Comfortably Numb
In order to continue to tell my tale about driving on Route 66, I need to finish telling my tale about the meditation retreat I went on 5 short (long!) months ago. I’m finding that recurring themes are popping up in my life left and right, as if the universe is finally hammering home some important ideas now that I’m taking the time to sit still and listen.
During the last week of silent meditation (12 hours a day, let me remind you!) we were instructed to scan our bodies for any kind of feeling while we meditated. First we learned to scan just our skin, and feel each tickle/itch/hot/cold/breath on our surface. Then we learned to pull our attention deeper into ourselves, and kind of do a CAT scan of our entire 3D body. I put aside any skepticism that this was even possible and drew my attention into my body to try to feel what was happening.
What I felt sickened me.
Or, rather, what I didn’t feel.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Going in to this retreat I was struggling with the effects of years and years of denying what was important to me in favor of what was important to others. I had become a martyr, and played the part of a victim for a long long time without even realizing it. If I thought no but someone else thought yes, then I would ignore my self and do whatever. I placed my own needs second after meeting other people’s needs. I ignored my own wants to make sure other people were happy. And then one day I woke up feeling like I was suffocating in my dream and I realized that I was suffocating in my life. I hadn’t carved out a space for myself, I hadn’t set up boundaries to protect what was important to me from being crushed by things that were important to other people.
The growing pains that then set in were pretty overwhelmingly life changing. Too daunting to want to face, but too big to ignore anymore. I can’t even point out one specific post about this, pretty much the entire “Momsanity” category was created for me to vent and explore the concept of “self” within the context of motherhood, wifehood, friendship, and family.
It wasn’t until the retreat that I realized first hand what my chronic inability to protect my authentic self meant.
As I was poking around on the outside and inside of my body, I realized that I couldn’t feel anything. Not my breath as it crossed over my lip. Not a twinge or twitch, unless it was really big and painful. I started putting Burt’s Bees lip balm under my nose because it would give it a minty burn and I could at least feel THAT. This numbness was disconcerting, but it got worse when I tried to go deeper.
I pushed my consciousness into my self, my core. And I felt….something…but not anything thriving and alive. I felt myself, and I was mostly dead in there. Like, gangrenous and spongey. I don’t know how else to describe it. If it were a color, it would have been oatmeal blah. The teacher was describing this flow of energy we may feel, even partially in one little part of ourselves or completely as one big rush. But all I felt was mostly dead. Pulled apart. Disconnected. It’s not pretty.
I finally realized what the cost of an inauthentic life is. The loss of self. I think that’s why I’m so big on authenticity now…in myself, my kids, the people around me….because the alternative is this empty shell of a person who is in no condition to give the things that they really are trying to give. First we have to make a strong, honest, self built on integrity to our core principles. Then we can give and give and give to others without it sucking the life out of us!
If you are feeling beat down, sucked dry, confused, angry, sad, depressed, melancholy, looking for an escape, desperate for a break…my diagnosis is that you need to tap back in to who you are and what you need. My prescription is a little “you time” to do this.
I know, I know, society tells us that “me time” is selfish and not important. Especially if you have to take care of kids, jobs, friends, important relationships, etc. I’m not suggesting you ignore any of that. But I am suggesting that if you are martyring yourself to make any of those things happy, then you are preventing yourself from ultimately being any good to any one. If you’re sucked dry, there won’t be anything left to give.
So.
Put yourself at the top of the list of priorities.
Take that community college class on beekeeping that you want to.
Learn to hula hoop from a funky group in town.
Start painting again.
Get a pedicure once a month.
Cook a meal because you like it.
Go to the gym and hang out in the sauna.
Get up in the morning and run for 30 minutes.
Decide how much time you want to give other people’s projects during your day and then say no to all the rest.
Start having a mom’s night out.
Go to bed early so you can read a book.
Do whatever it is you’ve been dreaming about.
Say yes to yourself.
Oh. And. Start now, beyotches!
read moreWhat Would A Chimpanzee Do?
Lately, I’ve been opening up about my own personal parenting style. I’ve gotten some great feedback, along with parents of small children wondering if such a yes based, child friendly approach to discipline can work with their little terrors! Oops, I mean, rabid animals! Oh, no no, I mean, beloved toddlers. I have parents complaining of biting, yelling, spitting, screaming, scratching, hitting and throwing from their wily little kids. 2 year olds specifically seem to be the troublesome culprits, making life as difficult as possible for those who love them. Can you really remain positive, supportive, connected, and loving with such a whirling dervish of devious and devilish disposition?
