The other day, I wrote about persistent, loud grief and I received such kind words from my friends. Thank you.
I knew I should pray about it. Heck, what with all the direct answers I've been getting, you'd think I'd want to pray all the time -- you know, sort of maintain this constant prayerful spirit, looking up instead of back & ahead, instead of looking into the shadows all the time. But, I must admit, after I received an answer I didn't like, I sort of avoided it for awhile. Then, of course, there's always the fact that when my life speeds up, my prayer life all but fades away, as do all activities that require a calm spirit.
Yesterday was the perfect melting pot for looking up. Sassy was with her Nana all day, and Jeff worked second shift, which left me with an empty home save the Vunderdog. I returned home at 6:00, fed myself, fed the Vunderdog, and gathered some materials for gardening. I was certain that getting my hands dirty would settle me enough to hear answers if they were there. I took out an oil torch for lighting. After I planted some lettuce and spinach in my new coldframe, I sat on our trash-picked swing with Peter Bjorn and John on the mp3 player. There, on the swing, I took some minutes to feel the unseasonable warmth, the restrained power of the pre-storm wind, and the vitality of the day's rain and finally, I could ask the questions and listen for answers.
As usual, the answers make little sense right now. I trust that they will. I was left feeling that the pain IS and that's all. The pain is neither inherently good nor bad. It just is. And, as Jeff suggested earlier yesterday, I am allowed to pull it out, examine it objectively, and eliminate its negativity since it simply is.
The other answer is that even though my reticence to share my pain is actually a symptom of fear rather than strength, that balming the grief isn't going to happen by opening the floodgates. Instead, my pain will be soothed by daily activities. By simple routines and grounding organic activities. Things like cooking from scratch, growing food, being side by side with my animal, washing our things, arranging our home to be even more of us, and replacing Google with God (thanks, Lara). Things like noticing the "triangles in the water" running down our street (thanks, Sassy). Things like portraying what is in our hearts through the artistic techniques of masters (thanks, Caroline).
I enjoyed watching the wind sway the branches above my head for almost an hour as I considered these concepts and how to put them into practice. The storm was on the horizon all night, moving the warmth through our area. But the wind didn't rush things along. It had a steady intensity about it, but it didn't blow through in gusts, leaving wreckage behind, as I've seen so many storm winds do. As a result, I felt more wholly comfortable and settled myself, in the warmth and the wind and the water.
How much wreckage could be eliminated in my home and in my heart if I approached life with a steady intensity rather than my long-standing pattern of either strong gusts or light breezes?
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
if you're gonna talk the talk...
...then walk the walk, or ride the bike as it may be. People, this is why I love Portland.
I'm so glad someone had the ironic sense to snap this photo. My friend Jeff and his new wife Jill recently moved to a new home. But they did it all by bike. I've been awaiting the pics & I am not disappointed! It's heartwarming to see this kind of dedication, stamina & community. There is hope for humanity (in Portland, at least).
If you want to check out more of what a MxB looks like (move by bike), check out some of the other public collections of the event. Says one photographer:
Shot on a Nikon D200
That's my friend there with the map. I love it! He's always good for being organized and definitely knows his way around a map. :-)
Looking at the scope of the project
Yep, couches & mattresses too
Lotsa MxB
Bike moves = much pizza
I'm so glad someone had the ironic sense to snap this photo. My friend Jeff and his new wife Jill recently moved to a new home. But they did it all by bike. I've been awaiting the pics & I am not disappointed! It's heartwarming to see this kind of dedication, stamina & community. There is hope for humanity (in Portland, at least).
If you want to check out more of what a MxB looks like (move by bike), check out some of the other public collections of the event. Says one photographer:
24 brave hardy souls braved rain, sleet and (yes, briefly) snow to move Jeff and Jill a few miles. Half of us were crazy enough to go pack and pull a second load!
Shot on a Nikon D200
That's my friend there with the map. I love it! He's always good for being organized and definitely knows his way around a map. :-)
Looking at the scope of the project
Yep, couches & mattresses too
Lotsa MxB
Bike moves = much pizza
Monday, February 04, 2008
pain and health
My grandma has always been a strong woman. She's not had a piece of cake life; actually, she's had more than her share of grief to deal with, as anyone would if they lost one of their children. But she keeps going, she perseveres, she puts on a face of faith & strength, even in the midst of her grief. My mother was similar, in many ways. She and I shared this impulsive part of our personality, infused with nervous energy. But my mom didn't break down in public. Even when she was sick with cancer, she continued to go to work at her new management job at Cincinnati Bell & put on her game face for several months until the disease forced her to quit.
The past few years have held my own shares of pain & grief. I won't detail them here. Some of them are well-known to my friends; some of them come from many years past. The point is, I learned how to put on my game face a long time ago from my two masters. I learned that being a blubbering idiot about your grief gets you nowhere -- that people lose respect for you, that you don't appear strong, and that strength is the defining characteristic of a worthy woman.
Unfortunately, in the past year and half, life keeps piling on the grief. Each month, each moon, more grief, more loss. And I'm left now wondering where I have put it all? It keeps simmering far too close to the surface for my comfort level. It keeps bubbling over at inopportune times, try as I might for it to stay in the pot. Where have I put it? Where should I put it?
I often address my problems visually, a trick I learned long ago when I had to deliver public speeches in college. If I imagined myself at the podium, delivering my speech to a spellbound audience, natural and relaxed, with perfect comedic timing, my speech went pretty well. If I imagined myself crashing and burning, I would leave the podium embarrassed.
Last night, I was talking to an old friend on the phone when lo and behold, here came those pains, pushing their way out the top. I actually hung up the phone with her, told her I'd call her right back. I was frustrated. I didn't care for them at the moment. I visually saw myself, asked myself, to push them back where they belong, which in my mind's eye, was somewhere in my belly area. Then I became concerned. How long have I been pushing them into my belly? What implications might that have now, or in the long-term. I decided I needed somewhere else for them, and mentally went through my body parts. Brain? No. Heart? No way! I'd have a heart attack eventually? So I started thinking of less important body parts, in the grand scheme. Legs? Uh-uh. I want to walk. Hands? No, I need to be able to work.
I was then even more concerned. If I didn't even feel right about giving my grief to my hands, why on earth was I pushing them to my bellly? Had I been pushing these feelings to very detrimental places all my life? Even if this has had no discernible consequences up until now, when will it? Of course, I fear it may have already.
So I thought about giving my feelings to the chair I was sitting in. Let them drip out the bottom. But I immediately rejected the idea, because I love the chair I was sitting in & I didn't want it to become a big chair of negativity. OK, now you may be laughing, but what struck me is this: I love the chair enough not to give it my negative feelings but not my body?
In the end, I went to bed wondering where to put them? Where to push them to? The best I could come up with is to give them to God. But how does one do that exactly?
The past few years have held my own shares of pain & grief. I won't detail them here. Some of them are well-known to my friends; some of them come from many years past. The point is, I learned how to put on my game face a long time ago from my two masters. I learned that being a blubbering idiot about your grief gets you nowhere -- that people lose respect for you, that you don't appear strong, and that strength is the defining characteristic of a worthy woman.
Unfortunately, in the past year and half, life keeps piling on the grief. Each month, each moon, more grief, more loss. And I'm left now wondering where I have put it all? It keeps simmering far too close to the surface for my comfort level. It keeps bubbling over at inopportune times, try as I might for it to stay in the pot. Where have I put it? Where should I put it?
I often address my problems visually, a trick I learned long ago when I had to deliver public speeches in college. If I imagined myself at the podium, delivering my speech to a spellbound audience, natural and relaxed, with perfect comedic timing, my speech went pretty well. If I imagined myself crashing and burning, I would leave the podium embarrassed.
Last night, I was talking to an old friend on the phone when lo and behold, here came those pains, pushing their way out the top. I actually hung up the phone with her, told her I'd call her right back. I was frustrated. I didn't care for them at the moment. I visually saw myself, asked myself, to push them back where they belong, which in my mind's eye, was somewhere in my belly area. Then I became concerned. How long have I been pushing them into my belly? What implications might that have now, or in the long-term. I decided I needed somewhere else for them, and mentally went through my body parts. Brain? No. Heart? No way! I'd have a heart attack eventually? So I started thinking of less important body parts, in the grand scheme. Legs? Uh-uh. I want to walk. Hands? No, I need to be able to work.
I was then even more concerned. If I didn't even feel right about giving my grief to my hands, why on earth was I pushing them to my bellly? Had I been pushing these feelings to very detrimental places all my life? Even if this has had no discernible consequences up until now, when will it? Of course, I fear it may have already.
So I thought about giving my feelings to the chair I was sitting in. Let them drip out the bottom. But I immediately rejected the idea, because I love the chair I was sitting in & I didn't want it to become a big chair of negativity. OK, now you may be laughing, but what struck me is this: I love the chair enough not to give it my negative feelings but not my body?
In the end, I went to bed wondering where to put them? Where to push them to? The best I could come up with is to give them to God. But how does one do that exactly?
Monday, January 28, 2008
a few fun things
Here's a couple activities we've done together lately.
The other day, we made a maze out of blocks. Idea from Highlights High Five Magazine.
Then we played with it for a little while.
As my own project for her, I made a baby carrier for her dolls.
And finally, we've picked up the best children's art book I've ever seen per C's recommendation. This will be our art curriculum through Kindergarten. I am excited to do the projects along with her!
The other day, we made a maze out of blocks. Idea from Highlights High Five Magazine.
Then we played with it for a little while.
As my own project for her, I made a baby carrier for her dolls.
And finally, we've picked up the best children's art book I've ever seen per C's recommendation. This will be our art curriculum through Kindergarten. I am excited to do the projects along with her!
Friday, January 25, 2008
no writing?
I think I'm starting to glimpse the true meaning behind "Quit writing," and if I'm right, it's also not something I'm ready to accept. And here comes Sassy up the stairs....perfect timing.
This is the usual pattern. I settle into something that cannot by the nature of the activity include her, just like this post. And next thing you know, she approaches me. And it bothers me. Sometimes just a little bit. Often, it's more than a little bit. I snap at her. I say crazy things to her, like, "Mommy needs quiet time!" or "I HAVE to get my work done. You need to find something to do!"
In reality, telling a 4 year old, in so many words, to "Go away and leave me alone" never works. In fact, it usually has the immediate opposite effect. I might as well just whip out my velcro & give us each a piece instead.
This post isn't very well thought-out & might meader, so my apologies upfront.
It isn't just writing that brings on this scene. It's writing, paying bills, checking email, doing financial spreadsheets, doing group maintenance, researching ideas or information online, replying to posts within larger forums, reading posts within larger forums, requesting media from the library, purchasing things online, sometimes even downloading music. It's interesting to me that I call all of this "work," when actually, it's not. Most of it is truly just play.
When we were browsing the thrift store together yesterday (and, BTW, she was SO GOOD), we were playing this back/forth imaginary game where she was a little girl who was buying a dog from me. She told me about her family. "My daddy doesn't go to work out of the house," she said. "My daddy works in his study. He works on the compootier."
"Oh?" I asked.
"Yes. He works a lot. But he doesn't go outside the house. Well, actually, he doesn't work on the compootier. He doesn't work at all!"
"Oh," I said, "That's interesting. Well, if he doesn't work, what does he do with his time?"
"He plays with me!" she said. "All the time."
No, I don't think it's possible (or appropriate) for Jeff or for me to play with her all the time. But I do think this is a telling representation of how she is experiencing life.
