Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Am I Excited About This Baby?

It's a valid question. 

Our 3-bedroom home feels full with twin one-year-olds, a preschooler, and a kindergartener. Our work is unstable, healthcare not ideal, and we just decided we can't afford a dog. 

[New Baby enter Stage Left]

Let's start with all the things I'm mad at: 

1. A system that expects employers to cover healthcare (I keep typing WTF after this and then deleting it and then re-typing it and then deleting it. I sincerely hope you're not offended; but it needs to be there.)

2. Employers doing everything possible to not cover healthcare 

3. The Catholic Church telling us children are a blessing, to welcome them with open arms, while Catholic education becomes increasingly affordable only for families of 2 blessings or less

4. All the stuff I'd like to buy -- weekly massages, annual family vacation, babysitting for date nights, date nights, unlimited fruit snacks, a giant trampoline, and a dog

5. Sitting outside the sanctuary with a one-year-old during Mass (and thinking, I'll probably be sitting outside the sanctuary during Mass for many more years to come) (and also thinking, waffles and bacon would be so good right now -- followed by, wait, ancient liturgy, heaven on earth, here, right now -- followed by, mmm... waffles)

6. Living in a place that's completely dependent on cars to get anywhere

So it's not crazy for my super-amazing midwife (who knows all of this about me, since the twins gave us so much quality time together just a year earlier) to ask how I felt about another baby. And given the logistics of large families in our world today, I don't think she's crazy for offering me contraception every time I visit!

[Aside: I did the whole Catholic, pro-life obgyn thing, and it really sucked. Let's not get played by doctors or businesses or politicians throwing around the "Catholic" card.]

Anyway, if I look past all the stuff that makes having a baby seem untenable -- and sure, there's plenty -- I am surprisingly, legitimately excited about a new baby. 

Our family is awesome, and not in the sense that we're better than every other family, and my kids are the best kids ever, and everyone should have 17 children; it's just that I really like our family

And yes, it seems like every time I start a new dream job that I'm going to have until I retire, I get pregnant and life changes (4 for 5 on that stat), but maybe, I just have a whole lot of dream jobs, and I'm getting to do all of them. (Or maybe I should quit them all and take care of all these children, my goodness.) Let's not get into that. 

When it comes down to the little microcosm of things that actually matter to me in life -- none of the swirling changing unpredictable unimportant sideshows considered -- YES, I am unequivocally thrilled about a sweet new little baby to join our crazy wonderful crew. 

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

"Couch to 5K" in Six Short Years

We are definitely not that cute jogging couple in the neighborhood. 

Between our stride difference of several feet, and my inability to keep doing something pointless when it hurts like crazy, I joined the Runners Quitters Club early. 

Nonetheless, I've discovered a new way to join the Couch-to-5K Club!

Not Us
In the early months, after our big white wedding, Wally and I were definitely couch people. We watched seven years (every episode) of Boy Meets World, the entire Band of Brothers miniseries, the cliffhanger remnant of one season of Firefly, the best James Bond movies (all of them), Sports Night, Monk, Psych, every classic trilogy in sequence -- Star Wars, Bourne, Indiana Jones, Oceans 11-12-13, The Godfather, Lord of the Rings -- and Planet Earth.

Through no intention of our own, we graduated from the gratuitous TV watching phase of our marriage. 

Wally's success came through an online Couch-to-5K program (C25K) that literally takes someone from zero to a few miles over several weeks. 

My 5K experience has taken over six years of punctuated growth spurts, often loving it, sometimes hating it. In the beginning, everything about achieving 5K seems unattainable. 1K feels like 20K, and you don't know if it will ever not feel awful. You miss the couch.

1K = AAAAHHH! Your body hurts. Your life crashes down around you. People keep telling you that what you're doing is awesome. 

2K = AAAAHHHH! You finally got comfortable with 1K. You could circle the neighborhood without looking beat down and exhausted, and even waved at the neighbors. But somehow the plan jumped to 2K, you're not ready at all, and everything is awful! You get lots of sympathetic looks while you're out doing your thing.

