Hallmark meant she cared...

I got a card in the mail today from a neighborhood woman. I told her about the miscarriage when she called to ask me to send out an email for a local organization. At the time, she was so sweet, telling me how sorry she was for our loss. We got off the phone and I felt comforted. Like she really got it. She meant what she was saying, and truly hurt for me.

The card itself was really sweet, too.

“Thoughts of you are gently wrapped in little prayers for heaven to smile on you, angels to watch over you, and happiness to fill your heart again.”

This was not the only act of kindness in my life. Today, for instance, I got a call from the mom of one of my religion kids. She apologized for taking so long to call, and wanted to know how I was feeling. I was so touched. My friends have been rallying around me, too. Calling, emailing, texting. “Just thinking of U today, Ka. Hope you are doing well.” I got that text around 7 p.m. this evening from an old, old friend.

In the past — when people I knew battled adversity — I always felt bad that I wasn’t doing MORE for them. What could a card do? What could a call do? Would my baked ziti really change anyone’s  life? I should have thought back to my first miscarriage in July 2005. (That baby, due January 2006, would be six right now.) Right after I miscarried there was a knock on the door. One of the people I consider a “bestie” was standing there holding a pint of Ralph’s Italian ices. Jelly ring flavor, which is a favorite. She looked really uncomfortable and told me she didn’t need to be invited in, but she wanted to do something to show me she was thinking of me. Later on, I ate those ices and cried over the baby I had lost. It sounds morbid, but I’ve never forgotten that small, kind act. I don’t think I ever will.

Anyway, the point of this rather depressing blog post is that yes, small acts of kindness and heartfelt sympathy really mean something. I feel more whole knowing there are, for instance, super-busy people who will drop everything in their Manhattan office, asking me where they can call me. And people who email me constantly, checking in and making sure I am okay. And I can’t forget my entire GROUP of writer friends who sent me their phone numbers and commiserated with me. Those who shared their own stories of loss and grief to let me know that they understood. That I am not alone. And what about the woman who only knows me through our kids — and hadn’t spoken to me for more than a year –  but offered to come over and help me clean up my yard so I could just sit and rest because I NEEDED my rest? How could I forget her? Or family member who texted me four simple words, “I am so sorry,” making me feel warm inside even while tears streamed down my face. (That one was especially meaningful since that particular family member has many, many more never-born babies than I do.) I was equally as humbled by the friend who constantly told me to drop off my kids or said she would come and pick them up as well as her husband, who knows how I feel about hugs but still wrapped his arms around me to tell me that he cares. Or my brother, who actually CAME to my house and hung out, which is something he rarely does. And my mom, who stopped nagging and just took care of me, bringing me meals and watching my kids. My in-laws, too, who raced to the hospital at 4 a.m. to bring my kids home and have been attentive and worried during the whole process.

Yes, this entire experience has sucked really, really bad, but it definitely brought me clarity. It shows me how many amazing people I have around me — more than I realized. It also showed me who I should care about, and who I needed to remove from my life. Finally, it reminded me that an act of kindness, however seemingly small, can be huge to the person on the receiving end. And for that I am glad. It was a true silver lining on what was really a hurricane-sized thunder cloud.

My focus outward has been brewing for about six months or so, but it became more pressing about a month or so ago after I took Little Girl to a Mommy and me class. It was a class that my mother usually handles since it takes place on a day that I work. That week, however, my mom couldn’t sit for me. She’s been dealing with a very close friend’s serious health issues, so I was without a sitter.

Okay, so it’s not like it was my first trip to this Mommy and me. I had been there before, obviously, and knew some of the women on a, “Oh, hi, the kids got so big,” level. On that day, as always, I spent the class running around after Little Girl. She’s like a whirling dervish. Afterward, however, when we stopped into Panera for a pumpkin muffin top I had a chance to socialize with some of the moms. (Little Girl, seeing her “friends” loudly expressed an interest in sitting with them, and their mommies were kind enough to extend an invitation.)

