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30-something mother, wife, lawyer, writer, design junkie, craftaholic, cook likes: clever tools, snazzy colors, working for justice, kid wrangling, Meyer lemons dislikes: inefficiency, civil discovery, most shades of purple, Tori Amos What?
In late December of 2008, I posted a calendar on my blog, which was then only a few months old. To my great delight, a lot of the people who came for free calendars stuck around and became a part of a community of big-hearted people who appreciated the same things I did and encouraged me personally as I tried to figure out how to pursue them amidst the pressures of being a mom, wife, lawyer, daughter, sister, and friend. That and, I would soon learn, they (along with every other person on the internet) REALLY liked calendars.
For the next few years, I would spend much of November and December trying my best to outdo myself, trying to please the clamoring hordes.
This year, as October and November and December ebbed farther and farther along, the annual pressure to come up with a calendar felt lopsided and weird. Two years ago, when I set out to do the drawings that became the basis of the Seasonal Produce Calendar 1.0, I had a file that I worked on for HOURS. Still, persuading him to read anything longer than a well-placed advertisement has been a challenge. When you "View Source" you can see all the html and other code that instructs your web browser what your form should look like. Now, using your text editing app, open the reading_form_template.html that you saved in your Public folder on Dropbox. Now put your cursor in the next empty line and paste the code you copied from the web form source code.
Finally, a few nights ago, having already started to mock something up, I asked him what he thought about a pirate valentine. I never pictured myself as the kind of parent who would allow her child to be entertained by swords and jolly rogers and villains and light sabers.
If, like me, you waited until the last possible minute to get this stuff done, I offer these up for your use.
This summer, instead of futzing over still-lifes and photoshop and spoons canted just so, I spent at least one day nearly every week taking my son swimming. Around the time I ran the Bridge Run last spring, I learned an exciting piece of news, but one the importance of which I did not immediately grasp. In the next year-and-a-half, I will rejoin these friends twice more and travel with a smaller group to South Africa to meet fellows from around the world. In the Fall of 2010, I was terribly excited to begin teaching part-time at my law school alma mater. If you've been following along here for a while you know that when I do things I tend to, well, DO them. But now that another semester is behind me and my evenings are my own again, my sweet blog has been calling out to me, begging to be revived. It has brought me incredible pleasure, helped me to forge real-life friends, and helped me soldier through some tough times.
His school is doing a summer reading contest, but the end of the summer is as remote as the turn of the next century to a six-year-old. I searched the Apple store for a summer reading app, but couldn't find anything that suited me. My son just has to answer a few questions, and hit submit—every entry is automatically dropped into a Google spreadsheet that I can access from anywhere to track his reading progress and his points.
Save these in your Dropbox folder in the subfolder named "Public." You can rename the form template to anything you like, but unless you are comfortable rooting around in HTML, don't rename the apple-touch-icon file. Preoccupied with other things, like watching my kiddo learn to read, training for a marathon, and watching all the mindless television I missed over the last year, I just didn't feel inspired.
See, for nearly two years I wondered if my son would ever go more than five minutes without a pirate related thought.
For most people, these will be too late to use this year, but you can file them away for next year. So I'm going to indulge in a little year-end retrospective to try to put down some of the things I would or could or should have written about, as much as anything else to remind myself of where I was and where I want to be in the future. I was named to the Liberty Fellowship, which is a part of the Aspen Institute's Global Leadership Network.
The Fellowship really isn't about being honored for where you've been or what you have done so far. It's not all sitting around dissecting esoteric texts and traveling to the other side of the world.


