Let them see guinea pigs…and only guinea pigs

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Guns.

(I’m a Mom. So I feel I have a right, as much as anyone, to share my thoughts about guns. I’m no legislator, no commentator, no analyst. I make a lot of buttered noodles, change like 5 diapers a day, and most often avoid the news because it looks to me like the infrastructure holding our two party system together is quickly crumbling. But I digress. Guns.)

Not sure when guns began to mean freedom for some legislators, for some citizens.

Maybe it was when the Black Panthers needed to arm themselves to defend against racial injustice. That makes sense. Or when frontiersman needed to be safe fighting against the hardships of life in the wild. Logical.

Not sure when people started using the 2nd Amendment (intended to protect against musket-fueled military coups) as justification to claim that they and violent criminals have the right to buy an automatic weapon and use it for sport or terrorism.

Not sure why we’re calling legislators who support easy access to assault weapons “pro-gun” instead of “pro-violence” at this point.

I’ve shot guns before. In college, I had a friend who was a gun enthusiast who took me into the Rocky Mountains to shoot his AK-47 assault rifle. Was it fun? Not really. Did it make me feel powerful? Yes. Do people need to feel that particular power, the power of a gun, to feel free? No.

At least not if they’re living in communities where they are free. Where they feel free. Where they can walk down the street, go to work, raise children, be safe existing in our country. When they have access to great solid mental and emotional healers who help them feel free from within.

Yes, there’s a big mental health problem in this country. Which is exactly why there should be gun control. That’s just it’s own argument. Would you want your local psychiatric institution to have a gun booth next to the food court? Let me tell you, people who are feeling depressed, panicked or repressed in daily life- in their minds, in their families, in their communities- they’re not feeling free. I speak from experience. So we better stop associating guns with freedom starting now. It’s not like ditching your bra or using windpower and going off-grid. Guns are weapons. They’re not freedom.

Freedom is knowing you have a right to be yourself. It is feeling safe in your communities and parks and subways and schools, knowing your neighbors and friends and leaders have your back, that they celebrate and support you, that they care, that we- all of us- care about each other. It’s getting help from someone really good at helping you be you, and to recover from any traumas life may have handed you. It is feeling sane and healthy and empowered to work and learn and earn and grow. That is freedom.

When there is a suicide attempt in a home, the first advice given is to remove all weapons, lock up all medications and store knives and sharp objects away. In other words, if mental health is a big problem, make the scary things harder to find. Because it helps. What else is there to explain?

The freedom of children and teachers and families who are able to live and thrive in their communities is the freedom referred to in our Constitution. It is exponentially more important than cash and the Congressmen and gun sellers and the NRA offering an easy pathway to attaining an assault rifle.

For as long as we are fighting to establish the mental health of our citizens, we should have rigid gun control. And when everyone’s hunky-dory and painting rainbows on their cheeks, guess what? Nobody will want assault rifles as a hobby or to make a statement because they’ll be too busy living their damn lives, singing and shit and shooting bows and arrows for fun if they have to like fucking Katniss and they will understand the risk of introducing violent weapons into communities.

When I was working in a high school, the social studies students did a pen pal exchange with Australian students in the same grade. They were supposed to draw pictures of their impressions of each other’s countries. Our kids drew kangaroos and the Great Barrier Reef. When we got the letters in from Australia, you know what they drew?  Mostly guns. And that was 10 years ago. Super, right?

Do I think the NRA can switch gears and be reasonable as it has in the past? (First started in the 1800’s as primarily a program to improve marksmanship! And for the next 100 years the NRA condoned or supported limitations on gun accessibility to criminals and the mentally ill.) Yes I do.

Do I think the freedom of individuals and communities to live without the threat of violence warrants a redefinition of the 2nd Amendment and the prohibition of violent assault weapons? Yes I do.

Do I think people should start hitting Congressmen and women where it hurts? Making it so difficult to support easy access to weapons that they cave in like the cowards they are? Yes I do.

Maybe thinking out of the box is called for.

Obviously yes, vote them out of office. That one’s easy.

Billboards, yes. And yard signs in neighbor’s yards with permission, and teepeeing of houses, and magnetic bumper stickers on their cars that say it like it is: “I support gun violence.”

For pro-gun legislators with families, what if life was really difficult for them? What if their spouses were on board with gun control? After a tough day on the Hill, “Hi, honey, I’m home! What’s for dinner?” “Dog food. And you can sleep in the tent out in the yard until you change your mind on gun legislation.”

