I’m thinking of a variety of blogger gatherings to come; blogger winery tours, blog walks in the fall, blogger potluck, blogger progressive dinners, blogger caroling or breakfast with bloggers. All of the above events could be virtual or in person. We could have several people in person, and others participating virtually. I’m thinking of all of this, and anticipating the next event, just so I can wear this tee shirt, as a joke, of course.

I ran into Matt outside Lime Leaf. In case you haven’t read previous comments, I met Matt first at the recent blogger gathering and then, lo and behold, learned that he works with Jason, which meant, ta da, he works with my husband. This further proves my theory that C’ville is much like my hometown, and one must be kind and polite as the people one meets will soon know everyone one knows.

Speaking of my hometown, it is from whence I post this blog, ever glancing over my shoulder for either nuns/former teachers, former classmates and parents of classmates. Everywhere I go with my mom, she runs into people she knows. And everyone she knows has some connection to someone I vaguely remember. I never wanted to come back to live in this town and am surprised at the number of my classmates that did return here, to live near their parents and to raise their kids. It’s ironic though, that I seem to have moved to a community that, in fact has several similarities to the place where I grew up.

See ya ’round town.

Blogging parents know that NWOK can only mean one thing: a night without kids! That’s what we’re looking at tonight, as the girl enjoys a sleepover at camp.

Ideas? Where shall we go for dinner and entertainment? Maybe we’ll just stay up all night talking, drinking coffee and listening to Steely Dan albums (remember when we used to call them that?). Maybe we’ll go taste a bottle of wine or two. Perhaps we could go for a stroll on the DTM and stop somewhere for a bit to eat. Maybe it’s time to get out of town and explore Orange, Crozet or Waynesboro.

Your thoughts are welcome. Save us from a night of laundry and bad television.

Here’s a shot of me with the boy from Mothers’ Day. Our neighbor took the photo at Cardinal Point Winery. We had a good time that day.

Is it obvious that I miss him?

A friend of mine has had some difficulty adjusting to full time work from a stay-at-home, fluctuating freelance schedule.

Scratch that. Her family has had difficulty adjusting to mom’s full time work.

Another friend, a dad, and I were discussing sneaking work into vacation time, something I’m planning to do, soon. Don’t judge me. I’m not a workaholic. I just really, really enjoy my work. Anyway, the dad, who I’ll call Bryan, ’cause that’s his name, told me how much flack he caught for checking e-mail while on vacation with his family. I get it. I know that I need to be careful not to let work invade my family life. I also appreciate that vacation breaks serve a purpose, allowing employees the rest they need to be refreshed and not on the brink of burnout.

On the other hand, the prospect of returning to an overwhelming pile of tasks and messages is frightening.

As a kid, the youngest of my family, I would lie awake listening to my teenage sisters coming home and the conversations they would have with my parents after their dates or nights out with friends. When my parents would have friends over, I would sneak down the stairs to eavesdrop until either I was caught, or the party broke up. I’ve always hated to miss out on anything. Being away is like being sent to bed early.

It’s not just about balance, as so many writers on the topic would have us believe. It’s also about compromise. A little of this for a little of that. My female friend is compromising with a reduced schedule, providing a bit more availability of her time for her kids’ games and events. I time shift, working early, late or when the family is otherwise occupied so when I’m needed, I can devote my full attention. When we’re vacationing, I’ll give my all to tourist pursuits, barbecuing, dining out and hanging out with friends.

Just don’t tell if I’m blogging from the closet or checking e-mail in the wee hours. It’s a compromise.

I once worked with a woman who frequently reminded us (poor, working saps that we were) that she didn’t “need” to work. Her lack of need was supported by her husband’s mammoth paychecks. While her assertion was a slap in the face to the hardworking rest of us who worked, not only for financial reward, but for career development and personal gratification. The implication was, of course, that we must only be there for the money.

Over time, I came to learn that her need to work was certainly present, only different. While she didn’t need the money to pay her bills, she needed it, as Seinfeld would say, to have “hand.” Employment, at least on a part-time basis gave her the ability to share in decisions with her husband, to make larger purchases without consulting him and to force him to take a more active role as a parent, something she believed he would not do if she were a stay-at-home mom.

Everyone who works has some need to do so. Even work has different definitions. Volunteers work. Parents work. Even retirees work, whether it be in their own gardens, basements or kitchens. Everyone needs some occupation to feel valued, appreciated and alive. The rewards vary and needs fluctuate through the years.

Examining my own need to work, I have discovered that financially my need exists to help kids get through college, fund a comfortable retirement, live a less than strapped life and one day, be able to fund the charities I want to support.

What drives your need to work?

