scout or her mom?
I took my daughter to her site sale in front of Bookstar on Saturday and she proceeded to sell cookies along with another little girl from her troop. The other girl's mom and I, though, had different opinions on the appropriate level of our involvement. Personally, I like to be asked and have the entire transaction with the Girl Scout herself. I view this as a learning opportunity and an important step in growing self-confidence and poise. Others view it as a fund-raiser and are more apt to ease their daughters into the responsibility.
So, there we were. I stood off to the side whereas the other mom was behind the table. I only said things like "good morning" to others whereas the other mom asked "Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies".
Again, it never ceases to amaze me the hundreds of little decisions that go into parenting and how amazingly personal and intimate those decisions can be.
Maybe I expect too much out of a 7 year old. Maybe I'm unique in wanting to deal with the girl and not her parent.
But maybe I'm not . . .
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Humility and 95%
One of the amazing things about being a parent is reliving some of your youth. Watching your children encounter stages of life and to remember them all over again, both bitter and sweet.
This past week was GATE testing for 2nd graders at our school. GATE stands for "Gifted and Talented Education". It was very interesting to talk with my husband about where we think and hope our daughter will place with this testing.
But it also brought up some interesting memories of my childhood and my mother. Around 3rd grade, I tested for a similar program, whatever it was called back then, and I qualified. My mother, a former school teacher, kept me out of the program, despite the fact that I could have participated based on my scores. I remember watching the kids go to the program and feeling like they were special somehow. I remember being jealous of the projects they got to work on.
My mom told me that she didn't want me to get too big an ego and that was the reason she kept me out. This is a very similar theme to how she talked to me about my appearance, never saying I was pretty for fear of me using my looks instead of my brains. Looking back, it puzzles me that she felt the need to keep me down. Was I really at risk of becoming an egomaniac. Was I already too big for my britches at such a young age that I needed to be put in my place?
Maybe I'll ask her.
This past week I got the very sad news that my father needs to go back in for surgery. Just 4 months ago he went in for surgery to remove cancer in his colon. He's been undergoing chemo ever since. They found a lump, though, in his lung. This lump is closing off the top lobe of his lung and making that part not even operable. I went up to help him with the procedure to get a biopsy of the lump. They were not able to get to the lump due to the location.
They and he have decided that he needs surgery to remove not only the lump, but the entire lobe of his lung. To do this, they actually have to cut off a rib to get to it. Then they "glue" the rib back on. Recover is two months. His chances for surviving the surgery alone are 95%. I find myself focusing intently on this number. That means he has a 5% chance of dying on the operating table, just one day after his 68th birthday. 5% sounds small, until you think that it means 1 in 20 people, then it sounds really big. For that 1 in 20, that number is 100%.
I'm scared for my dad. I'm scared for my life without him. I feel like it is finally sinking in that he is dying of cancer, but then I remember all of the cancer survivors out there and I think positively for his outcome. Maybe if he lives, he'll do those things he's been putting off . . . retirement, travel, etc.
This past week was GATE testing for 2nd graders at our school. GATE stands for "Gifted and Talented Education". It was very interesting to talk with my husband about where we think and hope our daughter will place with this testing.
But it also brought up some interesting memories of my childhood and my mother. Around 3rd grade, I tested for a similar program, whatever it was called back then, and I qualified. My mother, a former school teacher, kept me out of the program, despite the fact that I could have participated based on my scores. I remember watching the kids go to the program and feeling like they were special somehow. I remember being jealous of the projects they got to work on.
My mom told me that she didn't want me to get too big an ego and that was the reason she kept me out. This is a very similar theme to how she talked to me about my appearance, never saying I was pretty for fear of me using my looks instead of my brains. Looking back, it puzzles me that she felt the need to keep me down. Was I really at risk of becoming an egomaniac. Was I already too big for my britches at such a young age that I needed to be put in my place?
Maybe I'll ask her.
This past week I got the very sad news that my father needs to go back in for surgery. Just 4 months ago he went in for surgery to remove cancer in his colon. He's been undergoing chemo ever since. They found a lump, though, in his lung. This lump is closing off the top lobe of his lung and making that part not even operable. I went up to help him with the procedure to get a biopsy of the lump. They were not able to get to the lump due to the location.
They and he have decided that he needs surgery to remove not only the lump, but the entire lobe of his lung. To do this, they actually have to cut off a rib to get to it. Then they "glue" the rib back on. Recover is two months. His chances for surviving the surgery alone are 95%. I find myself focusing intently on this number. That means he has a 5% chance of dying on the operating table, just one day after his 68th birthday. 5% sounds small, until you think that it means 1 in 20 people, then it sounds really big. For that 1 in 20, that number is 100%.
