Toy Story Through the Years

"Ride Like the Wind Bulls Eye!"

On Sunday, Ken and I took the family (Eric 7, Emily 4, Beth 2) to see "Toy Story 3". It was a bitter sweet film for me. You may recall that Woody moved out of our house just a few months ago. I wasn't sure how I was going to feel seeing him on the big screen again. But for the sake of the kids, I sucked it up and went.

In the final moments of the film, as Andy hugged his Mom and left for college, I reached up and brushed a tear off my cheek. A few seats away, I heard a sniffle. I looked over and saw Ken wiping his eyes as well.

Flash back time. The year is November of 1995. Ken and I had been married a little over a year. One night we decided to go out to the movies. Our choices were "Father of Bride II" starring Steve Martin or "Toy Story", a new Disney movie featuring the voices of Tom Hanks and Tim Allen. Even though children where not in our plans yet, Ken and I opted for the animated feature.

Animated movies were something Ken and I did a lot back then. We saw "The Rescuers Down Under", "The Little Mermaid" (the re-release in 1997), "Beauty and the Beast", and "Muppets Treasure Island" in the theaters together. I guess we were always kids at heart.

Our family rediscovered "Toy Story" in 2005 when Eric was 3. That's when we received the 2 disk set (TS1 and 2) as a gift. Eric, Ken and I would sit on the floor in the family room reciting the lines together. Later, when I put Eric to bed, he would insist I tell a story in which Woody, Buzz, Cowgirl Jessie, Andy and Eric were the main characters.

Now, fifteen years after the launch of TS1, it was a real treat to be at the theater sharing a favorite family saga. Emily sat on my lap. Beth, always independent, bounced on her own seat stuffing her mouth with popcorn. Eric sat between Ken and I with his eyes glued to the big screen.

Before I knew it, the movie was over and the theater lights were up. Patrons and families gathered up their belongings and filed out of the room.

I sighed. Was it really over? Did Andy really grow up? Did he really leave for college? Even though fifteen years had passed, I still wasn't ready to move on. Until suddenly, I had an idea. Maybe, I told myself, there would be Toy Story 4.

Yea. That's the ticket. Another chance for the gang to get together. I smiled and wondered, if there was a TS 4, who would be watching it with us.

I Want To Do That

"Mommy, I want to do THAT."

We are at Knoebel's Amusement Park as part of our summer vacation. The Phoenix has just rocketed past and Emily (4) is pointing at it. It's the biggest, baddest roller coaster in the park. The big hill boasts a seventy two foot drop.

Ken and I exchange nervous glances. Neither of us are big coaster fans. The rattling and rumbling and twisting and turning makes my heart pound until I feel like it will burst out of my chest. I tilt my head slightly and give Ken my "there is no way I am going on that thing with a four year old" look. He lifts his chin and gives me his "well don't count on me cause I'm not going either" look.

Emily has no fear. I am confident she would love the Phoenix. She's already conquered the Ferris Wheel and the Log Flume. And she forced her Dad to take her on the Skloosh three times in a row.

I imagine Emily sitting on the coaster. I can see her smile as the cars clanked out of the station. She would point and giggle as it clinked up the big hill. He eyes would grow wide when, on reaching the top, she first realizes the magnitude of the drop. Then she would squeal and giggle as the cars roared and plunged back to earth. And there I would be, beside her, gripping the lap bar until my knuckles turned white and praying silently.

It's wonderful that Emily is fearless. She believes that she can do anything. And she is not hampered by her own self proclaimed apprehensions or inhibitions. To her, the world is full of possibilities.

I try to hide my fears from Emily. I don't want the limitations that have grown inside of me to rub off on her. Instead, I hope that her confidence will rub off on me. So I am doing my best to smile and laugh and pretend that rides that twist and drop don't scare the crap out of me.

But the roller coaster? I'm not ready for that. Not today.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Maybe never.

