When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a surgeon. I was fascinated with the human body, with all of its intricacies and its ability to work the parts together like a symphony.  Cutting into a person to repair something, to heal them, well, what better way to show my homage?

The picture in my head was of fixing someone to make them whole again, to mend a broken part so it would sync with the body.  The picture in my head was one of seeing the person move without a limp, to dance without pain and of heartbeats and the color of a muscle.

I was looking at surgery like a creative endeavor.  

Unfortunately, between me and my art stood histology and microbiology and a lot of other “ologies”.  It turns out that the intricacies of the human body are all very scientific.  Who knew?

During college, I worked in sales.  I loved sales and I was really good at it, but as it turns out, when you move from selling contemporary home furnishings and dinnerware to selling someone a 30 year mortgage, a lot of the fun goes right out the window.

Somewhere along the line, I stopped trying to decide what to be and allowed myself to be forced into work I did not enjoy.  Then I had babies.  Remember my discussion about the intricacies of the human body?  Yeah, well some of those intricacies will get you knocked up.

For the past 12 years, my life has revolved around shaping my children.  Helping them grow, keeping them healthy, encouraging them to use their brains, play harder, be smarter, be confident and kind.  Oh, and those intricacies?  Most of them come flying out explosively in a newborn’s diaper anyway.

Through all of these occupational changes, there has been one constant.  There has always been my love of the written word.  Of course, reading the thoughts of others usually doesn’t pay much.  If they paid you for love and enthusiasm, however, I would be rich!

Up until about a month ago, I was pretty discouraged.  In just over six months, I will turn 40 and as badly as I wanted to follow my passion, I didn’t see it working out.  Being employed as a cook has been rewarding and enjoyable, but you can’t keep the heat turned on by telling the gas company that you’ll pay them with sloppy Joes.

I spent months looking for something that would allow me to do what I love.  I spent so much time job hunting that I had to stop other writing gigs so I could focus on earning more money.  I sent my resume to so many creative companies that it would make your head spin.

“Hmmm…well, she has no experience and not much of an education.  She owned her own business, but now she works as a cook.  This resume goes in the lost cause pile.”

And, that’s how I felt.  I was a lost cause.

Though, I looked at the bright side.  I still had my evenings free to chat on Twitter and to read blogs where I could immerse myself in the brilliance and creativity of others.  Too bad you can’t get paid for that!

Until one day, when I opened my e-mail to find someone had sent me a rainbow.  No, not a stupid e-mail forward, but a real, live rainbow.  One that I could climb atop and slide down.  One where I flew right past the leprechaun and into a pot filled with golden Twitter streams.

My love of blogging and my passion for social media got me a job.

Not just any job, but my dream job.  It is exactly what I have been looking for.  For a long, long time.

I am reading the ideas and opinions of intelligent people and I am taking in the flow of language.  I see pieces of writing come together, each individual word on a page melding into one thought.

I am communicating constantly through social media.  I believe it to be the most powerful resource and tool that a company can have.

I am working from home with my children near me.  I am giving them room to grow, but still here to guide them.

And, none of this would be possible without a company who sees past a pathetic resume and, instead, sees that passion is, sometimes, more important than experience.

I am happy.  I enjoy my work immensely.  I love doing something I believe in.  All the parts are finally coming together.

Like a symphony.

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A few nights ago, I had a dream that I hopped on a plane back to New York. I had my kids in tow and after our arrival in the city, we ended up in a cavernous ballroom with an ornamental ceiling and chandeliers above our heads. The room was empty, with one exception.

On the floor was a long piece of paper, plain white, roughly the width of a roll of wrapping paper. It extended about 10 feet and at the foot of it was a set of brushes and a painter’s palette. Someone, a faceless someone, told us to begin painting.

At first, my kids and I stared at one another and shrugged our shoulders because we had no idea what to put on our blank canvas. When we finally began to paint, we crafted our art separately from one another. A swoosh here, a dab there, we mixed colors and techniques, blending into each other effortlessly, yet creating our own unique pieces.

We were there for quite a while and though we had worked as three individuals, we stood to find that, together, we had painted a beautiful picture. A picture that looked just like the one I’m standing next to here…

This is the artwork that was inspired by my post for the BlogHer Voices of the Year Art Gala and Auction. My friend, Melisa, snapped the above picture before I got dressed up for the evening (because, right now my friend Jill is all, “She wore jeans?”) and just seconds prior to me crying so hard that my nose turned bright red.

I cried because the photo-art was, by complete chance assignment, by my friend Mishi. I cried because my post title was “Into the Light” and she beautifully captured its essence. I cried because she incorporated things that make me feel joy, things that feed my spirit, and things that mean something to me (you can see the fact that I love the sun and trees by looking at my header, which was created by the talented Courtney from Judith Shakes Designs).

I love that creativity can inspire others to be creative. I love that, together, Mishi, Courtney and I have fed off of each other. The reason that I began blogging is because I was searching for an outlet to unleash my own creativity.

The fact that it has led to fueling my dreams is simply a bonus.

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This is me from the April issue of Ladies Home Journal magazine. That’s right, I’m officially published.

Sure it’s only 150 words, and it’s pretty much the last page in the magazine, and in this picture I look like I’m straining under the weight of 25 pounds of meat, because I AM, and the roast on top kept rolling around, and all that balancing and lifting made me look like I need a laxative, and they edited out the burners on my stove, but not my flabby arms, and I look as pale as Eddie Munster, and people at work didn’t even recognize me because I wasn’t wearing my glasses. But, it’s Ladies Home Journal, people!

And, at the very least, my kitchen was really clean for about 20 minutes.

If you want to pick up a copy, it’s the one with Brooke Shields on the front. Which is kind of awesome, because now Brooke and I are like this. I gave her tips on posing.

Why was I in the magazine? Why was my kitchen clean for once? The back story is here. And, when you’re done reading that, go read these.

Being Michael’s Daddy, Suburban Scrawl, World of Weasels, A Look on the Random Side, Code Monkey Daddy, Double the Fun, Real Men Drive Minivans, Beautiful Wreck, Half Past Kissin’ Time, D is for Dad, Nuclear Family Warhead, Joeprah, Big Bad Daddy Rant, Dear Mr. Man, The Busy Dad Blog, Get Off the Ground, The Devoted Dad, Knee Deep in Kids and Surprised Mom.

Because if not for them, I wouldn’t have been juggling that roast.

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1. If you happen to be home on a Sunday afternoon and are expecting a camera crew from a major national magazine to stop by, you may find it beneficial to empty the liquid from a glass like this into your belly. Twice.

2. Then you’ll still be nervous.

3. If the photographer has told you that he will be shooting pictures in your kitchen and in your garage, make sure you spend two days cleaning your kitchen.

4. Then realize that you haven’t touched the rusted paint cans, dried leaves and random pieces of cardboard in your garage until two hours before he arrives.

5. At which time you may beg your husband to clean it for you.

6. There may also be be shrieking involved.

7. If the magazine for which you’re posing has a circulation of roughly 4 million, you may find it is a perfect time to a) wax your own eyebrows, b) experiment with liquid eyeliner and c) forget to test your hairspray nozzle so that it doesn’t so much spray as it does shoot a solid stream of liquid into your fresh curls.

8. As soon as the crew sets up their equipment and has your kitchen completely blocked off with lights, wires and big umbrellas, your kids will tell you that they’re hungry.

9. If you happen to be busty then, by all means, pick a button down shirt for the shoot so that every time the photographer asks you to put your hands on your hips it pops open at just the right spot.

10. Then it will be like you’re posing for an entirely different type of magazine.

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