I think it’s safe to say that if you’ve ever listened to NPR, you’ve sat in your driveway or in a parking lot listening to the soothing narration, the metered cadence of voice over, hanging on every turn of the story until you got to the satisfying end (I mean, they made a whole CD of them, so I can’t be alone in this).

I did that today.

“All Things Considered” did a brief interview with their weekend host, Scott Simon, who has been tweeting the final days of his mother’s life spent in the ICU. She passed last night. I’ve been following his twitter feed (@nprScottSimon) and had been truly touched by his words the last several days, many bringing me to tears.

“Mother cries Help Me at 2;30. Been holding her like a baby since. She’s asleep now. All I can do is hold on to her.”

“I love holding my mother’s hand. Haven’t held it like this since I was 9. Why did I stop? I thought it unmanly? What crap.”

“I just realized: she once had to let me go into the big wide world. Now I have to let her go the same way.”

“Mother asks, “Will this go on forever?” She means pain, dread. “No.” She says, “But we’ll go on forever. You & me.” Yes.”

As I listened to his voice break and why he shared these experiences with the world, all I could focus on were the words and a son’s love for his mother held inside of them.

As a mother, all I want is for my children to be strong, capable, caring, graceful people. I want them to go forth in the world and conquer their little part of it. I want them to have loving relationships and generous spirits. In my heart of hearts, I don’t truly want any credit for that. I simply want to revel in it. I want to be an old lady on a porch somewhere and watch my children teach their children those same lessons and know in that moment that whatever I did worked.

But to see this man’s love for his mother spelled out in 140 characters of brutal honesty and sincerer sentiment than any Hallmark card could ever hope to possess, I admit I want to be loved like that.

So, Patricia Lyons Simon Newman, know this: you did an excellent job raising what appears to be a thoughtful and loving man. But you also inspired me again today to continue trying to be the best mother to my boys I know how so that one day, they too will hold me in their arms and realize the symmetry of our love.

I read Lean In awhile ago and promised I’d write up a review since it spoke to me, my situation and the struggles I, and most of the women I know (working moms, single moms, at home moms, women without children…), face on a daily basis. But, life gets in the way from such high-minded posts that warrant citations and research and balance. So, screw it. I let it go. And, frankly, plenty of folks have been writing about Sheryl Sandberg and her book and its merits and failings that you can certainly do the research on your own.

Here is what I will say: read it. Is it the feminist manifesto of our generation? Nope. Does it address every woman’s situation and how to solve it? Not at all. Did it look at what number of women get frustrated with the corporate culture and seek flexibility in starting their own businesses, running for local offices, serving in influential volunteer positions? I wish it had. What it is, is a clear dissemination of personal experience backed by sociological research that addresses one woman’s observations and experiences. I believe we can all learn from that experience. It doesn’t mean that I think we all are going to go out and aim for the C-suite, nor do I think that was her point. What I do think it does, or at least it did for me, was point out areas that I related to and has influenced how I think about particular situations.

For instance, a recent announcement at work was approaching. The event was to take place in Denver. An agency had been hired to handle event details, our marketing team was on top of visual details, and I was to handle media relations. I really wanted to go, but was terrified. It was my first work trip in more than 7 years. I wasn’t afraid of the travel or being away from the kids (a night in a hotel by myself? Hello?!), but I was afraid I’d somehow lost my work chops. I went back and forth in my head about whether I should go or could handle the work from Atlanta. I nearly talked myself out of going. Finally, I decided to face that fear and go. And it was a great event.

The fear I felt was silly in that I knew I’d have fun, I knew I could do the job and I knew I had the babysitter and hubby at home making sure the home fires were burning and the kids weren’t the ones responsible for setting them. But feel it, I did, because I had a blank space on my resume taunting me, needling at me from the inside making me think that, indeed, I couldn’t do it.

