The Styrofoam Vegetable Tray

This is probably one of the most honestly written pieces of my life, and I have had to write in stages in order to stay firm in my honesty and not sugarcoat or humor through the story I'm forcing my hand to tell. I refuse to let myself off the hook on this one. I will not cower behind self-created subterfuge.

It all began with a black Styrofoam vegetable tray. It probably came into our home under spears of asparagus or summer squash. I collect them afterwards to be paint trays for my kids; it's my way of dealing with having Styrofoam forced upon me. I like to find some other life for it between original intent and final destination (landfill).

Before yesterday, it was a rather innocuous item, this Styrofoam tray, unnoticed in my daily life, unconsidered and relatively unimportant.

Yesterday, however, it became a pretense for my rage, a symbol for the beast that lurks in my motherhood, a reminder that I lost my shit.

As I write this, I can feel the sick churning in my gut – the feeling of guilt, remorse, of wanting to undo what cannot possibly be undone. Not only can yesterday NOT be undone, it will live on in how my daughter looks at me, what she thinks of me and how she recalls me from yesterday on.

She was painting a box in the den to use in her science experiment for viewing the phases of the moon. I was in the kitchen preparing lunch, and it is apparent to me now that I was under duress – why the hell I can't see this shit coming all these years later is beyond me, but there it came nonetheless.

I walked into the den, saw her work space and asked what the hell she thought she was doing – why hadn't she asked to use the vegetable tray she was using as her paint palette? She instantly lowered her head; her face morphed into shame. You know, I can't remember the birth weight of either of my children or their height in inches for that matter, but I'll never forget that look on her face.

I digress.

See, my daughter and I have battles over her asking to use items in the craft room – it’s a consistent struggle between two strong personalities and my asinine need to have order, to know what I have and to know how much, of nothing that matters at all really. As I write this and read my own words, I can hear my mother screaming, irrational with rage, over "her face mask," "her shampoo," "her hairbrush," blah, freakin’, blah. I can recall lowering my own head, masked in shame, feeling so deeply inadequate. Not understanding. Not getting it. Not realizing that there was nothing to get – that’s blind rage, man. My own seed of rage was incubating in all of those senseless moments strung together by her remorse and my forgiveness.

So I kept yelling at my own daughter, irrationally – the exact words I used are beyond me now or else it's that I don't want to know, don't want to remember. "Ask, could you just fucking' ask" was the theme of my shit-toss.

Feeling like her victim, like I'd never survive this stubborn girl with no care for permission to use these, apparently precious, Styrofoam trays but also knowing, on some level, that I was out of control, I forced myself back to my room. One foot. Then the next. And see, looking back, that was probably not the wisest choice I've ever made. In my room, my desk was littered with her crap from her morning studies and she had left the computer on – both of which are huge pet peeves of mine. The sane part of me beckoning from the small fraction of rational mind I was working with wanted to warn her. But before that thought got air time, I began yelling in this baritone voice, much more like the howl of a reluctantly-mounted elephant during a mating ritual than a mother who loves her child.

She rushed into my room, a servant of my ridiculous rage. She gathered her things from my desk and shut the computer down amid the torrent of expletives.

I shut myself in my bathroom, hell bent on curbing the progression of my anger, now well past anger and well into lunacy. I ran my fingers through my hair, gathered a clump in each hand and I stared at the maniac looking back at me in bathroom mirror, all wide eyed and shocked, as if she herself could not comprehend the derangement of her reflection.

I gave my body to the wall behind me and slid to the cold, tiled floor. I cried into my hands. I still felt like a victim yet all the while I knew I was creating one, in her.

I wounded my daughter yesterday, I changed who she was and worse, in the aftermath I felt like I wanted to die, like I needed to die to eradicate any further threat of me to her. It was a pseudo consideration really, a play on ideas, a sham, because I knew all too well that any erasure of my existence at this point would only mark me forever as the lunatic vegetable tray mom. No glory in that exit, man. No. I don't even want off that easy – I don't roll that way.

I've been better but I've been worse, and this life I lead will, if nothing else, be ripe with my own accountability. Unlike my mother, I will shoulder the blame, I will admit my weaknesses – I will own my dark side.

The black Styrofoam vegetable tray – could have been asparagus or summer squash that brought it into our home. It should have been nothing more than a vessel for the vegetables, yet it has become a tag for a moment I want to un-own, undo or at least redefine. But I exist within a fixed and finite realm of screw-ups and lasting impressions and I can't go back like I'd want to – I’d walk into that room and throw the freakin' vegetable tray away before I used it as an excuse to berate her. It was never really about the tray and I knew that.

I spent the next day cooking with my daughter and I got to be the mother I meant to be the day before. And I learned something. I'm not a monster. I'm a human being; once a child, I was shaped in a context I have not yet outgrown. But day by day, I peel back the layers, and I come closer to the essence of the mother I always wanted, the one I always needed, and now, the one I desire to be.

The rise

Didn't sleep well last night. Was called out for a rape around 11:00. It was emotionally draining for me to watch this poor woman, writhing in pain for hours--emotional pain, physical pain.

I have stopped trying to expect what to expect--every time I'm called out, it's different.

She never stopped crying--she was so broken.

I became nauseous at one point during the exam--nothing came of it, just a sensation passing through as she moaned loudly from the physical pain of her body being probed and inspected, a body already fatigued by the infliction of a violent assault.

I wanted to hold her but dared not touch--she'd been handled enough.

Came home exhausted--her road home is SO much longer than mine, how dare I complain?

This morning I'm succumbing to illness--illness has been swirling around me in family and friends. It was destined to find me--to use my body for incubation and fruition.

I have bread rising in the oven right now and it makes me think of my client from last night. I needed to make bread this morning. Needed some sort of control over something. Needed something to rise.

She'll rise--days, weeks, months, years from now. She'll rise. I need to believe that. I need to believe that she will rise.

My Sunday Baby

...is napping right now. I thought I could just lay her down. After all, that's what they do in daycare, just lay them on their sterile plastic mats on the cold, hard floor. But no. She wouldn't hear of it. She wasn't pushy, she didn't throw a tantrum, she just whined pitifully when I left the room. When I heard her whimpers, I rushed back to the room. I was just in time to witness the most pitiful face a babe can make--the curled down bottom lip and little eyes brimming w/tears that haven't yet fallen from the sides. The expression that says in a most powerful way, "you suck a-hole". I couldn't stand it, I cooed and cooed as I laid down beside her offering my earlobe. The earlobe is her snuggle, her way of sensing and soaking up the person beside her. She's done this since she could first will her hands to move in her favor.

I rubbed her head, kissed her hand and stroked her cheek. She pulled on my earlobe her eyes rolling around under their lids. Her eyelids would get heavy and close but her will to know I was there, to be in the world of the awake, was stronger and her eyes would open again. Then, flutter of the lashes, a few smacks of the lips, snuggle of the face into it's comfort spot and alas, the final close of the lids.

Sweet dreams Sunday Baby.

Soon you'll go home and the only remnant of our time together will be the smeared handprints you created for me on my new glass door.

The lonliness of alone

Is it wrong that I am missing my children tonight as they sleep over at their friends' house? Like, I'm really missing them.

I'm not accustomed to quiet, to alone, to empty because my life is loud, populated and full, through them, 'us' and this little orbit we keep.

I won't cry but I could--the tears are just waiting on the order. I just wish I could say good-night and hear their voices before I sleep because that's just how my life works. I sleep after kisses, I dream after sugar-sprinkles and I wake because I want more of this sweet fucking life that I have.

It's all good. They've had fun I'm sure and I'm just raw for reasons other than having my children spend the night away from me. It's this opening, this unfolding that I'm going through. It's raw exposure man, but I think I like it.

yOga and the big "O"

I rushed home today, after a busy but fulfilling day, to do yoga. Like, balanced-all-the-groceries-in-my-arms-undressed-on-the-way-to-my-
room-to-change-into-yoga-clothes rushed. That's never really happened for the right reason, right reason being the centering and sense of bliss I gain from yoga lately. Before, I rushed to do yoga because of the exercise, the burn, the sweating--the bliss, if any at all, was secondary to the 'workout'. But following my euphoric practice a few nights ago, I crave the centering. What's changed? I have allowed yoga to be itself--nothing more, I have stopped expecting it to be my form of exercise and instead am allowing it to be what pulls me back from the edge, that which restores me. I move, I breathe, I center and somewhere in the midst of my practice, I step back and renew. I leave the mat changed.

I think I've finally found my big "O" in yOga. Bliss is to yoga what orgasm is to sex and I'm having multiple blisses right now. I've been waiting for this. I've been working for this.

Here's to the unfolding that shall certainly follow.

Water spot on my nipple

This is just a brief post about luck and chance happenings and it also struck me as sort of funny at this hour when I should be sleeping.

How is it that, on a night when I already can't get warm enough, I bend over to spit after brushing my teeth and my nipple touches the one small water pool on the counter through my shirt? Right square on my nipple, giving me not only a chill but a water spot on my shirt atop my nipple, now hard because of the chill.

Ahh...but wait, as a testimony to my ever sagging boobs, I see that, upon standing, the water spot sits sort of askew from my nipple.

It's like the water spot on my shirt is laughing at me, saying, this is where your nipple should be were they not so floppy.

Alrighty then. Point taken.

The Trampoline

Tonight, I sit here writing as my children's heads bob up and down outside my bedroom window on their new trampoline--their faces afire with smiles and delight, their laughs audible throughout the house.

Material possessions really are for shit. They can distract and disconnect us but I am taking immense pride in giving this gift to my kids.

Growing up, I never had a trampoline. I also never had a mother like me.

Tonight, I'm two for two.

Dirty Feet

Preface~

My daughter wanted to have a sleepover for her birthday—granted it was a month after her 'birth' day but that’s beside the point. Late last year, I had given my son the option of birthday cash or birthday party. He chose the money without any hesitation—$100.00. My daughter did the same but with some reservation. Later in the month, she expressed that she kind of wanted a party after all. Not too late, I offered, especially because I hadn't been able to afford the $100.00 until my taxes came anyway. So I presented her with a compromise of sorts sensing that she was on the fence. We could have the party and I would just deduct whatever I spent on party stuff (food, drinks, etc.) from her $100.00 and she could pocket the rest.

