Ruminations of Rimka

I Don't Believe in Miracles

2010-05-16T16:47:00.000-07:00

Then how else do you explain falling in love?

It really is a mind-blowing and miraculous event that happens between two strangers.

I mean, why else would J-Lo and Lizzy Taylor keep falling in love so habitually? (I mean how many marriages can these two rack up?)

It is a concept for which I have to seek out Rumi and Hafiz for guidance. And even with the brilliance and depth of understanding of these great poets, it still bewilders me.

Here's a poem I was recently inspired to write about love:

You stir me
my heart into your soul
melting like chocolate
deliciously warm and wet

You stir me
beyond the temporal
I am infinite in our moments
my reflection of bliss

You stir me
our sacred resurrection
you are my communion
our love transcends the divine

You stir me
in stillness and peace
embraced in your eyes
this union sets me free
one with you, one with me
together as we

sjr, may 2010
artwork above (oil inkblot on canvas paper) by Corinna-Nicole www.artbycorinna-nicole.com/

How about we start "Mother's Day Off"?

2010-05-09T19:03:00.000-07:00

Everybody has heard about, and for the most part respects, post-partum depression. Sometimes called the "Mommy Blues," it can be a very depressing and sad time in a woman's life right after giving birth. There is a complicated but rather well understood series of rapid chemical changes in a woman's body that can elicit this short period of "downers" for the new Mommy.

But what about years later when you have to keep reliving those moments in the Mother's Day celebration and tradition?

Mother's Day Blues? Is there such a thing, I wonder?

Now I'm not sure that is what I go through on Mother's Day. But whatever it is, I don't like the feeling one bit.

Perhaps it's because my son is still so young (not school age yet), or that I'm always still so damn tired, but this day is just more work for me than it's worth. In the end, what I want most, is the thing I get the least of: sleep and time alone for me. Like maybe time and space to watch a movie. The ability to forget about laundry. And to definitely not lift a finger to cook, a job requirement that I despise.

And I do get out of a lot of that stuff on today. But right now, it still just feels like putting on a show for my son, to build memories for him, to teach him how to respect and love a woman (starting with his mother), to show him how that is important for his father to do this for his mother, too, and to continue to build a strong relationship of safety and security and love full of family memories such as today. But that's not a whole lot different than any other day, quite frankly. And it still feels more about what can be given to him.

So what is it? What is this feeling? I think I'm closer to describing it now. What I really end up wanting is to sleep. Sleep in. Take a nap. Take a bath. Go to bed early. How old do I sound, 95? But that is what I really want. Not to spend all day with my boy running from place to place, or sitting in a crowded restaurant, or at the park or pottery place or any other kid activity. I do that stuff every single day already. I am a "radical homemaker" who has chosen, since it is a real choice now, to stay home and be with my son full time. I get the luxury of his company and affections all the time everyday. We go to the zoo or the museum or the park whenever we want...I'm not restricted to "weekends only" because I get home in the evenings every day of the week. Maybe that's why I'm not all "Oh, I just want to spend the day with my kids basking in the glow of their illuminating souls! It is so fulfilling and rewarding to be a Mom! My heart is so full of joy and love-to just spend time with them is the greatest gift ever. Blah, Blah, Blah," that I hear so many other people talk about.

Then I feel like a freak. The weird one. I can't be the only mom that feels this way, right? Or can I? I've been thinking about asking my mom what is what like for her with four young kids and no one around to coordinate anything for her. She got whatever we kids did for her. And how much more "work" was that for her in the end? Wondering if she stressed out for weeks in advance trying to figure out what to do, where to go, who to be with? Did she ever worry if the kids would have meltdowns and the whole thing would go to shit anyways? I need to ask her about it tomorrow. I didn't want to ruin her day today, too.

What I'm left with then is a feeling of utter failure. Of being a terrible mother. Of getting it all horribly wrong. Of not loving enough. Of not giving more. Feeling guilty for wanting to separate then resentful for feeling guilty on "my special day" and ultimately even more tired. I feel not good enough...across the board.

I loved celebrating Mother's Day as a child. My mother was no less than the ultimate Goddess to me. Revering and adoring and celebrating her was such an anticipated event for me, that I want my son to have those some opportunities to create experiences and moments to remember. So I give them to him. But damn is it tiring as the mom! I feel I will never live up to or compare to the legend of Theresa.

Perhaps there should be an additional holiday: Mother's Day Off. So then the kiddos can get today, and the Mom's could get an actual break. It'll be the real-life Mom's Gone Wild....getting massages and napping. At least that's what I would do. And maybe eat ice cream.

The day was good. No complaints on that. He was so excited and happy and proud. And for that I am full of love. His dad did a nice job with all of it, and we had a great time. I did get in a much needed nap. It's just the obvious fact that this seems to put the spotlight on me as a mother. And I guess my strong desire for rest and retreat on this day rather than more time doing the same things I already do every day, makes me feel like a terrible mother, woman, and person.

In the end, it feels like a cruel joke. Sadistic and sarcastic. Happy Mother's Day...now get ready to clean your house, clean your kids, cook a big huge meal, and get all pretty because your parents and their parents and all the kids are coming over to your house to eat. It's your special day! How relaxing.

I'm sure starting my period isn't helping matters today either.

Got hormones?

Here's my response-it was too long to post as a comment

2010-05-01T06:11:00.000-07:00

Where do I start?
First, the couple of reactions by anonymous readers, thinking a comment was me, is kinda laughable. I guess I can see where the comment could sound like me, but gimme a fucking break. It's not an anonymous blog. If my balls are big enough for me to put my name on it, my balls are big enough to respond to it. I don't need the cloak of secrecy to protect myself. If there is something I AM scared to talk about, I just won't fucking talk about it. Saying that, can you feel the difference in tone and writing style now? So, no, that comment was not me responding. I hadn't decided if I was going to even respond to the first anonymous long-winded post about my father. But I do know who posted a response. So it makes sense it might be interpreted as me because it is someone who knows me personally very well. But I respect every one's right to read and write with the safety of "Anonymous."
Secondly, I am not some victim. If people choose to view themselves that way in life, too bad for them. That is a tough road the psyche is taking for itself. None of you need to feel sorry for me. Shit happens. It happens for a reason. What are you gonna do about it? Move on, live life, keep growing.
Thirdly, big props to my mom for doing an incredible job for her four children. At times I try to imagine what is what like for her with three small children and one in her big belly when the FBI showed up at her house with pictures from the bank's surveillance of my dad and his brother in the middle of armed robbery. But she held it down, found a way, kept a roof over our heads, food in our mouths, and heat blowing from the furnace. But more importantly she kept love in our hearts, compassion in our souls, and provided a top-notch education for our minds by working and fighting and convincing and enrolling and begging and pleading if she needed to. She is the epitome of a woman who is fiercely maternal. Don't fuck with Theresa or her kids. So any "praise" to me goes directly to her. I was never raised to be "the kid of a criminal." It wasn't in her consciousness. And yet we had a close relationship with my father. Visiting him often. Writing, telephoning, making and receiving art and presents. She wasn't some angry bitter hateful woman who wanted us to hate him too. Sure she was pissed. But she didn't teach us that. She taught us love and compassion and to do the right thing. And it may piss some of you off to hear this, but so did my dad.
Lastly, I will briefly address the first respondent. If you are for real, because I don't automatically assume you are, then you are talking to the wrong person. What do you gain from revealing yourself to me that way? I'm not an idiot. I know my dad didn't just rob a bank. He has been in and out of prisons since he was a teenager. The armed robbery was his biggest offense, though. His record is all public and anyone can pull it up. He tried to escape several times and hence has received massive sentences. But you alluded to him being some murderous monster like Charles Manson or a sexual deviant like Ted Bundy, and that is straight up wrong, irresponsible and offensive. And even then, I would NEVER say a negative thing to Manson's kids like they should be ashamed of their dad. That just disgusting. I feel nothing but compassion and sadness for them, but not pity. So any "cruel and sociopathic crimes" you speak of and alluding to years of trauma and suffering seems misplaced. He is not that type of criminal. He steals things. And gets in fights way too quickly. And the court and cops and lawyers all know that about him. Which is why when someone tried to accuse him of something like rape during a robbery, it was completely thrown out by everyone involved. And I should know, because I was actually there. So on those points, I found many of your comments offensive. He is not hard to find. And whenever he comes up for parole, any "victims" are more than welcome by the state to write and attend and say their piece. Perhaps you and your friend need to go that route. Because talking to the daughter of a man you detest is not the place to start. And if you really felt a deep compulsion to do so, you could have had the grace and dignity to do it via a private email because that is listed on here...and I have already been contacted by other people regarding him or my situation this way. It feels a lot more clean and well intentioned than a gentle, loving but confusing smear campaign. Here's the skinny: my dad is a lifelong career criminal specializing in theft but he will beat this shit out of somebody for touching his children, disrespecting his wife or getting his face and dissing his inflated ego. Not good things. But he is not some silence of lambs nut job. While in prison, however, which is where he has been for about 50 years total, god knows what he has done to survive. That is his story. But he has had to make his way and survive. My brother. Since you brought it up. That is comparing apples to oranges. He is a sensitive guy that has had a rough time without a dad and suffered some abuses. To cover up these pains, he turned to drugs as a teenager. He could never stop. He is not some career criminal. He is a drug addict. And prison is where we keep putting those people every time they fall off the wagon. Just felt he needed a little defending.--and that's coming from one of his "victims" because he caused a lot of pain in my life.
Anyway, thanks for reading, thanks for the input, and thanks for helping to continue to help heal and clear my own psyche regarding my childhood. Every one of you has helped me see something. Even if I am a little angry and defensive right now, I am still learning and eventually releasing. For that, I am grateful.
But hey, what about the jeans article, people? That shit was good, right?

Are you serious?

2010-04-28T18:35:00.000-07:00

I love irony. It rears its pretty little face around so many unsuspecting corners all day long. Driving along this morning, I enjoyed a great chuckle to stifle my irritation.

I'm sitting at a red light on Peachtree, windows rolled down to enjoy the gentle morning breeze and take in the sounds of the city while I rock to my beats, and I notice the pink ribbon for breast cancer awareness inscribed with the Susan G. Komen moniker on the back of a silver Ford Taurus in front of me. Then in an instant a fuchsia colored lipstick encrusted cigarette butt flies out of the driver's side window and lands on the street in between the two cars.

What the hell?

I mean, honestly, do I even need to add commentary? I stared at it wondering if I really saw that. I checked and, yes indeed, it was a woman, all finished and polished in a suit, flawless makeup, and adorned with jewelry. Seeing that it was a woman bothered me more. It reminds me how I hold women to a higher level of decorum and behavior and expect more of my sisters in general. Perhaps that is not the best of things at times. And perhaps it is the best of things all the time. Who knows.

It was shocking to me on so many levels.

I don't want to rant about inconsiderate behavior, littering, selfishness, irresponsibility, modeling or anything else. It was a very sad but laughable moment. A poignant point on the state of our affairs.

Somebody please find a cure for this horrible, devastating dis-ease cancer so I can smoke my cigarettes, eat my fried fast foods, enjoy cake, guzzle my alcohol, take my drugs, watch my TV, and just be a big ole hedonist and continue to blame some magical boogie man for making me sick.

Unbelievable.

(Now that is not to say that this disease, along with all others, is not horrible and tragic. And that even with a very healthy physical, emotional and spiritual lifestyle, it can still occasionally happen under these circumstances. Some things in our lives are beyond our control now. Escaping EMF waves, information-carrying radio waves, pesticides, herbicides and a host of thousands of other laboratory created chemicals is virtually impossible for anyone in America today. I'm just saying that there is still a very strong tendency to want a magic pill to "cure" things versus taking responsibility for the prevention of it in the first place. And that yes I want a "cure" to be discovered too. I don't want anyone to suffer and die from these diseases either.)

And the whole "throw it out the window" thing, well that was too much. Who the fuck does that anymore?

Oh yeah, that jackass does.

And here are a couple links that continue to examine the irony of the breast cancer research folks that just so happened to pop up on my Facebook page tonight!
Selling Pink Cigarettes
And Susan G. Komen has ACTUALLY teamed up with KFC to raise money for "research."

Fucking brilliant irony yet again. With stuff like this going on in the "health" community, it is no surprise I saw what I saw today.

Were Blue Jeans Designed to Torture Women? Or is it just me?

2010-04-20T16:30:00.000-07:00

Of course, they weren't designed for that purpose, but I think it's interesting they still have evolved to elicit such a consistent and widespread effect. After all, they weren't even made for women to wear, but rather for men needing rugged dungarees for manual labor like ranching.

What the hell am I talking about? I'm not referring to the potentially catastrophic moments inside the small confines of the store dressing room with its excessive fluorescent lighting and wrap-around-to-see-your-cellulite-and-stretch-mark-covered-ass full length mirrors. Spending countless moments with your two bff's trying to help you decide, between the 30 pairs you brought in with you to try, which makes your ass look best, while firming the thighs, but not compressing your belly up and out over the waist too much. And then trying to figure out how much is "too much" because it seems to be there on all of them.

And I'm not talking about the fact that the pair, that final glorious pair that had the perfect cut, the oh-so-right amount of stretch, and lifted your booty while taming down your belly and keeping that girl down where she belongs, actually costs about $250. But as an aside, when the fuck did jeans get so expensive? And I hate to feed into that commercial, label-induced, Paris Hilton bullshit, but OH MY MONA, does it make a difference! Yes, the GAP can get you through for 60$, and I love my Long and Leans for everyday. But I have tried on some jeans, that I shit you not make you lose 20 pounds, grow three inches, and add $50K to your bank account. And those results will only cost you $350. My sister, as down to earth, humble, Midwestern, and frugal as you can imagine, couldn't believe there could be such a difference. But a few years ago for her 40Th birthday, she and her bff planned a ladies trip to Vegas. She asked me for some help because she knew Momma Rags (as I call all the ones I wear, too...thank you Target!) were not going to cut it. She saw the prices at Macy's and about lost it. But I told her, yes it is sick, but trust me, let's just see what fits and find the right cut for your body, and maybe we will catch a good sale. Sure enough, this women who can sew and quilt and crotchet and all that crafty kinda shit, was dumbfounded at the difference in her body these jeans seemed to manifest right before her eyes. She stood taller and stronger and radiated a confidence while an elusive sexiness popped back into her step. Even she dropped the cash!

But I'm not talking about that little evil.

I'm talking about the emotional sickness and roller-coaster ride I experience every few days with these little stretched imbibed demons. I just figured it out today. You buy a pair of jeans. They are very tight. But they will stretch so they need to be almost pornographic in the dressing room. You take them home and wear them. And if you are anything like me, you wear them a lot before you ever even think about maybe putting them somewhere near the laundry room to be washed. (Funny, I wrote this like little fairies come in and do my laundry. As if I'm not the only one whe ever does one drop of any of it!) As time goes on, you feel really good because these things are getting baggier.

I must be losing weight! Oh happy day! Making healthier food choices is paying off, my muscles are getting leaner, my body is happier! I wonder if I should weigh myself?

Then you wash them.

And put the sons of bitches back on.

WTF? OMG I gained back some weight!

A week later, oh man, these things are falling off! I wonder if I need to get a smaller size? Maybe I'm on the verge of dropping back one more size to get even closer to my pre-pregnancy clothes? Could it be? Oh happy day, when my pre-baby jeans can button up!

Then laundry.

Damn. I really need to cut out the grains. And the sugar. I wish I wasn't so hungry all the time. Where are my weights?

And this goes on and on for multiple pairs of jeans as they are all on a different wear and wash cycle. So it's a maddening type of whiplash my emotional body experiences with seemingly no rhyme or reason to it because I throw on a different pair at a different point in the dirty or washed (baggy or too tight) cycle every day. It's very hormonal.

I swear to god, I have gone through more ups and downs with my body fitting into my jeans in the last few months than the ups and downs Tiger has enjoyed with his entourage of call girls. And each time I have some emotional release and verbal expletives, just like Tiger. But just today, I saw my jeans and that incredibly forgiving stretch material inside them, as the devil they really are.

You're thin. You're fat. You're thin. You're fat.
Good job. Stop eating that crap. Good job! Stop eating that crap!!!

