Category: TOVAS BLOG

How are you using your TODAY?

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My great uncle died one morning last week. That afternoon they buried him. Jewish tradition has you bury the deceased as soon as possible after they pass. They don’t dilly-dally. Chick-chock.

This uncle was the brother of the grandfather I mentioned here, and the son of the great-grandmother I mentioned here. (Who apparently, was totally obsessed with sparkly clothing. Go figure.) My grandfather is one of nine siblings and this was the youngest. He was just a baby when his family was brought to the concentration camps in Nazi Germany and it’s a true miracle that he, or any of them, survived.

I remember being a little kid and going to his house. There was a pool and a lake where some of my cousins would go fishing, but I never did that because the worms were so gross. I was heartbroken to hear he’d died, He was a funny, big hearted guy who loved to smile. One of my first thoughts after hearing he’d passed was “He knew about the twins so now they’ve got yet another amazing person to look out for them.” (How I manage to make this about me might be a little disturbing, or at the very least self-indulgent, I know, but I’m just being honest- that thought crossed my mind.) 

Anyway, we were at the cemetery early and I found myself wandering through a section with really, really old headstones. Some of them were 200 years old. 200 years!! It’s amazing that somehow we have found enough land upon which to bury all the bodies of all the people that want to be buried and that there are not graves like, everywhere you step. I mean, logistically, how does that work? When do they run out of space to put these people? It boggles my mind.

But back to my point. I was looking at the headstones from 150 / 200 years ago and I was surprised to see how many of them wrote out how long the person lived for.

You might be confused by that sentence, after all, basically every headstone shares the dates of the person’s birth and death, right? Why would I be surprised by that?

But that’s not what the oldest headstones said. They actually shared the number of years, months and days that the person lived. Look:

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John Cooper died on March 6th, 1883. He walked this earth for 67 years, 10 months and 6 days.

Peter Foushay died on February 25th, 1815. He walked this earth for 45 years and 2 days.

Peter Foushay died on February 25th, 1815. He walked this earth for 45 years and 2 days.

There will come a day when each of us has had our fill of days when we are blessed to walk this earth. When you see it, like that, engraved in stone- stone that has sat in it’s place for 200 years it really hits home.

Every day is a gift. Every day is an opportunity. Every day is one day closer to our last day. When my day comes I want to know that I LIVED those days. 

There is something about marking time on the gravestone in that way that I really do love. Defining our time in the number of years and months and days spent here, on this earth, in this body, somehow it makes it feel like it’s just part of a longer, infinite, beautiful journey. A life, not defined by the dates on a calendar but defined by the time spent living it. 

When your time comes, will you want to look back on the amount of time you lived, or look back on how you lived in the amount of time you had?

…and then, I got fired.

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So, the morning after posting about My Panic Attacks, I was fired. (I don’t know why I wrote that in Title Case- as though it is the name of a memoir I’m not writing -it isn’t- but I guess in my head it warrants The Importance Of Title Case. So I’m leaving it.

Anyhooo, I’ve never, ever been fired before. Except once, when I refused to wear the horrible gray trucker cap at my high school job flipping kosher burgers. But I just came in the next day anyway and lo & behold, still had my job….

…I’m really in a tangent kinda mood today, I guess.

Let’s try again.

I’ve never really been fired. I’m not even sure this could count, since technically, I totally planned to quit that day. In fact, on the way up to my cubicle I saw one of the three people there who (I know of that) know about my alter ego as The Queen Of Muchness, (Title case entirely intentional) and I said to him “I’m quitting today.” and he said “Really?” and I said “Yeah, I can’t take it anymore.” and then he grabbed my ankle and begged and pleaded for me to stay because that place is so damn gray….

…Except that last part totally didn’t happen.

I just said I couldn’t take it anymore and headed up the staircase to my cubicle hell.

I got there and my boss popped her head in and asked if she could speak to me, and though I’ve never been fired, I knew that tone, because I’ve used it before when firing people. Except I’ve never actually fired peopl

e because the people I’ve always hired have been awesome. Except once, but then I was too chicken shit to fire her myself so my boss did it on my day off. But in my head I’ve had that conversation plenty of times about firing people I didn’t hire, so when I heard it out loud I knew what it meant.