Yes. Yes you can. All you have to repeat to yourself is “WWCD?”…what would a chimpanzee do?
I developed this parenting trick while at the zoo with my now 14 year old. At the time, she was real independent toddler without a lot of tolerance for anything except what she wanted. I didn’t know about positive, attachment parenting back then, so relied heavily on time outs and hand slaps to let her know what was acceptable behavior and what wasn’t. To her credit, nothing I did seemed to diminish her determination and drive. She was in trouble a LOT. I was stressed out ALL THE TIME.
She had gotten out of her stroller and was pacing back and forth (rubbing her tummy with both hands) next to the display window of the chimpanzee exhibit at the same time a zookeeper was talking about the chimps inside.
“Did you know that humans and chimps have a very similar developmental rate when they are born, continuing up until about 18-24 months!” she informed us.
“Funny!” I thought. “that’s her age!”
“You might see our newest chimpanzee if you stay here much longer. She’s a 17 month old female!” said the zookeeper.
“Funny!” I thought. “they’re both around the same age! I wonder if they would play well together?!”
Right then, the baby chimp came sauntering out right next to the display window. Naturalist was still pacing back and forth in front of it…belly pushed out, hands rubbing it while she looked all around, totally oblivious to the new animal to see. The baby chimp started pacing back and forth, totally oblivious to Naturalist or any of us on the other side of the glass. She started pacing back and forth, belly pushed out. And then her little chimp hands started rubbing her stomach. Naturalist and this chimp were perfectly mirroring each other. This went on for a few minutes, and all of us adults were laughing so hard we cried. “How old is your daughter?” the zookeeper asked. “About 18 months” I said, and she nodded as if to say, “See?!”
My parenting drastically changed after that, because sometimes when Naturalist was behaving at her worst I could totally picture her as that little chimpanzee toddler and I started asking myself, “What would that chimpanzee do?” If I took a chimp with me to a restaurant, would I expect it to sit still, talk quietly, keep her arms from flailing around, and listen to what I was telling her to do? No. And therefor, if my toddler was so recently on track with the chimp, then was it fair to expect her to behave so remarkably more civilized and behaved? To me…no. We are part of the animal kingdom. ANIMAL kingdom. Somehow it’s ok to claim this as an adult…who doesn’t want to be a party animal, after all? So is it so surprising that when we are little, we behave like animals?
The older kids get, the greater capacity they have to regulate behavior…but this is a slow process, so if you have a young kid under the age of 1…kick back, relax, get some beer or wine, and enjoy the show. It’s awesomely comical to watch a sub-3 year old navigate the world. My cousin’s 2 year old daughter spent 20 minutes laughing while throwing wipes in the trash, clapping, and then howling tears of rage (complete with lying on the ground, kicking her feet) when she couldn’t reach in deep enough to get the wipe back. Every time she’d get a new wipe again she’d laugh, and every damn time she threw it away creating more angst and tears.
You leave comments about your 2 year olds biting siblings, screaming at you, breaking toys, throwing food, and hitting anything in their path. My sister has a two year old and all I can say is…yep. Sounds about right. She’ll call me up sometimes and ask me if her yowling, screaming, banshee boy is acting normal.
All I do is ask her: “What Would A Chimpanzee Do?” I’ve seen them yowl. Scream. Act like banshees. So, yep. It’s all normal. All to be expected. I like to point out that chimpanzees probably fling their poo around, so her son is actually way ahead of the game. She usually fails to see the humor in that.
It’s not to say we aren’t trying to help them develop better social skills. We repeat over and over, “No hitting!” or “Touch soft!” or “Gentle!” or “Quiet voice!”. But to expect that to happen is beyond the scope of a 2 year old. So pretend you have given birth to a chimpanzee, and plan accordingly. Don’t get frustrated or upset that your toddler is acting any differently than their nature dictates. Would you leave a sibling alone in a room with a chimpanzee? Would you be disappointed if a chimpanzee kept hitting you? Would you take a chimpanzee on errands all day without taking pains to properly exercise and caretake it’s needs too?