3K-4K = Not a bad transition. You're feeling better on the inside, even if things still look a little messy on the outside. At this point in the program, people start to stare. "How does someone even do that," they might wonder. 

5K = Eh? What's another K?

Somewhere along the way we went from kilometers to kids, and somehow made it to 5.
Best of luck to everyone in your Couch-to-5K adventures, whether it's kilometers, kids, kangaroos, kayaks, kiwis... stay strong!

Friday, June 19, 2015

16 Ways I Ignored Postpartum Depression

1. Postpartum depression isn’t even real. It's something other moms make up who can't handle their kids.

2. I just need to suck it up. Life’s hard sometimes.

3. My time’s too valuable to spend at the doctor’s office for something I don’t even believe exists. (Besides, if I'm getting 2 hours off without kids, I'm going to the salon, not the doctor.)

4. I’m just having a tough few weeks. Things will get better. (Say this over and over again, for months.)

5. It’s just my hormones. I’m sure they’ll balance out again soon. (Say this over and over again, for months.)

6. It’s just my work schedule. I’ll settle into a routine again soon. (Say this over and over again, for months.)

7. I’m still functional and interactive. It can’t be that bad.

8. Women have worked hard and raised kids for thousands of years without anti-depressants.

9. A few moody months won’t kill anybody. It’s not affecting my family too much.

10. People will think I have bad coping skills.

11. None of my friends take anti-depressants. (Yeah right – just like none of my friends have fed their kids Cheerios for three meals in one day.)

12. I just have a lot going on. It's normal to feel tired, unmotivated, and anxious. I'll be back to my old self again soon.

13. Antidepressants will prevent my body from regulating its own happiness in the future, and I'll never be happy again without medication.

14. Plenty of women in third world countries are raising kids without washing machines, dishwashers, and antidepressants.

15. I'm going to make having kids look bad. People already think moms with young kids are crazy!

16. I just need to cut out coffee, eat less sugar, read this advice book, join a moms group, dab these three essential oils behind my ears seven times a day, demand more "me" time, re-allocate grocery money to those magic green-or-pink smoothies, start a new personal hobby, wake up early to enjoy nature, exercise 30 minutes every evening, and eat three square meals a day with two healthy snacks, no carbs, no dairy, no processed foods…

When I finally called my obgyn to talk about post-partum depression, I cried on the phone with the receptionist. When I finally met with my doctor, it was very simple and straightforward.

She spent 20 minutes listening to my concerns, asking follow-up questions, and reassuring me that it wasn’t normal to feel this way; my symptoms indicated postpartum depression.

I left with recommendations for good counselors, if desired, and a prescription for Zoloft (Sertraline is the generic. It’s $10 for a 30-day supply at Walmart pharmacies.)

My doctor said I probably wouldn't feel improvement from the Zoloft for at least a week. But it made an immediate difference: the world slowed down, normal interactions lost their intensity, and I could make calmer, more deliberate decisions.

For me, depression isn't sadness or a cloudy day. It's a sunny day, so bright, with rays so intense and piercing that I can't escape.

Every woman experiences pregnancy, childbirth, and postpartum life differently. These are not easy seasons!

If you're experiencing symptoms of depression or anxiety, a simple doctor’s visit could bring much-needed relief.

Thursday, April 2, 2015

Heard Around the House 2


Joe: "Mama, I think 'covet' means to blow someone's house down."

Joe: "I don't have a battery, so I never run out of energy."

Joe: "I'm a little worried about that smell in the bathroom."

Me: "What'd you learn at school today?"
Joe: "We didn't trace fives!"


Josh: "I'm going to have a Joshua Shop. And I'm going to sell excavators and candy."


Me: "Hey, Josh-Baby. Let me help you with your shirt."
Josh: "I'm not a baby. I'm a helicopter-man."