We set the date and began planning our very frugal birthday bash. The goal was to spend as little as possible, we were thinking $40.00, on food and drinks so she could still pocket $60.00. An arrangement she was happy with.

Enter Dirty Feet~

Including my children, there were 14 kids in my house--in and out of my house to be exact. This was hard for me--we have a 'no shoes' policy in our home and further, an implied 'no dirty feet' policy. Try telling a nine-year old, "yes sweetie your toes are quite black--were you kicking an ant hill?"

The traditional Japanese custom of removing shoes indoors has always resonated with me--I get that. Perhaps it's my inner Japanese struggling to surface or, because I'm a white cracker with no sign of an eastern lineage, perhaps it's that I treasure the sanctity of my home.

In preparation for the party and the impending dirty feet, I placed a tin pail of socks inside the front door and a few wet rags outside the front door, for cleaning the rock-kickers. I also instructed my children to "guide" their friends, to be good examples for how we 'roll' in our house.

Needless to say, the "plan" was ill-planned. I mean, really? But, I survived. I stole glances at a lot of feet in my attempts to be nonchalant and llaaiidd back. It would begin with the black outline around their toes that I noticed the second they walked in and as they walked past me toward the rest of the house, I would look toward their heels as they picked up their feet to step and notice how the black had found it's way into the lines of their skin *ugh--cringe*. And then, of course, I just had to yogi-up as I endured their stubby little five-toed vessels of filth contaminate my virgin floors--the cherry has officially been popped.

Most importantly of all, I said it out loud to some mom friends of mine--I had to come clean or risk the cat freaking it's way out of the bag and the skeleton bitch-slapping it's way out of the closet. It was such a relief to share my "dirty" little secret. And cooler still? They accept it and now, they get me c-o-m-p-l-e-t-e-l-y.

My Memoir in Six Words

Unbreakable in my unfolding of self.

I'll take the ordinary

Sometimes I have to pull from my toes to talk about this mother's journey and sometimes, on the other hand, material is spilling over. On those days, like today, when I'm searching the dusty corners of my mind for stories to share, I realize that even my own mind forsakes me. A memory of my journey doesn't have to be grandiose or sublimely tender to be worthy of telling. I wonder how much gets lost along the way because it lacks the color of certain stories or the sugary sweetness of others. What about the somewhere-in-betweens? What about the absolutely ordinaries?

Well, for one thing, the ordinary gets shelved in our culture--look at our media for a single second. We eat bug and animal organ smoothies for money--a strawberry smoothie would lack the inflated appeal. We swap mothers of polar opposite families and air the tensions, the tirades and the tears. We build houses for families stricken with the most outrageous of tragedies, as if we can weigh one against another--even our afflictions are held to a standard of grandiosity. We create runway models, fashion designers, stunt people, business moguls, pop stars, dance stars, millionaires, all with one key thing in common--the ones left standing in these public pursuits of glory are the "best". They beat out the ordinaries or the less-thans in our modern-day coliseum.

I will not allow the ordinary moments of my life to be causalities of fanaticism. I must hold onto them myself, notice them when they happen and heed their gifts. I have but one chance.

The other day, my daughter thanked me for not getting mad about a potato that she dropped on the kitchen floor. We were oiling potatoes to bake for my son's cast party and the slippery little bugger jumped right from her hand. No sweat kiddo.

Another day, my head caught my mouth after the kids and I took a walk around our neighborhood. My daughter was a bit pissy and this tends to wake the beast inside me but I caught myself. I let her be pissy. Well done mama.

The other morning I held my little man in my lap, his sweet frizzy bedhead on my shoulder and I savored our embrace. Later in that day, he wanted to paint a picture just because he felt inspired--he called it mixed media. As if a day could have any more wonders, my daughter took it upon herself to teach my son a few sewing techniques and praised his effort along the way. I was so touched by her support and kindness.

Moments such as these come so frequently yet they rarely get air time--on our tubes, in our conversations or in our recollections.

Celebrate the mundane.

I've knelt to hug him

When he was a babe I held him in my arms
head on my shoulder
eyes connected
his sweet breath warming the nape of my neck

As he has grown I've always knelt to hug him
to embrace with his fullness
to have his head on my shoulder
his breath, still sweet, warming me

This morning I noticed that I kneel less now
because when we hug, his sweet cheek is pressed against my heart
and somehow, my heart centers us
and my love pours through.

The Crick in my Neck and What Shakespeare Has to do With It

My neck is SO tight tonight from all the driving I have done today, all the looking forward in my car, all the ho'ing I have done on behalf of my kids today. Not a single minute to myself, for myself, until now. I insisted on it. Some 'me time' -- it's after 11:00 at night.

My day started with a Dunkin' Donuts run, fuel for me and then a gas station run, fuel for my car. I was on a mission--Elizabethan garb and groceries. My son needs an Elizabethan-type costume for the opening of his play this weekend, "Midsummer Night's Dream" -- he's the duke. I discovered that in Jacksonville, in the 21st century, not so easy to find clothes of a Shakespearean nature. Furthermore, I don't sew so I'm not that mom who only needs a pattern or a vision in order to belt out garb. No, I buy what someone else has already made -- I'm that mom.

I started the search for clothes at Ross, nothing. Then Famous Footwear and Payless for shoes, nothing. Then Target for either or both, nothing. Then Wal-mart and, do I really have to write it? Nothing. I decided to take a break from the predictable pattern I was caught in and do my grocery shopping. I figured, I'd deal with the costume issue later.

Grocery shopping was oddly fulfilling in the wake of my unsuccessful morning -- more so than usual. To walk into the grocery store and have every 'want' met was exhilarating, I felt so freakin' powerful --I think I got a little high. Golden Classic Chicken Breast? How thick should I slice it? Thick, I say. Bottled green tea? Aisle 12. Carrots? Carrots. I even earned some free cheese when I brought it to their attention that I had been overcharged for my cheese. I didn't chance my luck by asking for bigger things -- I kept it reasonable and stuck to my list.

On my way home from the grocery store and still a little high from all that power, I saw them. Two police officers in the median. Checked my speed--reflex, who doesn't? As I passed them I looked in my rearview mirror to see one patrol car turn onto the roadway from the median--surely not. Then the lights. Maybe in route to an emergency? Perhaps. The car directly behind me moves to the right lane, the patrol car pulls forward and is now directly behind me. I try the same thing and move into the right lane--I pretty much know I'm busted at this point but there's always the chance that he's responding elsewhere. Sure as shit he pulls over behind me. I begin scoping for an appropriate pullover spot while emptying my arsenal of curse words.

I'll spare the details. He cut me some serious slack but I got a ticket. I waited to cry until I pulled away--I will not be that woman.

I made one more stop at a thrift store around the corner from my house, one last ditch attempt to scrounge together a costume for the dress rehearsal, now only a few hours away. The results? Well, in keeping with the theme of my day, nothing. Although, note to self, cool thrift store and I should drop-in more often.

Raced home to feed the munchkins with only two hours to spare before we had to be pulling out of our driveway. Checked my email. Scarfed salad. Sat for about 10 minutes and we were off.

After I dropped my little man and his friend off at their rehearsal, my daughter and I headed out, again, in search of costuming. Found a great frilly top in the girl's section of K-Mart and some dark gray sweat pants that I could manipulate into the balloon-like pants of Shakespeare's time. I wasn't convinced that the top would fit though, so we headed to Marshall's for a back-up and do you believe I actually found one? Quite unexpected in the aftermath of my day, I expected something more along the lines of nothing or something perfect in another size or to be run over the parking lot.

I should be saying that my day was almost over when rehearsals ended at 6:30 but, no. No, then I headed to Panera for a meeting with other party planners from our homeschool group to discuss and plan for our group's upcoming Valentine's Party. We planned, we sipped coffee, we veered off course and landed in other topics--it was cool but I wasn't making my way home until 10:30.

Finally, as we turned onto our street, I explained to the kids that I would love to read with them, like we usually do, but in light of the fact that my day was spent in total service to others, I was going to enjoy some writing and down time. They got it -- they get me.

I'm exhausted and am turning into bed now to rest and restore for another day tomorrow. It's all good.

Oh yeah, the clothes are perfect -- certainly fit for a duke of the Elizabethan era.

How She Does that Thing She Does and Why I Let Her

It all started with the table needing to be wiped off or an unrinsed dish in the sink or some combination of both. Who knows now--see how important this incident was? I've forgotten the genesis yet the effects will linger around us, shaping who we are to each other.

Nevertheless, my strong-willed, independent, lovely daughter was standing at the sink rinsing her dish. I was beside her loudly asserting that her unrinsed dish is not my fault--she stays turned away from me. Augh! She knows what this does to me! I take her arm and turn her to face me, recognizing that my grip is tightening as I yell at her to look at me when I speak. Daggers. Her eyes are hard and her lips are pinched together. She is climbing on my shit list.

The next series of events are irrelevant but needless to say, our hostility toward each other is mounting. I act unreasonable, she acts unreasonable--with a clear cut difference between us. I am the adult.

My daughter is teaching me how to have patience in the face of adversity, she's teaching me to pause in the split second moment I have before I cross a line I cannot step back over. She's teaching me peace...teaching me to be the adult. One day, hopefully soon, I will pass the test of my child.

Accomplishments and Splurges

The previous post, "Cooking with my Daughter" is my column submission this week. I'm determined to get back on track in that respect and this is my start.

The kiddos and I went on a cool field trip this morning at 9:00 which means I had to wake up at 7:00--I NEVER wake up at 7:00, I prefer 10 or 11. Anyway, we visited Sally Corp where they create Animatronics and Dark Rides. It was cool and the kiddos were able to see how artists, engineers, graphic designers, musicians, etc. can co-exist and build off each other's talent to create amazing end results! Who knew? Right here in my little city.

After our field trip, we headed to Panera for breakfast--overpriced in my opinion but worth every cent for our time together. We paid 16.00 for two breakfast sandwiches (sausage, egg and Vermont cheddar on ciabatta bread), a bagel w/cream cheese, large coffee and two hot chocolates. I spent more than I intended but I wanted to treat the kids to a breakfast with mom that was free of financial undertones--so I did. They're always helping me watch our bottom line, it felt good to splurge a little.

They were SO excited--you'd think I was taking them to Disney or something. And I love that. I love that breakfast with mom is a thrill for them. I love that I'm good company in their eyes. I love how they love me, simple as that.

