They weathered through a 98-degree summer day to get these photos and some footage for our HCA Heart Health commercial for one reason: heart health disease is a killer, and I know. It killed my dad at age fifty.

When I was fifteen, he died suddenly of heart failure. Luckily, one of the last things I ever said to my dad is “I love you.” I can’t tell you how thankful I am for that. I appreciate sympathy, but honestly, it’s been twenty years since he passed away (I’m giving away my age here!) My real point in telling this story is so that people understand why I was chosen for the HCA Heart Health Network commercials, and that there is a real motivation behind my desire to run and to help other women acheive some level of fitness–whether it’s running, walking, or chasing tricycles. We’ve had a blast with our Run Like a Mother team with Stroller Strides and are thrilled that we’ve grown to forty-five women training for the 10K!

Just a few days ago, my soon-to-be eight-year-old son asked me, “Mom, why do you have to run that race?”

I was trying to figure out his reasons for asking me this. “What do you mean?” “Well, you always have to run while we play in the kids’ play area at American Family. What’s the big deal, why can’t we just go swimming?”

So I shared with him the reason why I was asked to be in the heart health commercials, that the grandfather he had never had a chance to meet passed away much too soon. “Well!” my mature little man exclaimed, “why didn’t you just tell me that before?” Then he declared that he was going to start running with me.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m no health nut, I’ve done plenty of damage and struggle to make myself excercise, so I’m not trying to preach to anyone. I just hope that by telling my story that I can help other moms, and continually remind myself, that taking care of our own health is imperative if we want to take care of everyone else.

HCA cares about women’s heart health and is offering free heart health tips simply by clicking this link. It’s free, it’s simple, and most of it is common-sense type stuff we are supposed to be doing every day and just need a little gentle nudge to push ourselves in the right direction.

Let’s try to take better care of our hearts this month, Richmond moms. Our families will thank us for it:-)

Next, we tackled my file folders. As promised, Olivia talked me through each process: what did I need this paper for? How often did I access this bill? What files did I use the most? With a warm but crisp attitude, Olivia tackled folder after folder. I hung with her, sorting and shredding.

With about ten loose papers left in my husband’s basket, I suggested that we create a “Dave Miscellaneous” folder. A thick silence fell over the room. Patty and Olivia looked up at me, eyes wide. I felt like I had just suggested we all run away together to a monastery. “Um…” I muttered. Olivia gracefully cut in, “well, let’s think of where these papers can go. We generally don’t like miscellaneous folders because they end up being a catch-all for everything.” Humph. Of course, I knew Olivia was right.

In that moment, I knew why all women need a professional organizer. It’s just the kick in the pants I need to keep going. I would have long since given up, left with multiple junk bowls and miscellaneous files. But with Olivia’s help, we saw that organization project to the bitter end. Almost. There is still a blank space on the wall for my perfect bulletin board. But that’s a bit like me. Even when it’s done, it’s a little undone. The desk is clean though, the files organized. I have a system I can use, and I’ve kept the mail sorted and the piles to a minimum. I am the mom formerly known as messy, and proud to be reformed!

Here’s just a few of the tips I’ve picked up from A Sorted Affair:

• Center all your hanging file folder tabs. It makes them easier to flip through.
• One-step cleanup is enough for small kids. Since adding a bench with cubbies and hooks, my children have stopped using the floor as a coat closet. Could be the novelty of it all, but it’s working for now!
• A “Miscellaneous” file is another word for “Future Black Hole”. Unacceptable.
• Process your mail into three baskets: “FILE” and “PENDING”. The third basket is the wastebasket. Throw it out or recycle!
• Use an under-bed bin for your children’s memorabilia. Keep one for each child, and file special art, school papers, etc. into the bin. At the end of the school year, you can keep the best of the best.
• Use a small hanging file box on your desk for your frequently used files. Check out a cute one at The Container Store.
• Develop your organizational system based on your personality. If you lack focus for details, don’t expect a multi-step system to work. Anything that requires high upkeep will fail.
• You can create a wave of positive organizing. My investment in time with A Sorted Affair in my office has given me the riptide I needed to organize my pantry, my drawers, and my closet!