Thank the gods I just figured out I'm not actually bipolar.

It's those damn jeans.

Fucking tease.

(Nothing like Tiger.)

Collapse

2010-04-20T10:47:00.000-07:00

Warning, it's a downer. But I need to express a little ugliness, because my body is about to explode.

I've always enjoyed the irony in the title of this blog. I started writing hoping to somehow express something again because my throat had completely shut-down. There was no longer anything important or useful or urgent in what I had to say. So why even using the sound. Nobody fucking listened to what I said anyway. So why bother? That's how I came to feel years ago.

Here I sit today, looking at the "real" rimka everyday. And I don't really share a lick of her on here. And I recognized it from the start. I wanted to express. I wanted to share. I wanted to be open. I wanted to be me. To start living a life of purpose, and passion, and love, and joy, and freedom.
But I do not.
I hide.
All the time.
Because I am terrified.
Panicked.
All the time.
When I wrote that piece about Baby John, I didn't have to imagine what deep fear felt like. I felt it the moment I found out I was pregnant, as well. Many of those fears created back then still linger with me to this day.
So I hide. I panic.
This isn't making much sense to any of you. And I don't care right now. I can't write for anyone but me. Almost.
I write for judging eyes and to make sure nothing can be used against me in court later.
I'm rambling.
I'm enraged.
I'm tired of living in constant fear of yet another assault.
So I hide.
Hoping I can avoid another beat down.
But I can already see it coming.

Walk for Wishes: Make A Wish Foundation

2010-04-16T15:44:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I never posted this until right now. Tomorrow morning I will be walking in Atlantic Station for the Walk for Wishes fundraiser for the Make A Wish Foundation. It's completely tax-deductible. I love what they represent and try to do for children and their families fighting for their lives. They help deliver dreams and manifest hope in a tangible way. Sometimes this is the last wish of a dying child. Sometimes it is the realized dream of a child newly recovered. Either way, it is a miracle of the generosity of the human spirit offered to these wounded, tired and grieving families.

Their operating budget: 79% of all monies go directly to the children, 15% is used for fundraising, and 6% is staff salaries. That's pretty good.

Please visit my personal donation page here

Thank you for the slap in the ass...

2010-04-16T08:56:00.000-07:00

...because I do like it rough.

I received this comment on my last post:

Can you please post your writting schedule so I can let my girlfriends know when you'll be posting something new? I find it a bit offensive that you've gained a nice little following and then don't write for weeks on end. Your fans expect a more professional approach.

Sincerely,

Dennise R.

Well thank you very much, Dennise R!!! This is the first opportunity I have had to respond, but you have made me think about a lot of things since then. First, thank you for taking the time to post a comment. Thank you for reading. Thank you for sharing with your friends. Thank you for the incredible validation and boost to my ego and overall esteem. (People I'm not related to actually read this? WTF?) It's very fucking exciting...you've made my heart race and my brow sweat...all in the best sorts of ways. I thank the Universe in all its beautiful wisdom and grace for the timing of all the recent comments from various readers. It has been a very exciting week to see that anybody even gives a damn. It has helped me to dream bigger and hope for more. And I'm not being a sarcastic or facetious jackass like some of my hysterical readers who have commented recently, I am telling you my deepest truth. So thank you.

Secondly, I'm sorry it has felt unprofessional. But this blog isn't my profession. I do like your suggestion to have a writing schedule, however. I think that is a very thoughtful courtesy, and it would help my own discipline. After all, I would love to make a living writing. Be that articles, websites, or my own blog through advertising. That dream seems more of a reality. I will think about it. Perhaps I can commit to one day per week. And if I get more time, I can post more. Any day in particular you like? I'm feeling Wednesday right now for some reason. But let me sit with it.

Thirdly, I've gained a following? STFU! I'm speechless. How can I please you more?

Fourth, thank you to everyone for the comments! Even that slew of insults directed right at me was awesome. I was giddy with excitement like a young Catholic priest at an all boys sleep away camp seeing that my writing has any effect on anyone for anything.

Lastly, let me defend myself. I have had computer issues for some time. In fact, I am writing this on a borrowed lap top from my ex-husband. Humiliating? Probably, but I don't have the time to deal with that. My laptop is ten years old. Yup, that's years, folks. It is the first computer I owned in my life. And it is dying. Slowly. And I sadly do not have the financial energy to replace it. Yet. Fortunately, he has a laptop I can use to pay my bills, check my email, and write. I can't upload photos or the like, hence the stark absence of my routine of posting a non-face-exposing picture of my son "Pockets" on the blog with each post. I often can't get the Internet on his laptop because it's configured for his office. So if I'm not home for this network, I can't get online. And I have been back and forth with a computer guy to fix mine, but I'm not high on his priority list. On a super fucking great note, I'm also living a better life with human connection. So I get out of the house more. I'm not a lonely, isolated stay-at-home-mom island that desperately needs some way to communicate to the adult world about anything through this blog; I can actually talk to grown up humans now. And, I have been writing other things a bit more. I just wrote an article for a magazine for the first time. I just finished it yesterday. It is a brand new publication called Big Village. The prototype will be ready in a couple weeks. So that is where my time has been. But I love the blog writing. It's just talking and no editing and no research and blah, blah, blah right in the moment without any worries on sentence structure, topic, content, relevance, or deadlines. I guess it's my twitter.

Ok, I confess, it's the Facebook that really is to blame. It gives me the illusion of having expressed myself or communicated something I care about via the opportunity to quickly post a status update without the longer, more thorough, more time consuming process of writing on the blog. That FB slut has seduced me with her pretty skin, multicultural background, wicked sense of humor, rapid fire response time, and barrels and barrels of information via research articles posted from her stripper girlfriends. I'm a sucker for a pretty face and a big brain. But the blog is much more rewarding in the end, so I will not neglect my sweet beauty "blogspot" anymore. She was my first love, after all.

Many thoughts, Little Time

2010-04-05T19:30:00.000-07:00

Hmmmmm....
It's been so long it feels. Constant thoughts fill my mind throughout the day that I want to write about. But the day is long and the time feels short. After putting The Boy to bed, folding laundry, straightening up, paying bills or shopping online, I just don't have the discipline and desire to lose any more sleep to write.
I do this now knowing there are 6 other things I HAVE to do and about 10 others that I WANT to do.
I'm not alone. This isn't unique to me. My life is good.
I am a mom.
And I love to write.
But right now, I NEED a hot bath.
Good night.

Landmark Education or Global Relationships Center?

2010-03-11T17:56:00.000-08:00

The Forum or UYO?

Many of you have no idea what I'm talking about. But others understand me loud and clear. In my pre-mommy life, I was a bit of a seminar junkie. I attended many, many educational and technique specific seminars while in graduate school getting my doctorate. But about halfway through, after a break-up that nearly destroyed my heart and left me feeling incapable of breathing, I was introduced to the wonderful world of personal growth/relationship improvement seminars.

I quickly realized that watching someone transform and empower themselves right before my eyes was the most joyful thing I could ever witness. Names escape me, but I remember faces and stories and transformation from those that journeyed with me on my first course, the Landmark Forum. Quickly I signed up for other courses, sometimes jumping on planes and flying across the country to participate. It was invigorating, enlightening, painful, frightening, rewarding, passionate and the best entertainment you can ever imagine.

The courses were from various individuals and agencies and all with different "tones." One thing led to another, and I was strongly considering becoming a course instructor. Helping to empower someone into their greatness was extraordinary; nothing could be better I imagined. Three different Landmark Instructors asked me to become a Forum Leader. I considered it strongly. They are an impressive group and it was a "natural" fit. They are serious, intelligent, professional, well-dressed, organized, very detail-oriented, polished and refined. A confident instructor or two command a presence of authority and dignity on the stage and direct the large group of about 125 or so people for four long, grueling days. There's plenty of money and educational degrees and expensive hair cuts and hair products and Armani and Dona Karan in those rooms. And I liked that just fine.

But then I came across another course called Understanding Yourself and Others or UYO. It was a much smaller, less organized group with absolutely no polish! It had a lot of airy fairy spiritual folks and some very earthy hippie types seriously lacking in much needed hair styling creme and wax. On the last day of the course, they all wore the tackiest purple t-shirts (purple is a tough color to pull off with class in clothing or home decor!) There was lots of crying and group hugging and plenty of kumbaya in the much smaller group. I didn't fit in on the exterior with this bunch very well. We had some very apparent differences. For starters, I said the word "Fuck" a lot and never used the word God. Our ideas of "looking good" were very different. As where with Landmark, a certain level of looking good is an admirable trait and I was rewarded for it, that same feature was seen not as an attribute but a hinderance by UYO standards from keeping me vulnerable and actively engaging in truly intimate relationships because my true self was covered up by my "show."

Yet both institutions and the courses they provide had profound and lasting impact on my life. They are key moments in my evolution full of wildly vivid and beloved memories.

I took lots of course, but Global and Landmark became the powerhouses.

I thought back on these contrasting courses last week while going from some of these school interviews. Sitting at Atlanta International School in Buckhead and Paideia in Druid Hills, you couldn't help but look around at the other parents. Peter and I clearly fit in with these people. The right clothes, the right cars, the right zip codes, the right hair, the right tone, right? Then we go over to Waldorf, and we look a bit strange. A bit out of place. The Ferragamos and the Trish McEvoy lip gloss clearly show we are not as granola as these folks. It reminded me of a lot of the people I used to know from UYO.

Forum, with its big organization, more professional look in a hot money district or UYO, with its gentle, home-grown, perhaps outdated charm?

Well, here's the thing that hit me. I deeply respect the Forum leaders and still consider returning to them one day...but I actually became a UYO Instructor! I chose a place that on the outside didn't look like it fit, but I knew it fit my heart. That's a lot how Waldorf is to me. Of ourse I'd love the school with the hideous purple curtains and purple-washed concrete walls. I stared at ugly purple carpet and couches and shirts for many years in Global!!!

I may have to start a campaign for the use of hair products to help some of these parents step into the 2000's though. (wink wink)

Because I'm a boy

2010-02-28T13:26:00.000-08:00

"Some kids probably won't wear any costumes," he says with authority, and then repeats with less confidence, "Some kids won't even wear any costume at all, right?"

"I'm not sure, honey, but you're probably right. I bet somebody won't have on a costume. Nobody HAS to dress up," I reply. "Do you want to dress up for the party or wear your regular clothes?"

"I just want to wear my regular clothes."

"Should I bring a princess dress in case you change your mind?"

"Yes, bring both in case one doesn't fit," he asks.

Turns out his father had already explained the day before, seemingly neutrally, that he may be the only boy in a dress and asked if he was ok with that. Pockets responded by asking Peter to wear one of the extra dresses we borrowed from his classmate. Peter agreed but said he didn't think it would fit, but maybe we could come up with a different skirt for him.

Off we went to a wild and raucous tea party at Java Vino of about 10 princesses and 5 knights. My sweet Pockets was the only one not in a costume, but it didn't seem to phase him. He had a great time playing with everyone engaging in battling a Daddy-Knight with a metal pot on his head, to playing with inflatable serpent shaped swords, to casting "magic" all over me with a sparkling glittery star-shaped wand. I asked at one point if he wanted a costume now, and he said "no" in a simple, clear, and solid tone.

He was lucky enough to get a knight AND a princess party favor bag. So he enjoyed pirate-themed toys as well as pink-princess themed toys. He put on the little elastic banded "skirt" over his clothes while holding his long inflatable knight sword and smiled from ear to ear. But when we were at the top of the stairs to leave the building and walk through the crowds in the coffee shop below, he stopped and said, "Let's take this off now," while referring to the whimsical tu-tu-esque skirt.

"Why?" I asked, pretty much knowing the answer.

"I just want to. Let's put it back on in the car."

Ok, honey. So here we go. Once in the car, he came and sat on the console and leaned up against me, clearly tired and needing to snuggle. He asked to put it back on. I didn't want to let that moment pass without speaking to his hesitation to walk freely in that skirt he clearly enjoyed. I asked, "Why didn't you just wear it the entire way into the car?

"I didn't want the people to see it," he says pointing to the ribbons and stars tied around his waist.

"Why?" I asked as if I didn't have a clue.

"I didn't want the people to say I looked funny because I'm a boy."

There it is.

I gathered every ounce of love in my heart to push away any anger or frustration, and just met my son in that moment. Remembering what it is like to shrink myself, to conform, to be afraid to be different and not accepted. And then I gave my best "There is only one YOU in this entire world and it's best for you to do what makes YOU happy and Mommy and Daddy will always be there to stand next to you and love you and blah, blah, blah."

Meanwhile, what's done is done. First lesson in a line of many, many more to come about following your own heart and walking through the world with bold, courageous vision regardless if anyone else agrees with you.

It hurt, but it didn't break my heart. He has a long journey ahead, and this is only the beginning. And I have to choose to vision him into becoming a man with impeccable character and the courage to lead. But it was hard to watch him make him self small to fit in someone else's box. I will try my best to help show him that it is unnecessary. In fact, it is critical that he and others do NOT do so. Our world depends on it.

Smallness changes nothing. You must break the box to create a revolution.

Shine, my boy. Shine.

Tea Party...Pink or Blue?

2010-02-26T18:13:00.000-08:00

My sweet Pockets has a big day tomorrow.

We start the day bright and much earlier than normal to drive over to the Atlanta International School for his assessment. Then in the afternoon we go to a classmates birthday party. I have not a single concern about his "interview" or how he will adapt to this alien classroom without me for an hour or how these teachers will choose to "judge" his competence for such a rigorous bilingual program. Not a one.

The birthday party on the other hand has me a little worried.

It's a Princesses and Knights Tea Party for a classmate rather obsessed with princesses and all things pink and glittery. Awesome, because so is my son!!! Well not really princesses, per se, because I work hard to keep that fairy-tale kinda crap out of his life. But, if it sparkles, glitters, flutters and is pink, he is all in! I've written about his diverse interests on here before and how we make every effort to let Pockets be who he is and become who he is meant to become. I do NOT want him to become some random, following sheep in the flock or mold him into some indistinguishable version of myself. This is his journey. My job is to support and perhaps direct that journey for the very short period of time I have such a strong influence over it. But he is his own Soul. And his Spirit has its own discoveries to make. And I want to keep it that way.

But life interrupts.

As soon as I mentioned the theme of the party to his father, Peter grinned and chuckled with the understood meaning, "Well, we KNOW he isn't going to want to be a knight!" In fact he doesn't even know what that really is yet partially because I do keep any stories of princes and princesses and damsels in distress waiting for some guy to rescue them completely away. Disney is not welcome in my home. And war and violence have no place either...so knights and swords and battle and army guys and guns... these too have never played any real part in his play world. But even if they were, I'm rather confident he'd still want to go dressed like a princess. After I explained it was a costume party and asked if he wanted to wear one, he replied, "Yes. I want to be a princess. A pink one."

Shocker.

We had a play date on Wednesday with the birthday girl in question. And I knew she would have a plethora of dress-up clothes. I was waiting to see what would happen. Sure enough, in about half an hour, she comes out of the bedroom dressed as Snow White with a magic wand. So my boy finds some beautiful pink dresses and comes back with one with WINGS! Too fabulous to pass that up! He asks me to help him put it on, so I do along with the girl's mother. His little friend, very strongly gender identified, is very puzzled by this and says he can't wear a dress. We quickly tell her that yes he can.

"But he's a boy."

"That doesn't matter. Boys can pretend and dress up too. It's not very fair for only girls to be able to be princesses or fairies, after all."

And he loooved it! He beamed a radiant smile.

"He looks weird," she says in a very non-mean way. There wasn't any intention on hurting, it was purely confusion. And Pockets wasn't hurt. He was merely very puzzled himself, "Why did she say I look weird?"

He wasn't hurt. But I almost cried.

Because it will probably happen when it will hurt him. And then what? How will he react? What will it do to his Spirit? How will it alter his self-expression? His journey? His choices? Will he stand boldly in what HE likes and makes HIM happy? Or will he shrink from hurt and fear and conform to what he THINKS he is supposed to like or do to make OTHERS happy and like him?