And, as much as it pains me to say it, I don't feel like I am experiencing her. I am managing her. That's mostly how I feel. Even when we play or do things together, my mind is usually on "grown-up" things.
Last night, we laid in bed when we were both getting tired and we played a question game. I told her I could ask her any question I wanted to & then she could ask me. My first question was, "What was your favorite part of today?"
"All of it!" she said, although we truly had not done much that was exciting yesterday.
As we were exchanging questions, I looked into her eyes & she into mine. It was so hard! I was amazed that looking straight into her eyes was as hard as it was. I used to look into her eyes all the time when she was a baby. Why was it hard?
I'm not sure why exactly. Part of it was the earnestness in her eyes. I've never seen someone look at me so earnestly, except maybe an ex or two that was far more into me than I was into them. Not so with Sassy! I look at her with just as much longing and love but it's always when she's sleeping. The mere intensity of her undiverted stare made me uncomfortable with a mix of guilt, radical love and too much emotion. But I think part of it was also that I'd let myself get un-used to it. Most of the time, rather than really listening, the kind of listening where the person can "see your eyes," I maintain our conversations with an "mm-hmm", "oh, yeah?" "hmm, that's cool." Often I have no idea what she's actually talking about.
Naturally, children separate from their parents. Sassy's too little to need to separate so far.
Where does this bring me?
It's not about the writing itself. It's not about the computer or the TV in and of itself. It's about my attitude of management rather than engagement. I could set limits on our TV time & computer time & I think that would be a great start. But it won't finish the job.
To engage with Sassy means that I need to not assume that since she is old enough to be more self-sufficient, that I can take off & do my own thing for a couple hours while she watches cartoons, plays computer games or plays with her toys in a different part of the house. It's OK for her to do those things -- I am not her permanent entertainer. But, it's not OK for me to expect that time. That time is a welcome surprise. An unexpected treat.
My online habits will have to change, of course. I am likely going to take TTC down completely. Well, actually, I will likely make it password-protected & keep it as a virtual filing cabinet of various financial "articles" that perhaps I could market one day. After a few months, I hope I can find time to transfer those to hard disk somewhere & take it down entirely.
I doubt I'll check email more than once/day unless I am expecting something.
I will try to maintain a consistent bedtime at night so that I can do computer work then while Sassy sleeps AND she can hopefully get the sleep a child her age needs, which has been a problem lately.
I will try to involve Sassy in my activities & limit cartoon time to an hour each morning & perhaps an hour of "downtime" in the afternoon, if needed.
I am not the type of person who can play imaginary games all day. Even an hour really wears on my nerves. But I can involve her in what I do & not try to live these separate lives in the same household so that I can loaf on my own.
This is the usual pattern. I settle into something that cannot by the nature of the activity include her, just like this post. And next thing you know, she approaches me. And it bothers me. Sometimes just a little bit. Often, it's more than a little bit. I snap at her. I say crazy things to her, like, "Mommy needs quiet time!" or "I HAVE to get my work done. You need to find something to do!"
In reality, telling a 4 year old, in so many words, to "Go away and leave me alone" never works. In fact, it usually has the immediate opposite effect. I might as well just whip out my velcro & give us each a piece instead.
This post isn't very well thought-out & might meader, so my apologies upfront.
It isn't just writing that brings on this scene. It's writing, paying bills, checking email, doing financial spreadsheets, doing group maintenance, researching ideas or information online, replying to posts within larger forums, reading posts within larger forums, requesting media from the library, purchasing things online, sometimes even downloading music. It's interesting to me that I call all of this "work," when actually, it's not. Most of it is truly just play.
When we were browsing the thrift store together yesterday (and, BTW, she was SO GOOD), we were playing this back/forth imaginary game where she was a little girl who was buying a dog from me. She told me about her family. "My daddy doesn't go to work out of the house," she said. "My daddy works in his study. He works on the compootier."
"Oh?" I asked.
"Yes. He works a lot. But he doesn't go outside the house. Well, actually, he doesn't work on the compootier. He doesn't work at all!"
"Oh," I said, "That's interesting. Well, if he doesn't work, what does he do with his time?"
"He plays with me!" she said. "All the time."
No, I don't think it's possible (or appropriate) for Jeff or for me to play with her all the time. But I do think this is a telling representation of how she is experiencing life.
And, as much as it pains me to say it, I don't feel like I am experiencing her. I am managing her. That's mostly how I feel. Even when we play or do things together, my mind is usually on "grown-up" things.
Last night, we laid in bed when we were both getting tired and we played a question game. I told her I could ask her any question I wanted to & then she could ask me. My first question was, "What was your favorite part of today?"
"All of it!" she said, although we truly had not done much that was exciting yesterday.
As we were exchanging questions, I looked into her eyes & she into mine. It was so hard! I was amazed that looking straight into her eyes was as hard as it was. I used to look into her eyes all the time when she was a baby. Why was it hard?
I'm not sure why exactly. Part of it was the earnestness in her eyes. I've never seen someone look at me so earnestly, except maybe an ex or two that was far more into me than I was into them. Not so with Sassy! I look at her with just as much longing and love but it's always when she's sleeping. The mere intensity of her undiverted stare made me uncomfortable with a mix of guilt, radical love and too much emotion. But I think part of it was also that I'd let myself get un-used to it. Most of the time, rather than really listening, the kind of listening where the person can "see your eyes," I maintain our conversations with an "mm-hmm", "oh, yeah?" "hmm, that's cool." Often I have no idea what she's actually talking about.
Naturally, children separate from their parents. Sassy's too little to need to separate so far.
Where does this bring me?
It's not about the writing itself. It's not about the computer or the TV in and of itself. It's about my attitude of management rather than engagement. I could set limits on our TV time & computer time & I think that would be a great start. But it won't finish the job.
To engage with Sassy means that I need to not assume that since she is old enough to be more self-sufficient, that I can take off & do my own thing for a couple hours while she watches cartoons, plays computer games or plays with her toys in a different part of the house. It's OK for her to do those things -- I am not her permanent entertainer. But, it's not OK for me to expect that time. That time is a welcome surprise. An unexpected treat.
My online habits will have to change, of course. I am likely going to take TTC down completely. Well, actually, I will likely make it password-protected & keep it as a virtual filing cabinet of various financial "articles" that perhaps I could market one day. After a few months, I hope I can find time to transfer those to hard disk somewhere & take it down entirely.
I doubt I'll check email more than once/day unless I am expecting something.
I will try to maintain a consistent bedtime at night so that I can do computer work then while Sassy sleeps AND she can hopefully get the sleep a child her age needs, which has been a problem lately.
I will try to involve Sassy in my activities & limit cartoon time to an hour each morning & perhaps an hour of "downtime" in the afternoon, if needed.
I am not the type of person who can play imaginary games all day. Even an hour really wears on my nerves. But I can involve her in what I do & not try to live these separate lives in the same household so that I can loaf on my own.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
a couple more cleanse recipes
For dinner, roasted spaghetti squash with homemade tomato sauce. I used 1 can tomato paste, enough water to make a good consistency, generous oregano, sauteed onion & sauteed garlic.
For a chocolate craving, blend 1 frozen banana, 2 Tbls. peanut butter, 2 Tbls. carob powder (this was iffy on the allowed scale, but it was a serious chocolate craving) & enough water to make a smoothie consistency.
For a chocolate craving, blend 1 frozen banana, 2 Tbls. peanut butter, 2 Tbls. carob powder (this was iffy on the allowed scale, but it was a serious chocolate craving) & enough water to make a smoothie consistency.
when I grow up....
Driving past my old college yestserday, Sassy and I had this conversation:
S: Mommy, what's that big building?
M: That's actually the place where I went to college.
S: Oh....well, what did you want to be?
M: (trying to ignore how loaded a question this was) Well, Mommy went to school to be a writer, actually.
S: Oh. Well I going to be a chef!
M: That's great, sweetie! You should be sure to tell Daddy when you get home. You know, when Daddy was little, his Daddy was a chef. He worked in an expensive, fancy restaurant.
S: Well I not going to be that kind of chef. I going to be a chef who makes sweets. Like cookies and cakes and candies.
M: Ahhh.....so you're going to be a pastry chef. You should talk to Aunt Angie about that. She was a pastry chef for a long time.
S: Uh-huh. And I going to have my own little bake shop.
M: You know, when we move to the farm, Daddy's going to have his own bake shop too. But he's not going to bake sweets. He's going to bake bread.
S: Ooh! Then I can open my bake shop right next to Daddy's!
M: Or, maybe when you get a little older, you can work in the bake shop with Daddy. You could bake sweets and Daddy could bake breads.
S: (thinks for a minute) No, I going to have my own shop. Next to Daddy's.
Sounds like she's got it all figured out.
S: Mommy, what's that big building?
M: That's actually the place where I went to college.
S: Oh....well, what did you want to be?
M: (trying to ignore how loaded a question this was) Well, Mommy went to school to be a writer, actually.
S: Oh. Well I going to be a chef!
M: That's great, sweetie! You should be sure to tell Daddy when you get home. You know, when Daddy was little, his Daddy was a chef. He worked in an expensive, fancy restaurant.
S: Well I not going to be that kind of chef. I going to be a chef who makes sweets. Like cookies and cakes and candies.
M: Ahhh.....so you're going to be a pastry chef. You should talk to Aunt Angie about that. She was a pastry chef for a long time.
S: Uh-huh. And I going to have my own little bake shop.
M: You know, when we move to the farm, Daddy's going to have his own bake shop too. But he's not going to bake sweets. He's going to bake bread.
S: Ooh! Then I can open my bake shop right next to Daddy's!
M: Or, maybe when you get a little older, you can work in the bake shop with Daddy. You could bake sweets and Daddy could bake breads.
S: (thinks for a minute) No, I going to have my own shop. Next to Daddy's.
Sounds like she's got it all figured out.
Monday, January 21, 2008
unexpected answers
I share this with trepidation, because I fear it wil make me sound kooky--more than I already do. :-)
For many, many years I have stated, "I don't pray. I try, but it seems like I'm talking to myself. I don't see the point in it." Lately, this has changed. Why? Because I started getting answers. Not answers where I laid still & pondered for a good long while about what I was bringing up in prayer. More like the kind of answers where you barely get the question out & a bullhorn voice smacks you upside the head with the answer.
In my agnostic years, I would have assumed it was my subconscious talking. Who knows? It very well may be. I wonder at times if we don't all have the "rightness" of the world constantly in our subconscious waiting to be tapped -- or asked. An innate conscience. An inborn godliness. Whether I have a direct line to God way up on His Throne in His Heavenly Universe through His Son, or whether I have all of what I ever needed to know resting in my soul, waiting its turn to speak, I don't know. What I do know is that the answers I get never come from me directly. They never are a scientific conclusion after I review the facts. In fact, the latest one was an answer I did not want to hear. I'm still chewing on it. I don't want to obey the answer just yet. It's too big.
The first time this happened, I wrote about it here. The first answer brought with it a sense of calm.
The next time it happened was last week. I was exhausted from a completely overwhelming week, and I was flopping an incident around in my head that had happened earlier in the day. I prayed on the incident, asking for Christ's help in figuring out why I had reacted to someone new to my life in such a defensive way. Before I could even get through to the "How can I change my reaction?" part, I received an answer that came from way over in left field. The answer brought with it a sense of wisdom.
Last night, it happened again. I made a mental note in the evening that I was going to bring my anger to Christ in prayer that night, so when we all were on our way to sleep, I started to pose the question. "Dear Lord, I want so badly to get rid of explosive anger with Sassy --" I couldn't finish the statement this time, let alone get to the question. Here came another answer from past left field, you know, way out past left field, where you can't hear the game anymore or even see the stadium. The answer said, "Quit writing." That was it.
