"Kids do the darndest things." (No wonder all my stuff needs repair.)

My kids recently made the mistake of leaving some of their home videos on my camera. When I went to download a couple of photos, I found some interesting things. This was something they apparently thought would make it on YouTube. They never got a chance. Instead, they were banned from using the golf cart (for a while). As my husband says, "Boys will be boys." My suggestion to them is to delete the evidence. It's not good when Mom sees stuff like this.

Holiday-isms

I have two sons, so for most of their lives I've handled any and all shopping requirements (other than when they've had birthday money to spend or some other "special" occasion). So the other day as my oldest (now 15) and I were leaving Wal-Mart after a quick trip for essentials and a couple small presents, I asked him if he wanted to give his dad something I had bought.

"No, Mom. Giving someone something someone else bought is like putting your name on somebody else's homework. You just don't do it." I thought that was a great analogy, and I'm glad to know he's finally growing up.

When he's going shopping and what he'll get his dad instead remains to be seen. But I'm glad I don't have to worry about that. (We'll see...)

The Smells of Summer

This weekend I officially began the war (or at least a major frontal assault) on an evil force that has taken a stronghold in my home. It is one I've been aware of for some time. It has appeared in various forms through the years, and periodically I have taken major offensives toward it. But this time it's no holds barred. I am ready to fight.

I am at war with stink.

Now stink is a word with a lot of definitions, and its usage has become quite diverse. So in the interest of clarity, let's make sure we're clear what this war is about.

"Stink" can be used to describe things we don't like, as in "I can't have a second Dove bar, that stinks." Stink can be used effectively, albeit a bit awkwardly and redundantly, in a sentence like, "They are filthy rich and literally stink with money."

In my case, in my life, the stink I am waging war agaist is the dictionary definition as in "stink (stingk): 1. To emit a strong foul odor."

"Strong" and "foul" are two words that add up to "enemy" in my book. And in the case of my enemy, it is persistent, and fairly aggressive, particularly when it's got hot, humid weather on its side.

So as June 21 marked the start of summer and the longest day of the year came and went, I decided it was time to attack, or at least get serious about this battle I need to wage. The worst part is that I'm fighting this alone. The enemy has allies. And they deny their alliance. They also are prone to taunting and mimic. They wage psychological warfare, telling me "it's all in your head," and "your nose is way too sensitive."

But I know it's not me. There is stink among us. I've tried to hide it. I've covered it up. I've used "Powder Fresh" sprays that smell like old people, and even specially formulated sprays for killing bacteria and odor. But it seems the more I try to cover it up, the more it stinks.

A major warlord for the opposition took up residence in "my space" a year ago. I'm not talking about the internet "my space." This is the real world. MY SPACE, which is a 30 foot long, 15 fooot wide breezeway/sunroom where my laundry room and office reside. (Now any work at home person with a family understands the ingenuity of the office/laundry combo...and you can obviously understand my desire to protect it.)


The enemy moved in over a year ago. I didn't give it much thought. But through the months it has become ever-present and based on epirical evidence, it's not going anywhere.

So this weekend on a 90 degree day when the air conditioner in the breezeway had been off all day, with the enemy lounging comfortably on the floor, I walked in and was nearly knocked back with a direct attack. Unable to even scream because of the air quality, I called an immediate summit.

My demands were clear, and to my surprise, the "evil" alliance agreed to my demands quickly and without complaint.

I've reclaimed my space. The first steps are done. The enemy is lying empty a few yards away and I can't smell it. It's contents -- all six jerseys and six sweater socks and under armor and under garments, all clean and fresh, folded and fluffed on the laundry table. The equipment -- padded shorts, shoulder pads, elbow pads, knee pads, gloves and skates are lying somewhat dejected in a pile. They are prisoners of war, in need of some rehab before I'll release them and call this battle done.



Yes, this weekend I started and won a battle against stink. I'm not naive enough to think the war is over or that we'll always have peace. That equipment will go back in that bag, as will the folded fluffy jerseys and socks. The bag will go to the rink and the kid will wear the contents, and when he's done he will put it all back in the bag to comingle and consort, and the battle will begin again. Yes, I know, this enemy is not going away. It will be back. Soon.



But at least for a few days -- maybe even a few weeks here between camps and practices and seasons, I'm taking back My Space. For a few short days, I'm going to enjoy the smells of summer. A little. I still have to figure out how to get the smell out of my car...

Balancing Work and Life

I started my own business 11 years ago for one simple reason: I had two toddlers who needed me more than they were getting me because I had a job that had me more than it deserved me. So I quit the job, started my own business, and for the last decade I've practiced the gentle art of attempting to balance my work and my family.

Sure, it's easier when you're your own boss to take an hour or two off to attend an awards ceremony or party during the day at school. And sure, it's easier when you're self-employed to rearrange your schedule in the summer to accommodate the needs of kids who are all of a sudden under foot.

But when you work out of your home like I do, summer comes and work is a little harder to do. Parents who have to leave the house for work -- like most people do -- face their own set of summer challenges. I realize those are probably far worse than my own, but then again, they get to leave home.

At my house the scales pretty quickly shifted to the "life" side of the equation as early as two hours into "summertime." In fact, by 3 p.m. Friday (the kids got out at 1), I had four boys in the pool, which happens to be directly outside my office windows. Because of their ages, I no longer feel the need to supervise swimming, but it's a little hard to ignore the splashing and noise of four teenagers in a pool who are wound up from the last day of school.

Thankfully, as an independent business person I learned a long time ago about the value of technology. Quickly on Friday, with noodle smacking and jumping and splashing going on right outside my windows, I grabbed on to what just might be the best technological advance the independent, work-from-home professional ever had -- it's the gadget that is going to help me survive the summer of 2007: my new ipod.

My ipod was a gift for Mother's Day. It is not a fancy one, but it is the one I wanted -- the hot pink shuffle. I can only remember how to load music on it about every other time, so my play lists are still a little thin. But I really like it. Best of all, I discovered on Friday that when those buds are in my ears I am oblivious to everyone and everything outside of myself. It's me and Celine or Sarah or Barry, sitting at my computer, writing articles about outdoor lighting and pitching media via the internet.

Not only will I not hear the splashing this summer, but I also won't hear the front door and refrigerator door slamming every few minutes, and I won't hear the door bell or the beeping from the arrival of non-stop text messages. I won't hear the roar of the video games or the fights --- or even the laughter.

Yep, productivity is going to go through the roof for me this summer. I'm going to be in the zone! So if you've got some work to do, give me a call. Hopefully you won't mind the slight inconvenience of leaving a message. I no longer can hear the phone ring.