Emily looks at me with hopeful eyes. I am seconds away from saying yes when I realize that Emily won't meet the height requirement. I let out my breath. Thank God. I have an out.

"Is it time for ice cream yet?" I ask in a clear attempt to distract Emily.

"I want chocolate." Emily giggles as she dances and twirls toward the ice cream stand.

I turn to Beth (2) and take her hand. "What kind of ice cream do you want, Jelly Bean?" I ask.

Beth stops, turns and points to the coaster.

"I want to do that!"

The Happiest Place

"Mommy, why is everyone looking at me with a mad face?" Eric asked.

We had been standing in the hot sun for over forty five minutes to board the Dumbo ride. We were suppose to be at the happiest place on earth. But at that moment I didn't feel very happy.

That was two years ago. And though we enjoyed our visit to Florida, I didn't enjoy the long lines and high prices.

Two years later, we found ourselves at the real "Happiest Place on Earth." And we weren't in Florida. We were in Pennsylvanian visiting the little town of Ellysburg at a place called Knoebels. (Hint: the K is not silent).

I hesitate to share this secret. Because if word gets out that there is place better than mouseville for a fifth of the price, the little haven of heaven I've come to love so much may become overrun with tourists. So whatever you do, don't tell anyone about what I am going to reveal.

Knoebels is a free admission - yes, I said FREE - amusement park located just off Route 80 in the scenic mountains of Pennsylvania. (In addition to free admission, parking is also FREE.) It's just a short hop from Philly, NYC, Scranton, Allentown, Reading, Harrisburg, Jersey. Visitors from Maryland and Virginia may want to spend the night. I'd recommend the Latore House - a little B&B right outside the park gates.

It's a fourteen hour drive from Central Illinois. But I swear, it's worth it.

The best part about Knoebels (beside the FREE part) is that you are welcome to bring your own everything. Bring your own lawn chairs. Bring your own picnic baskets. Bring a cooler packed with food. Bring a grill. Bring folding picnic tables. Bring your dog. Bring your cat. Bring whatever you want and whatever you need - except booze, which is strictly prohibited.

On our trip, my sister Theresa loaded her cooler with a steamer pot full of crab legs, clams, shrimp, sausage, potatoes and corn on the cob. Tina brought hot dogs, chips and dip and drinks. Ken and I brought plates, napkins, forks and lemonade. Nanny and Poppy brought granparent smiles.

We rolled our grub over to Pavilion D - right near the enormous ferris wheel - found a table and made camp. Did I mention that the picnic area is free and that there are outlets available to hook up your crock pots or dutch ovens?

Instead of hauling a grill out to the park (yes, grills are permitted), we opted to spend ten cents to use the gas powered grills that are available to visitors. Then we feasted and fested.

By the way, if you don't want to cook for yourself, Knoebels has some of the best amusement park food in the country. See their web site http://www.knoebels.com/ for a list and menu.

After a round of good eats, we decided to explore the park. For a mere twenty dollars each, the kids got all day wrist bands. That meant they could ride all the rides for one low price. It took us about a half hour to get our twenty dollars worth. The rest of the day was all bonus time.

Beth (2) loved the Pioneer Train. Eric (7) rode the Rocking Tug a hundred times. Emily (4) said the Merry Go Round was the best one she had ever seen - and she's an expert.

My favorite ride was the Sklooosh. The ride involves a boat, a hill and a wall of water. It's named after the sound the boat makes when it hits the water at the bottom of the hill. It happens to be the wettest ride in the world. Let me just say, and I'll be clear about it, "you WILL get wet on this ride."

The park also has several modern roller coasters, flumes, ferris wheels, and bumper cars. There are tons of old fashioned rides too. Like the whip and antique cars. There are rides for teens. There are rides for tots. There are shows for grams and gramps.

I know this sounds more like a review then my regular blog. But this place is so awesome, I just have to make sure I tell everyone I know about it. Just promise me you won't share my secret too far as I hate to wait in line.