The concept of “leaning in,” of focusing on what you want, standing up to obstacles (like fear) that stand in the way, speaking up, asking for help, realizing your self-worth, abolishing those demons that whisper in your ears nasty phrases like “maybe you can’t,” “maybe you shouldn’t,” “you aren’t good enough,” “someone will realize you aren’t as good/smart/talented as you think you are,” is something we should all be reminded of whether you are hoping to go back to work after an absence raising kids, demand a flexible situation with your boss, seeking a seat on a local volunteer organization, starting a small business, writing a novel after the kids go to bed, running for school board or aiming for the top job in a Fortune 500 company.  Leaning in can mean standing up for your marriage and family by creating better partnerships with your spouse or recognizing the importance of date night or suggesting tech-free time on weekends. Leaning in can mean letting go of your preconceived notions of what work/life balance is or should be. Leaning in can mean letting in help from family, friends, nannies, colleagues. Leaning in can mean leaning back and finding the right path for you.

And that’s where I find myself now.

Growing up, I always answered “writer” to the what do you want to be when you grow up question. Yet, even as a child, I felt a nagging tug in my gut that it was as frivolous an answer as astronaut or president. Sure, some of the kids in your class might end up on such prestigious or adventurous paths, but the majority would surely be regular folks with respectable jobs and content families at suburban soccer fields on Saturday mornings. We want our kids to dream, however, and imagine a future filled with endless possibilities. My name on a book spine was mine.

And then I grew up.

I never took a creative writing class in college. Never even considered it. And looking back, I can’t even tell you why. I don’t think my parents ever pressured me or insinuated it was impractical. Somewhere along the way, however, I focused on the dependable, the certainty, the safe. Luckily, I found the journalism school – I could write with a paycheck. The public relations track was even better – I could foster that creative side with writing skills and perhaps be satisfied.

And I have been. I love PR. I enjoy solving problems, finding the right avenues to solve them, communicating with people, sharing stories, seeing our news in print. But it’s not the writing I dreamed of. It’s not the writing that inspired me as a second grader with her nose stuck in a Beverly Cleary book all afternoon. It’s not the writing I still long to do.

But there’s that little demon voice again. “You can’t write a novel,” it whispers. “You don’t have time,” it teases. “It’s too much work,” it whines.

The hubby and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary this past week. We tend to spend those dates looking back and assessing the last year, looking forward to the next, wanting to support each other to succeed as individuals while also bolstering our marriage as the backbone of our family. And, of course, my writing dreams came up again over dinner. We talked a lot about the fears I have, the mental blocks, the defenses the demons have built up to prevent me from taking action when I finally said, “I don’t know why I don’t just do it. I’m already not a published author, so why am I afraid to write a book that might not be published? At least then I can say I did it.”

Since then, I’ve been thinking a lot about that statement. Writing may not bring me fame or fortune or movie deals or the New York Times best seller list, but it brings me joy. So why don’t I just go for it? I’m no worse off. At the end of the day, I may never see my name on a book spine, but it’s already not there and I’m pretty happy with life as it is.

So, I’m leaning in. Leaning in to the demons and telling them, “I can do it,” “I’ll make time,” and “Of course it’s work, that’s why I’m doing it.”

Strangely enough, on that flight out to Denver for the work trip, I banged out three pages of what I think is the start of something interesting. I like that saying yes to one part of my life didn’t mean no to the rest.

The best part of leaning in is that it moves you forward.

We’re well into our summer here in Atlanta and with that has been the challenge of keeping the kids stimulated, busy and happy. With two active boys, it can be quite difficult to walk the line between two kids playing peacefully together and all hell breaking lose when one oversteps the unclear boundaries, knocks over the Lego tower or picks the wrong car to play with.

I can’t count the number of times I yell “Boys!” down the hallway or “Work it out!” or “Use your words!”Some days it seems like I’m more referee than mom and I’m exhausted from the cacophony of whining complaints about what the other is doing and the timeouts for grabbing/shoving/hitting.

Don’t get me wrong. There are moments of pure brilliance. Of the older one teaching the younger how to do something better. Of one building off the game of another and creating a brand new adventure. Of giggling. Of love…

…because, I have discovered, apparently the older one sneaks out of the top bunk to tuck the 3 year old in after he falls asleep. Tuck him in. Seriously? How absolutely adorable is that?

So now, when they are at each other’s throats about whose turn it is to pick the TV show tomorrow, I’ll just remember, that behind closed doors, in the quiet of the night, they will still take care of each other.

