Are Most Sibling Sets Like Two Peas in a Pod? | Maris Ehlers Photography

It's sibling week on the Maris Ehlers Photography blog.  We have some adorable sibling previews throughout the week, we are promoting a sibling back to school portrait mini session day on August 26th, and well, I have two kids at home, hence who are siblings.  I thought that alone would give me a good excuse to share a parenting moment, so here I go.

No Two Peas in a Pod Here.  More Like A Pea and A Pineapple.

It's amazing to me how different two children can be when they come from the same parents, same environment, and pretty much the same everything, gender aside.  It's like we planted two seeds from the same bag and now we're raising one pea and one pineapple.

For the most part, my son is an easy going, positive soul who loves strangers and connecting with people.  He's sensitive, caring and extremely generous.  He's a little too goofy for some, loves books but doesn't have time to actually READ them, and hates sitting still.  There's just too much going on in the world to sit and watch - he has to be discovering what's going on in order to be happy.  He has a love of learning, but not the kind that comes from a textbook or test.  He is a consummate people pleaser.

My daughter, twenty months younger, is completely different.  So much so it seems that many of our lessons learned with him do not apply to her.  She is fierce. She is competitive. She is an intellect in the traditional sense.  She loves rules, likes routine, demands her fair share (more often than she should), and will never be mistaken for an underdog.  Ever.  Her standards are high, her loyalty great. She has a creative bent to her that is a complete surprise considering the rest of her personality, and I thoroughly delight in it.  She listens.  She remembers.  And oh, she can hold a grudge.

What's fair about Valley Fair? 

Yesterday, plans were made for the two of them to head off to Valley Fair for the day with our summer nanny.  Neither of them have ever gone, so there was much excitement.  When they got up, I told them they each had a list of tasks to complete before leaving.  As usual, I had to work to keep Hunter's eye on the ball, so to speak, but once I got him on track he was amiable and perfectly willing to get his chores done.  He talked the entire time, but he got them done.  Amelia on the other hand, decided to moan, complain, and pretty much refuse from the get go. In response to the request to help pick up toys in the living room?  "That's not mine!" , "He touched it last!", and  "I don't want that up in my room!", and on and on and on.

When her tirade extended into what was for breakfast, where she had to sit to eat breakfast, and the proximity of where brother was eating HIS breakfast, I was at my breaking point and it was just after 8.  I finally sat her down and told her that I loved her but I would not allow her to do this.  I had been trying to cajole her both into getting her work done and in a better mood, but she wasn't responding, so I told her she must do what is expected of her with a happy heart or she wouldn't get to go.  That was met with more crabbiness and attitude.  I gave her the last warning, and then I calmly said "That's it. You're not going."

She heard me, but her behavior just continued on, right in front of me.  I called Hunter over and said "Hunter, you can choose to go to Valley Fair today without your sister, or you can choose to wait and go a different day."  He looked at her (he's scared of her just like we are), looked at me and said "I'd like to go."

The Windshield vs the Rear View Mirror.

It was then that it sunk in.  She wasn't going to ruin it for anyone else, just herself. She was absolutely slack-jawed.  I was met with "I'll stop crying! I'll be nice! Please, Mommy, let me go!".  It was SOOOOO hard not to get her to promise to behave and let her go.

My good friend Cynthia is always telling me to look towards the windshield instead of the rear view mirror, and she's absolutely right.  Make decisions based on what it means for the future instead of reacting to what has just occurred.

I held my breath, I held firm, and I did not let her go.  It was an ugly day.  She cried in her room for over an hour.  I occasionally reached out to her with love, which of course, she rejected.  She eventually came out of her room and through hiccups and sobs started to pick up her things.  She then got out her certificate from Subway for being student of the week, and asked if we could eat there for lunch.  I said we could.  She had to wait while I worked, but at lunchtime we went and had a lovely meal together.  She told me she thought this was much more fun than Valley Fair.  Neither one of us believed her.  The day had gotten much better.

We got home, and at 2 p.m. she asked me when brother would be home.  I told her he would get home after dinner, just in time for soccer.  As you can imagine, wave two hit.  This time she had a fit for less than thirty minutes and suddenly spent, she slept for almost two and a half hours.