Eventually your little chimp will metamorphose into a human animal, but until that point, keep parenting respectfully, drawing boundaries of yes, and following the golden rule of parenting! It’ll pay off, eventually. In the meantime, enjoy your chimp, I mean toddler, for the hours of endless entertainment it will give you as it learns to navigate in this crazy world we live in!
read moreTour d’ Awesome!
Alright, beyotches! I’ve got big things in the works starting in a few very short weeks! They’re things I wouldn’t have even considered doing a couple years ago. But when you get right down to it, most of my life right now is nothing like I thought it would be a couple years ago, so it’s only fitting.
The thing is, the annual family trip to Yellowstone is coming up. Except that with the divorce, “family” is a little different. T & I are still friends, we still do things all together with the kids, we’re still supportive of each other, but…a couple weeks in the same cabin just isn’t a part of our lives anymore. So the kids will be with him for those 2 weeks, while I….well…I wondered what to do. Sit here are wallow in aloneness? That’s not awesome! Especially not for this Awesomequest 2011 I’m on!
Here’s my awesome plan: The most epic roadtrip of my entire life! The entire Route 66, baybee!!!!
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I’m going to fill it with the most awesome things I can think of! Namely:
Karaoke
abandoned buildings
old roads
photobooths
sunsets in the desert
sunrises over corn fields
neon signs
Jeep
dive bars
old rundown motels
roadside historic markers
meeting new people
driving aimlessly
listening to music while driving aimlessly
visiting long distance friends
documenting it all with cameras.
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So I’m really going for broke. Metaphorically and quite literally! Which is where you come in…I’d love for you to be a part of my awesome. I’m going to need lots of different kinds of help to make this happen! Are you with me?!
Here’s what I have so far:
a pair of boots
a dog
a suitcase
a jeep
some cameras
Here’s what I need:
Support! Emotional, physical, and monetary!
Here’s how you can give it:
I don’t run ads on my blog, cuz ads are ugly and ruin the feng shui I’ve got going on in here. But I am going to add this totally awesome donate button in case you feel so inclined. Maybe I’ve made you laugh, or feel encouraged or even far superior. Whatever the case may be…donations are awesome!
and/or
Share this on facebook/twitter so others can help!
and/or
Leave comments!
and/or
Let me sleep over at your house!
and/or
Volunteer a friend to let me sleep over at their house!
and/or
Pack me a lunch if you’re on my roadtrip path!
and/or
Give me good sightseeing tips!
and/or
Donate! (did I say that already?!) You can enter any amount…continue reading to get the perks of certain amounts, though!
If you do drop some dollars into my donation bucket, I’ll reciprocate in my own special way.
$5–postcard from along the route.
$25–8×10 print of a picture I take along the route OR an actual 3×4 fuji film print that I take with my Korona!
$45–I’ll tag a cadillac at Carhenge with any color spraypaint you choose with whatever message (within reason!) you want!
$65–A link to your blog from my blog, and/or (if you don’t have a blog!) a mention by name in the documentary I’ll be making along the route!
$85–I can’t think of anything…so…help me fill in the blank! What would be totally awesome?!
$100+–I’ll come kiss you right on the lips!
Any donation automatically qualifies you for everything above it, as well as a night of karaoke! No matter where you live or how long it takes…I will karaoke with everyone who donates. This offer doesn’t expire!
I basically need to cover the cost of gas. On a 4,000+roadtrip with a Jeep, it’s going to be gnarly. It would also be awesome to have places to stay so I save money on seedy motels.
But most awesome of all is to meet up with anyone along the path. So give me a holler, leave a comment, comment on the freeplaylife facebook page, send me a smoke signal…whatever! Let me know if I’ll be passing by you!
Discrimination.
Hey, so, you might have been under the same impression that I’ve been living under; namely, that discrimination against a culture, race, or group of people is wrong and usually illegal. Unless you’re gay, in which case you’re laughing at my naitivite. But anyway, here I’ve been walking around being annoyed, harassed, and generally pissed off by people that I’ve just tolerated. Because I thought that’s what society was all about. Tolerance and respect, even when neither is deserved. I thought the “civil” in civilization meant just that; that my responsibility to others is to bite my tongue and turn the other cheek whenever aggravated.