I have a confession to make.

Today, I am shopping for flats.

*GASP*

Actually, shopping for flats isn’t itself an inherently shocking thing for me. After all, what do you think I wear to the playground, grocery store, play date, school function?

But today, I am shopping for flats to wear to work. Specifically, an out of town work event.

Don’t get me wrong, I wear flats to work. But typically, work is when the heels come out. My selection of heels is quite small now, compared to my full-time, pre-kids days. But slapping on a pair to head to the office for a couple of hours with a cute skirt or nice pair of jeans makes me feel like I’m putting on the uniform. It mentally sets me up for “professional me” space and separates me from the play-doh playing, train track building and PB&J making of the rest of my day.

The fact of the matter is, wearing heels on flights, trudging through airports, plus all day at a press event just makes my achilles shudder at the thought. I want to look great, but be comfortably confident, not wishing for a chair to sit in. And the sad fact is that most of my heels are battle worn from the playground, grocery store, play date and school functions.

It’s time for a new pair.

Add all this to the fact that this will be my first work trip in seven years and mama just needs to make sure she is arriving with not just her press releases, media lists and lap top, but with her mojo.

For me, looking the part helps drive the inner confidence. Maybe it’s vanity, maybe it’s a distraction tactic to get me through the weekend so I don’t focus too much on the anxiety, maybe it’s a little of both or neither. Whatever the subconscious reason, I know that if I can find just the right pair of sassy flats to pair with the black pencil skirt, I’ll be comfortable inside…and out.

Wednesday is the last day of school. The last few weeks have been filled with field days and muffins for moms and class picnics and in-class activities and after school activities and teacher appreciation and  theme days and just about more than I can handle on top of our regular life.

At the little guy’s preschool muffins for moms a few weeks ago, a day in which I was having to sneak him out of school early to drop him home with a brand new babysitter (stressful enough) to rush back out to a working lunch meeting, his teacher’s mentioned they would be moving his class end of year party to the Monday of the last week of school instead of the actual last day of school.

And then I never heard anything else about it.

So this weekend, as I prepped for the week of swim lessons and end of year teacher errands on top of planning for a week-long road trip we’re leaving for Saturday, I thought about the class party. I realized I hadn’t received an email about the date switch and I did not take steps to email the class moms or teachers and headed into the office today.

And of course that party was still today. And I missed it.

Now, I sort of knew that would probably happen. After all, they did make a semi-announcement. But without a reminder or a nudge or a time, well, I felt pulled enough this week and chose to ignore it.

Then proceeded to feel guilty about it when it was confirmed that I wasn’t there.

I make it to 99% of all my kids’ activities. Working part time has been a struggle to make that work when events inevitably fall during the same times I’ve allotted to be in the office and the last month has made it ridiculously stressful. I don’t want to miss my children’s field days and sing-alongs, but I also have a professional responsibility. It’s a constant struggle to find time. With Kindergarten splash down (hello, fire trucks to spray water on my 6 year old – totally NOT missing that) coming up Wednesday and our summer babysitter not yet available for the rest of the week, I consciously chose to turn a blind eye to the three year old’s end of year party so I didn’t miss a complete week in the office.

Did it make me feel guilty? Yup. Will he remember? Probably not. Was his experience less because I wasn’t there? Surely not. Did he mention I wasn’t there? Yes. But, I do realize that sometimes I have to chose. And in the grand scheme of things, not watching my three year old eat a cupcake on his last Monday of school was the least impactful choice to make.

With all the talk of leaning in, sometimes I just need to stand up straight or I might fall over.

Currently reading “Lean In” and have lots to think about on the subject of the current status of women in the workplace, but came across this article and needed to share it. I actually started to simply post the article with a brief comment on the blog’s Facebook page, but quickly saw the paragraphs adding up and moved over to this space. Forgive me in advance, I feel a rant coming on.

On the surface, I think this column is trying to point out some fantastic female CEOs and the successes they have achieved for their companies. Great concept, honestly, for a column. Recognizing the great work being done by women in all facets of industry can only help to provide positive role models for young women AND men, not to mention continue to make the female face in the corporate world a less unique one.

