Get the "bom feeling"

Sara Tavares's Myspace:
http://www.myspace.com/saratavares

Also--check the Sara Tavares video on my sidebar and get the "bom feeling"!

STOP Trying to Save Africa

This is a fresh perspective on the state of Africa. I too have been guilty of finding cause for mobilizing over various crises in Africa from time to time. Never because I intended to assert my white superiority but because I get sick and tired of self-righteous, smug, white Americans wallowing like fat fucking pigs in wealth--growing greedier and more complacent, a disastrous mix.

You will think twice about the dialogue surrounding Africa after reading this poignant article written by Uzodinma Iweala:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/07/13/AR2007071301714.html

The NPR interview with Iweala is here:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=12007676

And he mentions two other native Africans in his article that have gone overlooked because we are so ready to commend and aggrandize the white celebs who are supposedly, single-handedly "saving" Africa:
Nwankwo Kanu and Dikembe Mutombo

I will be looking into these people and will follow up in a later post--in the meantime, educate yourself and thereby, elevate yourself.

I like your style crazy pound pup!

Okay, I stole the line above from a Jason Mraz song--I use it when I give kudos and I dare say kudos is due to NPR.

They have created a veritable global-warming for dummies campaign--a series of cartoons, for adults and children, that explains the role of carbon in global warming. The series begins with an explanation of carbon and leads into ways we can deal with a carbon abundance in our atmosphere.

The link is below, start with Episode 1 and make your way through Episode 5:

http://www.npr.org/news/specials/climate/video/

Dream

I had a beautiful dream last night. I was walking down the street with my darling infant--a brown skinned, chubby baby girl with chocolate eyes and glistening curly hair. I do not know this baby as she is not in my life right now but she lives in my dream world. I want her or him.

I was holding her in front of my face singing "Living my life like it's golden" (one of my favorite tunes) just like I used to sing to her earthly brother and sister.

I miss the little, soft body wrapped against mine as if molded for me--I felt that last night as I cradled her against me in my dream and we walked the city's streets together, me singing to her and her staring into me with those healing eyes, those eyes that single you out as the center of the spanning universe.

It is this craving lately that I cannot shake, this longing for a baby. He/she inhabits my dream world--the intentional day dreams and the unconscious night dreams. I can only hope this baby finds her way to me...soon.

I know I am having a selfish craving--I want to feel the way I felt when my children were babies. To feel needed, to feel centered, to feel new but I also know that I am a damn good mother and I have love to give--so much love. Maybe there is even a piece of me that wants to do better, but is that so wrong?

Sleep in peace my dream child until we hold each other again...

Minnie Driver makes music?

I would not have believed it but I saw it myself. I listened and she's fucking incredible!!!

Am I alone on this? Did others know?

Here's her myspace, check her out:
http://www.myspace.com/minniedriver

Coming out of the funk

It is clear, especially from my last post, that I am emerging from my funk. Sweet.

But in reality, these funks are mini-metamorphoses for me--a way to slough off the dead layers and get to the life of me, the prime, the purity in my form.

Once I am in the wake of a funk, I see more clearly, I listen more clearly and I am more aware of myself and my actions. I love deeper and I think deeper. I am both more inside of and outside of myself--my consciousness is raised.

Perhaps they are necessary, like a wave that must crash on the sandy beach in order to pull back into the shimmering abyss of the ocean home--pulled back to it's roots.

I rise as if the crest of the wave and in this rising I am inspired and powerful and unstoppable. Then I crash--hard. And then some unseen force pulls me back to my self. I just wish I had more grace as I rise and fall and lived less like a storm.

But here I am...calm waters. Peace.

I danced like no one was looking...

...and they really weren't!

I was doing yoga tonight, during a period of overdue and much needed ALONE time. I was in a silly mood anyway--Regina Spektor was on and I was playfully shaking my hips as I was in tree pose.

So I gave yoga one last sun salute, turned on Le Disko and danced like a woman all alone in her room--all alone in the world. No bra. No worries. And my boobs kept their own beat.