But! Imagine my surprise when I realized that discrimination is alive and well, targeting mainly kids and families. The Business Travel and Meeting Show took a survey of business travelers and found that 74% of them said that children were their top in flight annoyance. This has led to a ban of children in first class/business class on some flights, which follows a troubling trend of restaurants/travel destinations banning children from their establishments.
Dave Chapple, event director of the group, said in a statement, “It’s understandably frustrating for business travelers who have paid a premium in expectation that they can work and sleep in comfort, to have that peace disturbed by fidgeting, noisy children.”
Well, you know what else is understandably frustrating? I’ll tell you! Because now that it’s apparently OK to decide to descriminate against a group, I have a few more suggestions! These are people that really shouldn’t be allowed in society. They aggravate me. I want to punch them in the face. Therefore; they should stay in their homes until they learn how to be someone that pleases me.
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People who use their cell phones in movie theaters. I paid money and expect not to be disturbed by their light brite screens flashing, not to mention the loud texting or heaven forbid talking!
People who chew gum or food with their mouth open. Seriously. This sound is more annoying than 10 kids screaming for candy. The smacking invades my personal space, and it must stop.
People who drink too much whiskey at concerts and become assholes. I’ve had more than one concert experience tarnished by loud talking, boisterous, angry, drunk and totally whiskey drunk people who have no regard for anyone around them.
People who wear sunglasses when the sun has already gone down. That level of douchiness isn’t good for anyone.
Businessmen who call moms “sweetie” or “honey”. I put up with too much during my day to be talked down to by some dumbass who can’t respect other human beings contributions to the world.
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This is just a quick list…I’m sure I can come up with more when I don’t have to get dinner going. Maybe us moms can form a lobby group, have a conference called the “Awesome Families Against Douchebags!” show, and then start banning people from certain establishments like movie theaters, parks, restaurants, concerts, and anywhere else we go to and get annoyed.
I think this is obviously a brilliant solution that supports how society is meant to work.
Who would you ban if you could? And from where?
read moreHeritage and Hair Bands.
My great grandmother sailed across the seas to America from Scotland. My grandmother walked across the plains. My mom teased her hair into a beehive and took on multiple jobs to support herself. And me? I grew up in New Jersey in the 80′s. I take sharing heritage with my kids very seriously! This is why, when Poison’s “Talk Dirty To Me” comes on the radio, I feel it’s my duty to make sure my kids listen to it. I really believe in passing traditions, stories, and experiences down from one generation to the next!
Surely you remember or have seen, hopefully recently:
I am who and where I am, with the abundance of my life, in no small part because of the sacrifices and choices that my forefathers (and mothers) made. They were immigrants and builders and pioneers and hard workers, and I benefited from their efforts. In turn, I grew up in neon shirts, ripped bleached jeans, rubber bracelets, big hair and with a secret attraction towards men in eyeliner. Sure, I didn’t have to cook over a campfire in the middle of Missouri, but who can argue with the cards the universe dealt me! I took my puffy sleeves and shoulder pads very seriously!
Hello, 1989!
Before you judge that my adolescent life was way easy, consider this.
In the song, Bret Michaels sings, “You know I call you, I call you on the telephone. I’m only hoping that you’re home, so I can hear you…”
This is the point I share my history with my kids.
“Dude. You know why he says that? That he hopes she’s home? Because when I was your age, our phones were attached to the wall! We didn’t carry them with us everywhere we went. There was only one number to reach me at, and it was to the phone in my house. So usually when someone called me, my mom picked up and talked to them first. And usually if someone called, I wasn’t there so they couldn’t talk to me. If I called over to my boyfriend’s house (the bespeckled guy in the picture who wore these awesome grey corduroy pants and took me to all my proms) I hoped and hoped he was home so I could talk to him. If he wasn’t, then his mom would be the one to answer and I’d end up having to have an awkward conversation about why I kept calling every 15 minutes like an obsessive crazy person. Or the answering machine would pick up and I’d have to think of something to say to my boyfriend that I knew would be replayed for his entire family to hear! Can you imagine!”
My kids, 2 out of 3 with their own cell phones in their pockets, look at me with sadness and pity.
“Mom. You had it really hard.”
