Christmas was just the three of us. We were sick so I called off plans and visitors. There was something sweet about it, and though we missed our family we know we will see them soon. For me it resembled Rew Christmases of days of yore; we took turns opening presents and took time to express our thanks. We sank into the slow simplicity, Quinn explored his gifts and learned some html on the side; learning extra as he does when he has a break from school. Speaking of school, this fall has been pretty laid back; comparing in retrospect to sixth grade, seventh grade has been a breeze.
Quinn made me a trio of origami dolphin ornaments, which I adore and will treasure for years to come.
Quinn is rocking the texting this week! I heard from him tonight and the last few days and he’s been gone over a week so this is a big deal. getting closer to italy so the timing is perfect of course. putting in his paleontology camp application tomorrow for the first round deadline, and some of the texting was about getting letter of rec from his teacher and he texted me back “i did it” and I’m just feeling proud of the kiddo.
Quinn had a tearful moment writing his letter of intent for his paleontology camp application. He was bogging down and asking for wording suggestions… a wall went up when I suggested he not only say why he felt the camp would be fun for him, but also why he would be a good candidate for the camp – why they should invite him, why he would be a great addition to the group. It took some time to see behind the wall, but ultimately what was bugging him was trying to say he was any better than any other kid. At first he was phrasing it that he didn’t want to “make the decision for them” with his letter, and then I explained all kids applying would be writing similar letters, and the admissions people would have to make a tough decision if more than enough kids applied… well, he was just hating all of this information, but it was presenting more like anger or just simply aversion to “having to” write the letter but I didn’t go there… and then I finally got it. “Are you picturing the kids who don’t get to make it into the camp?” and the tears spilled over. Oh, not stubbornness, resistance, or aversion. Just empathy. Just intensity of emotions. That’s my kid. I finally got him convinced that most kids got in, that if there were kids who would cause problems, they’d figure it out from their teacher letters or things like that and maybe not invite those kids, and that worst case scenario, worthy kids who didn’t get in this time around get put on waiting list and get in next year. He still had scenarios he needed to cover, “what if this year would have been their only chance?”
“You mean if they’re a senior in high school?”
“Yeah.” We talked through all the scenarios, and how the instructors want for all the kids to go, and that’s why they have been expanding these camps (there are a whole panel of new ones this year- more fossil prep, one on illustration, etc.). I had been giving him words like “positive attitude” and “making contributions to group work” and he hadn’t been able to start typing yet but then I said let’s think of a time at last year’s camp when you showed these qualities… and tell it that way, like a story (finally a good idea) and he ended up using the story of last year’s camp having rainy weather and how he maintained a positive attitude and they still found fossils, and even pitched in to redo their instructor’s tent that flooded.
Since last time he was here, we have been playing lots of double nine dominoes (the game called chicken foot that Aunt Margie taught my brothers and I as kids). I guess I got a set of dominoes at the thrift store a while back and forgot about it, but they have been so fun. Funny when all the new Christmas toys are sitting here and we’re playing the 50 cent game. Hid play with his new stuff too, but playing games together might be his love language.
All the dinners last night. I made pizza for third dinner for everyone. He ate lots of pieces while playing dominoes. I am bragging about winning at point accumulation (which means I’m losing). I had market today, and while I was gone, he ate breakfast and more pizza, and by the time I got home he was back in bed asleep! He never does that. He slept for a couple hours and I woke him up at 4:30 to play more dominoes and eat more pizza.
As we played dominoes I would ask him one of his spelling words (on our list from words he had been misspelling that I gathered from his homework) every so often. One was field (he was writing feild). I told him about i before except after c, and then showed him, “except when your foreign neighbor Keith receives eight beige counterfeit sleighs from feisty caffeinated weightlifters.” because that also made him giggle.
He wasn’t ready to sleep last night at 10pm because of his nap, so I left him with headlamp and magic cards (his dinosaur themed deck needed some rearrangement to add in his new rampaging brontodon card from his christmas stocking) and went to bed.
I did a free two week trial of the headspace meditation app. Originally it was to help me kick off my new meditation habit, but it ended up being a help to Quinn in a few difficult moments. One afternoon, overwhelmed about his homework piling up from not being up front with his dad about how much work he had, I encouraged him to take a break and listen to his favorite song. When seven nation army didn’t do the trick and he still wasn’t feeling able to get started, I asked him to come do a five-minute meditation with me. He was still grumpy after that but no longer flopping around refusing to even start, and was able to make some headway on his work. At bedtime I told him that headspace has sleep meditations and he said, “yes!!!” with both arms thrown up in celebration. I let him choose from the options, one of which is “sleepcast” which is “storytelling in a range of soothing voices” and he scrolled through and found one with an owl icon called “sleeper mountain” and he fell asleep that night listening to a 45 minute sleep story about the mountain and meditating with crickets and forest sounds.
In thinking over what to do about Quinn’s homework stress at his dad’s, I do think something will need to be said, but I think it’s going to have to come from Quinn. I am trying to keep my eye on the long term goal of Quinn self-advocating, even with his dad. The short term fix of me bringing it up to coparent could risk a blow up and I already told Quinn I wouldn’t. I’m having an ongoing conversation with Quinn about how preventing his dad’s anxiety attacks is not his job, and that it is causing his own anxiety to increase when it gets in the way of him getting his homework done for a week at a time.
He was doing better a few nights later… mostly caught up, and in pretty good spirits.
I have always sort of figured I should be able to meditate yet I have never done it. On the other hand, I realize I actually do it all the time, just not for very long. I quiet my thoughts, focus on my breath, when I’m feeling like I need to re-center. I also do it with Quinn, so he’s quite familiar. Another morning I gave him another 5 minute headspace one and he just sat on the couch with it and it’s a beautiful thing to see him sitting with his eyes closed just breathing. What do I want for him in life? That. Being ok in there.