It was nice, it was freeing--I kept going after Le Disko. Magic Tree by Kristen Price, Tom's Diner by Suzanne Vega and Mana by Xavier Rudd--then, ended with Le Disko again, of course.

I was certainly not as "on" as I used to be in my club hopping days but it felt so liberating to dance, to feel the music pumping through me and, more importantly, to be alone.

The day begins...

So far it's like any other day, yelled at daughter and cringe every time someone says my name--whether it's "honey" or "mama".

Here's to a new start...a fresh approach, a mindful one.

Breathe.

Today was a good day that started as a bad day

I have been in a funk...for days really. I am sure it's post menstrual syndrome blah, blah, blah because I don't get the "pre".

Met a great hip mama and the local hip mama group I have started promises to produce wonderful results.

Hope I can sleep easy tonight. With the darkness always comes the doubt and I'm face to face with my mortality.

Existential crisis

I'm in such a funk. Don't know why really. Think I need some time alone, to think, to plan, to dig deep into myself--those corners I only go to alone.

As I sit and write this, my partner is on the bed beside my desk--it's hard to write when I know someone's here. I want some privacy.

I love the work I'm doing in advocacy. Actually had a call today that reminded me how important I am to the woman needing me after her assault--I am a buffer zone and a necessary one. I needed that--needed to feel needed.

Came home, and I love my home, but I needed some time to gather before I was "on" again.

And I want so bad to be writing my thesis but I have SO much to do right now--it has to wait.

So here I am, feeling blah. Feeling uninspired. Wanting so bad to turn off the tube, go for a walk with the bits or something. Yet sometimes I am so gratified by vegging in front of the tube.

I want a revolution. I want a fire inside. I want passion about something. I think I really miss school. Perhaps I need a good book. Think maybe I'll reread Adrienne Rich's "Of Woman Born"--it shook me inside when I read this book and I need a shake right now.

Still haven't committed to any real challenge. No editorial written. No zine issued yet.

I'm swirling and wasting time and really, really tired.

Goodnight.

Final Progress Report

1. Never got to Folio--maybe tomorrow
2. Working on meaningful post
3. No thesis work--power went out tonight (for five hours) and kept me from being very productive
4. Philosophy round table--DONE
5. Math homework remains unchecked
6. Read Clara Caterpillar to bits
7. Had great bike ride!
8. Muffins--done
9. No down time but feel really good about day!

See--I didn't get to everything that I wanted to get to today but I did get to some stuff that I had not planned. I enjoyed my children, I enjoyed the power being out--we played a game. We ate dinner together in the light of candles and we watched a great movie when the power came back on.

Life happened today--sometimes, lists cannot contain or bend to the spontaneous nature of life and living. I would rather live than list myself into a routine that leaves me little time or patience for the magic of the unexpected, the unplanned, the unpredictable.

Progress update on my "to-do" list

1. Will pick the Folio up later today
2. Working on my "meaningful" blog post
3. Probably will not get to my thesis--little sleep last night
4. Philosophy round table to happen in about 30 minutes
5. About to check Math homework
6. Will opt for other book to read when we visit Borders
7. Bike ride in about an hour
8. Made muffins by myself as the bits did schoolwork
9. Breathe time may be a nap--we'll see
10. Checking list now and garnering gusto to see it through

Atta girl!

News to cheer?

I subscribe to Women's E-news and usually find the daily news feed to be inspiring and necessary coverage--most times, actually. This morning I get my "Cheers and Jeers" [Cheers and Jeers usually explores worldwide issues and gives a quick synopsis classifying the snippet in either a "cheer" or a "jeer".]

I clipped a bit about Obama that I want to discuss--let me preface with, I like him. I am NOT singling him out on this one but the coverage of where he stands reminded me that I have something to say on work/family balance. [Obama coverage to follow]

"While Obama also agreed on a similar health care plan, he focused his speech on the proposed Freedom of Choice Act and using the term "pro-choice" to include family planning issues such as improving pay equity, paid paternal leave and work-life balance, and extending school hours so parents may work and not worry about their children. "

I love all of this--I do. Pay equity, necessary. Paid paternal leave--long overdue. Work-life balance--common sense. Extending school hours--okay, I guess. Parents have to work--especially single parents, I get this. But do we have another lens for viewing this issue?