Josh: "Mom, can you please kill this dead bug?"

Josh: "I always follow you to the bathroom, because I have something to tell you."


Joe: "Why do snakes live in water?"

Me: "Maybe they like to eat fish."

Joe: "Oh. Do the snakes outside the water like to eat squirrels?"

Me: "Yep. Would you like to see a video of a snake eating a squirrel?"

Joe and Josh: "YES!"

...compliments of YouTube...


Thursday, March 12, 2015

The Laziest Potty Training Manual Ever

Our house has potty chairs everywhere. Every room. My minivan has a potty chair. Our kitchen has a potty chair. Some people have side tables and magazine racks in their living room. We have a couch, an entertainment center, and potty chairs.

It's because I had to make a choice: dedicate one day, every moment of the day, without distraction, to teaching my child toilet skills, or dedicate haphazard EMERGENCY moments unpredictably every day for 18 months.

Obviously, we chose the latter.

My earliest memory is potty training. A dive apartment in the eighties, orange curtains, green couch, brown carpet, and me, sitting on a kid-size potty in the bathroom, while Mom paces the hallway between sister in the living room, brother at the table, and baby brother in the bedroom, saying again and again, "CHARLENE. GO POTTY." Somehow, someway -- God bless my Mother -- I pooped in the hallway.

I don't remember what happened next, but it must have been something, if this formative moment has stuck around as my first memory of life. At least the carpet was brown.

So with a four-year-old, a two-year-old, and twins on the way (see here for why we're having a million kids), I told myself, "Okay. For real, Charlene. You can't have four kids in diapers. You can't. Do something." 

Technically, this is Wally's problem. Since I covered the overnight breastfeeding of babies, he volunteered to do the overnight potty training of toddlers, when the time came. But "when the time came," we had twin babies on the way, and all bets were off on any plans we'd made for anything.

So the biggest problem we encountered with potty training was accessibility and timing. 

There's an awful moment seared into my mind of being pregnant, balancing the 4-year-old on a public toilet at Target, while the 2-year-old laid on the tile floor in the handicapped stall, trying to look through the grate. The Grate where all the gross-grossety-grossness of everything in the bathroom drains out, from overflowing toilets to mop water that has touched every unimaginable surface of the entire public restroom. 

So I added a potty chair to the minivan, which doubles as a step-stool when the lid is down, so the 2-year-old can climb in his car seat all by himself. (Don't try to help him: "I can do it! All by my own!") A diaper booster pad (cheaper than disposable diapers) is folded in the bottom of the bucket, so pee doesn't slosh everywhere while we're driving. And I keep plastic grocery bags on hand to dispose of the waste regularly. We also keep a full box of baby wipes in the car. And hand sanitizer.

I can't explain the peace of mind this porta-potty brought. The kids are all contained in the car, we can stop in any parking lot, and I always know exactly how clean the "bathroom" is.

It's also been a better option than the tree in the front yard, when I finally get everyone and everything out to the car and loaded, front door locked, only to hear, "I have to go to the bathroom!" The car potty gets just as much use around town as parked in our own driveway before a trip. Still, sometimes I can't re-direct them from the tree in the front yard.

With the success of the car potty, our preschoolers were pretty much good-to-go, except overnight. 

But knowing twins were on the way, pre-emptive sleep was way more important to me than saving money on overnight diapers. We also just didn't have it in us to change toddler sheets every morning and set alarms for midnight potty runs.

Enter, the potty chair by every bed. This is lazy potty training at its finest.

Even though the boys share a room, we still give each a designated potty chair. (For boys, this one is much better than this one. It keeps the spray down, ifyaknowwhatImean.)

Some lessons learned:

1) Put the potty on a folded towel. It cuts down on carpet cleaning.

2) Put a nightlight in the room. (We like these, because they double as emergency flashlights, when the power goes out, and provide enough glow for the kids to use their potties.) 

3) Empty the potty chairs first thing in the morning, before, um, before the dog finds them. 

