little grapes

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

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.

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:

will

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.

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:

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.

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.

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?

little grapes gets an upgrade

Apparently having two vacations back to back was de-stressing enough to allow me to care about my own projects again. The nighttime road always lets my mind brainstorm on different creative projects as well. This space and time culminated in a new look for both Little Grapes and Tightwad Training Camp, though the latter is still a work-in-progress.

I had a great time on vacation. Spending time with long-lost family members was the best part by far, though the super-posh hotel & upscale wedding didn't hurt, either. :-)

My cousin Andy made such a handsome groom....it was hard to believe that so much time has passed since he begged me to play They Might Be Giants' "Particle Man" just one more time when he was a wee one of 7 years. Or since we laid him in the manger each Christmas Eve so he could play baby Jesus in our homespun Nativity pageant.

And my cousin Cara....who knew when we were making up choreographed dances to "Pac-Man Fever" in my grandparents' living room that she would one day be such a beautiful and doting mother (and fun, too!).

Sassy had a good time, though she wanted to be a flower girl. She told me this yesterday morning when she woke up. Now if my sister Brooke would only get on the ball before she gets too big.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

all you've got

I was reading a book the other night that finally clicked another of those little puzzle pieces in place.

John Gray in Mars and Venus Together Forever relates this story:

While I was signing books in a bookstore, three women and my wife were sharing stories about how difficult it is to be a mother today. When one woman disclosed that she was the mother of seven, another immediately gasped in admiration and sympathy.

"I only have two children," she said, "and I thought I had it bad. How do you do it?"

A third mother added, "I only have one child and that wears me out."

"I have three children," said my wife, "and I thought that was a lot. I can't imagine how you handle seven."

"Whether you have one, two, three, or seven kids, you give them everything you have," the mother of seven replied. "You only have so much to give, and every mother, no matter how many children she has, gives it all."

You can probably guess why I liked this revelation so much. So many times I feel like a whiner if I have any parenting or family problems, thinking that other people must be rolling their eyes, thinking, "Yeah, yeah, try 2 (or 3 or 5 or 7!)" I guess in a big way, my feelings were validated, and that's always nice.

In another way, it was extremely calming. You only have so much to give, and you're already giving it all. That helps calm those constant worries about what another child would do to our lives....to my mood swings and proneness to anger. I'm now thinking, probably nothing. Another child probably would change very little of my "worry areas," particularly since there would be such a large gap between the children.

On the having babies front, I woke wide-eyed at 4:45 a.m. this morning while Sassy laid awake wide-eyed next to me, hot with a fever. The first thought that struck me upon waking was about my teeth. Four or five of those puzzle pieces fit themselves into a little piece of the big picture, starting with my teeth. I've had over 20 cavities in my teeth since Sassy was born. I've had one root canal and will probably need another. My gums are in the same shape as when I had her 5 years ago. No matter how I change my dental habits, it doesn't make a difference.

We all know the relationship between the health of your teeth and the health of your body. Weston A. Price has a wealth of information on this subject. If the teeth are a little window into our bodies, I'm pretty certain that my body is deficient in some key minerals, and possibly vitamins.

The thing is, I eat pretty well compared to the SAD, and even pretty well for someone on an alternative diet. My little puzzle pieces are telling me that it's enzymes. Simple digestive enzymes and the lack of a quality whole foods supplement to bridge the gap between what I'm taking in & what my body's digesting.

Let's assume, for the sake of argument, that my body zapped its reserves during my pregnancy with Sassy. Most people would have built their reserves back up by now. What about people who aren't digesting their nutrients properly? What could they have possibly built back up? Would these people likely present with poor dental health?

Would this lack of reserves terminate a viable pregnancy? Would this lack of reserves later make it nearly impossible to start another pregnancy?

It seems like an easy enough issue to address & I plan to do so right away.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

dusting off those photoshop skills

So my friend C's blog Curious Pickles had made me envious of her hubby's photo skills in a good way. In the kind of way that jumpstarts you into learning, discovering, pushing yourself.

Of course, I've got a mid-range digital camera on my wish list this Christmas. But, I also took the opportunity to pull out those rusty Photoshop skills & start using it to give a damn (about my pics, that is).

Here's some of my beginning again efforts as I spent 4 hours or so playing yesterday.

before

after

before

after

As you might notice, all the pics have the same frame. That's because I automated it. Yep, that's right. With one click of a button, I can zoom the frame around any photo. Soon, I plan to automate collages into pre-set forms. It will be a lot of setup, but infinitely timesaving on the backend. Plus, I'm having a lot of fun. :-)

sweet madison

Who knew? Who knew that this town was a day trip? Who knew that such a Midwestern town still existed...and thrived? Who knew that our precious land would be a 30 minute country drive away from the town I've always wanted?