What about supporting the parent another way? What about some type of government backed [$$$] family care program? Do we have to extend school hours--do we have to be working more? Can't we extend flexibility of work space? Telecommuting is LONG overdue! Raising the minimum wage--LONG overdue. Recognizing that perhaps a parent is the better caretaker, at least preferred over a daycare or classroom teacher, of their OWN child--LONG overdue. So extending school hours??? I'm not so sure about this--doesn't this support the fanatical pace we have set for ourselves as a country? Doesn't this support and condone the disconnect between parents and their children?

What about family? What about time TOGETHER? Seems to me that we do not need yet another policy that supports our time apart--that widens that time apart.

And what about parents, especially mothers, that choose to stay home? Where is their support? Where is their program, their policy?

I'm all over the place, I know but here is where I am very clear--extending the school day so that parents do not have to worry about their children promotes the distance between parents and their children and makes it seem normal and, worse, necessary. What the fuck is this?

Isn't that like saying we should buy bigger jeans when the hydrogenated oils and high fructose corn syrups covertly hidden in our foods catch up with us instead of holding the food industry responsible??? Or that we can just slide a bucket under a leak in our ceiling? It's a band-aid solution--a pseudo solution.

Aren't we looking past something in our society that is not working right to a solution that supports the original problem??? Extending the school day only looks like pro-family policy but the repercussions are coming.

Parents and their children are disconnected--children are floundering, they need us and, for fuck's sake, we need to step up.

Savoring life...

Something I do not do enough of, I realized in the car today. My bits and I were talking about how the diagnosis of a terminal illness can often spur someone into really appreciating their life--how it can act as an impetus to finally LIVE.

Dear goddess, I don't want a diagnosis of terminal illness to be my spur! I waste SO much time--browsing the Internet, toying with my blog (not even really writing, but just changing the template, adjusting the font, adding links, etc.). Shamefully, I let days pass without learning a single thing. What kind of role model am I for my children--my homeschooling children?

I promise (myself) that tomorrow I will:

1. Get the Folio--update myself on local, current affairs
2. Write something meaningful on my blog
3. Work on my thesis--in some capacity
4. Have a philosophy round table with the bits
5. Check their math homework
6. Read Clara Caterpillar to "chill"
7. Take a bike ride with the bits
8. Bake muffins--let the bits help
9. Allow myself "breathe" time--yoga perhaps?
10. Check this list--goddess knows I'll falter

I have to do this for myself--I want a meaningful life, I want to have lived like my days were numbered and really, aren't they? Maybe I don't know the number, but I have limited time here--what will be my legacy?

Musings of a pain with no measure...

I read an article today of a mother wedged from the lives of her children by an indifferent system and a domineering husband and I thought about mothering and the pain and the risks involved in being so opened, exposed and vulnerable.

I thought about my involvement with my children, my presence in their life and what that means to my identity. It's staggering to come face to face with my reality since their birth, the introduction of my children to a lost and wandering soul.

Since them, my consciousness has risen and continues to rise. I am more aware of pain--I feel as if I lived a rather uninspired life before they were here, as if I merely existed. Now I keep myself awake at night when I do wrong by them or if I run the threat of doing wrong by them.

It's as if they have clarified my mind's eye--I'm not sure how much I like it.

That's not true--I know I like it, I'm a fuller person, I'm deeper, more spiritual, more connected to a sense of purpose or at least a desire to have one. But the uber-sensitivity, the exposure to pain hurts and does not allow me to just exist any longer. I am not off the hook--my life matters as do my actions and my words. I am accountable.

Imagine a mirror hinged on you, following you, reflecting you and deflecting you all the same. I have no choice but to be aware, conscious, alert and mindful.

There are times when I yell at them and instantly I know--I have changed them, broken them in some way, restrained them, contained them--the awareness of this cuts into me, my skin tingles and my head aches and spins. It hinders my breath and I think I might die in my sleep from affliction.