Q asked me for a snuggle today after school and he had me sit on couch and laid himself on my lap with two fuzzy blankets over him (he was basically in egg configuration but didn’t play the egg game just then) and then Lisa kitty came right over and climbed up on top of him and curled up and we sat that way for ten minutes. I kind of want to brag on facebook about my kid, but not necessarily that he is in bed reading statistics right now, but, “my son, age twelve years ten and a half months, five foot eight inches tall, still asks to get on my lap.” It’s mildly painful but it is so sweet at the same time.
He is writing something but I don’t know what, and when I asked he wouldn’t tell me but said, “when I’m done you can read it.” I told him I totally get that, I am the same way! The apple doesn’t fall far.
i am a summer girl at heart, but early spring is a very happy time of year for me, because of all the hopeful new beginnings, new growth, and flowers! the first flowers after the longest period of going without flowers are some of the sweetest. part of the changing of seasons for me is allowing myself to feel the associated dread, diappointments, anticipations, longings, awe, wonder, and magic that each ephemeral moment holds. giving myself permission to feel the whole spectrum of the human emotional experience.
pink: as i was brainstorming wedding cupcake ideas with wedding boss and co., we settled on flowers in every color. i won’t spoil all the details, but i am happy to say that cherry blossoms will be representing in the candy pink/baby pink department. to explain why, i wrote that to me they symbolize “the saga of a tree and an over-extended metaphor about renewal.” the ornamental in the above picture at dragon house 2.0 may actually be a plum, but the metaphor lives on for me in every blossom i see, and is always a reminder for me of what can bloom even after brokenness and devastation.
red: the hummingbirds have certainly recognized that spring is upon us, and are emptying the feeder in frantic four-hour periods this week in preparation for nesting.
orange: also in the “it’s officially spring” department, robins! (we saw a turkey vulture soaring over the bayou the other day as well!)
yellow: more work on the rainbow terrace garden was accomplished as providence provided another sunny sunday, but a few bulbs in their bucket transitional homes have bloomed before i could transplant them. these crocuses will be leading off the early spring end of the yellow terrace level in years to come!
yellow: 3 trilliums, petals of 3, sepals of 3, and leaves of 3. the magic number! a sweet-smelling spring favorite of mine, always just before my birthday. (39 this year on the 3rd! more 3s!)
green: spring brings signs of life, signs of renewal, signs of love. tender new leaves emerging from long dormant earth.
blue: speaking of love, i haven’t moved all of my 8 yards of compost yet, but this handsome man moved most of his 10 yards of gravel in a little over a day. it’s hard to get my own work done because i get distracted by watching him! (or at least, that’s my excuse.)
purple: sprouting broccoli at the farm stand on saturday, and since my kiddo has been requesting broccoli lately, i brought some home for him to try.
purple: another fresh spring arrival, the pile of radishes featured one rogue bunch of purple radishes, of which i couldn’t resist snapping a photo. the farm seasons offer a comforting continuous awareness of renewal as last season’s crops fade away and new arrivals make their appearance. i find the farm work especially grounding in this current life season, as i have had about all i can take of looming budget cuts, grant-funded research, and the restrictions and expectations of carrying on an unsustainable lifestyle in order to be under paid and lack job security in a project i can therefore not invest any life force in, since i only having a master’s degree. looking forward to renewal in the area of career in the upcoming months.
brown: a squirrel heartily enjoying a pine cone. rich and i got to watch it peel each seed and spit out the husk, turning the whole thing over and over in its paws like corn on the cob.
i didn’t have a major topic lined up for today, which is probably another case of providence, since i think we could all use a little breather after my previous post! i want to say that i appreciate each and every comment and the effort and time you each put into responding and searching and digging into the meat of a difficult topic with me! the one link i want to share today, concerning empathy, is one that i felt was helpful for me in articulating why it hurt to hear many versions of “get over it” following the election wherein folks were “sick of” hearing others expressing fear and sadness. we are all human, and i want to be clear that one reason i appreciate my readers so much, is the way you all already regard my and each other’s feelings as entirely valid; the “get over it” sentiments are not ones that i heard in this space! empathy takes us a long way past many of the roadblocks to dialogue that much of our society seems to have a hard time clearing.
“When we react to our emotions with rejection or repression, they become complex story bundles, locked in our hearts and bellies, and we call them things like depression and rage. Allowed to exist on their own, they are weather patterns, and the rain they bring renews the despairing or apathetic soul with life giving force.”
mary good’s post also talks about how we can “give our hearts permission for the full range of experience,” including those very vulnerable feelings that can be uncomfortable. when we let the ephemeral clouds drift across our skies and simply observe and validate them, we get to both experience them more fully, the whole rainbow of emotion, and find much greater ease in letting them go. i’m finding this to be an excellent and much-needed reminder for myself right now, with uncertainties and unanswered questions stirring in my own life, and knowing there are vulnerable times ahead for so many of my friends and family as well. let’s be rainbows in each others’ clouds as we embrace the renewal that spring brings.
on this international women’s day, i want to share some thoughts i’ve been collecting since before the election, concerning the experience of victims/survivors of domestic violence. i realize domestic violence is not a rainbows and butterflies topic, but it is one of the most important topics i write about, and on a day that is all about women, it’s important to me to remember how very alive this problem remains.
there are a few statistics that jumped out at me when i went a-googling, in order to give some context to just how big a problem we are talking about. the national coalition against domestic violence says that in the united states, about 20 people per minute are abused physically by a significant other. also, although we know that toasters don’t make toast; people make toast! it does seem significant to me that the risk of homicide in a domestic violence situation increases by 500% in the presence of a gun. this article portrays the problem in another shockingly succinct statistic: “The number of American troops killed in Afghanistan and Iraq between 2001 and 2012 was 6,488. The number of American women who were murdered by current or ex male partners during that time was 11,766.”
with that i would like to share a friend of a friend of a friend’s words that i saw posted as a comment on one of dan rather’s pleasantly sane facebook essays. to me, it reads as a poem of sorts. it explains exactly how i feel about certain refrains i keep hearing about the current administration.