“No, kids, don’t feel sorry for me. Some people had it so much worse. My phone, tethered to the wall, at least had a 20 foot cord attached to the receiver; so I could stretch it from the hallway, through the kitchen, and into the laundry room where I shut the door and had some privacy. Some of my friends only had 5 feet of cord to work with, and no phone in their room! So everything they said could be overheard. That, my kids, is a hard life. I didn’t have it so bad, with the exception that I never could keep my hair teased and up higher than 4 inches vertical for longer than an hour or two. But that’s a story for another day.”
The truth is, the 80′s were pretty freaking fantastic, and I feel sorry for anyone who didn’t spend at least part of their pre-teen/teen years in them. I tell these stories to my kids not to highlight how tough life was before cell phones and the internets, but to give them a glimpse into a better time. A time when guys could dress up like peacocks and express themselves through makeup. When girls could shred every piece of clothing they had and it only made them look better.
If these stories help my kids appreciate the cell phones in their pockets a little bit more, then all the better. It’s a win/win! And they know a little bit more about where they come from. But personally, I wouldn’t switch generations with them…not for all the google, fancy panties (remember life before Victoria’s Secret?!), cell phones, youtube, or facebook in the world.
read moreIt’s Time To Be You.
Have you ever thought about what your epitaph would be?
Ever since my body decided it wanted to try and completely stop working about a decade ago, I’ve been thinking about what mmine would have been if I’d made the successful transition from almost dead to very dead. I wouldn’t have been around to write it, and I certainly hadn’t prepared anything in the event that I met my demise at the tender age of 29. It’s really bothered me. Not that I almost died, but that I have never come up with anything! I swing wildly between wanting something profound and meaningful and wanting something short and sweet. Should I try to impress random strangers by quoting Nietzsche? Or make them laugh by putting something by Mark Twain on it? Or maybe go for a bronzed statue of myself? But with wings? I mean, who doesn’t like bronzed statues in cemeteries? And then the rain would make the bronze tarnish and maybe it would make it look like the statue was crying…what random stranger wouldn’t like that kind of spooky drama? Then I wonder why I care so much about what random strangers think about my gravestone, and why I even want to be buried anyway. I could always be cremated, except I don’t know what to tell people to do with my ashes, and it makes me uncomfortable thinking of myself sitting in an urn or a box in someone’s closet (can’t I just be buried under a tree somewhere and let it wrap its roots around me?).
And then, I was at the Night Ranger/Foreigner/Journey concert with my dad, and it hit me. What my epitaph would be! And also, my next tattoo! It was the most brilliant night of connecting with my Dad (who almost died from a stroke when I was pregnant with Golfer, actually), singing power ballads at the top of my lungs for 3 hours, feeling a huge creative energy flow, and discovering the few words that encapsulate the essence of my life. The only explanation for this energy surge is that the electric guitar riffs created a vibrational resonance that connected straight to universal awesomeness.
Here’s a better question than what you think you’d like on your gravestone.
Ready?
Ask the people around you what they’d put on your epitaph. Go ahead, facebook it. See what you get back. Ask your kids. Maybe not in the nightmare inducing context of “if I died, what would you say my life was about…” but in the fun game way of, “what words describe me?”
I bet your friends are right on about you. I bet they know you to your core and can really put their finger on what makes you tick. All the fun stories they have of you will come out.
I bet your kids are a little off target. Not that they won’t know about the “mom” or “dad” you…the one that cooks, cleans, has rules, runs errands, goes to a job, and does everything to keep the household running smoothly. But those things don’t count on a epitaph. Anything that can be hired out to someone else isn’t genuinely you. When I was busy almost dying in the hospital I had a startling revelation that my kids would never know who I was. They would remember me, if at all, as a woman who was constantly telling them to brush their teeth and hair. Who would tell them to stop running through the kitchen while she was preparing a meal. Who would read them a book before bed and then get upset if they were still rowdy when she was done. Someone who shuttled them around while she did 30830948 errands during the day and expected them to behave.
I realized that I was missing the point, and they were going to miss knowing the person behind the “mom”.
So if your kids talk a lot about food you make, chores you enforce, shopping trips you go on, job you do etc., etc….if your kids don’t know the you behind the mom/dad, then it’s time to mix it up a little. Or a lot. It’s time to let the messes happen and enjoy creating a few yourself. It’s time to let go of the idea of perfect meals and perfect homes and perfect kids and perfect parenting.
