Vignettes From My Edge

I started this post in mid-March, and I wandered off without publishing it, because it seemed like such a Debbie Downer. But it is a realistic snapshot of that time, so I'm going to let it stand. And I am going to move forward with a new post as well... let's see if I ever get around to publishing it...

03/27/15

So, what exactly does it say about my life when I break one of my toes yet don't notice for at least a day (possibly longer)? Also, what is the universe trying to tell me when I whack that same poor toe really REALLY hard with a rake the day after I notice that it is broken?

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Alec D is has officially entered the Terrible Twos. I don't like to label things so off-handedly, but in his case, it is totally true. He woke up one morning with a burning desire to Do It Myself, shriek "NOOOOOOOOO!" at me all day, and ramp up the drama of any given situation to an 11. He is also in search of a larger vocabulary. He will jump up and down shouting "Ma-MEE-ah" (why the extra syllable all of a sudden?!) at me until I name every object / subject / event in our immediate area. When I hit upon the thing he wants to talk about, I then have to give him more words to describe it. It's exhausting - for both of us.

This is Alec just after he whispered "nooooooooooooo" at me. Notice the stubborn set to both his jaw and his eyes...

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I am so tired of food. This makes me incredibly sad, because I love food, but right now, I am sick of it. I have a husband who has finally actively joined me in a desire to erase processed foods... but he doesn't have to be in charge of the meal planning, shopping and preparation of said 'clean' meals. He just enjoys them, and feels good about the changes that we are making for our health and longevity. Then I have 2 kiddos who are so picky that their diets currently consist of somewhere between 6 and 10 foods... oh, and the 11-year-old nephew who joins us for dinner most nights is crazy-picky too, but about different things than my guys. So I spend intense amounts of time and effort each day worrying about how to feed my family healthy food that they will eat, yet Don and I are the only ones who eat a full meal on any given night. The rest of them pick and poke and frown and ask to be excused. Just thinking about it makes me tired. And I have lost my love of dinner. By the end of the meal, I just want everyone to go to bed. I don't care if it's only 6:30 - do not speak to me again until I have calmed down... and that may take a while.

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Lily Ruth is really coming into her own. She is blossoming from a shy little bud of a kindergartener who only ever wanted to play School and could only play with her friends if they let her be in charge into a much more willing participant who can almost read, speaks up in groups and has learned how to let her friends have choices and control when they play together. She is sillier and funnier than ever. She is bold with color and has a beautifully open fashion sense. I cannot WAIT to see what's next!

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We went on vacation last week. When you have small children, vacations aren't really a break for Mama. Vacations just mean that all of your regular routine still needs to happen, but without the benefit of your own things, familiar surroundings, or playdates to take the edge off. We still managed to have a wonderful time. The kids were fantastic, the scenery was incredible, and I now have a new fitness goal - to be strong enough to attempt skiing in a year. I haven't wanted to ski since the first and only time that I attempted it 20 years ago, but after learning how to dress for cold weather, and realizing that there is a lot to see up there that I can't get to without riding up that lift, I want to try again.

I also want to spend more time alone with my husband. He's wonderful, and even though we are together every night, we are so tired and stressed right now that I feel like I miss him.

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There is so much going on that my head spins 24/7. Much of it is just not my story to tell, so I end up writing nothing. *sigh* Well, there are a lot of fun things coming up - including VBS (and I am in charge of crafts!!!!), so perhaps I will find a comfortable groove and a story to tell soon.

Love you anyway!

Still Me, Still Here

Ya'll, I have been struggling, and struggling mightily. I don't really know how to explain said struggle except to say that I am struggling with where we ARE now. I am worn down, frazzled and short-tempered. But because all of us are healthy, we have enough money to pay our bills, and good things keep happening, I haven't felt entitled to my struggle. Instead, I have bottled it up and pushed it down. I have forced myself to keep taking steps forward. Until today.

Today started off hard. I was awakened before my alarm, and it all sort of snowballed from there. By 1:00 I was sitting at the kitchen table paying bills and working to fix several mistakes  / oversights / messes caused by my recent inability to focus and/or complete tasks / thoughts / sentences. I stopped to stare at my facebook feed for a while, and there was a post from Anne Lamot:

"I have been having a hard time, full of struggle, awful things happening to people I adore, even me. But I knew the plates of the earth were shifting when I dreamed this morning that a friend and I shot and killed her evil husband. We thought it was a perfect crime, except it turned out I'd left my purse there.

Because the small brown paper bag miracle is that I got my sense of humor back, about the truth of who I am: hilariously screwed-up. I seem to be, and strive to be, an incredibly kind, generous lovebug. But I am--and i bet you are--the tiniest bit more complex.

I know I have a murderous streak in me. We are a violent species. Cain is still killing Abel. I get mine from DNA, the culture, and my mother. She was a short, plump Englishwoman with huge brown eyes, which could turn pinpointed and black when she went into self-righteous trance. I got my brains from her, but also my black belt co-dependence, and tiny, tiny control issues. These always lead to suppressed fury.