What do you all do? What do you all do that is a key part of your person? That is as intertwined in your identity as your face, your memories, your values? What kind of answer is that?
I was shocked. I don't know what to make of it. I asked. I received an answer. A loud and impatient one, at that. As if the answer was wondering if I would ever ask the question.
But I do not like this answer.
I tried to understand it a bit last night. It does make some kind of sense, though I doubt I'll ever understand it fully until I'm looking back. As Sassy has gotten older, I've found myself drawn to creating more for myself, which usually means writing. I have at least five book ideas going right now. I maintain 3 blogs. In my blog profile, I state it clearly: "The Tightwad Trainer loves to teach and lives to share information."
More accurately, perhaps, is that The Tightwad Trainer lives to raise children. This is as much a part of my person as writing is, as writing ever has been. Never in my life have I doubted that I would one day write a book. Never in my life have I doubted that I would one day raise children. Perhaps those two things are less compatible right now than I want them to be, and anger is my clue.
The thing about answers is that they always carry more meaning than their simple words convey. "Quit writing," was spoken in a way that carried with it, "Not forever, but for now. It's not time yet. There are bigger priorities."
Will I listen? More importantly, will I obey? Right now, I'm writing about the very answer that has told me not to write.
I've decided to mull it over a bit before I make any big decisions. When the answer is right, it always has a habit of not going away. If I choose to obey, I'll keep my blogs up, but they won't be maintained as they are now. I won't write to share information, only to organize my thoughts and release them, when necessary.
We shall see.
For many, many years I have stated, "I don't pray. I try, but it seems like I'm talking to myself. I don't see the point in it." Lately, this has changed. Why? Because I started getting answers. Not answers where I laid still & pondered for a good long while about what I was bringing up in prayer. More like the kind of answers where you barely get the question out & a bullhorn voice smacks you upside the head with the answer.
In my agnostic years, I would have assumed it was my subconscious talking. Who knows? It very well may be. I wonder at times if we don't all have the "rightness" of the world constantly in our subconscious waiting to be tapped -- or asked. An innate conscience. An inborn godliness. Whether I have a direct line to God way up on His Throne in His Heavenly Universe through His Son, or whether I have all of what I ever needed to know resting in my soul, waiting its turn to speak, I don't know. What I do know is that the answers I get never come from me directly. They never are a scientific conclusion after I review the facts. In fact, the latest one was an answer I did not want to hear. I'm still chewing on it. I don't want to obey the answer just yet. It's too big.
The first time this happened, I wrote about it here. The first answer brought with it a sense of calm.
The next time it happened was last week. I was exhausted from a completely overwhelming week, and I was flopping an incident around in my head that had happened earlier in the day. I prayed on the incident, asking for Christ's help in figuring out why I had reacted to someone new to my life in such a defensive way. Before I could even get through to the "How can I change my reaction?" part, I received an answer that came from way over in left field. The answer brought with it a sense of wisdom.
Last night, it happened again. I made a mental note in the evening that I was going to bring my anger to Christ in prayer that night, so when we all were on our way to sleep, I started to pose the question. "Dear Lord, I want so badly to get rid of explosive anger with Sassy --" I couldn't finish the statement this time, let alone get to the question. Here came another answer from past left field, you know, way out past left field, where you can't hear the game anymore or even see the stadium. The answer said, "Quit writing." That was it.
What do you all do? What do you all do that is a key part of your person? That is as intertwined in your identity as your face, your memories, your values? What kind of answer is that?
I was shocked. I don't know what to make of it. I asked. I received an answer. A loud and impatient one, at that. As if the answer was wondering if I would ever ask the question.
But I do not like this answer.
I tried to understand it a bit last night. It does make some kind of sense, though I doubt I'll ever understand it fully until I'm looking back. As Sassy has gotten older, I've found myself drawn to creating more for myself, which usually means writing. I have at least five book ideas going right now. I maintain 3 blogs. In my blog profile, I state it clearly: "The Tightwad Trainer loves to teach and lives to share information."
More accurately, perhaps, is that The Tightwad Trainer lives to raise children. This is as much a part of my person as writing is, as writing ever has been. Never in my life have I doubted that I would one day write a book. Never in my life have I doubted that I would one day raise children. Perhaps those two things are less compatible right now than I want them to be, and anger is my clue.
The thing about answers is that they always carry more meaning than their simple words convey. "Quit writing," was spoken in a way that carried with it, "Not forever, but for now. It's not time yet. There are bigger priorities."
Will I listen? More importantly, will I obey? Right now, I'm writing about the very answer that has told me not to write.
I've decided to mull it over a bit before I make any big decisions. When the answer is right, it always has a habit of not going away. If I choose to obey, I'll keep my blogs up, but they won't be maintained as they are now. I won't write to share information, only to organize my thoughts and release them, when necessary.
We shall see.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Fasting
I started my 3-week fast yesterday. Actually, it's officially a "cleanse," but I'm tired of having to either define or defend the cleanse to people who are ignorant to its ways, so I'm calling it a fast instead. Everyone can relate to a fast; plus, it has that added benefit of having a spiritual connotation which makes people less likely to criticize it.
I have so very, very little energy right now. I looked at my half-closed eyes in the mirror and realized, try as I might, I can't pull them upright into a position that does not make me look half-dead. Or at least half-asleep. Maybe it's a benefit because I really don't seem to care about anything right now. My energy is so low that my stress level is at a 0. Unfortunately, that's extremely rare.
I'm writing a few of my experiences as I think of them, but I especially want to document what I'm eating. I'm always looking for vegetable recipes, so I'm taking advantage of this time to jot some more ideas down as I use them for my fast.
Yesterday I made sauteed veggie rolls. I wrapped a Napa Cabbage leaf (now my favorite cabbage BTW) around finely chopped carrots, regular cabbage & pineapple). I sauteed them in about 1 Tbls. light oil and some water with the lid on (so they also were steamed). For dinner, I had baba ganoush (1 roasted eggplant, 6 cloves roasted garlic, 2 Tbls. tahini, juice of one lime). I ate it with roasted zucchini sticks (thin spears of zucchini tossed with 1 Tbls. light oil, roasted at 350 degrees just until tender), raw carrot sticks and sugar snap peas. It was a birthday party, so for dessert I brought crushed pineapple mixed with 1 Tbls. chopped raw cashews and topped with banana slices.
Today I had some Napa cabbage, zucchini & onion "stir fry" (just sauteed in water, not oil) and a salad with 1 Tbls. almonds & 1/2 date for lunch. For dinner I had 2 yams sliced & roasted with 1 Tbls. oil & Bragg's kelp seasoning. For a late-night snack I had steamed/sauteed pears with cinnamon (just 'til tender) and a banana coconut ginger sauce to dip in.
The specs of the fast per day are:
2-3 protein shakes/day (special shakes from SP, unsweetened, so I add banana & berries)
30 horsepill size supp's this 1st week each day
as many salad veggies as I want
whole fruits, but only at 50% of my veggie intake (so twice as many veggies as fruits)
cooked veggies are OK but no starchy veggies (potatoes, corn, peas or legumes -- I pushed it with the yams today, I'm sure)
2 Tbls. olive or flax oil
1/4 cup MEASURED OUT nuts
seasonings that don't have any salt or sugar (or preservatives, chemicals, etc.)
That's it, in a nutshell. I'm so tired now. I'm off to bed.
I have so very, very little energy right now. I looked at my half-closed eyes in the mirror and realized, try as I might, I can't pull them upright into a position that does not make me look half-dead. Or at least half-asleep. Maybe it's a benefit because I really don't seem to care about anything right now. My energy is so low that my stress level is at a 0. Unfortunately, that's extremely rare.
I'm writing a few of my experiences as I think of them, but I especially want to document what I'm eating. I'm always looking for vegetable recipes, so I'm taking advantage of this time to jot some more ideas down as I use them for my fast.
Yesterday I made sauteed veggie rolls. I wrapped a Napa Cabbage leaf (now my favorite cabbage BTW) around finely chopped carrots, regular cabbage & pineapple). I sauteed them in about 1 Tbls. light oil and some water with the lid on (so they also were steamed). For dinner, I had baba ganoush (1 roasted eggplant, 6 cloves roasted garlic, 2 Tbls. tahini, juice of one lime). I ate it with roasted zucchini sticks (thin spears of zucchini tossed with 1 Tbls. light oil, roasted at 350 degrees just until tender), raw carrot sticks and sugar snap peas. It was a birthday party, so for dessert I brought crushed pineapple mixed with 1 Tbls. chopped raw cashews and topped with banana slices.
Today I had some Napa cabbage, zucchini & onion "stir fry" (just sauteed in water, not oil) and a salad with 1 Tbls. almonds & 1/2 date for lunch. For dinner I had 2 yams sliced & roasted with 1 Tbls. oil & Bragg's kelp seasoning. For a late-night snack I had steamed/sauteed pears with cinnamon (just 'til tender) and a banana coconut ginger sauce to dip in.
The specs of the fast per day are:
2-3 protein shakes/day (special shakes from SP, unsweetened, so I add banana & berries)
30 horsepill size supp's this 1st week each day
as many salad veggies as I want
whole fruits, but only at 50% of my veggie intake (so twice as many veggies as fruits)
cooked veggies are OK but no starchy veggies (potatoes, corn, peas or legumes -- I pushed it with the yams today, I'm sure)
2 Tbls. olive or flax oil
1/4 cup MEASURED OUT nuts
seasonings that don't have any salt or sugar (or preservatives, chemicals, etc.)
That's it, in a nutshell. I'm so tired now. I'm off to bed.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
go local
So I joined this Y! group for our area's localvores -- those who try to eat locally as much as they can. And the more I read their posts & the more I think about our impending move to Indy, the more I think about learning to eat more locally. Plus, it's exactly the kind of far-left (or is it far-right? they are strikingly similar these days....) activism that makes me happy and tickles my need to be in control.
Well, conveniently, my good friend, a fellow localvore member herself, decided to make 2008 her local foods challenge year. If the details of her challenge aren't up on her site yet, keep checking -- she assures me they will be!
I plan to join her in this challenge and I think you should too! Since it's not my challenge, I don't know that I'll be as hardcore as she will be, but I've been talking the talk for a long time & I think it's about time these boots got walking.
Now, I've done some preliminary thinking on "going local" and my first conclusion is that it's one of those things that almost has to happen gradually unless you want to severely cut your diet. Or, if you are a firm believer in eating seasonal foods only, you might not have a hard time. Personally, I think January and February are far and away the best time for fasting anyway. But, I get grumpy after fasting for too long so I'm big on eating seasonally when and where available, and using preservation techniques for any surplus you can get your hands on.
Knowing your seasonal availability of different foods and where to get them when they're harvested is the key. Then, you just show up and buy in bulk, planning to preserve your surplus in whatever way suits the food. If I find an oat grower, for example, here in my area, I would probably buy 100 pounds. This should last us for a year (we rely on having oats always available) and it might even be cheaper to buy it in large quanities. Thing is, we'll still have to feed ourselves while we're building our supply, so general cost-cutting will have to be a priority for 2008 if I'm going to strive to be 90% local in 2009.
For me, there will be a process to 2008 that should bring us to near-complete local eating in 2009. The process consists of these eight steps:
1. Make a list of the foods that are both grown locally and enjoyed by our family.
2. Separate into two groups those foods that are available year round (meat and dairy products) and those that are only available seasonally (vegetables, grains & fruits).
