Between the Years: Home Organizing

Yesterday I spent pretty much the whole day clearing a particularly irksome pile of paperwork. It was a project I had begun two months ago, using Gretchen Rubin's "suffer for 15 minutes" approach. It worked in slowly diminishing the pile, but I was surprised to find that I felt better about starting to dig into it than now that the whole left wing of my desk is empty. I'd expected some exhilaration! Instead, I was just plain exhausted. Perhaps because the final push lasted all day? Because my shoulder hurts now from all the writing, cutting, copying, stapling? Not sure, but I'm hoping that maybe today a celebratory mood will kick in at having finally gotten rid of that paperwork.

Instead of feeling happy about the empty spot on my desk, I find myself opening the coat closet door again to admire the orderliness. With the whole family at home over these quiet days (= little time to myself), I've tackled a few things around the house that I've been putting off or never had the time for, such as:

Cleaning out the coat closet. We'd reached the stage where the coat closet was so stuffed that its door didn't close properly. Major force had to be applied, so I'd been leaving it open as a reminder that it needed attention. Cleaning out the coat closet was a half-day affair as I invariably found stuff I had to deal with, such as the screens from some of our living room windows propped up against the back wall (why store those in the coat closet?), or the very first umbrella I bought for myself when I was about seventeen (made of cloth, it was literally falling apart), a coat a friend had forgotten (years ago?), or a pair of children's winter boots that had to go to the charity bag because they were too small for even my youngest nephew. Now, freed of the extra stuff, the coat closet almost feels airy.

Finally getting rid of the nail polish stain on our leather ottoman, following the instructions from How to Remove Nail Polish From Leather Upholstery. I'd spilled that nail polish long ago (bad habit of doing a pedicure on the ottoman) and had been hiding it under the tray that sits on it; I'd looked up and printed out removal instructions, and I even bought the bottle of non-acetone nail polish remover that actually does make it happen. But taking the few minutes to actually do it, now that took months! I was a little scared of damaging the leather, so following my son's advice (he's Mr. Practical), I tested it on the underside first. No harm done, thankfully, and the stain is completely gone now! Oh, and while I was at it, I vacuumed all the couches and leather conditioned them as well. That's the thing with me, one cleaning project leads to another...

Cleaning the Chanukah Menorahs. I mean actually washing them with soap and water, not just breaking off some of the wax that invariably drips down. In a way the wax creates character, so we actually like to leave some of it. I even bought a brass cleaner to restore some of our older models to their shine.

There are still many more "construction sites" (as my brother calls them) around the house, but having tackled a few of them I do feel I accomplished something. This last day of the year, I might spend more time contemplating the old and planning for the new, but fortunately there is another quiet week at home ahead of me with plenty of time to think and do.

Between the Years: Reclaiming the Desk

Greetings from my desk, where I am looking out on this wintery scene today while tackling some long overdue paperwork. Despite the chill outside, it's cozy here with a hot cup of coffee and the good feeling of actually getting rid of some piles and reclaiming my desk surface.

Operation "Reclaim the Desk" started back in October, but I'm finding that now, between the years, I have the time to really get it done, namley weed through the piles! I love the phrase, "Between the Years." Of course there is no such thing, as one year follows smack upon the next, and yet it seems to me that the time between the Christmas holiday and New Year's is especially long. I always feel that there is extra time in that week. Usually, however, I find that there is no extra time and that New Year's comes around way too fast.

But this year, I have actually found that time has slowed down. I've been getting stuff done around the house, and I've been thinking about plans and goals for the new year. Perhaps this is because for once I'm not traveling (last year I was in Alabama at Space Camp with my son, and years before I'd be in Germany for New Year's to visit my ailing mother-in-law). So I'll be sharing a few "Between the Year" posts on taking care of old stuff and thinking about the new.

