6710 Grand

 It’s the question I hate, and yet, it is asked of me at least 4 times a day.  What’s for dinner? Why does it bother me so much?   I think it’s because I hear it more than anything else.   Hi mom, what’s for dinner?   Where’s mom?   What’s for dinner?   Is mom down there? What’s for dinner? I’m reduced to a single purpose—feed the hungries.   And I know I’m so much more.   Sometimes, I fantasize about being simply, not available.   No food in the house.   Nothing is for dinner.   Someone else needs to answer that question. I realize my hatred of this question is irrational and impractical.   I am the only one who can answer the question.   Afterall, I plan the weekly meals, do all of the grocery shopping and cooking.   Dinner is my jam! Yet, I still can not stand being asked.   So, how can I avoid the question? A dry erase board.   I bought one specifically for this purpose.   It has th...

  Every Monday I drive to work.   I stop on the way to a grocery store that donates near expired produce 3 times a week to the sanctuary.   I load up sometimes 400 pounds of produce into my car—apples, bananas, greens, tomatoes, melons, squash, peppers—anything and everything.   When I get to work, I drive it out to Duncan’s barn.   Duncan was a 1200 pound pig who passed away almost 2 years ago.   He was about 12 at the time—quite elderly for a pig.   The barn carries his name as a tribute.   Everyone loved him, including my son, who met him when he was almost 2.   He would crawl into Duncan’s bed with him while he napped, press his face to Duncan’s snout and just jabber on about whatever he wanted Duncan to know.   In his wisdom, Duncan would snort, open his eyes, snort a bit more, sniff and snort some more, just taking it all in.   I miss him. The boxes of produce are sorted into what can and cannot be eaten and placed in a tin-...

Inhale exhale. Inhale exhale. Inhale exhale. Ok, now I’m not quite so frustrated or angry anymore. Let me explain: I don’t like to brag, so I’m not bragging.   I am a highly educated, highly qualified, professional non-profit fundraiser.   I have 2 bachelor’s degrees, an executive MBA, and a certificate in fundraising management.   My brain is worth $200,000 and I have the student debt to prove it.   I have been doing what I’m doing for nearly 20 years.   I’ve raised tens of millions of dollars for national and local organizations.   All that to say, I know what I’m doing.   And yet, every so often, I recognize that it’s helpful to get an outsider’s opinion.   Someone who’s never heard of me or my organization.   Someone who has experience in a different area of business or fundraising or non-profit management.   I don’t pretend to know it all.   I felt this way about my recent effort to seek corporate support for our ...

 "Oh, MOM, you look like a troll!"  Any other time, I'd be insulted but seeing as how it was super windy, my hair was standing on end and Trolls was his current favorite movie, I took it as a compliment.  Call me Princess Poppy! Trolls is entertaining...the first 3 or 4 times.  But after a weekend camping with no internet and only one downloaded movie, it was all that was available for the long drive home.  So Ike watched it.  And watched it again when we got home.  And again the next morning.  And again.  And again.  And again.  I noticed at the end of the week that Trolls was listed as number 4 in movies that day. "You know that's because of us, right?"  Nick said.  He might be right.  "I'll bet we're up to number 3 by the end of the weekend." Well, wouldn't that be something.   Trolls remained a favorite for quite some time.  The daily "how was your day" turned into "are you feeling like Poppy or Bra...

His photo is on my living room wall.  I see it everyday.  I find that I'm drawn to him and wishing that I had the confidence to get closer to him without getting hurt.  I know he'd never hurt me on purpose.  But I don't know him well enough to read his body language.  But I hope, with these words, that you can understand just how majestic he is and how amazing all cows could be...if only they were allowed to live. You’ve only seen them from far away.  Driving down the highway or on a back country road.  A herd of cows.  Lying in a pasture or grazing—they’ve always been quickly passed by.  Fleeting.  Just in your vision long enough to recognize their shape.  But now, now, the being towering beside you is anything but far away.  He is close and he is big.   Nearly 6 feet tall and 3,000 pounds, they said.  You reach out a hand, wrist down, knuckles first, giving him a chance to smell you.  He lets out a huff and hi...