So I followed her from my cubicle into a cubicle 2 feet away from my cubicle with a round table instead of a desk and she said “I don’t think it’s working out.” and I said “Oh my gawd, I totally agree.” 

Though I said it very loudly, I don’t think her brain let her hear me because she started telling me about the mistakes I’d made, so I agreed with her and told her that the work I’d been doing for the last 2 weeks was work I’d been teaching or delegating for the last 8 years and being forced to do this stuff left me wanting to bang my head against the wall the whole time I was doing it. I believe my exact words were “between you and me, I was totally hating every fucking minute of it.”  and then I laughed, because hearing yourself blurt out stuff like that is funny.

 

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(Random pic of me doing my version of banging my head against the wall.)

So anyway, she asked for my prison-swipe-card back and I said goodbye to my glittery designed cubicle, thanked her and asked her for a hug (and I really meant it!) and went down to say goodbye to my lunch buddies who were the only thing that kept me semi-sane in my few short months at this job. They all cried huge, bitter tears to learn I wouldn’t be gracing the halls with my Muchness and I told them to keep the faith. The Muchness lives inside them and would one-day see the light of day again.

Once again, I’ve embellished for the sake of tangent story telling. There were no tears. But other than that, the rest is all (approximately 75%) true.

 

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(I like embellishment. Ya think? 🙂

Ya know what’s pathetic? This post is already too long and I haven’t even started to get to the point, but I am SO ENJOYING writing it!

So, I’m debating if I just leave this post as is, my embellished yet entertaining “Hey Folks- I was fired!” blog post or, if I go on to get to the initial point. The message. The WHY DID I STAY AT THAT HELLISH JOB insight. That’s supposed to be the part where maybe you can glean some amount of inspiration that will help you in your journey to find your Muchness.

Peh- screw it.

I’m gonna write the other part but not post it till tomorrow. Give you something to look forward to on your first monday of the summer.

For now, I am just going to say Goodbye to the greyest place on Earth. You have taught me the lessons I needed to find you to learn.

building

 

Let’s talk about panic attacks.

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Panic attacks.

I’ve been having them.

WTF?

Not a lot, but enough that I’ve started to recognize them before they hit. The inkling that something inside me is not quite handling itself the way it should.

The first time I ever had a panic attack was in college. I didn’t know what it was but I somehow found myself under a patternmaking table draped in burgundy stretch velvet and gray wool flannel – the materials I was using to make the final garment of my 3rd semester pattern making class. (It was the late 90’s…) Trying to catch my breath while tears ran down my cheeks, I remember my friend Vadim asking if I was OK and being pretty sure I wasn’t. Somehow I managed to laugh it away and was left with nothing but the memory of that freaky weird day when I found myself under the table.

To the best of my knowledge, that was the one and only panic attack I had in my whole life, until last year. Even in the midst of pregnancies and babyloss, the panics I experienced were logical and concrete, not the random freak-outs over minimal stimuli that they eventually turned to.

But then, they’re not really random. They happen when I am off course. So off course my brain and body are completely out of alignment with my heart and soul. 

Last year, before I left my job I had a panic attack. Part of my responsibility was to be an incessant critic. At my job, I would design a product and all the packaging in minute detail. I’d then send the information to China where they would proceed to sample the product. Incorrectly. It was then my job to look at what they’d made and comment “This is wrong and this is wrong and this is wrong and this is wrong…. oh- and I’ll bet you thought I’d miss that tiny little thing that’s wrong and barely noticeable but I didn’t because I have eyes like a hawk and can see shit that’s wrong from a mile away.”

That was my job.

And for a long time I took so much pride in my ability to do that job and do it well. For real. I could see mistakes before they even fucking happened.

And then, the loss.

And everything changed.

I took on so much pain and sadness that I just didn’t have the space left for all that extra negativity. So I let it go. People that dragged me down, feelings I’d harbored for years… poof. Gone from my life.

Except that was my job. Looking for what’s wrong. Finding fault. Demanding better results from a factory that was probably not at the top of the list for factories that treated their employees like they’re worth a shit.

And it started spreading into my life… Looking at things my husband was creating and only seeing what I perceived to be wrong. Seeing typo’s on Facebook posts and getting disproportionately annoyed by them. Defaulting to negativity.