3. Of those that are only available seasonally, research to find the harvesting month for each food.
4. Find a local source for each food, probably using the database in our localvores group.
5. Set up a carpool group of others who might be interested in obtaining these foods.
6. Trim costs in both the existing grocery store budget and other household expenses to free up more money for buying in bulk when seasonal foods are available.
7. Preserve all surplus using any method that suits the food.
8. Keep a list in the kitchen that details how much of each food we purchased this year so that we can adjust our buying next year.
I won't likely shoot for 100% local eating at any foreseeable time. I like my coffee and chocolate too much for that! But I believe that 90% local should be attainable after a year of careful planning.
Challenges like this are great and I'm glad Mama brought it up! Not only do I love kicks in the pants to live in closer alignment with my principles, but it's just plain fun to do a challenge with a friend. I have one of my own challenges going on right now that I anticipate will help me cut those costs so I can free up money to buy local foods in bulk. I'm tired of feeling like all I do is shop for, maintain, fix, clean and rearrange my Things. I want to know how all those Things are coming into my life. I want to know how much stress they are causing and how much time they are stealing from me. I've created a challenge to write down all of my transactions that involve more of these Things so I can see more clearly how much time they're eating up and how I can fix it. And you know what? Call it shameless self-promotion, but I think you should join that challenge too!
Well, conveniently, my good friend, a fellow localvore member herself, decided to make 2008 her local foods challenge year. If the details of her challenge aren't up on her site yet, keep checking -- she assures me they will be!
I plan to join her in this challenge and I think you should too! Since it's not my challenge, I don't know that I'll be as hardcore as she will be, but I've been talking the talk for a long time & I think it's about time these boots got walking.
Now, I've done some preliminary thinking on "going local" and my first conclusion is that it's one of those things that almost has to happen gradually unless you want to severely cut your diet. Or, if you are a firm believer in eating seasonal foods only, you might not have a hard time. Personally, I think January and February are far and away the best time for fasting anyway. But, I get grumpy after fasting for too long so I'm big on eating seasonally when and where available, and using preservation techniques for any surplus you can get your hands on.
Knowing your seasonal availability of different foods and where to get them when they're harvested is the key. Then, you just show up and buy in bulk, planning to preserve your surplus in whatever way suits the food. If I find an oat grower, for example, here in my area, I would probably buy 100 pounds. This should last us for a year (we rely on having oats always available) and it might even be cheaper to buy it in large quanities. Thing is, we'll still have to feed ourselves while we're building our supply, so general cost-cutting will have to be a priority for 2008 if I'm going to strive to be 90% local in 2009.
For me, there will be a process to 2008 that should bring us to near-complete local eating in 2009. The process consists of these eight steps:
1. Make a list of the foods that are both grown locally and enjoyed by our family.
2. Separate into two groups those foods that are available year round (meat and dairy products) and those that are only available seasonally (vegetables, grains & fruits).
3. Of those that are only available seasonally, research to find the harvesting month for each food.
4. Find a local source for each food, probably using the database in our localvores group.
5. Set up a carpool group of others who might be interested in obtaining these foods.
6. Trim costs in both the existing grocery store budget and other household expenses to free up more money for buying in bulk when seasonal foods are available.
7. Preserve all surplus using any method that suits the food.
8. Keep a list in the kitchen that details how much of each food we purchased this year so that we can adjust our buying next year.
I won't likely shoot for 100% local eating at any foreseeable time. I like my coffee and chocolate too much for that! But I believe that 90% local should be attainable after a year of careful planning.
Challenges like this are great and I'm glad Mama brought it up! Not only do I love kicks in the pants to live in closer alignment with my principles, but it's just plain fun to do a challenge with a friend. I have one of my own challenges going on right now that I anticipate will help me cut those costs so I can free up money to buy local foods in bulk. I'm tired of feeling like all I do is shop for, maintain, fix, clean and rearrange my Things. I want to know how all those Things are coming into my life. I want to know how much stress they are causing and how much time they are stealing from me. I've created a challenge to write down all of my transactions that involve more of these Things so I can see more clearly how much time they're eating up and how I can fix it. And you know what? Call it shameless self-promotion, but I think you should join that challenge too!
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Braggy McBraggerson
That's me this morning, singing the praises of my little girl. So excuse me upfront for my assertion that I have the most empathetic, sincere, lovey girl in the entire world.
First, the background. In case you haven't noticed this about Sassy, she is made to be a Mama. This seems to be her driving force in her play, her words, her genuine love of all babies. I recognize this because that was me. That was little me, for as long as I can remember. I never cared what I "grew up to be," as long as I was a Mama. I am infinitely, supremely glad that Sassy is a little me in that respect. I didn't necessarily expect her to be, certainly haven't tried to force her to be, but she is. And it makes it so easy for me to understand her. It helps us connect. I've often wondered how I would handle a frilly girl, the one obsessed with makeup, playing "princess," cheerleading, her looks. I've also wonderd how I'd handle the athletic girl, the one who never met a sport she didn't want to play, who shunned all skirts & dresses, who fought for her right to play on the boy's team. Both are alien to me. I would hope that I'd learn from them & they'd learn from me, & we'd love each other unconditionally despite our differences. But it's so much easier when your daughter is just a little you. A little you who is so much more empathetic, thick-skinned, sociable & trusting than you ever were.
Because Sassy is made to be a Mama, I notice that she is particularly drawn to the babies in her life. Let me put it bluntly: she wants to be a Big Sister. She wants a Baby. She talks about it all the time. She plays it out in her imaginary games. I don't think I've seen a single imaginary game in the past year that doesn't include Big Sister & Baby.
So imagine my surprise when this eloquent assessment of her own little life came out in our conversation the other day. We were on the way home from my grandparents' house & I had just started my cycle again. I asked her, "How would you feel if Mommy never had another baby out of her belly again?"
Me: "How would you feel about that?"
Sassy (in an upbeat tone): "That would be okay, Mommy!"
Me (confused): "Why would that be okay?"
Sassy: "Because you can be happy even if you don't have a baby sister or brother, Mommy."
Me (still confused): "What if we brought a baby home that Mommy didn't have in her belly -- a baby that didn't have a home?"
Sassy: "That would be good! I think I would like that!"
Me: "So what you're saying is, you're OK with it either way?"
Sassy: "Yes, Mommy. I would be happy if I had a baby sister or brother but I would be happy if I didn't, too."
The release that this child gave me in this one interaction is so immense, I don't even think I could put it into words. I wasn't sure if I was transporting my child or my angel at that point. I know this is hard for most easily conceiving mothers to understand, but it's hard not to feel like you're failing your existing child when you can't fulfill their dream of having a Baby in the family. You watch them coo over babies everywhere you go, and you think, what I wouldn't give to have a baby of our own for you. When you have a child like mine, who intergrates a Baby Sibling theme into practically every single thing she does, it can be excrutiating.
I asked Sassy the other day if she chose me to be her Mommy. Yes, she said. Why did you choose me? I asked her.
"Because I loved you," she said.
Sometimes I wonder if Sassy really did choose me -- if she chose me because I needed to be healed, because that's exactly what she continues to do.
First, the background. In case you haven't noticed this about Sassy, she is made to be a Mama. This seems to be her driving force in her play, her words, her genuine love of all babies. I recognize this because that was me. That was little me, for as long as I can remember. I never cared what I "grew up to be," as long as I was a Mama. I am infinitely, supremely glad that Sassy is a little me in that respect. I didn't necessarily expect her to be, certainly haven't tried to force her to be, but she is. And it makes it so easy for me to understand her. It helps us connect. I've often wondered how I would handle a frilly girl, the one obsessed with makeup, playing "princess," cheerleading, her looks. I've also wonderd how I'd handle the athletic girl, the one who never met a sport she didn't want to play, who shunned all skirts & dresses, who fought for her right to play on the boy's team. Both are alien to me. I would hope that I'd learn from them & they'd learn from me, & we'd love each other unconditionally despite our differences. But it's so much easier when your daughter is just a little you. A little you who is so much more empathetic, thick-skinned, sociable & trusting than you ever were.
Because Sassy is made to be a Mama, I notice that she is particularly drawn to the babies in her life. Let me put it bluntly: she wants to be a Big Sister. She wants a Baby. She talks about it all the time. She plays it out in her imaginary games. I don't think I've seen a single imaginary game in the past year that doesn't include Big Sister & Baby.
So imagine my surprise when this eloquent assessment of her own little life came out in our conversation the other day. We were on the way home from my grandparents' house & I had just started my cycle again. I asked her, "How would you feel if Mommy never had another baby out of her belly again?"
Me: "How would you feel about that?"
Sassy (in an upbeat tone): "That would be okay, Mommy!"
Me (confused): "Why would that be okay?"
Sassy: "Because you can be happy even if you don't have a baby sister or brother, Mommy."
Me (still confused): "What if we brought a baby home that Mommy didn't have in her belly -- a baby that didn't have a home?"
Sassy: "That would be good! I think I would like that!"
Me: "So what you're saying is, you're OK with it either way?"
Sassy: "Yes, Mommy. I would be happy if I had a baby sister or brother but I would be happy if I didn't, too."
The release that this child gave me in this one interaction is so immense, I don't even think I could put it into words. I wasn't sure if I was transporting my child or my angel at that point. I know this is hard for most easily conceiving mothers to understand, but it's hard not to feel like you're failing your existing child when you can't fulfill their dream of having a Baby in the family. You watch them coo over babies everywhere you go, and you think, what I wouldn't give to have a baby of our own for you. When you have a child like mine, who intergrates a Baby Sibling theme into practically every single thing she does, it can be excrutiating.
I asked Sassy the other day if she chose me to be her Mommy. Yes, she said. Why did you choose me? I asked her.
"Because I loved you," she said.
Sometimes I wonder if Sassy really did choose me -- if she chose me because I needed to be healed, because that's exactly what she continues to do.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
the qualified
"Remeber that God doesn't just call the qualified, he qualifies the called."
~ member, GCM
Friday, December 28, 2007
to mother
"....[This is] one of the greatest gifts I would receive from Adam: the understanding that the word mother is more powerful when it is used as a verb than as a noun. Mothering has very little to do with biological reproduction -- as another friend once told me, there are women who bear and raise children without ever mothering them, and there are people (both male and female) who mother all their lives without ever giving birth."
~Martha Beck, Expecting Adam
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
what's the deal?
Mama grape? Joining the GOP? That's right, folks. After much, much deliberation, I have decided to change my party affiliation before the December 31st deadline so that I will be eligible to vote in the Republican primaries.
So why am I doing this? What's the deal?
In two words, it's Ron Paul. Let me assure you, I'm gun-shy about wholeheartedly supporting a candidate. Only Gore could I wholeheartedly support now. And that's only because I watched him after his presidential spot was stolen and he responded by continuing to do the work that had always impassioned him before. He worked hard to educate Stupid Americans about their effects on the environment. And it has had a great effect on the general consciousness of Stupid America. Seven years after The Thief took office, even Stupid Americans have switched their line from "Global warming is a scam," to "Global warming is common knowledge. Now let's make Stupid American Jokes about it."
If I actually believed Gore could be drafted into another run, I'd support him. But, I just don't think it's going to happen. Enter Ron Paul. He also has a stellar voting record and his history shows that he has acted with character and integrity throughout his career, even in the face of Big Business. Ron Paul is not bought and sold. And he stands on a platform of civil rights. In short, Ron Paul would directly affect my life. Ron Paul is for homeschoolers.