So if your kid's a potty genius, congratulations! Please feel free to roll your eyes and shake your head and smile a little at our ineptitude. 

If you're like us, and sleep is glorious, and toddlers in public bathrooms are messy at best, and life is just moving along too quickly for a one-day potty-training seminar, then fear not! 

They will figure it out, eventually. Hopefully our 18-month lazy potty training guide can help. 

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Heard Around The House

1. Preschool renditions of Christmas carols still echoing: 

    "Angels, we have heeeard of life, sweetly sleeping on the trains!"

2. Sound advice from Wally: 

    "Never turn your back on a pitching machine. Ever."

3. If you're told you look "sharp" for Pre-K:

    "I look like a cactus! Don't touch me!"

4. A primer theology: 

    "Mama, do you know why I didn't listen to Jesus today?"

    "Why, Joe?"

    "Because I was busy listening to my teacher."

5. Grandma's failed sports recruitment:

    "Joe, some people run really far, and it's a sport called cross country. Would you like to do that?"

    "But what's the point?"

6. On what it's all about:

    "Joshua, do you have a sad heart?"


    "Well, you can give your sad heart to Jesus. And He will give you a happy heart." 

Friday, February 13, 2015

Advice to Future Dancers and Dance Majors in College

After several years with Ad Deum Dance Company, I was invited to share about the experience with students in the dance department at my alma mater, the University of North Texas. Here's what I came up with: 


If you look around, there are a lot of people using all kinds of coping mechanisms to avoid thinking about life: studying like crazy, working long hours, partying all the time, being busy with every possible little thing, dysfunctional eating, overexercising, electronics addiction, anything to keep from thinking about life.

I think it's an innate thing for a dancer, an artist, to think about life, to really reflect on why we're here, what we're doing, who we are. And these questions are evident in what we bring as choreographers and as performers to any piece.

In 2011, there was one episode of So You Think You Can Dance with each dancer performing the exact same piece of choreography. It was about a minute long, and ended with a moment of stillness. One after another, the dancers finished this piece with these intense, challenging, confident faces, staring almost angrily into the TV camera. Except one girl. The judges were silent after Sabra performed, and finally one of them said, "You brought something new to this. We've seen one person after another perform this same piece, but your face, in the end, spoke hope. And that's what we needed to see."

"Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life." - Pablo Picasso

You are weird. Weird doesn't mean inaccessible or elitist, or even separatist, just different. Don't feel awkward or intimidated by that. Bring everything you have to share. So much is lost when we hide behind trying to be normal, or classical, or whatever we think others are expecting us to be.

"There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it." -- Martha Graham

We had a beautiful classical repertoire at Ad Deum. I really enjoyed those pieces.

But then we had theatrical pieces with chairs and creepy pieces with strobe lighting and slow, dream-like pieces with over-sized creatures, and you know, those are the pieces people loved.

The stuff that's outside-the-box wakes something up in an audience, and it brings out that desire we all feel to experience a full, passionate, uninhibited life.

Don't be afraid to be weird.


Yes, the world needs artists. But they're not going to come to you, not in this day-and-age anyway. Why would someone pay 20 bucks to go sit in a theater that doesn't even allow popcorn and soda during the show, when they can pay less to sit on their couch in their underwear and watch Netflix? Seriously.

Most of the world won't find you in a performance hall. We need to find ways to go where they are. While at Ad Deum, we had seasonal performances in artsy theaters and beautiful performance halls. But we also worked and performed in schools, in hospitals, in outdoor amphitheaters, in lobbies, in churches, in studios, in conference halls, and even on a farm, helping kids with special needs. We performed for 8 people. We performed for thousands of people. And it was awesome.

We were able to share dance with a lot of people who never would have stepped into a fancy performance hall. And it turned out, they loved it.


So the New York City Ballet has its very own marketing department and patrons who will funnel money to them just for having the most anorexic dancers in America (who are also really, really good). But most dance companies today don't have marketing departments or private wealthy sponsors.