And at work, I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t look at every little thing and find it’s fault. It was killing me from the inside out. And so, on a random Tuesday, I found myself alone in a really large boardroom. I was armed with a scissor, a tape measurer and two pairs of red heart print flannel pajamas. My job? Disassemble the pajamas and determine why one pair- the one I approved, looked beautiful, and the other one, the one the factory ultimately produced, looked like an almost identical but shitty version of the nice one. Where had the factory cheated? Where had they cut corners to save a few cents? Where were the mistakes?

As I stretched my tape measurer down the front of the garment I felt it rise up in me. The idea of spending the next 30-40 minutes determining what’s wrong, what’s bad, what sucked about that stupid-assed pair of pajamas threw me over the edge.

And that’s when I found myself, under the table- a giant fancy, zebra wood boardroom table this time- trying to calm my  breathing, stop shaking and manage the tears that were falling down my cheeks. From under the table I called my husband. He told me to quit. God bless him.

But I didn’t quit.

I calmed down, and asked my assistant to study the pajamas. I’d just double check her work.

And that’s what I continued to try and do, delegate, until a few weeks later when another sample came in wrong and I had another panic attack. This time, I marched right into my bosses office and told him if I had to keep doing what I was doing, pointing out “this is wrong and this is wrong and this is wrong” I’d heave myself out a window.

I told him he needed to hire someone to do that part of my job. I even went online and found applicants, and brought him their resumes.

But he didn’t believe me.

And so I quit.

Because life is too short to spend it like that.

So here I sit, 8 months later, at a job with much of the same job description.

The main differences? I’m making a lot less money because I have a boss who does what I used to do, so she’s the final word and responsibility isn’t ultimately mine.

I thought that would make the difference.

But apparently not.

I’ve had at least two- and a half- panic attacks in the last few weeks. Only one found me under a desk. This time it was in a disgusting corner of my tiny cubicle and the desk is covered in beige laminate…. a major step down from the panic attack tables of my past, if I do say so myself.

It’s not just about the negativity of seeing “the wrongs” – it’s the general feeling of anxiety that fills my chest cavity and makes the voices in my head start talking really, really loudly, but kind of in slo-mo, if that makes sense?  I can no longer seem to (want to) handle the general stress of a job in the way I used to. The “let’s care about this shit and get it done” energy that used to fuel me, now leaves me feeling depleted and sullen. Because I don’t care about this shit. I care about

people. I care about joy. I care about my family and this community and making a difference in the world.  When I talked about all this with the hubs, I brought a lot of it back to the twins. Because that’s the pivot point where everything changed… but at the same time I don’t want to define myself by that, even though in so many way it defines me.

There’s a lot in this world I don’t know, but one thing I’m quite sure I DO know is I DON’T want to go back to caring passionately if a shade of blue is exactly 100% perfectly perfect according to some unknown barometer for measuring the perfect shade of blue. I CAN’T go back to that, and I’m pretty sure my panic attacks are basically me reminding myself of that fact.

 

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I was given a wake-up call of the highest order, and I fully intend to stay awake.

…and on that note, It’s just about midnight. I’m heading to bed.

Thank you for reading…

Do you sometimes feel invisible?

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Let’s talk about being invisible.

I think, sometimes, we all feel invisible.

We are passed over for a promotion or ignored in a meeting, or worse, in a social situation where you already feel awkward and shy.

As I squeezed my bottle of hot pink hair dye into my gloved hands last night at 11:30 I looked at myself in the mirror and thought “Holy Crap- they are all going to see me.”

You’d think this thought would have occurred to me months ago, before I dyed my hair pink, that yes, with pink hair, people are going to see me. But it’s one thing to be seen by people who already know you, or people you interact with in everyday life.
It’s an entirely different thing when you force yourself outside your comfort zone into the company of people that impress you enough to intimidate you, and you do that with shocking pink hair.

Ya know what that takes? That takes a serious dose of Muchness.
(Booyah! So clever. I’ll bet you couldn’t guess I was gonna say that. Truth? I actually was gonna say it takes Balls, but then I thought- hmmm…. I should change that…. ya know, for branding purposes…. But anyway.)

This morning I had the opportunity to go to the press event for this incredible conference S.H.E. Summit. The week-long event is all about empowering women to own their power, and step into the power of their lives. A room full of incredible women, and me, with my pink hair (and sequin blazer), daring to be missed.