Do these legislators drink coffee? Have a favorite restaurant? Barber shop? If Congressman Bob’s regular is a double espresso, let’s make that a decaf vanilla soy latte for “Boob, the violence lover.” And if Congresswoman Sue needs her roots touched up, guess what? All booked up for the next decade.

What if life were really uncomfortable for them? What if neighbors put up signs that said, “My neighbor supports gun violence” with an arrow pointing straight at their home. Think the kids would like that? Think they might give mom or dad shit endlessly until things got really tense at home?

What if Democrats got really savvy and dirty and hired hackers to disable NRA supporters’ technology so their screens only show guinea pigs in knitted sweaters holding dandelions? What if they changed their ringtones to “All We Are Saying, Is Give Peace a Chance?”

What if their childhood heroes pay them a visit? Buzz Aldrin or The Rock or David Letterman or the Pope or Bono or the Dalai Lama shows up at their door to chat? To hold them accountable? To ask them why?

We all know that no why is good enough. Not when people are dying. These men and women, the ones who want to make assault weapons easier to get than citizenship? They are the why. And they’re not good enough. And they’ll learn that soon enough when they’re voted out.

 

 

 

 

The Jig is Up

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My facebook feed is lit up with women storming the gates of misogyny, non-consensual sexual behavior, and the culture of submissiveness women have been cornered into for….well, forever.

Finally, we are blowing up the culture of “I’m ok with that” and calling out stuff that is and has been common to many of us: unwanted touching, unwanted groping, unwanted humping, unwanted comments, unwanted pressure, unwanted visuals of man-parts standing at attention. And the crazy, unacceptable normalcy of  boyfriends, bosses, friends, colleagues, doctors, or whoever ignoring the word “no,” passing through it like a small town without a coffeeshop, assuming “yes” is just on the other side of it, or hidden within somewhere (she just doesn’t know she wants it.)

I feel like half of the American population is staring at the other half shouting, “The Jig is Up!  Come out with your hands where we can see them, fuckers.” And thank God for this because what a relief. Please, oh please may this be the end of times where women are cornered into needing to be submissive, sexy, attractive, docile, good-natured, roll with the punches- when our instincts, bodies, and voices are shouting the opposite.

In a strange way, I think #45 tugged us right into this, like a steady little insensitive, unevolved tugboat. Every woman who voted against him, and visualized the first woman president, fell so hard when he somehow tripped his way into office, that it felt like a personal violation. It was too far. And from that point forward, any single damn teeny tiny violation of respect in our everyday lives or any assumption of our willingness to go along with a status quo that felt unequal- it all had #trumpwon attached to it. It was already too far. Dirty dish in the sink your man expected you to wash for him after your long-ass day? Too far. Interrupting your much-needed ladies’ night to tell you to come home? Nope. Someone saying you look “cute?” Hell, no.

So this whole me-too thing, (which, by the way, me too) is such a relief because I finally can locate a valid reason for this rage I’ve been feeling since I was a little girl. It’s all clicking into place as I backtrack through the years, seeing not just glaring violations, of which there were a few, but also all the mini, many nearly invisible times my feelings and spidey-sense were sounding alarms that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with knowing I was not standing on equal ground. All the times I felt less than or unheard accumulated and internalized until I believed the culture, not the truth. Album covers of girls in lingerie, movies where men talk more and women talk about men, health care that doesn’t cover things like tampons, less than adequate morning sickness solutions, Beyonce on the cover of Time in a leotard while her colleagues wear tuxes, out-of-reach childcare expenses, pink baby onesies that say “Daddy’s Princess” held against blue ones that say “Daddy’s Champ,” uncomfortable shoes marketed so your legs look good, wrinkle creams, age creams, cellulite creams, not being able to identify my favorite female celebrities because their faces can’t move, the fact that my favorite swear word has the word “mother” in it, unequal pay, and all of it. Like the whole culture was somehow pressing its big, phallic thumb down on me and I deep-down knew it, but didn’t understand how pissed, like really pissed, I was. About what was expected but not spoken, obstructed but not admitted, accumulated exponentially over decades and, looking back, centuries. So to finally have this whole culture evolving, bringing it all up to the surface-it’s so wonderfully liberating.

Translating this to home life…..If you talk to my husband, he can tell you I have been deeply concerned about having my voice heard in our marriage and being treated with respect on every level. He has handled my rage quite well, I think, when it’s all said and done. Because he is a strong man who can handle women being strong.

I am at home with our 3 kids and am inspired by what I’m seeing around me, the women in the workplace who are speaking out…..and it has me wondering now where the action is for those of us who don’t work outside the home, like me.