I cannot protect him from this. The sooner I understand this, the better. He completely understands that in American culture, boys and men typically do not wear dresses or carry purses. He has asked about these things and I have explained them.

I wonder should I also explain that children may be so unaccustomed to seeing boys dressed like girls that they may say things like the "weird" statement to prepare him. But is that just creating the doubt and incident before it even happens? Should I just conveniently find a way to forget the dresses we borrowed to wear to the party to avoid an incident? Should I go as far as to simply not "allow" it? All good questions.

We shall see what tomorrow brings.

But let me end on one note and be crystal clear...Waterford and Swarovski clear: I am in now way worried about my son's more feminine interests. He can have pink glitter and fairy dust right along with all his construction vehicles and power tools. I do not worry that he may be gay. I am not trying to correct his behavior or change his tastes or modify his person. He can dance ballet and/or play football. I will clap and cheer either way. I just want to protect him from the world and hurt for as long as I can. And if you feel another way, keep it to yourself. If you only want to bring negativity, bring it to yourself. Said differently, if you can't find anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all.

Tomorrow feels too soon.

What happened to play?

2010-02-25T17:31:00.000-08:00

Americans are getting dumber and dumber, fatter and fatter, slower and slower, and poorer and poorer.

Where did the creativity and ingenuity and energy and vigor and abundance and wealth all go?

I don't propose to know all those answers. But I do read the dance floor pretty well.

We used to let children play, roam, explore, create, imagine, try, fail, recoup, try again, play, be, succeed, experiment, and grow at a normal, developmentally-appropriate pace. Then we grew older. And we played some more while we learned with each other in school. We used to read. You remember: books and the newspaper? We used to have strong and dynamic relationships with adult teachers possessing a powerful grasp on the English language. We used to invent new things and then actually build them to sell.

Not so much anymore.

Our continual decline in world rankings in reading, math, and overall business prowess has led to a more aggressive approach in education. Instead of trying to teach us to think smarter, we resorted to teaching us to memorize data to improve test scores.

It's not working.

Here's a little info I read at www.allianceforchildhood.org:

"Research shows that children who engage in complex forms of socio-dramatic play have greater language skills than nonplayers, better social skills, more empathy, more imagination, and more of the subtle capacity to know what others mean. They are less aggressive and show more self-control and higher levels of thinking. Animal research suggests that they have larger brains with more complex neurological structures than nonplayers.

Research comparing 50 play-based classes with 50 early-learning centers found that by age ten the children who had played excelled over the others in a host of ways. They were more advanced in reading and mathematics and they were better adjusted socially and emotionally in school. They excelled in creativity and intelligence, oral expression, and "industry."

Kindergarten has changed radically in the last two decades. Children spend far more time being taught and tested on literacy and math skills than they do learning through play and exploration, exercising their bodies, and using their imaginations. Many kindergartens use highly prescriptive curricula geared to new state standards and linked to standardized tests. In an increasing number of kindergartens, teachers must follow scripts from which they may not deviate. These practices, which are not well grounded in research, violate long-established principles of child development and good teaching. It is increasingly clear that they are compromising both children's health and their long-term prospects for success in school.

New evidence form research shows that didactic instruction and testing are pushing play out of kindergarten. Kindergartners are now under intense pressure to meet inappropriate expectations, including academics standards that until recently were reserved for first or second grade. These expectations and policies that result from them have greatly reduced and in some cases obliterated opportunities for imaginative, child-initiated play in kindergarten."

Less than a hundred years ago, people knew how to read music, play an instrument, grow and cultivate food, read classical literature, speak another language, ballroom dance, hunt, build furniture, fix a "machine," and it goes on and on. Today, I come across countless 30 year olds who have no idea how to change a flat tire much less who frequent a library or can play the piano or give back correct change if the register breaks down.

Children learn through play. Children learn through physical movement. The science is completely IN on this. Neurologists, biologists, developmental specialists have all proved it through all the brain plasticity and development research.

Why doesn't anybody in charge of education know it yet?

Baby John

2010-02-12T06:09:00.000-08:00

Desperate. Alone. Terrified. Incapable. Unworthy. Unsupported.

This is how someone can feel, to say the least, when faced with an unplanned pregnancy. In fact, I know many women feel this way during a PLANNED pregnancy. It is in many ways normal. It can go to such deep levels of isolation and panic, that women choose to terminate the pregnancy or rip the birthed child out of their arms and give to another to raise. Both can be gut wrenching decisions.

Yesterday, as happens on many days, a little baby was left outside of a church in a presumably safe way to offer it a better life by someone(s) experiencing strong, varied pain and suffering.

Sadness filled my heart yesterday. Tears streamed down my face before I could catch my breath. Because this wasn't any church. This church, St. John's Episcopal, is here in Atlanta. It is one I personally frequent (the only church I step foot into, actually) because my dear, dear friend is the Rector. I go to see the light and joy emanate from this remarkable man; to support the fruition of his dreams; to be a witness to intention manifest on that altar; and to shower myself in the rapture and joy of that vision and his blessing.

Others see the light and safety that Troy offers to any and all as well. And yesterday, they attempted to demonstrate that trust in a monumental way. A little boy was left outside the door in the beautiful gardens, perhaps because the doors were locked or because someone did not want to be seen, on one of our coldest days. Baby John, this little newborn born unto clearly difficult and tragic circumstances, died shortly after from cold exposure.

Already as I write this, I can see how flat I am. How choppy my writing is. Trying to disconnect a little. To avoid overwhelm. I am just deeply sad. For all of it. For the baby. For the mother. For whomever dropped him off. For the person who found him. For Father Troy. For the physicians and nurses at the hospital. It just goes on and on.

All night, I was composing an eloquent essay in my mind about the beauty and light of a child, about what a profound mission this little soul chose to bear in this world, the affect his very short life has had on expanding the lives and souls of so many he will never meet, about our lack of social support that leads to such a tragedy, the power of education that may have altered this outcome, how to establish an atmosphere of love and support rather than fear and judgement for at-risk groups...but it all seems relatively insignificant right now.

I hope Baby John is blissful and free and his mission complete. I hope his mother gets help to end her suffering and deep agony. I hope everyone involved has a bigger, more expansive heart and larger capacity for love after experiencing such pain.

I knelt at my son's bed last night, and just sobbed while rubbing his beautiful sleeping head. Finally allowing gratitude to rescue me from my pain. I hope it can save others as well.

I never met you, but I love you.

Service for Baby John is this Sunday February 14, 2010 at 2 pm at St. John's of College Park

St. John's Episcopal Church
3480 E. Main St.
College Park, GA 30337Phone: (404) 761-8402
Fax: (404) 761-8403

Preschool Schmreschool

2010-01-23T19:02:00.000-08:00

I have been in a flurry of writing today trying to complete these PRESCHOOL applications. I swear, I seriously did not write this many essays to get into college. I'm not joking. And I applied to Ivy League schools! That was a long time ago, and perhaps my memory is skewed, but I am writing more essays about my personal character and community involvement than I did at 18!!!

But I'm not complaining, I'm just explaining. Truth is, I have loved it! I forget how much I enjoy to write. To talk to another in complete silence about anything and everything all at once. I just answered the first question for the Atlanta International School. I liked it so much, I decided to post it here:

We have chosen to apply to AIS because we deeply value the progressive and diverse educational experience within a bilingual curriculum offered at AIS. We want to instill in our son "Pockets" a strong passion for learning not only from books but from life itself. Central to life experiences are people and their multilayered distinctions. Learning to build relationships of respect and empathy with others from across the globe will help "Pockets" learn the reverent interconnectedness and interdependence we all share. In addition, "Pockets" is surrounded by a blended family that contains various shades of color and cultural backgrounds. His grandmother is from India with very dark skin. A great grandmother is African-American. Other grandparents are European in ancestry. His family and social life are full of many colors and backgrounds, and we strongly want his school peer group to reflect this as well; to allow him to see the normalcy and beauty of this mosaic within himself. AIS has a future-oriented view of the world and teaches children how to become the intelligent, ethical leaders of tomorrow that we need today. This vision of a harmonious, multilingual, multicultural world is one of hope we want "Pockets" to possess.

It makes me feel all fuzzy inside! Can you imagine a world like that? I can. And so will he.

Maybe a New Voice

2010-01-22T07:54:00.000-08:00

It comes up occasionally. And it makes me very uncomfortable. Nervous about how to say it politely. Worried about how it will be received. Concerned that it will create separation or distance. Afraid I'll be judged or misrepresented for my choices. Regardless of the awkwardness, I never keep silent on this very unpopular choice in parenting style. The tension builds every day as Pockets gets older and has to interact with other children being raised in very different homes that ours.

Food? Yes, that's a concern. Language? Sometimes that comes up. Diversity, Sexism, Racism, Social Equality? Yup, those all creep into my mind as to how others can influence his personality and world views. Religion? Believe it or not, there is something that is even more uncomfortable for me to request from others than this:

"Please, turn off your TV and all forms of video medium while we visit. And, please prepare your child we will not watch any of that in our house when they come to visit us. "

I simply HATE having to say this. And I resent that I HAVE to say it so much. That our culture has deteriorated to such a level that the TV is on an average 7 hours in an American household. That the average preschool child watches an average 4 hours of TV per day in this land of the free, home of the brave.

Usually, I get the resounding question, "Why?" Honestly, it is usually with earnest curiosity not just a perverse, macabre fascination as if we were a freakish, carnival side-show. But, I've seen that, too. In short, I can never give a complete answer. And I haven't worked out my memorized pat answer just yet. It is not a fast-food drive-thru answer. I can't whip it out, with all its complexities and neuropsychology, in 30 seconds much less 10 minutes. It is a farm-fresh, hand-picked organic cook-all-day-in-the-crock-pot type of answer that requires understanding of neurology, anatomy, human development, cognitive learning, and education to fully grasp. And I'm still a fledgling myself in these areas. So, I'm left giving a poorly devised response that is usually not useful to anyone.

As many of you know, I am a Wellness Professional. I have trained and worked as a Counselor/Therapist, Adult Interpersonal Relationships Teacher/Facilitator, Kiniesiologist, and Chiropractor. My focus was always uncommon or difficult to treat populations such as psychological disorders and drug addiction. Becoming a mother has shifted my focus, still concerned with the nutritional/biochemical and psychospiritual aspects of cause and treatment, to other topics such as autism, ADHD, learning disorders, and education. Through my reading and research, it saddens me that there is so much knowledge today being put into little or no useful action. Many suffer needlessly because of it.

I was always drawn to the psychological aspects of health. The mind and its relationship to the expression of the Spirit and Soul within us. This energetic life force seems to reside most within the brain. And in trying to help others, I quickly become bored with the physical body and want to go straight to "adjusting" the brain. Always did. I never became a Chiropractor to adjust bones. I became one to help schizophrenics and drug addicts by correcting the malfunctions in their central nervous systems that were creating such painful and difficult false-realities for them. (I give all this background simply because I never have.)

My nephew is autistic. My best friend's son suffers from seizures and a host of neurological delays. It seems I am being propelled forcefully to understand how to help correct brain damage and dysfunction even further. And I am so very, very far from where I would like to be along that road. Maybe first grade. But there seems to be something not spoken of when causes and correction/recovery are discussed in all these topics. There are big names talking about the dangers of vaccinations, the importance of food chemicals, dyes, allergens, the devastation the chemicals in the water, air, and soil are having on children's developing nervous systems...but what I don't hear anyone talking about very much is the danger of TV, computers and video games and the integral role this medium is having on creating and/or enhancing a host of these destructive disorders in our society today.

Perhaps I am not seeing it because I am meant to become the loud-mouth on this very unpopular topic. Time will tell.

But the more I learn, the more I hold it in the same serious regard as I do thimerosal, Ritalin, MSG, Aspartame and FD&C Blue No.5.

I'm going to start blogging again because of it.

I hope I get more persuasive and more people turn off the effing TV.

Listen

2009-08-31T17:17:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time.

A lot has changed.

Yet it all remains the same.

This is simply a practice in discipline.

Write.

Learn.

Grow.

I have turned into a turtle trying to hide my head in my shell.

Peeking back out.

Maybe I'm ready to talk again.

Writing websites for clients...that came from the blog!

Looking for a job.

I'm just not ready to start my own office up again.

Wish I was because I haven't worked for someone else in over a decade.

Talk about it.

Listen to it.

I can't hear what they are saying.

Open.

Please, speak louder.

Purging Buddha

2009-05-16T07:44:00.000-07:00

Everything is surfacing. Coming to the top. Purging itself. Desperate to cleanse itself free from the unforgiving, clenched fist of the past.
Everywhere I look, this is happening to me and to many others I care about. I "accidentally" came across this song I wrote years ago yesterday.
Now it is time to release it.
And begin writing again.
---Stephanie, 05.16.2009

Buddha, a song written 08.25.2003

You were my Buddha
You were my Christ
Sent from the heavens falling with love
Weaving my soul in bliss from above
But then your scripture changed
Loves path rearranged

*It was all in my head
Alone in my heart
Yours was empty from the start
Nothing but a piece to add to your list
* It was all in my head
Alone in my heart
Yours was empty from the start

You were my story
You were my dream
Little girl inside couldn't let out a scream
Praying for love and god to redeem
The illusion is dead that will not come
Alone bleeding and numb

*It was all in my head
Alone in my heart
Yours was empty from the start
Nothing but a piece to add to your list
* It was all in my head
Alone in my heart
Yours was empty from the start

You were my savior
You were my prince
But it was all in my head
alone in my heart
yours was rotten from the start
just a piece of ass you couldn't resist
It was all in my head
Alone in my heart
All in your kiss

untitled

2009-05-14T13:43:00.000-07:00

ocean air

milk chocolate

honey drips

glacier peaks

moist petals

deep caverns

wet sand

rolling thunder

spicy curry

roaring fire

ice cream

egyptian cotton

poetry and

music

Lady in the Red Dress Singing Up on the Stage

2009-04-24T18:42:00.000-07:00

POCKETS ENJOYING A MASSAGE BY THE WONDERFUL KENDRA WILLIAMS (above)

Atlanta in the Spring is simply sublime. The art and music festivals never seem to stop. They are my most anticipated events of the year. Living in the heart of Midtown and being able to walk to them is icing on the cake, chocolate cake, of course. This past weekend we enjoyed the Dogwood Festival and the smaller Sweetwater 420 Festival. I remember several of my friends in graduate school complaining about how they hated it here. And I would just respond, "Really? Why is that?" The conversation would quickly unveil that they never participated in the things the city offered. I actually knew people who lived here for four years and never went to Little Five Points or the Dogwood Festival or the free Atlanta Symphony series in Piedmont Park or the High Museum or Pride. They lived, worked, drank, ate in funky old Marietta for four straight years. Shocking, I know. I would hate it, too.

Pockets is starting to get the hang of these festivals and the large gaggles of people that ensue. We had a very interesting experience with him at the Sweetwater Fest. This one is very relaxed and focuses on Earth Day concepts. Lots of tie-dye and hashish brownies and dreadlocks on white people. Get the tone? Anyway, there were live concerts. He was mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watched a blue grass family group with ukuleles and fiddles and just loved it. Then the big stage started up. He asked to go see that. So off we trotted. Of course my concerns over ear damage were huge...but we just threw caution to the wind, LOL.

I haven't let Pockets listen to popular music yet. He has been bombarded with music especially chosen to enhance physical brain development and cognitive ability. Either high complexity such as Mozart or language enhancing music (never English) including Spanish, French, and Czech among others. The only exceptions were k.d. lang's "All You Can Eat" because we accidentally discovered that it stopped the incessant screaming from his reflux pain while in the car when he was an infant. It was a magic we welcomed with great gratitude to Ms. Lang. Dean Martin's Christmas music was another big hit. Because his diction is near perfect, I allowed that, too. But overall, I have resisted exposure. Lately I'm relaxing around it, because I need to sing to a favorite jam sometimes to calm my nerves! And, yes, he needs to start hearing various genres of music, as well.

