As the summer draws to a close, it occurs to me that my son is actually starting preschool. This is not just Mother's Morning Out. It is actual preschool, and we have to buy school supplies! How exciting! It makes me wonder where the last two and a half years have gone. Time flies when you are happy. How disappointed would I have been to work 50 hour weeks (or more) during this precious time when he was little? September will mark three years since I left my job as an attorney. I am thankful beyond words for the time I have had at home with my son. Having begun to pursue my writing career has also made me begin to feel more complete as a human being. I have no doubt that I am finally doing what I am supposed to do with my life. Are you? What are your dreams?
In these uncertain economic times, the only "safe" option is working for yourself. Do what you WANT to do, and follow your dreams. Why spend your life working for someone else, helping them to become richer, when they could fire you in the blink of an eye? Is that stability? No, I submit that it is not. Be in charge of your own destiny. Take your own life into your hands, and don't depend on your boss to be there next month when you have to make your mortgage payment.
It's life. Go out there and do it.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
I'm on Twitter now! You can follow me @PerrinCConrad
I was reluctant at first. I didn't really understand the concept of "tweeting." But now that I have been introduced to it, I submit that this may be *better* than facebook. Why? Because of its brevity. It's brilliant. I don't spend hours and hours looking at pictures of people's children's birthday parties or trips to Disney. 140 characters. That's all you get. If you can't say it in 140 characters or less, you're out of luck. Love it, love it, love it. If you haven't tried Twitter, give it a whirl.
I was reluctant at first. I didn't really understand the concept of "tweeting." But now that I have been introduced to it, I submit that this may be *better* than facebook. Why? Because of its brevity. It's brilliant. I don't spend hours and hours looking at pictures of people's children's birthday parties or trips to Disney. 140 characters. That's all you get. If you can't say it in 140 characters or less, you're out of luck. Love it, love it, love it. If you haven't tried Twitter, give it a whirl.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Fanning the Flames
Yesterday, young Sam and I went to the Fire Museum with a friend of mine from high school and her two children. Using a stroller would be almost cruel in such a place, but Sam is only two, so how to control him? I decided to use the little puppy dog "leash" that we have for him so he could determine where we walked, but I would be able to yank him back from any potential danger. Needless to say, Sam was extremely excited to see all the old-timey fire trucks. When we walked in, he splayed his arms out in front of himself and made some noises I have never heard before. Of particular interest was the simulator, where you can "drive" the fire truck. Siren wailing, lights flashing, horn blowing, flipping every switch and pushing every button, he navigated the streets being projected on the inside of the windshield.
Meanwhile, my friend's three year old son had flashbacks from his last trip to the Fire Museum . . . he was frightened by the movie of a real fire that is shown in the small theater. He stood in the gift shop and cried almost the entire time.
The longer we were in the museum, the more keyed-up my son got. Before long, he darted away from me and was running around the perimeter of the place with his puppy dog leash trailing like a tail. I was chasing behind him in a most undignified manner. And the well-behaved group of children in their matching t-shirts from the North Charleston Rec Department looked on in shocked interest. You'd think they'd never seen a two year old on a leash before, gee whiz. Oh, I do enjoy being a spectacle. Not.
Sam was rounded up with the help of my friend, her six year old daughter, and the three year old, who had momentarily stopped crying. My son then scaled a platform under the auspices of going down a slide, with the help of the six year old. But once at the top, his true intentions became apparent. He snubbed the slide and tried to slide down the fireman pole (with me yelling for him to stop, once again, a spectacle) but was caught by the "tail" by my friend's helpful six year old who was trying to save his life. He dangled in the air for a moment with the leash suspending him in a fashion which I am sure was contrary to its design, and another mother who happened to be standing at the bottom lifted him down. Where was I during all this? First, I was running up the stairs to stop him from jumping, then I was running back down to catch him. Successful at neither. Leash and child back in hand, I walked toward the gift shop. Sam got himself tangled around my legs, just like a dog. My friend gestured toward her three year old, who had turned on the waterworks again. She said, "We can go anytime you're ready." "Yeah," I replied, "Let's go now."
No return trip to the Fire Museum is currently planned.
Meanwhile, my friend's three year old son had flashbacks from his last trip to the Fire Museum . . . he was frightened by the movie of a real fire that is shown in the small theater. He stood in the gift shop and cried almost the entire time.