After a few hours at home we headed to son's rehearsals and I started a new book I just received in the mail from Amazon--"Kripalu Yoga." It's super-cool and I can tell a few pages in that this is going to be an asset to my practice and overall well-being. I love when I get lucky with a book!

Following rehearsals we drove home and I practiced yoga for about 45 minutes and warmed some leftovers on the stove. In the spirit of splurging, I decided to have a Coca-Cola with my dinner. *gasp* I haven't had a real soda in months--maybe a year. If I do drink a carbonated beverage, I buy natural sodas sweetened with sugar and not HFCS--I just can't tell a difference. But tonight, I just wanted something other than water with my dinner and there was one Coke in the fridge leftover from family being in town. I pounced on it--I have no regrets.

This is me at peace with myself and at peace with my soda.

Cooking with my Daughter

She walked into the kitchen after her shower, her long, dark-brown hair, still wet, hanging over her shoulders. I was standing at the counter chopping onions and she stood beside me. "Can I help?" I considered my answer. I didn't want to say no, unlike my son, she rarely asks because she's usually busy with activities near dinnertime and not available. I spoke against my inner inclination with an uninspired, "sure".

I let her stir the simmering chicken broth and then measure out the arborio rice to pour into the simmering pot of onions and olive oil. I tell her to stir until the rice is coated in oil and she wants to know why. I think it's for flavor, I tell her. Then, she suggests an all-purpose seasoning that I have begun to use in everything--she loves it. Good idea, I tell her, as I have overlooked this seasoning and it's sure to make the dish.

I add the broth cup by cup and she stirs it in each time until the rice is soft. Then we add our spinach and artichokes and she stirs the pot one final time. While I take over, she pulls some bowls from the cabinets for me to fill with our time-together dish. I suggest a picnic on the living room floor and both kids cheer--"you're the best!"

Spinach-Artichoke Risotto has taken on a new meaning for me. It has become a dish that I made with my daughter one night. The dish we made together when I thought I was too tired to find anymore enjoyment in a long day. We carved out a memory from the mundane and were both filled with more than risotto when our bowls were clean.

Why I couldn't stop smiling today...and still can't

We were leaving the house today heading out to a nearby park for a "Dangerous Insects, Animals and Plants" workshop and then to our favorite used book store. I pulled up to the stop sign that takes us off our street and waited for the oncoming motorcyclist. As he approached, I saw that he was dancing. He had his headphones on, sunglasses (no helmet but I'll save my soapbox bit here) and he was jammin' in his own little world. Smile spread across his face, arms waving up and down to the beat playing in his ears, mouthing the words of the song and bobbing up and down slightly on his seat.

I couldn't help it--I laughed and couldn't stop smiling. This man is my new hero--what moxie! Once we made our turn, we were then behind him and he was still going. The kids were smiling too--they thought it was great! My daughter said she was going to try not to forget him and I thought the same thing to myself. We watched him fade into the distance ahead of us, still dancing and surely still smiling--that was the best part, his smile.

This motorcycle performer will not know what he did for me today, how he lifted our spirits, made us laugh and made us smile. I SO wanted to tell him how I admired him. How he reminded me to stop working so hard on other people's impression of me and just be.

Dance when you feel the music and sing if you know the words or even if you just think you do--why the fuck not and who the fuck cares?

If I don't stop moving...

...it seems I can accomplish a lot. Though I woke as late as I always wake, it's a bit after 12:00 and we've already had lunch and are moving our way forward.

I didn't stop for coffee this morning, didn't allow myself to indulge in internet time or Frasier (my weakness)--I just kept moving. Pulling the pot from the cabinet, opening the canned tomatoes and sauce, opening the canned navy beans and black eyed peas, chopping the onions, adding all to the pot on the stove, spicing it up and finally, upon a good simmer, adding the kale.

Deciding upon corn fritters to accompany what was seemingly a stew on the stove, I quickly grabbed the flour, corn meal and all other "fritter" ingredients and whipped them up in less than 5 minutes. Heated the pan w/oil and set to frying the fritters.

I am off to see what else I can accomplish when I keep putting those feet forward...

Full Moon Writer's Circle

It was three of us, circled in our chairs, nuzzled under our blankets to ward off the chill of the evening, waves crashing in the very near distance and the full moon overhead with cloud cover from time to time.

I had been invited into the forming ritual and was very excited to share my writing--in all of my years, I've never had a venue to share my writing--it had always been my anchor, my release, my therapy, my distance, my wall but never my bond.

The topic was "What have I learned?"--I only knew of this two days prior to the moon circle and could not coerce my mind into cooperation. Plus, I was overwhelming myself with answers to the question that kept leading back to 'nothing'. So I brought a poem I had written about 7 or 8 years ago when I had my first attraction to a woman--a poem that meant a lot to me as it represented a passing over, a new breath, a new facet of myself that I was exploring.

The first of our group read her response to the topic--"What I've learned since yesterday"--ahh, yes. That would make perfect sense now wouldn't it? Narrow the scope of the question into a framework more easily managed. Where was that epiphany when I was drilling my brain for what I had learned? I really liked her response--it was light and funny, humor seemed to come very easy and natural in her writing.

The second of our group read her response and she had broken hers down into categories--a laundry list of things learned. Another brilliant approach to tackling a daunting question. Her response was great as well--little vignettes of lessons along her way.

I was so inspired by talking with them, reading to them and listening to them under the full moon. I was savoring our time together, even after the sharing--sipping tea, nibbling on cookies and exchanging stories of our lives and our families.

We ended our evening with a group hug in the driveway just as the rain began to fall and I sang all the way home.

A few minutes after I walked in the front door my kids were each out of bed wanting to hear about my night. We kissed and hugged and I promised a full report in the morning.

Edit of my ass being kicked into gear

* Made it to the doctor's office--had my physical and all on the outside looks good. I still need to have blood work to have the inside cleared and will try to do that next week.

* Made it the used bookstore w/the kiddos. Daughter-bit bought a book on whales, Son-bit bought "The Box" and "Old Yellar", I bought some stories to read w/them in the evenings. One is "Catherine Called Birdie" to get us thinking in a medieval sort of way--we have a medieval faire coming up in two weeks!

* Did NOT accomplish the letters to our Peace Corps volunteer--on the agenda for tomorrow.

* Tried going without the heat until around 2:30 I could stand it no longer--I was freezing and had to cave. It's still on and I am toasty warm.

* I was extremely open to worthy uses of my time--not sure how many I actually accomplished but I was open. I did take a walk w/my son tonight while my daughter was in her tribal dance class--that was nice.

* I'm about to study the yoga postures I am teaching this weekend--it's why I can't dwell around blogville for too long tonight.

* I was grateful for life today--especially as I am one step closer to confirming my health is good and I have the rest of my life to give to my children.

If there is one theme for my day, I guess it would be blissful chaos. There was a hum all around me, I was sucked in and thrown out of the buzz, moving, going, doing, attending to and overseeing but all the while, I was a fierce core--a center. (And I only lost it once today!)

Kicking my ass into gear

I have had a spell of laziness. We were living a busy life before the holidaze and during the holidaze we caught a break. Well, the holidaze are over and I still can't seem to move my ass so I begin today with a few promises to myself.

* I will make it through my doctor's visit today.

* I will take the kids to the local used bookstore to pick out a book.

* I will FINALLY write our letters to our peace corps volunteer.

* I will turn off my heat for the day--sure it's cozy but a disregard of energy consumption.

* I will continue to be open to worthy uses of my time.

* I will review and study my yoga postures that I am expected to teach this weekend.

* I will be grateful for every moment of this life.

If I can at least stay on track with these, I will feel satisfied and fulfilled. If I decide to take on more throughout the course of our day, gravy.

Now I must go and wake the kids up so we can get our butts out the door for my doctor visit. Ah. There's accomplishment #1!

Evening...

I saw "Evening" tonight--a spectacular movie about an ordinary subject. Vanessa Redgrave's character is in her final stage of life and chooses to reflect on a certain period of her life as she moves toward her end. For more info, check out this link: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0765447/

I love anything that causes me to face my mortality. I am NOT going to live forever and I need those reminders so that I don't waste my time here--so that I am at best, mindful of how I choose it's spending.

Writing Time

The kids are writing in their journals right now so I figured I would be a good example and do some writing myself. Especially because I desperately need another column and have yet to stumble upon inspiration--usually inspiration for my column comes from my bad mothering moments and I haven't had any of those lately. I think for those sort of columns, the beauty is in their raw honesty--they're refreshing because it's comforting to admit, and have others admit, that this mothering gig is hard and we fuck up but we're not alone in our fucking up. And once we've moved past the fuck up, another is sure to follow. Give it time.

That's where I'm at now, not waiting to exhale--waiting to fuck up. But since I am currently dodging fuck ups, I shall share a blissful mothering vignette.

Last night was nice. My son was at rehearsals w/a friend and her family took him out to dinner w/them later in the evening. For some reason, beyond all explanation, I was exhausted--I had slept until 11:00 so there is no worthy excuse for me here. My exhaustion was exacerbated by the fact that I had a dull headache w/a firm grip on my temple region. This made for a sluggish existence and I'm sure my daughter had higher hopes for our evening together. Nevertheless, we stumbled through grocery shopping, had green tea sodas and made our way home. I warned her that I was crashing the second I walked in the door--and crash I did, after the groceries were put away.

She turned on Frasier, Season 3. I crashed on the sofa and she on the floor. Episode by episode we laid in the dark living room lit only by the television. It was a cozy waste of time but 4 episodes later, I was feeling much better. My dear daughter had been talking of jalapeno poppers--an appetizer she had at a family owned Mexican restaurant on her birthday--and was sucking me into her craving. So we scrounged the kitchen for some comparable snack. Turns out, sour cream, shredded cheese and hot sauce w/tortilla chips is not so bad--they're certainly not jalapeno poppers but are tasty nonetheless.

After our munchies, we cuddled on the sofa and watched some cool 'History of Rome' show on TV and later played Wizardology--I let her win *wink*

It was a nice savoring of time--I was not hostage to any preconceived notion of 'time'--what I should do, how much of what, etc.

Sure, there were better uses of the day yesterday. But for me, where I was, how I was feeling, I gave what I had and my daughter enjoyed our "time together"--she told me several times. We made a memory, a simple memory, complete w/green tea sodas, Frasier, Rome and rummaged nibbles.