 I am angry.  I have had enough.  I have had enough for my children.  The one thing we will not get any  more of is time.  It’s a finite resource and none of us know how much we have.  I have become so very aware of that in the last few years—since having a 4 th child, working full time with a traveling husband, my time is extremely precious.  Most precious is time to myself.  Time where no one else is demanding, asking, talking, pulling or otherwise needing my attention.  Time when I have no one and nothing to answer to by myself.  In that most precious time, I’ve declined phone calls from people I love.  Not because I don’t want to talk to them but because I don’t want to give up my time.  I’ve turned off notifications.  I’ve put down my phone.  None of those things are important enough to relinquish my time.  I won’t say I’m always doing something productive or even something anyone else would consider w...

Ike has taken a liking to my new job.  He's absolutely OBSESSED with cows and pigs.  I let him look at a photo of Duncan on my phone once and now that's all he wants to do whenever he sees me scrolling through my phone.  He'll climb up on the couch next to me, force his way onto my lap and say "piggies?"  If I say no, he responds with "Cows?"  Because I must be looking at one or the other.   Last week during the big snowstorm, Indraloka posted live videos of the cows in the snow.  Ike would watch for HOURS if I let him.  I was trying to get a few things done over the weekend so I was down in my office.  He would NOT let me do anything on my own so finally, I relented, put on the videos and walked away.  I got much more done in the kitchen.  

 God is my salvation.  I will trust and not be afraid.  Isaiah 12:2 Success is important to me.   Success in work, parenting, marriage, life in general—I want to be successful.   I work hard at it, sometimes making unrealistic demands of myself.   I set a goal (to burn 1500 calories a day more than I eat; to bake 25 kinds of Christmas cookies during the busiest season of the year; to raise $2500 every day for my organization—because that’s what we spend; to not get frustrated with my kids) and push push push to get it done.   Sometimes I make it (a lot of times actually) and sometimes I don’t.   When I do, I feel good—like I can take on more and keep it going.   But when I don’t, I internalize the failure.   I forget that sometimes the goal isn’t realistic or that there are things beyond my control that keep me from hitting a target.   It’s never easy when it doesn’t work out the way I see it in my head. Sometimes I forget that ...

 It's my favorite time of day--the early morning.  I'm awake but no one else is.  The house is quiet.  The coffee is fresh.  I can cuddle up on the couch with a blanket and a book, watch something not animated, or sneak down to my office to unload a few thoughts or ideas.   It doesn't last long, but I savor every moment.  It's the time of day when I can, for a short while, stop being mom and wife and just be Robin.

 They're sort of everywhere.  On the counter, filling the freezer, in the cookie jar, on platters.  Half-finished in the fridge and on baking sheets.  Everywhere! Cookies. Lots and LOTS of cookies. It's like this every year.  We pick 25 different kinds and set out to bake one every day starting on December 1.  It started out much more modestly--only 3 types back in 2006.  Then I found a cookie cookbook and it went up to 11.  It's grown steadily until I finally put a stake in the ground at 25.  One a day until Christmas.  And that's what we do.  The girls love helping.  Everyone loves eating.   I don't eat them really--maybe one or two here and there but mostly, I just bake them.  This is the busiest time of the year for me (big shock!) not just with my own family holiday preparations but at work too.  Fundraising hits its peak in December so I'm going going going more than usual.  Baking calms me down....

 Yep.  Did it.  We adopted dogs.  Not just one--two.  What on Earth was I thinking?   I know what I was thinking.  I was thinking about all of the amazing childhood memories having a dog gave me.  I was thinking of Iris and her sweet note asking us to consider one (she's being raised by a fundraiser, what can I say?).  I was thinking of the many, many animals needing homes.   And so we found Pookie (I HATE this name) and Lucy (Also one I would not have chosen given our recent loss).  They're a bonded pair who's former human died.  There were five dogs in the home and the other three found homes.  Pookie (the Pookster, Pook Pook, and often just Puppy) and Lucy (Luce Luce and sometimes Lucy Lu) are always together.  He's ok without her, but she's NOT ok without him.  So far, we're getting along well.  They're older dogs and not really puppies which is good.  Some kind of chihuahua mix, they're q...