It's also been fun, as I'm sitting here dealing with the mundane task of paperwork, to be gazing out over the different treasures I have accumulated on my desk, which will still be there when the piles are gone. Many of them, I've realized, were gathered this year: the postcard featuring the Bund in Shanghai from my trip last March, in front of it the beer coaster from our visit to a brewery in Lafayette, Indiana, a sliver from a tree felled during July's storm with the notecard of a friend's painting tucked behind it, and behind that a file folder, also bought in Shanghai, then bottles with salt crystals from Death Valley and green earth from Arches National Park (that was last year's road trip to the Southwest), and in front of them, bark and acorns from our property in Indiana. Oh, and perching on the pile of letters: a ceramic sculpture by my son. Thus is the beloved mess on my desk...

Saying Good-Bye to an Old Keepsake

The tattered but intact side of my
shopping bag from the Ludwig II Musical

In the course of my current home organizing activities (more on that soon!), I installed a hook on my bedroom closet door, and had to take down the plastic over-the-door hook that was there and all that was on it. Among those things was a paper shopping bag, one side cut up, from the spring of 2000, when, with my mother-in-law, I attended the performance of the musical Ludwig II at the Festspielhaus Füssen in southern Germany, across the lake from King Ludwig's famous castle Neuschwanstein.

That performance was one of my most memorable theater experiences ever. The setting, by the lake on a balmy May evening, was magical. The show was magical. The music, the performers, the set, everything was just so. I especially fell in love with the cut-out figures that would parade the set during scene changes. Thankfully, whatever I purchased that night (I don't remember) was put into this paper shopping bag that featured those cut-out figures.

The marbled paper heart that dangles from my lamp
 is another keepsake, namely a Mother's Day gift from my daughter.

I loved that bag so much I not only saved it, but planned to frame it, which I did do a while ago. The framed picture now sits on my nightstand. And yet I couldn't bring myself to throw out what was left of the paper bag after the framing was done. Even though I had captured that experience now in a framed object, I still couldn't quite let go of the real momento.  Perhaps because it was a souvenir of a moment in time that I knew even then was special because it would never happen again. It even became bittersweet because my mother-in-law has since died, and I shall never again be able to attend a performance with her. We were great partners in going to the opera or a musical.

Now, in the spirit of decluttering, I decided it was time to say good-bye to the remnant of the Ludwig II shopping bag, and actually toss it, but only after I had consoled myself that I would scan it. Which I did and am sharing here with you. Here's to momentos that can live on for ever!

A Childhood Window Recreated

Recently, as I was rewriting a chapter from my memoir into the essay Giving Up Christmas that was published in Tablet Magazine, I leafed through a photo album of childhood memories, mainly to see if I could find a picture that captured the magic of my childhood Christmases. I found those, but I also found something I didn't expect, something I had completely forgotten about, and something I was stunned to see I had recreated in my adult life with my own family, albeit a bit differently: I found the above photo of the kitchen window of my childhood, looking out over the snowy fields and the pond behind our house, which my dad had decorated with stickers of the nativity scene.

And below is a photo of the window in our present day sun porch, decorated by my younger son, who also takes care to affix an additional gel sticky candle atop the window menorah for every day of Chanukah, just as my dad used to have the three magi appear in the kitchen window in January.

It might not be particularly astounding that my dad and now my family decorate for the holidays by putting stickers on windows, and yet I was moved to find a window of my childhood recreated in my adult life in my own home, in particular because it wasn't a conscious effort of mine.

December 24 Update: I found this post goes well with Jennifer Rizzo's Holiday Link-Up Party, sharing holiday traditions via a blog link-ups. So I'm throwing this post into the mix. Feel free to visit her site for more holiday traditions.

Favorite View of 2012

Mono Lake, California, August 2012

In following Rebecca Murphy's Relish12 challenge, the 12.14 prompt asked about my favorite view of 2012. I instantly knew which picture I would choose. Even though I've shared this one before and there have been many great views for me this year, the word relish goes best with this one.

