Category Archives: Gratitude

Living My Best Life

Oprah always liked to talk about living your best life. She would bring on a collection of “experts” to tell us how to do it. And I soaked it up like a sponge. (I actually mourned her leaving.)

And like all good Oprah-ites, I had a vision of what that Best Life would be. It involved living at a beach, with no debt and no clutter, and I’d have a successful acting and writing career. Sounds like a best life, doesn’t it? I still like the sound of that life, don’t get me wrong. It is a dream life.

But, it is not my current life. My stay-at-home, living paycheck to paycheck life. My crazy, frazzled, often-cluttered life. And while I have always respected full-time moms, I have not respected myself as a full-time mom. It was the consolation prize — basically, it was what I did while I waited for the real life to start, the “best” life.

Well, as Cee Lo sings, “Forget that”. Being a Mom matters. In general and specifically to my kids. And I am starting to respect that. I’ve always loved being my kids’ mom but I haven’t appreciated it.

For now, this is my best life.

I dragged myself through the routine of being a mom. Whether it was cooking or cleaning, I did it. But I did it with a begrudging resignation. I am going to try to do better. Or, if you will… I am going to do my “best”.

I am going to do my best to make a home. A home of which I am proud. To make food that I enjoy. And to realize that no matter how I got here, this is the life, not simply a weigh station along the path of my real life.

I haven’t given up on the dream life, I’m just going to live my best life everyday along the way.

So, are you living your best life? What does it look like for you?

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Posted in 40, Acting, Gratitude, Mommyhood | Tagged , , , | 19 Comments

I’m Taking the Long Way Home

So Day One of the Forty Project, AKA being 40, was a success. Of course, it is pretty easy to be happy when your family takes you to the beach (my absolute favorite place in the world!!!), feeds you great food, and throws a new iPhone, a Bluetooth ear piece, custom made jewelry, and other amazing gifts at you. But the best gift was an amazing day surrounded by people I love, dozens and dozens of well wishes here and on FB (seriously if FB can’t make you feel like a rock star on your birthday, I don’t think anything can), and an overwhelming feeling of love, love, love.

I could have included “All You Need is Love” but I did the Beatles yesterday (in fact I did “Yesterday” yesterday). Someone asked me once if my life was a film what would be the song that ran over closing credits. I thought about it a while and said, “Take the Long Way Home” by Supertramp. As I embark on the middle of my life (for the record, that does not make me Middle-Aged), it seemed very appropriate.

 

So you think you’re a Romeo
playing a part in a picture-show
Take the long way home
Take the long way home

Cos you’re the joke of the neighborhood
Why should you care if you’re feeling good
Take the long way home
Take the long way home

But there are times that you feel you’re part of the scenery
all the greenery is comin’ down, boy
And then your wife seems to think you’re part of the
furniture oh, it’s peculiar, she used to be so nice.

When lonely days turn to lonely nights
you take a trip to the city lights
And take the long way home
Take the long way home

You never see what you want to see
Forever playing to the gallery
You take the long way home
Take the long way home

And when you’re up on the stage, it’s so unbelievable,
unforgettable, how they adore you,
But then your wife seems to think you’re losing your sanity,
oh, calamity, is there no way out?

Does it feel that you life’s become a catastrophe?
Oh, it has to be for you to grow, boy.
When you look through the years and see what you could
have been oh, what might have been,
if you’d had more time.

So, when the day comes to settle down,
Who’s to blame if you’re not around?
You took the long way home
You took the long way home………..

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The Men That Made Me

As the countdown continues (well restarts, I was away there for a bit!), I couldn’t not acknowledge the two men who have influenced my almost forty years the most.

The first is obviously my Daddy. And yes, as a Southern girl, I still call him Daddy and will until I am in my grave. I may be a woman but he is always my Daddy. He and I are very different and he is responsible for many more than one fit of frustration and feeling of inadequacy. He is, however, one of the most sincerely kind, generous men in the world and I know now, have always known, and will always know that he loves me. He gave me life. That makes him a father. He gives me love. That makes him Daddy.