Once my beloved Jesuit travel companion Tom Weston was crunching ice so loudly that it got on my nerves. i asked this man of Christ's love, "Why do you do that?" He replied, "Rage."

So that is a part of the mix, our dark scary shadow. But so is this:

A recent day had been horrible in every possible way, beginning with nightmarish weather, very sick friends family feuds; ending with my doctor's nurse forcing me onto the scale, although I was puffed up like a grampus after a run in with full-sodium soy sauce. Then my '59 VW broke down on our main boulevard.

I was able to glide halfway out of the lane, so now there were one and a half functioning lanes during high traffic. Everyone honked. What a great feeling. It was such a final straw that I got a small miracle. Instead of it breaking the camel's back, I started to laugh.

Then I said the fourth great prayer: "Please, God, fix my car."

I turned the key. Click click silence. But they say when all else fails, follow instructions. Or, as my pastor said when I was fearfully headed on a plane 10,000 miles away, "When you step onto a plane, it's a little late for beggy prayers. It's time for trust and surrender." So I sat there mostly believing that she was right. Cars honked. I remembered a sober woman with oral cancer, who'd lost part of her tongue, and was on chemo, nonchalantly telling some sober friends, "I'm not worried. God's got it."

So I sat there fingering a medallion I wear around my neck, that says, "God's got it."

Then, Knock knock knock, a man was knocking on my car window, in the pouring rain, making the universal sign of "Roll down your window." I did. He asked if I needed a push. I asked him if he worked for God. He said that he didn't know about that, but he tried to. I took off my handbrake, and he rolled me to the side of the road. He asked if I was out of gas. I said there was no way. There is no gas gauge in my old car, so I keep excellent records. I could prove I had gas, I announced, getting out my gas log. He waved off my effort. Then he set about fixing my car.

Well, if you have one more minute, I will tell you the excruciating truth: he tried to jumpstart me, although the clicking indicated the battery was fine. He pushed my car really fast, so I could throw it into 2nd gear, and get it started. It started, and died.

He opened the back where the engine is, blew on the spark plugs, tugged on other things in a mysterious manly way, asked again if I might possibly be out of gas. I got my gas log out of the glovebox, and showed him self-righteously that I had bought ten gallons, but had only used 5. (My mom was a lawyer.)

He went and got his iPhone, and turned its flashlight beam into my gas tank. "I don't see any," he said, rather apologetically. "We could go to my house and get a gas can. I live nearby." Hah! Like I was born yesterday! Like I don't know that this is a classic modis operandi of serial killers. But I was exhausted, and exhaustion is usually the beginning of wisdom and change. So I decided to practice trust and surrender. I got in his truck and we drove to his house, where got his gas can from his too-neat, Dexter garage, and he treated me to two gallons of gas at the local gas station. He poured it in my tank. The VW started right up. We hugged and kissed and I did a crazy Wavy Gravy dance of gratitude, right there on the road, for everyone to see. Then I filled up my tank, which had been bone dry, Ezekiel and the valley of the dry bones dry; despite my excellent records.

Beauty and mess go hand in hand. The Good can look like a sunrise, or like the winner in an Ugliest Dog contest, all Dr. Seuss spots of hair, and buck teeth. This goodness is the only thing that can ever save us. It is what grace looks like, this unmerited, freely given spiritual WD-40. Grace means that love is bigger than any dark weird shit life can throw at you, or even that we can throw at our nutty, tender, worried, exuberant, baby selves. All truth is paradox. For instance, I miss my mom; and she is also right here."

Just reading this particular post caused the tears that have floated just behind my eyes 24 hours a day for the past several weeks to come gushing forward. They brought their best friend Uncontrollable Sobbing with them. Heeding my mother's recent advice that 'sometimes you just have to cry until you can stop', I just went with it. I cried while I removed my eye makeup and pinned my hair back. Then I cried while I filled the bathtub, added some bath oil, gathered my kindle, towel and robe and got in. By the time I settled in, I was pretty much done crying, so I just read until I could coax myself out of the tub. 

I just keep hearing "When you step onto a plane, it's a little late for beggy prayers. It's time for trust and surrender." I know that it's time. I know that. What I don't know is how to do either. I am a control freak at the end of her leash - barking at everything that moves past me. Completely unable to influence any of it. So, what do I do? Cry some more? Poke at my demons with a stick? Shout my (unasked-for) opinions until somebody does what I say? I dunno.

What I DO know is that I now have 20 minutes until my daughter steps off the bus and the merry-go-round starts turning at full speed again. Just enough time to fold laundry and wash dishes. Yay.

Here, hold this for me, will ya?

Playground Rant

OR: Why You Are Irritating Me

Let me preface this rant with a statement - The upcoming diatribe is purely my opinion. As a human adult, I have my very own opinion. It may or may not differ from yours. If you feel strongly about your differing opinion, please feel free to let me know.