I simply love the wide open desert expanse of the High Sierras, here in eastern California by Mono Lake. I'm glad that I stopped the car on this gravel road (while driving back from the beach at Mono Lake) to take this picture while the family waited (something they've been having to put up with a lot more this year). It was one of those days in life when everything is perfect: the weather (not too hot but abundant sunshine), the company (the whole family together, not squabbling and engaged with the location), and this stunningly beautiful and serene spot on Earth we were exploring.

As we've been faced with so much horror and ugliness and difficulty (Sandy Hook and before it Hurricane Sandy - why do they have the same name?), I feel it's a good thing to remind ourselves of some of the beauty in our lives. If you have a favorite view to share, bring it on!

At the Christkindlmarket

This is why we go to the Christkindlmarket in downtown Chicago every year - to visit the giant Menorah during Chanukah, and to enjoy German delicacies from our past (My husband and I both grew up in Munich, Germany.). This booth selling Brez'n, i.e. big soft prezels that come close to what you'd get in Munich any time of the year, tends to be our first stop, especially this year as we went Monday night in honor of our daughter's birthday. Brez'n are one of her favorite things in life.

 

A big thanks to Chicago's Downtown Chabad for always putting up the big Menorah at the Christkindlmarket.

 

 

 

Not only does a giant Menorah hover over the booths, so does the Chicago Picasso statue. The Daley Center, housing the civil court, is behind it. Off to the left is the classic facade of city hall.

 

 

 

 

I love the contrast here of the glowing both with the cutesy wood crafted clocks and ornaments, above it the sprinkle of the tree lights, and beyond the stern facade of city hall.

 

 

 

Second stop: the Glühwein booth. This year the mulled wine came in made-in-China Santa boots.

 

 

 

The Sweet Castle is dangerous for my wallet because all those treats I used to love are found here, namely not only seasonal Lebkuchen (ginger bread), but Mon Chéri chocolates (pralines filled with a liquor-drenched cherry) or Mohrenköpfe (wafers topped high with a marshmallowy-filling and glazed with a thin layer of chocolate) or just "plain" Milka chocolate in its signature purple packaging; all things you can find in any German supermarket for about a 10th of the price. But hey, once a year, we indulge (It's still cheaper to buy them here than to hop on a plane...).

 

 

 

 Not all the booths are German, though. This one sells the coziest Himalayan knitwear.

 

  

 

Time to say good-bye.

 

 

 

The city's big Christmas tree at the Christkindlmarket, as seen from Washington Street.



12/12/12 - A Quiet Day

Inspired by Xanthe Berkeley's challenge on Shuttersisters to create a time capsule of 12/12/12, I decided to capture this ordinary day so that sometime in the future, maybe 20 years from now (should this blogging platform still exist, or rather be accessible with the technology we might have then), I can look back into my life, into what an ordinary Wednesday with an extraordinary date was like.

First I thought I'd better do something exciting today in order to have something to report because usually Wednesdays are my treasured quiet days at home. But then I decided that no, I shall capture this quiet day as it is, even though that might be more challenging than having an action-filled day to describe.

This is how the quiet part of the day begins: After seeing my younger son off to school shortly after eight (the older two kids leave for school at seven), and my husband has said good-bye, I clean up the kitchen, load the dishwasher (my husband fixes breakfast and the kids' lunches), dust myself off and then I sit at the kitchen counter, check my blog, email and Twitter account while brewing the second pot of coffee. The first pot gets brewed right after I get up at 6:30; it provides the essential caffeine to get me going. The second pot, however, is luxury to be savored while I begin my writing day.

 

I have the habit of wrapping the French press coffee pot in a large dishtowel to keep the coffee warm. The towel that has just the right size for this task is from my mother's days as a singer in the opera chorus at Munich's Gärtnerplatz theatre, and so the letters woven into the red band in the middle of the towel say "Staatstheater am Gärtnerplatz."