The longer we were in the museum, the more keyed-up my son got. Before long, he darted away from me and was running around the perimeter of the place with his puppy dog leash trailing like a tail. I was chasing behind him in a most undignified manner. And the well-behaved group of children in their matching t-shirts from the North Charleston Rec Department looked on in shocked interest. You'd think they'd never seen a two year old on a leash before, gee whiz. Oh, I do enjoy being a spectacle. Not.
Sam was rounded up with the help of my friend, her six year old daughter, and the three year old, who had momentarily stopped crying. My son then scaled a platform under the auspices of going down a slide, with the help of the six year old. But once at the top, his true intentions became apparent. He snubbed the slide and tried to slide down the fireman pole (with me yelling for him to stop, once again, a spectacle) but was caught by the "tail" by my friend's helpful six year old who was trying to save his life. He dangled in the air for a moment with the leash suspending him in a fashion which I am sure was contrary to its design, and another mother who happened to be standing at the bottom lifted him down. Where was I during all this? First, I was running up the stairs to stop him from jumping, then I was running back down to catch him. Successful at neither. Leash and child back in hand, I walked toward the gift shop. Sam got himself tangled around my legs, just like a dog. My friend gestured toward her three year old, who had turned on the waterworks again. She said, "We can go anytime you're ready." "Yeah," I replied, "Let's go now."
No return trip to the Fire Museum is currently planned.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Random Compliment
This morning, I went into my 2 year old's room to get him up and dressed. Suddenly, he put his index finger on one side of his chin and said, "Mommy, I was finking . . ."
"Yes?" I asked, intrigued.
Then he put his finger up on one of my eyebrows and said, "Ya eyebwows wook weally gweat!"
This is good news, since I don't do a thing with them. I thanked him enthusiastically for the random compliment, and started my day with a smile and a warm, fuzzy feeling.
Go pay someone a random compliment today. You just might turn their day around.
"Yes?" I asked, intrigued.
Then he put his finger up on one of my eyebrows and said, "Ya eyebwows wook weally gweat!"
This is good news, since I don't do a thing with them. I thanked him enthusiastically for the random compliment, and started my day with a smile and a warm, fuzzy feeling.
Go pay someone a random compliment today. You just might turn their day around.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Time Flies
Hey, everyone! Much has happened in the 6 months since I last posted. We are now (somewhat) settled into our beautiful new house. I have had 2 rounds of antibiotics and steroids for my mamma-jamma allergies. My son had a mystery virus with a really high fever (but is fine now). My brother-in-law moved to Charleston to take a new job here. My son also moved out of the crib and into the "big boy bed."
And, I have launched a new business! Please check out what I am doing here:
www.perrincothranconrad.com
And, I have launched a new business! Please check out what I am doing here:
www.perrincothranconrad.com
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Shout to the Lord
I dearly love my grandfather. Although he is a stoic, formal type of man, we have a wonderful friendship. For the entirety of my thirty-seven years, my grandfather has always said the same grace before meals: "Lord, make us thankful for these and our many other blessings. In Christ's name we ask it, Amen." It's a good blessing. Several of the men in my family use it.
My grandfather departed from tradition this Thanksgiving. He started to pray a freeform, from-the-heart, beautiful blessing. I wish I had been able to hear it, but my 2 year old started screaming about a sentence into it. He suddenly decided that, before eating the meal, he wanted out of the feeding chair. Immediately. I shushed him, and that made him scream and cry louder. I wanted to pick him up and carry him out, but would have had to pick up the entire dining room chair, with feeding seat and thirty pound child attached, and run to another room. Running with furniture was not feasible.
I covered my son's mouth with my hand, which he usually thinks is funny. It wasn't funny that day. It enraged him. He screamed louder. My grandfather continued with his prayer as if nothing were odd. My mother got up and walked around me and tried to appease her grandson by giving him a piece of bread. How dare she? Didn't she know that a piece of bread was no match for world injustices? Now my child was mad at both mommy and grandmother. As soon as my grandfather drew to a close and wrapped up with "Amen," the screaming magically stopped. With a red, wet face, my son proceeded to calmly nibble some green beans and dressing. I'm sure my grandfather said a lovely Thanksgiving blessing, but we have no idea what he said.
My precious little baby boy turns two this week. I guess since he's a big boy now, he wanted to say his own blessing. What he was thankful for, I have no idea.