So...back to the story. He watched the entire set of Laura Reed & Deep Pocket. They were awesome and he clearly thought so, too. We bought their CD's to enjoy later. The next day, I came home after the gym just in time for dinner. Pockets asks me, "Guess what's my name!" I went through the usual list of what he "prefers" we call him: Ariel (as in the Mermaid)---NO; Tinkerbell (as in the fairy)--NO; Wendy (as in Peter Pan)--NO. Well, I was stumped. I even tried his real name. NO. So Daddy had to help, "Lady with the red dress singing up on the stage." Ohhhhhhhh! According to them, they had been telling stories about her for the last hour while I worked out. Now he knows her name, Laura, and loves to be called that. He is Laura, singing up on the stage and Daddy is Debrissa, the back-up singer, who for some reason or another they choose to call Melinda instead.

He still is completely smitten. I printed out pictures of her, which he carries around with him. He says, "I'm a singer, Daddy's a singer, and you're a singer. We're all three singers."

Interesting little boy.

This weekend is the Inman Park Festival with hands down the best parade in Atlanta. Ok, maybe the Little Five Points Halloween Parade can rival it? He will have a blast watching the drag queens twirling batons and all the marching bands.

only 3 minutes to spare

2009-03-11T17:22:00.000-07:00

Vacant. Empty. Not much to say. Perhaps too much to say. Not enough energy to wrap it all up. Holding so tight. My heart exploded. My mind patched it up. Contraction. Relax. Nothing left.

Want to write. Want to talk. Want to sleep. You win.

I Need to Scream!!!!!

2009-02-27T13:26:00.001-08:00

Some days are good and some days are bad. And some are just plain shitty. Today is the latter. I am not much into venting on here, but might as well since I no longer have the luxuries of time energy, money energy, emotional energy or even just "energy" energy to talk it over in the close confines of therapy. Hmmmm, going into the story just seems stupid right now. Needless to say, when my kid has an emotional meltdown, the volcano eruption seems to scorch everything in its path, including me. And this time, his meltdown was clearly my fault. That makes it even worse. Poor thing has been really making progress physically and emotionally. His moods have been balanced and even. His happiness, charm and effervescent charisma have returned with a mature sophistication that leaves everyone around him in smiles. But today, I got a big lesson on how little stimulation he can really tolerate. Those that follow the blog or know me personally already know that art and cultural experiences are of paramount importance in Pockets life. He does no TV or video medium and is rather unaware of pop culture brainwashing and marketing of the latest and greatest stuff and characters etc. I have chosen to engage his interests in live theater and live musical performances. The last few times after these outings, he has had emotional fits. Today we went to see "Jack and the Beanstalk" at the Center for Puppetry Arts. I adjusted the variables from the last few plays by changing the time and eating schedule. Yet, it happened again. The only explanation at this point is over stimulation. It was a 2 hour ordeal before I could get him to collapse in sleep on my bedroom floor. Now he has woken up, stuck neurologically in the exact same emotional tirade. Screaming, yelling, crying out unrealistic demands. It is utterly fucking exhausting and worrisome. He has been so amazing to be around and finally healing up his physical issues...and now this major setback. Congestion will increase and coughing will follow. Along with the knowledge that we cannot go to these types of things for some time to come. Back to more of the daily boredom that persists in the life of a 3 year old child for a 36 year old woman. Ok, that's it. I cannot take the screaming anymore. Not sure what to do. I want to fucking run away into a pit of chocolate cupcakes and ice cream right about now. We are supposed to go out to the Four Seasons tonight for my friends 50th Birthday Bash. Not sure I can stomach it...it would be the first time he would ever be left with a sitter at night. Can he handle that? Doesn't seem like it to me.

Express yourself--thanks Madonna!

2009-02-20T16:08:00.000-08:00

It seems the blogging became a springboard for other moments of connection and happiness in my life. Therefore, I am not going to beat myself up about not blogging as consistently as originally intended. After all, for me it is all about self expression and creativity mixed in with trying to do some thinking again. Surprisingly, it made me happy to write on this silly thing every other day or so even when I was exhausted late at night. Even more surprising are the connections with others, including strangers, that have created a small slice of community for me again. It has been a real pleasure and privilege. Well, that quickly led to a desire to actually get out among real physical bodies again--to do more than connect across the information carrying bundles of energy waves flying through the atmosphere. To really laugh out loud, rather than LOL, to feel the vibrations in my ears of real laughter. And so I have been socializing more with and without Pockets. He is a bit older now and it is easier to hang with friends WITH him, which gives me more opportunities to share space with real beating hearts. It has been nice. Thank you to this blog for making that possible. It saddens me a little that I can't manage to do that socializing and this writing simultaneously very well...yet.

Valentine's Day over here was a total blast! Pockets disposition and general demeanor has drastically improved. He is back to being a pleasure to be around. Thinking about it now, I can't even remember what we did, but rather just the feeling of the day. It was filled with love. That is all any of us can ask for. He did get his wish: a real life tutu. He has been a bit obsessed with being a ballerina lately. When he started asking for a "real"tutu instead of the imaginary ones he wears, it was fascinating for me to watch my own internal reactions. Hmmmm, my little boy in a real tutu. "What will the neighbors think?" Funny, that my main concern was about judgement from others about my parenting skills and judgement from them about the long term psychological effects I was perhaps creating for my child. Learning how to let my own shit go so he can be happy as the person he is today and will grow into tomorrow has been interesting to observe. Peter and I don't really talk openly about it, but Pockets's gentle nature, sensitive disposition, love of all things pink and sparkly, and his newest request for a pink tutu is something we both know is just fine and any uncomfortable emotions we have about it stem from our own issues. Funny enough, I am probably more uncomfortable at times with it than Peter because I carry such a strong male tone! Of course, the smile on his face and the joy in his heart upon opening up that bag and seeing that tutu was pure validation that buying that tutu was the only right thing to do! And seeing him run around with his drill, jackhammer and Tonka truck with that tutu on was priceless. And not the least bit odd-- but instead incredibly natural. God, he is so fucking cute!

I haven't quit the blog!

2009-02-09T17:21:00.001-08:00

This is my longest absence to date on the blog writing. This entry is motivated completely by my oldest nephew's prodding. Don't write me off just yet Scott! It is hard for me to fathom that my last entry was two weeks before my birthday. January was a remarkable month full of a few milestones for me. And I had fun. Hard to believe for those who know me that I am saying that, right? With the new year came more of a resolve that it is probably time for me to get some of my own life back. Pockets is older and maybe I can go out at night, I reasoned. I celebrated the birthdays of two very dear soul friends Jeanne and Melissa, and they also joined me in celebrating my own at the end of the month. Big steps for me. Grown up fun again. It is what I have needed for a long time. And it would be irresponsible of me not to mention the new social networking madness that is known as Facebook. It has been a bit of a time-vacuum, but again, a ton of fun reconnecting with so many incredible people from the past and meeting a few new ones! Feeling like life may be worth living after all. That has been contrasted with the still daily search to figure out why Pockets isn't fully recovered. What am I missing around helping his body, which seems to have been suddenly taken over by aliens since October, recover and support him properly. It has been a whirlwind of books, Google searches, trips to a pediatrician, a pediatric ENT, phone calls and consultations with his holistic pediatrician in Wisconsin, two chiropractors, a craniosacral therapist, a Chinese Medical Doctor, a Medical Intuitive and even a psychic. And that has just been my last 30 days. Some of the information is a bit unsettling and overwhelming. But the complete answer lies somewhere. And I will find it despite my enormous frustration and feelings of failure in this moment. In the meantime, I thought it would be a good idea to take more control when it comes to regaining my health and vitality. Started a colon cleanse program last week, and it is completely kicking my ass. Flu-like symptoms abound and interfere with my research regime. Today, I was all but in bed all day. The boy had a fun filled day at the park and playing outside almost entirely with Dad as I attempted to recover. Just a quick update as to why I haven't been keeping you in the know. I'm off to my nightly Epsom salt bath--yup, I take one every day. Now I completely understand why my Mom needed those 20 minute Calgon baths at night, too!

How did that acorn get next to that tree?

2009-01-15T20:39:00.000-08:00

December 2008, inmate Edward D. Rimka writes to his daughter Stephanie:

"I am not sure I know what you are talking about when you speak about the lost and invisible subculture of children of prisoners. I am not sure that I can walk in the shoes/mind of a child. For instance, playing catch with you during your childhood in front of 123 Ashland: You may remember the activity as a mean man throwing a ball at you really hard, with no regard for your safety, maybe a form of abuse. I recall the incident with pride and amazement about how my little girl was really something special to hang in there and catch every damn ball I threw at her, exhibiting some athletic skills that I've seen grown men lack. You may have been afraid while I was awed at the idea that acorns really don't fall too far from the tree. I had a golden glove at first base and behind the plate, and it tickled the hell out of me to see those particular genes passed along to you." (address changed for safety purposes, edit mine)

I could probably dissect this small paragraph in such ways as to make only the true lovers of Adler, Jung, Gestalt, Erickson and my personal therapists over the years tickle with excitement. But, I will spare the rest of you. My father's lack of seeing the obvious is blinding to me. He can't see what I am talking about or perhaps doesn't want to see how his choices truly affected those four children he left behind? How can a prisoner NOT see that their kids are lost in an unusual social framework? It kinda pissed me off. He is extremely bright and well educated holding degrees in both psychology and English, so to be so unconscious as to be lost by my suggestion is even more ironic and insulting. But this is just more evidence of how much the unconscious is so in charge of the psyche. His story about us playing "catch" is something that I cling to very tightly, too, because in fact it is one of my favorite memories of him. His fear that I saw him as "mean" can be laid to rest. I felt exactly the same way as him. Proud to be his daughter. Proud to impress the hell out of him. Is it any wonder I went on to request playing first base versus short-stop and third base where coaches kept putting me?

But that is one memory. And its recollection shows his egocentric thinking and narcissism. Apparently, my father neglects to remember that he was only home from prison for less than one year of my entire life. In that 3rd to 4th grade stint, I had a blast with him. But according to my older sister, we are talking 9 months before he went back---for good this time it seems. How can he not see the peculiar circumstances he left these children drifting aimlessly in and forced to learn to navigate virtually alone? He knows how to dissect "the system" and its shortcomings very thoroughly and succinctly when it comes to his own predicament behind the walls; I receive letters in detail about the social constructs of prison systems along with copies of parole reports, work reviews, and the like from him. But to contend with what we in the free world had to do, how we experienced prison beside him both physically and metaphorically, is too much for him to confront today. That is precisely why I wanted to start the conversation with him. And with myself.

And don't think I don't notice that his short response on the matter actually indeed supports my earlier post. Indeed, people definitely judge you from whence you came. He speaks of me as the seed that fell from his tree. And referenced genetics and its influence on creating who I will eventually become. It just goes to show you, it is within all of us to make that initial socially conditioned presumption. But he is right. We do inherit physical and personality traits from our parents. Perhaps chronic sociopathy can be one of those traits, and that is why so many people can get uncomfortable around the likes of kids like me. But then remember, popular culture and its "science" try to say obesity is genetic and that's a fat load of crap, too.

Yes, my dad is in prison. And?

2009-01-13T20:38:00.000-08:00

A few weeks back, I posted a portion of a letter from my father. In that post, I "admitted" that my father is in prison in a sneaky little way. This caused some unspoken tension in my family. But this is nothing new since I was the first to "admit" this truth as a young child at school. I took some serious heat from my siblings and mother for that. But for me, there is nothing to admit. I have no embarrassment about the matter and never have. Anyone who knows me has always known where he is. I have had to tell that fact to countless parents of countless partners over the years. The look on their faces was always priceless and something we could laugh about later in bed. Yes, I understand how people react and how they may judge or perceive me because of it. I knew this very well as a young girl. I just wasn't going to let their ignorance dictate my behavior and force me to feel shameful and lie about something that had nothing to do with me. If someone or more likely their parents was going to shun me because my father robbed a bank, then they did not possess the qualities that I admired or respected. So fuck 'em. Mistakes any of my family members make say nothing of my character or talent. I am still astonished most people don't actually think that way but rather choose to judge people based on their pedigree versus accomplishments. I chose to post that as an experiment of sorts. (And from the responses I received, it looks like I need to talk about him more.) For many years I have considered, or more truthfully, felt obligated to write about growing up with a father in prison. Not just a personal memoir exactly, but perhaps an attempt to speak with others who have had this unusual but not so rare experience. About the children who went to prison visiting rooms for holidays and received gifts through the mail. Children who were raised to love, respect and wait with their mothers for these men to come home. About a lost and hidden subculture of children left with no say and with no regard for how they were to manage in the world. About the children left with no child support or any option later of pensions, social security or insurance from their fathers. About the children who are never discussed politically or socially. Invisible. And what becomes of us. Even as I write this, the entire time all I can think about is my mother and the shame she feels around this. She will probably read this one day. I know for sure some of her friends will. And it will be upsetting to her. The secret is out. But I just cannot feel the shame over something I did not do. In fact, I love my father very much and am quite proud of lots of things about him. He is a very intelligent man with a very big but badly wounded heart. I missed my time with him as a child very much. I recently wrote him and told him my ideas about writing this book. I was surprised at his response. I will post that quote from him next time, along with my thoughts about what he said. In advance, I am sorry Mom for talking about these things. But you didn't do anything wrong. Stop acting like you did. And please don't expect me to feel and behave that same way. With that, if any of you know how I can get started interviewing adults of the same experience, please email me with any information or pass the blog along.

Detroit School Board: Full of shit and no TP left to clean up after all those assholes

2009-01-08T19:37:00.000-08:00

Born and raised in the city limits of the former great Motor City, I was always a proud, fighting champion of the big D: Detroit. That is, until I grew up, traveled around, moved away and then took a harder look from the outside. Then I started to recognize it for the real shit hole it is. Time has not been kind to the largest city of the state of Michigan. Or the state itself for that matter. The current dire economic situation of the entire country has finally shed some national light on the financial and emotional debacle that is the State of Michigan. A place that is burdened by mounting debt, skyrocketing unemployment, crumbling infrastructure, collapsing car industry, and failing schools creates an environment of fear, hopelessness, despair, desperation, and failure for its residents to try and survive. My family and friends are still trapped there. Whenever I visit, the panic is palpable. I can almost taste it. It is a place full of constriction and tightness and blame. Today, I had an incredible reminder of just how bad it has gotten in my beloved hometown. The Detroit Public School Board (DPS) was front and center in my mind today. I had to sit in my local Social Security Administration office to request a name change replacement card for Pockets. As I sat there among the most ignored, negated, uneducated and abandoned members of our society, I kept thinking back to my childhood friends and where I grew up. Then I flashed forward to the events of the day in Detroit, where all over the local news was a story about toilet paper. Seems there is just more shit there than anyone can handle. The principal of the Academy of Americas, a bilingual charter school in Southwest Detroit, is getting her head placed on the chopping block by the incompetent School Board for sending a letter to the parents of her community asking for donations of basic necessities like toilet paper and light bulbs because there are no funds left in the district. The news has been all over it, and the Board's response is to deny a problem exists and then actively try and find a way to fire this principal: a dedicated, educated professional who used honesty and innovative thinking to put the needs of her students first in an attempt to solve a problem without going into further debt. I am glad Detroit has made the headlines lately with all this auto industry bailout debauchery. Living down south, it is surprising to see how those outside of Detroit or the Midwest feel about it. Overwhelmingly, people here have no compassion and feel "they," the industry leaders, should just suffer the consequences of their poor management skills. (Somehow, forgetting that the most suffering would be incurred by real human beings. People and entire families devastated by more than just loss of jobs.) Interestingly enough, that same healthy response that we should all be responsible for our actions isn't being followed throughout all industries nationwide. And as far as personal responsibility for our own lives and own debt, just forget it...everybody wants the handout or the rescue or someone to buy their excuse. And the DPS is no different here. Being governed by their lack of intelligence and ruled by their embarrassment rather than focusing on education and caring for those in need, they are trying to find someone to blame for their failures rather than calling Oprah to get this principal on her show to discuss what inner city schools are doing to survive. I hope this story sheds light on how bad the governing of Michigan has been. How outdated the thinking is there. How education, innovation, creativity and ingenuity are not fostered, developed or attracted by the State. And now all the people suffer from it. The faculty, staff and students in the DPS seem to be suffering the most. Perhaps when the rest of the country understands that these kids seriously do not even have toilet paper in their schools, is it any wonder that Detroit has the lowest graduation rate of any large school district in the US, or that Johns Hopkins has labeled over 10 of the high schools as "dropout factories?" It is a sad state of affairs. It is so bad that the State now has to take over DPS and their horrid financial mistakes as a last resort. However, the State cannot handle its own money problems, the industries cannot handle their business, and the largest School Board in Michigan is so mired in stupidity and corruption that they can't even see straight to reward a principal for not overburdening the system and solving a health and safety issue rather than look to fire someone for solving a problem. Keep it up Detroit. Those who can flee will, those who have to stay will suffer in a cage of ignorance, violence and rage.