 

 



This is where I spend the better part of the morning and a large chunk of the afternoon, growing roots on my couch, typing into the laptop.

 

 

 

At some point in the morning, I look up from my spot on the couch to see the sunlight illuminate the little broom by our stack of firewood. I fetch the camera to catch this short appearance of warm yellow because sure enough, a few minutes later the sun has moved on and that particular ray of light is gone.

 

 



During one of my few breaks from sitting on the couch, I crouch on the sun porch to snap this picture of the sweet potato vine that cascades down from my desk and still thinks it's summer.

Eventually I have to leave the couch to go to a doctor's appointment. While waiting, I work through a manuscript for the class I'm teaching tomorrow which helps me not get annoyed that I have to wait for more than half an hour. After the doctor's, I stop by the grocery store for milk, bananas, bread, and eggs. Not my favorite thing to do but those are all essentials we're running low on. Tomorrow my husband will head to Costco for the weekly grocery run.

Upon returning home, I fry a stack of schnitzel (I bread them with Matzo Ball mix) for dinner, after all, I have three hungry men to feed. Every time I do that, make schnitzel that is, I think of my mother-in-law who, when she would be visiting us, would be standing in our kitchen right where I am standing, frying schnitzel. Those were the days when I could hand over making dinner to her! It's been more than two years since she passed away, and so it's comforting that she keeps popping up in my life.

We wrap up the day by kindling Chanukah lights, and spending some time in the living room looking at the flames and discussing what American literature the kids have, or rather, haven't read. That was a question of mine. It's the fifth night of Chanukah and by now all those candles generate so much heat (each family member has his/her own menorah) that some candles on mine, off to the left in this picture, flop over and my vigilant son has to blow them out.

A Menorah in Karlsruhe, Germany

Chanukah Menorah at the Christkindlmarkt in Karlsruhe, Germany,
December 8, 2012 - photo courtesy of Juergen Schlund

Today I am extra thrilled to host one of my best longtime and real life friends, writer and visual artist Barbara Schlund. We met many years ago as American Studies students at the University of Munich, and ours is the kind of friendship we both cherish because it has endured and supported us through all the changes in our lives and across thousands of miles.

I will let Barbara tell you in her own words what prompted this blog post (She was, by the way, shy about writing in English but I must say her post required little editing. Clearly, her English skills from many months spent living and traveling in the U.S. are alive and well):

How Close is Close Enough?

by Barbara Schlund

Last year I was surprised to see a Chanukah Menorah in the middle of Karlsruhe, the German city where I live. I had moved there only about a year before that, and I was completely surprised to see such a prominent sign of Jewish life in the city center. Instantly I felt proud, because I considered it to be a sign of respect towards Jewish traditions, a sign of normalcy in a country that about 60 years ago had first burnt the synagogues and then killed 6 million Jews in concentrations camps. And I felt hope. Hope that peace, freedom and tolerance is possible. If it is possible between Jews and Germans, it is possible all over the world.

I took a picture and mailed it to my dear friend Annette, but she was not satisfied. She felt that the Menorah was not close enough to the Christkindlmarket and the huge Christmas tree that is set up in the city centre. She asked me to check it out again this year.

So I did and interviewed Rabbi Mordechai Mendelson. He is head of the Chabad Community in Karlsruhe and responsible for the installation of the Chanukah Menorah. He told me that when he first planned to celebrate Chanukah in public, it had been the official Jewish community of Karlsruhe (Juedische Kultusgemeinde) who had been against it and not the city government. In 2006 the first public celebration of Chanukah took place right in front of the beautiful castle in Karlsruhe, about a quarter of a mile off the city centre. That, he felt, was rather picturesque but indeed was also too far from where the Christkindlmarket takes place.