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The weather here has finally rounded the corner from winter to spring! Sap is rising in our plants and our spirits. Lily Ruth has re-fallen in love with a neighborhood playground. It is an easy walk away from our house, and if no one else is around, Dottie Dog can run a few leash-free laps around the adjoining baseball field.

A few days ago, I decided to attempt to circumvent an Arsenic Hour tantrum by taking a late afternoon walk to the playground. I loaded Alec D into the stroller, harnessed up the dog, and passed out sunglasses. Away we went. As we approached the park, we noticed that it was BUSY. Soccer practice on the grass. Picnic-ers and barbeque-ers around the tables, kiddos swarming over the playground equipment. In short, the logical occupancy expectation of a neighborhood park on a gorgeous spring afternoon.

Here's where part one of my rant begins. As we entered the park via the only opening that a stroller can fit through on that particular side, a couple of young ladies were throwing a ball for a unleashed young and very large dog. As I struggled across the grass with a stroller, an excited dog and a petulant four-year-old, the ladies allowed their (illegally) unleashed dog to bound over and tackle my dog. Now, Dottie is an excellent dog who ADORES playing with other dogs, but she is young and a bit small, and if she doesn't feel dominant, she starts snapping - an issue that we intend to address with a trainer as soon as we can afford one. SO, while I am attempting to keep my young children from being bowled over by a dog interaction that is not going well, I am also being wrapped in my dog's (required BY LAW) leash. After a few half-hearted rounds of calling their dog's name, the girls finally make their way over to us and haul their dog off of mine. At this point it becomes evident that they have not even brought a leash for their dog. They simply wait until we are 'far enough' away, then let their dog go again.

Now, I am all for having a well trained dog. I understand their pride in the temperament and obedience of their dog. Don't all dog owners ultimately wish for a perfect pooch who walks calmly by your side without the burden of a leash and responds instantly to hand signals and quiet commands? It sure would be nice... But the truth is, even if your dog is perfect, you have NO IDEA what any other dog is like. What if the dog your dog approaches off-leash has aggression issues? What if Dottie had been abused and the interaction really scared her? This is not a dog park. It is a people park. What if your rambunctious, good-natured pup had inadvertently caused injury to one of my kids or to my dog because you wish the rules were different?

Ugh. Then I spent our entire park visit hauling on Dottie's leash as she whined and pulled trying desperately to get over to the unleashed dog... who was eventually joined by two other unleashed dogs. All of those dogs got to romp and play. Dottie got to wish.

Ready for part two? Absentee playground parents. Last week, a friend's three-year-old girl harassed on a playground by several six and seven-year-old boys acting as a pack and who's parents made not one appearance. That is one type of hands-off parenting that irritates me. Yes, let your kids run and play and figure stuff out for them selves, but watch them. Do not allow their freedom to include bullying. How is that ever o.k.?

Our experience didn't involve bullying, but it made me a bit more sad. Kids so starved for parental attention that they cling limpet-like to any available adult. As soon as we entered the playground, the circling started. Not at all unusual - kids are curious. They clock each new arrival and gauge the potential for interaction. I started to unbuckle Alec from the stroller, and a young boy (possibly 3 or 4, but big for his age) ran up and started to pull all of the toys from Alec's hands and lap. He proceeded to shake, prod and attempt to 'open' each one. Then the kid turns and starts poking at the dog. All of this happened in less than 10 seconds. I was prying toys from his hands and attempting to step between him and the dog before he stuck his fingers in her mouth. "Aiden. Get over here. Leave them alone. Go play right now" a voice calls out in an unattached, bored manner. Three completely contradictory statements combined with the lack of actual action by the parent in what was obviously an oft-repeated refrain equaled a pretty obvious conclusion - the kid did nothing to change his behavior. In a few seconds, he wheeled off to the next situation... which happened to be shoving Lily Ruth out of the way so that he could use something that her actions had drawn his attention to.

In the mean time, a young girl (maybe 4?) begins drifting toward us. As Lily Ruth, Alec, Dottie and I climbed up the play structure and started playing, she made laps around us. Each lap brought her closer. Meanwhile, Aiden streaked through the center of our group every minute or so. About every third time through, his mother said the same thing: "Aiden. Get over here. Leave them alone. Go play right now." The girl eventually made her way to us, and as we played, she leaned in with naked longing on her face, but never said a word or actually tried to play with us. She sidled in and made several attempts to cut one or both of my kids away from me so that she could take their place. Aiden continued to rush through and kick / bang on things as he passed. Occasionally, he poked at Dottie, grabbed her tail or announced that he was going to unbuckle her harness.

