Author: Melissa Pelletier

Becoming a Better Listener

Holy crap, you guys. I fall for the Today Show’s Facebook headlines in the morning when I’m drying my hair. (Yes, I read FB when I dry my hair.  I have a lot of hair.  It’s my distraction.  Don’t judge. I used to read legit books but it’s hard to turn the page and dry my hair at the same time.) Anyway. Yesterday I fell for “The 1 Thing You Can Do to Be More Likeable Instantly” which led me to a story on becoming a better listener.  (Not that I’m not likeable.  I’m totally likeable.  Except for the people I don’t like.  But that’s that not that many people.) I’m a bad interrupter.  Shit – I’ve even interrupted my damn self twice already and I’m not even up to 150 words here yet. I know this about myself and I’m trying to be better.  But I just get so excited when people are talking and need to help them finish their sentences.  I can’t help it!  I get excited!  I feel bad every time I do it!  Which is like 400 times a day so that’s a lot of feeling bad. So for the next few weeks, I’m going to do my best to shut it.  Listen to understand.  Listen to learn more, not necessarily respond.  And listen to connect. Who’s (And do you have any advice?? Damn I did...

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We’re Never Visiting the Mouse Again

You guys, I’ve been having a year.  I was put on a big project at work a few months back, one that ended up requiring working day and night for nearly five months.  There were more instances of my kids begging me to get off the computer at night, on weekend mornings, on weekend afternoons… and on weekend nights… that I care to remember.  The sighs and FINEs were aplenty and the mom guilt was HARD. At one point, Abby sat down next to me with her toy computer. Jake asked her to come play and she replied, “Not now, Jake....

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His Sis, His Idol

My newly minted threenager has historically been a little slow on his expressive language skills.  Over the past two weeks or so, though, he’s been eating his vegetables or something (when I’m not looking) because all of a sudden, he won’t. shut. up. And everything he says is an echo of his idol. His big sister.  (…Or Superman. But there’s not much of a story there so read on, will ya?) Everything she does, he does it, too. (Fortunately… she’s happy to show him.) I just love it. Here’s the thing, though.  He’s 3 and she’s 6.  Neither of them has any idea she’s different.  They are simply brother and sister, growing up in central suburbia, learning about life as they go.  Their current worries are what’s for dinner (spaghetti and meatballs, please!), what each other’s current favorite color is (green for her, blue for him), who has the biggest boo-boo, and which of them can do the coolest tricks on our swing set. His blind faith and trust in her makes my heart burst. Right now, he’s forming the basis of what I hope will lead him to eventually be her biggest, fiercest advocate.  Who knows – maybe he’ll be the next Dr. Skotko, the world-renowned Down syndrome specialist who has a sister with the condition.  Maybe he’ll go to Washington and fight for people like his sister.  Maybe he’ll run diversity...

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And then there was this guy: A birth story.

On the day of what should have been my little guy’s third birthday, I thought it only appropriate to share his birth story.  You may remember three years ago, when we suffered through a killer heatwave… that was exactly the same time I was due with my Jakey.  That was exactly the same time he decided to be two weeks late.  It only gets better from there.  It was also just four days before Kate Middletown had prince George so everyone was gaga over babies.  I had hope.  So much hope. I originally wrote this three years ago although it’s...

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Aging Gracefully

Oh you guys. Take a minute to check out this video.  (Go on and watch.  Try not to cry.  Let me know if you’re successful.)  I was struck by the woman at about 1:50 talking to the 36-year old. I’m 2 weeks shy of 36… and this is my issue. I’m working on transitioning from putting too much stock in others’ opinions to just doing what’s right for me.  At 36, I’ve got to focus on my little circle.  My little family and my handful of great friends whose opinions of me don’t budge regardless of who else comes along. It’s finally becoming clear to me why, as people age, they have fewer – but much deeper – friendships. Our patience wanes. As we get older, we filter out those who say one thing and do another.  Who play both sides.  Who aren’t willing to put in the work but expect the same results.  Who won’t stand up for what they believe in.  Who won’t stand up for us when we’re not around. The select few are not jealous of what we have, don’t boast about things they have that we don’t. They’re our encouragement in our darkest days. They’re the ones you hop out of bed for a frantic text past midnight and the ones who will crack jokes to make you laugh when reality is really, really hard. They’re the ones you can...

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