The next three hours flew by. Little Girl sitting with the kids laughing and having a ball. Me sitting with the moms feeling relaxed and included. I have no trouble admitting that I really enjoyed myself. (I’ll digress a moment here and explain that, unlike my time with Big Girl, I haven’t really had a chance to do a lot of baby/mommy playdates, something I really, really regret and miss. Besides the fact that I have been feeling a little lonely lately. Okay, digression over.)

The women were really nice. The kids were really nice. It was a lovely time. Then, when the women asked if maybe I wanted to get together again, I felt really warm inside. I was actually looking forward to the next week knowing that my mom would be at a doctor visit with her friend.

That week flew by, and it was time for Mommy and me class before I knew it. I spent that class thoroughly enjoying my little girl and her exuberance and love, all the while looking forward to lunch. Afterward, I went back to Panera taking a place at the table with those same moms again. Then something happened. About five minutes into lunch one of the women told me that she Googled me. Something to the effect that my mom had bragged about me and my work so much that she had to look me up. And oh, she read this blog. The other people at the table nodded in unison. Seemed like they all read my blog, too.

Immediately, I felt like I was standing naked in front of them. Quite honestly, I wanted to cry. (And I did once I got into the car.) I smiled my way through the rest of the lunch, but I was pretty miserable the whole time. Especially when they started talking about some of my more personal posts. No, she didn’t just look at my impressive clips. (Yeah, I’ll own that — not too many people write for Time, Woman’s Day, Parents, The New York Times, and the Wall Street Journal, among other pubs). She looked at this blog, too and in effect took a peek into my soul since it is, for the most part, me. Warts, crazy and all, it’s me. My failings, my fears, my shortcomings. They all had a front row view into my brain.

Now some might say, hey, you put it out there. What do you expect? People read what you write. To that I say yes and no. When I started this blog more than 300-plus posts ago I never thought about new-to-my-life people reading it. I assumed friends, who already know me and like me enough to tolerate my foibles, would read it. I assumed editors would read it. (I hoped they would, actually, because I think it shows people what my unedited work looks like, and that I know how to tell a story.) I assumed other parents or people who don’t know me would read it and find comfort, inspiration, and knowledge in it. But no, I didn’t imagine that, for example, people from my beach club would read it. Or people from Mommy and me. People who I view as potential new friends.

The neighborhood thing, well, that’s my fault. I put it out there on my Facebook page. I truly didn’t think that anyone from around here would be interested in what I had to say. I have a very specific slant, and didn’t figure anyone would bother to click through. Stupid, shortsighted, and obtuse of me, I guess. The Mommy and me people? Well, I use a different last name in those circles. Problem is, I didn’t count on my mother bragging about me. My mother, who shares my maiden name. But whatever.

The problem is that people who don’t know me as a friend assume things from reading this blog. Hard to explain, but it’s almost like they look at me the way someone would look at another public figure. The intimacy is there without the hours of work and mutual sharing that a friendship usually goes through. Hence, the reason I often feel uncomfortable and uneasy when someone who is not my friend talks about something private I have written about. And again, yes, I know if I have written about something in a very public way in a very public forum, it’s not private. But in my mind it is. And now I am going in circles, aren’t I?

Back to the Mommy and me incident: That afternoon I sat in my car, called my husband, and bawled. It was ruined, I said. I couldn’t be friends with those women. It was too PERSONAL, I wailed. They seemed so nice, but how could I grow a friendship when they already had all the dirt on me? My ever-patient husband tried to calm me down telling me that it was okay, and that they obviously liked me even after reading the blog. Little Girl told me she loved me and that I shouldn’t cry. Still, I drove home brushing tears from my cheeks.

And that brings us to today. I’ve been thinking about this and thinking about this. I absolutely love this blog. I love disseminating information. I love the catharsis that comes from spilling my soul onto the page. I love getting emails saying that I helped someone feel better, or that I helped them on a greener (or saner) path. I don’t love knowing that people I meet think they know me after reading what is only a small part of who I am. And I hate it when good friends of mine — people I truly love and respect — apologize for bringing a plastic bag to our house, for instance, or reference something I’ve written about as absolute. In writing, there is absolute. Either you write it or you don’t. In life there are shades of gray, and I like that and live that way.