You know what looks nice on a resume, besides a BFA in Dance with 20 years background in every style of dance and annual summer workshop experience from the best companies in each quadrant of the U.S. over the last four years?

Successful fundraising and grant-writing.

The National Endowment for the Arts is an independent federal agency that "funds and promotes artistic excellence, creativity, and innovation for the benefit of individuals and communities." And there are many private foundations that also support the arts and art education. Many businesses also have money or gifts-in-kind allocated to non-profit spending that they could put toward the arts.

Whether you want to start your own company, or join an existing company, or just work with project companies, the ability to market your ideas and source funding is invaluable.

Artists have such a great ability to think big when it comes to creating choreography, but we've also got to think outside-the-box when it comes to funding. Even the dancers at Texas Ballet Theatre in Fort Worth -- previously Fort Worth Ballet, previously Fort Worth Dallas Ballet -- are an integral part of their fundraising. They don't just go on stage and perform and go home and ice their feet. There was an article in the Dallas Morning News last year with pictures of the dancers standing on Fort Worth sidewalks, in "Nutcracker" costumers, BEGGING for donations. Texas Ballet Theatre, one of the largest, most prominent dance companies in the Southwest has repeatedly canceled live music and fallen short in their budget.


If you're teaching dance, please don't do it just to make money, while your real passion is performing on the side. (You know the teachers I'm talking about -- they spend most of the class looking at themselves in the mirror.)

Take note of the things your favorite teachers do, and when you teach, do them. Personalized attention? Great music? Pre-planning choreography? Letting students choreograph? Whatever it is, think about it, and intentionally incorporate it into your teaching style. Sometimes students don't learn well from your teaching style. Be flexible and see what gets them excited about dance.

It's also okay if you need to get out of the dance world for a few hours a day and not teach dance. I worked in the office at a driving school while dancing in Houston. Between the dancers and the driving instructors, I was kind of always around weird people. And fit right in. 


In college, you learn, you experience, you form opinions and styles and preferences, you build friendships that will be your future guest choreographers and mentors and creators.

I really regret that I was only a dance minor. I took many great technique classes, and left as a competent dancer, but you know what I missed? Anatomy, Costuming, Lighting, Choreography, regular Performance classes, Tech, Improv, and the list goes on.

These classes are so valuable! Take them! They'll make you a better dancer, a better teacher, and a better asset to a company.


I'm not saying the value of an education, or the value of a college experience, or the value of the opportunities you have equal zero dollars. I'm saying the piece of paper that gets mailed to you six weeks after graduation is worth absolutely nothing on your resume.

If you're just here checking off courses on your degree plan, doing well enough to pass, and expecting something magical to happen when you graduate, there is a better way! (You don't have to cross your fingers and panic six weeks before graduation!)

Fill your resume with the opportunities that you took while here at UNT. Your normal class schedule is absolutely vital to your overall success as a dancer, choreographer, teacher, and artist in the world. But the things that are going to piece together your unique calling are the other hundreds of opportunities, through UNT and throughout the area, to perform, to volunteer, to network, and to learn.

Join dance associations. Volunteer at events. Volunteer at organizations that are doing what you want to do. Take every guest class you can. Take every workshop you can. Talk to every teacher you can. Most people love answering questions and sharing advice with someone who's genuinely interested. All of this will help catapult you into great opportunities, self-knowledge, and a confident approach to the future.

If you know someone who's doing what you want to do, ask them to meet with you. Take them to lunch, share your admiration, and they will pour out ideas for you. They might even have a connection to a good opportunity. Or they might share some reality of their life with you that makes you think, "No way, this is the last kind of job I would want!"


Follow them on Facebook. Learn their culture. Become friends with their dancers. Attend their summer dance workshops. If they have open technique classes, go take them. Know their repertoire. Go to their concerts.