A Daddy can be a girl’s first love. But eventually other men start to invade the landscape once dominated by good ol’ dad. For better or worse (I usually think better), I don’t have a long list of men scattered along the map of my past. I found my soul mate very early. Like high school early. Like Reagan was still president early. Yeah… early. And while I sometimes watched Carrie Bradshaw with a little envy as she manuevered the worlds of first kisses and new loves, I always knew that I had something real and would never EVER be broken up with on a Post-It note.

So if my Daddy made me the girl I was, my husband has shaped the woman I’ve become. The first birthday we ushered in was in 1988. I was 17 and he took me to play Putt-Putt golf. We also stole a stop sign but as I don’t know the statute of limitations of theft of government property, we’ll leave it at that.

Outside of the ill-gained signage for my wall, he also gave me a really cute skirt and shirt (Liz Claiborne — tres chic at the time!). As I turn 40, I look back and can remember many a great gift. When I turned 21, he got me a Super Nintendo because he said that everyone else would be focused on me growing up and this was about still being a kid. (Oh the late night hours spent eating cheap pizza and playing Mario or Zelda or Tetris!)

When it was time to turn 30, he knew I was stressed about it so he counted down “30 days until Traci is 30″, giving me a small gift each day. that was pretty cool! It was fun. Made me feel like a kid again and therefore, not old.

Two years later, he gave me the best gift ever. He gave me a son. Followed three years after that with a daughter. Two of the most beautiful angels, God ever held in His hand. And their mine. Basically, he gave me a family and made me a mother. And being a mother made me the woman that I was meant to be. 

I don’t know what he has in mind for the 40 (he definitely hasn’t done 40 days until Traci is 40 but that’s a little tougher after kids!) BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER.

Because really, I have it all. I may not be wealthy. But I am rich. I am loved by many including two of the best men I know. So Happy Father’s Day to them both and all the “Daddy”s out there.

17 Days…

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Happy Mother’s Day — Motherhood, Revisited

Happy Mother’s Day!

I wish all the Moms, the Wanna-Be Moms, the Grand-moms, Aunts who serve as Moms, and so on and so forth a brilliant day.

In honor of Mother’s Day, I reviewed my definition of Motherhood as I wrote about last fall. I stand behind it all. Especially the glimpses of heaven. As my children brought me their art work and handmade gifts, I remembered this piece. This morning, there was a moment of complete bliss for which I will always be thankful. I tried to be a sponge to suck every drop out of this beautiful essence.

And then as if God wanted to remind me that indeed I was breathing on Earth and not in Heaven, the kids began to fight, my husband yelled that he couldn’t hear the news, and my dog pooped on the floor. That’s Motherhood, baby!

I’ll still take it any day of the week, at any price, for as long as God allows me. So on this day wherein we are thankful for mothers (Love you, Mom!), I think I may be the most thankful. For I am truly blessed.

Now please excuse me, as I keep my kids from killing each other.

:-)

Motherhood… Really

Last night, I watched the movie “Motherhood”. If you haven’t seen the film, it centers around a blogger on the best/worst Mommy day of her life. On top of planning her daughter’s birthday party, caring for her children, absent-minded husband, dog, and an aging neighbor, she tries desperately to write a 500 word piece about what Motherhood means to her.

Now I don’t live in the Village and I sure as two hockey sticks don’t look like Uma Thurman (despite the film’s best efforts, the woman only manages to make frazzled look sexy), but I got where this woman was. She didn’t feel like she reached her career potential and while she adored her children, she felt creatively thwarted by the stresses that make up Mommyhood.

And I thought what is Motherhood to me? I couldn’t come up with a single answer but rather a series of competing realities that make up my life post delivery.