So what’s a girl to do? Well, I’ll be launching a new blog in a few weeks as well as giving this one an overhaul. This one will have more reviews, more news, more ways to make positive, healthy green changes. The name of the blog is changing slightly, too. It will become AsNaturalAsPossible.com, although this URL will remain up. In addition, another new, soon-to-be-launched blog will join it, capturing a year of my life in a way that’s more conducive to my social life. Yes, I will still be spilling who I am, but in a different way. (You’ll get it when you see it, I promise!) I’ll wait on announcing the URL until the site goes live, but it should bow soon. I can’t wait…

I started with my address book. We’ve got family in Florida, Michigan, and South Carolina, but that’s really it. I moved onto my virtual address book, asking my 391 Facebook friends to help out. My sister (thanks, Aunt K) and my husband did, too. My brother asked some of his friends, too. Then I branched out to all the PR friends I’ve got out there. Since I’ve written travel stories for the New York Times, Woman’s Day, Yoga Journal, and Executive Travel magazines, I reached out to CVBs (convention and visitors bureaus) I’ve worked with in the past. Thanks so much to the CVBs/PR people for Omaha, Woodloch Pines, Kripalu, South Dakota, St. Louis, and North Dakota.

After exhausting all those sources, I took to Twitter, which was, I thought, the only way I was going to get states like Alaska. I tweeted to my followers, asking if anyone was from Alaska. One of the folks I know suggested a woman named @Brrrgirl, who lives in Alaska and is a teacher. I tweeted her. She responded that she’d be glad to send my daughter a postcard. Then she direct messaged me that she was sending a book, too. I didn’t know what to make of that, but sure enough, a week ago Big Girl got a package in the mail from @Brrrgirl that had an adorable book, Recess at 20 Below, photographs, and a postcard. I was floored. This woman who doesn’t know me from a hole in the wall went out of her way to buy a postcard, take digital photos of her beautiful yard, and send my kid a book. What a wonderful, caring person. All those other people — the friends of my sister and brother, the PR people, my out-of-state friends — fall into that same category.

Every day we are bombarded by bad news — people killing each other, robberies, assaults, road rage, fights, neighborhood disputes. And yet I truly believe that acts of kindness like I’ve experienced over the past few weeks probably happen far more often. They’re just not interesting. Not newsworthy, which is why I’m telling Brrrgirl’s story. And thanking her — and my sister, brother, friends, and family publicly. You’ve made my week.

We did a bunch of stuff to keep busy and have fun. I had Big Girl put on a piano recital for us. We ate breakfast. We played on the computer. We played a board game (my new favorite, Discovery Garden Game by The Wonder Forge. We connected via Ooovoo.com with my sister and her son, who is good friends with my kids. That killed a few hours, but Big Girl got bored. She thought we should go outside. Okay, I thought. Let’s do it. We got all dressed up in our snow pants, hats, gloves, snow boots, and warm socks and headed out.

There are no kids on our block so we decided to walk around the corner to see if anyone was out. (TONS of kids around the corner.) Nope, no one was out. Then the husband of my former Daisy troop co-leader drove by. He stopped and said hi. I asked if his kids were out. Yes, he told me, his wife had his kids outside building a fort. So, despite the fact that I didn’t call ahead of time and wasn’t invited, I made an executive decision. I walked over to say hello.

When we rounded the corner I saw my former co-leader out there with her two girls — both really sweet kids. Big Girl, who takes the bus with them, was thrilled. She jumped right in and started playing. Me? I grabbed a shovel and started shoveling and chatting. Then the nice woman who lives next door to my former co-leader came out, too bringing her little girl outside to join in the festivities. Nothing exciting happened, but it was comfortable and relaxing. I really enjoyed chatting with everyone and watching the kids play.

Around 2:30 I realized that the baby needed to go down for a nap so I tried rounding up Big Girl. My former co-leader said that the kids were having fun so I should leave her. That she would walk Big Girl home when they decided to go in. And like that Big Girl got an extended playdate. (And I got to carry a screaming and crying two-year-old for three blocks in the snow. “I WANT MY SISTER! MY SISTER HAS TO COME HOME!!! Sheesh.)