 It always breaks my heart.  When love ends for someone, I’m sad.  And then I’m scared.  Anytime I hear about a divorce I panic.  Sometimes it’s a celebrity but sometimes it’s someone I know.  Family friends and relatives that have been a part of my life since I was born are now gone.  Or maybe just different.  A celebrity couple whose love story I could wrap my arms around and squeeze are now separating.  An author of books about living life as a Christian working mom I’ve devoured and tried to internalize reveals that her marriage is ending.  It happens over and over.   No one is safe.   And that means I’m not either.   Every time it happens, I want to find my husband and climb into his arms and hold on tight.   I want to check in and make sure we’re ok.   I want to remind him (and myself) that I’m desperately in love with him and if he ever decides to leave, I’m coming too. Sometimes I’m amazed and awed at...

She sat next to me for 3 hours as we drove together.  I’d never spent so much time with a live chicken before.  Peggy O, as she’d been named, wasn’t going to make it.  We all knew it.  Maybe she knew it too.  She was an elderly bird—one we’d rescued years before.  She’d lived a long and happy life—much longer and happier than anyone might have expected.  But now, her leg was in such pain that her quality of life was almost nothing.  She was in constant pain and there was nothing more that could be done for her.  She needed her pain eased.   The only way to do that was to end her life.   But that, it seemed, was easier said than done.   I’ve had dogs and cats—dogs that needed to be similarly released and a cat whose life ended very suddenly and without explanation.   It’s never easy, but it’s also not hard—not like this was.   Peggy was hurting.   But there was no veterinarian who would see her—they just don’t...

I’ve never been a cat person. Growing up we had dogs—once three at a time. I didn’t get my first cat until I moved into my brother’s house with him for my last year of college. I wanted a dog. But he already had 2 and was strongly opposed to me having my own. So, I said I’d get a cat. No way! He was convinced it would find itself in the ventilation.  Um…  But I got one anyway. He was a blackish-brownish boy that a friend of mine gave me as a kitten. Her cat had babies and these ones needed homes. I named him Jean-Claude. He was a great cat—full of personality. We got along great. Until I moved to Kansas City. I was sure it would be a bad idea for him not to have a roommate. I found another friend who’s cat had kittens and Oberon was brought home. Let me just say these two gents never really got along. We had occasion to rescue other cats in Phoenix. Someone had left 4 of them outside our daycare center—in July—in Arizona—with no food or water. Luckily one of ...

I love books. No big secret there. I've been an avid reader for as long as I can remember. I would always pick the big books--the ones with 4-500 pages so I could dive in and stay a while. I've never been one to read a single book at a time. Even now, there are 8 or 9 on my "currently reading" shelf. I love real books--I love the smell and the feel. But I'm not one to pass up an audio version either. I have the Kindle, the iPod, the personal library, the library fines--all the signs of a book lover. I do not appologize for this. One of my most memorable birthdays was when I was nine or ten and my dad took me to B. Dalton and gave me free reign. Pick 10, he'd said. Ten! Ten new books! There were a few series I'd picked out--Sweet Valley Twins, The Babysitters Club, stuff like that. But the one I felt most excited about was the Tell Tale Heart and Other Writings by Edgar Allen Poe. I still have that book. It's a bit worse for wear, and mi...

It’s 4:33 and the sunrise alarm clock that is supposed to wake me up naturally is blaring orange light into my bedroom.  I have no idea how to turn it off because the 946 page instruction manual remains unread in my “to read” folder.  But it doesn’t matter.  Ike is crying and it’s time to get up anyway.  I pry myself out of bed, throw on my gym clothes and head downstairs.  The coffee pot is brewing.   I debate having a cup before my run but as I diaper my baby and snuggle him back to bed I know it’s not a smart choice.   One cup leads to seven and that means my morning run won’t happen.   And it MUST happen. Baby is back down for at least another hour so I head to the basement where my office and gym are waiting for me.   I’m immediately reminded of the things I meant to finish last night but didn’t and am momentarily tempted to tackle them now.   No.   You MUST run.   I open the windows in the gym and turn on two fans. ...