I really wasn't feeling like a run, but I convinced myself that I'd regret not taking my last opportunity of 2011 to get outside and pound some pavement. There were so many moving parts, most notably my new little niece, who was born in October. In the Pinterest era, it is easy to believe that there is someone else out there who is better, neater, tidier, and thensome than anything I have to offer. But over the last year or so, I've decided to back off of documenting my every crafty or culinary move for the world to see. Rather than push the issue, I read to him as often as possible and figured he'd pick it up when he was ready. Although we limit his screen time, I'm amazed at the ease with which he seems able to learn anything technological.
Still, I want to track his reading for the contest so he and his teacher will know how much he's accomplished over the summer. If you want to stop right here, you've already got a functional form that you can bookmark and use, easy peasy. Right click (or control-click on a Mac) on the file named "apple-touch-icon.png" and look for the Dropbox menu option. Unfortunately, I'm pretty overscheduled, so I am unable to respond to requests for technical assistance. Not to mention the fact that when asked what he'd like to have his Valentines be about, my son gave the same answer he gives to nearly all questions at the moment: Star Wars. I once even set a timer for five minutes and told him he could not talk about pirates until the timer went off. But kids love what they love, and while he has a finely tuned appreciation for Donald O'Connor and Gene Kelly, he is also a true connoisseur of swashbuckling frenetic fighting action.
The Fellowship is intended to foster creative leadership within South Carolina (my home) and throughout the world.
As a Fellow, I am expected to develop and launch a project that will, in some way, benefit the state of South Carolina.
I reminded myself that this time last year, I probably couldn't have run a mile without passing out or throwing up.
Last month I finished my first half marathon, and now I'm training for a full marathon in the Spring.
I just wanted to be able to record the name of the book, how many pages (aka points) were in it, and a brief reflection from my son about what he liked about the book.
But if, like me, you want to have an app icon on your iPhone or iPad that your kiddo can use to enter his own info, press on.
Feel free, though, to help each other out and to make suggestions for enhancements in the comments.
That said, I didn't feel comfortable sending cards to school that might offend other parents' delicate sensibilities, thus the swordlessness of this little guy.
As honored as I was to be chosen, the announcement came at a time when I was really having a crisis of confidence about who I was—as a lawyer, as a mother, and as a creative person. In September, I went to the first of four Aspen seminars with the other members of my Fellowship class. My proposal is due in a couple of weeks, and while I'm well on my way to fleshing out the idea, turning my project into a reality is going to be a huge undertaking. But every time I have written those posts, they sound like defenses against an argument no one is making.
You'll have plenty of juicy pickins', from beef tenderloin to the locally-famous Shrimp BLT. And so, in a way, this single radish is my promise to you few who remain, who pester me (eversogently) for the next installment in this Julian madness. By the end of this school year, my pudgy-handed little five-year-old had become a tall, skinny rising first grader who, it seems, can't NOT read every billboard and street sign and cereal box he encounters. He has to reach a certain number of points before he's allowed to spend his money on any kind of toy.
I have been using "Text Wrangler" for Mac, which is free, but there are loads of free options for Mac and Windows.
I also didn't want to go overly gender-differentiated, but my son insisted that there had to be a girl version, thus the batty eyelashes on the red version. Because it actually ties into the same animating principle that underlies this site, you can expect to be hearing a lot about it in the future.


And though I've been crafting and cooking and writing (you can read about my swim-bike-run exploits here; other stuff isn't quite ready for prime time), just like always, there were inevitable trade-offs.
If I want this space to grow and change and be a little different, I only need to make it so. Now, I look at my tall, skinny, Lucasfilms-addled kindergartner and pine for my pudgy, preschool buccaneer. My son was still not sleeping through the night and had gotten completely out of whack when Daylight Savings Time had ended. I didn't cook a single thing for any of our holiday gatherings (unless you count assembling a salad). Work greedily gobbles up most of my free time, leaving little time to sit back and appreciate time to draw, daydream, write, think, and laugh. Some other well-known blogger I'd never heard of had found the calendars and posted a link in her year-end round up. At least that's what you can tell your kiddos.) I've shared my page with my mom, so whenever my son reads books over at her house, she can keep me updated. I had a pair of truly hideous weeks at work in which I questioned every choice I had ever made that got me to that point. On Wednesday evening, I greeted a roomful of strangers unsure what to expect, certain that I could not hold my own among a crowd that included elected officials, executives of huge corporations and nonprofits, university faculty, military veterans, gifted physicians, and on and on. It's a boring, complicated story beset with mommy-guilt, academic politics, and the uncomfortable recognition of truths I'd been warned about. Over the last few months I realized that under these conditions I could either live my life or I could photograph it. And, overnight I went from having a handful of friends and random Norweigans reading my site to being (okay, feeling like) an internet sensation.
I just go back to my Google Drive from time to time to see the full reading list and tally up his pages. Over the next few days, we dug deep into texts that ran the gamut from ancient Greek to science fiction to Martin Luther King. Suffice it to say, I decided not to return for the Spring semester this year, and I feel as if a great weight has been lifted.
I had a picture in my mind of what my perfect Christmas dinner would be, but I forgot that my guests were much more interested in each other than in the color coordination of my table setting. By Monday, he was jumping into my arms and had left the floatie things on the side of the pool. I agonized about the decision, but once I committed to it, I realized it was the right choice for my family and for me. I was miserable throughout dinner and had a near nervous breakdown when my child became inconsolable at bed time. We were forced to question our assumptions and to really listen to people with very different ideas.
I'm glad to have had the experience, and I want to teach again in the future, but on my terms. There are only so many times you can sing "The Water is Wide" over the baleful wailing of your baby before you start to lose it. Till then, I'm going to enjoy Tuesday and Thursday nights at home with my family rather than scarfing down junk food while grading papers in my car between my office and my classroom. After that, for several years, my family tried with limited success in ways subtle and not-so-subtle to keep my holiday hostessing to a minimum. On Sunday afternoon, exhausted but enriched, I walked out of a roomful of new friends with a new sense of purpose and the outlines of a clearer vision of who it is I am striving to be. And so at the end of the summer, I didn't look up from my computer (as I did last year) only to realize that the last day of swimming had come and gone. It was like I was doing a completely different activity from what I'd been doing in the minutes just before. Which, while not fast for an athlete, is like greased lightning for this former sloth who famously failed the mile at age 14 (and at 5 inches shorter and 40 pounds lighter than I am today) by running it in 12:01.



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