My biggest question now is, "Why was I stuck at a concrete college when other people got Hanover?" Who knew?

Thursday, October 25, 2007

how I quit my bread machine

I've owned a bread machine for a long time. Not only have I owned it, but unlike most bread machine buyers, I've used it for a long time. In fact, I was so dependent on my bread machine that last year, when my first one broke, I replaced it within a week.

The problem with the bread machine is that, while it produces perfectly edible bread, it was about as tasty as the soft-crusted, bland, perfectly-sliced bread-aisle bread. And I'm a bread snob.

When we married, Jeff was working as an artisan baker. I had become accustomed to Kalamata Olive bread and Sourdough Cheddar, along with Challah and Farmer's White. I love the hard, crispy crust, the imperfect hunks of torn bread rather than slices. I love eating bread by itself, as its own entity, not as the envelope to hold sandwich fillings. But you can only achieve this bread by hand. It doesn't come from a bread machine. And if the experienced bread bakers talk about the process, they'll have you thinking it's a secret laboratory experiment that has to be performed with excruciating precision or you'll end up with a hard, lumpy half-baked ball of waste.

Hmmm.....turns out, not so true. I've suddenly fallen in love with making bread by hand because it's far more forgiving than "they" would have you believe and, here's the neat part, it's just as quick & easy as the bread machine. Who knew?

Here's my beginner's knowledge about making bread.

The salt to yeast ratio is very important. Follow the recipe for this. Everything else can be adjusted.

A great ball of dough is neither too dry nor too wet. If your dough feels like it's not pliant enough, it probably isn't the perfect dough. If it sticks to your hands, probably not the perfect dough. But, smaller loaves of imperfect dough will usually bake up just fine.

Rolls are way more forgiving than larger loaves.

Kneading doesn't take very long. Turn over 10 times or so before the first rise. Knead each roll 10 times before putting them on the baking sheet.

The oven has to be hot -- at least 400 degrees -- to get the "oven pop" that rises even a sluggish dough.

A little pat of butter or oil on top of the dough before baking is essential.

When using all wheat flour, you can put the dough in its bowl to rise, accidently forget about it & go to bed, get up the next morning, punch it down & bake your rolls and it will still be good. Some might even say better.

If any of your batches of dough just won't rise, try flatbread instead. Bake in a very hot oven (500 degrees) for a few minutes to make pita bread or fry on the stovetop for a fried flatbread similar to Indian breads.

I remember about this time last year, we made rolls in our preschool class. All those itty, bitty hands got to knead the dough & form their rolls & put them on the baking sheets. And when they came out, they were beautiful little breads, and they tasted as delicious as they smelled. If bread-making were that hard, how come a 3-year-old can do it?

Friday, October 19, 2007

The Proverbs 31 Wife

Hanging around on the Christian message board Gentle Christian Mothers had quickly introduced me to the concept of the Proverbs 31 wife as the ideal Christian wife. I had never actually taken the time to read it. (Well, in my defense, I had not even owned a Bible whose translation I cared for until a couple weeks ago.) I had lots of assumptions about what it said, though, having never read it.

I assumed that Proverbs 31 was probably talking about how women should stay at home & raise their children, keep the home nice & tidy, & not look for too much for themselves. They should be ever-sacrificing, and better seen, not heard.

Imagine my pleasant surprise when I found the actual verse to be a little lovesong about a strong, capable, supportive & talented wife:

A truly good wife is the most precious treasure a man can find!

Her husband depends on her, and she never lets him down.

She is good to him every day of her life,

and with her own hands she gladly makes clothes.

She is like a sailing ship that brings food from across the sea.

She gets up before daylight to prepare food for her family and for her servants.

She knows how to buy land and how to plant a vineyard,

and she always works hard.

She knows when to buy or sell, and she stays busy until late at night.

She spins her own cloth,

and she helps the poor and the needy.

Her family has warm clothing, and so she doesn't worry when it snows.

She does her own sewing, and everything she wears is beautiful.

Her husband is a well-known and respected leader in the city.

She makes clothes to sell to the shop owners.

She is strong and graceful, as well as cheerful about the future.

Her words are sensible, and her advice is thoughtful.

She takes good care of her family and is never lazy.

Her children praise her, and with great pride her husband says,

"There are many good women, but you are the best!"

Charm can be deceiving, and beauty fades away, but a woman who honors the Lord deserves to be praised.

Show her respect--praise her in public for what she has done.

I have become more and more interested through the past several years of learning about how women (and men) were designed to live. What choices are we to make that leave us calm, centered, & fulfilled? I look for these things in the Bible and as far as my home life is concerned, it seems a gameplan is laid out in Proverbs 31.