The problem with the column, in my opinion, is that it reinforces stereotypes of women in the workplace. First off, the headline “Working Mothers Can Be Great CEOs.” Have you ever, EVER, read a headline or business article talking about working fathers and the need to defend their ability to be a great CEO? I mean, E-V-E-R? Second, “can be?” Speechless. Third, it proceeds to highlight stereotypical female characteristics and how these can be useful to companies.

For so long women were told to act like a man to get ahead. Now we are being told to maximize or play up our feminine wiles to succeed? Of course mentoring, collaborating, listening, offering flexible arrangements and other items the columnist points out are good for business. They would be good for a business run by a woman OR a man. They are good for male and female employees. They are good for single workers, gay workers, parent workers, older workers. They just make good business sense. And quite frankly, these attributes are probably found in the best male leaders as well as female. Because the CEOs this columnist features recognized and provided these types of solutions to their respective companies doesn’t mean they are successful leaders ONLY because they are women, it means that they are intelligent, aware and solutions oriented people who have found the most effective ways to lead their companies and employees.

The hubby and I watched Tina Fey on Inside the Actor’s Studio this week and she answered a question from the audience about how to navigate being a great female director in an industry dominated by men. Her answer – be a great director. Don’t think about being a female director or needing to prove that you’re good at it because of or in spite of being a woman. Just do your job and do it to the best of your ability.

If we could all just take a step back and stop qualifying leaders by their gender, because the only times we describe a leader by their gender is when they are female. Let’s simply applaud our best leaders who create opportunities for all of our citizens, who make work accessible and who support our families by advocating flexible arrangements for all workers.

Yes, there is room to be made for more female leaders and yes, I’ll have more to say about that once I finish “Lean In” and digest it for a bit. But “Working Mothers Can Be Great CEOs?” I think I need to launch a similar set of columns. How do these titles sound?

• Working Fathers Make Great Dinners
• Working Fathers Can Be Terrific Caregivers
• Working Fathers Make Housework More Effective

When I started this part time working gig, a friend told me to be where my feet are. I love this. So true. So simple. And yet, I have a devil of a time living by it.

For some reason, when I’m at work, I always remember the camp forms I need to fill out or the class snacks I need to pack and when I’m at home I’m making mental lists of the tweets that need to be tweeted or the pitches that need to be pitched. Those days when I can’t seem to keep my brain and my feet in the same space are exhausting. I feel overwhelmed and unproductive. I get short-tempered. Then I load even more guilt on myself for not handling the entire situation better so I don’t get to that point.

Circular? Yes. Productive? No. Frustrating? You betcha.

I recently gave up the workout class I have been participating in since the six year old was a mere six weeks old. I loved every aspect of this class – the workout, the fact my kids could come along, the fresh air, the friends I made (seriously, moms, check them out. I have in no way been compensated to say this). It was hard to say goodbye, but my kids are older. The schedule is tougher with all the increased commitments of work and school volunteering. When I hadn’t made it to a class in two months, I had to say goodbye.

Needing to fill the hole, I have started going to a yoga class at our local Y. I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve never done yoga, but was intrigued and thought it would give me something fresh to jump start a new workout routine.

Yoga might be the best gift I have ever given myself. Not only do I feel my body responding in extremely positive ways, but my spirit is lifted every time I walk out of the studio. Taking an hour to do something for myself, by myself has been revolutionary. Being able to simply breathe and be without a litany of tasks clouding my brain has given me a fresh perspective to start over those afternoons. The soft voice of the instructor, the purposeful movement, the sense of peaceful community have all done wonders to my mental space.

I am ridiculously in tune with my body – my husband would say too much so. I think I knew I was pregnant with my second child within days of conception. I could just tell. My cardiologist has agreed when he has assured me some of the issues I’ve presented with are extremely common, most folks just don’t ever feel them. I am very concerned when something seems off in my body, which can often lead to crazy assumptions that I must be coming down with something (this is the point at which the hubby thinks I need to be less in tune with my body since sometimes an eye twitch is just an eye twitch and an achy back is just an achy back).