When she woke, it was obvious that she got it.  She was pleasant, relaxed and she got ready for her game.  When we met Hunter there, she gave him a hug (this from the child who would not even give him a hug when he left for camp), and didn't complain once when he wanted to share the fun things he did and saw.  It helped that he brought her home a stuffed dolphin of course, but even then she actually gave him a hug and a kiss and told him she missed him.  Was this my daughter?

I know we'll have these moments again.  Probably sooner rather than later.  I honestly think though, that to the best that she could, she actually did learn a lesson and realized that it was her doing and not someone else's that prevented her from experiencing an enjoyable day.

The true windshield moment came when I was putting her to bed last night.  With her sweet little arms around my neck, as we were both starting to doze, she snuggled in a little closer and whispered "I'm sorry, Mama.", and with a sweet kiss fell into her dreams.


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Special Babies | Maris Ehlers Photography

Today is a special day.  


Friends and clients Julia and Darryl will be giving birth to a very long awaited baby girl this morning.  My thoughts are with them, and I can't wait to document their little sweet pea in just a few days.  You may remember Julia and Darryl from one of our most popular shoots, Sunflowers and Hay Bales from last summer as featured on the fantastic Sparkle and Hay Rustic Wedding Blog.


I think it took Darryl and Julia some time to find one another, and so what better celebration of that love than a new little life to cherish!


Please keep them in your thoughts.


Today is a special day.


Today is an important day for me as a photographer and mother.  My intern, Courtney Johnson, and I will be photographing a very special little baby boy today.


This little guy has had more challenges in his 4 months than most of us have in a life time, and is much loved by his family, which includes mom, dad and two siblings.


We will have to be at our very best today, and hope to capture his personality and his story.  While we have to be mindful of the difficulties he's had health wise while we shoot, today is all about the love and devotion of two parents for their child, and that of an infant to his parents.


Please wish us all well today, for today is a special day.  :)

He's Our Boy | Maris Ehlers Photography

His baseball helmet is on the couch, with a juice box straw sticking out from one end of the cushion. I bet if I looked, I’d find Laffy Taffy wrappers under the cushion as well. That’s where he always eats them and squirrels away the wrappers so he doesn’t have to walk the 3 feet to the waste basket while watching T.V.  

There are 3 pairs of shoes (granted, one pair is mine) on the verge of disappearing under the other couch in the same room, never to be seen again until in sheer desperation I move it out from the wall to conduct a rescue mission for a trove of missing items:  shoes, golf balls, books about snakes, markers, pokémon cards and plastic pieces belonging to things unknown.  That’s the loot for this week. 

His closet is knee deep with legos, army men, tractors and God only knows what else. At this point I’m afraid to look but he can find anything he needs from there in a matter of seconds. 

For reasons I still can’t determine, when he gets clean PJ’s out of his dresser drawer, I always come in later to find 3 of the 4 drawers open with clothes in disarray. I can’t decide if he stands in the lower drawers to reach the higher one, if he just forgets every day which drawer the jammies are in, or if he’s building a one-sided pyramid or a nest or something.

He’s a scientist. I seriously have to hide the vinegar, food coloring and baking soda in our house so that we don’t have colorful explosions in pop bottles more than once a day. My once beautiful butcher block island top has the stains to prove it.  

During trick or treating last year, he came back to the car after stopping at an elderly neighbor’s home sobbing, (his little sister returned just rolling her eyes with a "Here we go again!" expression).  What happened?  The lady gave him some good candy.  He was so excited he gave her a big hug. She exclaimed that she had never had a hug like that before. She didn't realize how literally he would take her words and that they would break his little heart. He was completely devastated a woman "THAT" old had never had a hug before and it totally ruined Halloween for him.  He tried to give her his bag of candy.  

I cannot get him to understand that while capturing yet another caterpillar seems like a good idea at the time, putting it in a box in the garage with a sign on it before leaving for the weekend does not a happy pet make. 

This is the same boy that age the age of 4, 5, and 6 would appear at my bedside before six in the morning (usually on a Saturday), with bright blue eyes asking me things like “Mommy, what sounds do buffalo make?” “Mommy, did you know that a dolphin can kill a shark?” “Mommy...” 

May this be the only picture with a police car he ever has

This is also our boy, who in the early days of first grade fell in love with “the girl in the purple shirt”. He would tell me about her EVERY day, how he saw her in the lunchroom, how beautiful she was (enough already!). He eventually learned her name, that she was in second grade, what her favorite colors were and what bus she rode. I discovered that he would wait there for her every day, just so he could greet her and give her a hug before going to class. He did this for almost the entire year. 