This is me being at peace with where I'm at and where I've been and it feels damn good. In this place, I am one less critic--the harshest critic of all. Myself.

And the lights came down...

in our home today. Holidaze is over and I have to say, love the minimalist feel of my house--well, most of it. The craft room has to suffer abundance, otherwise, I'd be irresponsible. But the rest of the house says, who needs stuff when you got this family? The only clutter is the parade of frames telling a caption by caption story--the fairytale of family.

We packed away all decorations and put the normal face back on our abode. My little man raked the leaves in the yard and packed them into two paper grocery bags--I paid him $2.00, he worked hard and it was his idea to help. He didn't know he was doing it for money--what a great kid.

I had my Sunday baby over--we danced, had snacks, played a bit of the ole' imitation game, swung on the swing and ran outside. It was a great day! I showered her with kisses and inhaled that sweet baby smell from her soft, delicate cheeks--I just love how my lips sink into her round, fleshy little face. She's my walking, breathing yoga, man. Peace abounds when a babe is near--it quiets my mind, my heart, my soul.

(God I was born to be a mother--I crave children! I can feel this gnawing longing in my core--they bring so much contentment to a life.)

I tossed some espresso grounds over the fence to my neighbor (she uses it for her soil) and she tossed back a big bag of fresh picked (from her tree) organic oranges--nectar of the gods! Oh man--I'm 33 and have only recently eaten a fresh orange (thanks to her). I'll never be able to bring myself to buy them from a produce mart again--I'm ruined but what a way to be ruined!

My daughter has had a rough day. She procrastinated on her virtual classes and has a mother lode right now. I wish so bad that I could save her--she's been working since 10:00 this morning and it's almost 9:00. We stopped for lunch and dinner of course but the poor thing has gone hard core. And you know, she'll be okay. She's gonna pull through.

Things I loved about this day? My Sunday baby, my helpful little man, his sweetness w/my Sunday baby, the way he supports his sister (he was typing for her while she dictated some of her assignment because she was SO tired), my daughter's precious smile, her precious, precious smile, the way she falls into me when we hug, like she's holding onto time...you know, what am I saying? I loved every second.

It just occurred to me that this is what it feels like to really live. I did it man, in the moment. My heart is full and I am peace right now.

I must have been a near saint in my last life because we have our trials but I am blessed beyond the measure of the human potential for goodness...and I deserve every second of the joy.

Where I'm at..

I am guilty of dwelling on what I don't have and not FULLY appreciating what I do. Not that I don't love my life and all it's bounty but I occasionally think of what I still want that I don't have and allow it to sadden me or distract me.

For instance, I want a baby--that's no secret. Everyone who knows me better than a distant cousin knows I want a baby, another child, to experience this beauty all again. At times, the near impossibility of this weighs me down but what I'm forgetting or overlooking are my two wonderful children. They're not gone. They're right here and my focus needs to be on them 100% and come what may, when it might.

At times, I want more money--just enough to be comfortable, I want to travel, I want to be debt-free, I want ceramic tile floors, I want to paint the house, I want new windows, I want a play set in the backyard for the kiddos, I want, I want, I want.

I need an alignment of thinking--I want to be precisely where I'm at so that I don't stray from the one moment I am assured of, the moment I am guaranteed...the moment I am in.

S.O.S

We are sinking financially--can I get a fucking life vest?

There. I said it. I own it. Now really--can I get a life vest?

Oh, the thrill!

So I'm reading NPR tonight and I'm introduced to a book written by a "rogue" sociologist who infiltrated a tough gang in Chicago, even led it for a day and has used his sociological lens to explore his experience and theirs.

Okay, thrilling on two parts man. First, I LOVE sociology--I love the whole exploring social structures and social beings, it's my heart. Second, I also LOVE informal networks and power structures--I've seen the Godfather series more times than I can count and, though I hate violence, you gotta respect the way they get shit done.

Needless to say, this book is in my shopping cart at Amazon. I have dreams of a project of this sort--perhaps an extensive study on homeschooling moms--leaving behind the research I've already collected and speaking as an insider, whereby my status as "insider" affords me a certain, preferable perspective. Perhaps an autoethnography. But are homeschooling moms rouge enough, bad enough, whereby 'bad' implies a certain level of cool, are they gangsta enough? You laugh now but I don't know man. I've seen the claws come out--I've seen the nasty.

Okay, okay, so homeschooling moms are miles from gangsta tough--given. But I can sociologize on my own right?

Am I second-guessing my decision to cease writing my thesis? Was my assertion to stop a necessary step to push back, take a breather and move foward of my own accord, at my own pace?

We shall see.

Yum in the Tum: Peanut Butter & Honey Cookies

1 cup peanut butter
3/4 cup honey
1/4 cup butter
1 egg
1 t vanilla

1 cup flour
1/2 wheat germ
1/2 t salt
1/2 t baking soda
pinch of fresh ground nutmeg

Cream butter and honey together, add peanut butter and mix until creamy. Add beaten egg and vanilla and mix well. Mix dry ingredients together and add to wet.

This mixture is very gooey from the honey so it must be dropped onto the cookie sheet--it makes them delightfully misshapen--then wet a fork to press into the classic criss-cross design on top.

Bake at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes.

Enjoy!

Disconnect: Food

We are disconnected from our source of food--meat, vegetable, grain. The life experience of the animal we consume is an enigma as we flavor it's flesh w/artificial flavors and offer no thanks for its life or its sacrifice. We are ignorant of the soil in which our vegetables and grains grow.

We drive our cars to the pretty brick buildings w/landscaped green space and we pull forth a cart to hold our goods and wares. We inspect the bagged apples, squeeze a melon and weigh the chosen. We smell the bread loaf and match our senses to the black printed date on the package--ah, good.

We pay the unknown behind the machine, collect our purchase and return to the home we left before our modern day scavenge.

Trust

Have you ever considered the amount of tacit trust we are placing in other drivers when we take to the roads?

I was reminded of this tonight when my children and I were almost run off the road by a sidetracked driver. I don't even want to think about what might have happened if she had succeeded--we were driving about 70 mph.

Amid the egregious level of disconnect in our culture, possibly our world, driving brings us together in a way that we are unconscious of until someone or something threatens the order, the harmony.

Extinction

I was listening to NPR tonight on my way home from my son's rehearsals and a writer was sharing the story of his mother's battle w/cancer and ultimate death. When asked if she feared death, he responded with, "I don't think she feared death, I think she feared her own extinction"

A thought I can relate to. I love myself too much to believe that I might one day be over--wow. The finality of that concept stirs me.

When Will She Learn

When will she learn
of her power
When will she learn
of her strength
When will she notice
the difference
When will she suddenly speak

When will she reach
past her limits
When will she reach
for her stars
When will she walk
in humility
When will she open her heart

I'd save her the time if she let me
I'd save her the pain if I could
I'd give her a window to answers
if only I thought that she would.

To my dearest sister, Ashley.

I love my sister and I am waiting for her to find her way out of darkness...

What I'm gonna do and why it's gonna be OK

So, sometimes I just write here to make myself write. Always hoping that something will spill forth that is incredible and moving, soul-stirring and deep, funny and comforting. Most times I end up with words intended as story starters that don't get past their, well, font.

Not tonight--tonight is different. I'm inspired. Or I'm hopped on caffeine and consuming even more as I type this--a homemade white mocha by my side. I'm sitting in the kitchen at the black desk I just moved in here for me. Yes, a desk in my kitchen. I mean, I figure, it's my house, if I want a fucking desk in the kitchen, I'll have a desk in the kitchen. The kitchen is the nucleus of this home and most often where you will find me. And for tonight, let's be honest, because it's the physical center of this house, it's the warmest room in the place on this frigid-ass night.

Anywho, I heard back from the Community Columnist Editor today--I can resume my column. I left off after three columns because my life got crazy but in the wake of the holiday I have been able to recharge and realign myself to my path--my column is important to me right now and I want to maintain a weekly contribution. Who cares if no one ever reads it--at least I can be googled. :-)

I will try to complete a column by the end of this weekend--not sure of the subject matter yet. Hopefully, I'll have material--as if this life could generate anything but.

Moving on, I have a theme song. It's Fergie's, "Big Girls Don't Cry", yeah, I own it. I've moved past the confession stage to assuming it as my theme song--it's playing in my earphones right now. What? I won't buy concert tickets or anything but hey, it resonates with me. I have no shame:

I need some shelter of my own protection
To be w/myself and center, clarity, peace, serenity.

I hope you know, I hope you know, this has nothing to do with you.
It's personal, myself and I, we've got some straightening out to do.
I'm going to miss you like a child misses their blanket,
But I've got to get a move on with my life.
It's time to be a big girl now and big girls don't cry.

The path that I'm walking, I must go alone.
I must take the baby steps until I'm full grown.
Fairy tales don't always have a happy ending, do they?
And I foresee the dark ahead if I stay.

I hope you know, I hope you know, this has nothing to do with you.
It's personal, myself and I, we've got some straightening out to do.
I'm going to miss you like a child misses their blanket,
But I've got to get a move on with my life.
It's time to be a big girl now and big girls don't cry.

Like the little school mates in the school yard
We'll play jacks and uno cards
I'll be your best friend and you'll be my Valentine
Yes you can hold my hand if you want to
'Cause I want to hold yours too
We'll be playmates and lovers and share our secret worlds
But it's time for me to go home
It's getting late, dark outside
I need to be with myself and center, clarity
Peace, Serenity

For as long as I can remember, I've evolved--spiritually, emotionally, mentally. It's almost a curse in that, I have no constant except that change...and the love I have for my children of course. But even my mothering has evolved and will continue to. To see the me of 18 and the me of now--for Christ's sake, I'm a fucking walking enigma. The only piece of me that I recognize is my strength--this life force inside of me, my power. I cannot be broken and I've endured enough shit. I've been proving this from my first breath--I should've died in my first week home, I nearly choked to death in my mother's arms. At one week old, all oxygen flow ceased and the color of my infant skin darkened, my eyes went blank--connection lost. Only after CPR from a neighbor who happened to be home and actually opened the door for a screaming mother who must have looked like a lunatic at first glance, only after CPR did I breathe again--my way of throwing my finger up the universe as if to say, yeah right--gotcha.