I have several people I consider mentors. At work, I have an official mentor who is also a friend. She provides wise counsel, an attentive ear and sometimes, serves as the drain into which I pour my angst. She knows me well enough to know when I just need the drain, and for this, as well as the counsel, I’m grateful.

There are others as well, from whom I draw on their varied expertise. I’m not a parasitic protege. I give as well as receive and mentor others when the opportunity arises. Those who mentor me, and those I advise (hopefully, well, and only when it’s welcome) create for me a net, not just to catch me when I fall but to bind us together over distance, to link us in ways that we’ll remember for years to come.

I have learned, through leadership training courses, about my personality type (ENTJ) and my D.i.S.C. behavior profile (I, high S)1. Coursing along in daily life I forget to take these profiles into account, unless a conflict arises. When I am faced with difficulty, I find it helpful to return to the tools I’ve learned, the wisdom imparted by mentors past and present, employing them to smooth the road, at least for this stretch.

Working at home, as an “I” can be difficult. “I” people do not like to work alone. While I am physically alone most of the time, I work as part of several teams to get things done. The interaction with my mentors, clients, team members and with others makes it possible for me to work and thrive in this environment.

A cautionary word to anyone who thinks that the work at home, telecommuting life is ideal and the perfect fit for them. Know yourself, first. Consider not only your personality and behavior style but your personal support system, your work relationships and your work style.

1 DiSC was developed by Marston and Jung

Some things are better discovered on one’s own because who would have believed that:

• Sometimes, a baby who is wearing a lovely elastic-legged disposable diaper, can poop their body weight and cover every surface of both baby and surrounding geography
• School supply shopping is second only to Christmas shopping in anxiety, demands and expense
• Words your mother said, the very words you swore you’d never use, come out of your mouth of their own accord
• Potty training can be the most mortally exhausting, frustrating episode of a parent’s entire life
• Some dads can, indeed, sleep soundly through the sound of a screaming infant
• Despite your college all nighters, the staying up till dawn talking with friends, the time you worked a 24 hour shift, nothing prepares you for the sleeplessness of the first year of your baby’s life OR the first year your teenager has his license
• Letting go and letting them grow up, fall down, make choices and follow through is the hardest thing you’ll ever do

When I write about my children, I refer to them only as the boy and the girl. Of course they have actual names. Of course! Funny thing is, calling them the boy and the girl predates the blogging era by many, many years.

The boy was born at a time when none of our other friends had children. In fact, no one else reproduced for a good five years after we did. Therefore, the boy was “the boy” — the only child included in our group of friends. When, six and a half years after our son entered our lives, we had a baby girl, our friend Dave chuckled and said, you don’t even have to give her a name, she will just be “the girl.” And so she is.

So it’s not just here that they are referred to in this way. Of course, we love their names and we use them often. Just not here.

Today, I showed up for an informal gathering of bloggers in Charlottesville.

I’m amazed that I went through with it, freaky as it is to meet people face to face that heretofore I’d only known in cyberspace. (Isn’t it fun when you have the chance to use the word heretofore?) I did some of those cartoon gulps a few times on the way there and seriously almost turned around and left before meeting up with them (once in my car, in the parking lot, a second time as I walked toward the door of C’ville Coffee.)

But I made it, and it was fun! Thanks to Waldo who organized the gathering and, enviably, never forgets anything he reads. Because I went through with it, I got to meet Anoop and KC in addition to Waldo and a handful of other bloggers; everyone was friendly and we enjoyed a nice chat.

I need to take a poll regarding the photo you see on the top right of your screen. I’m told I look younger in person than the photo portrays (I was tired when it was taken, it was at the end of a long day at a job I despised just after a long weekend of skiing in Colorado. That’s my excuse. Shut up.) It was also taken over four years ago when I was barely out of my twenties. The photo is the head shot taken for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch when I became their first shopping columnist, ever. The camera used cost more than I make in a year. Until now, I thought it was a decent picture.

So whaddya think? Does it stay or does it go?

St. Louis had a catastrophic storm a few days ago with damaging 90 mile per hour winds. It has left half a million people without electricity during the hottest period of the summer.

So, of course, we’re putting the boy on a plane to St. Louis, today.

Since the firm I work for is based in St. Louis, I spend Monday through Friday, roughly 9am to 6pm with my head in St. Louis. I talk to people in the region all day. I heard storm stories from everyone. Crazy stuff. It’s been ridiculously hot, too, with heat indices up around 114. I haven’t heard this many weather-related St. Louis stories since the flood of ‘93. I’m writing like some old geezer, aren’t I?

Yesterday, the president declared a state of emergency for Missouri. They’re sending in FEMA. Oh, boy, I thought. I think it’s just as good we’re sending in the boy.

To the St. Louis audience: if you see a handsome, 6′5″ lad toting a trombone and a PSP, say hello. He’s part of the relief effort.