A friend without children once asked me how was I different. I answered quickly with little forethought that before children I knew what it meant to be willing to die for someone I loved but after children I knew what it was to be willing to kill. That’s right. I said it. This sunny, quirky and relatively little Mom has a giant mother lion hiding in her. And I would do anything to protect them. Not scary Texas Cheerleader Mother  willing to kill but definitely willing to stop anyone cold who would hurt my children. That is part of motherhood for me.

Part of motherhood is exhaustion. A bone-numbing, eye-crossing, brain cell destroying exhaustion. I can count on one hand how many nights I have slept without some interruption. Some nights seem more like a series of cat naps. Some nights are less than that. I have even woken up on nights that the kiddos have actually both slept through the night (rarer than a winning lottery ticket) in a cold sweat because I am so accustomed to one of them waking me up that I feared that something must be wrong.

As in the film, part of motherhood for me is the reality that my brain does not work as it did before. People used to call me “The Elephant” because  I never forgot anything. I was also frighteningly punctual. I think that I had complex. articulate thoughts. I say “think” because the memory is foggy but there is a vague remembrance of deep conversations over wine and David Sylvian music. Now my brain is filled with PTA forms, library book due dates, packing lunches and backpacks. This is muddled with choruses of Dora and Ni-Hao, multiple daily readings of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and spelling lists. Finally, add to this mental stew the aforementioned exhaustion, and I fear that coherent thoughts are less the norm and more savant-style flashes from an ever-more addled mind.

Most of all, however, motherhood means stolen glimpses at heaven. There are moments as a mother that are so intensely awe-inspiring, so jaw-droppingly gorgeous, so heavenly, that I honestly think that if I died in that moment, I would not even realize that I had moved into Heaven. There are moments that don’t just make being a mom worthwhile, they make living worthwhile. They give each breath vitality and value. They make me believe in all that is good and worthwhile in this world and the next.

So,stir it together and that is what motherhood means to me.

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A Break in Star Programming

Today, I had planned a post about personalities and about my recent foray back into acting last week, but the events of the last 24 hours have derailed that plan.

Those of you  who have followed me for a while probably know that 9/11 played an enormous role in shaping the clay that is my life now. Much like Voldemort at Hogwarts, I will not speak his name. Though not out of fear but because I have zero desire to give one more moment of energy or time to him. But last night’s events do make me reflect on that horrible morning.

There may not be more to be said that hasn’t been said. It was a day that changed the world. It was a day that changed me. The morning had been stunning. A crisp, clear sunny day — still warm but with that hint of the Fall to come. In other words, a perfect New York day. I was excited because I had been called in to work on a film. And then… And then.

Evil comes in many packages. No people, no religion, no country holds the patent on it. It has existed throughout all times in all places. There is no single face of evil but his will always stand alongside other monsters of history.

So, I’m not sure how one should feel at a time like this. Relief? Vengeance? Disappointment? Jubilance? All of the above? For me, I am feeling a quiet resolution. I had long since disallowed this modern day Dracula to suck life from me. And yet, I am not immune to this development.

In the end, I think the best thing I can do, is appreciate that unlike many, I am here to note the event. I am here to hug the children whose very existence is in part in response to that day which will live in modern infamy. So I’ll state it loudly, “I am here!” That may be the very best answer. As Elton John once sang, “…I’m still standing better than I ever did. Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid.”

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Posted in 9/11, Gratitude, Memories, Military, Tragedy | Tagged , , | 18 Comments

Sliding Doors, Revisited

Back when I was 38 and Growing, I examined my need to play “What If?”, otherwise known as Traci’s Sliding Doors game. This is not the healthiest of games, as I noted but as time has passed, I have begun to play it a little better.

It is easy to play “what if?” when you don’t know the outcome. And in that easy game, I tend to favor an unknown fate. One wherein all things good come without any loss. Which of course, is ridiculous! Because every single choice that we make informs our present and future.

But what if you could change the rules? What if you could see the other fate? Or least a close proximate.