So, I thought amidst the amazing voices rising up, I’d throw in mine to the mix of practical things we can do in our daily lives, as moms, as wives, as ex-wives, as daughters, as parents, to contribute. I practice these things and am sometimes astonished at how unnatural it feels to place myself willingly into a position of power, emotional and energetic power. But unnatural or not, we must practice until it becomes habit. Here are some ideas…

  1. Stop asking permission for things you do not need to ask for. As in…”Can I use the bathroom?” at the doctor’s office or “Do you mind if I chew gum?” at a teacher conference or “Can I have the last bread roll?”
  2. Stop apologizing for other people’s feelings.
  3. Stop apologizing for your own feelings or display of emotion. Women feel. There’s not shame in it.
  4. Stop apologizing for bumping into people, interrupting, etc. Either say nothing or say “excuse me.”
  5. Stop moving out of the way for men on the sidewalk. Stay your course and see if they move.
  6. Take the armrest.
  7. Make statements without lilting your voice up at the end like it sounds like a question.
  8. Stop discounting accomplishments of yours by saying “but,” as in “I have my degree but it’s only Liberal Arts.”
  9. Stop saying “I’m just….” as in “I’m just a stay-at-home mom.”
  10. Consider how you feel before you consider what others’ feel.
  11. Stop apologizing for your feelings.
  12. Stop trying to predict how your true-to-you actions will affect your spouse.
  13. Stop editing yourself based on what you anticipate will be a negative response.
  14. Expect equal contributions for housework if you and your partner live in the same house- the things anyone would need to do if living alone.
  15. Sit where you want to sit, eat where you want to eat, watch what you want to watch- it’s ok to take turns but make sure you’re not sliding over your own needs to make room for someone else every time.
  16. If you’re unhappy with your partner, tell him/her: Start with “This is what I feel. This is what I need.”
  17. Stop having sex when you don’t want to.
  18. Wear what you want, cut your hair how you like, wear what makes you feel strong, not pretty.
  19. Shop for your babies in non-gender conforming ways. Shop for your girls in the boys’ section and your boys in the girls’ section. And let them choose when they’re old enough to.
  20. Express appreciation and respect for what has traditionally been seen as feminine qualities: empathy, intuition, nurturing, nourishing, non-hierarchy, feeling, circles of support and conversation, inclusion.

What about you? What steps or practices do you take to place yourself in a position of equality?

Strength vs. Guilt – Battle of the Fourth Trimester

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I have a friend who just had a baby and is adapting to her new role as Lord Ruler of All Things Baby-Related. The boundaries she sets for visitors, for instance, are clear.  If you want to interact with her baby, you must be a close family member, your hands need to be washed, and you need to have received a pertussis vaccine. It’s her home, her baby, her rules. She is finding herself surprised at the strength of her desire to protect her family bubble for the first few months. Equally surprising is her guilt for wanting people to stay away unless they are fully on board with her style of parenting. It’s the classic inner battle for women: strength vs. guilt.

When I gave birth to my oldest, it was a surprise to find that I had a Mama Bear instinct. I was floored at how strong it was. I felt, for the first time in my life, that my own intuition and feelings about what I wanted for my family trumped what other people might feel or think about my choices. The most important views about what was best for my baby belonged to me and my husband. I had never felt that important before. Hello, power.

Photo by Lea Wolf

Lea Wolf, my doula for my that birth, was essential in helping me understand that the first few weeks after birth are yours, your baby’s, and your partners. They belong to no one else and no one else can claim them, though they may try to. I understood this rationally, but not emotionally, with my first and made some mistakes in not creating a month-long safe space to honor that fourth trimester bond, find a rhythm, and heal from the birth.

It can be hard and foreign to explain our instincts to others in the face of their sometimes different expectations.   We need to start with our instinct as the starting point and create space for it. If we can find the strength to create that space, we are rewarded in so many ways. Because as we maintain our truth, it grows bigger and stronger. Crucial!

Your inner, intuitive voice may ring so loudly and strongly after baby is born, it may take your breath away in how certain and solid it feels.  Following that inner voice is the most blessed actualization of mother’s intuition.  It is as real and valid as your five senses, developed over generations of our ancestors fine tuning their ability to love, guide and protect their children and themselves.

So when an un-nurturing neighbor knocks on the door two days postpartum and wants to see baby, and you hear that inner voice saying “No.” — that “no” is there for a reason. So that the word can find your lips: “No.” It’s not right for you.

Social expectations can push up against this instinct and try and sway you toward a “yes.” You might think “It isn’t polite” or “I want to be nice” or “I don’t want them to think I don’t appreciate them.”  Part of listening to yourself is knowing that when you choose what’s right for you, it is quite likely that you will not please everyone all the time. And as far as I can tell, not pleasing everyone all the time, staying true to yourself, and accepting yourself for it…. is just the beginning of motherhood.