The reason I'm so glad that I finally read the verse is that it has allowed me to buck contemporary thinking once again. Just last week I received in my inbox an email forwarded by woman after woman that made a joke about the number of things a woman does after she announces, "I'm going to bed" (about 40 things on the path to the bedroom) versus how many a man does (one -- gets up & goes to bed). After I read the email, I lived with a little more resentment for the next several days. It's popular to grumble how many things we women have to do while our husband sits lazily in his chair doing "whatever he wants."

Why does he not do the dishes? Why does he not help me clean? Why does he never pick up the slack? Why can't I eat & then sit down & relax instead of cleaning up the kitchen?

You know why?

She knows when to buy or sell, and she stays busy until late at night.

Of course I stay busy until late at night. Honestly, if I didn't, I'd get bored. Quickly. Sitting in the living room chair for several hours before bed would have my legs jumping & my skin crawling. I am meant...designed, if I may....to stay busy until late at night. And with that little verse, I let it go. All of the resentment that contemporary society tells me I should have is gone.

What are your resentments? Are they truly valid?

Thursday, October 11, 2007

be still....

I have three sprititual, Christian things on my mind today that have been brewing for a bit. The first is this verse from Psalm 46:10:

Be still and know that I am God.

It's a short little platitude on the outside, but eloquent in its simple message when you look deeper.

I've been sick with a stomach bug for the past week, which is my pleasant way of describing the freakin' parasite that has kept me no further than 10 feet from my toilet for 8 days & counting. At night, I've been too uncomfortable to lie on my side, so I've gone to bed on my back instead. Our 30-year-old TV finally broke around the same time I got sick, so I've laid meditating on my back to get to sleep each night instead. This simple change has transformed my daily attitude. I have always done my best thinking in this place between sleep and wake, this restful, alert, soaring, brainstorming, drifting place of clarity that I've never been able to call up on command.

I like noise. I like background TV, radio, voices, barking. It calms my fears. I have wished many times for a soundtrack to my life. Not only would I know of any impending danger just by the low, foreboding music, but I wouldn't have to ever be in quiet.

If I could vocalize the meaning I gleaned from Psalm 46:10 this week it was:

Only in the quiet will you know God.

It's not just the meditative quiet at the end of a busy night that has grown me this week, but the quiet of my lifestyle. I love it when we catch a glimpse of how we were designed to live. I haven't gone out save one hour this whole week. I've been homebound, locked down by the threat of parasitic contagion. And it has been one of the most calming weeks I've ever lived. For years, my soul has ached to rise in the morning, do a minimum of work on the computer, teach my child, cook, clean, sew & care for my family. Even when I finally had the opportunity to do so, when Sassy was born, I still filled the days with lots of unrelated activities probably pursued by me to make myself feel more important in the outside world. Nothing helps boost your self-esteem when you have no job, no school, little money, & a struggling marriage like having very important responsibilites that others are counting on you to do. This was not how God designed me to live.

I thought I would be lonely. I thought we'd never really be able to move to the farm. I thought I'd miss the running, the park play, the Saturday bars, the 24-hour Kroger. I won't. If I die never having owned a horse or milked a goat or brought eggs in fresh on Sunday morning, I'll miss that. I won't miss Target or the restaurants or even the coffee houses. I definitely won't miss being in the stupid car all day.

Only in the stillness will you know God.

It's amazing how the mind wanders, explores & always comes to focus on what is right when given the space -- the stillness -- to do so.

Monday, October 08, 2007

movies!

Who doesn't like good movie recommendations? Here's mine from the ones we watched this year. (Note that we rarely go to the theater, so most of these movies probably weren't released this year, we just watched them this year.)

The Painted Veil - perhaps my favorite movie love story ever

Blood Diamond - difficult to watch, infuriating & enlightening

Off the Map - a calming suggestion from a good friend about identity crisis in off-the-grid desert living

28 Days Later - a surprisingly well-written "zombie" flick that has nothing to do with zombies

An Inconvenient Truth - there is no excuse for not having watched this yet

The Break-Up - though big-name actor romantic comedies might be movie twaddle, this one has unanticipated depth

Stranger than Fiction - an opinionated baker living a life I envy, a lovely scene featuring "Whole Wide World," and another great performance by Will Farrell

Fast Food Nation - also difficult to watch, but is immediately transforming and sticks with you for months afterward

Hotel Rwanda - a glimpse of this highly volatile period in Rwanda's history through one man's eyes

More to come!

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

how to ruin your children's lives

I hopped over to Mothering.com to post a quick question about low VOC sheds when this article headline from Science Daily caught my eye:

Mom's depression linked to infant stress

As always, I will post the whole article since links to news sites change so rapidly.

