Everyone needs a hero (especially me this week). I only had to glance at the front of the fridge to see this picture and be reminded that my heros are right here. How can you go wrong with Princess Leia and Superman in your corner (and in your heart)?

Check out the Shutter Sisters for the larger lovefest.  I'm loving love thursday!

When I was a senior in high school I worked for a department store down the street from my house. One day, the manager walked up to me and said, “You’ve got a call. It’s your mom.” I knew it was bad.  As it turns out, my step-grandfather (Curly) had suffered a major heart attack and was in the hospital. My mom and I drove to San Antonio and met my grandmother at the hospital. Curly was OK (for Curly), but my grandmother was never the same.

When we walked into my grandmother’s house that night, my eyes were immediately drawn to the kitchen table. Curly’s plate of fried eggs and Jimmy Dean sausage was sitting right where he had left it. His fork was on the seat of his chair. His glasses were shattered and lying on the floor. As I stared at the kitchen table, I was filled with a strange sense of fear and dread. Those images are as vivid today as they were 25 years ago.

Last night, we had grilled chicken, corn and spinach salad for dinner. Ellen said grace while Charlie chanted, “I no like corn. I no like grass (salad).” It was normal fare. After dinner I made four small bowls of pistachio pudding. I was topping each one with a sloppy dollop of Cool Whip when the phone rang.

As I watched Steve’s face and listened to his questions, time started slowing down. The kitchen became smaller and I struggled to fight off tunnel vision. I knew it was bad.  

A very important person in our lives had collapsed and being rushed to the emergency room. We needed to get there. Steve left right away. Within minutes, my phone tree was activated and three friends volunteered to stay with the kids. I decided it would be best to put Charlie down before I left.

Sensing that I was not at the top of my mother game, my friend Laura instructed me to “carve out 20 minutes, give Charlie my full attention, stick with the routine and get him down.”  He threw Night-Night out of the crib three times. The first time I smiled, rubbed his back and tucked both of them back in. By the third time, I was losing my mind. I wanted to scream, “Stop! I’m in crisis here. Give me a break. Please!” But, I didn’t. I took a lot of deep breaths, stayed calm and he was asleep by the time Erin arrived.

I talked to Dawn all the way to the hospital. I ranted and raged. She listened.

The news at the hospital was scary and overwhelming, but the outcome was good. Thank God.

Steve and I got home around 11:30pm. As soon as we walked in the back door, I noticed that Erin had cleaned up the entire kitchen. The only thing left out was one ramekin of pistachio pudding. When I saw it sitting on the counter, I collapsed. It was the first time I cried all night.

Just like the night of Curly’s eggs and glasses, my heart filled with fear and dread. This time, however, a new understanding softened the fear. That pudding was the symbol of normalcy interrupted.

Now I understand that these calls almost always come when we are making pudding or blowing our hair dry or minding our own lives. By definition, it is the unexpectedness of these calls that reminds us that loss and crisis can slice through the softness of our very ordinary, tender lives with such force that we’re not sure we’ll ever piece things back together. My greatest fear is the inability to return to a sense of normalcy. Can I find my way back to the way it was before the phone rang?

More importantly, I understand that living in fear of these calls never stops them from happening. It just sucks the joy right out of the wonderful, small moments that fill most of my days. Planning and rehearsing for these calls doesn’t help one bit when the phone rings. It just makes me crazy waiting for phone to ring while I'm praying that it doesn't.

What does help? My friends. They always show up.  My family. They are always here for me.

I’m exhausted from spending the day at the hospital, but I needed to write this tonight. I need to put this commitment out to the universe: I’m going to work really hard to spend less time planning for these calls and more time enjoying the people who are always there for me when the phone rings.

OK. I promise not to overdo the Juno-isms. They're just so totally boss.

Back to the blog.  

I'm not sure why, but unleashing this blog was one of the scariest things I've ever done. When I hit the "go live" button yesterday, I felt physically sick.

I kept thinking, "Maybe this is a bad idea. Something is wrong. I shouldn't be this afraid."

Then I remembered one of the big lessons from last year. Part one of the lesson was something I heard Eve Ensler say. I was at Women, Power and Peace Conference at the Omega Institute. She was talking about her work on the Vagina Monologues, she paused for a second, then said, "Honestly, I am never afraid and I am always afraid." It was a huge moment for me. It was the right time and space for me to hear that it's OK to hold both of these at the same time. Uncomfortable, but OK.

Part two came a few months later, when I was in San Francisco and I met the fabulous Diane Conway. The back of her book reads, "She is a self-described 'do-over' queen and survivor, riddled with fears, who lives her dreams anyway." It's the "doing it anyway" part that really spoke to me. I think the subtitle of her book is as important as the title:

What Would You Do If You Had No Fear: Living Your Dreams While Quakin' in Your Boots 

Fear is often helpful (like when it comes to large, poisonous snakes or Chuck E. Cheese). But, it can also keep me from "going live." Today, I'm going to live this little blog dream of mine, while I'm quakin' in my brown, suede flower clogs. 

And, I really appreciate all of the supportive emails and comments. They mean a lot to me and they certainly calm the quake.  

Stacy, my publicist at Gotham, emailed to ask me if I wanted to do a radio interview with Jean Chatzky on XM Oprah & Friends Radio. Of course, I said "hell yes." I totally love Jean Chatzky. I've watched her on the Today Show for years. She's one of the few people who makes me feel like I'm not too broke or dumb to talk about money.

Right after I agreed to do the interview, I checked out the show schedule to learn more about her work. Bad move. Her show line-up looked something like this:

Monday: Bank statement fees 

Tuesday: Retirement

Wednesday: Hedge Funds

Total suckage. I don't even open my bank statements. I panicked and called a friend. She said, "Who cares. It's Jean Chatzky on Oprah. You're good at redirecting. Just bring it back to something you can talk about."

I was lying in bed that night thinking up good money redirects when it hit me. I could always say something like, "Speaking of hedge funds, I think hedgehogs are really cute." The line was so bad, I actually said out loud, "Oh . . . smooth move Ex-Lax, that's real highbrow." I started laughing at myself and decided, "I'm going to do this thing. What do I have to lose?" Laughing at myself is always a good indicator that the self-doubt is letting up.

Truthfully, it was one of the best interviews I've ever experienced. She is funny, honest, irreverent and totally gets shame and perfectionism. I don't think I've ever talked to anyone that well known who has been completely upfront about their own stuff. Even her producer was into it.

If you have XM Radio, check it out tomorrow (1/29)! Air times are 10am CST and 11pm CST.

And, btw, I really do think Calvin, the cowboy hedgehog, is pretty cute. Of course, anyone who knows me will tell you that a live version of Calvin would cause me to seize with fear, then die.

The photo is courtesy of Bryan Smith at Hegdehog Central.

 

If you don’t think glorious and goofy can co-exist, you’ve never met a 3rd grader. I seriously don’t know how Ellen’s neurons are stringing this stuff together, but it is cracking me up. It’s insane and brilliant at the same time.

We were lying in bed snuggling a few nights ago and we started talking about school (snuggle time is when we do all of our serious talking). We were discussing the politics of recess when she mentioned that the boys cuss more when they’re outside. In my ever so subtle, probing way, I asked, “What do you mean? What do they say?” After I gave her permission to “use the words as examples,” she said: