Personal Mission...or Not.

It’s funny. My life was all planned out at the young age of 26 as I read the personal mission statement created in 1994 for my first MBA graduate course. Although it was clear that my mission in life as a Working Girl was to have a successful career, I laugh now at what I read. My plan included a successful career in information management. HA! What was I thinking?

With a clearly mapped out career path in the document, I was to soar up the corporate ladder and retire at the age of 55. Funny thing was, all of my personality tests indicated that I was to work in creative field such as marketing or advertising. Tests don’t lie. In fact, as I reviewed the Myers Briggs, Strong Campbell and variety of other tests, I was ‘off the charts’ intuitive…not cut out for the geeky field of computer science.

An INFP is what the tests indicated. A quirky little personality type that represent only 5% of the population. Now that explains it!! The description describes intuitive, creative, in love with life, loves all people and despises details. Career path recommended: Social worker – no; Acting – maybe; Musician – closer; Inventor – hmm just like Dad, Writer – not an option at that time; Marketer – right on! The very next semester I dumped the field of IT and changed my major to marketing. INFP’s follow their gut…it wasn’t a hard decision.

Even funnier was the account of how I mapped out my personal life. I would only have one child. And SHE would be born by the time I was thirty. This was scary to me at the time considering that was only four years away. The real story was that HE was born just two year after the document was writen…and HIS brother was born 3 ½ years later. I still received my MBA in marketing and don’t regret for a minute that I didn’t have a SHE.

The craziest thing as I read the professor’s comments sixteen years later. “You engaged me throughout the document. Forget the MBA, you should be a writer.” Why did it take me so long to listen??

My Valentine

I can thank a boy named Brian Miller for helping me find my true love. It was his high school graduation party where I first met my husband, Jon. June eighth to be exact. A beautiful summer evening. Like most weekend nights, my best friend and I were on the prowl for boys. We left my house around seven o’clock that evening. Outfitted in a pair of tight cropped pants and a pastel oversized, belted blouse. The ensemble was reminiscent of Flashdance and I looked as hot as Jennifer Beals. My stick thin legs and tiny waist were complimented by my flawless long, brunette locks. Even before we got to Brian’s party, I had turned many heads that evening.

We scoured Como Park for our targets that night. Parked in the lot next to the lake, my friend and I sipped our two liter of Peach Wine Cooler. It was warm, but we didn’t care. It was the effects we wanted. Earlier that evening, we convinced a thirty something man to purchase our alcohol. Parked in the lot of a small liquor store on Rice Street in St. Paul, I rolled down the window when a man opened his car door. “Hi,” I smiled at him.
“Hello,” he smiled back.
“My friend and I are wondering….” I said to him with a seductive glance.
“What would you like?” he asked without the need for me to have finished my sentence.

It didn’t take us long to attract attention. A car-full of boys pulled up beside us. “What’s up tonight, ladies?” one of the boys asked us. “Not much.” I replied trying not to look desperate. A boy in the back of the car said, “We are going to a great party tonight. Want to tag along?” He asked. I asked the boy where the party was and he said just a few blocks away. Since it was not that far, we felt that it wouldn’t be too much of a waste of time should it turn out to be lame. “We’ll follow you.” I answered. “But we have another commitment, so I’m not sure how long we can stay.”

We arrived at the party. It was at a small house a few blocks north of Como Lake. Interestingly, when we followed the boys into the backyard of the party, they ignored us. Apparently there were some young ladies in attendance that would not approve of them hanging out with two knock-outs from Roseville. I whispered to my friend, “This is a strange party. Why are there so many old people here?” It quickly became apparent that we were at a high school graduation party and we had never met the graduate. Plus, we stuck out like a sore thumb as we knew no one. Although there was no shortage of cute guys at the party, we felt out of place. Right before we were to make our quick exit, a boy approached me. He introduced himself, “Hi, my name is Jon.” I was not immediately attracted to him; yet he was with some very good looking guys.

Jon was not my typical tall, dark and handsome. None the less, he was cute and very friendly. I connected with him right away. That night was the first of many dates Jon and I would have that summer before he left for a year- long Rotary Exchange program to England.
From the moment we met, I believed that Jon was my soul mate; selected by God purposefully for me. He was the first guy that took the time to get to know me, the real me. To Jon, I was much more than an attractive young teenager with a knock-out body. To him, I was sensitive, smart and a great listener. He understood the real me. The quiet young lady who had a heart big enough for six people and a never ending desire to see the good in all things and people. He was the first man to say he loved me.