My grandfather tried to rape the spirit out of me but what that fucking freak never got was that, he couldn't touch me. Despite all of his touching, he never laid a hand on what mattered--he had no idea who he was tampering with.

As a matter of fact, it was during this period of invasive, forced assault on my young body that I began to realize my power. Somehow, I knew I should be crushed or annihilated and sure I was affected in various ways too numerous to mention here but something inside me kicked in and I knew the bastard wouldn't win--he would never win over me.

Time after time, again and again, I have lifted myself from shit piles and every time I know it's all good. I know I'll keep on, I know I'll thrive--there is simply no question, it's like a natural law.

It's how I know that I'll make it through this one--imagine looking at your life, especially at the person you share it with and finally admitting that it's not serving you--it's temporary, a passing period of time in a finite life. Anyone else might be scared. Not me. Me? I'm gonna be just fine, you'll see.

Life is Insecurity

I just read this on a quantum blog and p-yow! As if I could have forgotten this or allowed this knowledge to dull.

I have flown by the seat of my pants since my divorce and ya know what? I have never gone without--the universe has always provided for me, I have provided and I have always risen w/power and joy.

I am unbreakable, I am unshakable.

This life is mine and I choose my reactions.

connection

i was thinking about blogging lately, especially after reading michael's, and the connection they afford us--well, i guess that would depend on whether or not anyone has found your blog and cares to read it but with michael, he can have the hearts of those who read his story, reach out to him, regardless of their location, their station in life, their schedules, and he knows he's not alone--it's a connection mechanism.

certainly, a blogging addiction can breed disconnect but here, it's helpful. a dying man has community that he might not otherwise have and they are gifted with a part in sealing the life of a good man.

hmmm...

Confessions

I love the Fergie songs: "Big Girls Don't Cry" and "Glamerous"

I love the Justin Timberlake song: "Sexy Back"

So, anyway...

...the kitchen flooded tonight from the bath my son was taking in the adjacent bathroom. We believe the water that was running into the slit in the tub that sucks up the water as it gets too high--I'm speaking in completely technical terms here--was the water spilling over into our kitchen, obviously, there is a crack somewhere. Yeah. Obviously.

So, I kind of felt like Tom Hanks in the Money Pit when he's watching his claw-foot tub fall through the bathroom floor and he begins to laugh hysterically--I was kind of there, without the laughing. All I could do was hold my head and shake it from side to side, as if the shaking made what I was seeing any less real.

I'm not upset, really. Fortunately, we have the dehumidifier from our other house woes and can remove this water from the baseboards, walls, air handler closet and under our shitty-ass linoleum. I may have to prostitute myself when I get my electric bill but I've had to be creative before, financially speaking--not prostitution mind you, but creative.

The thing is, I'm not upset. I feel surprisingly calm and at peace with the whole situation--is this my yoga or something else?

Productivity

I'm on it today--rose at 7:00 and went for a brisk walk, about 30 minutes, came home and did some sun salutations and other gentle asanas, baked pumpkin bread and started laundry--I'm now on my 6th load of laundry. Understand, I have not done laundry since my partner and I started our relationship 6 years ago--it was kind of empowering to step back in the laundry room, to assume responsibility over a task I conceded to her back then. Moving on, I talked to my dad, my sister and my mom this morning--hopefully have nailed down the week that I will visit my sister and her new baby.

About an hour ago I began a game w/my little ones but our mini-guest arrived and we had to put it away until this evening--she's only 1 and would prefer to have 100% of our attention anyway.

I feel good about my progress today--think I'll make my pomegranate, cherry green tea now.

Found a new blog today...

The blogger is Michael and he's dying of cancer. His blog contains his reflections on the disease as it affects him, his musings on his life thus far, the pain, the absence of pain, poetry and photographs--his own work.

When I was on No Impact Man this morning, he referenced Michael's site in a post--I was intrigued that Michael was writing through his disease, knowing that he was going to die. I think that's a natural response on my part--we are all going to die and when we know of someone who has received confirmation, a deadline if you will, then we are drawn to them apprehensively, as if they were some sort of tour guide, a navigator of sorts of this enigmatic terrain.

For me personally, I am in awe by his calm, at least on the surface. He has accepted his fate and is living within the limits, in peace.

While reading through his posts, I was drawn to a poem of his that moved me. It really touched where I was needing to be touched this morning. Here it is:

Facing death
recalling the "virtues" of my life
(why am I keeping score?)
letting the foibles haunt me
Who am I trying to please?
What am I measuring up to?

We're all facing death right? Everyday we live is one more we don't. And I am guilty of tormenting myself when I don't perform to the standards that I have in place, ideals that I have for myself, benchmarks, a bar that I must meet. I will make myself sick w/grief as I assess my day when I lay my head down at night, always at night. When the lights go out and the house is quiet and the work has been done, it's then that I assess. It's then that the sound of my angry voice or the irrationality of my response to one of my children earlier in the day will haunt me--no, will terrorize me. My heart will beat erratically, my head will spin and I allow the regret to ravage me.

Why do I let the foibles haunt me? WHO AM I TRYING TO PLEASE?

It's fine to have goals and standards and values--they serve to shift our perspectives when perspectives become unaligned. To right our paths. But I suppose the challenge is to refrain from annihilating our selves when we don't..., well, when we don't measure up.

The little things...

Well, I wasn't so great at mentally recording little things today but here is my attempt for all that it is worth:

I was washing dishes, looking out of my kitchen window when a breeze shook leaves from the trees and they floated down to the ground in brilliantly colored shower.

That was nice.

I read a magazine and drank a cup of coffee--no interruptions.

Well, that's all. But that's enough, for now. I'm a beginner at slowing the pace with which I take in this beautiful space I occupy.

Trying not to move too fast...inside.

This is a great challenge for me, the perpetual mover. I don't mean to suggest that I am physically up and moving all the time but even in my down time or veg time, my mind is buzzing in a bazillion directions and I am rarely "still".

I challenge myself to slow the pace, the savor more and stress less, to understand that I have choices in life down to my emotional responses and I can actively select my response.

So today, I am here. In this place of peace--I will move from peace, act and speak from peace, think from peace.

From this place, I will try to notice the small things that might go overlooked in my usual haste and will post later.

Menu for tomorrow

As I sit here w/trash TV in the background, I thought I would plan my menu tomorrow before I forget what I want to prepare and because we are stretched, I need to make these ingredients last...

For breakfast, I'll make an apple bread--this time w/sugar because I really messed it up last time.

***Update: Made apple bran sweetened w/brown sugar and molasses--they are okay. Certainly nutritious but just alright in the yum department.

For lunch, I'll make quinoa and cheese tortillas w/ black bean soup [black beans, canned tomatoes, orange pepper, banana pepper and onions] poured on top w/a dollop of organic sour cream.

***Update: Am going to begin this soon but had to argue w/my credit card company over a $39.00 over-the-limit fee they charged me when the finance charge THEY added took my balance over the limit for $3.00. Is this fucked up or is it just me? I mean, clearly, I carry a balance because I cannot afford to pay it off so already I'm hit with finance charges (ie. paying for being poor) every month but then when it gets so close to the limit and a finance charge takes me over a measly three bucks, I get another fee--this time a good one, one that says *POW*! So she lectures me on planning for my finance charges and managing my credit to which I reply, taking no moment to realize I need her on my side, that I am not defective in the mind but simply overlooked it this month and that's why I'm calling. She reversed the fee w/a 'screw you' tone in her voice.

Snacks: Boiled eggs for w/fruit smoothies

For dinner, corn fritters [corn meal w/frozen corn] and, hmmm.....I'll have to think on that.

"I" am home

The last few days have been troubling to understate the gravity of our situation--we've discovered a wet corner in our house w/mildew growth, bubbling paint and wet carpet. There is no sign of where the moisture is coming in and we're quite sure that this problem was known to the previous owner who must have decided NOT to disclose the problem to us.

I have cried and recovered, cried and recovered. I've even gone into strategy mode--what do we need to know, what should we do and what can we do? I mean, what else am I going to do--there's no return policy on houses!

So I went out and bought a heavy duty dehumidifier, 50 pint, and we have had a lot of luck--countless dumping of the water chamber later, the symptoms have retreated (for now). There's still the small matter of getting to the root of the moisture but at least we have bought some time. My only concern now is a big, fat, fucking surprise on our electric bill--whatever, I can't think about that right now.

As this was going on, in the dead heat of the moment, the source of my greatest pain and discouragement had little to do with the moisture enigma and more to do with my own expectations of myself for my children. I just want a freakin' shelter spot that I can call my own, where we can rest and breathe and laugh and cry and feel secure. I want them to have a place that they remember when they grow up, a tree that they carve on in the front yard, a garden they plant, stories that begin with "remember when" and bring their minds back to this home. I want to "be" and I want them to be able to "be". I want them to love their home, to have fond memories of their home--sure, they might say, "it wasn't much but..." but they will recount the stories they tell with fondness and adoration.

I am threatened by this moisture, by the thought that something beyond my control, at least certainly beyond my financial control, could threaten the security of my children's well-being, of their foundation, of that which nestles them until they are strong enough and ready enough to set out on their own.

I had my own ideas on why this was not possible but they were buried under many layers of woe and then I had the phone call. My other mom and I were talking and I started to cry when I began to tell her about the situation--I couldn't help it, my pain was right on the surface ready to pour over and so it did. And she reminded me of what I already knew, of what I was telling myself in a whisper, that I was their home, that their memories of their childhood would be fastened to my role as their mother. She told me I was the best mother she had ever seen and while that might be an exaggeration on her part to move me past my tears, it worked.

This house will never be the anchor that I am to my children, no house for that matter. I am the nucleus, the anchor, the epicenter and all that flows from my heart for these children will sustain them when the wet seeps in and the walls no longer stand on this mere structure.

Storycorps Project

www.storycorps.net

The movement behind the idea that everyone has a story just as worthy of being told as those we select for the history books, as those we select for the telling.

What's yours?

Contentment

The day has gone well so far. Upon waking up, I moved through my yoga practice that I will be expected to teach when we resume our training in January. Our instructor expects that it will be a 30 minute practice--that is our challenge. This morning, I managed it in 26 minutes and that was without the meditation--I can SO swing that, I just need to do a bit of refining before we meet again.