I kept my voice sweet and calm. I kept my hands light and off of kids that weren't my own except to remove other hands from my kids and dog. We just kept moving and changing our play. At each change, these kids shadowed us or ran ahead. They crowded onto ladders as Lily Ruth climbed; knocking her aside and stepping on her. The shoved into the tunnel as she moved toward it. They tried to slip between Alec and I as I guided him up steps and down slides. "Watch me!" "Help me!" "I'm gonna do THIS!" Aiden begged for my attention with loud words and big actions. The girl begged with her eyes and her physical proximity. I never heard her name. No one spoke to her (other than me) the whole time we were there.

The kids and I were quickly overwhelmed. It was time to go. I buckled Alec back in. Aiden grabbed toys and poked at Dottie's ears. "Aiden. Get over here. Leave them alone. Go play right now." He followed us to the edge of the playground. "You NO GO. STAY. Play wif me NOW!"

We walked away... right into a dog ambush from yet another unleashed pooch. Dottie whined and pulled. Lily Ruth whined and dragged her feet. Alec threw his sunglasses down. I mentally stomped my feet and outwardly gritted my teeth.

Maybe next time I will find the fortitude to say something to the dog owners. Maybe next time I will find the energy to better deflect or engage the sad kids. *sigh*

Rant over.

Open Letter to the Ginger Cats

Dear Feral Gingers that the Batty Old Lady Next Door Feeds,

Remember when we had decided to buy this house and my Mama walked past it every morning and reported that a bazillion of you had daily meetings on our lawn?

Remember when we moved in and we didn't forcibly evict you, but chose to let you wander in and out of our yard(s)?

Remember the times that you kept me, my husband and my dog up all night having cat sex behind our air conditioning unit?

Remember when one of you had kittens behind that same air conditioning unit (more than once)?

Remember how I allowed all of this because I felt sorry for you?

Well, my days of allowing you casual access to my yard and my life are O-V-E-R. You assholes have shredded my air conditioning intake and output ducts. During one of the hottest summers on record in this town, my family has been paying close to $500 every month so that your cat-sex-den could be air conditioned. You're outta here, you jerks. Do not come back. I am so very serious, and you do NOT want to test me on this one.

Sincerely,
One PISSED OFF, Overheated Mama

Soapbox Alert!

I read a couple of blogs. Not enough so you'd call me obsessive, but a few more than... say... my mom. My mom reads several blogs that are not mine, but I think that I can safely say that I read more blogs than my mom, but fewer than your mom (<---- that was a joke for my mom who used to giggle indulgently at each wave of nonsensical  'your mom' jokes that swept through a group packed with teenagers who adored her). My point is, I read some blogs. Some are Mommy Blogs. Some are Crafting or Cooking Blogs. I even follow a few blogs that aren't about being a mom who crafts and cooks.

Today I was looking at a blog that I found when one of her posts went viral last year. Her blog is called Nerdy Apple Bottom, and she is known only by the moniker 'Cop's Wife' (she is obviously more internet savvy than myself since I use everybody's real name...). Last Halloween, the author's young son chose to go to school dressed as his favorite Scooby Doo character - Daphne. Her take on motherhood, her approach to life and her aplomb in handling the tornado of media that followed that post make me want to move in next door to her so we can be friends. Her post today made me stop and stare at the computer in silence. Then I wanted to cry. Then I wanted to wake Lily Ruth up so I could deliver a lecture on love, tolerance and acceptance. Not that she needs a lecture, but one was building up, and she's the only one home who uses English as their first language - the dog and the cat use their so-called 'lack of language skills' as a reason to ignore me and/or lick themselves when I start to rant.

So, here's the deal in Nerdy's post, she links to a blog - this blogger describes herself as a 'scientist turned homemaker and joyful convert to Catholicism'. According to her, she is practically afraid to take her kids out in public as there are too many openly gay people in her community.

You can click on the link that I embedded above, but I doubt that the writer will have the courage to leave her post up for much longer (especially since I'm fairly sure that it has already been edited since I first read it), so I'm pasting the body of it here:

The same people who say I shouldn't impose my morality on them, are imposing immorality on me and my children to the point that I literally have a hard time even leaving my home anymore to do something as simple as visit the park. And this is freedom?

I am a Catholic stay-at-home mother of seven, and I live in the state of Massachusetts where "gay marriage" has been legal for seven years and it's just one aspect of the larger secular agenda. Because we have so many little children, it takes a phenomenal effort to go anywhere. We have only filled our truck with gasoline twice this entire summer vacation. We go to Mass and we go two miles up the road to a small outdoor swimming pool. That's pretty much it.

At the pool this summer there were homosexual couples with children and, while I was polite as my own young daughters doted on the baby with two "mommies", I also held my breath in anticipation of awkward questions - questions I'm not ready to answer. My young daughters are all under the age of eight and they are not old enough to understand why a baby would have two women calling themselves "mommies".

When there were two men relaxing at the side of the pool unnaturally close to each other, effeminately rubbing elbows and exchanging doe-eyes, I was again anxiously watching my children hoping they wouldn't ask questions. They don't see Daddy do that with anyone but Mommy. We haven't been back to the pool for a couple of weeks, except once but it rained. The truth is, now I don't really want to go back.