“Karen Rose says: A few things I’ve heard the last two months:
Give Trump a chance.
Maybe it won’t be that bad.
All politicians are horrible.
He’ll get better once in office.
.
Just a few things I’ve heard from victims of domestic violence.
I’ll just give him another chance.
It’s not that bad.
All men are like this.
He’ll get better once we’re married.
.
Just a few things I’ve heard months/years later from victims of domestic violence:
She’s dead
She’s in a coma
He killed her child.
He’s now beating his new girlfriend. “
this article is probably the one that hit home the most during an election campaign cycle that i personally experienced as déjà vu. many other women experienced it the same way. roughly, i’d say, one in three women, might have experienced listening to one particular candidate as traumatic or triggering, because of how it reminded them of emotionally violent partners. physical violence is only part of the story, of course, and almost always goes hand in hand with psychological/emotional abuse. in my case, the emotional violence was far worse, went on for far longer and was far more responsible for eroding my coping skills and morale than the one physical attack i endured.
actress margaret vale howe marching in 1913 for women’s suffrage in washington d.c.
(public domain, found for me by my fiance)
i’ve talked about memory issues that i have, and one of the reasons i write is a need to put my storyline back in order and keep it in order after it was fragmented by trauma. this fragmentation in domestic abuse situations can stem from the way in which the rules of fair discourse go out the window, and the rapid fire pace at which lies, denial, and fallacies of logic are lobbed at you. the shifting of blame, the abuser framing himself as victim (and finding plenty of folks who are willing to assert his victimhood!), the gaslighting (aggressively denying objective truth is a definition i like for this term); the way the subject gets abruptly turned back on you when you try to address an issue; the appeals to “everyone” who is said to agree with him about whatever egregious claims made about you; the use of voice as a weapon (the therapist who mediated between my abuser and me told me privately that he observed me becoming meeker and quieter as he got equally louder and more forceful in his speech); the confusion of being accused of dishonesty by the person who was a seasoned veteran at dishonesty (confusion, because i was receiving these accusations before i knew that he was a cheating liar. my mom saw that coming, and knew the accusations were a red flag. i now see it in other people the same way she did, and know to avoid them.)
these tendencies in emotionally abusive individuals became normalized during the election. everything i just said is represented in the way the president has spoken and acted these past months. insistent denial of a very clear public record of lying; when confronted on his appalling record with women, bringing up the other candidate’s husband’s past record with women; when confronted on tax returns, bringing up emails; grossly overgeneralizing; making sure his voice is the loudest one in the room. jane goodall, renowned expert in ethology (the study of behavior) calls it like she sees it: he behaves like a male chimpanzee asserting dominance.
the article on emotionally abusive debate tactics didn’t mention physical intimidation (since it’s not a verbal debate tactic) but invading someone’s space and positioning one’s body in threatening ways is another thing survivors are familiar with. i’ve had door frames filled by a man’s bodies who wanted to trap me, i’ve had my own space invaded in order to back me down from sticking up for myself. there is a whole world of women who know what that looks and feels like, along with me.
i’m weary of the way people are treating each other. i’m disheartened by the descent to the lowest common denominator, the name-calling, the number of times i’ve heard people i thought were otherwise decent human beings use terminology such as “libtard” (and much worse) on other human beings. i was condescendingly criticized for my “thinking style” and accused of twisting words by a childhood friend on another friend’s facebook post. i stood up for “lefty liberals” when another friend of a friend slammed “them” for bringing the demise of recreational salmon fishing, since i was able to speak firsthand about my own work to ensure that there are any salmon left for future generations (including but not limited to recreational fishing). i’ve also chimed in when called out for “crying victim” which is how some “friends” would summarize the intent of the women’s march. there is a whole post to be written on the subject of shaming and invalidation of emotions such as fear and sadness, the natural and proportionate responses to things going on in the world.
this violent, careless way of speaking to people is not limited to the political divide. sitting in karate with coparent a few months back, who shares many liberal political views, he passive aggressively spoke about what an idiot his Psych 101 professor must be, because when he asked her to define codependency she failed to respond that it is, “the refusal to take a look at your own issues.” it’s been almost 9 years since i had a restraining order, but some things (victim-blaming) still haven’t changed.
and my situation, as tough as it was at times, reeks of what a place of privilege i experienced it from, and am able to reflect on it from. there are others with far fewer resources and who are therefore far more vulnerable to the effects of domestic abuse. you caught that 98% of domestic abuse cases also include financial abuse when you read through the statistics, right? my case did as well, but i had a way bigger safety net to jump into than many women.
which is why i don’t buy that anything this administration says they are doing in the name of protecting women is really motivated by actual care for women. this (very current) article sums up how clauses in executive orders targeting domestic violence (of a certain religious bent) are more likely to pose an increased barrier to reporting domestic violence, and more like to threaten the very group of people they are claiming it will protect: immigrants. as if financial hurdles and the common threats of losing child custody and housing stability weren’t enough, these women have to deal with potentially being deported on top of it all if they speak up about abuse.
migrant mother (florence owens thompson, who at the time was a single mother of 6, and worked farm labor jobs during the depression) ~ dorothea lange ~ 1936
“After September 11, 2001, we had abusers from certain communities who affirmatively used anti-Muslim hostility as a tool of abuse… ’If you contact that police, you’re exposing our entire community, our household, and you’re likely to be treated as a criminal as well.’”