TORONTO, Sept. 19 (UPI) -- A Canadian study suggested an association between a history of depression in the mothers and increased stress reactivity of their infants.

The study, published in Biological Psychiatry, also linked increased stress reactivity to a particular style of mothering known as "maternal overcontrol."

Researchers found an increase in the stress hormone -- cortisol -- following a mild stressor in infants whose mothers have a history of depression and a pattern of intrusive and overstimulating behavior toward their infant known as "maternal overcontrol." These infants also had lower pre-stress cortisol levels. In addition, there was a correlation in the cortisol levels between mothers and their infants.

These findings add "to our small but growing body of knowledge on neurobiological differences in stress responses between infants of depressed and non-depressed mothers," study leader Dr. Rima Azar, of Toronto General Hospital, said in a statement. Since the adrenocortical system is easily influenced in both positive and negative ways, Azar said she believes that it is very important to eventually identify which babies are more vulnerable to stress.
Copyright 2007 by United Press International. All Rights Reserved.

Now, if I may rewrite the article to reflect more truth, please:

A Canadian study suggested an association between a history of depression in the mothers and reading too many stupid "scientific articles" about all the ways they could ruin the lives of their children.

The study, published in Biological Psychiatry, also linked increased stress reactivity to a particular style of mothering that is induced by these same stupid articles and has been given a judgmental, demeaning name by the researchers in order to establish a new syndrome and possibly help secure funding for their future studies.

Researchers found an increase in the stress hormone -- cortisol -- following a mild stressor in infants whose mothers have a history of depression and a pattern of what the researchers consider intrusive and overstimulating behavior toward their infans that they have decided should have the name "maternal overcontrol." The researchers also outlined in specific medical jargon how the depressed mothers were ruining the lives of their children, using quantifiable values of various hormones so as to make their research sound important & undeniable.

These findings add "to our small but growing body of knowledge on neurobiological differences in stress responses between infants of depressed and non-depressed mothers," study leader Dr. Rima Azar, of Toronto General Hospital, said in a statement. Since the adrenocortical system is easily influenced in both positive and negative ways, Azar said she believes that it is very important to eventually identify which babies are more vulnerable to stress and treat the mothers quickly with mandatory drugs lest they risk losing their children to foster care until they can develop a better attitude and display cortisol numbers in the appropriate range on a court-ordered blood test. Then we can all finally be happy.

Related Headlines, just in case you're not yet sure if you are indeed ruining the lives of your children:

Low-birth weight linked to later disease (September 28, 2007) -- Low-birth weight infants may be at a greater risk of stress-related health problems such as coronary heart disease and diabetes, a Finnish study ... > full story

Breastmilk nicotine disrupts infant sleep (September 5, 2007) -- A nonprofit research center in the United States found infant sleep patterns disrupted by the nicotine in their mothers' breast milk. ... > full story

Friday, August 31, 2007

recounting your blessings when the moon is full again

Sassy.

A husband who is 100% behind our schooling choices.

A great deal of autonomy over my daily schedule.

No cancer diagnosis yet. (thank you!)

Plenty of food, even when there's little money.

A wonderful group of friends.

Sofie, with all her silly retriever quirks & her furry calm.

Most of my IQ.

Our Father, who art in Heaven,
Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy Kingdom come.
Thy will be done,
Thy will be done,
Thy will be done,
on earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those that trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation;
But deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, The power, and the glory,
For ever and ever. Amen.

Pater noster, qui es in caelis:
sanctificetur Nomen Tuum;
adveniat Regnum Tuum;
fiat voluntas Tua,
sicut in caelo, et in terra.
Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie;
et dimitte nobis debita nostra,
Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris;
et ne nos inducas in tentationem;
sed libera nos a Malo.

Monday, August 20, 2007

pretty sassy sleeping

Sometimes your blog has to function as a notepad & this is one of those times. Since y'all probably get little else from this post, at least let it give you permission to make up silly sweet songs for your own babes. (And yes, that's right. City snots be warned, I'm officially endorsing my use of "y'all." And you can take permission to do that, too, if you want.)

OK, first the tune line-up here....I don't have a piano in front of me so I'm doing my best by guessing the notes.

C B A B C D C B A (low)G A B C D E F (low)F F low(G) A B C B A (low)G A B C D E (low)F F

Pretty Sassy sleeping in the swing
She's as pretty as an opal ring
She's as pretty as the ding-a-ling-ling of a visiting friend.

Pretty Sassy sleeping in the swing
She's as pretty as an ice cream king
She's as pretty as the ring ring ring of a grandma's call.

Pretty Sassy sleeping in the swing
She's as pretty as a robin's wing
She's as pretty as the sing sing sing of a mother's voice.

Repetitive, simple & silly-sweet -- put her right to sleep. :)