What about you? Do you have a (dis)organized dilemma that you can’t solve? Send a picture to . One disorganized diva will receive a FREE organizing assessment ($200 value) from Olivia and Patty at A Sorted Affair!

This realization becomes solidified anytime we choose to do any type of group activity requiring my children to follow along with a group. Most of the time, it’s just not happenin’.

Take for example, last night. My littlest kid (pictured here, with the side I get to see of her most often) had class at Core Kids Academy, a weekly gymnastics lesson she eagerly awaits each Tuesday. We all gathered around the mat awaiting instructions from the beloved Coach Cora, and no sooner had we warmed up than my little 2-year-old firecracker hops up off the mat, racing for the trampoline like a soda-induced psycho with a pot of jumping-beans in her drawers.

All the other little girls waited patiently in line while my little princess yells “Pick Me! Pick Me!” or “I want to go FIRST!” jumping ahead of the line. It doesn’t help that she is a full head taller than the other children close to her age. She is a petite dominator of whatever world she steps into, stopping only to say PLEASE may she go first and THANK YOU for letting her lead the pack. Sadly, I’m afraid, she’s a chip off the ol’ block.

It’s not just the little one, either. I’m afraid her two older brothers began this trend by jumping into most social situations with their hands on their hips, ready-to-roll with no fear for the unknown and an energy level envious of long-distance runners. My oldest Richmond kid won the award in kindergarten for the most notes sent home daily for talking in class, making noises and overall being a menace. My middle child requires the least sleep of any human being with his level of energy I believe I have ever witnessed, popping up at 6am daily regardless of bedtime, ready to take on the world.

Could it be that they see their mom, someone who has a problem with idle time, bouncing from activity to activity, always talking to friends? Is it because of me that they not understand the meaning of downtime, for the love of Pete?

Well, I just can’t change me. I’m already too old for that. And, I’ve been told, mostly by sympathetic friends, that active children of today often become tomorrow’s leaders. So when I fall on the couch, pooped-out and exhausted at 4pm, wondering what to make for dinner and how I’m going to answer my emails and have time to watch Modern Family and they run to me and say, “What’s next mama? What are we doin’ now?” I’ll try to keep that in mind.

Being the youngest of four with a working single mom, you could say that I had a lot of time on my hands. I was a bookworm, so my natural inclination was to snuggle up inside with a book. . and whatever convenient back of snacks was near me.

As the weight began to creep on, the problem was only compounded by the fact that my mother, formerly a wonderful cook (for some reason she has no longer enjoys it, which is another story) and baker would ensure that we had wonderful cookies, cakes and goodies around all the time, since she was working hard and couldnt’ be home with us. It was her way of showing us love, and we LOVED it, to say the least.

But, my nearest sibling was five years older, and as time wore on I found myself at home alone more and more. Food was my friend.

But then it wasn’t.

Kids are mean. The sting of their words in the neighborhood still haunt me. “Hey fatty! Want us to roll you around?” “Fatty fatty, two-by-four. . .” You get the picture. I felt like it was beyond my control, that it wasn’t really a choice, this was just, well, me.

Time grew on and luckily I became more active, getting into sports and I shot up unusually tall for my age, which really helped. But I never forgot how awful it felt to be chastised. Even within our own family fat jokes were made, because all of us were overweight. Not terribly overweight, but enough to make jokes. And once you start living with fat jokes in your own home, it just becomes part of, well, you.

Throughout the years I’d gain 15-20lbs then lose it again. It was unhealthy but for some reason I do better with bigger goals, rather than managing a consistent lifestyle. A year ago, though, when I was laid off from my corporate job, I started working out as a means to relieve stress, and running became a regular part of those workouts. When I formed a running team with Rachel Pustilnik of Stroller Strides for the 2008 Monument 10K, running started becoming more of a social outlet and an interwoven part of my life rather than a chore, another item on the to-do list. When we crossed the finish line, each one of us in varying times, we felt an incredible euphoria and an inner voice that said, “See, you are a runner.”