I've been reticent to make a wager at all. I'm still smarting from my poor 2000 election wager, when I chose to "vote my conscience." But then, the unthinkable happened. My vote, along with countless others, made it so much easier for our Resident in Thief to pull off his scam. I barely thought of my decision in 2004 -- the choice was obvious. "I'm voting for Not Bush."
Yet again, I find myself faced with a decision. I can sit tight & disassociate myself from it, afraid of making a mistake. Typically speaking, inactivity in hopes to avoid mistakes effects no real change.
So, here we go......Ron Paul for President, 2008. Hope for America. Hope for homebirthers. Hope for homeschoolers.
So why am I doing this? What's the deal?
In two words, it's Ron Paul. Let me assure you, I'm gun-shy about wholeheartedly supporting a candidate. Only Gore could I wholeheartedly support now. And that's only because I watched him after his presidential spot was stolen and he responded by continuing to do the work that had always impassioned him before. He worked hard to educate Stupid Americans about their effects on the environment. And it has had a great effect on the general consciousness of Stupid America. Seven years after The Thief took office, even Stupid Americans have switched their line from "Global warming is a scam," to "Global warming is common knowledge. Now let's make Stupid American Jokes about it."
If I actually believed Gore could be drafted into another run, I'd support him. But, I just don't think it's going to happen. Enter Ron Paul. He also has a stellar voting record and his history shows that he has acted with character and integrity throughout his career, even in the face of Big Business. Ron Paul is not bought and sold. And he stands on a platform of civil rights. In short, Ron Paul would directly affect my life. Ron Paul is for homeschoolers.
I've been reticent to make a wager at all. I'm still smarting from my poor 2000 election wager, when I chose to "vote my conscience." But then, the unthinkable happened. My vote, along with countless others, made it so much easier for our Resident in Thief to pull off his scam. I barely thought of my decision in 2004 -- the choice was obvious. "I'm voting for Not Bush."
Yet again, I find myself faced with a decision. I can sit tight & disassociate myself from it, afraid of making a mistake. Typically speaking, inactivity in hopes to avoid mistakes effects no real change.
So, here we go......Ron Paul for President, 2008. Hope for America. Hope for homebirthers. Hope for homeschoolers.
Monday, December 03, 2007
playful parenting
All too often I forget that it really is OK to make a fool of yourself in public. Just today I was remembering a song that was popular during my club days.
"I'm free, to do what I want, any old time."
I laughed out loud when I thought of it, since most of the time I feel so completely not free. Right now, for example, this very instant, I am in a writing mood. I turned on quiet music I wanted to hear. Sassy is lying on the couch next to me & I want her to go to sleep now...well, five minutes ago really. And she just started singing the ABC song. Loudly. I am not free to walk away. Nor am I free to look at her incredulously & say, "Do you mind?" or "Are you seriously singing the ABC's when I'm so clearly trying to have my mood here?"
But then I often wonder how much of my lack of freedom is self-imposed. Truly, there is nothing wrong with dancing in the store. You won't be arrested. In fact, you'd likely make someone smile, regardless of whether they are laughing with you or laughing at you. Just last week I watched a teenage girl at the Crap Outlet move to some girl rap song, complete with lip-synching and stage dramatics. It made me smile. And it also made me hope that Sassy felt free enough at 16 to put on a show in the store. I wonder if the girl was homeschooled.
So why is it that when I found myself in the grocery store today getting the "we're so full of our pissed-off selves" vibe from every other human being in the place, that I succumbed to the nervous energy and started harping on Sassy's every step?
How can I wax on and on about how I want Sassy to be free to do whatever she wishes, but I can't even be free enough to stick up for her four-year-old antics amongst other people? How can I consider changing my party affiliation to the GOP (yes! the GOP!) just so I can help get Ron Paul on the ballot, worried as I am about the right to school my child however I wish, when I don't even give her the freedom to help her pursue her own interests, but rather superimpose mine on her & then feel slighted when she doesn't get excited? How can I really debate the amount of freedom that is appropriate for every American and where the lines should be drawn between freedom & protection, when I can't even break free from worrying over my assumptions of what my neighbors are thinking of me?
All my life, I've been a wallflower. It's true. Really. I know I can try to dominate a conversation if I'm not careful & I know I'm animated & opinionated & I know I enjoy finetuning my beliefs in a safe space -- loudly. But, truth is, when I'm not in that safe space, I'm a wallflower. I'm frustrated with myself because I'm a wallflower when I should be at my loudest -- when I'm advocating for the rights of my four-year-old daughter to be her four-year-old self, even if it annoys you at the moment. You're annoying us anyway and don't feel you need to stop.
I've always dreamt of being a person who could do crazy things in a public space. I'm capable of it, I know. Although I have stagefright, I can also get over stagefright if I know I've rehearsed my script. It makes me wonder how differently my script would have been in the grocery store today had I rehearsed it beforehand.
In that spirit, I've been a-researchin' playful parenting techniques tonight. I'm copying my favorites from a GCM sticky here, so I can have them all in one spot. A handy-dandy bag of tricks, if I may.
Here's some of mine that I play with Sassy already:
There are a few reminders that I wish I could permanently tattoo to the inside of my brain. For Sassy and me, the big one today is:
"I'm free, to do what I want, any old time."
I laughed out loud when I thought of it, since most of the time I feel so completely not free. Right now, for example, this very instant, I am in a writing mood. I turned on quiet music I wanted to hear. Sassy is lying on the couch next to me & I want her to go to sleep now...well, five minutes ago really. And she just started singing the ABC song. Loudly. I am not free to walk away. Nor am I free to look at her incredulously & say, "Do you mind?" or "Are you seriously singing the ABC's when I'm so clearly trying to have my mood here?"
But then I often wonder how much of my lack of freedom is self-imposed. Truly, there is nothing wrong with dancing in the store. You won't be arrested. In fact, you'd likely make someone smile, regardless of whether they are laughing with you or laughing at you. Just last week I watched a teenage girl at the Crap Outlet move to some girl rap song, complete with lip-synching and stage dramatics. It made me smile. And it also made me hope that Sassy felt free enough at 16 to put on a show in the store. I wonder if the girl was homeschooled.
So why is it that when I found myself in the grocery store today getting the "we're so full of our pissed-off selves" vibe from every other human being in the place, that I succumbed to the nervous energy and started harping on Sassy's every step?
How can I wax on and on about how I want Sassy to be free to do whatever she wishes, but I can't even be free enough to stick up for her four-year-old antics amongst other people? How can I consider changing my party affiliation to the GOP (yes! the GOP!) just so I can help get Ron Paul on the ballot, worried as I am about the right to school my child however I wish, when I don't even give her the freedom to help her pursue her own interests, but rather superimpose mine on her & then feel slighted when she doesn't get excited? How can I really debate the amount of freedom that is appropriate for every American and where the lines should be drawn between freedom & protection, when I can't even break free from worrying over my assumptions of what my neighbors are thinking of me?
All my life, I've been a wallflower. It's true. Really. I know I can try to dominate a conversation if I'm not careful & I know I'm animated & opinionated & I know I enjoy finetuning my beliefs in a safe space -- loudly. But, truth is, when I'm not in that safe space, I'm a wallflower. I'm frustrated with myself because I'm a wallflower when I should be at my loudest -- when I'm advocating for the rights of my four-year-old daughter to be her four-year-old self, even if it annoys you at the moment. You're annoying us anyway and don't feel you need to stop.
I've always dreamt of being a person who could do crazy things in a public space. I'm capable of it, I know. Although I have stagefright, I can also get over stagefright if I know I've rehearsed my script. It makes me wonder how differently my script would have been in the grocery store today had I rehearsed it beforehand.
In that spirit, I've been a-researchin' playful parenting techniques tonight. I'm copying my favorites from a GCM sticky here, so I can have them all in one spot. A handy-dandy bag of tricks, if I may.
- Today you may not [insert action here] laugh , smile , shake your head, stand on your tippy toes , sit down. When the child does the action I announce "I'm serious. You may not do xyz." Of course they 'll do it again. I say "I'm going to pretend you didn't do that. I'm going to turn my back and you better not xyz. *begin turning around * If I find out that you've been xyz after I told you not to , I'll ...I'll....I'll eat your toes ! {insert silly punishment}" Turn around and catch child...chase to eat toes. Surprisingly this also works well with teens. "Today you will not smile at your mother. I'm in a rotten mood and want no part of it. If you smile at me today I will chase you down and sing a song until your ears bleed. Do you understand ?" ds loves this game although he won't admit it.
Official Express Yourself In {insert} Day. We've had Song , Haiku , ubbi-dubbi , shakespeare insults (thou foul mouthed scalawag , thou yellow bellied foot licker , thou rump fed blossom canker)
Fake cry. Works every time to change the mood.
- me:"Son ? I need you to help with the dishes."
son:"Right now ? I"m in the middle of a game. Can it wait ?".
me: loud obnoxious obviously fake cry "I suppose so i'll just be in here " sob sniffle sob 'all by myself doing the dishes that no one will help me do." more over the top wailing.
also fun is the fake laugh. "Today we will only fake laugh at each other. No true emotion is to be shared." When they start to really laugh , pull back and demonstrate.."no..I said a fake laugh like this HA HA. See how I didn't even smile ? You try."
If we've had a rocky morning, I like to play hug monster, where I pretend to be a hug monster and I chase her and say, "I'm the hug monster and I'm going to chase you and chase you until I catch you... and when I catch you, I'm going to hug you because I'm the hug monster!!!!!"
Put socks on the hands to dust with, so they could be kitties.
For getting dressed, pretending limbs are snakes that need to wriggle through (complete with hissing).
When they get an ouchie I ask them how many kisses they need to make it better. I get crazy numbers these days "twenty thirty fifty tenty!". I give a ton of kisses & make a big deal about the last ones. (This is similar to one of mine: when Sassy needs attention & her Daddy & I are trying to get something else done, I do an overkill on the attention. I hug her as tight as I can, gush over her, give her dozens of kisses until she's laughing & begging me to stop. Then, she'll usually go back to whatever she was doing & we can continue with our movie or project.)
Putting on clothes always worked if we were animals and/or construction equipment that needed to be protected from the elements.
We're big into all types of animals right now, so pretending to brush the baby horse's teeth, for instance, gets the job done.
For those wiggly diaper changes I pretend that his foot is a phone. I make it ring, answer it and talk for a little bit, then pass it back for him to talk on. Even my 3yo loves it.
When my dc don't want to leave the park, we either walk backwards, jump, skip, gallop, roll, or race all the way to the car.
My 4 y/o also has very angry furrowed brows, so after I put them on my face and pretended I was mad, I threw them in the trash can.
Here's some of mine that I play with Sassy already:
- We play the "Stinky!" game all the time. I go to kiss her feet (this is great with boo-boos), but after the kiss I exclaim "Ooh! Stinky! You didn't tell me they were so stinky!" It's HEE-larious.
When we're out, Sassy's allowed to walk ahead of me but we play "Freeze!" So everytime I say "Freeze!" she has to stop moving immediately. She usually strikes a "statue" pose, which is particularly funny.
A new one we just started tonight is, "Guess what's on your...." Tonight we used cheek. I had her close her eyes & then I put a drop of water on her cheek & she had to guess what it was. Then it was her turn to do it to me. This can be very fun if you're not easily grossed out, because you will get slobber or snot eventually.