any provision to target the violence of only one religious group (and ignoring all the other religious groups with domestic violence issues), is a thinly veiled targeting of immigrants, rather than a source of help for victims of domestic violence. this administration’s threat of removal of funding from all 25 VAWA grant programs makes this case; this executive order is motivated by something other than care for the welfare of women.
which is why when it comes to abusive men, something we all need to learn (i needed to learn it!) is that even if you can’t trust anything they say, you darn well better watch their actions. as maya angelou said, “when someone shows you who they are, believe them.”
i’ve quoted her once, and i’ll quote her again. she and the women in the photos i’ve borrowed to celebrate today, are great examples of women to look towards for inspiration, as women step into the strength that is already ours, but that the world still hasn’t embraced.
i’ve been thinking about how we can move towards finding connections, instead of focusing on differences. i see the image above and i think idealistically about how the united states would be so cool if we lived up to our image as a place where all are welcome. (i do not know the source of this artwork, and hope the artist does not mind it being shared!)
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”
~emma lazarus (the quote associated with the statue of liberty on ellis island, the entry point to our country for my ancestors, all of whom came from europe.)
some would say, “but it’s not that simple. we have to think about national security.”
others would argue, “yes, it really is that simple” to be a rainbow in somebody else’s cloud. i thoroughly enjoyed reading about the refugees the pope personally rescued from syria here and here. i also love this rainbow-rific image (unknown source) of pope francis, whom i have come to admire for his practical, no-nonsense way of practicing what he preaches. it’s one thing to claim you have no problem with someone of a different religion; it’s another thing to wash that person’s feet.
speaking of rainbow-rific, this is the current boss of our hummingbird feeders, and i think he likes having his picture taken! and clearly, he has found the rainbow connection.
red: i am finally overcoming the inertia of winter and making some real progress on wedding planning! i feel some flat bride posts coming on… because there is some good comedy in taking your own measurements for a wedding dress, let me tell you!
red: a friday lunch for my ten year old young man!
orange: brightly colored driftwood on my lunch break beach run today.
yellow: the daffodils are coming!
green: a new bayou vista opened up by my trail blazing fiance.
blue: blue hair braided with black hair. they found a rainbow connection. (image from reuters)
so i’m puzzling on this, but i think that trying to find a rainbow connection means not defaulting to the scripted polar divisions and not becoming reactive on topics regardless of whether the topic is pokemon go, colin caepernick, the election, or standing rock. this neural groove of either/or is well lubricated, so it’s going to take strong intentions and follow through to avoid slipping into it. what if i could be with each of those topics, without taking a side? without having to justify an opinion?
instead, what if we used a new language? what if we stepped off the continuum of us/them, right/wrong altogether and asked in what ways do we already agree? in what ways can we move forward towards the common goals we have? can we acknowledge how our fears are clouding our solution-finding?
what if we stop seeing causes as mutually exclusive, stop assuming scarcity, and work to achieve both/and? can we both fund the national endowment for the arts, and maintain our military? can we care both for refugees and our homeless veterans? can we help young women and help unborn babies?
i’m pretty sure we can!
blue: sunnier days ahead! welcome signs of spring are all around.
purple: primrose surprises in the front yard!
as i keep seeking the rainbow connection, i keep looking for the silver lining, looking for the ways in which people are being the rainbow, even in the face of some very dark clouds…
like the community of american muslims who raised funds and provided assistance in the restoration of 150 headstones in a jewish cemetary damaged by vandalism.
like the bystander to the hate-motivated shooting of south asian men in kansas who put himself in harm’s way to help.
i think they, too, have found the rainbow connection.
“what’s so amazing that keeps us stargazing and what do we think we might see? someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreamers, and me!”
i’m thankful that i am having such a hard time deciding what to write about for my gratitude post. i guess what i’m thankful for today is abundance. i just can’t decide between the yummy food we ate for dinner, the sleeping kitties purring near the crackling fire, the lanky boy soaking in the bathtub who is home at last after the long week away at his dad’s, the friday field trip with his class out in the beautiful sunny autumn weather that i got to join in on, or the million other things i take for granted on a daily basis. the basic needs are covered, we are surrounded in abundance, a solid shelter, organic food, clean warm clothing, companionship, all of our needs met. and that doesn’t even begin to mention all of the individual precious people in my life for whom i am so thankful. i am more concerned about running out of days (hahaha unless i re-write the rules!) than i am about running out of things i’m grateful for! i really am truly blessed.
11-5-16 day 5
so there’s this kid i’m pretty thankful for. i saved posting about him for the weekend since i knew i’d probably set a new verbosity record when i write about him. maybe take a potty break and grab a refill on your beverage and come back, if you want.
ok, ready?
my son cracks me up. he dropped the phrase “what the crap” in casual conversation with me the other day. sigh, public school. also, he keeps calling me “bro.” i was like, “dude, i’m not your bro, i’m your mama.” he does, however, persist in maintaining a solid vocabulary. he got over dropping f-bombs quickly at age two, after a quick trial period, when he realized how many other wonderful words there were for adding emphasis. given the choice between the right word and the almost right word, he chooses the right word every time. he told me recently he learned a way to get pain out of his body. you just firmly hold and kind of shake the body part (like say, your wrist), and, “then it sears, but then it goes away.” because, you know, searing pain is a turn of phrase all the nine year olds use a lot.
i see evidence that he has been reading things. he will say words, and i can tell what words they are, even though he has made up his own unique pronunciation. he was telling me about wanting to hit a certain poke-stop “at the epi-SCOPE-al church.” reading calvin and hobbes, he came across some mar-TEE-ans (you know, people from mars).
he’s also familiar with sleet, though he has never experienced it. we were talking about how zeus controls the weather, with a little help from poseiden, when rain is involved.
