"Go time" is a good time ...

... when you prepare as best you can, bring all you've got and convince yourself that what you're showing up with is more than enough. If you tell yourself you're going to rock it (whatever it is), there's a good chance you will. Or maybe you won't... but at least the process won't be so painful. In fact, it's likely to be pretty awesome. 

In a previous life, I spent lots of time and spun lots of wheels trying to make things perfect. I'd study until I'd memorized every fact and anticipated every possible question. I'd revise until I was sure that, having channeled my editor, I answered every one of her/his questions - in the first draft. (Impossible! And I lost much sleep doing it. Better to follow the advice of Anne Lamott: "Shitty first drafts.") I didn't miss classes or rehearsals. I'd taken all of the notes, even recorded lectures. (Um... yup. I was that girl. In grad school at least.) I knew all of the choreography - and helped other peeps with the spacing. When the test began, the draft was submitted, the curtain opened, I pretty much knew how things would go down. 

Anymore, this just isn't an option. I don't have 14 hours a day to work. I skip dance classes because I'm sick - because for the second time this season, the stomach bug has circled through my home. My time is no longer 100% my own, so I often have no choice but to wing "it" (whatever it is). And this often puts me outside of my comfort zone. Thing is, I'm getting cozier out there in the unknown... having had quite a few chances recently to learn that a little prep goes a long way when you combine it with the right perspective. It's forced growth  - and I'm grateful for it. 

About a year ago, I reported a big feature on fear - and overcoming it - and one of the experts I interviewed suggested something something that really stuck: when you start to feel the physical sensations of "nervousness," relabel them as "excitement."  I pulled out this trick twice this week and it worked. For real. The result: less fear, more fun. Fab.

Blogging keeps me accountable.

Anymore, I'm not sure how to keep myself accountable without a blog. 

My goals for my 37th year (still shaping up) will be both bigger and smaller than the goals of my 36th year. I will focus (in the unique way that I focus). I will simplify. All in the name of living a bigger life. 

For one, I will stop the Sunday catch-up work sessions. Effective immediately after I wrap today's essential editing. 

I'm serious. Committed. (Now... back to it, this final Sunday catch-up session.)

366daysof36.blogspot.com

I've abandoned this blog...

But over at 366daysof36.blogspot.com.blogspot.com, I'll be writing about all sorts of things I'm learning. Come on over!

Don't be a poser.

Friday afternoon before leaving for a fabulous weekend that included hanging with great friends, cheering on the Black Knights and exploring the most incredible Storm King Art Center, I took Dempsey for a short run. I squeezed this in between wrapping up work and packing up the van. When changing into running wear, I grabbed the first shirt I found.

It was a glorious fall day. There were lots of people out. I said hello to all of them because that's what I do. I said hello to a man, about my dad's age, pushing a stroller with a little girl, about my son's age. For all of this familiarity, I gave him an extra big smile. He gave an even bigger one back.

Man with baby: "How 'bout them Mets?"
Huh? Mets? Oh ... my shirt.

Me: "I know, right?"

But I did not know. Despite my shirt (which my sister, a die-hard Mets fan, bought me because most people in my family, and all of the people in the one I married into, love the Mets), I don't follow the Mets. At all. Last I knew, the Mets were not so good. But I'd heard that about four years ago. For all I knew, they could have won the World Series this year.

For the rest of my run, I wracked my brain for things I know about the Mets. Here was the list I came up with (on 9/16):

1. In my lifetime, I have attended two Mets games. There, I drank beer and ate nachos.
2. I used to live a short jog away from Shea Stadium.
3. Shea Stadium no longer exists.
4.  Mike Piazza--with the interesting facial hair--used to be the team's catcher.
5. Some supposedly attractive man named David (it took me the rest of the run to remember that his last name is Wright) still does. I think. 