Photo of 2006 Chanukah Menorah in front of the Karlsruhe Castle,

courtesy of Chabad Karlsruhe

Two years later they could install the Menorah right next to the market place, in sight of the Christmas tree and in direct neighborhood to the Christkindlmarket. With that, Rabbi Mendelson says, he is completely satisfied.

When I stopped by the Menorah last Saturday evening, the first day of Chanukah, two small groups, one consisting of women and girls, the other of men and boys, were dancing in front of the Menorah. The live music from an e-piano accompanied by a singer was extremely loud. A few pedestrians had gathered around them in a circle, following the scene with open curiosity. Some were taking pictures, and they were obviously not only tourists. Others passed by with their heads shaking in incomprehension. I instantaneously felt awkward. The scene seemed to be everything but normal. And I developed this “zoo-feeling.” I thought that even if the Menorah has now been set up right next to the Christmas tree, in the middle of the middle, Jewish living has not yet arrived in the middle of German society.

A few Jews dance in front of the Menorah in the Karlsruhe,
December 8, 2012 - photo courtesy of Juergen Schlund

So my answer to the question of how close is close enough, is: The day that we do not need to define our relationship by measuring the distance between a Menorah and a Christmas tree, that will be the day that it will be close enough. Because no matter where the Menorah is situated: It then will be just in the middle.

My Most Meaningful Read of 2012

Last Thursday evening I participated in the #StoryDam chat (lots of fun if you're a writer and on Twitter), and one participant pointed out Rebecca Murphy's Relish12 challenge as a way to savor this year that is slowly dwindling away. Each day Rebecca posts a different aspect to consider regarding 2012. On Friday, the 12.7 question was which book was your favorite read of 2012? And that got me thinking...

And I have to say, of all the books I read this year, the one I have thought most about, talked most about and continue to think about is Mara Moustafine's Secrets and Spies - The Harbin Files. Unfortunately, the book is hard to get in the U.S. as it was published in Australia in 2002. My friend in Shanghai gave it to me when I was visiting because I was so interested in the Jewish history in China. (My number one wish visiting Shanghai, except for strolling the Bund, was to visit the former Jewish ghetto area, which we did do.) I started reading Secrets and Spies on the flight back to Chicago, and I was plunged into a vanished world that still echoes in my thoughts.

Born in Harbin in Manchuria, in what used to be Russian China, Moustafine's immediate family emigrated to Australia in the 1950s once Mao's regime did not tolerate "foreigners" anymore. Her great-grandparents had left Harbin for the Soviet Union in the 1930s, only to be either executed in one of Stalin's purges, or sentenced to a forced labor camp. In the 1990s Moustafine travels back to Russia and China, and digs through KGB archives to piece together what happened to these relatives. The book's cover shows her great-aunt Manya, executed in Gorky in 1937 for "spying" for the Chinese. Her only crime, in turns out, was her family background, namely coming from Russian China, and being Jewish.

From reading Secrets and Spies, I feel I understand a bit of the Soviet Union’s terrible history, and a bit about the history of northern China. To me that is one of the powers of memoir: It gives the reader a “report from the front,” a personal insight into history. This book fascinated me particularly because as a memoir writer I concern myself with the family history of cultures that do not exist anymore. Moustafine comes from, and went back to, a land that is no more: Russian China, and Jewish life in Russian China.

I found her unrelenting quest to find the files that would disclose what had happened to her great-grandfather, her great-aunt, and her great-uncle, and all the others immensely admirable. At times I found it hard to read about the terrible fates they suffered, and yet the narrator swept me along on her quest. And all the while I was asking myself: Where does this drive come from? Why is it so important to figure out what happened in the past? Why was she willing to travel thousands of miles, and deal with all kinds of bureaucracies, only to find out where and how someone like her great-uncle was murdered?