We were completely wrong for each other. He was Catholic, I Lutheran. His family was white-collar wealthy, mine blue-middle class. He was conservative, I liberal. He went to private school, I public. I was taller than him. He was blonde, I brunette. He lived in a mansion in the city, I in a post-war suburban rambler. He wore socks with sandals, I wore Gucci. As a young couple, we spent hours discussing our backgrounds, beliefs and values. In an unnatural way, we were a natural fit. It was our differences that fueled our attraction.

Jon and I met by accident – fate I imagine. From the night we met, we were inseparable for two months. My young heart was devastated when he departed for a year- long exchange trip to Europe. A lover of literature, he left me with a long reading list that included some of the most romantic novels written – Pride and Prejudice, Love Story, Jane Eyre. Not only did he love the written word, he was an exceptional writer himself. While in Europe, he wrote hundreds of beautifully crafted love letters and poems especially for me. Terribly home sick, I had the good fortune of being the beneficiary of his thoughts on paper. His words were magical; that he loved only me and imagined us together forever. As a teenage girl, it was a fairy tale romance. But, the problem with finding your soul mate while only seventeen is that the mind and body are not as mature as the soul. But at the young age of forty-two, it is so apparent!

I thank God every day for sending me Jon; to a place where I didn’t belong. I believed it was fate that brought us together. I still believe that today. Six years from the very day we met we were married. It will be nineteen years in June! Happy Valentines Day, honey! I love you.

Real Beauty

My husband asked me to marry him again a few weeks ago. Ring and everything. He’s an amazing man and I often take that for granted. Although we were married very young and had some rocky times, we’ve stood by each other through thick and thin.

We fell in love all over again when our lives were flipped upside down with our son’s illness. Dealing with the daily demands of caring for a son with Type 1 Diabetes can take a toll on even the strongest relationship. So focused on the care of your sick child, and giving what’s left to your other child doesn’t leave much for a relationship…and even less for yourself.

For me, writing is my therapy…a chance to float into a fantasy world to escape my often tired reality. A chance to imagine a simpler life. A chance to be someone else for awhile. I’m blessed to have many people in my life who have helped me through this tough time and I’m very sorry to those that I’ve inadvertantly hurt with my words on paper.

Yes, Jon. I will marry you again! And yes…I’m brave enough to leave my child behind for a few days so you can sweep me off my feet – even if we have to hire a nurse to care for him. And yes…we will sleep through the night without having to wake up at midnight and 3:00 am to make sure our son is safe. And yes…I will prance around in a slinky bikini all day long.

Seeing the tears in my husband’s eyes as we walked our oldest son into the high school enrollment tonight made me love Jon even more. He’s an amazing father. We’ve learned to enjoy our not so simple life. Our relationship is simple and loving. Real Beauty. Thank you honey!!! I’ll never take you for granted again.

Mama, Tell Me about the Coldest Day of the Year

It’s hard for me to believe that I have a fourteen year old. My oldest son’s birthday was this week and it always brings me back to that time in my life when I thought I could control just about anything.

The story begins on Friday, the day before Owen was born. I was thirty-six weeks pregnant…and still didn’t believe I was having a child. Owen wasn’t an accident…I’d been married for nearly five years…but I wouldn’t say he was planned. Just ask Jon. (Yes…I did get married very young. My hubby tied the knot so I wouldn’t run off with the doctor in training. That’s another story.)

Driven, even at the young age of 28, I was convinced that Owen would arrive on my schedule. Working nearly sixty hours a week and attending my evening MBA program two nights a week and Saturday, I was a busy young lady. With the exception of vomiting constantly for the first four months, I had a fairly easy time forgetting that I was pregnant.

The Friday was a snowy cold day. I had a television commercial shoot that I needed to attend for my company. The shoot was located at Hyland Hills Ski Area in Bloomington. We were filming at the top of the hill. The best place to capture the beautiful falling snow. At the bottom of hill, I looked up and saw the small crew. Afraid of heights, for a moment I wondered how the hell I was going to get up there. A small chair lift was an option. There was also a man on a ski-doo traveling up and down the small hill with lighting equipment.

“Hey Sir,” I yelled to the man on the snowmobile. “Would you give me a lift to the top of the hill? I need to be at that shoot.” He took one look at my oversized stomach and said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Off he went without me. Next I walked over to the ski lift. The lady at chairs said, “Pregnant people are not allowed to ride the lift.” Damn. Now what was I supposed to do? I stood there and looked up the hill. Determined not to disappoint my company…and myself I stubbornly walked up the slick snowy hill. Me and the seven pounder in my tummy.