I did manage to get to crafts with the kids today--it was great! We made garland for pine cone xmas trees and prepared a few more decorations for them. We worked on our clay windchimes that we made at the Art Center, adding beads to the twine before tying the pieces together--I'm torn about putting them outside, they're so cute and I want to preserve them. My daughter made beautiful worry dolls--worry dolls are Guatemalen, allegedly you speak a worry to each doll and place them under your pillow at night. I recently bought some for friends of my bits who were having a birthday and I have some put back for their xmas stockings...shhh.

Last night I made chocolate bark--white chocolate on the bottom and milk chocolate on top with crumbled candy cane pieces. This morning I pulled it off the parchment paper--it was perfect and YUM!

All in all a really good day but I did not move through the day easily--there was an underlying stress. It could be because I am on call and on these days, always waiting for the pager to go off--which it did but I was only gone for 3 hours.

I'm losing track of where I wanted to go, so perhaps it's time to call it a post.

Photo albums, thesis, crafts and other things left undone

I am about two years behind in my photo albums. I have the pictures on my computer but my albums are in limbo. I can only order them one bunch at a time to catch myself up but I feel like shit for letting it get this bad.

My thesis is still a black cloud hanging over my head--I am paralyzed by my own inertia and unmotivated by the sheer weight of the passing time. One day turns to another, turns to a month, turns to two years and here I am.

I have pine cones on my porch waiting for the final touches in order to hang them on our porch tree. They're painted but I keep saying we will add gems and glitter--today we will, we will, we will, we will. Alas. Not today. We won't.

The windows need to be cleaned, the floors need to be vacuumed, utilities need to be paid--we are two months behind and cessation of service is imminent. Filing cabinets and school room needs to be organized. My life is a to-do list.

I will be okay in the lack of accomplishment because for everything I wanted to do but didn't do today, I did something else. I call it trading. I did some xmas shopping for the kids' stockings--we're not doing gifts but I can't let a holiday pass with no surprise for them on xmas morning. I checked out a cute cafe in my neighborhood that I have not had the courage to try before today. I attended a birthday party w/the kids and got hot chocolates for our ride home. Planted some poinsettias in front of our living room window this evening and watered my plants. And now we're watching a movie in the same room as I type this.

I guess this is life. Sure I have things I want to do, need to do but the thing to do is that which is in front of me at the moment offering itself up to me.

That thing which keeps me in the moment...living and not the guilt that comes from looking back or ahead or anywhere outside of the moment.

The gnawing pain of reflection...

And why would it be so? Reflection should bring joy and happiness, fond thoughts, stories woven from the recalled fragments yet, this evening, when I piddled through photo albums, journals of my childrens' young lives and old birthday cards, I felt sad. It was a gnawing ache in what I suppose to be my heart--the emotion center of my being, not the physical organ.

I longed to do over, to hold longer, to kiss more and hug tighter, to listen better, to memorize with better accuracy...I longed to have been more in the moment.

I am a hostage of time, a victim of haste and my memories are the causalities of a haphazard existence.

I cannot sacrifice another day, another moment--I could be down to minutes yet I move through the hours of my life like a grocery list.

Microsoft Student

I have been using this product as part of a reviewing process and I have been nothing but impressed!

I am also quite aware that even after using this product for almost a month, we have only tapped the surface of it's capabilities. Microsoft Student is a mammoth resource base. The only limitation we have found is one that lies in our personal computer system--we have an older version of Microsoft Word and in order to access and utilize some of the features, you need Microsoft Office XP or later. With that being said, here are some of the cool features we have taken for a ride:

Math Tutorials w/ step by step explanations on solving problems w/decimals, fractions and positive/negative numbers--there's more but these are the ones we used for the level my children are at in the subject. The instructions are clear and MS offers a scientific calculator for computing answers as well!

Foreign Language Tools offer help w/Spanish, German, Italian and French--all with additional web resources.

There are tools for presentations, reports, tables, charts, graphs, etc., that act as templates for students to arrange their information and tutorial side bars explaining the purpose of the organization.

MS offers Encarta exploration by subject, educational games for reinforcement of skills learned and many, many web links for further learning on various subjects.

We have truly only just begun to understand the capabilities of this product, which is designed to meet the student where they are and grow with them through the years.

Early riser

So I went to bed early and this is what it gets me? I was in bed unusually early, around 10:00 and probably asleep by 11:00. Then, I wake--wide awake--at 3:00 and have been up ever since. Sure, I tossed and turned for about 2 hours 45 minutes trying to return to my slumber but to no avail.

I realized that I might as well embrace my internal, disrupted sleep clock and rise from bed. I washed all the fruit in our fridge so it's ready to eat when the kids want a snack, diced an orange, an apple and some grapes for a morning fruit salad and wrapped organic sausage w/cheese and onions in a spinach tortilla--yum. Drank a huge glass of water, stretched with some yoga postures and now I blog until time to leave for my yoga class.

It's been a great morning and it's only 7:45! I rarely see this hour unless it's against my will. Hopefully, I have enough fuel to continue at this pace but something tells me a nap is in my very near future!

One foot in front of the other?

The kids and I are drinking evening coffee--they are making origami fiddles in the den and I'm writing in the kitchen, my favorite room in the house sometimes. I accomplished a good deal today. We had a quick breakfast, made our way to the downtown library and checked out some cool books and DVD's and then headed to the Farmer's Market where I bought: a butternut squash, 4 onions, 4 avocados and 3 bell-peppers, ALL for only $8.00. I was pleased with myself.

We had a very late lunch of grilled quesadillas topped with a black bean soup that I prepared with canned tomatoes (pureed), onions, bell-peppers, powdered cayenne pepper, black pepper, red wine vinegar, olive oil and salt. It was so yum! We ate so late, I'm not sure that we'll be ready for dinner anytime soon.

While I was cooking, the kids partner read an article at Science News for Kids on the science of happiness and we discussed the article w/questions listed on the website--it was interesting and kind of a cool way to do two things at one time, cooking and homeschooling.

I'm on call tonight which prevents me from going too deep into any one project, feel like I have to be ready at a moment's notice and, I guess, I do. I suppose there is a lot I could do, especially because I'm not actually leaving the house but it's a mind thing.

I've retired to the bedroom and asked to be left alone--I'm in a funk, kind of tired and feeling an overall sense of 'blah'. My thesis is hanging over my head seriously. If I could just jumpstart myself and my work, I'd be on my way but it's the jumping part that eludes me. I'm seriously uninspired and it's effecting other areas of my life. For instance, I will not read a good book because I feel like I should be reading material related to my thesis. I put 4 news books on my xmas wish list in hopes that I can shake this impediment.

I just need to do it, I know. I get that but I'm so not interested anymore.

What if...

What if we were so fed-up with the atrocities in Sudan, particularly Darfur, that we stopped where we were, stopped what we were doing and forced our government's hand, forced them from inaction? What if?

Could something of that magnitude really be arranged? Would we stop long enough? Could we stop? And if not, why?

My beautiful life...

Had a nice day today. Was called out twice for assault victims and felt really good about the role I played there--didn't feel pressure or anxiety when my pager went off. That's usually the case when I get breaks in between my shifts or have a light load of cases--I have more to give and give it freely.

Went to the grocery store on my way home and bought odds and ends that were looked over when I was shopping for thanksgiving. Realized that we have only 20 dollars to last until next payday--12 days from now. Hopefully, I will babysit tomorrow--love to see the toddler I watch and could definitely use the money.

We're also late on mortgage--almost a month late. I feel like such a schmuck right now--paid the cable/internet/phone, paid the electric/water, paid car insurance but opted out of mortgage. My reasoning was: late on one or late on three? Not the wisest plan but my plan nonetheless. In all honesty, I would freak out without my phone and internet and I know that mortgage will be paid...eventually. Certainly before a foreclosure.

Later in the day, had the kids draft their x-mas lists for various grandparents--after which, realized that their wants and desires are met and there's really nothing left for us to do. We've talked about taking a family trip anyway (in lieu of an elaborate giftfest) and the kids are totally on board with that idea. Maybe Savannah, Key West, the mountains somewhere--they really want to go back to D.C. and I would totally love that but we need to check pricing first.

I have to fight the demons in my head--those demons of consumption--to get past my feelings of not providing enough or at all for my children on this holiday of mandated giving. It's like a wave on the ocean--you're frolicking in the water and you see the frothy beast in the distance coming closer than you could ever run-in-water to escape it and then, it's barreled over you and you're as helpless as the shell fragments in the sandy sediment below as you're all tumbled around before you finally fight to find top from bottom in order to orient your body again.

I don't want to be tumbled with every other consumer--fight the system, man. It also stems from being poor but forced abstention can still be admirable.

Was able to talk to a friend who is growing into more of a friend everyday--we're in the early phase but I adore her and her children.

My children are watching a PBS special, Celtic Woman--they are singing holiday music. My children love their music, we've watched another special of theirs and my children were excited to find this on cable tonight. It sounds divine in the distance.

Guess I will sign off tonight and read to my little ones--we are reading a Julie Andrews novel right now: The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles, so I'm happily anticipating our reading time.

Now this is what I'm talking about

So yesterday was a bust as far as being mindful of all the goodness I have in my life, but, today was much better.

Top ten thanks:

1. Nieces and nephew stayed last night, played ALL day and are staying tonight as well.

2. Yoga to open my body, center my spirit and quiet my mind.

3. Yogurt and fruit for dinner...because I can.

4. Homemade hot chocolate (100% cocoa and sugar) with a chocolate kiss stirred in and red sprinkles on top of the frothy milk...for the kids of course!

5. Wireless internet because I love to surf around.

6. Conversations with my sister.

7. Hugs from my children...and their cousins today!

8. A clean kitchen--hell, a clean house, despite all the children!

9. National Lampoon's Xmas Vacation coming on TBS tonight...good times

10.A tent set up on the futon for the kiddos to "camp" in.

11.And just because I like to know I have more to be thankful for than just 10, clear sinuses, good health and wonderful family.

12.How could I forget? NO consumerism today--I purposefully did not allow myself to purchase a single thing on this day of consumption and corporate greed.

Last night made me think...