I'm scared for my dad. I'm scared for my life without him. I feel like it is finally sinking in that he is dying of cancer, but then I remember all of the cancer survivors out there and I think positively for his outcome. Maybe if he lives, he'll do those things he's been putting off . . . retirement, travel, etc.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
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1. How to breathe using my tummy and not my shoulders. 2. How to be gentle with myself. 3. To say I love myself every morning, even before I brush my teeth. 4. To laugh 500 times a day. 5. To indulge without guilt or punishment. 6. How to meditate. 7. How to gently bring my mind back to the moment. 8. To listen to my body. 9. To feel my body. 10. To notice changes in my body and mind. 11. To take time every day to rebalance myself. 12. The importance of being gentle and forgiving with myself. 13. The ability to manage stress. |
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Monday, February 25, 2008
The Dreaded Thank You Note
In many ways, I am a very lenient mom. In other ways, I am extremely strict.
Such is the case with thank you notes.
I grew up with a mom who couldn't take pen to paper to save her life and an aunt/uncle who were amazing at writing thoughtful notes for birthday and thank you alike.
Somewhere along the last 37 years, notes have become very important to me and I insist that my children express their gratitude.
Enter the Girl Scout cookie season.
My daughter is a Brownie and this is her second year selling cookies. Last year, through the help of my Rotary club and Operation Thin Mint, my daughter was the best seller in her troop, took her troop be the top 50 troop in the region, and earned a free pass to summer camp. That's over 500 boxes sold to us laypeople. That's also about 50 thank you notes . . .
She's doing well, but the parents are about driven mad with the whining and complaining. She's gotten notes and even monetary tips in response to her thank you notes, so she's getting positive feedback.
I guess life lessons come with their own challenges and I'm set on teaching her this one, but the whining . . . .
Such is the case with thank you notes.
I grew up with a mom who couldn't take pen to paper to save her life and an aunt/uncle who were amazing at writing thoughtful notes for birthday and thank you alike.
Somewhere along the last 37 years, notes have become very important to me and I insist that my children express their gratitude.
Enter the Girl Scout cookie season.
My daughter is a Brownie and this is her second year selling cookies. Last year, through the help of my Rotary club and Operation Thin Mint, my daughter was the best seller in her troop, took her troop be the top 50 troop in the region, and earned a free pass to summer camp. That's over 500 boxes sold to us laypeople. That's also about 50 thank you notes . . .
She's doing well, but the parents are about driven mad with the whining and complaining. She's gotten notes and even monetary tips in response to her thank you notes, so she's getting positive feedback.
I guess life lessons come with their own challenges and I'm set on teaching her this one, but the whining . . . .
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Unchartered Territory
I've hit a point in my career where I am finding myself immersed in politics in a way I never anticipated. I have people who are potential future board members on other wastewater boards soliciting me for campaign contributions. These people could be my boss someday, depending upon where my career goes.
At first I was simply scared when I got the letter and contribution envelope. Then I was a little glad to have been included. Lastly I was puzzled as to how to react appropriately.
I decided to contribute.
It seems like a small amount for someone to continue in or enter into their political career. When I was in consulting, I made cookies for clients. This isn't terribly different, and a lot less time consuming than cookies.
Also, I decided it would look worse to send nothing than to send a small amount. Everyone knows I have young children, so no one seems to expect me to have too much money . . . yet.
Not sure the way it will work when I do get my first general manager job. Do I donate to each of my current board members' campaigns? Do I donate to candidates running for office in my district? How transparent is my donation and should each one be identical?
At first I was simply scared when I got the letter and contribution envelope. Then I was a little glad to have been included. Lastly I was puzzled as to how to react appropriately.
I decided to contribute.
It seems like a small amount for someone to continue in or enter into their political career. When I was in consulting, I made cookies for clients. This isn't terribly different, and a lot less time consuming than cookies.
Also, I decided it would look worse to send nothing than to send a small amount. Everyone knows I have young children, so no one seems to expect me to have too much money . . . yet.
Not sure the way it will work when I do get my first general manager job. Do I donate to each of my current board members' campaigns? Do I donate to candidates running for office in my district? How transparent is my donation and should each one be identical?
Friday, February 15, 2008
Poop
Big Dreams and Pixie Dust has been talking lately about potty training and all the poop involved. I've enjoyed the blog as it brings up distant memories of potty training my now school age children . . .
until this past weekend . . .
Recently I went into my bathroom to find an odd substance in the sink. Yes, it was poop. I then noticed a smear on the mirror. Yep, more poop. Then for some reason I picked up the rug, and guess what was underneath??? You got it - more poop!
Now, my son had nonchalantly changed from shorts to pants earlier that day and it didn't take a whole lot of figuring to realize that he was guilty.
His defense, "it came out of the toilet". I guess the toilet backed up.
But, under the rug?!?!?!?
until this past weekend . . .
Recently I went into my bathroom to find an odd substance in the sink. Yes, it was poop. I then noticed a smear on the mirror. Yep, more poop. Then for some reason I picked up the rug, and guess what was underneath??? You got it - more poop!
Now, my son had nonchalantly changed from shorts to pants earlier that day and it didn't take a whole lot of figuring to realize that he was guilty.
His defense, "it came out of the toilet". I guess the toilet backed up.
But, under the rug?!?!?!?
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