“or any precipitation,” i said.
“yeah, like snow, or hail, or… whatever sleet is…”
i like listening to him quote passages from the heroes of olympus, and make inferences about greek mythology, while he munches on blue chocolate chip cookies. we like to make funny literary references with each other, such as when i yell like buford the wonder table, “put some clothes on!” when it’s time for him to get dressed in the morning.
as parents we like to think we are so aware of what is going on… now, i am pretty attentive, but he schools me on that on a regular basis. it took me until this year to discover his synesthesia. he sees each letter in its own specific color! it’s been happening for him all along, and i never knew that, for him, m is purple, q is green, and the number 9 is red. layer upon layer of realization unfold that “this is a whole separate person” with a kid. it’s hard, because this person was floating in your belly at one point. you held them in your arms, and now they’re so big they overflow elbows and ribs and kneecaps and giant feet all out the sides of the chair when they sit on your lap, cutting off circulation to your thighs. they are becoming activists on issues you didn’t even know they were aware of, and they are developing friendships and embracing and accepting others’ differences while you’re not even in earshot anymore. they are calibrating their inner compass and you just get to watch as they start doing things like helping their grammy walk down some stairs, without being asked. you get to watch them decide that “being a friend” is something they feel they are good at, on the survey at school.
you know how some birthdays are no biggie, and others can feel deeply meaningful? i had one of those when he turned nine this year, as it hit me on a gut level that my baby is halfway to 18. i really felt that one, and while i don’t want to grasp and cling, i do want to be sure i’m savoring this fleeting time i have left with him tucked under my wing.
so while i can, i’m trying to say yes to as many games of dungeons and dragons and pokemon as i possibly can, while still attending to my household duties. i know he won’t ask me as often in a few short years. i hide dragon eggs and dragon skeleton dig sites on pieces of graph paper and we roll 20-sided dice and slay orcs and goblins together with our long swords. i keep putting food and stacks of books in front of this drumming, karate chopping, fly tying, game creating, lego building, theater camping paleontologist, and shaking my head in awe of the wonderful human being blooming before my eyes on a daily basis.
11-6-16 day 6
my gratitude post for today wrote itself at bedtime last night, when i found rich sobbing:
“not even a mention! i was a one-hit wonder!”
today i am thankful for laughter! long belly laughs that warm me up on chilly nights. running jokes about skinny legs that catch each other off guard. running narration of the kitties’ inner thoughts, keeping the daily routine light and fun. all the irreverence that is possible because of a strong, secure foundation.
a few minutes after he popped the question, and i said yes, (i never said no, even though he had been telling a story for months about how he had asked me numerous times but i had kept saying no…) we were feeding each other peanut butter brownies and having coffee, and when he claimed he had been too jittery and nervous to get coffee earlier, i didn’t skip a beat. “and were you also full of shit?” in the division of labor of our relationship, one of us does the overthinking. i’ll give you a hint: it’s not him!
last year when we lived at the vacation house, we’d repark each other’s vehicles as needed, based on who would need to leave first in the morning. whereas he could get our bumpers so close i couldn’t walk in between, i would back his truck up so close i just knew one more inch would mean a collision, only to get out and see i was still ten feet away. he’d thank me the next day for saving him some of his drive by parking him part of the way to work.
it’s been almost five years since i asked him out in a laundromat. we still like to pick each other up, though, whenever we get the chance.
“i must be from alderaan, because you blew up my world.”
i love you, you mischievous, hilariously funny man. and your skinny legs, too.
11-7-16 day 7
today i’m thankful for my best woman.
she’s the silly reason in a goldfish laugh. which is to say, there’s no logical reason why she ever became my friend in the first place, and yet, 20 years later (more than half of our lives!) she still is.
it’s not because of the existence of a blackmail video tape of us singing aerosmith’s pink into our hairbrushes. neither of us would threaten the other with releasing such an atrocity, because we’re in it together.
it’s not because we are anything alike. we’ve influenced each other’s music preferences (rich appreciated that i was excited to go see tool with him) and clothing colors (actually she still mostly wears black… i wore some black when i used to be able to borrow it out of her closet…) and our height difference is holding steady at a lot of inches. she has brooklyn roots, and we still joke about how my grandma answered the milk house phone when she called me for the first time, after receiving my “howdy, roommate” introduction letter. hello milk house? this is brooklyn. yes, we were assigned to one another freshman year, and still, against all odds, remained friends. you don’t know what a milk house is, you say? neither did she, but we fixed that.
it’s not because we actually get to spend any time together. we’ve spent much of our friendship 2972.11 miles (give or take a few hundred) apart. the last time we hung out, i was having a baby shower. that’ll be ten years ago. yup, half our long friendship ago. and for this second half, i’ve been a mama, so i neglect her like crazy and completely take for granted that she still wants to hear from me when i do pick up the phone on her 17th attempt to call me.
it’s something else. i’m still trying to put my finger on it. so i keep emailing her long babbles and she keeps wanting to read them, and she writes them to me and i marvel at her perspective on everything. my mom gave me some wisdom a while back, not to try to meet all my emotional needs in one individual, and i should value my friends. i believe rich is grateful that i dump the entire dissertation of details on lau each time i’ve got something to process/overthink, and wait to deliver the synopsis to him after i’ve gotten it pared down by 90% and mostly resolved. you guys think i’m being verbose on this blog, but she and i are looking into a private email server to hold all of our correspondence (jk! little election humor on election eve!) she’s a life saver, she keeps me honest with myself, she keeps my journal pages safe and gets all my inside jokes. she’ll hide under a rock because i am drawing attention to her, but i’m doing it anyway, because i’m a lucky duck. she’s laufashau galore!
love you as big as the sky, lauren marie!