In part I was asking myself this because I saw my own quest mirrored in Moustafine's. I also went "back" to my grandparents’ hometown of Reichenberg, now called Liberec, in the Czech Republic, in 2002 to see their house (which is still standing), and to walk their streets, and sit in their café (which was still open then). I have since been back twice, and have perused the archives in Liberec, to figure out, for parts of the memoir I wrote about their lives, what it was like to live there in 1938 when Hitler annexed the so-called Sudetenland, in particular because my grandparents were Social Democrats and thus on the wrong side of the fence when the Nazi frenzy took over their city. Like Moustafine, who was reading through Russian files, I was reading newspaper archives in another language, in my case printed in old German script, which thankfully I can read.

I can say for myself that going back and piecing together the past did help me understand what was lost. And why is understanding that important? Because, at least in my case, what was lost has resonated in my life. After being expelled from Reichenberg after World War II, my grandparents brought their culture, and above all, their Bohemian cuisine, to West Germany, where I grew up. That loss of a homeland that my father suffered as a 13-year-old boy put him on the trajectory of venturing out to live in an entirely different culture, namely the U.S., marrying an American, and resulted in me, the next generation, growing up with a sense of being in between cultures, and never quite at home.

So, one nudge from the Relish12 blog challenge had me thinking about all this. More importantly, it even had me write to Mara Moustafine to ask her what made her embark on her quest. Writing a letter to an author whose book got me thinking is something I always mean to do, but hadn't done up until now. So thank you, Relish12, for prompting me to do that! I might follow up with another post if I do hear back from Mara Moustafine. In the meantime, perhaps this question of the most meaningful read of 2012 got you thinking, too?

A New Blog Banner

About every six months, I get the urge to change my blog banner. I grow tired of the old one, and I feel it doesn't represent me anymore. Thanks to my designer friend Mary from Ideas with Ideas, changing it is rather easy, once I've figured out what the pictures should be. Which pictures are most "me" at this point in time?

Here's what I came up with:

My daughter took this picture of me at the summit of Sentinel Dome in Yosemite National Park during our California trip this summer, doing two of my favorite things: hiking and taking pictures.

My favorite season in one of my favorite places - a country road in Indiana.

 

 

 

My favorite place when I'm not outside: the living room couch with books and pens within reach. The green orb is a ceramic osage orange my daughter made for me because I love, love, love osage oranges, but sadly they don't last. This one does.

 

So, that's most "me" - for now, anyway - at least as far as that "me" pertains to blogging.

 

I also realized that it was time to change my tagline. Even though I still love the Helene Hanff quote because it captures so cleverly why I prefer to read and write nonfiction, I wanted the tagline to capture why I myself like to visit my blog. It's become a place where I feel I can create some serenity out of the words and images of my life (at least some of the time), and hopefully spread some of it to you, my faithful readers. Let me know what you think.

To the Lighthouse

Ah, to live in the city and yet to be at sea!

 

Tuesday morning I got to visit one of my favorite haunts again - Loyola Beach on the far north side of Chicago - thanks to having to drive my son to school. My daughter usually drives, but she was on a class trip. Lucky for me, that day was unusually balmy for December, and so I had warm wind in my face as I walked out to the lighthouse.

 

 

 

Brilliant view of the Chicago skyline from the lighthouse

 

 

 

As I padded along the beach, other figures were silhouetted against the swirl of the sky, walking out on the pier.

 

 

 

Fall at the beach

 

 

 

I consider it such an incredible luxury to be able to turn my back on the city and gaze out into this wide expanse of what feels like the sea (even though it is "just" Lake Michigan), to have this wide open horizon of sweet nothingness, to watch the water curl ashore, and to listen to the crash of the waves.

 

 

 

Getting ready for winter - snow fences

 

 

 

The city is far off in the distance.

 

 

 

Good-bye beach, good-bye lighthouse, and good-bye warm wind.







7 Tips for Making Life Work as a Mom and a Writer

Today I am thrilled to welcome the formidable Michelle Rafter as my guest. Although I never met her in person, I consider her one of my mentors in the world of blogging as she hosts the wonderful Blogathon each May, and is always there for me when I have questions regarding blogging, writing, social media, etc. Besides being a mom of three, she is a successful freelance writer and speaker, which of course begs the question: How does she do it all? Following is her answer; thank you for sharing, Michelle!

