Walk the Walk

I engaged in another fund-raising event for cancer research today, but sadly I was not required to wear an adult diaper. Instead, I spent the morning at Montrose Harbor and walked four miles along the lovely Lake Michigan with much of my family. This year's Pancreatic Cancer Research walk was the second annual event for my family, in honor of my awesome aunt Ann who died last summer.

Obviously there is no good cancer, but pancreatic cancer is especially brutal. Usually by the time the symptoms are evident, the disease has a firm grip, so kudos to the Lustgarten Foundation for raising funds for research and screening techniques. It was a gorgeous day and it was nice to have the family and my auntie's best friends there to remember how great she was, donate our time and raise funds for research.

Look! We're ... walking!



I'm not proud to admit it, but I'm beat. My bum ankle's swollen to Medi-cankle proportions and my achin' back is screaming for more contraband. As far as recrapping goes, my homeslice Mitchell is missing in action, but I do know it's state fair season in Hutch, and I hear tell that he's harboring carnies. I look forward to hearing how that's going. The weekend was mellow on my side. Aside from getting the Mr. completely baked on Friday, which was rare and hilarious, and finally mastering the grill yesterday (I know--it's supposed to be easy, but I always get distracted), the Walk was the highlight.

I'm crafting my Take Nora to Work Day Issue One Volume One as we speak. I went to work with my husband, and as soon as I get the five gazillion pictures downloaded I will regale you all with my adventures in all things elevators. I encouraged him to wear a bandana on his face bandito style, like the Bloods or the Crips who try to obscure their identities, but he didn't, so I might have to figure out how to blur his face and the company logo on his shirt. I sure would be sorry if my good times resulted in a termination powered by OSHA. It wouldn't be Take Nora to Work, it would be Get Nora a Job, and that doesn't have the same appeal, does it?

Ratherto, as soon as you can get me on a barge, let me know. I am so uber-psyched about that prospect. I think that will be every bit as kick-ass and educational as my day in a Chicago highrise. Stay tuned! Anyway, I have an episode of Mad Men to prepare for, so I must go, but remember--if you like to waste company time and like to talk about your job, I encourage you to Take Nora to Work!

A Year of Changes

I've made it a mission in my life to streamline responsibility. An adult life with no responsibility isn't that fulfilling, but a life with too much? Not for me. That's why when I got pregnant with my son, I figured I'd be good on that front for a long time. I knew being a parent was the most responsibility I'd ever take on. So, I was a good pregnant girl: I ate right (as in, everything), exercised (after I gained twenty pounds in my first trimester) and took my pre-natal vitamins (chased with ice cream). I read all the books and patiently listened to all of the (cockamamie) advice everyone (strangers) threw my way.

When I went into labor, everything went smoothly and according to plan. There was no way it could be so easy. I had no pain, thanks to the epidural and was just waiting for the show to start. So, when the doctors and nurses swarmed in around me, slapped an oxygen mask on me, started rotating me and doing things only bad people who must be punished deserve, I was terrified. In the four minutes it took the OBs to perform the C-section, I finally understood what responsibility meant. Having avoided a surplus my whole life, and never having more than the barest minimum, I looked with total relief and love at my baby screaming, safe and sound in the doctor's hands.

Sure, it's an important job--the most important I've ever had, no doubt. I'm so fortunate to have such good material to work with. He's a solid, happy and bright little boy (there's no point in me waxing poetic about his angelic cuteness--I'm biased). As I reflect upon the last year, I'm filled with gratitude. It's a privilege and an honor to be responsible for loving him, guiding him and teaching him to be the best human being possible. I can't even believe that the little man who staggers around like a drunk, with his silky towhead hair and gappy white-toothed grin, is the same baby I was afraid I was going to lose a year ago today.

As I watch him stack his rings, play with his blocks and push his trucks around the living room, the realization has dawned on me that my responsibility to him is just getting interesting. Of course, I'm responsible for keeping him healthy and safe, but beyond that, the real work is in making sure he becomes the best person he can be. I'm responsible for promoting and shaping the best of his personality and for curbing bad habits and behaviors. His personality reveals itself more every day, but it's amazing to see that the foundation, his determination, persistence and his willingness to work hard to overcome obstacles, has been present from the day he was born and lifted his head, already interested in moving beyond mommy into the great big world.

Happy birthday, little man. Holding you for the first time was the best moment of my life and being your mom has changed me for the better, so thank you. I look forward to helping you become the great person I know you're going to be.