11-8-16 day 8
today i was noticing so many little things that i feel thankful for, everything from convenient little coffee filters, to drive up ballot drop boxes, to papa murphy helping me out with dinner. the gratitude exercise is working for me in spades, when it comes to helping my mood improve, because it is seriously habit forming to focus on thankfulness! when that is the energy i am putting out, more to be thankful for keeps coming at me. but this evening as i sit down to write this, i am feeling that instead of a list of the wonderful tiny things, i want to focus on the big things in life, the ones that are bigger, even, than election drama.
quinn has a free state parks pass because he’s a fourth grader, (yep i’m thankful for that, too), and so we parked for free at the lighthouse, a beautiful spot we rarely visit, due to the parking fee. we had two hours in between school and karate, with a sunny day on our hands. we spent a full hour of it just marveling at the size of the waves crashing into the rocks right below us, trying to stay upright in the strong, steady wind.
this place… from sea to shining sea, it feels messed up to me, and i am feeling and hearing that from so many. but at the same time, this land is your land, and this land is my land, and feeling like it’s our responsibility to do something about this mess, feels so daunting, too.
but then i remember the whole country is just a small place within in a much bigger place, and if we zoom out and out and out, it quickly disappears and loses all of its significance.
today i am thankful that i am so insignificant. all of this will pass away, but the waves will still continue to crash, one after another, onto these rocks. the impermanence of it all, the smallness of myself, can be comforting on a day like this.
11-9-16 day 9
i am thankful for the gift of words.
i streamed a free conference this past weekend called education: next generation. i got to listen to some progressive thinkers on topics like self-directed learning and parenting with empathy and the neuroscience of connection. dan siegel, scott noelle, peter gray, many others. i’m familiar with some of these thinkers, so it was a refresher course in some ways, but in so many ways, my mind was blown.
we become who we are in the storytelling we do. several of the speakers i listened to this week reminded me of truths i’ve learned before; my thoughts are not who i am; my thoughts are not even necessarily to be believed; integrating my storyline into an unbroken line is the best way to ensure my own well-being; focusing my energy on gratitude for this abundance begets more abundance in my life; i have the power to choose a different brain patterning; our storytelling is powerful, and can change the course of our life, depending on the words we choose.
in the context of parenting, marji zintz reminded me of one of my favorite parenting quotes, to “attribute to children the best possible motive consistent with the facts.” i also remember back to when i was articulating for myself that i wanted to step outside of a paradigm that focused on getting “it” to “work” and let go of controlling the short term issues, and instead set a goal of connection/attachment, with my sights set on longer term goals. i think this was a timely refresher for me, because these concepts aren’t restricted to kids. i can think of adults i could extend the benefit of the doubt to; and in the actual communication with people i disagree with, i can see how focusing on connecting and finding common ground is going to get us much farther than other more prevalent conversation formats.
at the end of the day, i can assign a meaning to the votes my acquaintances cast, and i can certainly assume that they meant their position as a personal affront to me. just like the old slogan about resentment, it would be like taking poison and hoping they die from it. most likely, my fellow americans were not really thinking all that much about me personally when they voted, though, and even if they were, my assumptions about what they think or how they feel are going to get us nowhere. reaching out and asking where they were coming from? not taking other people’s stuff personally? these have potential.
some of my favorite words from the conference:
consent; scott noelle connected some dots for me in a way that my mind has been hovering just outside of for a while now. one huge reason why i value self-directed learning, in its truest sense, when a student/child can actually opt out of a lesson they don’t wish to participate in, is that we are so messed up around the concept of consent, and it has so much to do with our kids lacking choice. and here’s what i mean by choice; it’s not just having three learning options, if that still rules out “no” as a valid choice. we are forgetting that allowing for “no” makes “yes” so much more profound.
connectome; dan siegel said this word, at least i think this is the word i heard him say, and if not, i like it anyway. he says that integration is the “best predictor of every facet of well-being” and calls the linkages in the brain that, having made sense of your life, are connected in an integrated way, your “connectome.” this is a pleasingly geeky word for someone who works on things like genomes and transcriptomes.
some more words i liked, from charles eisenstein: “how can i be of service to that which wants to happen.” a small snippet of his talk concerning what he sees as our transition, on a cultural scale, from the story of separation (a mythology that divides self from other) to the new story, the story of interbeing. i checked his book out of the library so i can absorb some more of his wonderful words, which i obviously have done a horrible job of paraphrasing.
this evening, the words of garrison keillor made me nod and chuckle. the way words connect us, something that you say can resonate with me, and grow that…. linkage, maybe we can call it the human family connectome, the web to which anything we do affects us all.
my favorite words from today were read during yoga class, and as i tried to unfurrow my brow, i contemplated a passage from the book of awakening about what salmon have to teach us about facing things. as they swim up a waterfall (seems impossible, but they do it), salmon know to turn towards the impact; by aiming their soft underbelly into the oncoming force, they borrow the energy of the river to propel them upward.
being able to show up for this period in time, be vulnerable, show our underbelly even though the impact is going to be direct and hard; this seems to me to be the way we can ascend from here.