The wrath of me as mom is almost as intense and powerful as the love of me as mom--two opposing forces, both with equal shaping power.

Non-Custodial Means Keeping Your Mouth Shut

This is a story I received via email zine this morning. I was moved to tears, my thoughts follow the link.

http://www.literarymama.com/columns/faces/archives/2007/07/noncustodial_me.html

Never in my lifetime will I understand the soul-crushing experience of the author. I learned later in my day that it took her 10 years to be able to write about her experience. She is now one of the bravest women I know.

Her children were (figuratively) stolen from her by her ex-husband and the system that failed to nurture the bond between this mother and her children.

From what I read, I am relieved that she was able to leave and separate herself from her husband. Unfortunately, in her case, that meant leaving her children behind as well.

There are no judgments here--I commend her for drawing a line in a world that does not encourage women to draw their own line, especially mothers. I commend her for taking a stand and for loving herself.

This is a must read in order to expand our notions of motherhood and the mothering experience--it's not all diaper pins and baby powder, not all tender moments and late night feedings, not all bedtime stories and divisions of labor, it is not even all rites of passage and graduations--it is raw--it is pain--it is torment--it is difficult choices--it is a bondage of the heart.

Regina Spektor

Note to self:

Don't forget this amazing lady--her voice will keep you in a trance, an amazing trance....

http://www.reginaspektor.com/

http://www.myspace.com/reginaspektor

My daughter made me think...

Last night my daughter asked me if I regretted anything about my life--would I change anything if I could? I thought for only a second because I had asked myself this question before--I had more than asked, I had answered.

No. There's nothing I would change--no regrets.

Or, perhaps I had plenty of regrets but nothing I would change.

Hmmm. She really opened a window of thought for me that has lasted well beyond our conversation. At that moment, I told her, sure, there were things in my life that I wish had been different (history of sexual abuse at the hands of paternal grandfather, little family time in my home, better relationship with mother, etc.) but, I also expressed to her, had they been different, I might have ended up in a different place this many years later and I'm not sure I want to know where that might have been. I told her that every moment in my life--every one, even those I'd rather forget--led to my here and now, with my children and my rising consciousness.

Later in the evening, as I was re-thinking my answer to her question, my certainty waned. Was I being honest with myself or my daughter in my previous answer? Am I just protecting myself and my psyche by saying that there is nothing I would change, that I have no regrets because I know that there is not a damn thing that I can do about any of it now?

I do not like that I was sexually molested at the hands of my paternal grandfather. At times, I do not like the adolescent child I was. Most times, I do not like the teenager I was. Sometimes, I do not like the mother I am because I lose my cool and yell and tear down my precious children. Even now, in my life, sometimes I say the wrong thing. Sometimes I do the wrong thing. Sometimes I live in haste and lose moments I might have treasured. Sometimes I live in a fog and lose moments I might have made into memories. Realistically, wouldn't I want to change any and all of this if it were within my power to do so?

The power to change one moment, any moment or many moments of life is one that we, as humans, do not possess. Yet still, I have asked myself many, many times--would I, if I could? If, by changing those moments, it got me to the exact same point--then yes. Change away. Of course I would alter those blips in my life, delicately erase the moments, in between other moments and recreate how I might have been, what I might have done, what I should have said, etc. However, I do not see how this would be possible--even in my imagined world of being able to change things in my life. Every moment is so delicately hinged on the one before, sometimes they bridge each other--one moment in my present might span years of moments to connect to just the right one in the past. The chaos that could ensue!

Alas, left with no magical eraser or method for changing parts of my life without altering my entire life, I live on an imperfect being. And perhaps, in some way, I can change--not the past mind you, but perhaps I can use the past to change where I go from here, what I do from here, how I regard my life, how I regard others, how I spend my time, how I use my words, ad infinitum. I can be more aware by knowing that I have been unaware. I can be more mindful by knowing that I have been less mindful. I can be more patient and gentle by knowing that I have been less. I can be more or less depending on my past deficit or excess. I can atone for my mistakes in how I elect to spend my present, my future.