And one that we play that looks very weird to other people but is great for us is "Baby." This involves Sassy being a baby and me being the person holding her. I have to hold her like a baby & gush and goo over her. Usually I say things like, "Look at those pretty little baby eyes, and baby cheeks, and her itty bitty fingers!" But I have to say it like I'm cooing at a baby. Sassy needs imaginative play, and "Baby" is one imaginary game that I can enjoy, too. (Not like "Shopkeeper," for the hundredth time that day. And with Baby, at least I can make up my own lines.) And it seems to be a game that fills her cup when she needs it & reconnects us when I need it. That said, when Daddy saw us play Baby for the first time, he said, "Ooo-kay" and walked right back out of the room.
There are a few reminders that I wish I could permanently tattoo to the inside of my brain. For Sassy and me, the big one today is:
Love is learned in the process, not the product.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
control
I am one of those people that likes to be in control. (You, my friends, are probably laughing your arses off considering that's quite an understatement.) I understand disorders like OCD, anorexia, germophobia, agoraphobia. I don't suffer from all of them, but I understand why people do. It's a sense of control in an uncontrollable world.
Unfortunately, I know from experience I can't control everything. I suspect my experiences are the very reason I seek to control as much as I do. I remember very vividly thinking at the age of 12 that once I was an adult I would do exactly what I wished and nothing more. I was tired of being forced by the court to go to my dad and stepmother's house every other weekend plus three dreadful, hellish weeks every summer. I was tired of not being able to make my own decisions -- decisions where I would only spend time in places I felt safe. I was a "good girl." I did as I was told, because I knew I was just a child. Later, I vowed, nobody would get the right to tell me what to do.
I lived that way through most of my 20's. Relationships worked that way for me. I was fine, as long as you weren't trying to force me to do something I didn't want to do. If so, the relationship eventually ended. I'd had enough of that in my childhood.
When I had Sassy, she pretty much told me what to do. That was a bitter pill to swallow for awhile. I had to do all kinds of things I did not want to do. I had to get up throughout the night, my own personal torture. I had to be at her beck and call every day. I couldn't go where I used to go or do the things I used to do. She was my boss now. But my love for her was the single most overwhelming thing I've ever experienced in my whole life (and still is), so I settled into this pattern with little complaining.
At the same time, I began to control what I could. Finances were first. Food came next. Sassy's environment followed closely. For five years now, I've enjoyed this control. It has created the safe space that was missing throughout my childhood.
Of course, I know from experience I can't control everything. And this is yet again a bitter, but necessary pill to swallow.
I remember listening to my Amy Grant CDs when I was a young teen, immersed in my youth group circle. "I Surrender All," she would sing. I've thought of that song over the past few years as I've made my steady re-entry into the Christian church. I haven't been able to "Surrender All." I really never have.
Faith involves this suspension of disbelief that has to be constantly attended to. Although I feel now that for the first time in my life, there's just one set of footprints carrying me, I still have to suspend my doubts. It's strange to me that I can both experience and doubt at the same time.
My doctor is attuned to my numbers. She wants me to test and retest for my numbers. I did -- twice. And the second test wasn't what she considered appropriate. She ordered another test in a couple days to see what the numbers looked like. People know when they're in control. They don't wait. They do. They are not patient. There's not time. Action is required. I knew I wasn't in control.
As I cried, sobbed really, threw the phone across the room, that's when my footprints left the sand.
If I were to ever conceive again, I would remember. I can't control this. I have to become comfortable with questions. I have to become comfortable with miscarriage as a natural part of reproduction. I have to become comfortable with death as a natural part of life.
If I were to ever conceive again, I would spend many nights with my hands on my belly, in open meditation. Open to God, dedicating the baby to him, asking him to stay in control so I don't have to. Suspending my disbelief because faith and knowledge have different meanings for a reason.
And I would pray, with my hands on my belly, that God would not let me fail. If there is something I should be doing, something that could make a difference, that he would let me know.
Unfortunately, I know from experience I can't control everything. I suspect my experiences are the very reason I seek to control as much as I do. I remember very vividly thinking at the age of 12 that once I was an adult I would do exactly what I wished and nothing more. I was tired of being forced by the court to go to my dad and stepmother's house every other weekend plus three dreadful, hellish weeks every summer. I was tired of not being able to make my own decisions -- decisions where I would only spend time in places I felt safe. I was a "good girl." I did as I was told, because I knew I was just a child. Later, I vowed, nobody would get the right to tell me what to do.
I lived that way through most of my 20's. Relationships worked that way for me. I was fine, as long as you weren't trying to force me to do something I didn't want to do. If so, the relationship eventually ended. I'd had enough of that in my childhood.
When I had Sassy, she pretty much told me what to do. That was a bitter pill to swallow for awhile. I had to do all kinds of things I did not want to do. I had to get up throughout the night, my own personal torture. I had to be at her beck and call every day. I couldn't go where I used to go or do the things I used to do. She was my boss now. But my love for her was the single most overwhelming thing I've ever experienced in my whole life (and still is), so I settled into this pattern with little complaining.
At the same time, I began to control what I could. Finances were first. Food came next. Sassy's environment followed closely. For five years now, I've enjoyed this control. It has created the safe space that was missing throughout my childhood.
Of course, I know from experience I can't control everything. And this is yet again a bitter, but necessary pill to swallow.
I remember listening to my Amy Grant CDs when I was a young teen, immersed in my youth group circle. "I Surrender All," she would sing. I've thought of that song over the past few years as I've made my steady re-entry into the Christian church. I haven't been able to "Surrender All." I really never have.
Faith involves this suspension of disbelief that has to be constantly attended to. Although I feel now that for the first time in my life, there's just one set of footprints carrying me, I still have to suspend my doubts. It's strange to me that I can both experience and doubt at the same time.
My doctor is attuned to my numbers. She wants me to test and retest for my numbers. I did -- twice. And the second test wasn't what she considered appropriate. She ordered another test in a couple days to see what the numbers looked like. People know when they're in control. They don't wait. They do. They are not patient. There's not time. Action is required. I knew I wasn't in control.
As I cried, sobbed really, threw the phone across the room, that's when my footprints left the sand.
You can't control this.
If I were to ever conceive again, I would remember. I can't control this. I have to become comfortable with questions. I have to become comfortable with miscarriage as a natural part of reproduction. I have to become comfortable with death as a natural part of life.
If I were to ever conceive again, I would spend many nights with my hands on my belly, in open meditation. Open to God, dedicating the baby to him, asking him to stay in control so I don't have to. Suspending my disbelief because faith and knowledge have different meanings for a reason.
And I would pray, with my hands on my belly, that God would not let me fail. If there is something I should be doing, something that could make a difference, that he would let me know.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
moodling
Such a wonderful quote (and reminder) for young mamas like ourselves:
The whole post is from a blog author new to me, but her words feel kindred. And the room in the picture she has published in the post is the exact incarnation of my perfect bedroom. I like the way slanted attic walls hug you when you need it.
I've spent the past four days hugged by Sassy's room. I spend some time each morning doing things that need to be done, while it's early with the hope of a new day. By noontime, I'm spent from the energy of doing and I retreat to Sassy's room, where I read or post or wander. Some evenings bring a second wind, some not.
I like it. It feels right. For now.
I realized that I only have one little bit of control over things right now. I can talk about only what I want to talk about. I can keep it all a secret. I can keep most of it a secret. I can tell only one or two people and keep others completely in the dark. As if to them, those outside my circle of knowledge, it isn't even real. I like that too.
So you see the imagination needs moodling--long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering. These people who are always briskly doing something and as busy as waltzing mice, they have little, sharp, stacatto ideas, such as: "I see where I can make an annual cut of $3.47 in my meat budget." But they have no slow, big ideas. And the fewer consoling, noble, shining, free, jovial, magnanimous ideas that come, the more nervously and desperately they rush and run from office to office and up and downstairs, thinking by action at last to make life have some warmth and meaning.
--If You Want to Write by Brenda Uelan
The whole post is from a blog author new to me, but her words feel kindred. And the room in the picture she has published in the post is the exact incarnation of my perfect bedroom. I like the way slanted attic walls hug you when you need it.
I've spent the past four days hugged by Sassy's room. I spend some time each morning doing things that need to be done, while it's early with the hope of a new day. By noontime, I'm spent from the energy of doing and I retreat to Sassy's room, where I read or post or wander. Some evenings bring a second wind, some not.
I like it. It feels right. For now.
I realized that I only have one little bit of control over things right now. I can talk about only what I want to talk about. I can keep it all a secret. I can keep most of it a secret. I can tell only one or two people and keep others completely in the dark. As if to them, those outside my circle of knowledge, it isn't even real. I like that too.
Friday, November 23, 2007
just relax
I am so tired of well-meaning friends or family thinking that this phrase is actually useful in any way whatsoever to my pursuit of pregnancy. First, there's the obvious flaw: it has the opposite effect every time. Imagine you're in the middle of one of those days where nothing is going right. The washing machine breaks & there's no money to fix it right now. You start to take the clothes to the laundromat, but your car has a dead battery. You come back in, defeated, just to have the water company call to say they never received your last bill. Meanwhile, the dog still needs to be picked up from the vet & you have 6 movies to return to the library. You start to fix dinner, thinking maybe your spouse can take you out to run the errands when they get home, but you find you're missing a key ingredient for tonight's dinner. Your spouse walks in the door just as you're frantically trying to throw together a different dinner than what you'd planned so you can both eat & still make it to the vet's before 6:00. You drop the pan of hot pasta on the floor on the way back from the sink & we all know what expletives come out of your mouth then. Your spouse looks at you and says, "Just relax!"
Aren't you more relaxed already? Oh, gee, thanks hon, I never thought of that.
It's a very popular thought to think that stress causes infertility. Everybody and their sister has countless stories about people they really know (not just on the internet, like your questionable friends) who reduced stress & popped up pregnant. The way they talk, you'd think that if you would just get a homestudy, the first step toward adoption, you'll be pregnant by day's end! It must be the lack of stress, you know, because adoption is such an easy, stree-free process. Everybody likes to be picked apart by social service agencies, have their entire lives up to this point judged by strangers, submit their financial statements, medical records & psychiatric evaluations to people whose job it is to "judge a book by its cover." And of course, since most adoptive couples have to pay $7000 or more before they even start the process, this makes it all much less stressful.
And then, don't forget about the people "they know personally," who tried for years without success, until finally, finally, they just "gave up trying" and bam! She was pregnant. Here's a clue: women who have tried for years don't just bam! end up pregnant. There is not a single woman out there who has tried for years who can't pinpoint her ovulation window within 48 hours. If they truly were not trying, they wouldn't be pregnant. Not trying means preventing. Women experiencing infertility can very conveniently claim that they are "not trying," and most do...many times....over and over and over until they've almost convinced themselves. The only time a woman definitely can't claim that she's "not trying" is during infertility treatments. So if ingesting monthly chemical cocktails, transporting sperm in your underpants to the clinic, being artifically inseminated by a doctor rather than your husband, and partaking only in fertility sex is what counts as trying, with regular sex counting as not trying, then it's hardly surprising that the natural way might be more successful.
It seems that the fertile jury has concurred that there is no longer a thing such as coincidence and that a woman's issue with getting pregnant is not age or health or nutrition or medication, but stress. And more specifically, stress over not getting pregnant.
"Just relax."
"Are you trying too hard?"
"You're too stressed about it."
"Don't worry about it. You're too worried."
And this is the second flaw: what the woman hears is, "It's all your fault."
What's worse is that she hears that it's all her fault and there's actually nothing she can do about it except the vague, "Stop worrying." Not even a suggested action to take.