It probably sounds silly but I always thought that other people were runners. Thin people. Athletic people. People who didn’t grow up in chubby households. People whose parents taught them to run and they excercised as a happy little family unit. I’ve learned that nothing can be further from the truth–that anyone can pick up (doctor’s release willing!) and start at any time. It’s a sport that requires little investment and provides quick results.

I’m still chubby. But I’m a healthy kind of chubby. Since my dad died at age 50 from heart disease I know I’ve got a family history against me, so I do it for my health over anything. I run a few times a week (when I’m being good) and even more when I’m training for a race. In fact, our Monument 10K team is kicking up for 2009, and there are still a few spots left if you’d like to join us. We won’t judge, promise. We’ve all had our battles with “you can’t run,” “you’re chubby” and all the other head voices, so all we provide is support.

If running isn’t your thing, check out the HCA Women’s Heart Health initiative and find other ideas on ways to keep your heart tickin’ like a champ. And tell the voices to just clam up. You’re in control now.

We braved the icy winds to see the much-talked-about Princess and the Frog at Richmond’s Bowtie Cinemas. I was surprised that my boys (seven and four) wanted to go, and even more surprised that my little gal, Caroline was able to sit on my lap most of the time.

What surprised me most, though, was how impressed I was with this film. Sure, the animation was great. Yes, the music was delightful and of course the popcorn was sinful and finger-licking-delicious.

The story, however, was impressive. And not just the kind of impressive I’d give to any children’s movie–it was impressive on so many levels:

1) Tiana, the main character, was an incredibly hard-worker. Throughout the movie, while her friends partied and frittered around, Tiana was uber-focused on her dream of owning a restaurant. Not sure about your kids, but mine needed a little dose of “hard work is how you get places in life” without me delivering the message. So, thanks, Disney.

2) Tiana was in no way obsessed with being a princess. Now, don’t get me wrong here. After three years of Tonka trucks and Thomas the Train I am thrilled to have a sweet little pretty-in-pink gal who loves to dress up as a princess. But it was good for her to see that not every girl HAS to or WANTS to be a princess. I liked Tiana for that.

3) No matter what, Tiana stuck to her guns. Whether it was not kissing that frog on first sight or pursuing her dream no matter what the costs, that girl had persistence like a kid with a dollar bill in a candy store. She was NOT about to leave without getting what she wanted. I REALLY liked Tiana for that.

4) Tiana wanted to make her parents proud of her. This was a consistent theme throughout the movie, from the beginning when she took her father’s passion for owning a restaurant on as her own, through the end where it was apparent that her mother was a prominent and special person in her life: Tiana showed utter respect for her parents. I loved Tiana for that.

finally, 5) The cast and characters, albeit a bit scary at times with some voodoo-like-scenes a la New Orleans where the animated film was set, were fun, and completely made you want to invite them into your home again and again. Which is why we’ll be first in line when the Princess and the Frog hits the stores. And, oh yeah, great job of making Tiana an African American. Long-time coming. Well-represented. Bravo. But her character, like everyone’s, is so much important than her color.

Bravo as well to Bowtie Cinemas for keeping such a beautiful theatre uber-clean, with a crew dashing in the door as soon as the credits began rolling.

Note: Disney, nor Bowtie Cinemas is paying for this review. However, if either of you are listening, I’ll work for movies. And popcorn. Lots and lots of popcorn.

But it also takes me back to thoughts that haunt me, and that I don’t quite know how to digest. A few years ago I received a phone call, mid-afternoon from a dear friend from high school. Unusual for her to call me mid-day, I quickly answered my cell phone. “Honey, I’m so sorry to tell you this. Mike is dead.”

Stunned into silence, even with my little ones squawking in the back seat it took me a few minutes to regain my mental footing. How could this be?