My grandfather departed from tradition this Thanksgiving. He started to pray a freeform, from-the-heart, beautiful blessing. I wish I had been able to hear it, but my 2 year old started screaming about a sentence into it. He suddenly decided that, before eating the meal, he wanted out of the feeding chair. Immediately. I shushed him, and that made him scream and cry louder. I wanted to pick him up and carry him out, but would have had to pick up the entire dining room chair, with feeding seat and thirty pound child attached, and run to another room. Running with furniture was not feasible.
I covered my son's mouth with my hand, which he usually thinks is funny. It wasn't funny that day. It enraged him. He screamed louder. My grandfather continued with his prayer as if nothing were odd. My mother got up and walked around me and tried to appease her grandson by giving him a piece of bread. How dare she? Didn't she know that a piece of bread was no match for world injustices? Now my child was mad at both mommy and grandmother. As soon as my grandfather drew to a close and wrapped up with "Amen," the screaming magically stopped. With a red, wet face, my son proceeded to calmly nibble some green beans and dressing. I'm sure my grandfather said a lovely Thanksgiving blessing, but we have no idea what he said.
My precious little baby boy turns two this week. I guess since he's a big boy now, he wanted to say his own blessing. What he was thankful for, I have no idea.
Friday, October 2, 2009
The Ruby Red Running Shoes
I hated them when I first bought them. They're so . . . so . . . well, red. When I go to buy a new pair of running shoes, my criteria are as follows: 1. I will not pay full price - must be on sale at Rack Room or a similar place. 2. I really dig the squishy Saucony's. 3. I look for the least offensive color possible - white, grey or light blue.
I really needed shoes for my afternoon walks in about summer or fall of 2005, and I was in a pinch, so I bought these white Saucony's with red accents and trim. Each day after work, and on weekends, I would walk on the beach in these shoes, and got into probably the 2nd best shape of my life. As I walked on that beach, I would decompress, dream, scheme, and pray for God to send me the husband I had been waiting for for 32 years.
We met at a party in December of 2005, then walked the new Arthur Ravenel bridge together in January 2006 (and I wore, you guessed it, the red shoes). That was it. We both knew. We got married in June 2006. As the red shoes got tired and worn down, I didn't have the heart to throw them away. I guess I was sentimental about the fact that I wore them on "the walk" when my husband and I got to know each other and began our avalanche romance. So I just kept them in my closet.
We moved to another beach recently, and I suddenly found myself in need of a second pair of running shoes to wear just for walking on the beach. I got the red shoes back out, thinking it wouldn't matter that they were a little worn down, since walking on sand is a little easier than walking on concrete. I have worn them on the beach for about 3 months now.
As I was walking down the beach a few days ago, pushing my son in his stroller, I realized the red shoes were starting to give me stone bruises on my feet. It's time. But I thought about them going full circle with me. I walked on the beach in them when they were new . . . and they helped me get into good enough shape to attract a husband. Now they are helping me walk off baby weight, four years later. It will be hard to chunk them, because they have seen so many significant miles with me. I'd almost like to have them bronzed. But if I did, then you couldn't see the delightful red trim.
I really needed shoes for my afternoon walks in about summer or fall of 2005, and I was in a pinch, so I bought these white Saucony's with red accents and trim. Each day after work, and on weekends, I would walk on the beach in these shoes, and got into probably the 2nd best shape of my life. As I walked on that beach, I would decompress, dream, scheme, and pray for God to send me the husband I had been waiting for for 32 years.
We met at a party in December of 2005, then walked the new Arthur Ravenel bridge together in January 2006 (and I wore, you guessed it, the red shoes). That was it. We both knew. We got married in June 2006. As the red shoes got tired and worn down, I didn't have the heart to throw them away. I guess I was sentimental about the fact that I wore them on "the walk" when my husband and I got to know each other and began our avalanche romance. So I just kept them in my closet.
We moved to another beach recently, and I suddenly found myself in need of a second pair of running shoes to wear just for walking on the beach. I got the red shoes back out, thinking it wouldn't matter that they were a little worn down, since walking on sand is a little easier than walking on concrete. I have worn them on the beach for about 3 months now.
As I was walking down the beach a few days ago, pushing my son in his stroller, I realized the red shoes were starting to give me stone bruises on my feet. It's time. But I thought about them going full circle with me. I walked on the beach in them when they were new . . . and they helped me get into good enough shape to attract a husband. Now they are helping me walk off baby weight, four years later. It will be hard to chunk them, because they have seen so many significant miles with me. I'd almost like to have them bronzed. But if I did, then you couldn't see the delightful red trim.
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