Most companies aren't just looking for an amazing dancer. They're looking for someone who understands and fits their culture. Make sure you like what they're doing, and understand how you could help support their work with what you have to offer.


If you audition and don't make it into the main company, ask about trainee and apprenticeship programs. If you express interest, you might help start something.

"Hey, I understand that you don't think I'm right for the company right now. But can I just come take class with you?" 

Or, "I know you don't have a place for me in this project, but could you use an understudy? I'd love to just learn your movement and your style."

If there's a particular teacher or choreographer you really like here at UNT, and you don't make it into their piece, ask if you can understudy. Not with any expectation to perform, not with any strings attached that they pick you next year, just for the opportunity to learn what you can.

Don't stew over auditions. Don't get bitter about not being placed where you think you belong. If you think an adjudicator missed a call, prove them wrong.


When I moved back to Dallas after three years with Ad Deum, I taught ballet for Ingredients, the trainee company of Dance Revolution. At the end of the year, we held reviews for each dancer. It's important to speak honestly, kindly, and directly about a student's placement and technique level. False compliments and B.S. will not get anyone anything, except false expectations and disappointment. When I told one of the Ingredients students that I didn't think she was ready to advance, she was offended.

She handled it with real class though. There were no angry words, no threats of lawsuits, no calls from offended mothers, no demands for another review, no antagonizing gossip. I gave her a follow-up call to talk about the assessment, because I didn't want her to experience long-term discouragement from one teacher's review at one place in time.

"The truth is," I told her. "This is only my opinion of your ballet technique level after one year as your teacher. I feel like you could have focused more, you could have taken more of an edge in ballet. I know you feel your strongest techniques are in other styles. I would love nothing more than for you to come back next year and prove me wrong. Show me that I made the wrong call."

In hindsight, I'm pretty sure I made the wrong call. She either shook off that review and moved on, or she used it as motivation, but regardless, she has taken off. She has her own company, started her own dance studio, and has a vision for dance that far surpasses anything I could imagine.

That is the way to handle critique.


I was fresh out of college, dancing since I was four-years-old, in the best shape of my life, and I was a trainee position after auditioning for Ad Deum. Not only would I not get paid, I would have to pay for classes, and I didn’t even qualify to take class with the company. It was humbling.

But it turned out to be the best thing that could have happened. The trainee director was phenomenal. There was much for me to learn, both technically and about the culture of life in a dance company. There's a huge learning curve when you change dance environments, just like picking up the style of a guest choreographer. It was a really frustrating transition for me, trying to incorporate these new expectations into my dance vocabulary. I felt awkward, I felt unknown, I felt unappreciated, I felt lonely. It took me a full year to begin to pick up Ad Deum's style.

As a trainee, we took a lot more classes than the company members, including my nemesis: hip hop on Fridays. My roommate at the time was an awesome hip hop dancer, and she would help me dress the part for class and try to camouflage the ballet nerd in me as much as we could. As it turns out, one of the first pieces I was in as an apprentice included a hip-hop wedding scene. I was so grateful for those mandatory Friday hip hop classes. 

Don't limit yourself. Learn every style of dance you have access to. If the sororities are stepping in the Union, join in. If UNT brings in a guest teacher, don't even check what they're teaching, sign up. If there is a spare hour in your schedule, pick up an extra technique class. 


After a year as a Trainee, I was invited to be an Apprentice: still no pay, but technique classes were free, I'd be working with the company, and travel expenses were covered for touring. This began as a whole lot of understudying. I would take class from 8:45 am - 11 am, rehearse from 11 am - 2 pm, work at the driving school from 4 pm - 8 pm, and then go home and study videos in my living room to learn the choreography that all the company members already knew from years past. It was awesome, and I loved it.

When a company member had to miss a performance on tour, I got thrown in. I was so grateful for those boring nights reviewing performance tapes in the living room.


No matter where you work, whether it's a dance company, a small office, or a Fortune 500 company, there will be drama. There will be politics. People will be people.