One of my “favorite” ways to play this twisted game of imagination is to create some idealized artistic life. I would be working consistently as an actress. My husband and I would be living in some chic Brooklyn loft or an apartment in some fun Manhattan neighborhood. In this fantasy land, I am happily living the New York dream and realities like I don’t know, “Where would my kids would live?!?” don’t invade this little spot of Big Apple Heaven.

Well, my trip to New York gave me a quick (because everything in NY is quick!) glimpse at the other side of that Sliding Door. One of my dear friends from grad school is in many ways living my fantasy life. She lives in a cute apartment in a very desirable neighborhood. She goes on auditions and has had a reasonable amount of work.

But I realized that this very cute life doesn’t fit this somewhat cute girlwoman. I do have kids. And as much as they deny me sleep, cause me wrinkles, and all often make me Cuckoo enough for a Swiss clockmaker, they are my life. And I am no longer interested in stuffing them in an 2 x 2 closet to fit my alternate life vision.

So I guess this is my life. The life I’ve chosen. I may not be Traci the Star but I am Star Traci. And I guess that’s all right!

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Posted in Acting, Choices, Gratitude, Mommyhood | Tagged , | 13 Comments

Friday Fragments #3 — I May Not Be Amusing But I Am In For The Ride

Hi! I have not participated in Friday Fragments for a while (and by a while, I mean forever) so I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to catch up with the lovely Mrs. 4444 over at Half Past Kissin’ Time.

So I had a few rough weeks.  Things happened and I let them “happen” to me. I chose to allow the worries of my world beat me down. But as I spoke about here, I snapped out of it. Or at least I snapped into working on it. Thanks to everyone who offered their support.

So in honor of that I thought that I would write of some celebrations from the last few weeks.

My daughter, Little Diva, is four years old. It is unbelievable to me even as I write this. Too soon I will not be able to refer to her as the “little” diva anymore (and based upon her attitude as of late, she will have earned the title “big” diva). She had a wonderful “Princesses and Pirates” party with her friends and she went as Rapunzel.

We played “Old School” games including hopscotch and ”Pin the Tail on the Donkey”. Though in 2011, nothing is simple — everything is themed, so we had a stick the Treasure Chest on the Map’s X.

Donkey. Pirate’s Booty. Whatever. The kids had fun. And my girl was happy.

So, my daughter gained and my son lost. Lost his training wheels. Yep! My Sonny-Bunny rides a two-wheeler now. And he taught himself!

Flashback to Christmas 2010–  Santa might have gotten a little ambitious when he brought my son his bike. He might have gotten a very tall bike for Sonny-Bunny. Might have done, just saying…Therefore, my son might be having difficulty learning said tall bike. Well, when we were visiting my parents, my son found his old Elmo bike and learned to ride it without training wheels.

And there was one more loss to celebrate…

The Tooth Fairy visited our home last night and took away a long anticipated wiggly tooth. It was a loss but it was a big win.

Finally, I wanted to take a moment to update everyone on my trouble with my husband’s smoking in my post “Up in Smoke”. I wish I could say that I found the magic words to save him from this dangerous habit or that I had found some new Zen that made me the perfectly balanced, supportive wife that I need to save me. I can’t say that. I can say, however, that I was heartened by many of the comments and the hope that quitting is possible and that he can return to health. I also heard all of you who told me that a step back would be wise as nagging and anger were only aggravating the situation. I am doing my best!

So I am trying to get back on the Sunny Side of the Street. I will be returning to the neighborhood — please forgive my absence. And in honor of my return, I thought that I would return to one of my favorite things: sharing lyrics from favorite songs.

Grab your coat and get your hat
Leave your worry on the doorstep
Just direct your feet
To the sunny side of the street

Can’t you hear a pitter-pat
And that happy tune is your step
Life can be so sweet
On the sunny side of the street

I used to walk in the shade
With those blues on parade
But now I’m not afraid
This rover crossed over
If I’d never have a cent
I’d be rich as Rockefeller
Going to set my feet
On the sunny side of the street

Mommy's Idea

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Posted in Blogging, Childhood, Friday Fragments, Gratitude | Tagged , , , , | 10 Comments

I Only Thought the Earth Below Me Was Shaky

So I have been suffering from a terrible case of isuckitis. It has had me couch-ridden watching bad television and feeling pitiful. For those of you not up on the latest diseases, isuckitis is pronounced I-Suck-i-tis. I have been swirling in a pool of frustration, self-pity, and overstressed mommyness.