See, I was lucky enough to be invited to share The Muchness at the event and all of the participants will be receiving mini decks of Muchness Moments Cards in their gifts bags. A total honor.

I’ve been bitching and moaning so much these past few weeks but the fact is I alone am  responsible for putting myself where I say i want to be. And where I want to be, is Sharing The Muchness! Finding MY Muchness means stepping out from behind the computer and sharing my story and the things I’ve learned because there isn’t a single person who wouldn’t benefit from inviting more MUCHNESS into their lives. It is practically selfish to keep the power of Muchness to myself! I whole-heartedly believe that. And to share that message, I have to just put myself out there and not be invisible.

And that is hard.

So, How did I make myself as un-invisible as possible?

Well, I was gonna take the easy way out: skip the press event and send the mini-decks for the gift bags as they come when you purchase a complete deck. With a hangtag that has my itty bitty little face on it: photo-500x400

See that? Barely? Exactly.

I realized that if I am going to hide behind my shyness and wait for people to discover what I want to share, I’ll be waiting a long, long time.

So, I decided to jump off the invisibility train and be seen. Each deck in these gift bags comes complete with a cover shot:

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What? You can’t tell what that is?

Here let me zoom in for you:

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Oh, why my shiny mug front and center? Because it is my job to share The Muchness:

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Hi. I’m Tova. Nice to meet you. I want to share with you – and everyone else – The Muchness. 

…Can I tell you how it feels to look at a pile, 500 deep, of your own face, and know you are sending them out, not just into the world, but into the hands of the people that intimidate you with their awesomeness? 

It feels Awesome. Surreal. Weird. And Totally effing scary. And amazing. And Right. Tingly, excitingly right.

Whatever YOUR Muchness is, stepping into it, owning it and letting it guide you, feels right. That doesn’t mean dying your hair pink or wearing shoes that will result in broken ankles. It can mean using your time to help (or create!) a not-for-profit, or maybe it means simply taking time to yourself to enjoy your creativity and hobbies, If it means doing yoga, reading more books or experimenting with new ingredients in the kitchen, pay attention to the things that ignite those little fires in your belly, and then, do more of them! 

Let yourself shine. 

What unique thing do you like about you that makes you shine? I wanna know!!

Wanna hear a story about a scumbag?

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So, one thing has become abundantly clear… I should not be at that job. Seriously, I actually had a panic attack on monday and hid under my desk.

Yeah. I debated sharing that, because it’s clearly not very Muchy but if you follow along on my FB page you can see that I am trying to make the best of the situation and think positively (PS: I am positive I am not supposed to be there.)

So, I’m a girl who looks for signs. Ya know, signs, to tell me that I am where I’m supposed to be or doing what I’m supposed to do. You may not have known that about me because for a long time I stopped looking for signs- at least on the surface. Signs include an element of “God, let me know what I’m supposed to do” and  lot of me was heavily committed to “screw you god, I’m pissed.” but, well, in the end, the signs won out.

Here’s a signs story for you to chew on.

Once upon a land, in a time called “my 20’s” I lived in an apartment that had terrible plumbing issues. I’d find my Indian neighbors hair stuck to the bottom of my tub. I point out that he was Indian because they were the type of Indian with really long beards and reeeeeally long hair that was wrapped up on a turban. My hair was short. The hair in my tub, 3 feet long. Gross. Grody. Repulsive. Disgusting.

I demanded they fix the plumbing. They lied and said it was impossible. I stopped paying rent and three months later bailed on the apartment. They came after me for the rent. In court. But when I got to court, they dropped the case.

Two years later they refiled, because they had handed the paperwork over to a scumbag lawyers whose life revolves around squeezing people by their balls for 15 cents.

I went to court. Again. Settled the case and agreed to pay the back rent because I was getting married and just wanted the nightmare to go away. I paid the settlement over the next few months, but one month shy of completing the payments, my bank account was frozen. Frantic, I called the lawyers and they refused to call me back. Had to go BACK to court multiple times (I’m living in a different state at this point) only to find out that they had not provided me the correct address on where to mail the checks. But they DID have my money. The judge was PISSED at the scumbag lawyer because this was all just a big waste of everyone’s time. Meanwhile- it was the ABSOLUTE most stressful thing in my life. I had the lawyers number filed in my phone under the name “scumbag” because that is what he was.