On day two, we went back to visit the Crystal Pool. Admission there was six dollars for adults and four for kids. There were two water slides available for a nominal extra charge. After that, we enjoyd more rides, more park food, and more exhausted, but happy, kids.

By the time you read this, we'll be on our way back to Illinois. But if we are lucky, we'll have another visit to the Happiest Place on Earth next year.

P.S. if you go, I recommend Monday. No crowds.

It's All Small Stuff

“Rule number one is: Don’t sweat the small stuff. Rule number two is: it’s all small stuff.”

That was what my high school economics teacher, Mr. Pavalko use to say. Mr. P. was a nutty old teacher with an unorthodox style. The kind of person who would womp a large ruler across your desk if he thought you were sleeping. The kind of person who threw erasers at kids just to test their reflexes. The kind of person you either loved or hated.

I was in the hate camp. It wasn’t that Mr. P. was a rotten guy or a rotten teacher. I guess he was OK. I think I got an A in his class.

What I hated was that Mr. P. had a couple of tired old sayings that generally meant nothing to a seventeen year old. And it seemed like he trotted each of them out during his classes until they were more worn than a pair of army surplus hiking boots.

The “small stuff” quote was one of his favorites. I rolled my eyes each time he said it. As far as I was concerned, the words were meaningless. That’s what I believed then. That’s what I believed now.

Until Friday.

We had left home a week ago. It was suppose to be our family vacation. That wonderful time when we escape the pressures of everyday life, kick back and enjoy the sunshine. Our Outer Banks, North Carolina beach bonanza.

The sixteen hour car trip (stretched over two days) with three kids (ages seven and under), was no biggie. We’d been traveling like this since Eric (7) was a baby. We had a good system, lots of DVDs and plenty of snacks. Even though Beth (2) threw up and Emily (4) spilled her juice, I’d describe the trip as uneventful. (See prior discussion regarding the drive out.)

It wasn’t until we arrived our destination that things started going downhill. We had rented a beach house in Salvo. When we arrived, we thought we were at the luxury beach house we had viewed in the brochure. Instead, we walked into the “House of Horrors.”

Apparently, the prior week’s tenants had been raised by wolves as they left the property in a condition that only a wild dog could appreciate. When we entered through the front door, the smell of beer was so intense that I got drunk just from inhaling. There was broken glass and cigarette butts strewn about. The remnants of at least five different bodily fluids were streaked across the walls.

We found broken pool sticks, a fly infested couch and a toilet seat that had been separated from the throne. The tables and floor were sticky from lord knows what. Someone had peed in the sink. I don’t even want to mention the condition of the pillows, comforters and bed coverings that the cleaners discarded. Oh, and the air conditioning didn't work and the temperature was over 95 degrees.

This was the house’s condition AFTER the cleaning crew had spent the entire day trying to get it into shape for us.

There were no replacement houses available on the island. We'd have to spend the night in the garbage can or turn back to the mainland. I was tired, disappointed and angry.

Like so many clouds, this one had a silver lining. First thing in the morning, the realtor moved us to a bigger and better place. The new house had palatial rooms, a spectacular view of the ocean and enormous, clean beds. It was a dream castle.

Cloud. Meet the silver lining.

“It’s smooth sailing now.” I told myself.

Boy, was I wrong. Over the next six days, we faced one tribulation after another. I even considered changing my name to Job (of the biblical reference). By Wednesday, I figured if we made it through the rest of the week without a plague of locusts and no one developed infested boils, we’d be lucky.

Still, I kept my chin up.

It wasn’t bad luck that Steve needed to rush Deb to the hospital, located over fifty miles north of us, in the middle of the night. It was good luck that medical care was available. After all, the hospital on the island was only a few years old. Before that, Steve would have had to drive three hours, one way, to the mainland. Plus, Deb received great care and, after a two day hospital stay, was back with the group before the week was out.

Cloud. Meet the silver lining.