11-10-16 day 10
10, 10, 10, 10 is for everything, everything, everything, everything!
i’m thankful for everything. especially music, today.
dang it, i got that far with writing my post, plus a few other notes jotted in an outline, and then found out about l. cohen’s passing. and the way i found out was my bff texting me that she had chosen music as her gratitude for the day, only to find out about his death. you remember that whole connectome thing i was talking about? there are a higher number of linkages going between that woman and me among the tangled threads of consciousness than expected by chance. too many synchronicities to count.
i had the above mentioned violent femmes song in my head the day rich and i got engaged because it was the 10th of july. lately he has been waking us up with a wonderful selection of songs, but of course i feel that way, i picked them out and burned them onto those cds for him. the mix tape is still one of my favorite ways of expressing love, even though i no longer do it in tape format. i will have to check whether we have any l. cohen songs on our stack of cds from the various anniversaries and trips to country fair for which i made him mixes, because if not, we’ll need to add a few. “dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on.”
one of my favorite wedding traditions that i’ve done for several different friends and family members, is to collect songs from the family and friends of the people getting married. love songs, “our” songs, if you will. my poppy used to sing “you do something to me” to my nana. my mom and dad had charlie rich’s “a very special love song” played at their wedding by their live band. i got serenaded just this morning when a certain someone turned up the volume for robert plant singing “sea of love.” it’s super fun to be nosy with people i don’t even necessarily know that well (asking after the other side of the family’s grandparents’ songs?) and it turns into a time capsule full of wonderful musical tidbits that the newlyweds now know about their support network.
lauren and i used to have a wake-up song system, when we were roommates. she’d program her stereo to whatever time i needed to wake up (my classes always started earlier) and then when the cranberries or the smashing pumpkins would come on in the morning, she would wake up to the clicking on of the stereo, i would sleep through the song, and she would say my name loudly so i’d actually get out of bed.
“there’s no need to argue anymore….”
and of course, music was on my mind already this morning because of the little folksinger i posted yesterday, belting out woody guthrie. sometimes you need a little folksinger to get you through your day.
part of me wants to go lay down and sob into my pillow. “dance me through the panic til i’m gathered safely in.”
but how about this instead… today if you leave a comment, pick a love song and share it! we desperately need to have more love in this world.
as my blog was gaining momentum, i started writing more in the moment, more from the heart, as well as including more about me in addition to quinn, my ideas, my past, my hopes. i was more aware than ever that i needed to process and integrate my experiences through writing, and that it would save time and sanity if i did so in real time. as i’ve been splicing together these loose ends of the rope, i’m now down to tucking in the last pieces of tapering twine as i close in on the beginning of the past 8 years of consistent blogging.
it was the beginning of storm season, both in the season of the year and the season of parenting i found myself in. we opted out of setting up our tents one stormy saturday, choosing instead to bike trailer ourselves to market in the rain to pick up our csa, chat with the few other hard core market goers and vendors, and let quinn splash around a bit.
storm clouds were gathering in the mama realm as well. the mountain of my ideals promised of a rain shadow, but i was still climbing up the other side where the moisture piled up, sliding back down in each deluge, unable to bridge the disconnect between what i believed i ought to do, and what i was actually doing. reacting to my ineptitude with self-criticism made me even less able to scale the peak and emerge into the sun.
even as i was celebrating his growing autonomy and self-possession, i was struggling against him on non-negotiables. we had developed a great communication around choice and lived our days with a “how can we” approach to resolving incompatibilities in our agendas. the troubles seemed to arise on the few have-to’s of household harmony and health and safety.
quinn was reacting strongly to feeling powerless. waking up at the beach from a nap after leaving his dad’s, and deciding, “i didn’t waaannnaaa come to the beach!!!! wahhhhhhhhh!” was one example. more frequently it came up at bedtime, when i needed to brush his teeth or a put a diaper on him for sleep, and the resistance on his part was formidable.
in exhaustion, i would default to my routine, allowing him as much choice in the process (offering certain amounts of time for him to get ready for said activity, offering choices of venue) but because i had always honored his personhood, he felt strongly that he was not going to do these things, and no partial choice in the matter was going to sell him on it. he knew he was not in full control of these situations (i was not going to allow flat-out refusal of dental care, with his need for extensive dental work that also took place during this month).
on a few occasions, i would end up having to restrain an unwilling boy and brush his teeth through his clenched jaws, with him kicking me throughout. in addition to feeling like this violated every parenting principle i held dear, it was also unsustainable, and the kid was big enough to inflict harm on me with those kicks. i would end up some nights feeling completely defeated, disgusted with myself, unable to see possible solutions. at the end of one particularly problematic week, i was yelling through tears at him that all i wanted was to be a good mama and take care of him and i felt like he was preventing me from doing that. obviously, this was not the solution either.
i was still centered enough in my principles to believe that he felt safest with me, as i had protected his little integrity and worked hard to keep it intact, and therefore he was most likely to exhibit these behaviors with me. i was where he could work through his feelings of powerlessness, because i was in it for the long haul, i was striving to parent from a foundation of unconditional love and empowerment. for the most part i had been able to live that, and celebrate his unique experience of being quinn, not an extension of me that i expected compliance from. however, in these situations i was floundering, and i was beating myself up over it. an increasing feeling of panic and overwhelm started to loom like a thundercloud.
luckily i had a community of mamas with whom i could be real, and some of them were able to remind me to orient towards self empathy, rather than self-criticism. one friend spent an hour and a half on the phone with me, helping me break down my emotional journey as a parent, and that outside perspective was crucial to understanding my own needs. there was a part of me that was resisting engaging or being present with quinn, begrudging having to pull my attention away from other things to attend to him. in my heart i wanted to engage with him and play, but i would notice myself “one minute”-ing him and not following through, and also failing to do any “front-loading” with him. then to make matters worse, i was judging myself for not being able to snap out of it and front-load, judging the part of me that was resisting, wishing i could do away with that part of me.
the resistant children in both quinn and me had very good reasons to resist, and both deserved a loving response- my friend helped me see that my resistant child needed it first. she told me, “there is a side of you that is needing more caring.” then she provided some of that exact thing i needed.
i had been doing lots of self-reflection and digging through my old journal “archives” and when i pictured the “me” who was resisting engaging with quinn, it was the me who was really trying to get a handle on some things about who i am, digging up pieces of myself to give them back to myself. this self kept wanting not to be interrupted, saying “this is important,” but i kept sending her the message that she shouldn’t be so resistant.