It’s time to order pizza while you have your kids help you finish a level on Portal if you’re a gamer.
It’s time to be OK with messy floors while you take time to finish an oil painting if you’re an artist.
It’s time to let them run around outside in the mudpit you create while you finish the latest novel from the library if you’re a writer.
It’s time to stop obsessing over perfect hair and use that time to make a fort out of sheets if you’re a dreamer.
It’s time to share your mad love of music with your preteen, even if the songs have swear words in them.
It’s time to be you, and share it with your kids.
Promise, beyotches?
read morePitbull and the ‘Enrique Special’
Yesterday I brainstormed what could help J.Lo and Marc Anthony get back together again. Because, you know, I don’t know them and what makes more sense than trying to fix celebrity stranger’s problems while in the midst of my own chaos?! Right?! So the more I think about how Pitbull made Enrique “would you cry if you saw me crying” Iglesias become Enrique “turn around I’ll give you more” Iglesias, the more I think he could do something similar for Marc Anthony.
Regard:
Enrique before:
He’s suffering for love. This is the face of a man who wants to know if you love him 402938423094 times a day. And when you say yes he asks how much. Enough to cry? Argue passionately? Die?! For love! And kisses. And deep gazes full of longing!
And ladies, we totally fall for this when we’re young. Usually before kids. Because we have time to ourselves to think deep thoughts and enjoy deep gazes! The trouble starts when we have kids. It’s no one’s fault. It just happens. Taking care of an emotionally needy man is no problem until a truly needy infant arrives on the scene. And then something’s gotta give. It’s not that the love goes away, it’s more like, “dude. I said I loved you. A lot. I’ve been up all night with a colicky baby though, and my energy level is kind of low. Now get up off the floor and help me change some diapers!”
I think Pitbull (Pit? Mr. Bull?) understands this. He wants latin men to be as strong and sassy as women. So he does what he can.
“Enrique, you’re going to go in there and smile! No more whining. No more ballads. We’ve had enough. We know you love us, and we love you. Now lets have some FUN! There are ladies in there who are so busy with kids and life, they only get a few showers a week. And tonight, they’ve showered and are ready to dance! Give them what they want…no long face, no whimper, NADA! Let’s make it caliente in there!”
“Like this! MR. WORLDWIDE IN THE HOUSE! Ay mami!!!!”
“Do it! Go Enrique! MUY CALIENTE!!!!”
Er…ehhhh…well, it’s a start. At least it doesn’t look like he’d cry if you said, “I’m going to leave you alone here now so I can feed some babies and clean up around here.” In fact, this is the face of someone who might offer to help do one or more of those things, and maybe sing a hot little salsa number while doing it. That, my friends, is muy caliente. This, we like!
I think Marc “Don’t leave me all alone” Anthony could use a little of this…it can’t hurt. I mean, look at his face up in the thumbnail. He needs to get all loosey goosey, Pitbull style! And guess what? It’s happening! Not 30 minutes after I wrote down my idea for the Enrique Special, I saw on facebook (because I totally ‘liked’ Pitbull’s fanpage of course…) that he’s teamed up with Marc “tell me baby girl because I need to know” Anthony for a new song:
“Marc…papi…why the long face! You’re rich, attractive, successful! Let it show! Like this!”
“eh…close. Maybe we can try again. This time with less crotch grab. We’re not gangsta here, we’re smooth latin lovers who are confident, sophisticated, and not emotionally clingy! We are here to rock the world of the woman! She’s busy! And tired! We are here to help HER! Ready? Uno, dos, tres…EN FUEGO!”
I think this just might work, y’all!
read moreRiding on the Current of Grief.
Way back when I was younger, before much of anything had really happened to me, I thought that the point of life was to stay who I was through thick and thin. I figured that life was going to do its best to break me down and my job was to stay exactly who I was no matter what. Maybe that’s not all wrong…maybe you just have to take a stand sometimes and refuse to bend. But sometimes it’s the bending that helps you realize that who you are isn’t really who you want to be anymore.
When my daughter was stillborn 9 years ago, I felt like a huge failure. Not only for the loss, but also for the fact that I couldn’t maintain who I was. I could tell that I was different in some fundamental ways, and I couldn’t go back and live like I’d never lost her. I expected that I should be able to, mostly because everyone else was carrying on–like something tragic had happened for sure–but carrying on as they were.
