I’ve always been convinced that I’m incapable of being on vacation at home; the landslide of household minutia resides too close, the laptop too easily accessible. I’m pretty sure even my therapist typed me as someone who needs to leave the premises in order to truly sink into vacation.

But last week I proved myself wrong. And in the process, I developed a new perspective on parenting, work, and balance.

Last Saturday we headed to Maine for a much needed vacation; the original plan was for Jon to return on Tuesday and for Laurel and me to follow on Thursday. Per usual, we had a wonderful time with our friends in Maine – time that was replete with laughter, awesome food (probably too much food), vacation-y adventures, and catching up on fine literature (read: trashy magazines). On Tuesday, as Jon’s departure time grew closer, I was of two minds: on the one hand, I didn’t feel ready to leave and wasn’t wild about spending the rest of vacation at home for the aforementioned can’t-vacation-at-home-reasons. On the other hand, I was feeling a bit under the weather, and the idea of negotiating Laurel and my things home on Thursday via multiple phases of public transit lacked appeal.

Ultimately, as is the case with many things, Laurel was the deciding factor. She wanted to go with Daddy. She wanted the family to stick together.

So we left. And it was a good choice given that Jon, Laurel, and I got sick. But even so, the most amazing thing happened; it actually started while we were still in Maine.

I stumbled upon a new way to work. Or not work. Or rather, be completely present whether working or parenting, but not trying to do both at the same time.

On Sunday and Monday in Maine, I did launch a post each morning. But because we were on vacation, I didn’t jump out of bed thinking about posting; I got around to it after breakfast, when we were all lazing around figuring out what to do with the day. Totally low maintenance.

Then I was officially off on my internet vacation the rest of the week. I didn’t post, I only peeked in briefly on Twitter and Facebook (and admittedly, was sort of turned off by both and quickly left). I pretty much ignored my email. Instead, after we returned to Boston, I…

…spent an entire rainy day indoors in jammies with Laurel, reading books, goofing off, playing games, and eating all of our food picnic style.

…was able to be that mom — the one who, when the sitter couldn’t come over for a few hours as planned, was able to say, “No problem; don’t sweat it!” and actually mean it.

…instead spent the sitter time (during which I had planned on running boring errands) taking Laurel to the library and toy store, then out for a yummy sushi lunch, then to pick up her pottery at the paint your own pottery studio. I can’t say enough how much I love bopping around out and about with Laurel. She is the best sidekick.

…spent my evenings with my lovely husband, not my laptop.

…enjoyed an afternoon baking up a storm with Laurel. We took advantage of the spoils of our CSA and made chocolate zucchini cake and a double batch of zucchini bread (froze a batch, gave a batch to my mom).

…made moussaka from scratch (using the landslide of eggplant and potato from our CSA). Definitely a labor of love but so worth it. And an even greater, unexpected gift? Laurel actually tried some and declared that she loved it and ate a whole piece (protein, starch, vegetable, and dairy, all in one sitting!).

…dealt with hundreds of emails that have been languishing in my inbox to get my inbox under 50 messages. I did this over the weekend when I was slowly crawling out of my internet hibernation and I think the break helped me bucket these e-mails more clearly; meaning, I followed up on the ones of interest, dealt with e-mails that required action that didn’t take long but were hanging around for a long time, and filed e-mails that simply did not resonate with me (there were a lot of them). It felt enormously cleansing and the process inspired me to get in the habit of really listening to my instinct when I receive emails – to file or deal with things quickly to avoid generating a backlog that overwhelms me.

…did not fret about household minutia. Not one speck, as Laurel says. And the house? It’s still standing. In fact, it looks totally fine, not even really worth fretting over.

At first I was a little stunned by how easy it was for me to not worry about household minutia and work and simply remain in fun vacation mode at home. But in turning the week over in my mind and with Jon, it seems like the two major factors at play were expectation and mindset. I always told myself it was impossible to be in vacation mode at home without ever really trying it. I’m someone who tends to create projects and long to-do lists (re: household minutia), so I just let go of that. So liberating. And it proved immensely powerful to publicly declare an internet vacation; I gave myself space and time; I lessened my and others’ expectations of me and my response time.

And the thing is – and this is very easy to forget as an independent businessperson who tends to put her head down and power through work – I am in charge of expectation and mindset; I can give myself space and time whenever I want, even when back on a regular work routine. The point is, I am, in fact, driving this bus and this week helped me see that I could operate in all of my various roles on my own terms to incredibly rewarding effect – it was possible to post in an easy and relaxed way, be truly mindful when I was with my family, enjoy the beauty in life’s small moments, and be focused when I finally sat down to look at my inbox.

Expectation and mindset. If you’re feeling disgruntled with [work, parenting, fill in the blank...], experiment with adjusting — even in baby steps. Remember, ultimately, we all drive the bus.

When I was in first grade, I cried a lot. As in, every day. Save the month I managed to convince my mother that I was horribly sick and needed to stay home.