Things I NOW (as of 9/19) know about the Mets, David Wright and the World Series:

1. David Wright indeed still plays for the Mets. Third base. (Source: Jon Olin) Want to know more about David Wright? He's from Virginia. He's a Sagittarius, like me. And... if he didn't become a professional athlete, he would have become an engineer. Jon Olin might argue the opposite is true for him.
2. The Mets did not win the World Series this year. Nor do they do have a chance at winning the World Series this year when it actually happens (Source: Jon Olin)
3.  This year, the World Series will commence on 10/19. So that no games will be played in November. (Source: Wikipedia)

Moral of this story: Don't be a poser. But if you're going to be a poser, use it to find out when the World Series is. Because, come on, shouldn't every American be required to know this?

Question for you: Ever get called out?

People dig my rat face.

My mom hates it. Jon despises it. But I can't stop making my rat face. It's really ugly. And I will find you a picture - just not right now. I don't have one on this computer. I'm not sure when my rat face was born: I think maybe in junior high...

I don't get requests to make the face often. But yesterday, my 9-year-old niece Anna asked me to do my rat face while we were playing mini golf in Glens Falls. (I happily obliged.) Then, today, when I was asking friends (on Facebook) to help me find a photo for a magazine's contributors' page--one that did not involve me squished against one of my children, holding an alcoholic drink, wearing sunglasses, etc.--my friend Ronda jokingly said she'd dig up a photo of me making my rat face at Allegheny's on-campus coffeehouse where we worked together. Two rat-face requests in one day! (Yeah, okay, one's technically just a reference.) "People dig my rat face," I proudly told Jon. He rolled his eyes and walked into the other room. 

This (me on the R) is much, much prettier than the rat face.

Now that I think of it, I believe my rat face began as most of my faces do - when someone asked me to pose for a picture. I hate having my photo taken. I feel self-conscious. I start thinking too hard about my smile: is it too gummy, too fake, too crazy? My checks start twitching. So I act goofy. I have lots of photos of me sticking my tongue out, crossing my eyes, etc., etc. In fact, when Jon proposed, he set the timer on our camera so that he could capture this milestone moment. He ended up pulling it off and we have an awesome shot--of his sixth attempt at a photo. Apparently, even back then, he knew it'd take me a few rat runs before I'd get serious for a picture. He wisely waited through them before dropping down on one knee and going for it.

Do I make ridiculous faces so that I can say, oh, I don't look good in that picture because I was trying to look bad (maybe, this 2008 story from the Times of London suggests)--or is just because I'm silly? Hmm... I think it's mostly because goofing off is far more fun than feeling uncomfortable and self-conscious.

For you to answer: What do you do when someone points a camera at you?

For you to ponder: The value of rat-face celebrity photos to paparazzi. 

Fresh starts are invigorating.

Happy September 1! I love the fall. The air smells great. The light looks pretty (think: ambient lamps versus overhead CFLs). For me, the sensory experience of fall is so awesome that, during the months of September and October, I can run more than 3 miles sans music and not feel like I'm going crazy.
Then there's the fashion. I prefer tights and boots to shorts and tanks any day. (Need inspiration for fab fall fashions? Check out LOFT's The Now campaign--spearheaded by my bestie HT!) But the thing I like to shop for most in fall? No doubt: School supplies. (Yes, I'm 35. No, I do not go to school.) Check out this sweet new "Tomorrow" planner I just ordered from Poketo, on a recommendation from Daily Candy:

How to fill in the sentence "Tomorrow _______"? ... "is a new day."
Or "is another day." Hmm... I think #2 is more inspiring and Zen.