Mike, my first true love–truly—was dead at age 32.

Like looking into a snowglobe, my thoughts grew snowy thinking about the hot summer days we spent together swimming at his pool, learning how to drive a stick-shift together, shamelessly kissing in the movie theater. He was the first boy to ever tell me he loved me, and at sixteen, I was naive enough to believe it. Although maybe it was really true.

In an attempt to release frustration and utter sadness, I sat down and put pen to paper, creating a thoughtful letter to Mike’s mom. He was her only child, and I knew that she must be completely lost. I included a few photos that I had kept, more than seventeen years later in a tiny photo album, and a few memories we had hanging out with Mike in our large circle of friends as high school juniors.

She quickly returned my letter with thoughts of her own. “Katie, you don’t know how much that meant to me. Mike was my life, and had worked so hard to clean up his life–he had quit drinking–he was really trying. Then he was killed instantly in a car accident. They promised me that he didn’t feel any pain. Now, I’m like a cork bobbing around in the ocean.” Looking at my own young sons, I couldn’t fathom what she was feeling; was frustrated that any mother should ever endure it. We still exchange Christmas cards, several years later.

In-between our sixteen-year-old puppy love and the time of his death, Mike had ventured into dangerous territory. He moved to Pittsburgh, a far cry from our sleepy-small-Pennsylvania village and into the city he was tempted by drugs, tattoos, and the hard life, and quickly became addicted to drugs. Luckily, he was the heir to a large fortune and his family had the means to send him into rehab, with some success (or so I was told). No one ever said if drinking or drugs were involved in the car accident, when he skidded into a telephone pole. Did it really matter?

Mike was a good, kind person, with a smile that could light up a room. Even though I hadn’t spoken to him in years, shared friends told me how much fun he was to be around, and that he never lost that charm. His memory will be cherished.

For some reason, even though he didn’t pass away around the holidays I always think of him, and how his life may have developed had he lived. Would he have had children of his own? That he doesn’t get a second chance is a tough pill to swallow. So, as I approach the new year and new goals and new visions of a bright future I remind myself that New Year’s day isn’t the only day we have to decide to start anew. Each day we wake up is second chance.

While attempting to do my last-minute Christmas shopping last night, a strange thing happened. No, silly I didn’t actually stick to my budget–let’s not get crazy—but a thought occurred to me: Christmas shopping is a lot like having kids. Here’s why:

1) It’s crowded. Oh, Lordie all you have to do is ask an eight-and-a-half-month preggers mama how it felt to have an 8.5 pounder in her belly while trying to tie her shoelaces, buckle her seatbelt, or do, well, just about anything. Talk about cramped spaces.

2) It’s expensive. No matter how much you THINK it’s going to cost, you can just forget it. There’s always one more shiny bauble that will cause your credit card company to send you nasty-grams and cause husbands all over the world to bark, bark, bark about how much you spent. Stockings, swaddled babies or seniors in high school–they share the same evil problem: too damn much $$$.

3) Anybody can do it. That’s right, I said it. You and I both know it: not everyone should reproduce. No matter how far-regressed freaky great-Uncle Frank’s genes are removed, they will resurface in generations-later offspring and can cause dangerous, albeit, astounding results. The same goes for shopping. The diversity of crowds thrown together under the bright flourescent lights of Walmart, men who NEVER venture out until this time of year yearning to find the perfect gift and getting stuck in the tool aisle–these mixed together with screaming babies are sure to cause some sort of explosion.

4) It’s stressful. Oh yeah, I said it. While everyone is decking the halls I’m out here sweating, piling deals into our arms, trying to find the perfect je-ne-sais-quoi when I’d really rather be home in my jammies watching the Office. Sound familiar? Try rounding up a couple of toddlers to go, well, anywhere and you’ll get the same results. The two activities must send stock-prices surging for high-blood pressure prescription pharmas everywhere.

