Binkies and Briefcases

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The Endgame

By: Stephanie3 Comments

Last month I was at Bloggy Boot Camp and I heard Tiffany Romero speak about how bloggers should know what their end game is. What goal are you working toward?

Then Brittany posted about something similar and it really hit home for me in a way that was different than I expected.

I always have arbitrary goals in my head about this blog, like I’d like to get 3,000 Facebook fans this year or pass 1,000 Twitter followers or more sponsored content to bring in extra income for our family.

But I realized something, you guys.

The endgame? I’m there. This year. I’m here. Right now. At the finish line. And I did it without thousands of followers and tons of sponsors.

You guys brought me here and I didn’t even realize I was on the journey because I never voiced my goals out loud until they were laid at my feet. (“Laid at my feet”=After I worked my buns off.)

When Tiffany asked us, “What do you want your blog to do for you?” I thought…..

-I want a network. A “tribe.” To find my people.

-I want my blog to lead to professional writing gigs that pay me real money.

-I want to be  a published author. In hold-it-in-your-hands print books.

-I want to get some sponsored content to earn money and free stuff

-I want to be featured on The Huffington Post

-I want to meet some of my online friends in real life.

When I reflected on the things I wanted my blog to do for me I realized I had already done them all this year. Seriously, check. check. check. check… YOU took me there because you read the stories, bought the book, joined the Facebook page, or commented on the article.

I can’t lie, I’d still like to surpass the 3,000 followers mark. I’m not sure why I have that number in my head. I guess because it feels like a big enough number to be taken seriously, but small enough that my blog could still be a pretty intimate community. But I realized that I don’t NEED those numbers to reach my goals.

I don’t want to miss the forest while I’m focusing on trees like social media growth and SEO.

However, I do realize that there is power in the written word and putting your goals out into the universe, so here are my updated blog goals for 2013:

1. Develop MY voice. And put it out there, no apologies.  I think I have found it (my writer’s voice, that is), but I don’t always have the courage in my convictions that I should. I have held back or deleted several posts because I thought they would be too isolating, too “Jesus-y,” too whatever OR not enough. Not funny enough, not strong enough, not developed enough… I don’t want “I can’t post that, it will turn off brands who are looking at me.” or “That’s going to lose me at least 50 Facebook fans” to be thoughts that are keeping me from telling my story.  I look at my writing as a spiritual gift and I feel like it is disobedient not to post things that are on my heart. Yet I hold them back anyway. And that’s really not fair, especially if you were one of the people who needed to read those words. What if God knew that was what you needed to hear that particular day and I just refused to share it with you? If those posts were supposed to be a gift to you that I filtered for selfish reasons, then I’m sorry. I’m going to try not to do that anymore.

2. Speak. In public. Which is both terrifying and exciting. I love and miss teaching kids, but speaking to adults and peers is often overwhelming to me. I have been invited to be part of a local author’s week at our library next month, which will be my first speaking engagement as a professional writer. I feel like I should put quotes around “professional writer,” which brings me to my next point…

3. Stop downplaying my own professionalism. Dammit. (See. I’m very professional, obviously.) But, seriously, I signed 3 book contracts this year, I’m freelancing for a local magazine on the regular, and I miraculously landed on HuffPo last month. There are paychecks in our bank account every month because of my writing. (Not big ones, but still.) I think can call myself a real writer now. It’s time to stop answering the “What do you do?” question with, “Oh, me? Nothing. I’m just a mom. Well, I do have this blog, but you’ve probably never heard of it…”

I’m going to be replacing that answer with, “I’m a writer.” Period. Stop. No clarifications like, “but you probably haven’t read my stuff.” Or “but I’m not signed with a major publisher or anything.” No looking at the ground or nervous hand gestures.  P.S. If you ARE “just a mom” it’s time for you to stop answering that question that way too. Look them in the eye, square your shoulders and say, “I’m a mom.” with a great big self-assured smile and stop right there. Because you’re pretty darn good at what you do and apparently so am I. And we need to own it. (On that note, please ignore the typos that I’m sure are all over this post. Don’t worry, my mom will point them out to me later.)

What’s your endgame? It doesn’t have to be blog related. I know you have goals. Please feel free to share them in the comments.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our Love Story: Part 10

By: Stephanie3 Comments

It was Christmas Eve 2005. That little hiccup of a separation was more than two years behind us. I had graduated from college a year early and was well into my first year as a first grade teacher. Eddie was finishing up his final year in the engineering program at the University of Maryland. He came with me to the Christmas party that my Aunt Cathi hosts every year.   