Anyway, I realized once I de-stressed from the walk home that I really don’t do that enough — put myself into uncontrolled social situations. But I should. If I would have hesitated, I would have made all of us miss out on a nice afternoon. So what that I wasn’t showered, didn’t have any make-up on, and didn’t call ahead? There should be no rules on a snow day. Hope we get another one really soon!

The spammer used my friend’s personal information to try and solicit money. (She works at a school for the deaf so the spammer mentioned deaf kids. UGGG.) When I searched for my friend’s name I realized that I was friends with two of the same person. Both accounts even used the same profile picture! I immediately reported the person as an impersonator using the report fake account link at the bottom left-hand side of the page, and then reported his or her direct message as spam.

The worst part of all of this: That spammer had access to ALL of my information including my photos and photos of my kids for about 16 hours. I am really mad and really scared. On the plus side I don’t have any phone numbers, my address, or any other really personal information on the page. I’ve always figured if you’re my real friend, you’re going to have all that information or be able to get it from me pretty quickly. But my photos! Well, that’s really upsetting considering I don’t even post photos of my kids on this blog. I don’t even use their real names!

Since this happened, I went and updated my personal information, making my friend list visible to only me. I also made sure all my other privacy settings were set to either Only Me or Friends. (You can find this information under Account/Privacy Settings/Customize settings and Account/Privacy Settings/Connecting on Facebook.)

So a word of warning to everyone: If you get a duplicate friend request, don’t automatically accept it! Ask your friend why they are sending you another request, and I think, at least for me, the same should apply to regular requests. It’s so sad that people will go to such lengths to scam others. And it’s really sad that I now have to live in fear that someone, somewhere stole my photos and is waiting to prey on my friends and family and their friends and family and so on and so on and so on. Just like the Breck commercial. But without all the bouncy, pretty hair.

I was surprised, however, when I got around to looking not at traffic or hits but at the content that got people to linger on the site. The stuff that people found and decided was worth a deeper dig. The story choices didn’t surprise me. (I really like the stories that made people stick around.) However, the fact that the the two categories — top traffic posts and top time-on-site posts — do not intersect did give me pause. Yes, that’s right. The posts that inspired people to stick around the longest were not the ones on the top ten traffic list. And even more interesting: Only one in five of my top posts has anything to do with being natural. Go figure, right?

Curious about what your fellow readers like to read? Here’s my top three posts in terms of traffic as well as the two stories that got people to stay on my site, on average, more than 22 minutes.

A post entitled Sunburn on a Cloudy Day was my most popular direct link. Lots of people Googled, “Can I get sunburned on a cloudy day?” and found my blog. It’s definitely worth a read, even in the winter since yes, you can get a sunburn when it’s 20 degrees outside. And of course my Southern Hemisphere readers (hi, Australia contingent!) should be thinking about this as they enjoy their summer months.

The second most visited post was Spanking: This Will Hurt Me More Than It Hurts You. It’s a story I wrote after talking to a new mom who was spanking her three-year-old. I was upset about the encounter, and shared my own spanking experiences.

The post in the third spot goes to Cereal Killers: Kellogg’s Methylnaphthalene Problem. Another post that got lots of hits in natural search. People heard about the Kellogg’s recall, Googled it, and found their way to my site.

Okay, here’s where it gets interesting. The post that made people stick around the longest is called Love Isn’t Complicated. I wrote it after an especially tender moment with my husband when, for a millisecond, I saw myself through his eyes. There are a zillion reasons that I love him with all my heart and soul. This post is just an example of one of those reasons.

The post that kept people around the second-longest is The Definition of a Friend. I wrote it when I was feeling especially vulnerable about — what else? — a newish friend. Upon reflection, the blog post ended wrong. I was fooling myself. I am still hiding some of the time. My darling husband confirmed this tonight, saying that I still hold back a lot. That, because I am afraid to disappoint or have people see me for who I really am, I still keep things surface-y. (Surface-y is my word. He explained it in a much wordier and nicer-sounding way.)

Okay, so resolution time again. I resolve to remember Joel Goodson. I resolve to put myself out there more. Putting this in writing is a huge first step since I know at least some of my friends and a few acquaintances read this blog. I promise to try and be less surface-y.

List aside, what was your favorite blog post this year? It doesn’t have to be my blog. Feel free to post your favorite overall blog post here. I love finding new people to read and follow. Just no spam, please.