5) It WILL cause strife between the sexes. You know it’s true. Having kids is a magical experience for many women, while most men just sweat it out and pray that they still get to golf and play poker with the boys on a regular basis. The expectation levels are just so different typically. Kind of like on Christmas morning, when the wife awakes to a tiny, sweetly-wrapped box only to find drill bits inside. Yeah, it’s kinda like that.

6) Finally, both produce great results. I mean, after nine months, you have this amazing person, with (hopefully) ten fingers and toes, who is cuddly and warm, sweet to look at, and that you have forever. Be forewarned gentle reader: the same can happen with Christmas gifts. So just say no to anything cuddly and warm that you may not want forever. It may not be so sweet to look at a few years from now.

Merry Christmas. Seriously.

OK, so I’m not great at rhyming. And I really DO love this wonderful holiday. I even work hard to remind our kids what it’s really all bout: the true Holy meaning of the season, not just Santa, presents, and cookies. But this year, I’m having a tough time getting into the spirit.

It could be the crazy book-signing schedule for Richmond Rocks I’ve been adhering to, or the fact that we’ve just moved into a rental house 1/2 the size of our former living quarters, so we’re cramped in a small space with a fraction of the usual Christmas trappings. Or, it could be that I have a to-do list a mile long and a bunch of presents to buy, and I can’t seem to find the time to get to the store without three little kids in tow.

I’m just struggling with the holidays this year.

I so desperately want to go on a tacky lights tour, visit Santa, and shop for Toys for Tots. I just can’t . . .seem to fit any of it in the schedule. The laundry is piled up, the mail stack mountain has slid down sideways on the kitchen island, and my Christmas cards have yet to be addressed.

Which begs the question: Why am I sitting at my computer clickety-clacking away, when I should be checking off my to-do list?

No good answers here. Other than that this is therapy much less-expensive, quicker and more cathartic that I imagine any therapist could deliver. And, that I’m hoping by sharing this message that you, the reader, can breathe a sigh of relief that you are not the only one struggling to deck the halls with a fa-la-la when all you really want to do is take a little power nap.

I’m sure as the next few days unfold, school is out, and we begin wrapping gifts it’ll all come into focus, and the magical season will fill me with the spirit. For now though, there’s only one thing I need to be filled, and that’s my ginormous coffee cup, as I ready for another busy day.

1) All that glitters is not gold. This is an old saying, and one that still holds true for a reason. While glitzy packaging, wrapping and bows can woo us, the real meaning of a gift and thought put behind it is so much more important–almost always–to the recipient.

2) It doesn’t have to be a race. So many folks love to rush through, saying “I’m all done! Isn’t that great! Everyone checked off my list!” This IS great, if it was truly a fun and meaningful gift-buying process, but not so much if it was a race to the finish line. Almost everyone I know appreciates thoughtfulness over promptness any day of the week, too.

3) Words can be the best gifts. I’ve already received the most amazing gift I could ever ask for this year: children are reading and enjoying our book. What a joy to see their faces, and the faces of their parents, at the images and words on the pages, that spring to life when read together with someone you love. I’ve had so many incredible, thoughtful, kind souls here in Richmond who have supported our efforts and without whose words–and kind deeds—the spirit of Christmas in me may not have been possible this year!

4) Time is the most important gift anyone can receive. When we got back from four long days of selling books, my four-year old grabbed my leg and said, “Please don’t work anymore, mama!” Even in the exhaustion after the show, taking time out to play wii, snuggle and talk to him was the best “detox” I could receive from the hustle-and-bustle of the busy buying season.

5) Remove the words “I want” from your vocabulary. This is the toughest. I see cute shoes, bags, and clothes I want every day. But at the core of it all is wanting to feel good about myself, wanting to have time with my family, and wanting to grow as a person. Those are things that can be acheived without a single ring of a cash register–it’s just often a bit more challenging.

Happy shopping, gals. And if you get frustrated, overwhelmed, or just need a break from the long lines, please re-read this and

On my work, church or outing days, I can look like I’ve got it together. I’ve been known to rock a boot with a dress and throw some dangly earrings into the mix. But my all-mom days reveal who I really am.