How effective would it be if I approached a woman exhausted from working two jobs to pay her bills, riding the bus from job to job since her car died and there's no money to fix it, hoping to have something extra to buy her children a gift for Christmas and told her, "Just stop worrying about money! You're too stressed. That's your problem." First, I'd probably get punched in the face. Secondly, she'd probably be pregnant if she wanted to be because getting pregnant rarely has much to do with stress. It's true. It really doesn't.
Do we really think babies are that fragile that they can't survive in the womb of a woman experiencing stress? Seriously? I do believe it's true that stress, over time, can begin to affect our internal systems. And I believe it's good to find a regimen to deal with stress. But that regimen doesn't include hiring someone to call me each day and tell me to "quit worrying." That would be a regimen to induce rage.
Here's what I would tell women who want another baby but aren't getting pregnant as quickly: deal with your stress so you can tell those "well-wishers" to flake off. Have sex with your husband more. And not just fertility sex -- real sex. Take more walks. Enjoy your current family and give, give, give to them so they know they are important & not just players in the sidelines in your game to get pregnant. And meditate, if you can. It can be in the morning, at night, in the afternoon, whenever. Do it with your yoga or with your morning coffee. Not with your morning commute, but anything else goes. Don't medicate your stress with alcohol, drugs, or sugar, and then really do it. Tell the wishy-wells, the know-it-alls, the I'm-so-Zens to flake off.
Remember that everyone likes to rewrite their life story with the most literary devices they can. Irony makes a good story great. So does a fairytale ending. And a nice little moral lesson of "everything happens for a reason." Maybe all those stressed out women really did become masters of their emotions and then out popped baby. Or maybe, that's just the way they like to tell it.
Aren't you more relaxed already? Oh, gee, thanks hon, I never thought of that.
It's a very popular thought to think that stress causes infertility. Everybody and their sister has countless stories about people they really know (not just on the internet, like your questionable friends) who reduced stress & popped up pregnant. The way they talk, you'd think that if you would just get a homestudy, the first step toward adoption, you'll be pregnant by day's end! It must be the lack of stress, you know, because adoption is such an easy, stree-free process. Everybody likes to be picked apart by social service agencies, have their entire lives up to this point judged by strangers, submit their financial statements, medical records & psychiatric evaluations to people whose job it is to "judge a book by its cover." And of course, since most adoptive couples have to pay $7000 or more before they even start the process, this makes it all much less stressful.
And then, don't forget about the people "they know personally," who tried for years without success, until finally, finally, they just "gave up trying" and bam! She was pregnant. Here's a clue: women who have tried for years don't just bam! end up pregnant. There is not a single woman out there who has tried for years who can't pinpoint her ovulation window within 48 hours. If they truly were not trying, they wouldn't be pregnant. Not trying means preventing. Women experiencing infertility can very conveniently claim that they are "not trying," and most do...many times....over and over and over until they've almost convinced themselves. The only time a woman definitely can't claim that she's "not trying" is during infertility treatments. So if ingesting monthly chemical cocktails, transporting sperm in your underpants to the clinic, being artifically inseminated by a doctor rather than your husband, and partaking only in fertility sex is what counts as trying, with regular sex counting as not trying, then it's hardly surprising that the natural way might be more successful.
It seems that the fertile jury has concurred that there is no longer a thing such as coincidence and that a woman's issue with getting pregnant is not age or health or nutrition or medication, but stress. And more specifically, stress over not getting pregnant.
"Just relax."
"Are you trying too hard?"
"You're too stressed about it."
"Don't worry about it. You're too worried."
And this is the second flaw: what the woman hears is, "It's all your fault."
What's worse is that she hears that it's all her fault and there's actually nothing she can do about it except the vague, "Stop worrying." Not even a suggested action to take.
How effective would it be if I approached a woman exhausted from working two jobs to pay her bills, riding the bus from job to job since her car died and there's no money to fix it, hoping to have something extra to buy her children a gift for Christmas and told her, "Just stop worrying about money! You're too stressed. That's your problem." First, I'd probably get punched in the face. Secondly, she'd probably be pregnant if she wanted to be because getting pregnant rarely has much to do with stress. It's true. It really doesn't.
Do we really think babies are that fragile that they can't survive in the womb of a woman experiencing stress? Seriously? I do believe it's true that stress, over time, can begin to affect our internal systems. And I believe it's good to find a regimen to deal with stress. But that regimen doesn't include hiring someone to call me each day and tell me to "quit worrying." That would be a regimen to induce rage.
Here's what I would tell women who want another baby but aren't getting pregnant as quickly: deal with your stress so you can tell those "well-wishers" to flake off. Have sex with your husband more. And not just fertility sex -- real sex. Take more walks. Enjoy your current family and give, give, give to them so they know they are important & not just players in the sidelines in your game to get pregnant. And meditate, if you can. It can be in the morning, at night, in the afternoon, whenever. Do it with your yoga or with your morning coffee. Not with your morning commute, but anything else goes. Don't medicate your stress with alcohol, drugs, or sugar, and then really do it. Tell the wishy-wells, the know-it-alls, the I'm-so-Zens to flake off.
Remember that everyone likes to rewrite their life story with the most literary devices they can. Irony makes a good story great. So does a fairytale ending. And a nice little moral lesson of "everything happens for a reason." Maybe all those stressed out women really did become masters of their emotions and then out popped baby. Or maybe, that's just the way they like to tell it.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
tell me a story
Sassy's new request for me has been, "Tell me a story!," which I have been obliging because I usually find it more entertaining & challenging than reading an already written story from a children's book.
A couple nights ago, we were in the car when she requested her story, so I decided to do one on the theme of "The Gift of Too Much." I told the story of Belinda, who came home one day to hear her mother announce that she was tired of cooking, and from now on, they would be having chocolate for every meal. Of course, Belinda was on Cloud Nine -- she could hardly believe her ears! Oh, how she enjoyed her dinner that night. A big, fat chocolate bar for the main course, hot chocolate to drink, chocolate pudding instead of vegetables & chocolate ice cream for dessert. Of course, by the next morning Belinda was starving when she woke up. She wondered if it had all been a dream, until she went downstairs & found a chocolate bar on her plate for breakfast.
She took off to school after breakfast, but she was hungry again by 10:00. She had to wait until lunch to eat, so when lunchtime came, she could hardly contain herself as she opened her paper bag. And inside her paper bag, she found....another chocolate bar, with some Tootsie Rolls on the side & some chocolate milk to drink. All of her friend were envious of her lunch & begged her to trade, but Belinda had to say no, since her mother had always been very clear that she was not allowed to trade her food at lunchtime.
Belinda ate the chocolate lunch, but it didn't taste very good going down & it felt even worse in her belly. Within an hour, she was starving again & spent the rest of the afternoon dreaming of roasted chicken, bean soup, carrots & broccoli. She all but ran home after school, practically famished & eager for a snack. But, she was met at the door with a hot plate of chocolate cookies.
"No thanks," she told her mom. "And, um, mom? You've gone a little wacky with the chocolate. Can we just have real dinners again & save the chocolate for dessert?"
And her mom smiled & said, "OK, Belinda, sounds good to me."
Sassy loved this story. She recounted it to Daddy-o when we got home. I asked her if she would like to have chocolate for every meal & the answer was a resounding no.
Last night, she asked for another story as we were going to bed. I intended to tell another tale of "The Gift of Too Much," only this time it would be Christmas every day, & we would get presents every day until the house got so full of presents we had to move, and move again, and again, and again & we were so tired of stuff, we started breaking it on purpose just to get rid of it. We sent a special note to Santa (with delivery confirmation) asking him to PLEASE take us off his nice list. We thought about being very naughty so that we could get off the nice list, but we just couldn't bring ourselves to do it. Finally, we baked a very special cookie tray for Santa with the finest ingredients money could buy & left a note that said, "Santa, if you please, please stop bringing us gifts, we will give all of our gifts to children who need toys much more than we do & we will also bake these delicious, special cookies for you every Christmas." And the next day, there were no gifts under the tree. We had a big party to celebrate & invited all the children in need who didn't have any toys & gave them all away. And, of course, we served our delicious, special cookies.
But, the story seemed to have a mind of its own, so it took a different turn.
After I told a story, Sassy decided to tell a story & I think she is becoming quite good. (Maybe I'm prejudiced?)
Here's hers:
OK, so it's not mutli-million dollar, professional children's book writing. But, I'm so proud of her for her 4-year-old storytelling skills.
She has the introduction, the naming of the characters, the plotline & a solid conclusion. She even uses repetition to engage the listener. I think it's quite good, even if I am bragging over my own child.
Perhaps I should videotape these stories (if she'd let me).
A couple nights ago, we were in the car when she requested her story, so I decided to do one on the theme of "The Gift of Too Much." I told the story of Belinda, who came home one day to hear her mother announce that she was tired of cooking, and from now on, they would be having chocolate for every meal. Of course, Belinda was on Cloud Nine -- she could hardly believe her ears! Oh, how she enjoyed her dinner that night. A big, fat chocolate bar for the main course, hot chocolate to drink, chocolate pudding instead of vegetables & chocolate ice cream for dessert. Of course, by the next morning Belinda was starving when she woke up. She wondered if it had all been a dream, until she went downstairs & found a chocolate bar on her plate for breakfast.
She took off to school after breakfast, but she was hungry again by 10:00. She had to wait until lunch to eat, so when lunchtime came, she could hardly contain herself as she opened her paper bag. And inside her paper bag, she found....another chocolate bar, with some Tootsie Rolls on the side & some chocolate milk to drink. All of her friend were envious of her lunch & begged her to trade, but Belinda had to say no, since her mother had always been very clear that she was not allowed to trade her food at lunchtime.
Belinda ate the chocolate lunch, but it didn't taste very good going down & it felt even worse in her belly. Within an hour, she was starving again & spent the rest of the afternoon dreaming of roasted chicken, bean soup, carrots & broccoli. She all but ran home after school, practically famished & eager for a snack. But, she was met at the door with a hot plate of chocolate cookies.
"No thanks," she told her mom. "And, um, mom? You've gone a little wacky with the chocolate. Can we just have real dinners again & save the chocolate for dessert?"
And her mom smiled & said, "OK, Belinda, sounds good to me."
Sassy loved this story. She recounted it to Daddy-o when we got home. I asked her if she would like to have chocolate for every meal & the answer was a resounding no.
Last night, she asked for another story as we were going to bed. I intended to tell another tale of "The Gift of Too Much," only this time it would be Christmas every day, & we would get presents every day until the house got so full of presents we had to move, and move again, and again, and again & we were so tired of stuff, we started breaking it on purpose just to get rid of it. We sent a special note to Santa (with delivery confirmation) asking him to PLEASE take us off his nice list. We thought about being very naughty so that we could get off the nice list, but we just couldn't bring ourselves to do it. Finally, we baked a very special cookie tray for Santa with the finest ingredients money could buy & left a note that said, "Santa, if you please, please stop bringing us gifts, we will give all of our gifts to children who need toys much more than we do & we will also bake these delicious, special cookies for you every Christmas." And the next day, there were no gifts under the tree. We had a big party to celebrate & invited all the children in need who didn't have any toys & gave them all away. And, of course, we served our delicious, special cookies.
But, the story seemed to have a mind of its own, so it took a different turn.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Clarissa. Clarissa was a very sweet little girl. She always obeyed her Mommy and Daddy and she was at the top of Santa's list.
One day, she said to her mother, "Mommy. It's snowing outside. There is snow everywhere."
"Yes, Clarissa," her mommy replied.
"Mommy," she continued, "our neighbors have decorated a Christmas tree & I can see it in their window."