For me, new school (okay, office) supplies represent a new start: a clean slate, another chance to commit to things that "improve my performance" (wow, that sounds really ambitious in print, doesn't it?),  things that make me happier. And while I don't have data from a clinical trial to prove it, I suspect that this phenomenon has his some sort of genetic basis. Jules started preschool on Monday. It's at the same place as his "daycare" with many of the same friends and teachers. But the little guy is in so many ways mini version of me (but with blond hair, blue eyes and, um, boy parts) and this new start seems to have motivated milestones--potty success!--and increased independence all around. Today, he dressed himself, topped off his outfit with a baseball hat, grabbed Kai by the hand and ordered, "It's time to go, Kai." When Jon tried to help him with his backpack--daycare is a drive away, so Jules wears it just to walk to the car (love!)--he shooed him off, saying, "I got it, Dad." Dad.

Anyway, today I'm starting a list of fall resolutions. My top 3:
1. Wake up earlier.
2. Run 3 times a week and get back to the weekend long runs that empower me to sign up for a 1/2 marathon (okay, a 10K) at any time.
3. Prep as much of the next-day's dinner as possible the night before. (Or simplify and plan to serve healthy dinners that take, like, 5 minutes to make. Whole-wheat raviolis...)

Now. Do I start my new planner today--or wait until my old one runs out in December? And do you have any New (School) Year Resolutions?

-Nicci

PS: As I occupy this blog with trivial musings, so many people here in Vermont and elsewhere are struggling with new starts forced by Irene. Donating to the American Red Cross is a great way to help. Or Text FOODNOW to 52000. The Vermont Foodbank will help turn your $10 donation into $60 worth of groceries for local families in need. (This was the first time I've ever donated via text. It. Is. Awesome.)

Using your children as an alarm clock has limitations.

With two young boys in the house, there's little danger that Jon or I will sleep beyond 6:30 a.m.  In fact, our typical wake-up call is even earlier, sometimes around 5. So what's the point of setting an alarm? Today, I learned--admitted, really--that there are several benefits of beating your kids awake. (And by that I mean waking before them, not slapping to rouse them from their slumber.) Here are my top three:

Time to shower. For people like me who mostly work from home, a shower, one might argue, is optional. Generally, I am not one of those people. Getting doused with water in the a.m. wakes me and makes me feel normal. But in getting the boys out the door, I often don't have time to shower, so I take the boys to daycare looking like, well, I just rolled out of bed. Because I did. When I come home, I don't shower then either. I convince myself that I have too much work and that I'll shower after I run. But then... I convince myself that I have too much work to run. Or shower. Boys come home. I've not showered. This is not good for morale.

Time that could be used to, say, unload the dishwasher. Or something like that. No one who knows me well would EVER describe me as a neat. (But I AM organized). Still, a certain kind of chaos makes me crazy. I'm not sure where to look or what to do next. Here's a photo of a corner of my kitchen. It's just the tip of a very messy "iceberg."

Yes, that's a disposable camera with film.
What is it doing up there on the shelf? Good question.

Clean clothes. Actually. I have a lot of clean clothes right now. In baskets all over the house. Because I'm waiting to put them away. You see, we're leaving again this weekend and I'll put them away when I pack. Perfectly logical, no? Also, I need to switch out the boys' clothing: In Julian's drawers are size-2 cords. He wears size 3 and it's summer (read: we haven't worn corduroy since, oh, March), which means... WE'VE BEEN LIVING OUT OF BASKETS FOR MONTHS.

Writing this is actually making me feel like horribly unorganized, but I will say this: yesterday, after work/school, I played baseball with Jules and tried to teach him how to stand up from a somersault without using his hands. Kai and I sang songs and danced. After the boys were in bed, I had a glass of wine with two friends. I chatted with my dad on the phone. This morning, both boys were dressed in clean, matching clothes appropriate for the chilly weather when I dropped them at school--where I leisurely helped them settle in and put away their healthy, homemade lunches.

I hope that my boys will look back and say, "Yeah my mom worked a ton but she played with us all the time and took good care of us." Will I feel like I've failed if they add "And she was a total slob"? Maybe. But I think waking up 30 minutes before they do is going to solve all of my problems. (Half full perspective here... )

So. Anybody have a great rec for a super cool-looking alarm clock that will charge my iPhone?