It wasn’t bad luck that our car got a flat tire. It was good luck that the breakdown happened only a few blocks from our rental house. It was even better luck that the little service station up the road could replace the damaged tire before we were scheduled to leave.

Cloud. Meet the silver lining.

It wasn’t bad luck that my sister’s car developed engine trouble and had gone into “shut down” mode (while on the way to visit Deb in the hospital). It wasn't bad luck that the radio didn't work, the air conditionar shut off and that the top speed was now thirty miles an hour. It was good luck that the car was still drivable. It was even better luck that there was a Ford dealer near the hospital and they could service the problem that same day.

Cloud. Meet the silver lining.

Even though it seemed like this vacation was cursed, I kept smiling. “Look for the silver lining.” I said. And it worked.

Until the last day of our trip.

We had left North Carolina and we were heading north to visit Ken’s family in Pennsylvania before going back to the Midwest. That’s when, at a tollbooth just inside Virginia, Ken arranged to test the relative strength of our car door against a tollbooth. Turns out a tollbooth is much more stable body and prone to inflict substantial damage on an unsuspecting door.

Now we had a mangled door that wouldn’t shut and we were a couple hundred miles away from any family member who might lend a helping hand. We had a car full of beach crap, three road weary kids and one cranky mom. If we couldn't get the door shut, we'd end up spending the better part of the day sitting by the edge of the road waiting for a tow truck. And we'd spend the weekend looking for a repair shop.

I was ticked off. “You gotta be f***ing kidding me.” I mumbled under my breath.

I was just about to lose my cool completely when Eric smiled over at me and said, “Isn’t it lucky that no one was hurt.”

Cloud. Meet the silver lining.

Somehow we got the door shut and got back on the road. And even though we knew there would be a car repair bill in our future, we were happy to be on our way. And after all these years, I finally figured out what Mr. P. was talking about. It turns out he was right. It’s all small stuff.

On The Loss of Emily's Pink Shovel

The shovel was in my hand. But only for a second. Then a wave smashed around my knees and beat it from my grip. I plunged my hands into the churning surf.

But it was too late. Emily's pink shovel was lost. Forever.

A few moments earlier, Emily (4) had been dashing into the waves, laughing and giggling. It was our first official day at the beach. Emily was dressed in a green and brown flower print sun dress and was carrying her yellow bucket and pink shovel.

I had been watching her bend and collect water in her pail. Then she ran up the sand and poured the sea into a hole she had dug. She watched with saucer eyes as the water seeped into the earth. Then she ran back to the ocean's edge for more.

We had both been smiling and laughing. And I had been thinking "This is a perfect day."

That's when everything changed.

I had seen the wave tumbling toward the shore. It was heading straight toward Emily. I raced toward her side. But I was too slow. The wave crashed over Emily. It pushed her to the ground and jerked her precious treasure from her hands.

I pulled Emily from the surf. "Are you OK?"

"My bucket." she screamed.

The yellow pail was swishing at my legs. I grabbed it and pulled it from the water. But before I could rescue the pink shovel, another wave swept around us and stole it from my finger tips.

I turned and looked at Emily. Her eyes were wide and hopeful.

"I'm sorry honey" I whispered.

When Emily saw my empty hands she pointed to the ocean and burst into tears. "Mommy, go and get it."

"Honey, I can't. The ocean took it."

The pink shovel was Emily's favorite. We had been driving to the beach every summer since she was born. And every year she would build spectacular castles with her little pink shovel.

Now it was gone.

But that wasn't all that was gone.

Up until now, Emily had believed her Mama was a superwoman. Mama could heal boo boos with magic mommy kisses. Mama could scare away monsters that snuck into closets. Mama could do anything.

But not anymore.

Now Emily knew the truth. There were some problems that were even too big for Mama. And the ocean was one of them.