By the time I got married, the entire thing was ancient history. I had the paperwork to prove it.

At this point, you may be wondering why I’m telling you this story after talking about my job…. you’ll see.

So, there I was, pregnant with the twins, on bed rest and under doctors orders to “avoid stress” because that could do serious damage to the delicate balance of placental tightropeing that we were in the middle of.

And then, It arrived.

A letter from scumbag lawyer, stating if I didn’t show up in another state on the date specified, my bank account would be frozen. I was like WTFYGDMFS?!?! (You can figure out my rant…. just get creative and imagine me as pissed off as I was.)

I called the Scumbag’s office and told the kid who answered the phone that I was on bed rest with high risk twins and could not get to court. I TOLD him this was settled and paid. He told me his boss, Mr. Scumbag, would call me back, and I should fax copies of the legal documents.

I faxed. I called. I called. I faxed. Day. After. Day. Stress. After. Stress. NO RESPONSE.

None. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

Waiting to see if my bank account would freeze… or what would happen

No communication.

Stressed.

After the twins died I called the courthouse and they told me the action had been delayed.

—

Months later I had to go back to the court to deal with it.

I was six months pregnant with my rainbow, Liat.

I brought a friend, a lawyer who actually went with me to the cemetery the same day.

The Scumbag wasn’t there. He sent some mini scumbag in training.

Through a mess of tears, I told him, the judge and everyone within earshot that I held that cocksucking lawyer personally responsible for the death of my daughters. It was not the only factor that took them, but I believe , without a doubt, that the stress he inflicted upon me by failing to communicate properly (and according to legal guidelines) contributed to their death. The judge told me I had grounds to file a misconduct claim against him and potentially sue. His SIT (Scumbag in Training) told me that the paperwork had been filed because of a simple clerical error. ooops! They didn’t have a copy of the piece of paper I’d faxed him multiple time. Sorry!

Again, I just wanted to put the nightmare behind me so I could finish my pregnancy and focus on my precious new baby.

That was the end of the case.

I thought I had put this all behind me.

I carry a hatred in my heart for this man, and, god as my witness, there is no-one else that I can say that for on this planet. Well, Hitler. But besides him…. just that lawyer guy. His name – which is unusual and memorable- gives me anxiety, having seen it on those envelopes and court papers for so many years…. always carrying with it the stress, and now, compounded by my associations of him as partially responsible for the death of my two daughters.

So, last week, when I saw that name on an email from my new co-worker, my heart skipped a beat. And then another.

I asked him if she knew of this lawyer.

And alas, he is her brother.

Her brother.

Her brother.

My heart didn’t stop racing all day.

Why. Why did that scumbag lawyer’s sister have to be planted in the cubicle next to  mine?

At first, I tried to see it as a sign that I should forgive him. Find forgiveness in my heart and just send it through the air to him, releasing myself from it’s weight. That would be the muchy thing to do, right?

But the truth is, I can’t do that without him knowing and understanding what he did.

So I thought of writing a letter. But then I thought- “he’ll probably sue me.”

So then I thought – “hey! I can just tell his sister!” and that idea is still sitting with me, though what an awkward work relationship THAT will create, right? That being said, she already knows I dislike him

(Todays exchange:

her: My brother had 5 teeth pulled today.
Me: Ouch. was he in a lot of pain?
her: yes.
Me: Good.)

But then, as I found myself, earlier this week, cowering under my desk having a panic attack (for the record, that’s not something I generally have) I thought- MAYBE it’s just a sign that I am not supposed to be here.

Which, well, I already knew as soon as HR told me I wasn’t allowed to wear shorts to the office.

I don’t work so well with “not alloweds”.

…wondering if any of my coworkers have bothered to google me. Maybe I’m hoping they do and she can just read this whole drama and I will get it off my chest without ever having to address it.

In other news, I’ve been making it a point to be EXTRA muchy at this office. I think it actually annoys some of the people there, who would rather drown in their sourpuss grayness.

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I skip through those hallways like a dash of blinding light. Those who are not allergic to joy seem to appreciate it.

Next week, Neon.