It started last month when my friend turned 40. I went out and carefully picked a gift I knew she would love. (Weirdly, I have no problem buying gifts.) I got her two Pandora charms including a friends one. You know, the kind that has two parts? I figured she could keep on half and give the other to her mom or her little girl, both of whom she counts as best friends. Yes, she is one of my best friends, but I really thought she would share it with someone in her family. Instead, when she opened it she immediately said she was giving it to me. I was honored and excited. Soon after I got an invitation to her surprise birthday party, so I went out to buy a third charm for her to replace the half she was giving me. (I have a figure in mind when I buy gifts, and by giving me half, her gift didn’t hit that figure anymore.)

Okay, so here’s where it gets interesting. I have a Pandora bracelet, but it’s not real. I got it at one of those fake Pandora parties. Still, I didn’t care. Pandora is Pandora, right? Uh, not exactly. At my friend’s 40th surprise party as she was kissing everyone hello she stopped, sat down, and gave me my half a charm. I was really excited. I had a real Pandora charm, and one that signified a wonderful friendship. And yet as I sat there in the middle of her birthday bash trying to put my new charm on I encountered a problem: The fake Pandora bracelet does not accommodate real Pandora charms. Drat. At that moment I decided that, despite seven years of no Christmas gifts being exchanged between myself and my husband, I wanted a real Pandora bracelet. So I planted the seed, telling my husband that although we really don’t exchange, he could — if he wanted to — get me one thing. He could get me a blank silver Pandora bracelet. If he wanted to.

He took the hint and bought me what I wanted. I got it on Christmas morning, and had so much fun putting all my fake Pandora charms and my one real charm on it. It is beautiful.

On Christmas night I was lying next to Big Girl after tucking her in. She asked me about my birthday, which is approaching next month. And then it hit me. A strange feeling. A feeling that begged for another gift. And so I told her: “You can ask Daddy to get me a Pandora charm. You pick it out. And if Grandma asks, tell her to get me one, too.”

I’m still not one for big gifts. I don’t want diamonds or expensive stuff. I still get crazy when I take in more stuff than I’ve discarded. (I have to do a huge sort and purge after this Christmas, for example.) But I’m starting to see how nice it would be to get a pretty pair of black boots or one or two Pandora charms. Yes, I firmly believe it’s better to give than to receive, but receiving — every once in a while — is sort of nice, too.

What’s your favorite gift of the season? Do you exchange with your significant other? I’d like to know.

The church had put a mention of its Thanksgiving outreach in the Sunday bulletin, and it seems like everyone at church had the great idea to give something. Even folks who aren’t necessarily part of the parish helped out. While I was there unloading my boxes someone from my town’s school district came in with a large manila envelope. It was filled with more than $500 worth of gift cards to supermarkets in the area. The teachers and administration decided to do something amazing for those in need and had collected the cards specifically for the food pantry.

I could tell the church coordinator was overwhelmed with the generosity of our parish and our town — as well as the sheer volume of food. Still, even though she said that everyone who needed a Thanksgiving meal had picked one up, she still accepted my donation and the armloads and bags of donations that continued to come in as I stood there with Little Girl, who was diligently sorting vegetables with me. She has a plan for the overabundance. She will be helping our parish help another parish later today. You see, another church in a less well-off neighborhood is going to be the recipient of the fresh food and vegetables as well as some of the grocery overflow that can’t fit into the pantry.

As I walked out of the door, I felt pretty good. It was really gratifying to see so much REAL food in that church pantry. Produce, non-junky cereals, wholesome stuff that builds people up. It also made me so happy to see so many people helping others. Nameless, faceless others. The need was there, and people stepped up to the plate. (Although my good feeling was dimmed just a little bit by the nasty man who yelled at me because Little Girl didn’t have a coat on. When I explained she refused to wear one, he told me I should make sure to refuse to pay the doctor bill when she got sick! LOL and wow, judgmental much?!?)

Anyway, digressing as always. Thank you, people in my town and church, for renewing my faith in the world. I am truly thankful for all of you and for the good that you have done.