...so today, I have tried to be mindful of my err. My nieces and nephews stayed the night last night w/my mom and I just asked my brother if I could have the kids through tonight as well. With my kids being homeschooled and my nieces and nephews in traditional school, our families are on different schedules. Not to mention the fact that my brother has married and is divided between two families now and they live 45 minutes away now, instead of 15. I love my family and love that we are as close as we are, physically and emotionally.

I feel very protective of that bond and work very hard to keep the connection because of what I know can happen if I don't. I rarely talk to my aunt or two uncles--it's been one year since I had a phone conversation with my aunt and years since I've seen or talked to my uncles. I have no relationship with my maternal cousins and little to no relationship with my paternal cousins--we played together as children, just as mine are now but I think I can safely say that my children have a special closeness with their cousins that I never had with mine, despite ALL of our childhood time together.

They are outside now playing freeze dance--my daughter is playing Ella's Christmas CD and the others will dance and lip sync until the music is turned off--then, FREEZE! It's cute. They're having fun and building memories. Which, is all we really have possession of in this world--the memories we build, keep and share along the way.

Speaking of memories, my grandmother shared her own with us yesterday before Thanksgiving lunch. Her paternal grandmother was a Cherokee Indian and traveled the Trail of Tears--I was awe struck! I was immediately honored to have had this woman, my great-great grandmother, survive the treachery of the white man, live above the abuse of rights and surely bodies and still create a life for herself and her family that would eventually lead to ours, mine. She became a cornerstone of what I know and who I love.

What was so interesting to me, with all the inaccuracies surrounding the original harvest feast/peace giving feast/thanks giving feast between the puritans and original inhabitants of the "New World", I, a white, privileged person of mixed descent, met my own original inhabitant that day--if only her spirit, our two worlds blended into a clarity of heritage--a clearer understanding of where I come from, who I owe my life to and how intimately connected we are as human inhabitants of this earth.

Thank you my Cherokee great-great grandmother, I love you and your legacy.

Giving Thanks...

Today was a good day. Very nice, very fulfilling. The only thing I did not get to do was have some quality time w/my little bits because I was SO busy in the kitchen. I don't like that--it defeats the purpose.

I'm preparing, preparing, rushing, twirling around--for what? Presentation? Give me a freakin' break.

My grandmother came w/her husband, my mom was over, my brother and his daughter--later, his wife, his other daughter, her son and of course, my fam. Loved having all my fam here--most of them, but now I feel very unfulfilled. Like I missed out on something.

Truth is...I did.

The whole point for me, I missed the whole point.

So, for missing this earlier, I say this now:

I am thankful for my children and their health, their smiles, their hugs and our relationship.

I am thankful for my partner who loves me and takes care of me.

I am thankful for having the chance to be home w/my children, to teach them, to learn from them and to walk this road.

I am thankful for family, for my mom being right here in our city--for her love and support.

I am thankful for my health

I am thankful for everything else that I cannot call to mind right now...

Tomorrow, I will enjoy the day as I should have today. We will talk to each other, we will share what we are thankful for, we will eat yummy, healthy food because it nourishes our bodies NOT because a day has been designated for over-indulgence.

Tomorrow, the day after Thanksgiving, a day heralded for it's mass consumerism--classic over-indulgence--we will resist the urge, the temptation, to blindly consume beyond our limits and we will instead, focus on what we have and what it brings to us.

Today was a good day because I realized what I do not want to repeat. I am thankful for mindfulness.

The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles

This book is my new bible and I must share it's pearls of wisdom:

"It has taken several million years for the human brain as we know it today to develop. Now all we have to do is learn to use it properly."

This book was written by Julie Andrews Edwards in 1974 and any book that seeks to expand the minds of children, shatter the boundaries of imagination, is aces in my mind.

I am only 4 chapters in but we were hanging on the words man, even re-reading to fully grasp the weight and beauty of what was written.

To master or not to master...

So I'm two years out of the Masters program (Sociology) and still no thesis. Data is collected, partially analyzed--as much as anyone can "analyze" qualitative interview data, I play along to get by--but that is where the thesis hit the wall.

Dare I entertain the idea of NOT doing this. Committing to an unfinished degree, bucking the proverbial system, giving the finger to the higher education machine and moving forward in relative peace with my decision?

Ya know. I might just do that, if I didn't have $50,000 in student loans to payoff because of that higher education machine.

I think I'd be an idiot if I dropped the ball now, but how do you fall back in line with something you're not sure you believe in anymore?

Damn self-growth and evolution--there's a different reflection in that mirror now.

Smell and Taste Return: A Good Day Overall

I tasted most of what I ate today, still not 100% but any change from *no* smell and *no* taste is an improvement for me and one I celebrate.

I was on call yesterday and last night but NO call-outs. I enjoyed uninterrupted time with my family and myself, it was cool. We cleaned and put the last of the x-mas boxes away as we have FINALLY completed our decorations for the season--YAY!

We played a couple of family games and my partner and I drank our new yummy tea--Bigelow's Pumpkin Spice, it's so tasty. Think I'll make some right now...okay, the water's boiling.

Today, the kids and I accomplished some of their lessons--watched a cool documentary entitled: "Becoming Human" which can be found at www.becominghuman.org and it's FREE. It was a great scholarly piece on human evolution and it is delivered in clips so that you can consume as much or as little as you like--additionally, each clip has exhibit links with more information tidbits pertaining to the material in the clip.

I practiced yoga for the first time in *FIVE* days and for the first time since we created a meditation alter for me in our bedroom--it was very cool to move this post-sickness body and to open my chest with breath. It was an exhilarating practice, made more so by the alter at the front of my yoga space--so chi!

Now I am taking the time to blog some thoughts/reflections and waiting on my tea to steep--does life get any better than this?

Sense of smell...

Do you ever really think about it? It's not something I give much thought--except when I light incense for my yoga practice or burn oil when the house is clean so that I can have an explosion of the senses.

But for the last week, I have been without my sense of smell thereby my sense of taste as well. The taste I can almost handle--tolerate, rather but my smell?

Today I have had intermittent periods of smell--especially after a good nose blow--and I gave each period heightened awareness, a tribute to smell, if you will. First, I noticed the oil I burned--vanilla spice with a splash of candied citrus...hmmm. Then, the shampoo I used in the shower and the citrus body wash--ahhhh. From there, the herbal lotion I used on my freshly shaved legs.

All of this got me thinking about what I was missing in my sense of smell--the sweet smell of my children, which can be musty depending on how far out from a shower they are, nonetheless, I know their smell and I depend on it. The smell of my tea or my coffee, the smell of the outside, the smell of the food that I prepare for my family. These are sweet smells that conjure feelings of contentment and joy.

But my smell also acts as a warning for me--when I'm driving down the road with outside air flowing into my car, sometimes, my sense of smell alerts me that I am taking in a heavy flow of fumes from the cars around me so I ventilate the car quickly and close the vents. On a lighter note, my smell also tells me that dinner might be overcooking or that a diaper needs to be changed--when I was babysitting today, I had to rely on my children's noses when it was time for a poop scoop.

I miss you smell--the yellow has almost run it's course and I anticipate a fragrant romance.

My day today, sinus infection and all

I dragged my ass out of bed this morning to make my little guy's PE class--8:00 is early for me and even earlier when my snot runs yellow and my head's in a fog. I suppose I could have spared the grossness there but I've become very comfortable with my snot over the last few days and, well, there I am.

The fog is lifting from this snot-fest but I'm still blah and needing rest. The kids and I had a good day in spite of how I felt. We ate a yummy lunch--harvest soup (yellow squash, potatoes, garlic and onions in chicken broth w/seasonings) it was yum. I took a power nap as they watched a video on South America--a power nap that left me with no power. Then we picked up a toddler I was babysitting from her daycare and made a coffee and grocery store run. It was fun trucking around with a toddler--I miss that coziness. The coziness of walking around the store w/a little bit tucked in the cart--it's like drifting in your own orbit, the two of you.

Came home and played on my wireless internet--yay! Did some odds and ends, made an okay dinner and piddled around.

Now I'm tired--think I'll turn in.

Night.

Wireless

Hell yea. I'm wireless baby. Just happened tonight.

The kids were playing webkinz from different rooms, together.

Now I sit on the sofa writing on my blog with the TV on and my partner sleeping soundly beside me.

Sweet.

Untitled

There is no right way to start this--no proper title. Just a mother who lost her way for a moment, a day. I can't explain the hopelessness, the desperation, that consumed me this day, yesterday. This day when I had to will my legs to move, my face to smile, my voice to speak, my lungs to breathe, my lips to kiss and my arms to embrace. I was emotionally desolate. I had nothing to give.

The collapse of my patience and tolerance was foreboding--the moment had come and I had no will left to will against it. I said it--I half screamed-half cried it. "I could leave you both right now and not look back"

I could not talk after that for fear of what else I might say--what other soul-crushing purges I was capable of. I went to my bed and leaned into the warmth of the blankets and cried. I gathered my things to leave for the grocery and cried. I walked to the car, one heavy foot in front of the heavy other. I sat in the car and cried. I wanted to speak to them, to tell them I loved them, to tell them I could never leave them really but I was lost in a wilderness of despair. As I sat in my car, I thought about leaving--not physically driving to another place intentionally abandoning my children but I nursed the idea of what it might feel like as if to remind my head how much my heart needed them.

I pulled out of the drive, knowing that they were inside wondering when I was coming back and why I didn't say good-bye.

As I drove to the grocery, I prayed that I would not be killed in some freak driving accident that would leave my children scarred for the better part of their lives because the last words they heard me speak were in anger and the last image was me walking out the door, cold and stone faced--a shadow of the person and mom I usually am.

It was more of the same at the grocery--forced movements, head and eyes down, not daring contact with anyone.

Back at home, the fog was lifting and because I had arrived back home safely and still alive, I wanted them to know right away that they were my loves--the centers of my world because I want them there.

We talked and they understood with the compassion of children's hearts.

Sleep tight...

I'm getting ready for bed but I thought I should drop in and drop a few lines.

Life is good--I'm over my yoga upset. Had a fine practice myself yesterday morning and figured the incident itself was a test of my "yoga". I'm not sure how I did on that test but I'm thinking not so good.

Anyways, we spent the evening at a cast party for my little guy and his fellow cast mates from the play they were in recently--the one that took this family on a whirlwind! It was nice--cool people, cool atmosphere. All in all can't complain.