There's a fine line between advocating for someone and sticking your nose in other people's business. I still don't know where that line is, and I tend to err on the side of speaking up, stirring up more drama, backtracking, and then regretting I said anything in the first place.

Chances are, whatever you see of a situation, is not the whole picture. Whatever someone tells you about a situation, is not the whole picture. Even if you are directly involved in the situation itself, it is not the whole picture.

There's something to be said about keeping your mouth shut. If you can do this, list it under skill sets on your resume.


A lot of times dancers are so fixated on our own reflections in the mirror that we don't realize what's going on around us. The studio could be burning down around us, but we're thinking, "Maybe I can get my leg just a little higher in arabesque," or "Hm, my hair looks good today."

There are a lot of things that need to get done in a dance company. And we can choose between being a disgruntled Prima Donna, or joining the team to make things happen. It might not be your job to carry the costumes, lay the marley, clean the dressing room, prep programs, be a stand-in for lighting, sew a prop, be on the post-show audience panel, or clean the theater after a show. But this is where relationships are formed. This is where life happens. And this is where true leadership emerges.


It's kind of a curse for dancers. We have our vision for what we want, we don't like criticism, we really like positive feedback, we like to work on our own timeline, and we don't like sharing credit. We love to dance, and we love an audience. It can make working in a community difficult. 

I really like what my director in Houston had to say about being a dancer in a company:

"I believe that unity in a group, true collaboration with others can only flourish with a healthy sense of self for the individuals involved. The demands of dance, the self-discipline that it requires helps to nurture a sense of who the ‘self’ is and what it is capable of. A huge part of the self-discovery is the reality that especially in this art form “a man who isolates himself seeks his own ruin.” Indeed, dance is a collaborative art form." -- Randall Flinn, Ad Deum Dance Company

Performing outdoors (That thing -- about going out to an audience, instead of expecting them to come to you -- so good.)

Thursday, February 5, 2015

Portrait of Wealth

They always called to check on a promised donation, but they never called just to check on her. 

I suppose they assumed, as I assumed, that she couldn't be anything other than fine, with all that money. 

And in all the ways that polite company allows, she was. Manicured nails, glowing skin, perfect coif, immaculate house, her hosted events more finely tuned than a symphony. Both casual conversation and crafted speech humbly showcased her southern frankness, educated brevity, a fast-paced city wit softened by a disarming country tone.

Organizations were always calling to request meetings. She was a generous donor in town, and everyone wanted a piece of the pie. Her church would call quarterly, if I forgot to get her tithe in the mail. We mailed it, because she never actually attended church. They never called to see why, or to invite her to a small group discussion or community concert or volunteer project. But if the check didn't arrive, we got a call. It saddened me. I understand why faith seemed important to her as a heritage, but not really as a practice. 

She took care of her family, seeing to their small conveniences, as well as their momentous opportunities, an elite private school for the grandchildren, expensive weekend getaways, once-in-a-lifetime vacations. I would get jealous. Could she realize that her overnight stay at a resort would cover two months of our family's mortgage? 

Then I'd feel bad for feeling jealous. She might be the one percent, but even with our thrift store appliances, craigslist furniture, and hand-me-down clothing, my family is still -- easily -- in the top four percent of wealth in the world. (Don't follow the link in that last sentence unless you want a sobering reality check. If you live in America, you're rich. Even if you're poor, you're rich.)

I was awed by her, always self-conscious about where my hands were while we interacted, tugging on the waistband of my sweater, clasping the hems of my sleeves, hands on my hips (too assertive), crossed arms (too closed off), reaching for a pad of paper, scuffing the rug with my daily low-level black heels, hoping that maybe she found the disheveled secretary look appropriate to my position.

She never cared about my endless supply of cable-knit sweaters and A-line skirts. I'm not even sure she noticed, even though her monthly wardrobe stipend could rival my annual salary. On my first day of work, she took me to lunch at the Dallas Country Club. THE Dallas Country Club. I felt so important, and incredibly self-conscious. If I was nervous about how to act in a normal conversation, it was ten times so while eating. She ordered dessert for us, and I liked her even more. A woman who's not afraid to eat dessert at lunch time! 