The etiology of my malaise is a little hazy, but one thing that stands out clearly is that I hated my first grade teacher. Things started out well; she sent a sweet letter during the summer. She seemed happy to welcome us all to her class. But then her less than sensitive actions started to stack up. Like when she rolled her eyes and looked exasperated when I didn’t know the answer to 8 + 0 right away (what can I say, math has never been my strongest subject). Or like when she would get frustrated with something I did, heave a big sigh, and scratch her eyeball with one of her long red fingernails (I’m not making this up). Or like when we went around at circle time sharing our middle names and she laughed at my Korean middle name and said, “Really? That’s your middle name?” Which of course made all the other kids laugh at me.

Yeah, just what I was thinking. That bitch.

So I was unhappy. I cried in class. A lot. I grabbed the bathroom pass any chance I got and made a break for it and headed upstairs, where I would stand in the doorway of my sister Stephanie’s classroom, crying for my sister. I got punished repeatedly by my teacher for disrupting my sister’s class. I then managed to stay home “sick” for a month. I’m sure the only reason they didn’t hold me back was because my teacher did not want to deal with me another year. It just kept snowballing.

And then once I left first grade, everything was cool. I was back to being the happy kid I was in kindergarten.

Fast forward 30 years and I’m the parent of a daughter who is far more sensitive to transitions than I was, but currently is experiencing a similar level of malaise at school. After a very rough transition to kindergarten, things actually have been great for many months; drops off have been a piece of cake and she loves her teachers and friends. But the last week? We’re back to sobbing drop offs and sobbing bedtimes (in anticipation of going to school in the morning). Laurel also cries periodically during the day (she says because she misses us) and says that she feels that her teacher is mad at her or hates her because she cries. Which makes her totally panicky about going to school.

Yeah, I stopped in my tracks too.

Laurel’s teacher is nothing like my first grade teacher, and when Jon talked to Laurel’s teacher this morning, she was totally taken aback that Laurel would think that she hated her because of the crying. I’m hoping that with some patience and love and deep breaths from all parties, we’ll get through this bumpy patch quickly. Because I don’t want the rest of Laurel’s kindergarten days, or her summer day camp (which we selected because Laurel’s teacher is involved) to be like the hell that was my first grade experience.

Like many instances in parenting, I have the distinct feeling that this experience is trying to teach me some kind of lesson. I wonder if it’s that it’s time to make friends with my ghost of first grade past.

I have a confession to make: I can’t pay attention to sermons.

It’s a weird thing with me, similar to my inability to absorb game rules, product manuals, or history lessons. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t process the information.

My inability to read game rules and product manuals is only mildly annoying or inconvenient to others. Being incapable of absorbing history lessons took a toll on my GPA and proves somewhat embarrassing during Trivial Pursuit and Jeopardy but otherwise isn’t a huge deal. But glazing over during sermons? Well, it not only seems disrespectful to the powers that be, but some of those powers (or the powers’ messengers) are related to me.

My mother is a devout Seventh Day Adventist but we rarely went to church because my father didn’t believe in God. However, the couple of times I did attend church as a child, I usually daydreamed then later found myself clueless (and my mother embarrassed) when the pastor asked me questions about the sermon later. And both of my in-laws are ministers (though my mother-in-law is now a social worker). I go to church every other year (Christmas Eve service when we are visiting them) and though I try really, really, reaaaallly hard to pay attention, I instantly glaze over during the sermons, only perking up when it’s time to get up and rock some Christmas carols.

Lately, however, I’ve been thinking that perhaps I need to go to church.

Or something.

As you’ve probably gathered, I’m not particularly wed to the concept of God per se; rather, I believe in the power of the universe; that there’s a spirit of some kind driving the bus, but that spirit doesn’t necessarily identify with a name or gender for me. But quite frankly, my faith has been wobbly of late, as I struggle with some personal matters, and also as I have cried over the suffering of friends like Anissa and Arianne. Not to mention the immense devastation of Haiti; incomprehensible and tragic on so many levels. None of it makes sense to me when I try to assure myself that the universe has a plan.

The other day when I was walking to pick up Laurel at school I passed a church (ironically, the same denomination of my in-laws). The signboard struck me. It said:

LOVE NOT GUILT

Simple words. No verse listing. Just a concept.

And I had a moment. This statement moved me; it’s a concept I can understand and apply to my own life. It’s a motto our world could serve to embrace. And seeing those words in print at a place of worship made me wonder whether it would be possible to find a church or some kind of gathering where spirituality, faith, and community could be explored in less traditional ways.

Because I do think of myself as a spiritually grounded person. Because I feel like I could use the power of community to help me along in these moments when I can’t understand what the hell the universe is up to. Because I think that there’s utility to assembling collectively to set intentions for peace and healing.

But I need something other than traditional sermons and Bible verses.

Tell me, if you’re a church go-er, what do you think my issue is with sermons? Or if you explore spirituality and faith in alternative ways, what do you do?