We sat in a semi-private corner in the crowded living room, close together on an overstuffed love seat, and started exchanging our gifts to each other. I don’t remember what I gave him. If I had to guess I’d say it was probably something pretty lame, like a sweater or a DVD.

He handed me a shoe box, wrapped so that the lid lifted off easily. I looked inside and saw a teddy bear holding a simple white gold band with a solitary diamond.

I looked at him, confused because he wasn’t saying anything. “Is this for real?”

He showed me the white piece of paper that was taped to the lid of the gift box. Somehow I had missed it. Now that it had been pointed out to me I could read the poem he had written himself. It asked the question for him:

“How did five and a half years go by so fast when it feels like an eternity

Since we fell in love together and became “us,” not just you and me…

…And so I ask this question with an everlasting guarantee

I’ll love you forever and ever. Will you marry me?”

Of course I said yes. (By the way, that little piece of paper is now framed and displayed prominently in our home. I’ll show it to you the next time you come over.)   

The following September, in the middle of a hurricane that forced us to cancel our rehearsal dinner and threatened to flood out the restaurant where we were holding our reception, we said “yes” to each other all over again.

cheers

That ring on my right hand is the Forever and Longer promise ring he had given me.

Meanwhile, 1,000 miles away in a homeless shelter in Tampa there was a woman who was entering into her second trimester of pregnancy. She was carrying a baby we would not meet for more than two more years.  She was carrying our son.

Eventually he joined us, his Forever Family, and we gave him two forever sisters.

forever family

And we would all live happily ever after.     

The End.

Happy Father’s Day, Eddie!

 

Our Love Story: Part 9

By: Stephanie2 Comments

our love story

I still spoke to Eddie on the phone occasionally. We were trying to be honest with each other about how the separation was working. It was important to us to keep our trust and communication open in case we did decide to get back together. The phone call when I told him I was seeing someone else still haunts me to this day.

“Did you sleep with him? Tell me. Did he f— you? You are such a f—ing slut. I swear to God.” There was a venom in his voice I had never heard before and I have never heard again.

I told him the truth.   

I knew it was over with my friend and now things were looking bleak at best with Eddie. By this point I had really had enough of boys for awhile. I rounded up a few good friends and we went to visit my BFF Lauren at College Park with the intention of getting our party on. Hard.

I paid $180 to get my hair done just for the occasion and I was darn well going to make sure that Eddie saw me and I looked as hot as humanly possible and acted untouchable. I hadn’t seen him in person for months.

This is a picture taken on that fateful night in November.

 ladies night 1

We stopped by his room so that I could remind him, visually, exactly what he was missing. He asked where we were planning to go, just out of polite curiosity. We told him the name of the fraternity whose party we were planning to attend and he went pale and begged us not to go there. Apparently that particular fraternity had been investigated more than once for raping women who were either too drunk to refuse advances or may have actually been drugged by members who put sedatives in their drinks.

He was genuinely concerned for our safety. It wasn’t that he had anything against fraternity life. (Actually he was the president of his fraternity and he has their letters tattooed on his back. Yeah, he’s that guy.) We rolled our eyes and told him that we were going as a big group and would look out for each other. I never drank at those parties anyway, so I really wasn’t worried-although, in hindsight, we all definitely should have been.

He knew he wasn’t going to be able to stop the other girls, but he pleaded with me to stay behind. He knew that I truly hate fraternity parties and I would much prefer an evening in with a good friend, so he offered to be that for me.

“Stay in with me tonight. Please? We have a lot we need to talk about. I’ve really missed you. It’s good to see your face again.”

I didn’t put up much of a fight. My heart had softened the minute I saw his face. I was happy to stay in with him.     

 By the morning it was official: We were a “we” again.

The next week I went to visit him and he had a surprise for me. It was a present, which was rare. I opened the tiny box and inside was a silver ring with a wide band. The raised letters that stretched all the way around it read, “Forever and Longer.” Those two words had been our thing. Our shorthand version of saying, “I’ll love you forever.” “I’ll love you longer.”  

“Forever and Longer” is what we each wrote to the other in the high school yearbook under our senior portraits.

It was very different than the kind of ring that had been purchased and then returned a few months prior.

“It’s a promise ring.”

“What exactly are you promising?”

“I really do know I want to be with you now. Knowing you were out with someone else tore me up inside and I didn’t even want to be near anyone else this entire time. It’s only ever going to be you. I promise that one day I will replace this ring with the kind you need.”

My heart was warm because I already knew. He always keeps his promises.

That ring stayed on my right hand until the day I took it off and tied it to our ring bearer’s pillow.    

Part 10

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