I felt like I was being ferried across a river and had somehow managed to fall off. So while everyone else was floating above the current and were encouraging me to keep up and get to the other shore, it wasn’t so easy for me anymore. I was stuck in the force of the rushing water, and the more I fought against it the harder it became to get through it.
I went through some period of adjustment. It took a year before I gave myself permission to just lay down and float along with the current of grief. Not in a passive way…not in a giving up way…but in a proactive surrender of control. Something that surprised me about grief is how active it is. It’s an exhausting transformative process, and one I wish our culture understood better. People tend to fear grief, usually because it means something has been taken away from them. Something important that they miss desperately.
The thing that I’ve found, 9 years into it, is that when I stopped fighting against it, the current has taken me to some beautiful places. Like flowers in a desert, the beauty of my life is much more profound due to the circumstances surrounding it. I’ve made some amazing friendships because of the shared experience of child loss, and even loss in general. I have comforted and been comforted. I appreciate compassion, both giving and accepting it.
who knew I would learn to enjoy graveyard picnics so much?
I live my life differently. I make different choices because of the perspective I have about how short and precious one lifetime is. I’m not afraid to be deeply sad because I know that when it turns around and I am happy, then I am deeply and profoundly so.
The evolution of grief:
2007 post
2008 post
2009 post
2010 post
The Way Of The Beyotch
A couple of posts ago, I may or may not have called you all “beyotches”. Well, actually, I pretty much did call you all beyotches.
I thought maybe I would clarify that, since it may mean something different to different people…and some may not even like the term to begin with. I hope by the end of this you will not only like it but exclaim, “I am an awesome beyotch!”
My younger sister and I started calling each other this a while ago. It’s our way of saying, “check yourself!” in the least judgmental, most supportive way possible. It acts like an uber-emphasis…like a giant exclamation point at the end of what we’re trying to say. Whenever we hear it, we stop and double check ourselves without getting defensive or offended or upset in any way. It’s just the way we think. Like, if she were to say, “Are you serious?” I would immediately get all defensive and say something like, “Why wouldn’t I be? Of course I am! Are you doubting me?!” But when she says “Are you serious, beyotch?” the I sit back, rethink what I did/said, and take some time to really think things through before I say yes or no. It’s mean to call someone stupid. But sometimes after I’ve done something self defeating and self sabotaging, and am usually trying to get away with it, she’ll call me up and say, “Stupid beyotch! What are you doing?!” This has the effect of snapping me out of my cycle of doom and we laugh or cry together while I repeat, “I AM a stupid beyotch! What am I doing?! I gotta change this!”
So, you see, being called a beyotch is totally different from being called a bitch. Being called the former is embracing, strong, encouraging, non judgmental, and caring; while the latter is judgmental, abrasive, and kind of harsh. So now you know what I mean when I call you a beyotch.
At the end of a long day, I use this beyotch awareness to check myself. I think back to how I was over the course of the last 12 or 15 or sometimes 18 hours. I ask myself how many ways I found to say an open and authentic “yes” instead of “no”. And also a self preserving and gentle “no” when I needed to. How many times did I lose my temper? Yell? Shame? Laugh? Hug? Show the people around me that I love them? Take time to do something nice for them? For myself? Did I honor myself? My kids? Show respect? Embrace rather than push away? Act rather than react?
Sometimes I sigh and think, “You were a real controlling beyotch today!” especially if I bulldozed over my kids’ wants and needs with my own simply because I’m bigger and “The Mom”. But there’s no judgement there. Just an awareness that for this day, for whatever reason (PMS? Tiredness? Being overwhelmed? Anxiety? If so, why?) I was off center. And then I think about what I need to get back to center. Some personal time? A chat with a friend? Less housework, more play? Less play, more organization? More playdates for the kids? Less playdates and more quiet time? Less vegetables and more chocolate? Less ice cream and more protein? What?! And then I promise myself, as I doze off to sleep, that I will try to be less of a controlling/angry/selfish/uptight/…insert whatever word here…/beyotch, by doing what it takes to honor my center. When I honor my center, it’s easier to honor my children’s center.
Center being, of course, Awesome Beyotch. And I suppose, for kids, Awesome Beyotchlets.