Her housekeeper was so loyal. I saw this same faithfulness in all of the house staff that I met of Dallas' elite. There was a protectiveness and commitment that I couldn't understand. Even though other relatives and guests at the house would treat them poorly, they still went above and beyond in every detail of their work. She was paid well, but for all her years of work, she didn't receive health insurance or retirement benefits. I couldn't help but think, if my boss died or moved to a retirement home, her housekeeper could suddenly be dismissed by the family without a cent of gratitude, after decades of faithful service. I worried for her, and still do. 

It wasn't just the non-profits who constantly called and visited (not that she minded). Her assigned personal shopper at Stanley Korshak just couldn't take "no" for an answer. One month I had to explain why $30,000 worth of merchandise had been delivered to her downstairs closet, after communicating quite clearly to her personal shopper that she didn't need anything. "Just to take a look!" the commissioned representative gushed. "I saw this and immediately thought of her! This is perfect! She must have it! So I, of course, sent it over." 

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If I had an unlimited budget, and someone delivered $30,000 worth of super-stylish clothing to my home closet, I'm pretty sure it would stay. I really admired my boss that day. She sent it all back.

She isn't lonely. Her friends are many and sincere. I don't doubt they would care for one another with or without the money, though I don't believe I ever entered "hang out at [any friend or family member's] house" as an event on her calendar. There always seemed to be a purpose to time spent with others -- a planning meeting, a fundraiser, a night at the theatre, a mini-vacation.

When those Dallas women get together, they make things happen, sometimes to the chagrin of the rest of the city. But without private funding, the Dallas Zoo never could have revived. The world-renowned arts district would have remained in Fair Park, instead of its trendy new location in downtown (granted, to the detriment of east Dallas). None of our local theaters, symphonies, or operas could survive. And countless educational initiatives benefitting public school kids would go unfunded.

Giving to charities was as much a social contract as it was an obligation of the conscience. Every lady had her non-profit cause de plume, and they would take turns giving thousands to one another's fundraisers, in the same way that I might buy popcorn from our local Boy Scouts, knowing they'll sponsor one of my kids in the school read-a-thon. 

The banquets and cocktail parties seemed excessively inefficient with so much spent on administration and up-front capital, but they were always successful, supported from a seemingly endless supply of money. I suppose it's noteworthy that they centered their socialization around fundraising.

I remember a fundraiser tea she hosted at her home. By the time she spent $700 for designer invitations and postage, $3000 on catering, $500 on valet parkers (popular for neighborhood parties in Highland Park), several hundred on wine, and $400 on chair rentals, it came to over $100 per guest to have tea, raise awareness for a cause, and hopefully, raise money too. She sent the leftover food home with me, and it was unbelievably good. 

She did something unusual among the elite wealthy of Dallas: she gave anonymously. She did all of the obligatory donations of friends and family, but she would also see a need elsewhere, and send money to help. Sometimes it was in big ways, but she gave in small ways too. She once had me turn a large jar of change from her bedroom into bills. When I brought her the cash, she told me to keep it and take my kids out to play. It was more than enough for a fun lunch at McDonalds, and inspired by her initial gift, we passed along half of it to a man who, like many of the homeless in our area, uses the fast food restroom as his shower and the booths as a spot to nap.

I'm still not sure how I found myself in the small world of Dallas' HNW founding families. Sometimes, as I tip-toed up and down the back staircases, to avoid disturbing company, I felt dropped into a scene from Downton Abbey. 

The stories shared among personal assistants cease to be appalling after awhile, though my stories are rather tame, They did a good job of staying out of the Dallas socialite spotlight. It wasn't that they didn't have opportunity to choose drama over love; they just chose to like each other and get along because they were a family that actually valued family.