"It's very pretty, Clarissa," her mommy said.
"Mommy. Our other neighbors have a big, blowup snowman IN their front yard."
Her Mommy smiled. "That's right, Clarissa."
"Mommy? Is it Christmas?"
"Well, actually Clarissa," her Mommy said, "tomorrow is Christmas. Tonight is Christmas Eve. Tonight, in the middle of the night, Santa will ride in his sleigh, pulled by all of his reindeer. He'll land on the roof while we're all sleeping. He'll come down the chimney & leave presents for us underneath the tree. Then he and his reindeer will fly away to leave gifts at the next house. We'll never hear the pitter patter of reindeer feet, though, because Santa only comes when we're sleeping."
Clarissa was very excited, so she decided to start getting ready for bed right then. She took a bath, brushed her teeth, used the potty & put on warm & comfy pajamas. Her Mommy tucked her in, kissed her, & said, "Sweet dreams, Clarissa. If you hear any pitter patter on the roof, don't worry. It's just Santa & his reindeer," and she turned out the light & shut the door.
Clarissa focused hard on falling asleep. And she focused harder. And ever harder. But she couldn't. She just tossed and turned and tossed and turned and turned and tossed. At 9:00 she couldn't sleep, at 10:00 she couldn't sleep, at 11:00 she couldn't sleep and at 12:00 she couldn't sleep. At 1:00, she decided she was hungry, so she opened the door to her parent's room & went to her Mommy's side of the bed.
"MOMMY!" she said.
"What?" Clarissa's Mommy asked, in a rather grumpy tone.
"I'm hungry," said Clarissa.
Her mother sighed, but she took her downstairs & gave her a little snack of toast & peanut butter with a glass of milk. When she was finished eating, her Mommy tucked her back in & reminded her, "Now go to sleep so that Santa can come." After a kiss on the forehead, the room was dark again & Mommy was back in her own bed.
Again Clarissa focused on going to sleep. But again she tossed and turned and tossed and turned and turned and tossed. At 2:00 she couldn't sleep and at 3:00 she couldn't sleep and at 4:00 she couldn't sleep. At 5:00, she decided she had to go potty, so she went potty & when she came back, she thought it might be fun to play with her toy animals for awhile. She was still playing with her toy animals when the morning sun began to peek through the curtains. She was very excited when she burst into her parents' room.
"MOMMY! DADDY! It's CHRISTMAS!" she yelled.
Her Mommy and Daddy smiled & sleepily got out of bed to go downstairs. They all went straight to the Christmas tree, but underneath the tree, there was....nothing. No gifts at all. Mommy and Daddy looked at each other with very puzzled expressions.
"It is December 25th, right," Mommy asked Daddy.
"Yes," said Daddy with a furrowed brow. "Hmm....maybe Santa got lost? Or maybe he's running late?"
Everyone was quiet for a minute as they thought about what had happened. Then Daddy said, "If there's no gifts, there's no gifts. But we can still have fun! Let's go outside & build a snowman."
So Daddy and Clarissa put on their snowpants, their coats, their hats & their gloves & went outside to build a snowman.
They were just finishing the bottom ball of the snowman when Clarissa noticed something on the roof.
"Um, Daddy, what's that on the roof?" she asked & pointed up near the chimney.
Daddy squinted his eyes & looked. "I have no idea," he said. "Let's get a closer look."
He pulled the ladder from the garage & placed it on the ground near the chimney. He climbed up all the way up to the roof.
"Why, it's our gifts!" he exclaimed. "With a note -- from Santa!"
He brought everything down and called for Mommy. There was one gift for Mommy, one for Daddy, one for their puppy & two for Clarissa. They all read the note together,
"Dear Clarissa's family,
I couldn't bring in your gifts since Clarissa wasn't sleeping. I've left them here for you & I hope you enjoy them. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! HO, HO, HO!"
Clarissa smiled and said, "I knew something was keeping me awake. It must of been all that pitter patter of reindeer feet."
THE END
After I told a story, Sassy decided to tell a story & I think she is becoming quite good. (Maybe I'm prejudiced?)
Here's hers:
"Once upon a time there was a Mommy and her little girl Marissa. One day, it was snowing & they went to the market. But when they got home, there was no food in their house. They looked in their refrigerator, there was no food. They looked in their freezer, there was no food. They looked in their top cabinets & their bottom cabinets & there was no food. There weren't even any dishes left in the whole kitchen.
Marissa's Mommy said, "Oh no! Something has happened to all of our food! What are we going to do?"
And Marissa said, "I think we should go to the grocery store & buy all their food and then go to the dishes store & buy new dishes."
So they did. But when they got to the grocery, there was no food there either & all the people in the whole town were there looking for food. They all said their food in their houses was gone & so were their dishes! Marissa and her Mommy and all the people of the town looked on the top shelves, but there was no food. They looked on the middle shelves, but there was no food. They looked on the bottom shelves, but there was no food. So Marissa and her Mommy went back home.
Still, their cabinets were empty of food & they didn't know what to do for dinner. But they looked under their cabinets & there was all the food! It had fallen on the floor where they couldn't see it. They were very happy because now they could fix dinner.
THE END
OK, so it's not mutli-million dollar, professional children's book writing. But, I'm so proud of her for her 4-year-old storytelling skills.
She has the introduction, the naming of the characters, the plotline & a solid conclusion. She even uses repetition to engage the listener. I think it's quite good, even if I am bragging over my own child.
Perhaps I should videotape these stories (if she'd let me).
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
abstinence programs don't work
This was the big headline on my Yahoo! news this morning. Apparently, studies have shown that abstinence-only programs in our schools haven't reduced the incidences of teen pregnancy or premarital sex at all. Hmm....big surprise. I have to wonder who really believes such programs would have any impact at all in the school system we have today.
Here's the facts, as I see it. Your school officials aren't going to be able to tell your kids a damn thing about morality. And that's what abstinence programs are, aren't they? They are trying to teach our kids morality. The problem is, the schools teach our kids all kinds of immoral things by their actions, which speak much louder than their words. Teachers often look past bullying behaviors unless they cross a certain, preconceived violence line. In fact, when I was in school, I watched some of my teachers pick on those same kids that were being bullied outside the classroom. I was singled out by many a PE teacher, since I had less than zero interest in competitive sports.
I remember another teacher trying to play matchmaker for the junior prom. There was quite the long setup....months of chatter within the classroom about who was going to go with whom. I remember if he caught wind that one boy was interested in another girl, he would work on those two almost daily to try and set up more of an interest in the other party. I ended up going to junior prom with a guy I didn't care for, but was essentially pushed on me by my history teacher.
Kids are expected to wear certain clothes to fit in with certain peer groups. Kids are expected to speak and act a certain way to fit in. None of these clothes or speech patterns or actions are all that high on the morality scale. And of course, it's all an extreme, secularized form of morality that doesn't have much of a guidebook to go by because religious teachings must be kept out of the schools. So how can a schoolteacher approach abstinence? From a safety standpoint? Try to tell me not to drive too fast at 16 because it's unsafe. You'll have more success than a secularized abstinence program.
So where does this teaching belong? Well, in the home, of course. I know it's everyone's ideal that the subject matter will be covered at home, according to whatever the family's relevant guidebook is. Each religion or philosophy has its own tome and parents teaching according to those guildelines would, of course, have much greater impact.
The problem is, it's not enough. It's not enough because long ago, before that child entered high school, before that child became a teen, before that child even knew what sex was & still thought boys (or girls) were YUCK, that child was developing a peer-oriented life.
Here's how the child who is peer-oriented rather than parent-oriented thinks of the world. Friends are formed early through constant, daily contact and often unconditional acceptance. Even in the elementary years, they begin to have as much impact on the child's developing personality as the parents. This upsets the parents and distances them from the child as they sense that he is no longer depending on them as much for input, love & companionship. They see changes in the personality of the child or behavioral changes and this upsets them but, they say, "Kids will be kids. Nobody likes their kids all the time." And the distance grows.
As the years pass, parents become more concerned with their own lives, since their kids aren't offering them the fulfillment they once did as babies. And kids become more concerend with their social life at school and the lives of their friends. By the time a child reaches dating age, she is starved for the unconditional love she once received from her parents and is tired from having to earn it from her friends by dressing, acting, or speaking a certain way. When dating begins, these young dating partners are the closest the child has found to that unconditional love she's missing from mom and dad.
And sex becomes a way to feel this closeness or to keep some sort of connected love in the picture.
Again I ask, I have to wonder who really believes such programs would have any impact at all in the school system we have today.
Perhaps soon they'll just invent drugs to kill the sex drive in teens. It would have been a laughable idea 20 years ago, but today?
Here's the facts, as I see it. Your school officials aren't going to be able to tell your kids a damn thing about morality. And that's what abstinence programs are, aren't they? They are trying to teach our kids morality. The problem is, the schools teach our kids all kinds of immoral things by their actions, which speak much louder than their words. Teachers often look past bullying behaviors unless they cross a certain, preconceived violence line. In fact, when I was in school, I watched some of my teachers pick on those same kids that were being bullied outside the classroom. I was singled out by many a PE teacher, since I had less than zero interest in competitive sports.
I remember another teacher trying to play matchmaker for the junior prom. There was quite the long setup....months of chatter within the classroom about who was going to go with whom. I remember if he caught wind that one boy was interested in another girl, he would work on those two almost daily to try and set up more of an interest in the other party. I ended up going to junior prom with a guy I didn't care for, but was essentially pushed on me by my history teacher.
Kids are expected to wear certain clothes to fit in with certain peer groups. Kids are expected to speak and act a certain way to fit in. None of these clothes or speech patterns or actions are all that high on the morality scale. And of course, it's all an extreme, secularized form of morality that doesn't have much of a guidebook to go by because religious teachings must be kept out of the schools. So how can a schoolteacher approach abstinence? From a safety standpoint? Try to tell me not to drive too fast at 16 because it's unsafe. You'll have more success than a secularized abstinence program.
So where does this teaching belong? Well, in the home, of course. I know it's everyone's ideal that the subject matter will be covered at home, according to whatever the family's relevant guidebook is. Each religion or philosophy has its own tome and parents teaching according to those guildelines would, of course, have much greater impact.
The problem is, it's not enough. It's not enough because long ago, before that child entered high school, before that child became a teen, before that child even knew what sex was & still thought boys (or girls) were YUCK, that child was developing a peer-oriented life.
Here's how the child who is peer-oriented rather than parent-oriented thinks of the world. Friends are formed early through constant, daily contact and often unconditional acceptance. Even in the elementary years, they begin to have as much impact on the child's developing personality as the parents. This upsets the parents and distances them from the child as they sense that he is no longer depending on them as much for input, love & companionship. They see changes in the personality of the child or behavioral changes and this upsets them but, they say, "Kids will be kids. Nobody likes their kids all the time." And the distance grows.
As the years pass, parents become more concerned with their own lives, since their kids aren't offering them the fulfillment they once did as babies. And kids become more concerend with their social life at school and the lives of their friends. By the time a child reaches dating age, she is starved for the unconditional love she once received from her parents and is tired from having to earn it from her friends by dressing, acting, or speaking a certain way. When dating begins, these young dating partners are the closest the child has found to that unconditional love she's missing from mom and dad.
And sex becomes a way to feel this closeness or to keep some sort of connected love in the picture.
Again I ask, I have to wonder who really believes such programs would have any impact at all in the school system we have today.
Perhaps soon they'll just invent drugs to kill the sex drive in teens. It would have been a laughable idea 20 years ago, but today?
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