So what am I harping about?

Today we decided to go to the park. We live near a nice park that is safe, clean and quiet. Two of my daughters were in the sandbox, one on the slide, the other on the swings, and as I lifted the baby out of his stroller I looked up to see four women laughing at a baby boy as he was swinging in one of those bucket baby swings. That seems harmless enough, but I'm so sensitized to the strangeness in my community that I've developed this ever-present jumpiness whenever I'm in public. Sure enough, two of the women, so happy to see a baby boy laughing, embraced and remained standing there rubbing each other's back in a way that was clearly not just friendly affection.

This is my community. I find myself unable to even leave the house anymore without worrying about what in tarnation we are going to encounter. We are responsible citizens. We live by the rules, we pay our taxes, we take care of our things. I'm supposed to be able to influence what goes on in my community, and as a voter I do exercise that right. But I'm outnumbered. I can't even go to normal places without having to sit silently and tolerate immorality. We all know what would happen if I asked two men or two women to stop displaying, right in front of me and my children, that they live in sodomy.

So now I go on a rant.

Our taxes are being used to fund contraception, abortion and IVF already. That offends me in ways that are inexpressible. I read last December in the Wall Street Journal how two men near us are raising two assembled daughters after announcing to the world how they killed two other siblings in surrogate mothers in India. Let me guess? I shouldn't offend them though, right? And what's next at the park? A needle exchange drop-box for heroin users? No joke. These things are not isolated, it is all the same issue at a fundamental level. We're being pushed to accept immorality and it's not just on TV and in Washington D.C. It's right in front of us too.

We fund a lot of illegal immigrants here (just ask the President about his auntie) and helping people who really need help is not something I'd ever oppose. But it's still haunting me that just this week I learned of anillegal immigrant who killed a young man innocently out for a ride on his motorcycle. The illegal immigrant, who didn't have a license, was so drunk he didn't notice when he hit a motorcyclist and then dragged the 23 year old college graduate a quarter of a mile while people were yelling at him to stop. When he finally did stop, the young man was still alive until the drunk driver put the car in reverse and backed up over him before driving away. He's charged with vehicular homicide and "reckless conduct creating a risk to a child." He had a six year old in the car with him.

Do you think knowing this happened about seven miles from my home makes me afraid to leave the house? You bet it does. But that just adds to everything else I'm being asked to tolerate. Seriously, is this freedom?

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Honestly, I don't even know where to start. I guess mostly, this kind of thing makes me so sad. Then it makes me angry. Then it makes me want to go out and publicly rub elbows with every gay man who will tolerate me and rub the back of every lesbian within arm's reach. 

I loathe it when 'faith' is used as a cover for fear, ignorance and intolerance. As Bono said: "The God I believe in ain't short of CASH, Mister." My God is a loving god. My God is a tolerant god. My God created us ALL in his image. That's right, my God looks like every single person on this planet, and he loves us all... except the dummies and the haters. All right, fine. He loves the dummies and the haters too. 

Why is that poor woman so afraid? What is so scary about loving parents? Why does she think that lesbians commit sodomy?

So I let my daughter nap, and I send up a prayer for her. That she live her whole life surrounded by true, real love in any and every form. That she recognize that love and honor it. That she notice and embrace the differences in the people around her. Amen.

Another (VERY IMPORTANT) Soapbox

As the mother of a girl, as a woman and as a citizen in this society, I feel that have a responsibility to stand up about this:

One of my favorite blogs - Not That Kind Of Girl - posted a bit outside of her norm yesterday. She's taking a stand against a tequila commercial and for the right to have informed consent before sexual contact. Yesterday's original post can be found here. Language alert: this woman is angry, and pulling no punches. She has given her thoughts time to simmer, condense and reorganize. Her additional thoughts are here.

I'm not sure what form my soapbox will take on this issue, but I'm going to start with a letter to Sauza.

I'm worried enough about the 'dating world' that my daughter will enter. In today's climate, buying a girl a drink means that she's obligated to (at the very least) give you her phone number. Buying her several drinks (or dinner) supposedly assures you a sexual encounter. I want to teach my daughter that her body belongs to HER, and cannot be bought with alcohol, food, bullying or deceit. I want her to value herself and her integrity above her desire to be 'liked' or 'included'. Standing up and demanding change in the images that children, teens, young adults - heck EVERYONE - are bombarded with is a good place to start.

Just A Nub

That's what I feel like. A small nub of myself. I am so dragged-out, drop-dead tired that I'm pretty sure Jesus drove my car home and not me.

I just can't seem to get caught up. To make it worse, Parent's Day Out had their Fiesta party today, so I had to be there and participating instead of resting. By the time I got home and settled down, it was too late to nap. Also, PDO is closed on Friday due to the parade. I may never sleep again.