He collects rocks. 

He likes to pull wings off bugs to see if they can fly without them. 


While rain sends most people indoors, it sends him outdoors, usually to frantically try to save all the worms on the driveway (and a little dancing, too). 

He loves fire (admittedly, that one scares us a little - okay a lot).  

He’s the first one to share, to hug, to give.  

He’s a dreamer.  

He hates to be alone. 

Homework is a struggle. Not because he can't do it, but because he has so many other more interesting things to do.

He loves old people.


He's impulsive.

He is much kinder to his sister than she is to him.  


He never wakes up crabby.  


He will get his heart broken. Probably more than once. But he won't be bitter.  That's just who he is. 

He drives me absolutely crazy at times. We butt heads, especially when trying to get out the door in the morning.  


I sometimes worry he'll grow up and join the circus. 

Every so often, I find a booger smeared on the wall above his bed and I'm grossed out. 

Eventually, he'll set aside the rocks, the bugs, the catepillars and the hugs.  I'll miss that, but I can live with it. I think.  As long as he doesn't give up his dreams, his loves, and his kind and tender heart.  


He’s the boy we waited seven long years for, and he was worth every second and more. He's our boy.  

The Post-It-Note Apology - Part II | Maris Ehlers Photography

Some of you saw my post yesterday regarding a forgiveness lesson post-it-note style from my six year old.  If you haven't read it, please do so before reading this post.  It will all make more sense if you do.

For the rest of you...  fast forward to last Friday night (four days after the math lab debacle).  The kids had a carnival at school, and we had been looking forward to it for several weeks.  I purchased the game tickets and our dinner tickets ahead of time as requested by the school, and made a big deal about them when my son brought them home in his backpack.

I told the kids I was putting the tickets in my kitchen drawer so we wouldn't lose them.  So proud of myself!  Why?  Because typically, I'd be the first one to lose them.

There were strips of red tickets for the games and activities, and a small orange piece of paper for our dinner receipt.  It was stapled to the game tickets with the typical "YOU NEED TO BRING THIS RECEIPT WITH YOU IN ORDER TO RECEIVE YOUR MEALS".

As we were getting ready to go, I went to grab the tickets out of the drawer.  There were the red tickets, but no dinner ticket receipt.  My husband immediately started to remind me of how I lose everything (mostly true).  I was adamant that I had put them all in the drawer.  I then told him one of the kids must have taken it, to which he rolled his eyes (all true). At that moment, my daughter came running down the stairs so I asked her if she had taken the dinner ticket from the drawer and if she knew where it was.

She looked at me, she looked at her dad.  While trying to assess the sitaution, she acknowledged that she didn't know where it was, but did cough up that she had taken the dinner ticket out to look at it "a long time ago".  I asked her where she put it.  "Um, on the kitchen counter, I think." At this point she began to realize her folly.

After searching for it in the kitchen drawers, her art cubby, the toy box and all of her other special hiding places, I gave up.  I really tried not to get frustrated, but that was $16 down the drain.  No receipt... no dinner and now I had about three minutes to pull dinner out of my hat (or the fridge).

Of course my son then got mad because we wouldn't be having pizza for dinner at school and had to create his own drama for my daughter's benefit, so you can imagine how those last few minutes at home went.

I knew Amelia felt bad, and I told her it was okay, but she knew I was annoyed and was trying to be nice about it.  

After a delicious dinner of microwaved hot dogs and grapes, I walked into my office to grab my purse as I hustled the kids out the door.  On my computer monitor was this LAVENDER post-it-note apology.  :)

Monday's events flashed before my eyes, and I realized she had learned a lesson that day, too.  That a simple apology, however you can say it with meaning, is the right thing to do.

So with hugs and kisses (and a growing collection of post-it apologies), off we went.  

The best part of the night other than the wacky hair booth? They had so many pizzas left over at the end of the carnival that they started giving them away. We walked out of there with a full large pepperoni pizza from our local Jimmy's Pizza to take home and enjoy. 

Can't get much better than that!   