But in yoga, it’s all a positive. It’s being in tune in the most fundamental way – listening to what needs stretching, filling and emptying. Letting go of concern and simply taking a mental inventory of the aches and the pains and the good and the satisfied. Being present, focused and healthy.

So to all of you mamas out there trying to find the elusive balance, remember, it’s about presence. Find something that makes you feel present. It doesn’t have to be yoga, it can be a walk, a run, a hot bath, meditation, whatever makes you grounded and keeps you from thinking of all the need tos and haven’t dones.

Be present. Even if it’s just an hour a week. And if you’re still insisting on balance over presence, come join me in a nice chair pose.

Since last week, I’ve been mulling over what I want to say about the recent memo coming out of Yahoo! requiring all workers report to campus, eliminating their work from home stance.

I admittedly do not have an MBA nor do I particularly have a mind for “management.” I am a communicator. I am an observer. I am a seeker. I am not a numbers person. I am not a manager, nor do I ever truly care to be one. I like working with others on a team and having a role to fulfill and a skill set to offer. I like putting my head down and working alone to put that skill set to work and create change. I like learning from others’ strengths and allowing them to do what they do best.

I do not work at Yahoo! or a company like it. I do not claim to understand their culture, their specific needs for corporate change or how to fix their bottom line. I do not know if people are taking advantage, in the most negative sense of the term, of the telecommuting option or if this is simply a nice tactic to trim the personnel fat without having to make hard layoff decisions.

I do, however, work in a flexible environment.

As I’ve said before, I work part time and a lot at home. The company I work for is relatively small and a start-up. A lot of folks have young families. Travel and late nights and weekend events are par for the course for many and the mentality is very much see something that needs to be done? Do it.

When I started this gig, the understanding was that I would primarily work from home. It soon became apparent, as folks were getting used to who I was and what I could offer, that I show my face every so often in order to get to know everyone and experience how the business worked. I currently go to the office on days when both kids are in school – so three mornings a week. If I need to attend a meeting outside of those hours, I have often brought a little assistant with me to the office.

This face time allows me the opportunity to collaborate with colleagues, track down answers to unreturned emails and, often, have a quiet, kid-free zone to work. The ability to work from home, however, gives me the opportunity to spend time with my kids, be there when my six year old gets off the school bus and volunteer at my children’s schools. Many of my tasks are writing or research related and can be completed outside normal business hours. My social media tasks have no business hours and I am able to check on them whenever and wherever.

Today’s constant email, text and social contact are making the traditional 9 to 5 schedule a thing of the past. People have access to work wherever they are. I think it’s unrealistic to not offer flexible work environments. I, for one, am able to participate in the economy, find fulfilling work and contribute to a company I believe in because of it. If the job required a 9 to 5 in the office schedule, frankly, I’m not sure I’d be doing it.

That being said, there must be parameters, boundaries, expectations. Flexible work environments are a lot like raising children. You want to give kids the freedom to explore, learn and take risks. At the same time, they need boundaries to still feel safe and confident. My kids always behave better when they know what is expected of them. Freedom breeds creativity and confidence in them, but inattention leads to acting out and, shall we say, mischief.

So provide freedom, but be attentive. Insist workers spend a certain number of hours a week in the office, require attendance at monthly staff/team meetings, offer events/seminars/learning opportunities that get people together. Sure, it might be harder work for management to enact boundaries and monitor the work-from-homers, but isn’t that their job? To manage? Why risk alienating talented workers who may be more productive without the extra-long commute or the complicated child care arrangements or, frankly. without the distractions of a cubicle environment?

I certainly don’t have all the answers, but I can say that truly flexible work environments are good for workers. They are good for families. They are good for employers. I hope that, at the very least, this move by Yahoo! will help keep the conversation about flex schedules going.

My fear, though, is that it will give employers the permission to remain inflexible.

I’m so used to living my life looking from the inside out. Wishing I had more time, more control, more space, more energy, more patience. Thinking I’m being judged for the whiny preschooler, ornery six year old, bad hair day, inability to remember simple tasks and deadlines. Motherhood and family life have many of us so wrapped up in what we should be doing, could be doing or would rather be doing that I, for one, often miss what’s right in front of me.