In my mind's eye, I flashed forward. I saw a fifteen year old Emily crying after her first boyfriend broke her heart. And I was helpless to fix it. I saw a twenty year old Emily sitting in her dorm cramming for her Calculus final. And I was helpless to fix it. I saw a forty year old Emily struggling to pay the bills. And I was helpless to fix it.

Emily and I stood together by the side of the ocean. We held hands and watched the surf churn and tumble. Our eyes scanned toward the horizon, hoping against hope to catch sight of Emily's toy. Finally, I picked up my little girl, hugged her close and carried her back to our house.

"It's all right, Honey Bee." I said as I patted her back.

Less than an hour later, Emily had already gotten over the lost shovel. But every day, for the remainder of the week, I walked to the water's edge and scanned the surf.

Vacation, Happy To Get Away

“I’m bored.” Eric moans.

It’s ten after five - in the morning. The family is piled into the minivan cruising down the highway. It’s the official start of our beach vacation. But we'll need to pass through six states before we get there. So for the next nine hours we’ll have nothing to do but stare at each other and the passing landscape.

I shake my head. We’re barely an hour from home and the kids are already antsy. Emily is crying because she wants to watch Dora on the van’s DVD player. But Beth got first pick at the movies and she wanted Wonder Pets. Beth is sticking out her tongue, causing Emily to wail louder. And Eric has already asked “are we there yet” ten times.

Oh, and I almost forgot, Beth threw up about a fifteen miles back and we had to stop and clean up the mess. And now the car smells like puke.

Sigh. Family vacation.

“We didn’t have problems like this when we made the trip last year.” I say.

Ken looks at me ask if I suddenly sprouted a second head. “What trip were you on?”

“We had a lovely drive." I say "We watched movies. The kids took naps. Everyone behaved.”

Ken scowls. “Do you have a second family somewhere that I don’t know about?”

Of course, Ken is right. For some reason, my brain had dismissed images of last year’s trek. I'd forgotten how Eric picked at Emily until she cried. It had gotten so bad that I suddenly turned into my Mom and screamed “If the two of you don’t knock it off, we’ll turn this car around and go home!” And then Ken had pulled over to the side of the road and put it in park just to prove we were serious.

It’s funny but, when it comes to vacations, my long term memory seems to pick out the best and dump the rest.

I remember the time in 79 when Mom and Dad took the family to Disney – by car. Theresa, Tina and I spent two days rolling around in the back of the station wagon. We fought and argued so much that Mom and Dad threatened leave us at South of the Border.

But that’s not what I remember. I remember that Theresa had recorded two songs from the radio on her battery operated tape player. They were “I Want You to Want Me” by Cheap Trick and “The Logical Song” by Supertramp. We played the songs over and over until the recorder's batteries went dead. But by then we had memorized all the words. So we sang them at the top of our voices until Dad asked us to stop.

We had gone to Florida in August. Probably because we could get a price break during the boiling off season. The temperatures were over a hundred degrees and the humidity made the air feel thick as glue.

It was so hot that when you took a breath, you felt like you were sucking the sun right into your stomach. After spending a day in the blazing heat, Tina and I were burned so bad we developed chills and cried ourselves to sleep with pain.

But that’s not what I remember. What I remember is my heart beating fast as we parked in the Disney parking lot. I remember holding my breath as we boarded the monorail that would whisk us to the park. I remember gazing at hedges cut in the shapes of zoo animals. I remember butterflies dancing in my stomach when I caught sight of Cinderella’s Castle, with Its spikey blue peaks and fluttering red flags. And, even though I was in junior high school, I remember believing in magic all over again.

I don't remember Dad searching through his wallet hoping we had enough money to buy breakfast for five at the diner just outside the park. I don't remember sneaking sandwhiches through the front gates in Mom's purse so we could avoid the extravagent burger prices inside. I don't remember the long, hot walk from our hotel to the bus stop that delivered us to Disney. And I don't remember rushing to catch the last bus after the fireworks and, having missed it, walking twice as far back to our room that evening.