 

 

You are doing a great job.

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From time to time, I listen to a meditation cd from a local energy healer, Mary Preuss Olson at Magnificent Living Institute.  It’s great for centering, collecting all bits of my thoughts and energy back to where they belong, clearing away what I don’t want, and enhancing my state of being. It feels good to this- I like the whole meditation. But my favorite part of the entire cd is where she says,

You are doing a great job.

It melts into my bones when I hear it.

You are doing a great job.

I know that she means it and I know I deserve to hear it. And so do you. Because it’s true. This is a phrase that mothers (ok, and everyone) need to hear and, most importantly, believe. Knowing this statement to be true calms every fiber in our energy field, especially when we are in a place of really being able to absorb its meaning.

I try not to argue with it, try to burn through the shadowy mental response of “But….” But I didn’t get the dishes put away. But we don’t make enough money. But my kids has peanut butter in his hair. But I don’t make freezer meals. But I never went to grad school. No buts, no coconuts.

You are doing a great job.

You might not hear these words from your kids. They might not know you want to hear it. It’s ok to tell them that it sounds good to your ears, and that you like hearing it. You might not hear it from your partner either, unless you tell them it will make a difference in your life if they say it every now and again (and only when they really mean it.) What matters most is not who says it to you, but that you feel that it’s true in your bones.

You are doing a great job.

It’s true. Know it. Say it to yourself, especially when the wheels have fallen off the bus. There will always be unanswered questions and uncertain choices. There will always be more on the to-do list. Maybe it’s not actually your job to answer every question and be certain about everything. Maybe it’s ok to not know.  What preschool is the best. What size your kids will be in next fall. What toy they’ll take to. Maybe it’s ok not to be certain. I’m not sure if this music class will be worth it. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to pay off our debt this year. This car seat we bought might not be the best choice.  I don’t know.  I don’t know. And not knowing is totally ok. What a relief.

You are doing a great job.

I’m saying this to you now and I mean it. If you are keeping up with things and sometimes not keeping up, if you’re self-loving enough to take a moment to yourself to read a mom-blog, if you keep your kids breathing and fed, if you know how to cook a hot dog, if you notice things your kids might like, if you manage to shower when you need to and maybe even find time to shave your armpits, if you think about things like whether cloth diapers or disposables are more responsible, if you read to your kids, if you kiss them on the forehead before they go to sleep….

You are doing a great job.

(If this is not your child, you are doing a great job.)

 

Grocery Shopping with a Toddler and Preschooler

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It started with pee and ended with screaming. In between there were samples of veggie chips, taquitos, and “granola bars” that were one layer of caramel away from being a Snickers. Also, a very convincing demonstration of a space-age blender by a man with a performance headset mic like Beyonce wears. (I’m pretty sure you could put some dandelions, a deck of cards, and a popsicle into that Blender and you’d somehow end up with a green smoothie.) There were also not one, but two trips through the understaffed checkout lines. And there were birds- including a red-tailed hawk- flying overhead. I’m talking about our trip to Costco today, of course.

 

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This photo from Tom on flickr. See more like this at RoadsideArchitecture.com

 

Now that my kids are 4 and 1 1/2, the mental preparation that needs to happen in order for me to take both of them grocery shopping is equivalent to whatever prep Serena does before Wimbledon. Serious focus is needed. I should have a shopping coach, really, and get a trophy every time I make it back to the car with both my kids AND our food. Really I’m lucky if I make it through half my list.

Most trips start out smooth in the beginning. We are excited about the carts. We talk about our list. We love being in America where every time you visit a grocery store there is a new type of cracker you have never heard of before, made with things that normally don’t go into crackers – like kale or lentils.*

Today was Advanced Grocery Shopping because it was at Costco – where the enticement for my 4 year old, Braden, to run out of sight are tripled (ice cream samples! cool toy aisle! massage chair!)  but I was prepared for the risk.

As soon as we had our cart and were focused into shopping mode, (already had a lifejacket and beach towel in it) the inevitable statement, “I need to go potty” comes from my four year old.