Weekend Muchness Project. Paint will set your MUCHNESS free…

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When Molly was three we bought a copy of the movie Annie. The kids watched it, as kids do, over and over and over and over again. Molly know the songs backwards and forwards and sung them under her breathe or in whispered hums in the back of the car. If anyone acknowledged her singing, she immediately stopped.

Nine or 10 months later a local group was putting on a production of Annie and I decided to take Molly. She was excited to be going somewhere special with me but didn’t really know what to expect. She perched on my lap with her back straight to get the best look and when Annie came out, boldly and clearly singing the opening lyrics of “Tomorrow” Molly spun around in my lap and, eyes wide, exclaimed “She has an AMAZING voice!” – those words, out of a four year olds mouth, with that much passion- I loved it.

From that day on, Molly would belt out tomorrow at the top of her lungs from the backseat of the car. Or, in the shower, or living room. It was like she’d suddenly been granted permission to use her voice. If only as adults we just needed that little bit of reassurance, right? A few weeks ago, I saw a YouTube video about this 5 year old painting prodigy, Aelita Andre. The beautifully artistic video of her gracefully yet playfully painting in her studio made her appear etherial and angelic.


I think what was so compelling to me about it was that she was just doing what she wanted to do. No rules, no worries about using too much paint or making a mess or getting it wrong or staying in the lines…. the kind of freedom that only a child can capture without trying. So this weekend, I showed Molly and Liat this video and asked if they wanted to do it too. Like the singing, I knew that seeing someone her age express herself so freely would inspire Molly, who has a tendency towards shyness and has been known to freak out if she colors outside the lines. They were psyched. I printed out my Michaels 50% off Memorial Day coupons and we took a family trip to the craft store. before Then we went down to the basement and got busy! Here’s a “before” pic and video of the action. I loved making this video- It made me laugh out loud doing a “knock-off” of the very serious vid above.

Truth? As the girls painted, it was hard to stop myself from offering guidance or directions. I wanted to say “Try it this way” or “Don’t mix those colors together” but I didn’t. I just let them go for it. I put out the paint and I put out the glitter and I let them figure it out. It was so tremendously relaxing and so amazing watching them just explore the paint, the colors and their creative freedom. I wanna do this. Maybe together with some friends, some wine, and some music, this would be a totally amazing way to tap into a Muchness that has been feeling stifled for far too long…. Who’s in? 🙂

What to do when you feel off-track.

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I feel like I took a wrong turn. I’m trying not to feel this way. I’m trying to choose to look on the bright side. At the good stuff. That’s what makes life better, right? It’s all about perspective. But then, I think- sure, human beings can get used to anything- it doesn’t mean it’s what they should accept, or, technically, get used to.
I’m sitting outside this job, in what I unaffectionately call The Prison Yard, wondering if this is where I’m “supposed” to be. Maybe this job is the bone I was hoping would be thrown at me. Or maybe it’s a distraction. Maybe it’s a fear based “out” I created for myself when things were just starting to get real.
I don’t know.
I feel like Brittany Spears- I’m at a crossroads. I feel like Irish I could just pop in a belly shirt, hop in a convertible and head cross country. (Is that how that movie went? I have no idea. Shocking though it sounds, I’ve never seen it.)
Anyway,
Last week I went to an event with my family that honored Holocaust survivors. (Hows that for a segue?) My grandmother was amount the honorees. She and 7 other survivors shared their story about how they – all children at the time- barely survived the Nazis and were forced to live in unimaginable circumstance. They’ve gone on to build full lives and large beautiful families that were in attendance.
I found myself thinking “really Tova? Really?? WTF do you have to complain about? Get your ass-kicking boots on and show the world what you are made of!…. And then the next day I packed up my Tupperware lunch and hustled out the door to spend my day – voluntarily- sit behind barbed wire.

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I suppose I should (and am) be grateful that noone will shoot me in the back with a machine gun if I touch the fence… And as i write this im thinking “really To a, I’m not sure you’re keeping things in the proper perspective.”

Damn- I gotta run… If my lunch goes longer than 30 minutes I might get in trouble.

Help me out, wouldya?

Do you think you have an ultimate “reason” and purpose for being here? Are you living that purpose? If so, how’d ya do it, and if not, share your purpose here. What’s one thing you can do to get closer to that goal?

Thanks for listening.
T.