But I do remember the five us taking a short cut across a hotel lawn - even though the sign out front clearly said "Keep off the grass." That's when Dad heard the foooshhhing sound as the sprinklers clicked on.

"RUN!" He shouted. But it was too late.

Mom took off running and so did the kids. We sprinted through the spray. I remember the squishy feeling of my wet sneakers squashing through the grass. By the time we reached the sidewalk, droplets of water were dripping down my cheeks. Mom and Dad were laughing breathlessly and Tina, Theresa and I were laughing so hard we couldn't speak. I remember thinking it was the best day ever.

I’m hoping my kids have the same selective memory that I do. Maybe when they are all grown up and taking their kids on vacation, they’ll talk fondly about the wonderful times we had singing and playing the license plate game in the car. Maybe they'll tell their kids how we would eat a picnic lunch at a road side rest stop in West Virginia and then play tag and hide and seek until it was time to get back on the road.

And if I am lucky, none of them will remember the day Emily spilled grape juice all over the back seat and Mom blew her top.

Looking at the World Through Beth Colored Glasses

I was sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s office just about this time last summer. Beth had fallen and bumped her head. In an abundance of Mama Bear caution, I whisked her off to the after-hours clinic.

Anyone with young kids knows that the time spent in a doctors waiting area feels twice as long with a toddler in tow. Beth, not quiet two at the time, had a vocabulary that was limited to one or two-word sentences.

About fifteen minutes into our waiting vigil, Beth bounced over to me with a copy of Women’s Day Magazine that she had plucked from a chair.

“Read book, Mama.” Beth commanded.

After Beth settled on my lap, I started to thumb through the magazine and point out pictures of things she might recognize.

“Look, Beth. A car.” I said. Beth touched the picture with her finger and said “Car.”

Beth and I played this game for a few more minutes when I turned to an advert containing a photo of a very handsome man, obviously a male model, standing in front of a red sports car. He looked to be about thirty and had short dark hair, a chiseled chin and sparkling blue eyes. He was wearing close fitting denims, tennis shoes and a navy blue t-shirt. And he was smiling.

For the life of me, I couldn’t tell you what Mr. Handsome was advertising. Jeans? Tennis Shoes? Cars? Teeth Whitener? Did it even matter?

Before I could find anything interesting in the photo to show Beth, she reached her finger forward, touched the photo of the model and said “Daddy.” I laughed so hard I nearly fell off my chair.

As time passed, the image of my little girl gazing at a handsome model and saying “Daddy” has stuck with me. And the more I think about it, the more I realize why.

Perception is reality. In Beth’s tiny little mind, her Daddy is young, handsome, and strong. That is her perception. That is her reality….To be honest, it’s mine as well. :-)

I guess I've come to realize that understanding the connection between perception and reality is important to finding happiness. If your perception is gloomy and dark, your reality is gloomy and dark. If you believe you are happy and hopeful, they you are happy and hopeful. If you think you are successful, you are successful. If you see yourself as a failure, then you are right.

A few years back I went through a time when I had more sad days than glad. I moped about lamenting all the things that were wrong with my life. I wasn’t thin enough. I wasn’t pretty enough. I couldn’t do everything I had ever wanted to do. My perception was dismal. So was my reality.

I waited, hoping my reality would change. I tried to map out plans to make it change. I tried to control it and make it bend to my will. But my reality was like a bar of steel and it did not budge…until I changed my perception.

I admit it didn’t happen all at once. But over time, I came to realize that my biggest problem wasn’t the world around me. My biggest problem was my own attitude.

So I set about working on my perception. I tried to appreciate more the good things around me and to focus less on the bad. I spent more time thinking of all that is right with my world. And less time pondering all that is wrong. And as I did, the steel bar started to melt.

As the days ticked by, and as I slowly changed my point of view, I noticed something. I noticed that my reality had changed.

Yet nothing had changed.

I still lived in the same house. I still had the same car. The same job. The same kids. The same husband. I hadn’t changed the way I looked. I hadn’t changed the things I did.