Gratitude and Encouragement

2009-01-07T19:44:00.000-08:00

Thank you to all my readers...yes, all 12 of you...I really appreciate it! Recently, I have focused my intention on creating more of a dialogue. Intending on writing pieces that would stir enough emotion in someone that it would compel him/her to post a comment. That has increased slightly lately. And for that I am happy and a wee bit proud. For those that have responded, I am commenting back directly. I don't know of a better way yet. So the only way you would know that I did that is by checking back in the comments. This seems a bit barbaric and time-consuming. It would seem better if you were emailed back directly or if all comments would just be visible on the main page. Perhaps one of my blogging pals like Naomi or Lacey or Elias know of a better way and could let me know? My hope is that within a year or more likely two, the needs of the blog will outgrow Blogger. Then I can justify the cost of a fancy multi page blog. Time will tell. For now, THANK YOU to everyone for listening. It is so apparent to me how much we all need a witness to our lives. Thank you for being mine. And to borrow a quote from Maggie's beautiful comment:

"I believe the choice to be excellent begins with aligning your thoughts and words with the intention to require more from yourself."
---Oprah Winfrey

This is my hope for myself and the world at large.

Not sure I can live up to Dooce.com

2009-01-03T20:58:00.000-08:00

I started reading Arianna Huffington's Complete Guide to Blogging after I got it for Christmas. Gotta tell you, I am a bit overwhelmed. For the record, my hopes for this blog include a record deal, a guest host spot on Oprah, a permanent panel seat on Bill Maher's Real Time, a NY Times bestseller, a flat six-pack stomach, and a sane mind. A tall order, perhaps, but in a world where a sex tape can make you a star and insulting C-list "celebrities" by drawing semen and penises on them like Perez can turn you into a media mogul, I believe anything is possible. But to get noticed and develop a name for yourself in this blogosphere world, turns out, is a helluva lot of work. There is all this etiquette about linking to other people's sites, including links, developing a lengthy blog list, reading other blogs, commenting back to your readers, and I am sure there are more, but I am only in Chapter 1. And it turns out I have been doing all that wrong already! The book mentions so many other blogs it made my head spin. In fact, about 50,000 new blogs are created each day. See, here, I am SUPPOSED to link that number to some other site that would back that statistic up, but who the fuck has time for that? (Technorati is a company that keeps track of that stuff.) I did get over to one "Mommy" blog that seems to be about Mommy blogs. And it had it's 2008 Top 50 Mommy Blogs List. I read through the whole thing and clicked on a few that sounded interesting. Thing I have to say it, I don't get it? I didn't find them remotely interesting. In fact, some bordered on downright annoying and kinda stupid. (One I did like was by a woman named Anissa whose daughter had cancer.) But overall, these were not women or mothers I could relate to at all. But since these were the big players, I immediately fell into figuring out how to change myself to be like them. How can I "copy" them to their huge success? Especially the commercially supercharged and highly bankable former Mormon turned serious potty mouth over at Dooce.com? (I do enjoy her bizarre blog, too.) Again, just scurrying away from the truth is I need to become a good, creative writer who is open, honest and markedly authentic. But that is when I run and hide. Fascinating to see this play out inside my mind. It will be interesting, at least to me, to see when I will actually allow myself to fall into my niche market and say what I really want to say to whomever it is that really wants to hear it! Instead, I am currently in the trying to please everyone that might be on some odd chance reading this silly thing. Also, what comes up is, how are these women doing all this? Are they some superhero archetypes of motherhood of which I am not in the same league? How do they have time to sit and read so many blogs? After reading some of the content, I think it could simply be we have such different parenting styles that they end up with a lot more free time on their hands. Either way, they ARE doing a tremendous amount of WORK on their blogs. Reading, researching, linking, communicating, supporting, nurturing, networking, thinking and, of course, writing. That aspect is very impressive. I am no technogeek. How I will manage to find the time to figure out how to do any portion of that is beyond me. Sure I have the mental capacity, but there is no desire to learn any of it. Computers and code language actually creep me out. Turns something fun into drudgery. And according to Donna and Bob Cooley's Meridian Flexibility system, my type isn't much into work anyway. Yet another challenge! But I gave it a try on this post just for fun. Like all those links? Learned about how to do it in the book. I may have to go back to enjoying this blog as my free therapy for now!! My future writing gig for the HuffingtonPost will just have to wait. Sorry. Now, back to the laundry at 1 am--my real day job.

Feelings, People Who Have Feelings...

2008-12-31T18:28:00.002-08:00

My mind has been in whirlwind of topics to write about all week. I just haven't had the inclination and the energy to sit at the desk and write. Pockets has been on an awful sleep schedule and not going down until 10 or so every night. Picking something right now is a bit of a challenge, so I will try to keep it light and simple. The others will just have to wait.

People always talk about how their children reflect back so much wisdom to them. How their children are helping them to learn and evolve as more conscious human beings. I feel like I have been basically missing the ride on that boat. However, recently, Pockets has been saying things to me that constantly make me pause and think. Perhaps this has been going on for a long time, but I was too closed off to hear it. The other day, while he lay on the floor, he looked up at me and out of the blue says, "Mom, do you ever cry?" Sounds simple enough. But for me, there was a lot of introspection required to answer this simple wondering he expressed. So many thoughts ran through my mind as to where and why and who and what and how? But, pulling it together quickly, I rattled off a quick and dishonest answer, "Of course, I cry, honey." To which he responds, "Why do you cry?" (Yikes, he's not gonna let me off the hook that easy...good for you, kiddo.) "Well, I cry if I get hurt and am in pain. I cry when I am sad. Oh, and I cry when I am happy. I tend to do that a lot." And it just continued, "Why do you cry when you're happy?" The difficulty in all this was the underlying lying I was doing because, in fact, I do not cry anymore. He was right to ask me that question. He has never seen it happen, so I imagine it is perplexing to a young child who pretty much cries real tears every single day at some point about something! Indeed, I made a conscious decision at a certain point that enough was enough. No more tears for me. I had cried enough rivers to end the drought in Georgia. Feeling isn't everything it is all cracked up to be, so I will now be numb. I did such a good job at literally drying up my tears that I have suffered with nasty and uncomfortable dry eye ever since; I really don't make tears anymore, and I suffer obvious physical discomfort because of it. Could it be any more obvious to me that this is not a winning strategy? But I persist. Yes I have created a wet eye here and there over the last 4 years, but tears have never actually rolled down my face. I am grateful Pockets is here to ask those obvious questions that contain deeper, hidden answers. I know he needs to see me cry and realize it normal and safe for me to do so. But inside, I still feel he should never see me weak or vulnerable or sickly or tired. It would be too much of a burden, and he should be allowed to be a child for as long as possible. I never want him to feel he needs to take care of his mother. Plus, I am just downright scared to feel that much emotion anymore. Afraid it will overwhelm me and swallow me up. I fully realize you cannot have the light without the shadow, and that light is just not worth it to me of I have to deal with that damn shadow! Interestingly enough, of course, my mother never cried. I saw it less than a handful of times in my entire life. Just another reflection back to me as to where I can continue to improve my character and the integrity of my soul. As it so happens, I have been making a conscious and concerted effort to return to my former state of emotional availability and vulnerability over the last several months. This time at a slow and steady pace versus my more customary fast and furious style. This is why I finally heard him when he spoke of it.

It is with the new year that I am grateful for the many people, especially Pockets, and lessons in my life that continue to further my development and growth. And with that gratitude, I pray I can propel myself towards those bigger and better movements to open up my complete Self once again. Perhaps to even stop punishing myself and let the tears bathe and massage my thirsty, wanting eyes.

I wish gratitude and prosperity and emotion to you all. (Ok, so I guess I don't do "light" very well?)

Let food be thy medicine

2008-12-25T16:45:00.000-08:00

"Until man duplicates a blade of grass, nature can laugh at his so-called scientific knowledge. Remedies from chemicals will never stand in favor compared with the products of nature, the living cell of the plant, the final result of the rays of the sun, the mother of all life."

---Thomas Edison

Just came across this quote yesterday and it made me stop to ask myself, "Why don't I ever write about the obvious--the thing that most people would expect me to talk about--the thing several of my friends have asked me to write about--the thing that has been the subject of many compassionate and passionate discussions with friends, family and patients: FOOD and nutrition and its effects on health, healing, wholeness, consciousness and spirituality?" There are probably a hundred reasons why I don't ever get into it. Perhaps I cannot take one more disappointment in my continued disillusionment and tested faith in the human spirit; or rather I am just not up for any more fights than already exist within my immediate family when it comes to destroying oneself and the planet by virtue of food choices; or maybe I am just tired of all that crap and it is entirely like W-O-R-K to me at this point. I feel like I could go on and on with why I am over trying to be a missionary or crusader constantly trying to convert those who don't give a damn to be converted! But I won't. Interestingly enough, I may have just seen the answer while writing this...missionary or crusader? Never realized I thought of myself like that before. No wonder it was always exhausting and unrewarding. Why after a day of helping people, I just felt more and more drained. Those two things scream violently all the way to becoming martyrdom and that just sucks for everyone involved. Sorry, if that didn't make a lot of sense or sound eloquent and on point, but I am not going to edit out that rather large insight into the games my unconscious has played to keep my ego so intact. Many reasons to not write about the totally expected, but I just may have to start here and there because the amount of misinformation and lack of basic education out there is not only frightening, it is also diabolical and even evil. People are being driven in mass to a critical point of no return in basic physical and mental health standards. When you also consider the never openly discussed emotional/spiritual and socioeconomic/political and now global conservation/preservation ramifications of poor food choices driven by misinformation and lies to the public, it is hard not to see the deceit driven by what we can only assume is profit.

I read an article back in June about carbon sequestration and its application in carbon farming. I have since read a little bit more. I am no expert on the matter, but I am certainly impressed. Many scientists have come out to explain in detail how these farming practices could completely reverse most of the global warming issues created by humans industrialization. And yet, it is completely under the radar and all we hear about are light bulbs and hybrids and rain barrels when it comes to the environment and our survival. Here is a link to a pretty enlightening article. I suggest you read it and more if you care about these things. It may be a bit hard to swallow for the vegetarians/vegans, but we need to keep an open mind and evolve. Remember that. Because no matter how hard we want it to be true, not eating meat is downright dangerous to many humans, and all the (poisonous) soy crops in the world will not heal the planet like carbon farming. If we are not evolving, we are not learning. If we are not learning, we cannot evolve. www.odemagazine.com/doc/54/down-and-dirty/

Cop or Santa?

2008-12-11T18:43:00.000-08:00

"Whether or not Adam and Eve had belly buttons is a question that also makes me wonder about Heaven and Hell. If someone declared that Adam and Eve each had no belly button or one belly button or two belly buttons, I couldn't argue with them. I also can't argue with the idea that Hell is considered a place of punishment and Heaven as a place of reward. But those concepts could make a guy think of God as either a policeman who tries to catch us when we make a mistake and send us to prison when our mistakes become too big...or a Santa Claus, who counts up all our good deeds and puts a reward in our stockings at the end of the year. These sort of 'belly button' questions usually make me remember that the world would be a better place if the supernatural was forgotten and we got our rewards and punishments from how real human beings treat each other in the here and now. It isn't the devil, Old Lucifer, who brings evil into the world: it is us."

----Edward Rimka in the most recent letter from a Michigan prison to his daughter Stephanie

The Original Sin

2008-12-05T16:21:00.000-08:00

I am a little behind in my 3-4 days of blogging per week. I suppose that pattern will have to continue over the holiday season because of all the stuff we all go through at this time of year. It is fun and exciting yet overwhelming and stressful, too. I was a bit too ambitious in my concepts for gifts again--they tend to be very time consuming "projects" that get in the way of the other stuff like researching American or European made toys to keep up my semi-boycott of Chinese imports. So they may not happen anywhere outside my imagination this year. But we'll see. Anyway, wanted to give a quick shout out. It has been a tough couple days. Some of you know, Pockets has been cleaning out his system since October. When in Detroit, my sister's dog licked his face profusely on the way to go apple picking. Didn't take long before he was congested, sneezing and hives covered his face and neck and part of his torso. He got a very large dose of antigens from all that saliva and his father got a very large dose of the reality that when I say something, like keep Pockets away from dogs because he had an anaphylactic reaction once and may be "allergic", I fucking mean it. So that congestion persisted mildly for the next 3 days and we flew home. I knew plane travel is not friendly to congestion, but it wasn't bad enough to warrant changing the flight. So, all was fine. So I thought. It has been difficult for him to drain it on his own, however. After his very first three days of preschool, when he came down with the high fevers and major nose and chest congestion, I was glad he was trying to work it all out. But, he got diagnosed with his first (double) ear infection. I took the antibiotic script and set it on my desk knowing I would not need it. I aggressively went after those ears with multiple avenues of natural approaches to restore his immune system. And it worked, sort of. The infection cleared but all that damn fluid remained! I was not happy. Off we went for 2 more weeks to really watch it, and I stepped up my game and did some new therapies on him as well to encourage those ears to drain. I kept him out of preschool the entire time as a precautionary measure to limit his antigen exposure. We went back to the pediatrician Wednesday expecting a full "clear" signal from the doc. Uh, what I got instead shocked me: both ears infected, again. Pretty bad, she says, a 7 out of 10. I felt devastated. I had to hold back tears. Luckily, Pockets is basically in no pain. He is part of the 30% of all ear infections are virtually asymptomatic. Still congested and coughing a bit, so I knew he wasn't 100%, but a secondary infection? Are you kidding me? I am almost all out of magic remedies. Well, it turns out, what this means is that he actually has a mucous plug ( from the initial allergic reaction, no doubt) blocking his Eustachian tube in his ear. This is making it difficult to drain the ear so it is very susceptible to re-occurring infections. (My local pediatrician doesn't know this, but of course I consulted with another holistic pediatrician for more information, and he explained it to me.) We HAVE to drain that ear. As she gave me second script for an antibiotic, my heart just sank. I wasn't sure what I was going to do. I knew I needed a day or two to research (cuz that is what I am just driven to do, good or bad) and sort it out after getting more information. Found out about and ordered new stuff to help with the mucous plug--let us pray it works--but in the meantime, I couldn't ignore that infection sitting there. Since it reasons that his body is not capable of releasing the fluid on its own yet, the likelihood of that infection sitting there for a long time is high. The probability for long term damage was too real for me. I succumbed to filling that script. I cannot describe how torn I am about it. But I have to side on reason and logic and my belief that as a last resort, drugs are acceptable--not good--but acceptable. I have to suck up my feelings of failure, inadequacy, lack of integrity and principles and do what I think is most prudent and safest for the short and long term health of my son. So he will not grow up to give some speech and say that he never has had an antibiotic in his entire life. That is a bragging right I took away from him. But, hopefully, I will get to the bottom of this and prevent it from happening again. This is a tough entry for me. When I consider who may read it and how they may judge me for this decision, my shame rises exponentially. It is because of that feeling, that I feel compelled to expose myself and "confess" my "sin". Hiding in shame never helps anyone towards forgiveness and self-acceptance. And that is the place I need to reside. I hope this reminds you of that. We are all just trying so hard to do our best. Sometimes, that is much easier to do than other times.