I love the windows of thought that are opened by my children. Her one question centered my mind causing more deliberateness in my existence--rather, in my living. Because to exist is to be but to live is to be here...with purpose.

Baking cookies...

I baked chocolate chip cookies for my little ones tonight and I got that feeling again--the feeling I always get when I bake cookies for them, when the house smells of decadent, buttery sweetness, when their anticipation swells with every baking sheet from the oven, when they praise me for the having "the best cookies in the world", when they beg to have the first one from the oven, the biggest, the one with the most chocolate chips. The feeling is hard to describe--satisfaction, I suppose.

I feel a sense of completion, like I have created an offering of love much like mythic offerings to indifferent gods but this, an offering to my children. A gesture of grander scale than opening a package of store bought cookies. A token of my interest in their happiness and health, of my willingness to invest care and time in what they dunk in their organic milk, of my commitment to their understanding homemade in this age of fast-food, dinners out and microwave food.

I love the look of a plate full of cookies on the counter top, fresh from the oven, patiently waiting for the following day when they will be savored by the family they were made for--the children. When every bite brings them pleasure and me praise. To me, the plate full of cookies signifies someone's home--mom's home, and if mom's home, then they're home--I still have them for now.

I love knowing that I prepared this snack for them--not some distant corporation with no interest in their health, their happiness, their likes and dislikes or their preferences for milk to drink or milk for dunking. I hand select every ingredient with care and caution and ardently oppose artificiality or preservatives. They sneak in hydrogenated oils and high-fructose corn syrup. I sneak in wheat germ and whole wheat flour.

Baking cookies restores me on some level--I will not always have this fanfare when I open the oven and pull forth the "best cookies in the world". Their hands will not always reach for the first, the biggest or the one with the most chocolate chips. One day I will bake cookies for myself alone or for get-togethers--the sacred ritual of cookie baking as an act of love for my babies will be no more than a common potluck requirement. But for now, for me, baking cookies centers my active, busy mind--reminds me of who I bake for and what they mean to me and for the moment, I am present and aware, I am methodical and meticulous--I am a creator, I own the moment...and I bring the cookie.

Sara Tavares

Love her music! Note to self...

Who am I?

Who are you?

This was the only statement on the letter Sophie found in her mailbox tonight during our reading of Sophie's World. I have decided to answer, or least attempt an answer of sorts.

I am all of the titles I associate with myself--woman, mother, teacher, sister, daughter, partner, friend, cynic, poet, philosopher, idealist, feminist...

But without the proper genitalia, I am no woman. Without children, no mother. Without students, no teacher. Without siblings, no sister. Without parents, no daughter--actually that's no completely true. Daughter or son, of course, depend on genitalia or sex, but the fact is this, I am a child. Even if I do not know my parents or if they pass away--I am a child, I originated somewhere from someone. So I am a child of other humans--a child of the universe.

Now for the other titles. I am a cynic. I can think of no absence that would call this into question. I am a poet because it is how I see the world but perhaps in the absence of words, I could not be a poet. A philosopher, idealist--fine. I am a feminist--yet without inequality, I could not be for equality.

What is my essence--that which is beyond the titles? I am energy on this planet harboring a fervor for this life that I am living, for I am certainly alive--my living is not in question, so I am alive.

This is hard stuff and certainly a topic for another night when I have more zeal for philosophizing.

Joys of homeschooling

So tonight we officially began our study of philosophy--together. See, I am very drawn to philosophy--my "Introduction to Philosophy" course in college was my separation from religion.

Because I've wanted to rekindle my affair with philosophy, the kids and I have detoured and are now studying as a family. I am reading Sophie's World to them and we are on our way to enlightenment...it's why I love homeschooling.

Where was I?

Okay, I left rather abruptly in my last post because my theory on why I was the way I was when I was younger was because I had no time with my parents. They were busy and there was little to no together time--even for the sake of just being together. If you are not with your children, you are not guiding them--I don't even remember my parents keeping up with my life, having talks with me the way I talk with my children. Deep conversations that elevate their mind and cause them to delve into the corners of their selves.