But even though nothing had changed, everything had changed. Because I had changed my perception.

So what’s my reality? It’s a place where I am happy, thankful, safe and loved. It’s a wonderful home. It’s beautiful children. It’s a loving husband. That’s my perception. That’s my reality.

Perception is reality. To change your reality you first need to change your perception.

So, now that I’ve changed my perception, the only thing left is convince Beth to point to the supermodel on the cover of Sports Illustrated and say “Mommy.”

Why Are You Stopping!

“WHY ARE YOU STOPPING” Nancy bellowed.

I had just finished my fourth sprint to the top of the hill in the park. At my age, and under my current state of fitness, I considered it quite a feat. Nancy didn’t agree.

She wanted more. So I sucked in some air and chased to catch up with the other ladies who were making their fifth round.

I had met Nancy three weeks previously when I walked into her studio to sign up for Fitness Boot Camp.

When I pulled up outside Nancy's gym, I had expected to walk into a typical fitness center. I had anticipated rows of treadmills and stair machines. I had assumed there would be plenty of scary machines, gadgets and gizmos.

Instead I found an empty room. A handful of punching bags stood in a row against the far wall. I noticed a pile of five pound dumb bells in the corner. A jumble of jump ropes and resistance bands hung from a hook.

Where was all the fancy work out gear? I wondered.

I walked up to Nancy and introduced myself. “Before I take your money,” she said, “you’ll need to do a trial class. Cause I don’t do refunds.”

Nancy had the confidence of a woman my age, but she looked fifteen years younger. Her long, dark hair was tied back in a pony tail. She was tan and trim. She was wearing a cute pink tank top and powder blue sweat pants. She had muscles. Even though she was only five feet four inches tall, I knew she could probably bench press me over her head and snap me in half.

I must have passed Nancy’s test because at the end of the trial class, she accepted my check. Two days later, Boot Camp kicked off – literally – when Nancy turned the music up to eleven.

“Jumping jacks. Go!” She shouted.

I looked around. I hadn’t done jumping jacks since high school PE. Thirty other ladies, ranging in age from twenty five to sixty, had already started the routine.

Nancy noticed my hesitancy. I smiled and gave her my “I don’t know what I am doing look.”

“Get moving!” she barked. I got moving.

For the next hour, Nancy pushed and prodded me through a serious of old fashioned calisthenics set to a hip hop beat.

Pushups.

Planks.

Crunches.

Running.

Repeat.

By the time Nancy finished, I felt like I had been in a bar fight. And lost.

Two days later I was back. The second session was twice as hard. I was twice as sore. I kept coming back for more.

Boot Camp lasted four weeks. We met four days each week, mostly in the studio. Sometimes Nancy led us outside to work out in the parking lot. Once we met at a local college and ran on their track. Another time we exercised in the park, using the benches and slides as our equipment.

Each session was different from the other. Except for one thing. Nancy.

“I’m too old to do this.” I’d say.

“You’re the same age as me. Move it!” She had no mercy.

Nancy didn’t accept excuses. Nancy didn't understand the meaning of "I can't." Nancy was exactly what I needed.

Left to my own decisions, I might be able talk myself into doing a couple of weak crunches or a handful of half hearted push ups. But I knew that as soon as I felt a twinge in my muscles or my breathing got heavy, I’d stop.

But Nancy didn't let me stop. "You can do this." She'd sometimes call.

More often she'd lay it on the line "Stop complaining. Get working."

Every week Nancy demanded more. Every week, I gave more. The more I gave, the more she wanted. The more she wanted, the more I gave. Nancy was the perfect drill sergeant. That’s why I kept coming back week after week.

“Hold it. Hold it Hold it.” Nancy was calling. Four weeks had passed since the first class. We had arrived at the last.

Nancy had already sent us on a run through the parking lot carrying ten pound medicine balls on our shoulders. Now she was pressing us through a series of push ups and planks. She had ordered us to hold the plank.