Back to civilization and the Internet

2008-12-01T18:21:00.000-08:00

Wow, it has been a full week since we last spoke. We scurried off to the beach near Charleston, SC for some fresh Atlantic Ocean air and time devoid of computers and the internet. Pockets had fun in the sand and my first attempt at cornbread stuffing went pretty well. It was a restful and thankful Thanksgiving. I sincerely wish you had the chance to experience the same. Now it is time for a hot bath and maybe a little reading before bed. Oh, speaking of reading...I read a book Thanksgiving night worth talking about. It was a novel. I never read those--perhaps I will tell you later all about why. But anyway, a friend, in fact a former patient too, who lives in Oregon sent it my way. Thank you, LADY! I looooved it. Hannah's Dream is about an elephant in a zoo and the people who love her and try to help her be safe and secure while they are dying off from old age. It was a fun and beautiful story. If you are looking for something a little different with some very odd characters, please give that one a try. Finally, good night and good dreams to you.

Guilt gets a bad rap

2008-11-24T19:09:00.000-08:00

In the current world of pop culture psychology, of which I am an active dues-paying card-carrying member, any and all efforts are used to avoid or acknowledge the dreaded "G" word: guilt. This drive to soothe and coddle the psyche comes from attempting to halt the useless overproduction of unreasonable guilt that many people use to berate themselves rather than transform themselves. Yes, it is unhealthy for a person to obsess about or maintain negative internal dialogue about themselves or a situation once it is over. But, to feel guilty about something is a good thing. It helps let you know that perhaps you should stop doing the behavior making you feel that way. If it was in your past, then the solution is to note the mistake and be wary of repeating it. I understand there are lots of reasons all the "feel good" psychology developed. After all, there is nothing positive that comes from the self abuse an exhausted and hard working mother puts herself through when struggling with the mistakes she makes in child-rearing. However, proper amounts of guilt are there for a reason. It is to help keep you working towards the good of yourself and the good of the whole. To keep you honest, ethical, moral and just. And to prevent you from slipping into an abyss of excuse-making laziness which keeps you stuck in a state of non-learning and non-evolution. The problem, to me, lies in the fact that there is an abundant lack of guilt being felt in today's civilization. I used to think that morality was an inborn and inherited trait gifted to everyone. Perhaps this came from my naivety or my strong, albeit irrational, desire to believe that all humans are good at heart and are born to behave as such. Today, I have a little different understanding of it. I think some people of certain personality types are born this way. I think this is the way I am. I always assumed everyone else had this privilege and their lack of better judgement was just a sure sign of their selfishness and inconsideration. But, that is not the case. Some people really need to be taught these lessons more than others. Yes, I needed to learn social etiquette and right and wrong as well, but not to the extent that I continue to see people struggle with basic respect and decency issues. I have much more compassion now that I understand how difficult it is for some of us to even discern right from wrong in the first place. The lack of morality and strong ethical fiber is so pervasive today, that a serious overhaul of world culture is needed. This rant all came from a small article I read today about pediatricians admitting to the parenting mistakes they make. Number one was, "I let my kids watch too much TV," followed by, "I let my kids eat too much junk food-not enough healthy food." Of course, they talked about their guilt and the article was attempting to be very, very gentle on these mothers and on all mothers. Gentle we should be to mothers. It is the most difficult and least respected job in the world. The author attempted to elevate medical doctors, pediatricians, to the highest standard of parenting to say, "Hey, nobody is perfect, so don't be so hard on yourself! Even these super-perfect know-everything doctor-parents can't be perfect all the time!" Nice sentiment. However, that still does not give us an excuse to not keep trying harder to be better for ourselves and for the community at large. Not to be better mothers for our children, but to be better human beings for all of humanity. To honestly do the best we can with what we have at that time. In that, there is a lot of room for forgiveness because it is inherently understood that perfection does not exist. These were well educated people who, thankfully, finally explained to me why the American Academy of Pediatrics cannot get their message out that no child under 2 years old should watch any TV medium: the individual doctors are too scared to bring it up because either they do not practice it themselves or they are afraid of offending or confronting patients. This Atlanta pediatrician finally said exactly that, and I thank her for her honesty and this insight. So if the super conservative Western medicine folks finally admitted that watching TV under the age of 2 is so dangerous to development that these children should NEVER do it, my guesstimate would naturally be to raise that number up a bit higher just to be on the safe side to at least 3 or 4 (that is assuming I don't know anything else about what it does to the development). But why doesn't anybody know this? And why do you still see videos being played in pediatrician's offices? Fear of feeling guilty. I feel guilt a lot. Perhaps more than is necessary. It is my excuse and a way to justify my poor choices and inappropriate behavior. I can allow those self generated feelings to trap me into victimhood, or I can forgive myself and allow the space for learning. It is an energy that I can use to move me or destroy me. I choose for it to move and transcend. I hope more will do the same.

Cranial work---duh!

2008-11-21T14:08:00.000-08:00

Sometimes solutions are right in my face, and I still don't see them. I talk to Naomi via phone or email as well as our blogs every single day right now. I know all about her therapy schedules and comings and goings with ballet class and Zumba. The other day at a cranio-sacral session for her son, she asked the practitioner a question for me regarding an essential oil. This kind woman told me just what I needed to know and emailed me even more info. Then I even replied to her that I should get a session with her when I come to Detroit for Christmas. The next day I spoke with my great friend here who is a very gifted healing therapist. She just finished helping John Barnes teach a week long myofascial release seminar here. She was driving to Savannah on her way to teach another course for him there. I told her about the seemingly sluggish immune system on Pockets. First thing she says? "Have you done any cranial work on him?" OMG! No I did NOT! I didn't even think of it while talking to Naomi while she was at a session in Kelly's office! I do not do cranio-sacral work specifically myself, but I am very proficient in what was perhaps my main structural technique called sacro-occipital technique (SOT)--which focuses a lot on the cranium. I have moved more than one cranial bone in my life. That I didn't think of it floored me! Funny how when we are in it, we don't see it. Thank goodness we all have people in our lives to reflect back to us what we may not see ourselves in the moment. Pockets went today to a wonderful multi-tooled acupuncturist, Cari, for some cranio-sacral work and lymph drainage. He did great and really enjoyed it--sooooo relaxed on her table. She is a real blessing and worked us in after she was finished working this afternoon. This is probably going to be the missing link to help him drain out the ears more efficiently. Thank you everyone for coordinating that message to me repeatedly until I heard it and setting up the perfect circumstances today!

And, yes, I painted the above painting for Pockets per his request for a red Jeep last year for Christmas. Just something different for you to see besides the back of Pocket's head!

Trying but falling down

2008-11-19T16:35:00.000-08:00

Tired and frustrated. Haven't worked out since Saturday. Body is just really working hard to stay above water. Sore throat, malaise, strong need for a nap every single day. Nothing is getting done around here. The last 2 weeks have consisted of exhausting days and nights taking care of Pockets. He was diagnosed with his first ear infection--bilaterally! 30 percent of all pediatric ear infections are asymptomatic, like his. But then after 3 days of preschool, his body aggressively has been dealing with this with fevers and lots of mucous drainage everywhere. We went back today to a new pediatrician, (so much happier with this office and location), to make sure the ears were clear. They are not! There is no sign of infection, but they are still filled with lots of fluid. So, we both are functioning beneath our potential, and I am just pissed off that his body is this susceptible to something. I work very hard to provide him with the proper building materials for a very strong and precise immune system. I feel like a failure for missing something. He should be healing faster than this. I shudder to think what would be happening if this kid ate like most Americans on white this and processed that and sugar and high fructose corn syrup and MSG and on an on. Yet, his detox and immune response isn't what it should be. It always brings me to a place of guilt over how rough his gestation was for him. Pregnancy was, without a doubt, the worst time of my life. The emotions and thoughts and experiences Pockets had first hand experience with were not the things I would ever wish upon a developing child. The circumstances were bad and I did the best I could. I do know that. However, the result is still the same. He still lived in extreme fear wondering if we were going to live or die, what would happen if we did live, if he died, if his mother died...in extreme pain and sickness and dis-ease...afraid of finances, the world, the future. All my background forces me to look at emotions and energy systems and the effect they have on the physical world. But my scientific understanding of physiology alone confirms to me that the stress he experienced in utero was real and experienced chemically via hormones and neurotransmitters. All I can do is look forward and deal with it from this point on. But when I see his inappropriate ways to deal with anxiety or strong fear or insecurity about being separated from me or this slow healing process, I feel like a complete asshole for doing this to him.

Pocket's first theater experience

2008-11-16T17:21:00.000-08:00

Pockets went to his first play today! We went to see an adaptation of the children's classic "Goodnight Moon" at the Alliance Theater. It was a full hour of a magical first theater experience that we all enjoyed. Hearing all the kids laughing together at the silliness on stage was priceless. I kept watching Pocket's face constantly to gauge how he liked it. As usual, he had his intense and inquisitive gaze fixed upon that stage. Not a lot of random silliness evoked from him. He studied--like always. He did occasionally ask questions and smile and point things out like, "Look at that moon talking!" He clearly didn't miss a thing on that very busy stage. It was a real quality production from a real theater group. As I looked on at him, a few times I almost cried. I can get so emotional at times like that--times when I watch others experience growth or transformation or development. This real life experience full of rich, healthy visual and complete harmonic auditory stimuli in a large community of his peers, was just as significant as assisting others in deep psychological breakthroughs during seminars. Sound like a stretch? Think about it, though. When I looked around the theater, I couldn't help but reflect on that this used to be the natural state of affairs. People went to live productions created from and performed live by the imaginations of people as their main source of theatrical entertainment. It reminded me of Johnny Depp's film "Finding Neverland." The idea of him bringing in the children to see his brilliant Peter Pan play because he knew they would infuse the life and frivolity he was looking for. And that is what I kept thinking of. In essence, I am trying to raise Pockets in an "Old School" fashion in a a very high-tech world. Going to plays, hearing live music performed, gathering with people for entertainment is the way I want to do it. Doing this today just proved to me more and more it is the only way to go. He LOVED it. He asked when we were leaving if we were going to see another play. He wanted to go now! I told him we are going to see Madeline in December. He held the little flier for that play in his hand during the entire run of "Goodnight Moon" and said he wanted to see "Madeline" now, not go home! Unfortunately, this was the final show in a short run for the production, so we can't see it again.

Why, though, is this such a big deal to me? A large part of it is because I want this type of entertainment, versus television or movies, to be the mainstay for Pockets. People often want to know why. There are too many reasons to write about it one short blog here and there. There are entire books written on the subject. Google Jane Healy or Carla Hannaford to just get started. But, since I get asked so much, here is a quick and very brief synopsis of what happens to the body PHYSIOLOGICALLY while watching TV. This doesn't cover neurology specifically, but a general whole body response.

Sudden light changes in the environment signal danger to our brain. This is similar to the light change that occurs if a predator sneaks up on you. TV programmers and advertisers know this, and to keep people watching they design lots of light changes to alert the brain to danger to keep it attentive. This stress activates the hypothalamus in the brain. The hypothalamus triggers the pituitary gland to release adrenocorticotrophic hormones through the blood to the adrenal glands. The adrenal glands release adrenalin and cortisol to the entire body. The hypothalamus activates the sympathetic nervous system (Fight or Flight) which tells the adrenal glands to release more cortisol and adrenalin, slows digestion, increases heart rate, makes breathing shallow and fast, raises blood pressure, shunts blood flow from the brain and vital organs to large muscles in arms and legs, contracts muscles in arms and legs in preparation to fight or run, dilates the eyes, and contracts lateral eye muscles to look laterally for potential danger (causing muscle fatigue and imbalance and eventual myopia).

This is a classic stress response designed to keep us alive. But if prolonged, it has drastic, dangerous and deadly effects. The body interprets the television as a serious threat, something worth either running from or kicking in...yet, we don't. By just continuing to sit there, the body is left in a chronic stressed state full of undesirable chemicals and poor physiological function. The body attempts to block out the stimuli by becoming frozen or vegetative. Eventually, the body can get used to that level of stimulation and then expects increased stimulation, hence the true addictive quality of the medium with its onslaught of unnatural and dangerous stimuli.

And that is only the beginning. But enough for today. Food for thought.

The Power of Prozac

2008-11-13T18:29:00.000-08:00

I am so over this pharmaceutical crazed drug culture mired in its laziness to search for the corrective causes of dis-ease and its greedy thirst for profits at all costs. In case you couldn't tell, I am angry. My nephew is 11 years old and autistic. My sister, who is a saint and has the patience of Jobe, handles this situation with grace, dignity, perseverance and a continual sense of optimism. Better than I EVER could. She sees her son as a great gift and blessing to her life. She rarely recognizes the difficulty, struggle, strain and emotional duress caring for his needs causes her. The only thing she usually notices as a struggle is the exorbitant financial cost to try various modalities to help him recover from this neurological damage he suffers with everyday. Well, today, she spent 4 hours in a large group pow-pow with all his school social workers, teachers and psychologists for his first ever meeting with a psychiatrist. The outcome: put this stressed out, anxiety riddled sweet and funny 11 year old child (who acts and thinks of himself more like a preschooler still) on a SSRI drug like Prozac or Zoloft. "It's perfectly safe for children," the psychiatrist tells my sister. Thankfully my big sis has a brain, me and other resources to help her try to navigate this very confusing time. Yes, my nephew has had a rough 2 years. Yes, his anger is escalating. Yes, he is shutting down and withdrawing more. And, yes, he is about to hit puberty so his body has been changing. So the answer to address his low dopamine and low serotonin levels? A DRUG, of course! A drug which doesn't correct anything, just simply changes body function and symptoms. I am so over the brainwashing that has gone on. Society now thinks of Prozac and all other antidepressants as if they were fucking Tylenol-which by the way, acetaminophen KILLS over 100,000 people per year when used as directed--but lets just keep pushing Prozac on children. Sure, it would "help" really fast--like 30 days. He would be "calm" and "less" stressed. But what is missing here is the question, "Why isn't he making enough of these neurotransmitters on his own? What can we do to find out? How can we balance the mind-body system into a natural state of chemical balance?" It is only then that his true behavior abnormalities will surface, if he really even has any. So for now, I made sure to let my sister know how dangerous those class of drugs are--especially for children. And that she would be looking at a life long sentence of these drugs. But how long would that life end up being? These drug hooked children are very prone to violent and suicidal behavior especially once they hit their late twenties. It is all scary. And of course, her entire team of teachers are like, "You are going to put him on it, right?" She has research to do, consultations to make, thinking to do...but my answer to her is a clear FUCK NO. Not today. If someday this person will have to be drugged up to barely function in this world, let it be at least when he has finished puberty! Like I told her at first jokingly, but now I am rather serious, if she can't get better results with his emotional body after trying some new and more aggressive therapies in perhaps 1-3 years, medical marijuana did just pass in Michigan (where they live). And good clean medical weed is 100 times safer and more natural than that poisonous lab invented shit. And, I am pretty sure he would enjoy his daily gluten-free, dairy-free, egg-free, rice-free but fully loaded hashish brownie a whole lot more than a pill while he chilled out!

The lost art of napping

2008-11-12T14:16:00.000-08:00

I just woke up from a glorious nap! Napping is one of the incredible luxuries that becomes a physical necessity for Mommies of small children. It is something only practiced when one has mono or the flu, under normal life circumstances. But as soon as they sliced my pelvis open and yanked out screaming Pockets, napping became elevated into the realm of the gods; it was no longer a sign of weakness or disease or old age. It is one of the most exciting things in my life, and it keeps me alive. Pockets doesn't really nap anymore, so most opportunities for a mid-afternoon snooze are gone. I am currently victim to a rise in the bitch-o-meter because of it. But, Pockets has been napping all week because of this infection, and today I took full advantage of it. He is still napping and will actually still go to bed at a reasonable time as he recovers. It is the one silver lining for me of his discomfort and unease--he sleeps more. Not only did I get to rest, heal and regenerate in that splendid power nap, I get to practice my self expression by writing. A good day so far. This morning I stretched with Donna, http://www.meridianstretching.com/ , and it was particularly powerful. Not on a physical level, but more on the emotional side. I can't quite put my finger on the significance of it yet, but I do know we created a profound shift in my way of being. Hence, the deep need and easy ability to graciously go into my unconscious while sleeping and work it out even further. And if I am lucky, Peter may be home in time for me to go to an evening kickboxing class before giving Pockets a bath and reading him off to sleep. A good day. Take more naps if you can. The laundry can wait. The dust won't kill you.