Awesome is that feeling of lightness, playfulness, joy. It’s being honest and authentic to your needs as well as respectful of other people’s needs as well. It’s knowing that you aren’t perfect, but wouldn’t have it any other way, because you are 100% uniquely you. It’s living in the present moment instead of letting the past (second, minute, hour, year, 10 years…) weigh you down.
It is, in short, kick ass.
Now go out there and do your thing, you awesome beyotch!
read moreThe Lesson Of The Moody Teenager.
About 4 years ago, I met a moody teenager at the local corner gas station. At that time, in our little town in Colorado, there were no traffic lights, close grocery stores, or many conveniences of any kind…except for a little gas station on the corner of two country roads. As such, it was the place for local wayward youths to assemble and smoke. They didn’t seem to have anywhere else to go hang out. Most of them were scrawny, dirty, and pissed off. So when I say moody, I mean, “transient, tattooed, pierced, unkempt young man”.
He was smoking a cigarette as I walked passed him to get some pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream at 10:30 at night. If I didn’t get it there, I’d have to drive 20 minutes each way to get to the closest Safeway. I took some time deciding between Chunky Monkey, Cherry Garcia, or Half Baked. Eventually, I got all three.
While the person behind the counter (another transient looking teen) rang me up, I noticed that the moody teenager had finished his cigarette and meandered into the store. I looked at his dyed black hair, pierced face, and dirty clothes and made the assumption that he stayed with friends rather than lived at home. I also assumed that he didn’t live at home because his parents probably didn’t like the direction his choices had taken him. I figured he was maybe 19, but had been dabbling with drugs and alcohol for a while. I wondered if there was a lot of shouting at his real house, if he had gotten into fights with his parents that had maybe escalated into physical expressions of anger. I thought all this in the split second it took me to notice he was standing not too far away.
I was a little uncomfortable, so did what I always do when I don’t know what to do…made ridiculous small talk.
“I’m glad this corner store is here! I hate running out of ice cream this late at night!”
Moody teenager just looked at me.
“There’s nothing worse than having no ice cream AND getting beat at MarioKart!” I nervously giggled.
Moody teenager perked up a little. “You play nintendo?” he asked incredulously.
“Well, my kids play nintendo. They’re really good! I just kind of hold the controller and hope I’m going in the right direction!”
Moody teenager looked closer at me. “You have kids? And you play video games with them? Late at night?” he asked.
“Yeah, we have these MarioKart tournaments…we’re actually in the middle of one right now, and I’m totally dominating for once! It might make my little boy cry, but he needs to learn that mama got game, right?!”
Moody teenager shifted his legs, blinked a couple times, and looked away.
I noticed a shift in his whole demeanor, and kept watching him.
He said softly, “I think that’s really great.”
I kept watching him without saying anything.
He said even more softly, “I wish my mom had played video games with me.”
As if that didn’t tug on my heartstrings enough, I watched as his eyes teared up. “She always said it was a waste of time.” Then he walked out the door to smoke another cigarette.
I’m betting that he’d said a lot of shit about his mom, and I’m betting that most of it was totally disrespectful and downright hateful. I’m betting that every time they had an interaction it was stressful and angry. But after hearing him say that, I’m betting that if she walked up to him and offered to play some HALO or Zelda, he would take her up on it. I bet all the negativity would melt away to make space for some good old fashioned bonding over ice cream and laughter.
I’ll never forget that exchange. It reminded me that while our kids might have interests that we’re not interested in…that we may find silly or worthless…it’s not about what they are doing. It’s about getting involved in doing something with them, because the time we spend with our kids is what matters.
I’ve seen a lot of conflicts in a lot of families, and it’s so easy to get caught up in expectations, limits, emotions, and disagreements. But I really feel that conflict is contrary to our basic needs. People need to be connected. Kids yearn for relationships with their parents, and vice versa. I really think the key to harmony is to meet our kids where they are. Have respect for their interests. If there is conflict, then find common ground, buy ice cream, and make a date to meet them there. Watch them at the skate park and ask for lessons. Listen to them beating away on drums. Play stupid violent video games and swallow your criticism for a bit. Focus on the togetherness. Who knows, you may learn a thing or two and realize your opinion was a little wrong. Make growing the relationship a priority instead of growing the conflict.
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