Can you come over and sedate me so that I can shut off my brain and rest? While you're here, would you be a dear and run a couple of loads of laundry through, tidy up the kitchen and occupy my toddler for a few hours while I sleep off whatever delightful narcotic cocktail that you brought over for me? Oh, and please make sure that it's codine-free? I'm allergic. Thanks. You're a Doll.

Lily Ruth likes jewelry, so when you get here, she can probably be bribed with something shiny. She also likes to claim mastery of all electronics, so you might want to lock your cell phone. OOOOH, or you could take her to the zoo. She likes it there...

Simplicity of Thought

I've been thinking a lot about simplicity. I'm thinking about it for several different reasons, but they all keep coming back to one thing. I need to simplify, clarify and solidify my thoughts.

There is so much going on in my head right now - good and bad. It's so incredibly easy to let it all get snarled and out of control.

I want to DO things. I want to make something that starts as a spark of creativity in my muddled brain and is then translated into something made by my hands... but when your brain is muddled, too many 'great ideas' vie for attention, and you end up with this:

- yep. You really are looking at my kitchen table. Yes, there really are a dog leash, light bulbs, a coozie, and a stuffed rabbit mixed in with my crafting supplies. Not a place where creativity can be fostered or expressed.

Come to think of it, that table is a visual representation of my current thought process. You can see why simplicity is calling to me...

I want to SAY things. I want to write about all of my soapbox issues. I want to make myself heard as a woman, a mother and a smart-alec in her (late) 30s. I want to stand on my front lawn and crow my truth at the top of my lungs like the birds eating my grass seeds... damn birds... see - off topic in less than four sentences. Simplify.

What I really need to do today is to live in the present. What can I do TODAY? Well, today I can clean off my table so that my family can have a meal together. Today I can organize my supplies so that when the perfect idea finally makes itself heard, I can move forward with it instead of becoming bogged down in extraneous mess. Today I can take it easy on myself and make some space in my brain so that my thoughts can untangle. Maybe when they do, an interesting combination of words will rise to the surface. I'd love to tell a story...

Soapbox Moment

*** Caution - talk of Lady Doctor stuff coming up. You've been forewarned.

Ya'll, I am livid. I had my follow up appointment after the miscarriage today. The first thing that ticked me off was that I drove all the way out there for what would have been just a verbal follow up. That's right. They plunked me down in the doctor's office like I was there to interview her. Why go in for an appointment if all they're doing is blood pressure, weight and talking to me? Ohhhhhh, that's right. They can charge my insurance company for all of that... fantastic.

Since we were there and talking, she asked if I wanted to go ahead and get my annual exam out of the way. Sure. Why not? So there I am - stirrups, gaping gown and all. She had just finished my breast exam, and had seemed startled that I was still nursing. Fair enough. A lot of mamas have weaned long before 21 months. Whatever. We've chosen not to wean yet. She was right in the middle of the speculum portion of my day when she lays this one on me: 'You know, I just wonder if your nursing had anything to do with the miscarriage. Like maybe the hormone imbalance with the nursing was involved somehow.' I almost came unglued.

First of all, women have nursed through pregnancies and even tandem nursed multiple children for CENTURIES. I don't even have the energy to write out my feelings about extended breast feeding here. Suffice it to say that I truly hope to have Lily Ruth weaned before the next baby arrives, but I do not believe in cutting off nursing because you are tying to conceive.

Secondly, WHO TELLS A WOMAN THAT A MISCARRIAGE WAS HER FAULT!? I don't believe that what she said was true, but I do believe that it was incredibly insensitive of her to say it at all.

I was so impressed by this practice. I loved the staff. It's too bad that I'll have to find somewhere else to go once I do finally conceive again.

At the End of My Leash

When I posted about going to the Aquarium, I mentioned that I was hesitant about using Lily Ruth's monkey leash. You might have said to yourself 'but Rachel, why would you worry?' You're about to find out why...

This week, a mama in one of my on-line birth clubs - this one is all mamas with kiddos born the same month as Lily Ruth - asked about using a backpack-leash. Here is her initial post:

"Baby Leash - Yes or No?



Bellie doesn't care to be in the shopping cart, nor does she want to be in her stroller. She wants to walk. I had seen these Monkey Leashes and used to roll my eyes and say "Oh goodness, kids are NOT dogs, hold your kids hand dumb ass!"
But, I saw my SIL (sister in law) use one for my nephew and she said it was great. Like Bellie, he didn't want to hold her hand. He wanted to be independant with no help what so ever. Bellie isn't the type to run off, and neither is the nephew, but it just seemed like a good idea.
So, I got one today! LOL. I actually like it. We walked around Wal-Mart with her strapped to the monkey. I jokingly told DSS (darling step son) if he wanted to "walk" his sister, LOL. He was actually thrilled. The kids LOVE to help out with Bellie (he's 9) and he felt like such a big help when he was "walking" his sister. 
What do you ladies think? Do you have one?"