What does Obama really mean?

2008-11-08T17:14:00.000-08:00

I said I would write about Obama, so I will. It seems too far after the fact, but I am going to go out on a limb and say what I really think about this whole election. Ok, maybe not everything that I really think, but enough to give you a clue as to what I am thinking. I am a Democrat. Voted as such since I was 18 years old. Consider myself a very liberal feminist with some definite traditional or conservative opinions at times. (An often confusing mix of stands like pro gay marriage, pro women's reproductive rights, pro peace and minimal military intervention, anti affirmative action--I think it's best time is now passed, pro union, pro strict gun control, pro immigration reform, pro secure border, anti religion, pro strong separation of church and state, pro ACLU but leave the folks who want their Christmas displays alone, and like what is the big deal with us having a national language? It is rather stupid that we don't. And, of course, that language is English. It isn't racist or anti-immigrant to say so. You go to China and they clearly speak Chinese. It is their National language. Duh.) Others may even classify me better as a Democratic Socialist...not sure myself but, yes, I do favor nationalized health care, free college education, legalized drugs, obligation for service to the country, could care less about how much taxes I pay if it means free quality health care for all, free quality education including college for all (or at least your brightest and best), inspiration for well trained Americans to give back to their communities in service and entrepreneurial opportunities fostered by the freedom and creativity that come from an open mind not straddled with insurmountable mounds of debt, hopelessness and despair. Just a brief primer on what is important to me. Everything Barack has said so far, I pretty much agree with. Yet, this was the most difficult election of my life even before I stepped into the voting booth. A real sense of nausea overcame my body when looking at the ticket. I am open to the idea that someday I may need to vote Republican even though I fundamentally disagree with a lot of the policies and general life views of the party. I was a BIG fan of Ron Paul during the race. I don't agree with lots of his social/emotional opinions, but I did TRUST him and thought to myself, "Man, this guy, this politician is actually not lying. He is telling the truth no matter how unpopular it is. And, damn, he is right on all accounts when it comes to economics." I hope the Republican Party starts to listen to him versus shunning him as of late. I also love Dennis Kucinich. He will never get elected but he has an interesting combination of balls and brains in that petite nerdy frame. If I could have wrote in a Kucinich/Paul ticket, I would have felt very good last Tuesday even knowing that my vote in essence wouldn't count. But, I didn't. I went to vote knowing that I could never vote for John McCain and the even worse Sarah Palin. McCain has lots of issues but picking Palin just showed us how retarded he really is. I don't agree with a single policy concept coming out of that symbol of the right wing segment of the population who seem to hate and discriminate as way of life. So why am I not just amped and excited to vote for the Democrat? I like everything he says, right? But here is the thing, I haven't been able to believe a word out this guy's mouth since day one...I simply do not TRUST him. It seems so obvious to me that he is a liar at least on some very significant levels. And then add to it the cult like feverish mobs that follow him so blindly without any real understanding of the issues or his actual track record, then I am scared shitless. After all, he didn't actually write a single piece of legislation as a Senator even though everyone thinks he did. What the hell was he doing? Oh yeah, writing 2 personal books and pimping himself out to become President. It is all too Manchurian candidate for me. So Tuesday was hard. I selected Obama and stared long and hard on my screen, thinking to myself, "I can't believe I am voting for someone that churns my gut up. But I have no other choice." Now, I am deeply hoping I am DEAD wrong. If Obama is the real deal, perhaps it is just my cynicism that is so LOUD and making me so distrustful, or my resentment over how Hillary was blindsided and taken down in rather inappropriate Clinton-legacy bashing ways and that no one is willing to talk on a national level about the pervasive and painful misogyny still dictating rule in this country. But if he is the deal, he will probably be our best president to date. He has the opportunity to rise to levels even beyond FDR (my current fave pres followed by ole slick Willie himself) because of the circumstances of the economy and world affairs. What I can say is, I was deeply moved by the movement his candidacy has inspired. Watching 63 million voters, waiting for hours to speak loudly, to show the world that we give a damn that our lives were hijacked by W for the last 8 years, was incredible to see. I waited in line for 1.5 hours. It was so interesting. Neighbors knew each other. Everyone was talking about the election or work or their kids in school. It was a sense of community rather foreign to me... it gave me that sense of, "Oh, this is how it USED to be. When people spent time with people. Not Blackberries and emails and voicemails and the like. When communities got together and talked in real time---not blogging all alone in a dark corner office of their isolated homes. It was really beautiful. It gave me hope. And I am glad the country has hope. Perhaps that hope and this man can inspire the type if real change of putting others first and taking care of the whole for the good of everyone and everything that can lead to better lives for all of us. The fact that the collective consciousness has something to focus on that makes it proud, happy, and excited about a new dawn is in itself an esoteric orgasm for someone like me. So it is there that I will now focus. And, of course, the historic and sociological implications for race relations and the impact on how young people in the African-American communities may start to view themselves and what is possible for their lives if they work hard and apply themselves, is nothing less than astounding and a healing miracle. I pray for Obama and Biden and wish them luck in doing the right things at the right time for the right reasons. There is so much to do and perhaps only a bit can get accomplished in this first term. Like they used to say on the X Files, "I want to Believe." And it is with that that I will. Yes we can is one good slogan. All positives. If everyone says that to themselves everyday, perhaps we can.

(But if our dollar is gone in 6 months and replaced by the Amero as part of the new North American Union which merges Canada and Mexico with the USA, don't say I didn't warn you that something is way too fishy about this oh too perfect candidacy that everyone in the world wanted to see happen!)

And so my conspiracy theory rant officially ends. I wish for hope for us all.

Cough settles in and life halts

2008-11-08T15:43:00.000-08:00

Anyone who has been a primary caregiver for a child (i.e., a parent or more specifically a Mom), knows from experience that time stands still when one is in a healing crisis (or as most would say, "sick"). Only 2 blog entries this week are a testament of how that works. Pockets is dealing with a tough cough, lots of mucous out of his nose, fever, and fatigue. He is handling the ear lavender oil drops, vitamin C juice, quercitin, allerase, mucostop, eucalytpus oil rubs, thieves oil rubs, enzymes, and probiotics with grace and ease...sort of! After getting up 6 times with him last night, I, on the other hand, was on the verge of a catastrophic deconstruction of my nervous system. Or as my Momma would say, "You are getting on my last nerve!" I know what she meant. My fragile nervous system was shaking trying to make the decision to go to the gym or sleep. Knowing both were necessary and healing in their own rights, I knew deep down, listening to my quivering mental state that I needed to sleep more. The fat on my gut would have one more day to triumphantly lay stake in its present luxurious home. After talking with my good friend Naomi about being a Mom--how exhausting, stressful, and never ending it was--I fell asleep. It was the only thing I could do because what if I had to be up 6 more times tonight? I can't fall apart on Pockets, so I must take care of myself to take care of him...not to take care of myself like I want, because that would have meant going to the gym and THEN taking a nap. But, alas, Mommies don't get such long breaks in the day. All in all, I am very grateful he is healthy and happy. Considering what my dear friend is going through with her son, a special needs child, I have it very easy. Naomi just spent the last couple of days at the Children's Hospital in Detroit. And is considering a trip to China this summer for stem cell injection looking for a rejuvenative miracle. (Yes, I think I made that word up.) I don't have those same worries and yet I still worry every night if he is going to wake up. Every day if he will get severely injured. It is a newly acquired sense of never feeling completely relaxed again. Never. Not since the moment I found out I was pregnant. That is a long time to have an underlying sense that you care about someone so much that their pain or suffering or death could devastate your entire world. It kinda sucks. I get amazed that my sister and 2 brothers have made it this far when I look around at the world and see some of the headlines. A bit of a downer, perhaps, but Naomi and I cannot be the only women out there who struggle with this. Women who long for a few days break to be single and carefree again without any cost or expense to our loved ones. Women exhausted of the endless demands of small children with no fulfillment of our own personal needs. My friend is just now seeing that she needs to grieve her "old" self. That woman did die. I have known it for too long. Been grieving well past my time. So we are both trying to re-invent ourselves. Sometimes looking to the past to reclaim our former lives, sometimes to the future to create something new, and of course forced to live in our present of, "Really? Are you kidding me? How the fuck did this happen?"

Much love to my parent friends out there and my own Mom. It is a tough job.

Lost without my wireless!

2008-11-06T09:44:00.001-08:00

It has been four days since my last confession...
My internet is down! The biggest election in my lifetime and perhaps our history, and I haven't been able to say a word. Only have a few moments, on someone else's computer. Want to write about it all so badly, but that is all anyone is talking about. So, on a simpler note, it only took 3 days at preschool and now Pockets is home with a fever and, for the first time in his life, chest congestion. I was up 3 times last night comforting him and finally slept on his bedroom floor to be closer. Home all day, no gym, no real writing, no errands completed. The house is a wreck. The "Mommy" thing is so last year. If I have to cook one more meal, I am going to go postal. The hormones that used to surge through me and elicit relaxation, peace, calm and tranquility have dried up just like my boobs now that we are finally finished nursing.
The election? Very interesting. Finally we can travel again without having to say we are Canadian. (Sorry, can't upload any pictures either!)
I'll be back on Obama. You will probably be surprised with what I have to say.

Staying home all day Sunday

2008-11-02T18:01:00.000-08:00

Sunday night and ready to veg out in front of "Brothers and Sisters" before bed. Today was a better day. Just playing at home and packing up Halloween decorations. Snuck in a much needed morning nap while the boys went for a walk that seemed to refill my patience tank as well as help heal up the painful groin injury I aggravated this week with my intensity on the bag (kickboxing). Looking back at yesterday, I gave myself more of a break because most people with minimal food and a painful crotch would be a little, well, crotchety. Update on Halloween for those who didn't call, we went to the neighborhood parade where the kids all dress up and the local fire engine came. Pockets went inside the truck and had a great time seeing all the scary costumes. We walked down the street--he kept asking, "Where is the parade?" And I'm like, "This IS the parade," but he was expecting marching bands. Nonetheless, he had fun and didn't have to have an ounce of candy to accomplish that task. We drove over to Bob and Virginia's at 6:30 because they get hundreds of kids and their Druid Hills hood is decorated so well. But, Pockets fell asleep on the way! So we said hello and headed home. All in all, a good Halloween. Another year down and I didn't have to deal with the poisonous sugar candy conversation. And he was so cute as a construction worker/carpenter/developer or as most folks referred to him, Builder Bob. Yeah!

Patience Missing

2008-11-01T19:33:00.000-07:00

As the rules of life dictate, as soon as I opened my big fat mouth to gloat about how incredibly patient I am, the patience escaped upon exhalation and any small molecules left seeped out of my pores in my sleep. Today was my lesson in patience. I did not learn much either-yet. Not sure how it happens, but occasionally, I am ready to have a nervous breakdown because functioning on "3 year-old time" sucks. It drove me crazy today. Pockets wasn't particularly "bad," just that slow, poky, whiny, clingy, needy, why? why? why? stuff that he can do. It was a full day for this household. Saturday morning soccer--3 year old Kiddie Kickers for the YMCA. It is still a struggle just to get out of the house to be anywhere at a certain time. Just getting on the uniform turns into a battle. Frustrating to always be late when I take that very seriously as a rude defect in one's character. I just can't seem to manage well with a tiny one in tow. At soccer, he was back to a "mood" and participated for maybe 3 minutes out of 60. That's always fun for all involved. Not real sure if the team sports are going to be his thing. Thinking swimming or gymnastics or archery might be more in his comfort zone! Anyway, then off to scramble for a birthday present to make it to a party at 2. Ended up 20 minutes late for that, as well. He screamed and grabbed at the car seat saying he didn't want to get out. I was over it. But I'll be damned if I rushed around all morning to that miserable soccer experience and then the worse Target excursion and all the way to the Karate Dojo to not go in and at least give our present to the fantastic 5 year old Matthew. Literally had to pry his hands off the straps and yank him out screaming. Done. Just over it. Wanted a break. One hour. Quiet. Eyes shut. Horizontal. Preferably on a bed. I actually uttered a yell at him. Only happened once before. Wanted to scream, "SHUT UP already!" But I didn't. Pushed it all down a little further. By the time I walked to the door, he was all cleared up and happy about being there. He had a glorious time. It was a fun experience for us both. But it was only 3:30 by the time we left. Went to Whole Foods and then I was really done. He was fine but my nerves were beyond shot. How could it all just evaporate like that? And why isn't my body making any patience right now? (Perhaps because I only had half a sandwich all day--Pockets ate the other half.) Starving and exhausted, we made our way home and all I could think about was when is he going to bed tonight? How early can I get away with running the bath and saying goodnight? Patience. Not sure where to find it, but my closest scientific guess is that ice cream helps to facilitate its production. So after he went to sleep, I enjoyed 2 servings and then topped it off with an Epsom salt bath. The things that rock my world now. Sorry for the poor patience behavior today, Monkey. I love you. Tomorrow will be better.

Health insurance is a bullshit scam invented in Vegas

2008-10-30T17:59:00.000-07:00

A little over a year ago, lymph nodes in my neck became suspiciously swollen. Two physicians in Michigan disagreed on how to handle it. One wanted a biopsy and the other wanted the entire chain removed because biopsies miss certain cancers too often. I was moving back to GA less than a week after seeing them. So I had to continue the medical discovery in Georgia. (I only went to see an MD because I knew enough that my differential diagnosis wasn't going to be good, my insurance coverage under COBRA expired in a month, and now I had Pockets to worry about.) Saw two great physicians in Atlanta and they removed cancers out of the equation via better questions and a small biopsy on a head laceration that wouldn't heal. Turns out, my body was just doing the best it could do on 1-4 hours of sleep per day for the past 20 months. It wasn't until Pockets was 20 months old--yes, that is almost 2 years--that he slept through the night. Exhaustion was taking its toll. Through all the testing and discovery to avoid surgery, my GP ordered every test under the sun. One test, unrelated to the lymph nodes, came back positive. This one test has put me on an insurance coverage roller coaster ever since. It is a positive ANA or antinuclear antibody. It is a generic test that is used to help diagnose autoimmune disease, some cancers, lung disease, and is most commonly associated with arthritic conditions like Lupus, Sjrogen's, scleroderma, rheumatoid arthritis, and Felty's syndrome. So I was sent off to a Rheumatologist. We did more testing and he said I was perfectly fine and ruled all these things out. I know enough to listen to a howling siren when I see it, therefore I still approached this like a fundamental imbalance in my body. I proceeded to focus on regaining my health via the ways I knew most. But medically, I was cleared after about 6-8K dollars worth of testing. Yes, that's thousands of dollars of blood work. Not fancy MRI's. Just labs. I was applying for a single policy coverage at the time, and Blue Cross DENIED me because of the positive ANA. I wrote a nice little letter full of research proving I was a false positive. The Rheumatologist wrote a letter for me as well. Didn't work on appeal. Then we tried Humana. My insurance agent hounded them. Denied again and cited specifically from this test and the fact that I stated I was "fatigued and achy." Fuck yeah..did you not hear that I haven't slept all night for almost 2 years and I carry around a baby all fucking day? But alas, they didn't hear me. So, Blue Cross legally HAD to cover me if I chose the extended coverage directly coming off COBRA. So I did it. And I have watched my premiums over the last year keep rising indiscriminately from $250 a month to $600 to $700 to the current $797 per month without optical, chiropractic or maternity. And nobody will give me a single policy. My choices have been to keep getting it up the arse, get a J-O-B at a company of at least 70 people to get on a group policy (not the best option because my particular doctorate doesn't lend itself to that type of employment--I would be stuck with, "Welcome to Starbucks."), reverse the ANA and make it go away, or let the insurance go. So far, I just use a lot of KY. Well, yesterday, that may have all changed. We had to re-do all my labs and I said to throw in the ANA just to see where it is. I thought it would probably go up because of the stress load of all the exercise. What happened? It came back NEGATIVE! Shocked and delighted, I look forward to fighting these assholes again to get insurance at a reasonable rate. It has just been so frustrating. To think that if I never went in and told the truth about how I really felt, none of this would have happened. The test never would have been run, and they couldn't have been screwing me over for the past year. It just goes to show there is no incentive for people to take responsibility for their health in the current medical paradigm. As soon as anything shows up, you have a pre-existing condition. So let's just wait until it is full blown pathology and severe treatment like surgery or chemotherapy is needed. How did we let the culture become so morally bankrupt that it is completely acceptable that health care is based solely on profit and sick people, the ones who need treatment, can't get the insurance they need to get the treatment? Of course, Michael Moore did a BRILLIANT job on this topic in his hysterical and moving film, Sicko. It is a must see. So I don't want to ramble about the unethical practices that this country seems to think is the only way to avoid becoming Socialist...(and why is something like Democratic Socialism so bad, anyway? Have you seen Sweden? What is so wrong with gorgeous healthy people being allowed to a free education, free health care and the freedom of choice and movement that comes from being virtually debt free?) The way we do it here is not only immoral, it should be criminal. One of my greatest wishes is for people to learn more for themselves, take responsibility for their health, and have the opportunity to use all forms of healing modalities without causing financial distress. Maybe someday we can get as smart as France or Canada. Until then, I will stick with the acupuncture, adjustments, supplements, anti-inflammatory diet, exercise, cranial release, resistance stretching, sleep, a great team of brilliant people who remember to look at the mind-body system as such, and whatever else seemed to help my body start to turn things around. Wish me luck on getting a new policy!