My back hurt like hell the next day when I woke up. Realizing now it was a bad idea to walk up and down the ski slope, I dragged myself out of bed for my morning Business Law Class at St. Thomas in downtown Minneapolis. It was the coldest day of the year. 25 degrees below zero. Jon was kind enough to take me to class that morning as I wasn’t feeling well. I made it through class and parked my huge body on the sofa for the rest of the afternoon.

Jon, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in hangin’ around the house with his grumpy pregnant wife. (Who could blame him?) He had other plans for the day. St. Paul Winter Carnival plans – surely to include lots of adult beverages to keep warm. Sending him out of the house to have his fun…I armed him with a cell phone and a pager and begged him to be on the look-out for a message from me. He graciously checked in with me several times that afternoon and early evening as I still didn’t feel well.

At around 10:00 that evening, I was starting to have horrible back pains. Instinctively, I knew something was wrong. I called. I paged. I called again. No sign of Jon. Apparently both devices were left in his jacket at the sports bar. He frantically called me at 12:30 when he saw the 30 some odd pages and phone calls. Racing home now, he arrived about 1:00 am.

When he finally arrived, we went to bed and I felt even worse. At 2:00 am, Jon got up to call the doctor and they instructed me to come in as soon as possible. I wasn’t prepared. No packed bag waiting for me, as all of the books I meticulously read instructed.

It was 2:15 am. We sat in our small car at the intersection of White Bear Avenue and County Road E. Not a soul on the road, it seemed forever until the light would change. I looked up into the midnight blue cold sky and saw the brightest full moon ever. It was the coldest night of the year. Now 30 degrees below zero. I could still see my breath in the car as we didn’t have time to warm it up. Van Morrison’s “Moondance” was playing on the radio. The pain in my lower back was excruciating. I was terrified that I wouldn’t make it to St. John’s hospital just a few miles down the road.

We made it to the hospital at 2:25. Owen arrived at 2:45, four weeks early and completely unexpected. The doctor said I was lucky that he didn’t arrive right there in the car at on White Bear Avenue. That early cold morning, life changed forever. Owen taught me that life can’t and shouldn’t be a series of planned events. And he wasn’t an accident. He was my angel sent from heaven!!

The best part of my son's birthdays is the time I have alone with them. I sit them down, hug them tight and tell them about the day they were born. They never get sick of the story. Neither do I.

Three Men & a Grocery Store

It’s an adjustment relearning how to be a working mom again. Although I was never taught how to cook, I enjoyed attempting the art of cooking while out of work. Like most other things in life, I thought if I worked hard enough at it the skills would come eventually. After three kitchen fires, two sets of ruined pans and failed private lessons, it was evident that cooking just wasn’t in the cards for me. I did deduce, however, that it was less a problem with lack of skill and more a problem with my natural instinct to multi-task. One cannot do three things at once while cooking. I learned this the hard way.

Planning meals and on demand shopping became a part of my daily ritual while out of work. The Friday evening weekly grocery run was no longer necessary. The habit of shopping at the designer grocery stores was not an option now that we were on a budget. ‘Bag your own grocery’ chains became familiar to me for the first time in my marriage. With more time than I’d ever had, I slowly strolled the aisles every day with the other ‘at home moms’ and senior citizens. I carefully selected the best produce and meats, ensuring that I would feed my family only the healthiest of meals.

This past weekend was a typical one for our family. Jam packed with the ten and thirteen year old boy activities, including a basketball tournament located on the other side of the city. Managing the weekly grocery shopping was sure to be a challenge. That Sunday, before the final game, I dragged my three men to the only grocery store near the basketball venue. We were on a quick mission to purchase a week’s worth of groceries in thirty minutes. Upon arrival to the Louis Vuitton of grocery stores, I had a distinct plan. I’d take the boys and grab the essentials for school lunches, dinners, healthy snacks, milk, etc. My husband was charged with gathering breakfast items and cereal for my little guy.

I noticed while examining a $6.00 box of Graham Cracker Bears that my boys disappeared. This could work to my advantage or disadvantage. At this point…I wasn’t sure. My youngest son had the attention span of a gnat as he was playing his portable video game. My 13 year old son grunted through the aisles saying, “grocery stores are stupid.” Now that they had disappeared, it was my chance to take fifteen minutes and cruise through the store like a maniac attempting to gather as much healthy food as possible. I have vowed NOT to fall back into the ‘quick fix-fast food lifestyle’.