Hope you have a good night, and a wonderful tomorrow. Those in the U.S. should have a great Thanksgiving. And to my overseas friends — there are folks from 121 countries reading this blog! — don’t work too hard!

Finally, if you’ve got an extra second. Scroll down a bit. See that little brown box? Yes, the one about Top Mommy Blogs. Can you give me a click, please? People who find me from that site tend to become loyal readers. The higher I move in the rankings, the more likely it is that people will find me. I’m in the 300s right now…

Here’s the thing, as someone with a lot of ties — my kid’s Girl Scouts, preschools (three of them, I might add), private school, and public school as well as my own Mothers’ Center, two Gymboree stints, college, grad school, work environments, writers’ groups, and a high school class — the chance that I am actually blogging about someone who’s not in my immediate family is pretty slim. I only blog about people and things that are actually having an impact on my life. Right now, that’s my kids, my husband, work (occasionally), the environment, the government.

Yes, I have blogged about nameless, faceless neighborhood women who dress very well, but I was not blogging about them. I was blogging about my own insecurities brought on by my own preconceived ideas. Yes, I’ve talked about kids at school who have said this or that, but to punctuate a point — never to hurt someone, and hopefully never in a way that is personally identifiable.

So, to all of those people who wonder if I am blogging about them I say this: Relax, I’m not. Really, I’m not. And I won’t blog about the conversation we’re having, the stuff you’ve got in your grocery cart, or the story that you tell over coffee. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but with everything else I have going on, most people aren’t going to become blog fodder. There’s just too many other things to write about — the environment, vaccines, plastic, what to do with left-over boxes of vegetables from my CSA. (Although friends who whip other friends with Twizzlers are fair game!) Even if I think someone is really nice and I enjoy their company, they’re probably not on my radar when I sit down to type. Heck, even really good friends don’t make my blog most of the time. The reason: A long time ago when I used to write for Marie Claire and Redbook my husband put a policy in place: Thou shalt not write about our friends.

Besides, unless someone is hanging out with Jamie Oliver or volunteering with Greenpeace, simply put (and to quote Elaine from Seinfeld) they probably aren’t blogworthy.

Bloggers, how do you deal with people asking you if you’re blogging about you? Do you blog about people you know? Non-bloggers: How would you feel if someone blogged about you? Would you ask them to stop?

My daughter's brazen bully/friend's note.

The notebook lay open on the counter. I didn’t recognize Big Girl’s scrawl so I picked it up for a closer look. There, on the page, was the following:

“Bring it tomorrow and you said if you don’t I could punch you thank you good night.”

WTF?!?

I called Big Girl into the kitchen. What was this, I wanted to know. Nervously, she explained that one of the little girls in her class told her to bring a specific toy to school. And if she didn’t, she was going to punch Big Girl.

“First off, don’t let anyone punch you. That is not okay,” I told her. Then I explained that she had to stick up for herself if she could. “You tell her no, it is not going to happen. That friends don’t punch friends for any reason.” (They only whip them with licorice — sorry, inside joke.) But my daughter wasn’t convinced she could do that.

I honestly forgot about it with the activities of yesterday: work, a book club meeting, Little Girl being tipped over in a shopping cart (that’s a whole other blog post). But Big Girl didn’t. It was the first thing she asked me this morning. “Mommy, can I bring the telescope to school because A. says she’s going to punch me if I don’t.” I explained that no, she couldn’t do that. She would get in trouble for bringing toys to school, but more important you can’t just give in to what is essentially a bully’s request. Instead, I told her, I would tell the wanna-be puncher that she wasn’t allowed to bring it to school. I wrote a note:

Dear A.,

We don’t punch our friends! If you want to play with the telescope, come for a playdate.

–Karen (Big Girl’s mom)

Big Girl was thrilled. We headed over to the bus, and I heard that little girl asking my Big Girl if she had brought the item in question. No, my daughter told her. And then she handed her the note.

I know that little girl. I like that little girl. I’m hoping a funny, direct message from someone I hope she knows and likes will drive the point home: We don’t threaten other children. It’s not nice. Still, it will be interesting to see what Big Girl tells me when she gets home.

Did I do the right thing? What would you have done. I am flying by the seat of my pants right now.