She got a few responses - me among them. For the most part, they were 'pro-leash', but there were a few 'no for me, but you go right ahead'. Then one of the more sanctimonious mamas chimed in (obviously, her kids are perfect):

"I am against them for all but special needs situations.

They give a false sense of security and do not actually do anything to helpl children learn safer habits. OK so maybe a stranger can't pick up your child and run off, but, honestly how often do you think that happens? Typically, children are kidnapped by non-custodial parents, or kidnapped from highly affluent families for ransom. A leash wouldn't help in those cases and you would know if you were at risk.

However, leashes can be a tangling, strangulation, or tripping hazard. They decrease the "teachable moments" in family outings. They can create power struggles. I'd much rather spend my time and energy teaching my child how to be safe in public. Those lessons will last a lifetime. 

I think leashes have a place in special needs situations - either a child with a serious developmental delay that CANNOT understand safety or a caregiver who physically cannot carry or run after a child if the need arose. In those situations, safety trumps the philosophical problems of using a leash.

End professional, child development opinion. Enter personal opinion and anecdote. I think leashes are controlling, inhibiting, and disrespectful. My child is an energetic, inquisitive and rambunctious toddler. She doesnt love her stroller - she prefers to walk and be independent. But she is incredibly safe in public because she knows that we will go home if she is not safe. I take her all over creation and she does not run away."

So, that one was a bit preachy, but not too bad... Then it got ugly:

"you can hate me for this if you want but there is no WAY IN HELL I WOULD PUT ONE ON MY KID.
If he will not hold my hand he will be picked up or put in a cart or stroller. HE DOES NOT HAVE A CHOICE.
My son is not an animal, and i will not treat him like one. He has learned that if he wants to walk he must hold our hand and does so with a smile on his face.
It seems like a lazy way out for parents"


and this one:


"I'm SO with you, (name of group member).  TEACH your children how to behave in public.  I have a 3 1/2 year old and my son was born June 25, 09.  They are energetic, independent and curious but also very aware that running off is not a safe thing.  
I have no problem taking them to the stores - instead of running off behind them,  screaming to get their attention - I engage them in the process.  They LOVE to help and I take that opportunity to teach them new vocabulary, colors, opposites, you name it!  It's a learning experience! 
 Time consuming?? YES! but that's why we are parents - to dedicate our time and best efforts to educate our children.
I respect everyones opinion but for me taking the time to teach them is much less stressful than "walking" them on a leash!"

Um, wow. I couldn't let that go by. I just couldn't. So I had to put in my (additional) two cents:


"I find it interesting that the mamas who are adamantly against the leashes are responding in such a negative manner. Of course we all care about our kids, and we want to teach them to listen, respond and have patience. It's also nice to have some peace of mind during that process. I have an intelligent, spirited daughter who is learning at a lightning pace. One of the things that she is learning is that she has her own opinion. This doesn't make her 'bad', nor does it make me lazy, but it means that occasionally, she doesn't listen to me right off the bat. I also choose to allow her more freedom than some other mamas might. I do this because I believe that she needs to explore and learn and find out what limits are. This means that when it's feasible, she is allowed to choose to walk or sit in her stroller (I also can't BW for long periods of time due to physical limitations). When we are someplace crowded, and she chooses to walk, it's not a bad idea to be able to pull her in closer to me very quickly. Not because she has chosen poorly, but maybe because someone else isn't paying attention, or because something beyond our control has changed.
I'm having trouble understanding where the serious negativity is coming from. We 'leashing' mamas are simply making a choice that is different to yours. We're not tethering our children to a pole and leaving out bowls of food and water (something I would never do to my awesome dog, never mind my baby). We're giving ourselves some breathing room in public - the ability to know that our little ones are safe as they learn more about their world. Yes, I am teaching my daughter to hold my hand and be safe. Yes, she pushes her limits while learning. Yes, I know that she cannot make it to the street before I can stop her because her adorable backpack leash will stop her. Why does that make me a horrible person?"

Now I only posted that an hour ago or so, but none of the Negative Nellies have responded... what do you think? Dang, now I wish I had posted more about the vaccination debate that I got all 'het up' about last week. Oh well - that one was flat-out CRAZY instead of just full of negativity about the parenting choices of others... perhaps it's best that I let it die out without me...

Soapbox Issue - Kid Food

Just in case I haven't mentioned it before now, I have a kid. I toddler. An eating machine. She loves to eat. The phrase she utters the most (aside from 'ICE, ICE, ICE' for ice cream/yogurt/popsicle) is 'EAT, EAT, EAT!'. For the most part, I love feeding her.

 It is big fun to give her new things to try. I love to ask her what she wants to eat and let her peruse the selection in the refrigerator. It cracks me up to watch her share snacks and drinks with her friends... well, it's more like warfare than sharing - they tend to have an 'every man for himself' strategy at this age. She'll 'share', but to her, that means that she doesn't stop her friends from eating her snacks. She DOES however cram the snacks into her own mouth as fast as she can in order to ensure that she receives her fair share.