Finding my voice

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Tonight I went to a local event hosted by a non-profit called NechamaComfort.

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NechamaComfort is a Jewish pregnancy and infant loss support group started by Reva Judas, whom I met when she reached out to me after seeing the Muchness Bands featured in a local paper.
This event was designed to help the community understand the complexities of pregnancy and baby loss so they can be better prepared to understand and help when it occurs to those they love.
At the end of the event, I raised my hand and shared that today is International Bereaved Mothers Day. And then I asked if I could read something I wrote for the day. It is posted on PowerOfMother.com
The response was amazing.
I never feel regret after sharing my voice. I only regret that I don’t do it even more.
Please check out my post.
A mother is a mother
.

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Right now. Are you where you are?

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I’m not exactly sure what or how it happened but sometime in the last week I went from living in fear- living in mental noise and chaos- living in the future and in the past- to living now.
Suddenly my mind has quieted down. My creativity has piqued, and I’m feeling more focused.
Maybe it is the job. Maybe having the security of income is helping my fears subside. Maybe being in a space where I am the most colorful thing outside of a Pantone Swatch Book is reminding me of the importance of my mission.
Or maybe it was the trip to the cemetery. Something about going there feels like it set me free. Suddenly I feel free to accept what comes my way, confident that it is all part of a master plan. It created a shift in perspective for me that is making it easier to go through the day with grace and confidence.
It has also made me realize I need to step away from the computer. If I accept this job I will be glued to a screen all day. That means for me to find my muchness out of a job I need to create a tactile experience for myself. A craft, a human connection.
On the drive home from the cemetery inspiration struck. I initially dismissed the idea but I the more I think about it the more connected to it I feel. And the more excited.
I’ve decided to keep it a secret until it is underway. I know. So selfish.
I will refer to it as Operation:Glitter.
Stay tuned for more info…
As we drive down the highway I found myself (in a very non-tova way) noticing the foliage.
I said to My hubby “hmmmm… Pretty trees.”

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Is that some variation on stopping to smell the roses?
Welcome to my change in perspective.
Hoping to hold on to this one….

Stop and let a little light in!!!

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I discovered something about myself today. I went back to that job that is dreary and gray and I came with a new attitude.

I taped my postcard above my computer and took the two rocks I brought home from Sunshine and Daisy’s grave and put them below that, and then I decided to shine my Muchness into the hallways of this J.O.B. Perspective is everything.

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At lunch I went to go sit outside in the prison yard and there were some other employees out there. One was a guy who said he used to paint art and had gallery shows but he gave that up when he started having kids, and he took this job in the grayness and dreariness of Armpit, NJ. He said – in a tone that was clearly sincere but marked with sarcasm – that he felt as though he was rotting from the inside out.

I was like “NO!!!! No you CANNOT rot from the inside out!!! Please, please do not do that to yourself…. that makes me so sad for you!! I want to help!!!!” …and I meant it.

I have spent the last 6 months – the months I took to Build The Muchness – and spent it behind my computer screen. That is awesome because I love connecting with people online, but it also left me without the face-t0-face time and conversations that truly help me see where my energy is needed. This guy- oy. He was so drained of Muchness. I just wanted run over to him and sprinkle pixie dust on his head to awaken the muchness monster inside him.

I think he will be my project. All of them. I am still not 100% sure I will be taking this job. I don’t know if it’s what I am supposed to do to help me create income while I continue to share The Muchness, or if it was brought to my life to serve as a wake-up call about what The Muchness is truly meant to be about.

If you are reading this and can relate to that guy, that person that says “Oh, I used to……. but now I just…… because I have to. I’ll refind that part of me later.” I IMPLORE you to go out and but yourself a present- something sparkly, something bright and beautiful and vivid and wild that you LOVE that breaks the sound barrier of gray that surrounds you. Take one little step to push through that fog. Please, please, pretty please do not sit there and say “later, I’ll do that.” NOW. IS. LATER.

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I wore these shoes today. First time since last fall. These are my absolute favorite shoes for a whole bunch of reasons. But the #1 reason?? Because they make other people smile. Ya know how good it feels to make other people smile just by walking into a place wearing absurd shoes? It feels damn good. Good enough to have you contemplating taking a job at the grayest place on earth.

Maybe I have been sent where I am needed….