I have hated my hair, been disgusted by the state of my apartment and the state of my bank account. I have been running around screaming things like, “Nobody in the is family listens to me” and “I just need a little help!” (as I pull something out of the dog’s mouth or the four year old’s hand).

I have ignored my blog and then felt guilty about it. I have ignored my bloggy friends and then felt guilty about it. I have used my ugly voice. I have heard this same voice and cringed.

And so I had succumbed to isuckitis.

There is nothing like a truly earth-shaking event to shake me out of the pettiness of my problems.

I, like all of you, am chilled to my core by the growing devastation in Japan. Much like Haiti’s earthquake last year that woke me from my hair nightmare, I have shaken my isuckitis in the face of real tragedy.

All of those in the disaster area are in my prayers. All of those waiting to hear from loved ones are in my prayers. All who are touched in any way by this heartache are in my prayers.

And this Mama is going to kiss her little tsunami-makers and be thankful that the destruction in her home is made by toys not water. I am going to kiss my husband and be thankful that I am looking for him outside, behind the car not on a list of names.

And, finally, I am going to hug myself and appreciate that I am alive and that unlike the failing nuclear cores, I can control my meltdowns. I can release a little steam before I fall deep into China Syndrome territory. And I can feel safe and secure in my home and family, knowing that I know where my children are, safe with full bellies.

And that my friends is the best cure for even the worst case of isuckitis.

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Posted in Gratitude, Perfectionism, TV, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | 11 Comments

Why the Oscars Still Matter…

to Me.

Now being the Star that I am, you may assume that I have a mantel full of awards and therefore unaffected by the whims of the Academy. But I am forever in love with the Academy Awards. And not just the red carpet or the dresses. But the actual Academy Awards. And especially this year.

Because this year, a hero of mine is nominated. But to really understand why this matters to me, I need to rewind fifteen years to the 1995 Academy Awards. March 25, 1996. Back when the Oscars were still on Mondays and still in March.

The month prior to the ceremony, I had flown to Chicago where I auditioned for seven Masters in Acting programs. And for the following six weeks, I had been on pins and needles waiting to hear if I had been accepted. Now for those of you who don’t know, a letter is bad and a phone call is good.

And the weeks had been littered with letters. In fact, my husband and I had fought (terribly) when I found a stash of three letters that had come early. He had stealthily removed them from the mail over the course of a week. Unfortunately, his stealthiness (word? I’m not sure…) did not apply to his hiding place — the console between the two front seats of our 1986 Nissan Maxima.

When I found it, I freaked out. I wrongly took it as his lack of belief in me. How could he let me walk around thinking that I still had a chance at these schools? How could he let me be a fool? How could he let me BELIEVE??? This is when he told me that he was sure that I would be accepted somewhere and he didn’t want me to worry. He wasn’t going to trash the letters, just wait until I got a “yes” to tell me about the “no”s.

But two more “no”s had come. And the deadline was fast approaching. Until Monday, March 25, 1996. The night that Annette Bening sat on the Geary stage of the American Conservatory Theater to talk with Barbara Walters. She was one of the guests of Walters’ annual Academy Awards Special. As alumna of the school, Bening had returned to her theatrical home for the interview.

And as you might have guessed her home was one of my “Seven”. One of the two from which I had not received a letter.

On that very night, I got a call from that very school. From that very theater. From her home. My soon-to-be home.

As I remember, the interview began only moments after my call. That may be wrong. Memories are funny things. If someone pulled my phone records and told me that the call was another night, I would be surprised but not totally shocked. But I do remember this.