i was grappling with the dichotomy of extreme loneliness vs feeling like i stood to lose my self-sufficient sense of empowerment if i delved into relationship again. this was surrounded by fear that the two could not be reconciled, that if i were to quench the loneliness, i would inevitably lean too much and lose my self-reliance. in theory, i understood interdependence and could see it as a healthy goal; i knew i ultimately wanted a relationship where i could keep being who i was, and interdependent, just not dependent or codependent.
my self who was resisting… she needed time and space; to get in touch with my value system, gather up pieces of myself (and she kept clamoring about how important it was!) my friend was able to convince me not to kill her off.
my disapproval of myself was tied to my disapproval of my kid. we discussed how there seems to be a time in a parenting journey when we stop approving of our kid. it was easy to approve unequivocally at first, even when the newborn baby was pooping on us, but somehow at some age, we started acting like they somehow no longer deserved complete approval. my own response to realizing i was withholding approval of my 3-year-old was, “what is wrong with me??” i started berating myself, withholding approval of myself. aha.
i adopted a new mantra: i approve of myself.
i adopted the strategy to look at each time quinn and i would have another one of these moments as an opportunity for growth, vs. dreading each inevitable next one.
at that point, i was able to reconnect with my normal intentional connection focus with quinn, and in turn, it was as if the universe granted me the time i was needing for self-gathering, somehow magically creating spare minutes out of the chaotic days. the strong wind of disapproval had reversed its direction, and instead we were going back in the right direction, towards the peaks. this gathering became efficient as i built a spreadsheet to help me organize the tidbits from old journals and sort them by date to make the re-integration task seem like it might not be insurmountable. looking back i can see what a corner i turned in allowing the “me” to do this work, in agreeing, “she’s right, it is important,” and embracing the effort to honor the side of me that needed to be this dorky and try to figure out “me” and piece “me” back together.
how this all related to parenting might seem tangential, but more directly, i needed to offer myself the same measure of kindness and understanding in this area as well. if i was going to be able to scale the peak and make it to the sunny side where my reality and my principles aligned, i would need to stop berating myself for imperfection. someone learning to ride a bike may have read a book about it, and seen someone else do it, but they will still need to build their skill, and they will fall off at first. i may have had my philosophy figured out, but i still needed to build my skills. berating the person learning to ride a bike would not help them learn; it would take practice, and gentleness.
that rainy saturday afternoon we went to help a friend process another 30 pounds of tomatoes she had scored for $8 but was uninspired to deal with. together we made tomato jam, a spicey cloves-ginger-thyme concoction that was quite good on a bagel with goat cheese. we made a batch of salsa with the remaining tomatoes. the rough housing boys had fun, and after no nap, quinn went to bed at 6:00. i was rewarded with some of that mama bath/reading/journal time i was needing so desperately.
sunday started out rainy, too, so we did laundry and grocery shopping chores. then after an early naptime, we were greeted with partly sunny skies! we had time to go to the beach before quinn had to go to his dad’s. despite a few scattered showers, our days were starting to clear, and it seemed we might reach the peak after all.
just thereafter we had a sweet, sweet day. it was sunny and warm, and not windy. truly summerlike, moreso than the weather we had all summer. we spent the whole morning outside in the yard and then at the community garden and playground. there were lots of good moments, sitting together in the grass having a snack. nice and simple. we were in sync. we read all 184 pages of nim at sea in the span of two days.
on my lunch break during work, i took myself to the beach to eat my leftover pizza. i was no longer required for the daily nap, a bittersweet but ultimately beneficial development because i never needed to enter my coparent’s shop anymore. on this particular day, not only was it sunny at the beach, but the annual dragonfly migration was going on. i saw hundreds of dragonflies fly by me that day.
later that year, i would write a post about dragonflies, and all the things they may represent in our lives. i can’t help but notice some of those features jumping out at me, all these years later, concerning the time frame during which i was witnessing their exodus.
tuning into deeply felt, but ignored, emotions certainly hits the nail on the head. visualizing and manifesting positive outcomes absolutely fit what i was seeking to do at that time. maneuverability and movement, propulsion into new ways of being and doing would definitely have been a helpful sort of energy to guide me through a time of transition and re-evaluation, of getting unstuck and propelling me forward. or transformation, if you will. they spend up to a couple of years in the mud as nymphs before they emerge and fly away! i was glad to be feeling like i may yet emerge from the mud. seeing around things from different angles; seeing color and light and coming to understand who you truly are. need i say more?
weathering these storms may have made me into a stronger person and a better mama. once i let go of having to always do things right, the storm clouds became slower to gather, and i became more adept at taking a breath and letting the clouds slip on past, without dreading each one and fearing for the worst. more of our days were sunny again, full of light and pomegranates. as mama of an eleven-year-old, looking back on being a mama of a three-year-old, i know that i cast my thoughts back to this time frame to remember my ideals and refocus on my goals as a parent, as well as to sigh in relief over the added years of perspective that help me sweat the small stuff less than i ever did then. in turn, looking back then on a pomegranate can flash me forward to the present in the most indescribable way.
i need reminders, so i cycle back around and the integration process continues. but then that’s why i take myself to the beach on occasion, and every now and then, i glimpse a dragonfly glimmering in the sunlight…
I have always sort of figured I should be able to meditate yet I have never done it. On the other hand, I realize I actually do it all the time, just not for very long. I quiet my thoughts, focus on my breath, when I’m feeling like I need to re-center. I also do it with Quinn, so he’s quite familiar. Another morning I gave him another 5 minute headspace one and he just sat on the couch with it and it’s a beautiful thing to see him sitting with his eyes closed just breathing. What do I want for him in life? That. Being ok in there.