I long ago gave up expecting or striving for perfect. I do, however, expect/want/wish/hope my kids will behave relatively well in situations where other mothers are present so as not to let anyone else know how badly I’m swinging by the seat of my pants at any given moment. I just want to look a little bit like I know what I’m doing, if even for a second. Although, when a fellow parent compliments me on having it all figured out (ha!), I dismiss those good vibes quickly thinking, “if they only knew.” There is no winning with me, apparently.

So it is often in those moments when my kids are screeching through Target that they want a new toy and we’re only there for toilet paper or when they are smacking each other in the head as I attempt to buy groceries or the three year old is running wild in the elder’s school while I’m trying to scoop ice cream for the 100th day of school Kindergarten celebration that I hang my internal head, assume the jig is up and can’t wait to get the hell outta there before I’m branded with the scarlet B of bad parenting.

Today, I was one of a two-parent volunteer team to lead an arts and crafts project at school. I convinced the hubby to take the three year old to lunch during that half-hour block so I could focus, for a change, on just my kindergartner and his peers. Especially since tape and glue were involved. My parent partner’s two preschool boys were with her. As we walked into the school together, I recognized so much of myself. The strained smile in her voice as she cajoled her kids to stay put while we signed in. The pre-bad-behavior apologies. The split attention during the activity.

And really, they were fine. The youngest was a little wilder, excited to see his big sister, stimulated by all the activity and new toys and books. But overall, totally acceptable behavior. Until we were trying to exit the class and hug our big kids goodbye and that little guy tossed an entire crate of crayons all over circle time. And I laughed. Not because it was terribly funny, but because it was really no big deal. And yet, I could see to the mom, it was. And I knew how that felt. But in the grand scheme of things, it was crayons.

So I bent down to help pick them up and helped her push the stroller to the car.

Do I think seeing my usual stress on another mother’s face is going to really help me be calmer the next time I’m in that situation? I hope so, but probably not. But it was nice to see myself from the outside for a change and realize that my mother was right all those year’s ago: Ain’t no body paying attention to me, they are all busy worrying about themselves.

So the next time you see me trying not to freak out with two crazed kids in tow, remind me of that. And maybe help me pick up the spilled crayons, if you don’t mind.

I joked this morning on Facebook about how vulnerable I felt having left my phone at home. Keep in mind, I would be back at home by 12:15 and connected once again.

I blissfully squirreled myself into an office and, uninterrupted, completed a work task that has been haunting me for a week, just begging for a quiet block of time. After preschool pick-up and lunch, I plopped the three year old on the couch for a bit of Peppa Pig on the DVR.

And there they were as the television screen faded into focus. Images of ambulances, so very many ambulances, lined up. Police officers. Flashing lights. Audio that wasn’t working from a field reporter offering me no context. The words: “Shooting at Elementary School.” The channel was local.

Panic. Fear. Where? Where? WHERE! It only took 15 seconds for the video to scroll through to show me this was Connecticut, but for 15 seconds my heart seized and my stomach dropped and all I could think of was the folly of forgetting my phone while my child could be hurt, scared, alone. Even now, I am still shaken. Still shaking. Still afraid. Enough to take fingers to keys to type, to make sense, to feel a little less alone in knowing that there are mothers not breathing a sigh of relief. There are mothers keening for their children. Mothers rushing to emergency rooms. Mothers pacing floors while doctors tend to injuries little bodies should never endure. Mothers numb with denial, knowledge, loss.

Empty stockings will remain on mantles. Gifts are tucked away in closets to bring fresh tears when discovered at some later date. Brothers and sisters are unmoored and frightened. Children now carry scars that school isn’t safe.

The cocoons we create for our children are fragile. Despite our best intentions and most fervent precautions, predators will still find a way into our lives to shake our souls.

I feel sick for those families.

I can’t dislodge the image of those flashing lights.

I will be waiting, impatiently, for my son to step off the school bus this afternoon. I will be waiting to hold him tight, to remind my heart of the feel of his skinny little embrace, to buffer his protest, to ruffle his hair while I pretend I’m not crying, to own the joy that my boy has come home to me.

Because in Connecticut, someone like me won’t be able to do that today.