I felt a surge of joy, excitement, and fear that one only feels when they know that life has changed irrevocably. For better or worse, my life changed in that moment. At that time, I believed it to be the beginning of a magical fairytale wherein all my acting dreams would come true. I believed that I, too, would be answering Ms. Walters’ questions one day. Basically, I believed that I was on my way to becoming the “next” Annette Bening.

Well, a funny thing happened on the way to the Oscars. And, obviously I am not the “next” Annette Bening. I am not the “next” anything.

My life changed that day both for better and worse. My bank account (and enormous pending student loan payments) demonstrate the worse. And, no, I do not have a mantel full of awards to show you the better. But something happened to me that night that I have not thought of for some time.

It was the first time that this dreamer believed. I believed that night that dreams do come true. That dreams could come true to me. And while I had spent the better part of the last year, working, and preparing, and dreaming, it was not until that night that I actually believed that a dream of mine could come true.

Now it would be easy to look at my life now and say that my dream did not come true. But that would be wrong. I went to one of the finest acting schools on the country. I studied alongside many talents, several of which are household names. I acted on that same stage that Ms. Bening graced that fateful night.

But more importantly, I started on a path that brought me to this moment. And so many of my dreams have come true. A quick glance across my kitchen demonstrates my greatest dreams come true, two of them come in rather small packages (one of which turns four tomorrow).

And as for being the “next” something, well, that dream has passed. But as I learned so many nights ago, dreams come true. And I still believe that I can have an acting dream. But this time, I am not looking forward to being the “next” anyone, just the “next” stage of me. What this dream will look like, I do not know, but I do know this. It can come true.

So thank you, Annette Bening. I don’t know if you’ll get your long-awaited Oscar tonight, but you have this. My undying respect and appreciation for sharing your gift and unknowingly shared my dream. I may never have the moment to thank the Academy and you may never hear this thank you but it stands none the less. Thank you for helping me to believe.

I believe that dreams come true, do you?

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Posted in Acting, Choices, Dreams, Gratitude | Tagged , | 9 Comments

A Day to Remember

Friday, January 28th marks two days of profound loss in my life.

In 1986, as a fourteen year old girl, I remember where I was when I learned that seven heroic men and women had “slipped the surly bonds of earth”. 

Sitting in biology class, my teacher was called out of the class. When she returned, she was crying. She told us that the Shuttle Challenger had exploded during take-off. I remember that several of us almost laughed in shock.

A television was rolled onto the classroom and we watched them play the incident over and over. It was a Kennedy assassination moment for me. I was profoundly different afterwards.

I learned in those short moments that very few things are sure. I learned that dreams can be mighty but can be dangerous, even deadly. When Christa McAuliffe was chosen as the first Teacher Astronaut, it seemed a dream come true. Now she was lost to her children and husband, as were the other six crew members.

Twenty four years later, another great soul slipped from this world to the next. My father-in-law lost his brave battle to the dreaded “C” on January 28, 2010. And at 38, I still saw lost dreams in the eyes of my mother-in-law, my husband, and my children. While this loss was not recounted on the news or played over and over, it still stopped me in my tracks.

This weekend, I payed homage to both losses. I am not the same girl of 14 nor am I the same woman of 38. I am informed by both losses, yes, but I am also informed by the hopes and dreams of those I lost.

A person’s life and value is not defined by how they leave the Earth whether it is in a hospital bed or a stream of smoke across a blue sky. We choose little about how we die, we choose much about how we live.

I don’t know if my final breaths will capture the attention of the world or of a select few. I hope only that they will be taken with the comfort of a life well lived, of love deeply given, and love equally well received.

Many have slipped the bonds of this world to take flight in the next. Many have lived their lives fully and reached for the stars in their lives. It matters not if the stars were in the outer atmosphere or their eyes, the Earth moved because they were here. And I am better for it.

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Posted in Gratitude, Loss | Tagged | 12 Comments