A Lesson in Forgiveness from a Six Year Old Part I | Maris Ehlers Photography

“The weak can never forgive.  Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.”  ~ Mahatma Ghandi

A couple of weeks ago, I made a commitment to my daughter.  She wanted me to come to her math lab at school.  They have it every two weeks all year long, but because it’s on a day that I am typically downtown at work, I’ve not been able to attend.  Because it was the last month, she begged me to come as a volunteer.   I made a commitment to her that I would go and signed up several weeks in advance.

I had good intentions.  I made arrangements to take ½ day off of work. I put it on my calendar, excited to be arranging an entire day to be there for her for thirty short minutes.   After all, THIS is the type of mother I want to be.  You know, the one who rearranges everything to be there?  

So why didn’t I keep that commitment?

In my head, I had the time wrong. 

I didn’t make it.  I arrived at the school one minute after it was over.  I knew she’d be devastated and I felt about as low as I possibly could. 

I wrote an apology on a yellow post-it-note and put it on her backpack in her locker.  It said:

“Amelia,

Mommy is so sorry that I got here late.  I  am very sorry.  I hope that you forgive me. 

Love, Mommy”

I felt like a complete schmuck for the rest of the afternoon.  I kept seeing her sad little face when they told her I wouldn’t make it in time.  Work is ½ hour away from their school. Once I realized I had the time wrong in my head, it was too late to get there before it started. 

All she would hear was that I broke my promise. 


So I made another promise that day. I promised myself (and therefore her as well) that I wouldn't justify, defend, or make excuses.  I would simply and sincerely apologize and accept her reaction. Without judgement.  For those of you who know me, it was a BIG commitment to make.  

At the end of the day I went to pick her up at school.  I saw her before she saw me.  I watched her walk down the hall.  Not upset, not happy. 

When she did see me, she paused.  OUCH. 

Her lip started to quiver, and she turned away.  UGH.  

That hurt, but I deserved it.  I waited for her to make her way to me. 

When she approached, I got down to her level and told her how sorry I was, that I had made a mistake on the time, and that I didn’t have a good excuse.  I was just so very sorry, and I hoped she could forgive me.  She started to cry and I just held on tight, caressing her hair. 

It was a long evening.  Once we were home, she got mad.  I told her it was okay to be mad, as long as she was respectful, and again, that I was truly sorry.  She wore herself out, and fell asleep on her daddy’s lap before dinner.  When she woke, it was still there, this wedge between us, but I could tell the anger at least had disappeared with her naptime dreams. 

We sort of tiptoed around each other for a bit, but a truce was coming. I could feel it.  Quietly, I marveled at her resolve.  

As I was cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, I turned to a counter I had just wiped off.  On it was my post-it-note apology.  It hadn’t been there a few seconds before.  With a bright red marker, she had circled my name and wrote “YES” by my comment that I hoped she could forgive me.

Looking at that note, I learned a lot about myself and my daughter.  She needed to process her disappointment and her anger, she needed to mull it over, and then in her own time and space, let it go.  I was so proud of her.  She had worked through her disappointment and made it to the other side, where forgiveness grows.


The act of giving forgiveness is as powerful (if not more so) than receiving it.  

Many of us would never formally accept an apology given hours before.  We’d just eventually quit being angry about it.  We'd pretend it never happened, but perhaps still harbor a tiny bit of disappointment or resentment inside like lingering heartburn.  

I picked up the note and walked around the corner, where my little sweet pea was waiting with the most loving, forgiving smile and hug a mother could ask for. 

Redemption in the arms of a six year old is a wonderful thing. 


Update:  Part II of this Post can be read here. 


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It Should Be Easy for Mothers to Breathe - Right? | Maris Ehlers Photography

Breathe
by Skye Snyder Booher

I've had some unusual moments of late. Each included a surreal and unexpected moment and a calm reminder to "Breathe. Just breathe."

This began when I was pregnant with our first child. We wanted to take the breathing classes together but none were offered on our days off, nor during the times we were off together. The receptionist in charge of signing us up felt this was a pre-cursor to bad parenting. If we couldn't take a simple breathing class together, how on earth would we be good parents? She also thought I had waited too long. After all, I was going to be a Mother and motherhood required a lot more advanced planning. 


She didn't know that my daughter would arrive via a very unexpected, unplanned, c-section a few days later.

Surgical tables are skinny and cross shaped so the surgeons don't have to stretch. My head was wrapped in warm white towels that shone under the brilliant bright surgical lights. The anaesthesiologist whispered, "Breathe." 