I was a lost child--fumbling and lost. When I left during my last post, I went outside to be with my children while they played in the rain--it was the best 20 minutes I could have spent. This is worth living for.

A rainy day and cup of coffee...

It's raining out, the kids are occupied with each other and I'm in front of the computer seeking inspiration or perhaps I am inspired and I'm seeking an outlet. Who knows. Let's explore.

It's been a good day. I slept in, had a yummy brunch when I woke--cucumber and swiss cheese sandwich on cracked wheat bread, went to daughter's bellydancing class, came home and had a snack. Rather uneventful but nice. Peaceful. Moving at our own pace. I always like that.

Received an email (in response to mine) from my former step-brother. It was nice to hear from him--I would love the opportunity to explore a friendship with him, we do share a past, afterall, even if only a brief one.

Seeing him really has me thinking--about myself, my place here, my past and how much my past says about me--it even has me thinking about my parenting and the role I play in my children's life.

I have a theory on why I was the way I was when I was younger--but the theory just prompted me to go play with my children. I can't do this right now--I'll explain when I get back!

If I'm being honest...

And this is the best place for honesty, I took money from him when I was 19. His father, my step-father, did well for himself financially and my then step-brother did well by proxy and had stashes of money he kept in a drawer. I found this drawer and helped myself to it on two occasions.

I had just started living with the man I would later divorce after he left me with our two children and we were struggling hard. No excuse and I'm not giving them. But this was my "rationalization" back then. I was envious that my step-brother would never go without and believed he would never miss it.

I'm disgusted with myself. I had no moral compass then, no inner voice telling me that this was wrong. If I did, I wasn't listening. And here I was face-to-face with my reckoning in the waiting area of a Honda dealership.

I had another reckoning of this sort--years and years ago while out with my husband and daughter, pregnant with child number 2. Our waiter was a man from my past--in my past he was a boy my age, my peer. I was barbarically mean to him--I had tackled him to the ground once and hit him repeatedly, teased him relentlessly and had other boys at our school intimidate him into bowing at my feet under the school bus pick-up awning one afternoon.

Who knows that I changed in that man that I came face-to-face with 12 years later...I was so upset--more than upset, I was devastated and broken to be reminded of the person I was then and quite honestly, the person I had the potential of being.

I didn't touch my dinner, I cried all the way home and upon getting home, I shut the door to my room and wrote a letter of apology--as lame as that is--to somehow take responsibility for what I had done, recognize it and own it. I drove back the restaurant and hand-delivered the letter, told him who I was and apologized to his face. He was very gracious and smiled his same sweet smile. I don't remember exactly what he said but he let me off the hook.

I should not have been let off the hook--I was a horrible person before children, as if I had no inner soul--a rambling, searching, desperate, clawing, shell of a being feeding off the pain of those around me to numb the pain I lived in everyday of my life.

No excuse and I'm not giving them but I have a hard time writing the truth without somehow buffering it's severity.

Blast from the past...

All I intended to do was take my car in for service--an oil change, easy enough. While waiting for the service techs to be finished with my car, I noticed a man in the waiting area with us. He had a familiar face but I quickly put the idea aside.

A few minutes later, he approached me, asked if I could tell him my name. I gave him my first and he replied with my first and last name--it was him, I knew his face was familiar. He was a former step-brother from marriage number 3, man number 2 of my mother's. It had been 12 years since I had seen him last--when our parents split ways and never spoke again without asking if we felt otherwise. They severed ties, we severed ties out of loyality and obligation.

I was devasted. Yet today, I was face to face with my former step-brother, it was as if I had stepped out of a time capsule. He resembled his father but with his own sweet smile--I've never forgotten his smile. We exchanged abbreviated tales of our lifes and stumbled over our words because we were so completely dumbstruck that we were meeting after all of this time.

I was moved and still am. It has opened something inside of myself and it makes me a bit sad, as if mourning the loss of my would-be step-brother--where could we have been in all this time. What might our relationship have been like? He would have been uncle to my children...

So many feelings have surfaced for me today.