I had Jen drive me home so I could practice yoga and she did. Once she left, I was on the porch fiddling with the Halloween lights and getting bit by mosquitos. I thought I would turn the porch light off so as to not attract them as much and when the knob wouldn't turn, I realized I was locked out. I had locked myself out--what a moron!

I went to one neighbor's house and he shredded a giftcard trying to open my lock but no go. I went to another neighbor's house to borrow her phone and phone book--I thought I would call Jen at this party and have her come home w/her keys. The phone number was perpetually busy. So I left here and thought I might walk to the party site--maybe two miles away. I got to the main road and thought, "What the hell are you doing". I see it all the time. A woman walking alone at night and becomes a victim--I am an advocate for these women for Christ's sake. So I go to another neighbor's house to use their phone and try ONE MORE time to call this lady's house having the party. Nothing--still busy. This neighbor offers to drive me to the party and I was beside myself excited! I couldn't thank him enough and he was so very sweet about it, so nonchalant, like it was no big deal.

So once Jen gets me back to the house, I keep the keys in my pocket while I finish the lights outside, just in case.

When the kids get home about an hour later, they are stoked about the lights. I'm happy they are happy.

Then I hit the grocery before they closed and am preparing to go to bed as I write this.

Hopefully, I can have some yoga time in the morning--I have A LOT of preparation before next month's class.

The weirdest day

So today I'm all psyched to go to yoga--power yoga. I take a quick power nap after a long day of activities for my kids and I leave the house when partner gets home with 40 minutes for my drive.

Yeah. Not happening and this became very apparent when it was 10 to 6 (class starting time) and I was still in dead stopped traffic and could see the overpass I was to merge onto, also dead stopped traffic.

I was in a very un-yogic huff. Drove home and decided to attend another yoga class at 7:15. Chilled for a bit at home and left again.

I walk into the yoga studio and there is no one there yet so I start a few sun salutations, glad that there will obviously NOT be a crowd tonight. My yoga teacher comes in and we chit-chat but come 7:15 NO OTHER STUDENTS. She's totally weirded out. Making comments about not being able to teach to one student, doesn't know how, has never had to do it. She's freaking me out. Should I just go? I ask. Do you mind? She replies.

Off the record: Are you fucking kidding me? Do you know what I had to do to get here tonight? Do you know how bad I need this class and you can't get over a hang-up to teach the one student who bothered to come to your lame ass yoga class?!?!?

So, I'm cool but allowing a bit of irritation to rise to the surface and I pack up my mat to leave. She walks out, apologizing and further exploring how weird this is. I say don't sweat it and make my way to my car.

All the way home I'm trying to figure this weird shit out. Why were there so many barriers to my yoga practice tonight? Was this a message from the universe or just shit happening at precisely the wrong moment in my life?

I feel so ill-equipped

There are days when I feel inadequate for mothering and then there are days when I am certain I am ill-equipped to be raising my children. That level of honesty is difficult to admit, it's difficult for those words to float around outside of my mind.

I could not go to sleep last night because I was grieving over how I had spoke to my son--my sarcastic tone and his quivering lip when I spoke. Instead of stopping my tirade and hugging him, I continued.

It's not important how it happened--just that it happened at all.

Chillin' with Cool Chi

Monday: 10/01/2007

I had a great weekend! The sun set on the chaos in my life. I had my yoga teacher training, which totally aligned my positive chi, opened my third eye, balanced the chakras and all that yoga jazz. My children were stars, each in their own way and, did I mention the sun set on the chaos in my life? It was ALL good.

Every month, for one weekend, I am attending a yoga teacher certification course. This past was my second weekend and I am already able to tell a difference but am also left wondering, will there be room for my imperfections in the wake of this course? Am I still allowed? And if I walk in the yogi way, will I still have writing material for my column?

Uh, something tells me: yeah.

Nevertheless, I am trying to be more mindful, more patient and more loving--to everyone, including the dung-bugs that cut me off in traffic or the personality challenged robots who ring up my groceries sometimes. But it's hard to be nice when you are faced with someone who is not so nice. You know the whole angel and devil on the shoulder bit? Well, it's like the yogi on my shoulder gets clobbered by the rogue monk on my shoulder that wants to throw down at the mere suggestion of peaceful, loving resolve.

Ommmmm.

Okay, so this may take more work but I'm journeying man, one weekend at a time.

So, anyway, my daughter had her FIRST EVER solo dance performance and for her, this was BIG. She has always been very satisfied and safe in the crowd of ladies dancing together but to step out on her own has horrified her. How cool that I got to journey with her on this? To see her open her heart and mind to a totally new and slightly uncomfortable experience? It was sweet! I could have never achieved such an accomplishment when I was her age man, I was just trying to survive back then. My daughter's dance? American Tribal Style Bellydancing and the way she moves defies the bones beneath her skin. The beauty of it? She has no idea how beautiful she is, not a clue, for she is the epitome of humble.

My son's play opened, for it's one and only performance, at UNF Sunday night and he rocked! They all did, I could easily spotlight him because he's my babe but the entire cast was wonderful and they have worked so hard, thus the chaos in my life. The last seven weeks, our family has endured a very active rehearsal schedule and I fared the best I could. My son, on the other hand, was a precocious professional. Here again, I was taken on a journey with him, witness to a powerful process--an awakening within him. He would lock himself in his room and practice, practice, practice. He would take notes at rehearsals and actually "got into character" on the stage. Sweet. My son's performance? A musical about peace, celebrating diversity and the tragic costs of war, whether personal, national, international or global. What a message to immerse yourself in at nine years old.

That's the jazz of mothering for me. Not only do I get to have my own joys and journeys along the way but I get to ride theirs as well.

Thursday: 10/04/2007

My mom calls this morning and tells me about a local anchor woman who has posted on her blog about yelling at her children and how lousy she feels--a club the first mother on earth started and subsequent mothers have been joining ever since. This courageous, honest anchor woman goes on to say she expects to receive hate mail from her confession.

Here's where the rogue monk on my shoulder wants to throw down, so I'll proceed from a place of peace when I say what I want to say here. I'll personally kick the butt of anyone who blasts this woman for yelling at her children, in a yogi kind of way.

It is liberating to admit to yelling at your children. They are not always fun to be around, at times, they are down right irritating. How dare society guise the reality of having kids in smiling-robot-mom-clorox commercials or greeting card poetry or lip service from clueless politicians or ridiculous mothering manuals as if we can know or care about what-to-expect once we've met these dear creatures we call our offspring.

Yeah, a bit of a tirade here I suppose but I feel for this anchor woman. If we were in a place where we could be honest about how we love our children, how we mess up, how we feel about them at different times in our lives at different points in their behavioral spectrum, the pressure of being responsible for human life, the painful remorse of allowing your mouth to open when you know good and damn well that you should suck on a fist, if we were in this place, well, we would probably still have to clean the toilet and diaper the butts and cook their dinner BUT, we might be a little less likely to yell, a bit less likely to break down and a lot less likely to feel alone in a world brinking on population saturation.

Hats off to you mama anchor woman, I yell at my kids too.

During the time when no one wants me

9/23/07

Tonight the kids are out of the house for a few hours. It's been nice. No one needs me right now, no one calls on me to referee an argument, decide a fate, fix a snack or whatever else I am usually called to do. Tonight, I and I alone decide what's next.

I did yoga for about an hour, listened to some music online, drank a cup of coffee, talked to my mom on the phone (for 104 minutes) and now I write.

There is nothing especially eventful about my evening, nothing that changes the course of my life and that's the kick--nothingness, life in the context of nothingness, in the absence of obligation or requisites. I serve only myself during this time.

This is quite a change for a mom, a person fashioned by her culture and her children to provide, answer, listen, nurture, sympathize--pay attention when you could absolutely care less. There are days when I will stop what I'm doing to observe the latest Lego creation with mustered astonishment and pride and I pull it off pretty well. There are other days when I look in the direction of the Lego creation but I don't see it and my performance is more of a challenge.

Why do I feel like I have to care? Why do I find it so hard, in fact, impossible to say, "Ya know what? Legos just don't ring my bell and I have other things to do right now that I find to be more important than multi-colored plastic blocks that snap together." Well, for one, I'd be a schmuck if I EVER dared to speak that way to my children. So, at times I must feign an interest because it means something to them and my interest shapes how they see themselves in that moment and quite possibly, as a person in general. That's what mothers do.

Who else will celebrate their 104,556,789th colored picture if you won't? Who will commend the architectural complexities of their Lego high rise if you don't? Who will time their sprint to the end of the street, watch them catch the ball in their glove or listen as they share a captivating snippet from a story they're reading, if not mom? It's why these evenings are so restorative for me, my time to hear only myself, to please only myself and to revel in the silence where the only noise is music I play too loud because I'm the only one listening (and I don't have to bother myself with fears of damaging their delicate inner ear or being on guard for inappropriate lyrics).

The bottom line is really this: I do care but I need those breaks from having to care in order to keep the "care" genuine and pure, not obligatory or forced. I'm shaping humans here but I am merely human myself and one with needs of her own.


9/26/07

Alright, I failed again--life gave me lemons and I squeezed them in my eyes. I could not even pull off caring today as I dragged my butt around in service of my kids.

I had three hours of sleep last night, went in to work for most of the day, left to meet up with a friend at the local community art center who was graciously supervising my children and her own as they crafted for two hours. When we left there, the kids and I swung by our house (which has become a rest area in the speedway of our lives)had a quick bite to eat and left for my daughter's dance rehearsal which overlapped with my son's theater rehearsal by 30 minutes (one hour when you add in drive time)--at 10:00 this evening, we were finally on our way home.

Despite a few comments about being a chaperon and wanting my time back, I fared well and I think they did to--I mean, hey, their interests were fully supported today.

My son asked to play a game when we got home. I spared him from my "do you have any idea how tired I am from doing all that I did for you today" lecture and just said, "no".

I managed to keep the car somewhere in between three lanes on my way home and kept my dirty little mood to myself. When we turned onto our street, I told the kids to go inside, brush their teeth and get in bed.

Inside, they did as I asked and I kissed their little faces before sending them to bed. Now I take this time to restore before another go of it tomorrow.

Do not mistake my tone for disinterest or contempt. I enjoy their well-roundedness. I adore watching my son act and my daughter dance--they each have amazing gifts and, on most days, I'm delighted to be along for their ride. I just need some balance, I am human and one with needs of her own.