Shortly thereafter, our little girl inhaled for the very first time.

On our first trip to Costco, we filled our flatbed with mega-box diapers, wipes, and a cube of post-it notes to last a lifetime. 


I have bought nine. 


I have noted, re-listed, reposted, and multi-calendared our lives with plans. 


Our business bloomed and I remained at my steady, secure full time job as a sex ed teacher. 


We bought a house. 


We had a second child. 


I planned my days from sun up to sundown and tried to plot the future. The receptionist would be proud--what a good mother I had become. 


I think of her as I lay on the floor of the school gymnasium after a collapse. The bright basketball lights above beam over me as my heart flip flops inside my chest. I hear people instructing me, "Breathe. Skye, Breathe." 


My plan was to kiss my daughters good night but I ran out of room on my list.


Skye is a portrait photographer in Nevada. You can visit her website here.  Lucky for us, she included some of her favorite "motherhood" images for us to see in this post.   Thank you, Skye. 

Skye and Her Girls

German Moms Do Laundry Too | Maris Ehlers Photography

Meike was a foreign exchange student from Germany who came to my high school in Montana for a year.  After she went back home, we of course lost touch.  Imagine my surprise when she found me on facebook about a year or so ago.  It's been delightful to reconnect with her, and I was delighted when she sent along a Mother's Day Musing to be included on the MEP Blog.  

I think you'll notice two things about her post: 

1.  Her English is excellent, and 

2.  Whether you are a mother in America, Europe or just about anywhere, we are more similar than we might think (especially with our tired washing machines!)  

Eight Observations from a German Mother

by Meike Gleiss

1. Being a mother begins with giving birth to a child. I never thought that each birth would be so different - be it Caesarean section under general anesthetic (my first one), a normal one (which I sort of enjoyed, even without anesthesia) and last but not least a very fast one (I thought in the car without telling my driving husband:  “No, no, no! We’re going to get there too late!!!“). But all of them are experiences I would not change.
2. I discovered in the long run that I never realized that the character of each new child is almost finished right after birth. Of course I have no idea about the oldest one, but I looked at my medium daughter being born with her wide open eyes - and she is still the most curious and active of the three. In contrast, the youngest one likes to do things in her own time and is generally not easy to rouse, which corresponds quite nicely to her first minutes on earth: she went asleep right after drinking a little.
3. I always thought that the big change in becoming a family would be with the birth of the first child. Of course she demanded a lot of attention, but since we used to go for long walks each day I had enough time for myself, too. But with the birth of the second one, I suddenly had much less time than before.  It felt much more like being a family than having only one child. Having a third child within less than four years seemed to be almost easy. I did not have much time for myself by this time anyhow, so not much changed.  The biggest one loved playing with the younger ones, so there was really not that much difference. Only more diapers to wash!  The washing machine hardly had a day off.
4. As every mother does, I waited anxiously for their very first words. When they were out, it was so cute and adorable! Now I sometimes wish I had also found the “Turn off“ button. If anyone finds it, let me know, please!
5. I never expected to be thanked by my kids for being a pretty old-fashioned and strict mother. But after experiencing other children smacking at our table, getting better grades at school because we made them study etc. they did. Honestly.
6. I am a person that plans almost everyhing well in advance, which applies to meals as well. So in the first years of being a mother I could not deal with surprise visits at mealtimes very well. I have learned to be much more relaxed in this area. I simply live after the German saying “Add some water to the soup!”  Only once do I remember visiting kids at our home to be a problem: It had been raining in the afternoon, and all eleven kids of the neighbourhood ran into our house  and were hungry. Afterwards, there was not one apple to be found in our house.
7. Mothers of one child are always amazed that I am usually open for visits. Honestly: Four kids don‘t make more fuss than three, sometimes they even quarrel less because they seperate into two pairs. 
8. As much as I love being a mother of three girls I know it would be easier with only one. Going downtown, I ususally feel like an owl turning my head to both sides and glancing back at a lagging child as well ... . But I am always proud to point out to some stranger “Yes, they are all mine!”

Norwegian China From Switzerland - A Motherhood Musing by Cynthia Bemis Abrams | Maris Ehlers Photography

Sharing Too Much, But For a Good Cause

by Cynthia Bemis Abrams

Storytelling by Norwegian Americans is not a singular retelling of a story.  It’s a lifetime of fact crumbs, set forth like clues to a puzzle for an inquisitive family member to absorb. To actually tell the story would be, well, sharing too much.