Serendipity Brings Back Hope

2008-10-28T18:24:00.000-07:00

My life has been taken over by a series of serendipitous events over the last 3 months. It all started with an article in The New York Times Sunday Magazine. It was a preview article of an Olympic hopeful. The photograph of a perfectly sculpted athletic body of a woman in a plain black string bikini was stunning in its simplicity, subtlety, complexity and power. After reading the article about some swimmer I never heard of before, I was hooked. This woman was 42 years old and a mother of a 2 year old daughter. And she was going back to her 5th Olympic Games. Unreal. I was so inspired, I joined a gym the next week. And, yes, I still go routinely. My abs don't look anything like those on Dara Torres, but I remain hopeful that over time, I will regain the type of power and strength that shouted at me from that photograph. So, like thousands of other women, I followed Ms. Torres' progress during the Olympics. I watched YouTube videos to see what she did to maintain that level of mastery. I discovered some of her nutritional and training secrets. (Yes, I bought and take Living Fuel and AM Sport Amino Acids now! Don't laugh at me too loudly.) As far as training, it isn't my job to workout. It is her career so she does it several hours per day. That isn't going to happen here, so I need to maximize my time and be selective. She has utilized a specific training protocol in addition to her swimming training that she has credited with her success since her first comeback in the 2000 Olympics. It is Resistance Stretching or Meridian Flexibility. She spoke very highly about a man named Bob Cooley and what he did for her--changed her physically and even more so, psychologically. On that note, I was hooked. So I looked him up. He is the inventor of the technique. His book, The Genius Of Flexibility, is an informative, enjoyable, easy read. It will change everything you thought about stretching. I always hated stretching. It was painful and pointless. So I hated everything that involved stretching, like yoga. That shit just hurt my body so much! Finding a certified resistance trainer in Atlanta was my goal. I figured it would be expensive as hell so I could only get a few sessions to get me on track. On the official website, Mr. Cooley ranks the trainers. The highest is a Level 5 of 5. There were less than 10 names on that list including his. Luckily, one of these Masters was in Atlanta. When I saw the name at 1:30 in the morning as I was surfing the web on my Ipod in bed, I almost pissed on myself and wanted to scream out loud as a huge smile spread across my face. Donna-fucking-Riley! Are you kidding me? Not only is there only one Master here, I happen to not only KNOW her, I know her intimately and really like her. I somehow knew at that moment she was perfect for me. I had no real understanding why, but it was an inner certainty that I could never have picked someone more perfect if the choice had been up to me. Within 3 days we talked on the phone and she told me all about meeting Bob Cooley 3 years ago and how it changed her life completely without me first prompting the subject. In less than a week, Donna worked on me for 2 hours as a beautiful gracious gift, perhaps as a thank you for what gifts I had given her in the past. Needless to say, she is incredibly gifted and works within an amazing system. That combination is as close to a guarantee of success one can find. It is helping to change everything in my life at a pace that is slow and gentle and fast and furious all at the same time. It wasn't more than one month into that, as the stars lined up, Donna arranged to have Bob Cooley in my house stretching me personally with a team of 3 others--for free. What the fuck? That I created this type of opportunity and experience again at this point in my life was mind-blowing enough, but to just drink in that time with him and the coaching and stretching was surreal and unexpected. But very serendipitous. I still wish I could stretch 5 days a week like Dara. Maybe someday when I have the millions. But for now, I will just keep doing my part to stretch myself in all areas of my life. In fact, I have to give them credit for this blog. I have been told starting with my inner voice as a child as well as countless therapists and psychics and intuits and empaths, that I am supposed to write. As if it were a basic life requirement of some sorts. Bob was no different. He said it to me before we stretched and while we stretched. How important it was for me to tell people what I think. And my writing is important. I need to start getting it down in writing. Tell somebody what I am thinking--not feeling--but thinking. This what a much different take than all the other therapies---not what I am feeling? Thinking? What's the difference? More on that later, before I digress further. The thing is, the physical stretching makes all the emotional, mental, and psychological stretching easier and actually possible. It is a gorgeous system that I crave to understand deeper. It could help so many people. Look into it. Buy the book. Find someone to stretch you. You will NOT believe how you will feel and look immediately. It is also perhaps the best rehab tool I have encountered in years. So thank you to anyone and everyone that is listening! Thank YOU! Thank you for bringing this gift into my life. I finally found hope again. It has been so long. This gave me a "knowing" that I would be whole again. No matter how long it takes. Thank you. Thank you Donna. Thank you Bob. Thank you Cordie and Travis. Thank you collective consciousness vibrational energetic stream of the universe!

Funny things Pockets says

2008-10-25T18:03:00.000-07:00

I really don't want this to end up some "Mommy" blog because I want to be known for something else or maybe more someday. However, it is what I have spent almost all my time doing for the last few years, so I might as well talk about some of it, right?

Pockets says some very interesting things to me. They usually make me pause and then laugh. Maybe you will, too.

**While walking down the stairs one morning, he bust out in song, "Krishna Hare poop in your pants...Krish-AH-na Ha-re poop in your pants!" Looping his brilliantly oppositional lyric around itself over and over again. Laughing at himself all the while. Loooove it! He's 3 and sings about Hare Krishna. The pooping in your pants part is totally to be expected. He loves to listen to Hare Krishna chanting from Krishna Das. Check it out...good beats.

**Yesterday he asked me, "I want to get adjustment, OK?" He then proceeded to climb onto my table in the living room. As I checked his legs, I felt something in his cargo pants pocket.

"What's this?" I asked.

"My billfold." (translation to young people: wallet)

"Your billfold?! Where did you get that?"

"Daddy gave it to me. Uncle Dougie gave it to Daddy and then Daddy gave it to me."

"Oh, I see. So do you have any money in your billfold?"

"Yeah. I have money dollars to buy water. Wanna see?"

Sure enough, he had a dollar bill and Uncle Doug's business card in his black leather wallet. I was stunned at how old he was for the first time in his life. It really made me pause. He is carrying a wallet with money in it? OMG! He is growing up and away from me. That was the first time that the last few years felt like they went by "fast." And then it's just funny to me that he is 3 with a billfold--and he calls it a billfold for god's sake. He kept it on him all day today, too. Sooo clearly see the influence of time spent with his father. And that is a good thing.

**As of Tuesday morning, Pockets now wears underwear. He pissed up everything all day that day. Never once sitting on that potty. (We have 3 and a toddler urinal). I asked him if it felt uncomfortable to keep peeing in his clothes instead of just using the potty. "No, it's not uncomfortable. I don't want to sit on the potty! When it snows, and I get older and real much bigger, THEN I will sit on the potty." Needless to say, by Thursday, he wore the same organic undies all day! He hasn't had one accident yet! This potty training thing has been my biggest parenting nemesis so far. I was so psyched out and concerned about damaging him emotionally, it just paralyzed me. So he stayed in diapers longer than he needed to for sure, but this was finally pretty painless for us both. Now we just have to conquer the next phase, a public restroom or even a big toilet at a friend's house. He hasn't done that yet. He can manage to "hold it" really long just like me when I was as a kid.

**All day long, he declares various "facts" such as, "This is a posher-meter. It tells you how to put the dirt in the tractor. Posher-meter. See? Yeah, that's it." To which I occasionally will respond, "Really? And where did you learn that?" The typical answer: "Aunt Jo and Uncle Mike!" (They live in Wisconsin so he doesn't see them frequently. I think it is so interesting that he brings them up for stuff like this so much though.)

Funny to me, anyway.

Sore muscles lead to tight abs!

2008-10-23T09:33:00.001-07:00

Thank the gods for the gym! I finally returned to my favorite gym perhaps of all time. I joined on July 12. And it was perhaps the best decision I made for myself in nearly a decade. Not kidding. X3 Sports is all kickboxing, boxing, muay thai, mixed martial arts, Brazilian jujitsu and running/track/plyometric classes. It is incredibly fun and outrageously hard. I am on a mission to transform my physical body into a fluid, strong, biomechanically balanced, flexible and adaptable force of nature. Ok, I might be overshooting it again, but Dara Torres' body at the Olympics just inspired the hell out of me. Being back in the gym after almost 3 weeks off because of the preparation for traveling/traveling/return etc., was invigorating and seems to finally helped me get back into my body. Grounded me on the earth once again. Thank you Tony. Class was awesome today. It was exceedingly obvious how my small attempts at fitness while vacationing were a failure at keeping my fitness level maintained. I was fatigued so quickly and loved every minute of fighting back to get back on track! If you ever considered doing something different for a workout, try this. It beats "going to the gym" any day of the week.

Turn off your fucking TV, please

2008-10-22T13:55:00.000-07:00

I would much rather sit in front of a little pre-recorded TV right now than do this. Staying in a vegetative state, getting lost in a fantasy life where I can fast forward through commercials and dialogue uninteresting to me. But, alas, where is the discipline or growth in that? I am starting to feel better thanks to a great massage from Andrea and a perfect Resistance Stretching session today with Donna.

I mention the TV because it such a vast wasteland of mindless entertainment that is used to distract me from dealing with any real aspects of my own life. We all know that is is mere escapism and not good for us, and yet we don't seem to UNDERSTAND or ADMIT to it anymore. Yeah, I like my shows. And now with the advent of TiVO and the like, it is all the better. I can cut hour shows into easy 45 or sometimes 30 mins. Efficient and entertaining. Distracting and distasteful (at times). So as much as I can enjoy it, we find the time for it and odd times or late at night-whenever Pockets isn't around or is sleeping. Because as many of you know, I do not allow him to watch any video media. I was just reading a small article about Madonna (remember reading?), and it was trying to gossip about juicy details of her divorce and how crazy she is. Interesting word because her "control-freak" craziness actually sounded like some pretty good parenting...supposedly not allowing any TV or magazines in the house, macrobiotic diet for everyone, organic only, no sugar, etc...nothing really wacky. It is just interesting and sad to me that feeding your kids real healthy food instead of new invented foodstuffs and by-products and not allowing their sensitive neurology to be pulverized and hardwired for intellectual retardation (yeah I used that word) and academic inadequacy by ridiculous and downright dangerous mediums like TV and videos and computers is somehow considered freakish now. I know that is what some people think sometimes about me. But, seriously, can someone please tell me when intelligent people all of a sudden decided to say "fuck it" and call ordering pizza for 18 month or 2 or 3 year kids and calling it dinner? I am not that old...and no way in hell would that have been considered ok to do when I was young. Pizza was rightfully considered a junk food that you might get to eat on occasion...not every week much less 2-3 times per week. But the TV thing. Who watched TV as kids? Never 1, 2 or 3 year olds. It was like Saturday morning cartoons. Enough. We were not raised by a health nut, not close. But it was just normal to not have that box with the flashing 3 colors of light hold you captive day in and day out. Today, parking kids in front of every latest Disney video is common (but not normal). You didn't see a movie until you were old enough to go to theater and see it. No DVDS. And then you saw it once, for god's sake. But now, people think I deprive my son by not forcing him into a neurological coma via over excitement of his sensory input. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad. Doesn't anybody remember being a kid? You need to play. Play leads to thinking which leads to all learning. It is impossible physiologically for the young developing brain to play while watching TV or playing videos or games. The brain shuts down. There is no learning. No matter what educational bullshit tag is thrown on it, it is proven through all current science that no learning occurs. Sesame Street has done nothing but make dumb kids even dumber. I will probably get into the neurology of it all at a later date. Just needed to pick a topic to talk about today!

Still on point when I get into it later, TV does effect a 2 or 3 or 10 year old brain differently than say a 30 year old brain...just like the other poisons of coffee, chocolate, caffeine, aspirin, alcohol, cocaine, Ritalin, sugar, etc. So is watching a football game Saturday or Bill Maher on Sunday night the worst thing for you? No, neither is watching it with a beer or a glass of wine. This can be fun, entertaining and even informative. But doing that same activity with young children is like giving them the alcohol as well. Its effects are dramatically different on the younger and faster developing mind-body than popular culture wants to admit. After all , there is way too much money in hooking kids as babies. Sound like a familiar strategy?

Lofty Expectations

2008-10-21T07:20:00.000-07:00

Perhaps the "daily" writing I spoke of in my first entry was a bit too ambitious. Already skipped a day, and I am just getting started! This is my little time to write for the day perhaps. It is so early- by early I mean 10:30 am- that I don't really have anything to say yet. Still in pajamas. Doing laundry and cleaning like a fiend to catch up from the 10 day Detroit trip. Decided today was the day: no more diapers for the Pockets boy. So Deneb, his Spanish teacher, is here today and I just made the executive decision this morning that we ran out of pull-ups. So Pockets (not sure if I will use his real name on here yet--kudos to Uncle Roger for the nickname), is fine in his underwear and has peed up one outfit already. But still, this is my time to clean and organize and pay bills or run errands or now, write.

But what to say? Trying out this voice thing can be a bit difficult. I have no fancy stories to tell of recently visited exotic places, or titillating office drama/gossip, or hilarious relationship stories. Nothing. Just cleaning up shitty diapers, giving baths, cooking constantly, pretending that playing pretend is fun for me, and trying to distract myself from my emotions whenever possible. I am having a very blah few days. Just been dealing with a low grade fever and low grade energy and low grade happiness level since returning home. Sorry there isn't something better to say yet. But at least I said something "out loud" today. Need to go fold and switch my laundry. Exciting and fulfilling all at the same time.

Finally did a blog. Are you kidding me?

2008-10-19T11:25:00.000-07:00

OK, you got me. Thanks Naomi! This did only take about 5 minutes once I stopped researching and just went into ACTION. I have been thinking about and researching creating a blog for almost 9 months. Ridiculous. But that is what I do: research, research, research. Figuring there must be a "best" way, and I just need to find it. It helps keep me from actually accomplishing everything I want to and when I do, it was sooo much harder than it needed to be. But that is how I handle making mistakes...I try to avoid them through thorough and diligent research. Sounds rational, right? If so, you may have the same problem as me!

What the hell is all this blogging about anyway? That's what I asked a year ago. But then I found out people can make a living doing it! My interests were peaked. After further RESEARCH, it became clear that although someday making a living by writing daily would be incredible, right now it will probably serve best as free therapy. (Besides, I can't imagine ever drawing semen and penises onto pictures as a means of employment.) It seems "blogging" is the way that we, as a culture, are trying to bring a voice into the suffocating silence of loneliness and separation that encompasses the modern lifestyle. My experience is no different. And my voice is just as stifled. So, this is the place where I will practice using my voice. Even if it is ironically in a silent format. Hopefully, it will become a place of interesting, useful, educational and helpful musings that some of you can relate to, laugh with, scream at, and learn from. But that is all in good time. Right now, just get to know me...the real me. All that a Rimka can be. And what goes on in a life far away from yours. But in a heart that is just a beat away.