I didn’t set out to be a freelance writer. It’s the compromise I made in order to do it all, be a writer and a mom. It’s resulted in a good life and a good career. There are days – especially during the spring newspaper awards season – when I envy friends who’re still on staff at daily papers, especially the few who’ve won those big awards. But with newspapers in their current state, I wouldn’t trade places with them anymore. Besides, over the years, freelancing has let me to make my own hours and be there when my kids get home from school. It’s also let me volunteer as classroom helper, room parent, school auction chair, Girl Scout leader and field trip chaperone. And it’s portable, as I found out when my husband took a job in a different state and my business didn’t miss a beat.

I don’t regret it. But I’ve had to work hard to do both. Here are my secrets for making life work as a writer and a mom:

1. Get organized. If there’s a golden rule of being a writer mom, it is organization. Use whatever works for you. I’ve always been a list maker. I put everything in Microsoft Outlook: Tasks Manager is my friend. I mix work, family and personal to-dos, but I’ve mixed my work life and personal life for so long it doesn’t faze me.

2. Use work time wisely. My most productive time of day is early morning. If I have deadlines or a pile of work, I get up and plow through a couple hours before anyone else is awake. When I’m at work, I work. I don’t go out to lunch, watch TV during the day or even listen to music. I’ve been doing this for years and it took me until last year to feel OK with putting a load of laundry in the dryer during the work day.

3. Be OK with OK. If you’ve got kids, a house, pets, a yard, friends and family, you’re busy. You can’t afford to be a perfectionist (that doesn’t include grammar, spelling and fact checking though). If you are, you’ll constantly be stressed that everything’s not just so. And just as you’ve got one part of your life sorted out another part crumbles. That’s how life is. Messy.

Working lunch at Michelle's desk

4. Be a model employee. When it comes to work, however, strive to be the best – it’s in your economic best interest. You’re not anybody’s employee, but act like one. Turn stories in on time, or notify editors in advance if you run into problems. Be the go-to freelancer that editors call with assignments. Do it and you’ll get steady work, which means you can spend less time marketing and more time with your family.

5. Your boss doesn’t need to know about your life. Your editor doesn’t need to know you need an extra day to file a story because your child has the flu. Just ask for the extension. If you’re that model freelancer, your editor won’t mind if you miss a deadline here and there. Likewise, your child’s teacher doesn’t need to know you have to reschedule the parent/teacher conference because you’re running late on an assignment. Just ask to reschedule. In other words, don’t offer excuses, negotiate.

6. If you have to volunteer, do something you’re good at. Our kids have gone to Catholic schools that require parents put in a certain number of volunteer hours a year. If I can, I sign up for activities that use my skills. It’s easier for me: I do the work at home and fit it into my schedule. The school profits by having someone with professional experience in the job. Over the years, I’ve written auction catalogs, the monthly parent newsletter, weekly email blasts and served as the PTA secretary. One year I was communications chair for a non-profit mother-daughter service organization. I oversaw four people and was responsible for PR, a member directory, monthly newsletter, weekly newsletter and submitting articles to the group’s national newsletter. The organization got my writing talent, and I got to learn how to manage projects and people, good practice for freelance editing gigs.

7. Sometimes you can’t do it all. I retired when our third child was born, though it didn’t last long. An offer to teach news writing to graduate students brought me back. I realized how much I loved what I did and started writing again part time. A couple years later my son was diagnosed with a learning disability, and I quit a second time. When that happened, I needed to be with my family more than we needed my income. I was lucky my husband had a job that could support us all. I knew I would freelance again eventually, and here I am. So get your priorities in order. The jobs will still be spinning around out there if you jump off the carousel for a while.