Of course, it's not all sunshine and lollipops. Lily Ruth is forming her own opinions about when and what she eats. A lot of the things that she used to eat without complaint are now on the *pursed lips, adamant head shake no* list.

As we discover the world of eating with a toddler, I have stumbled upon a few truths:

1. I thought we ate in a fairly healthy manner. Not true. Home cooked does NOT equal healthy. Nor does non-processed equal healthy. Home cooked and non-processed are good. Adding healthy into the mix would be even better.

2. Reading the labels to things that you used to buy on a regular basis will gross you out and/or piss you off. Seriously. Stuff that I used to love is now on my shit list. Nitrates, nitrites, HFCS, needless preservatives, coloring agents and 'flavoring' agents in spades. Ugh.

3. Almost 100% of 'food' marketed toward children is full of NASTINESS. Brands like Gerber who claim to only have our children's health in mind are trying to pump kids full of sodium, fillers, dyes and preservatives. It is incredibly frustrating to look for fun, good things to interest a toddler in eating only to find things that I wouldn't feed to my worst enemy packaged as 'for kids'.

I have also developed a theory. I cannot be the first person to have thought of this. In fact, I am sure that other mothers have thought something like this, but nobody has said it to me, so I'm gonna pretend that I am the FIRST EVER. Here it is - the bland, pureed, chock full of nastiness formula, jarred baby foods, infant cereals and 'snacks' steer children straight into the arms of the food manufacturers by preparing their palates for the highly processed crap that they want you to buy. Maybe kids 'don't like' vegetables because they never had anything that resembled the tastes and textures of actual food as babies. Infants have ridiculously sensitive noses. Their mouths are blank canvases. If you give them soft, tasteless and full of chemicals, that's all they'll know. If we give them actual flavors and (modified at first) textures, maybe they'll stand a better chance of making the leap to real food without protest.

I am not saying that convenience foods don't have a place in our lives. Lily Ruth eats packaged snacks. I have a door shelf full of fruit and vegetable puree pouches in my refrigerator. I just read the label of every item that I buy. Her snacks are HFCS free, baked and as 'healthy' as I can make them. The purees I give her are 100% fruit and/or vegetables, and are free of preservatives and additives. When we leave the house, I make the time to throw things like fizzy water, cubed cheese, tangerines and shredded chicken into our bag so that we can eat while we're out without resorting to Cheetos (mmmmmmmm, Cheetos), sodas or (GACK!) Lunchables. This allows me to feel like a good mother AND slightly superior to every one else... until we get to the park and I'm the only one in Old Navy instead of Kathleen Sommers... then I'm back to just being an exhausted mom (in sloppy, comfortable clothes) doing the best that I can... who is being ignored by the pack of well-dressed Velociraptors jerks moms over by the big kid swings... I really should stop hanging out in the park near that expensive pre-school...

In closing, I'm trying. I want my daughter to understand what it is to eat well. I want her to know that it is a blessing and a privilege to eat the way that we do. I want the way that we eat to enhance her health. I want our family meals to delight her senses. I want for her to think that fast food is a once-in-a-great-while indulgence, not a way of life.

Oh, and since I'm wishing, I want world peace, whiter teeth, to lose 30 pounds and a new car. Thank you in advance for your cooperation in this matter.

WHAAAAAT?

Chocolate Formula!? Seriously!? I am in shock. It is marketed for toddlers. Just thinking about that makes my tummy hurt for all of those babies :-(

This has caused debate on my Baby Center Birth Club board about wether you would give your 1 year old chocolate milk or chocolate formula. Oh. My. God.

This also led to 'well, it (chocolate milk) is better than juice' from mothers with babies the same age as Lily Ruth... so I decided to look that up...

from NutritionData.com, I find that 1 cup commercial chocolate milk (whole milk) has:
208 calories (74 from fat)
8 g fat
30 mg cholesterol
150 mg sodium
24 g sugars

1 cup apple juice (unsweetened, w/ added ascorbic acid) has:
114 calories
0 g fat
0 mg cholesterol
10 mg sodium
24 g sugars

1 child cup (12 oz!) Sprite has:
103 calories
0 g fat
0 mg cholesterol
23 mg sodium
23 g sugars

Just as a reference point, whole milk has:
146 calories
8 g fat
24 mg cholesterol
98 mg sodium
13 g sugars

and that crazy Chocolate 'Toddler' Formula (1/4 cup dry powder - but it won't tell me how much that makes):
150 calories
4.5 g fat
20 mg cholesterol
85 mg sodium
19 g sugars

So, I guess that the formula is better than chocolate milk? Uuuuugh. BUT, juice and Sprite ARE NOT better than chocolate milk. That doesn't make me feel any better :-/

I SO wish that could put this on a spreadsheet. My nerd side is losing it's mind over how I can't compare this data at a glance.