I admit that I don’t prioritize put-togetherness, but my messy-mom mojo is beginning to effect my happiness.

I lose my car keys multiple times a day, every day. Locating a matching sippy cup and top in my kitchen drawers requires the tenacity of a paleontologist. My office is a disaster, with bills, preschool papers, and my writing and business work intertwined like rhythmless line dancers. At any time, you can find enough shoes by my door to outfit an entire kindergarten, as long as the shoes don’t need to match.

It is time for an intervention.

I rolled a Matchbox car away from my keyboard and quickly found my help: A Sorted Affair, a professional organizing business started by two local moms. I read the company tagline: “We offer both knowledge and hands-on assistance. Combined, they give you unique, intuitive solutions for your organizing dilemmas.” Ah, I thought, but can you clean up this messy mom?? I contacted A Sorted Affair and made them a deal: rehabilitate me, and I’ll let the richmondmom.com readers follow along, in the hopes that others can share in my joy (and pain) of home organizing.

I made a conscious effort on the day I would meet Olivia Acree, co-owner of A Sorted Affair. I resisted the urge to put on my put-together look. When Olivia and Patty Hoyt, another organizer, arrived, I was sans makeup and in full workout attire. My preschooler sashayed behind me, clad only in a t-shirt and pull-up diaper. As you would expect, Patty and Olivia looked like professional organizers. They were calm, professional, and able to find everything they needed in their bags. I envied it. I wanted it.

After a minor potty training emergency from the tot, we sat down together to discuss what help they could provide. Olivia Acree began A Sorted Affair with partner Caitlin Shear in 2005. Like many other intelligent women in the business world, Caitlin and Olivia joined forces when they began raising their children. Olivia reflected on the synergy between them: “it all just came together. The people and opportunities came to us!”

A Sorted Affair changed households in Richmond, one preschool morning at a time. As their children grew, so did the business, expanding to Northern Virginia with partner Caitlin’s move, and adding staff members along the way.

“A good organizer wants to hear your story,” Olivia explained. “Lots of organizers bring a system and try to fit you to it. We always fit the system with the person.” I arched my eyebrow, wondering if a system could fit this person. “Take for instance, paperwork. If you aren’t a detailed person, you will never file bills alphabetically and by month. But we can get you a file folder to toss everything in, and at least if you need something, you’ll have a place.” I nodded in agreement, and the first flicker of hope sparked. Maybe I could be different!

“Learning our client’s story is what sets us apart,” said Olivia again as she began to take stock of my office situation. I was already feeling like they knew me too well, particularly when we started emptying baskets on the floor. “What’s this for? And this? What do you use this space for?” I found myself mumbling incoherently when Olivia asked me questions, but she had the grace to save me from myself. “That’s why we are here. Let’s figure out how to make this space work.”

Olivia’s affection for her clients was evident as she shared stories of clutter busting and system setting. “I love the appreciation in this job. People just love you when you help them. They hug you, they cry—it’s like a mini-extreme home makeover.”

A couple of hours later and we had a plan. The clutter-busters (my pet name for my new best friends) helped me decide that we should tackle the entryway situation immediately. Olivia explained that more than one step is too many for elementary school children, so we decided to create a space with hooks and cubbies where the kids could easily hang backpacks and put away shoes.

My job: find a bench with three cubbies underneath, three sets of double hooks, and a framed bulletin board. Meanwhile, the clutter-busters took pictures, took notes, and stayed ridiculously calm and organized the whole time. When the dynamic duo left, I breathed a sigh of relief. To have two women devoted to helping make my life work better? What a gift!

So until next time, you’ll find me spending time on lost car keys and sippy cup tops, but not for long. I have a feeling that this messy mom will be rehabilitated in the capable hands of A Sorted Affair.

What will happen when Olivia and Patty create a landfill-sized pile of paper in my study? Stay tuned to find out!

Need professional help? Contact Patty at www.asortedaffair.com or 464-9820.