From common people come incredible efforts. This story that helps me better understand my own DNA, told in the bits of information shared during holidays and long car rides. I still wonder why it was deemed of worthy of not sharing, in full regale.

It started with the dishes, special and only used on holidays.  Place settings for 12, there were enough for my family, cousins, aunt, uncle and grandmas.  As the family grew and no one wanted to wash dishes, they were seen less often.  Stored in a cabinet above the refrigerator, faded napkins protected them from each other, wear and weight.

I knew they were given to my mother by her mother, or was it grandmother? And I was told they came from Norway, except that imprinted on the back was a scripted icon of the manufacturer and the word Switzerland.  Norway?

My great-grandmother, Alma, was born in Bergen, Norway, came to America and married Paul Swanson.  They settled in Minneapolis around 1900 and had three children. My grandmother Bernice was the youngest.  I learned that my grandmother was a classic first generation American, detesting all things Norwegian.  According to my mother, my “vain” grandmother hurled curse and biting criticism at her own mother for speaking Norwegian in public.  “You are in America now, you should speak English,” is how my mother told the story, none too proud of her own mother’s behavior.

An old photo postcard of the Fairview Hospital where Cynthia's grandmother worked.  Cynthia herself would later become a part of Fairview for several years.

My Norwegian-speaking, Bergen-born great-grandmother worked hard in her new city, as a housekeeper for the newly created Fairview Hospital. Speaking Norwegian came in handy, since the hospital was founded by Norwegian Lutherans who distrusted Swedish Lutherans for their healthcare.  Talk about hair-splitting!

Late in my teenage years, my mother shared stories about being a pre-teen during World War II.  It seems that even before she had outgrown her clothes, they might be boxed up and sent to relatives in Norway who, due to the occupation, could not buy new clothes.  Same with coffee and sugar rations.  Times might have been tough, but when you never got your share of sugar because it was being sent to relatives occupied by the Nazis, the war must have seemed endless.

Upon a relative’s death, we received pictures taken in Norway circa 1938.  “Oh, those were taken when your great-grandmother went back to Norway to visit, right before the war.  They all knew that the Nazis would occupy and she wanted to see her family before war broke out.” Hmmm.  NAZIS!

“Gee Mom, we have a lot of wooden knick knacks from Norway.”  Her reply, almost annoyed, “Yes, those were sent over by the relatives before and after the war in exchange for all the food and clothes we sent.”  The t-shirt saying laced within my mother’s words: “They sent the clothes off my back to Occupied Norwegians and all I got was this wooden s# *t." 

Years passed before I assembled the clues: the dishes, clothes, trip, the sugar and the burden placed on the daughter of a family who left her home, family and country to live in America.  My great-grandmother returned from Norway with the family’s best dishes.  Was it payment up front for all that would get sent? Where did these dishes come from that they were deemed too valuable to let the Nazis have? 

The dishes

I think of this proud, stocky woman corresponding with relatives about the prospects of war. In my head, they share fears and contemplate scenarios.  In reality, she saved her wages from the hospital housekeeper gig and bought fare to Norway in the summer of 1938.  She returned with a trunk full of items deemed to be too important to let the Nazis get. I can hear her parting words filled with promises of whatever commodities they can send and that they will write often.  Or did the Norwegians say, “Here, take these,” and my great-grandmother replied, “Oh no, I can’t” and they played the classic Minnesotan game of “oh no, oh yes.”

My mother’s Will dictated that I take the dishes on the day of her funeral.  They are now mine.

They represent promises kept, commitments pledged in return for liberty and the trepidation of acting upon strategy to foil getting bested by the Nazis.  They are safely stored in china packing, cloaked in anonymity and easily confused with the ordinary.  They are the legacy of a woman I never knew, but whose loyalty and steadfast character I now greatly admire. To a few scared souls, my great-grandmother was the lifeline to freedom and necessities temporarily held by the Nazis. Sure sounds like a story worth telling, and now it is, every time the dishes come out.

Cynthia is the owner of CBA: Platforms for 21st Century Leadership.  She is a speaker, writer, trainer and educator of all things leadership - 21st century style.