I obeyed.

Four weeks ago, I couldn’t hold a plank for ten seconds. Now we were coming up on the one minute mark and I was holding steady. Four weeks ago, I had a million excuses not to do it. Now I wasn’t taking any excuses either.

How I Learned to Make Mistakes

It was my first job after graduating college. I had packed my clothes and loaded a few pieces of used furniture into a borrowed truck and moved to the big city. Just like Marlo Thomas in “That Girl,” I was full of big dreams and big ideas.

I showed up to for my first day at my first real job wearing a pressed green skirt, a floral print blouse and sensible navy blue pumps. My new boss, Mr. Dick Barckman, met me at the door and led me to his office (I promise you , that was his REAL name.)

Dick was a retired army sergeant. I sat down and looked around. He didn’t have any pictures on the wall. He eyed me with a solemn expression from behind an oversized oak desk. Two pencils were lined up precisely in a wooden tray. A black stapler sat beside it. There were no papers, photos or knick knacks cluttering the surfaces. His office was efficient, stark and clean. So was Dick.

I soon learned that Dick was a perfectionist with a crusty attitude. His subscribed to the “my way or the highway” philosophy. He had no patience for error.

That’s why it was so hard for me to walk into Dick’s office, just a few months after I started, to tell him I had screwed up. I'd forgotten to enter information into the computer and a customer’s invoice wasn’t sent. Now the customer was receiving delinquent account notices. And it was my fault.

“You did WHAT!” Dick bellowed.

I tried to explain that I didn’t understand the procedures for invoicing. It was a rookie mistake. But I wouldn’t do it again.

That didn’t sit well with Dick.

“Great, now our customer is pissed off and I’ll have to fix it. Just get me the file.” He said as he dismissed me.

When I left his office, I felt small and dejected. Less than a year passed before I left the company to seek greener pastures.

A few years later I was in a different office with a different boss. Once again, I was wriggling in my chair as I prepared to explain to my boss that I had made a mistake.

“Um.....Bob, I blew a deadline. I didn’t get our notice sent out in time and now the statutory time has passed.”

I had been a real attorney for about two years and felt like I knew the ropes. I knew how to keep track of deadlines. I knew how important that was. But somehow the paperwork had been misfiled. I missed the date.

I hung my head low. I could feel my heart racing as I braced for Bob’s wrath.

“What did you learn?” Bob said.

I jerked my head up. Bob wasn’t angry. He was smiling at me. I gave him a puzzled look. “Uh, don’t blow a deadline?”

“You can do better than that.” He said. “What did you learn?”

I sat quietly in my chair and reflected.

"Well, I use a file system, and some papers got mixed up. Maybe if I had asked my secretary to note the date on her calendar she could have reminded me. It would have helped me avoid this.”

“Redundancy.” Bob said. “That’s a good idea.”

“What about the blown date?” I asked. I dreaded the call to the client to explain it. Surely he wouldn’t be as patient as Bob.

“Set up a conference call with me, you and the client. You can explain the situation and I’ll help smooth things over.”

I was still shaken. “I’m really sorry I let you down.” I mumbled.

“Don't be so hard on yourself. The world isn't coming to an end. You’re going to be an attorney for a long time. Twenty years. Maybe more. I can promise you, this won’t be the last mistake of your career. And there’s a good chance it won’t be your biggest. The issue isn’t whether you make a mistake. The issue is how you respond and what you learn.”

I worked for Bob for two more years before being offered a promotion that took me out of state. That was fourteen years ago. But I’ll never forget how Bob's measured response, such a stark contrast to Dick’s anger, led me to be a better employee and a better person.

Mistakes happen. They are a part of life.

I make mistakes. You make mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes.

What did you learn?

I learned that it doesn’t help to beat myself up for making a mistake. I learned that it’s unreasonable to expect perfection. I learned that it’s OK to make a mistake. And I learned to learn from my mistakes.