Once finished, I looked for my husband. Up and down the aisles. Back and forth through the produce. Through the meat. Through the frozen foods. Through the produce again. No sign of the three men. Up and down the aisles again….three times. Still no sign. Ticked off as heck now I pondered, “Did they go back to the car? Did I take too long?” All three boys own cell phones, yet none would answer during my search.

Five minutes left until we needed to rush back to the basketball game. “Darn….where the heck are they?” I thought. I decided to plant myself by the check-out for my final three minutes. Mad as a hornet now, I looked up front. Sure enough, there sat my three men. Two on the iPod Touch and one surfin’ the net on his Smart Phone. “Hey hon, this place has wifi,” exclaimed my not so cute any more hubby. “Oh really? Where’s your cart? I’m ready to check out.” I said shortly. “Over there, beautiful,” attempting to charm me. I looked at the empty stranded cart. No cereal. Ugh….

One thing is for sure…grocery stores and men don’t mix. Next weekend, I’m back to the Friday evening ritual. Alone & happy.

Still the "Real Housewife or Arden Hills"

Those of you who know me best, know how much I’ve changed as a human being the past twelve months. Losing my job was truly the best thing to happen to me. It took me six months to decompress from eight years of corporate torture. I’ve finally shed my hotel snob perspective of the world and realize that the lifestyle of an executive had slowly turned me into an arrogant, self centered person. (Many of you have told me that I was never that bad…but inside that’s how I felt.) Work was the center of my life…before my kids, my health and my marriage.

I started my new job in early December. Although it’s a very demanding job, I love it. I promised myself that I wouldn’t let my work take over my life again. I’m proud to state that I’ve accomplished this goal.

It surprises me how much I miss being “The Real Housewife of Arden Hills.” I never planned on being an ‘at home mom,’ but when forced into it, I fell in love with my life. Having me working again has been an adjustment for the whole family. We’ll adjust…just like we do every time our family is thrown a curve ball.

I will miss having the summer off with my boys. Five things I learned from my time off with them:
1. Its 100% ok and normal to sleep in until 11:00 am
2. One can make it through the night without sleeping with a Blackberry
3. Sunbathing is still fun. And, I can still get a tan
4. On average, one can watch Sports Center’s Top 10 plays 5 times before looking for the remote
5. Running 10 miles a day is possible if you work hard enough...even when you can't make it to the end of the cul-de-sac when you first start. (I'll keep you posted on my TV Commercial for the Do Groove campaign.)

Jon still says that I'll always be the "Real Housewife of Arden Hills". At least until the boys are in college and I can finally move somewhere warm.

In my spare time (what’s that???), I’ve been slowly working on finishing my novel. I have it all wrapped up in my head, now to get in down in writing. Next step is to engage an editor and begin the tough process of getting it published.

Thank you all for hanging in there with me. I promise to continue writing.

Holiday Greeting

2009

Twas’ the night after New Years, when all through the house,
The Grayson’s were quiet, as scared as a mouse.
Hundreds of resumes delivered with care,
In hopes that employment soon would be there.

While winter was consumed by basketball,
Owen, age 13, grew to 5’ 10” inches tall.
Eli, age 9, saw nuttin’ but net,
Hoping that someday he’ll play for Marquette.

God blessed us in February with Jon’s job at Plato Learning,
Health insurance benefits and plenty of earnings.
The traffic was awful at morning and night,
Leaving him stranded, no Daddy in sight.

Months of diabetes education at Children’s St. Paul,
Mom and Dad still struggle remembering it all.
Obtaining an insulin pump by summer was key,
Praise be to God, Eli is now injection free!

In June we went to Chicago for our summer fun,
Stalked Oprah, Obama, and saw Mauer’s home run.
We watched the Twins beat the Cubs at Wrigley their home,
We love outdoor baseball and won’t miss the Dome.

Kristy spent her first summer at home the boys,
But so many friends and such noise,
Eli played baseball, Owen played golf,
Jon & Kristy need a week off.

In July Kristy began to write her first book,
Place your bets on the novel, ‘cuz she still is no cook.
Jon took up yoga to relieve the stress,
He no longer worries if the garage is a mess.

Eli went to Camp Needlepoint, the weather was damp
Owen went to Camp Wapo and Big Sandy camp.

Gopher Football disappointed again,
In this century, will they compete in the Big 10?
We still root for Hoops, It’s Tubby time,
Gophs will do better than 2009.

We count you among our blessings every day,
God has provided for us in every way.
We will spread the real Christmas story
And proclaim that life it to give God all glory.