You can’t take items past the checkout at Costco unless they’re paid for. Now comes the philosophical question of our generation. Do you want to take your cart to the bathroom for the benefit of having your toddler strapped in, but go through the trouble of emptying the cart?  Or do you want to take your toddler out of the cart and try to contain him in the stall for who knows how long?  I opted to dump the beach towel and life jacket and go for the strapped-in toddler benefit. Smart choice- and we were back out shopping in no time, until I noticed Braden picking at his pants. Turns out his pants and underwear were sopping wet because his pee had sprayed all over them instead of into the toilet.  A rookie would have just gone home. But I was not going to abandon this shopping trip for a change of clothes, and thankfully we were at Costco where you can buy a replacement for virtually anything that gets broken, lost, or peed on during your shopping experience.  So we threw a pair of pajamas into our cart, waited in a line that moved So Slowly, bought them, returned to the bathroom again, changed his pants, threw the pee-soaked clothes into the cart and got things underway again.

Already, I deserve a medal for this shopping trip and we haven’t even bought food yet.

By the time we actually start shopping for real, it’s been 20 minutes since we walked through the front door. This is already too long of a shopping trip for my kids.

On most trips to a normal grocery store, 20 minutes is when things start to break down. Today was no exception. My 18 month old, Wyatt, wants to eat everything I put in the cart and tells me this by shrieking and pointing. He can’t look at food without wanting to eat it. So I end up opening packages as we shop to keep him quiet so I can stay focused on our list. Gatorade- yes, Wyatt-here, take it. Goldfish crackers- yes, Wyatt- here, eat them.

Braden then gets tired of sitting in the cart and getting swatted & elbowed by his brother. He wants to “walk” next to the cart and “help” me shop.  If I let him walk next to the cart, he keeps his normal pace which is a slow sprint. Will I have to jog with the cart to try and keep up?  Will I lose him around a corner and find him carrying 3 mammoth peanut butter tubs in his hands?  Who knows?  If his listening ears aren’t on, it’s over. Store lock-down, my kid is fast and doesn’t care how far away he gets from me. He wants to help and I want to let him, but sometimes his help involves adding things to our cart that we would never eat in a million years-beets, orange sodas from Mexico, prune juice- anything from the bottom shelves is eligible.

Around this same time, Wyatt has turned completely around in his seat and is reaching for the foods I have intentionally placed away from him. (Once, I walked away from the cart to grab something and when I stepped back to it he had 2 eggs in his hands that he was starting to lick.)

When things get squirrely like this, I then have exactly 5 minutes to get out of the store before the wheels fall off the bus.  Game on. I race to try and get the last few things on our list like I am in a shopping game show, then panic and start grabbing random things off the shelves on the way to the checkout. If I did have a shopping coach, she’d be running next to me shouting, “Leave it! Just leave the guacamole! Go for the bacon! The bacon!”

When we make it to the checkout line, the lines make me cry. Why are there 17 registers and only 3 cashiers?! Why?! I open at least two more packages for my 18 month old. Yes, pretzels and applesauce pouch- here you go. We inch our way toward the register.  Up to this point, I have managed to hide the berries from him, which is essential. His passion for berries is unquenchable. But when we get to the register, as soon as I grab the blueberries from the cart to place on the moving belt, he spots them- and the shrieking begins. Shoppers at the far corner of the store look up and wonder if there is an orangutan loose by the registers. The cashier avoids eye contact and scans things as quickly as she can. Customers that, two seconds ago, were smiling at my kids and making googly eyes now shrink back in horror. “That woman’s cart smells like pee, her kid is wearing pajamas for some reason, she’s opened every package before she bought it, and her baby is louder than a bullhorn and covered in blueberries.” If I don’t start feeding Wyatt blueberries, the shrieking will just grow louder and louder until all our brains explode and our ear drums burst.

Once he sees the blueberries, he can’t not have a blueberry in both of his hands and his mouth. What he really wants is to hold the blueberry container and either push his mouth into the container or grab fistfuls at a time. But then even the gigantic Costco size tub would be gone before we get through the checkout and nobody wants that.

Finally we make it through the checkout leaving a trail of blueberries on the cement. Braden is squishing them unknowingly as he jogs back and forth, asking for a “sugar stick,” his word for churro.  (Um, no.)  The cashier is asking me something. Yes, I want that shit boxed. Do not spend one second telling me about the premium membership. My kids’ brains are melting into a pile of goo!

We push out into the fresh air, finally, feeding Wyatt blueberries the entire way. Braden is crying because I didn’t buy him a churro…But by God, we made it- and with almost half our list.

I am a great fucking mom.

 

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Ingredients: Sprouted sunflower seeds* collards* carrots* celery* Kale* spinach* zucchini* arugula* radicchio* lettuce* Parsley* basil* tomatoes* sprouted flax* onion* garlic* original Himalayan crystal salt & ♥.*Organic

*

 

 

Do you like my hat?

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During my stay here in Florida I’ve been keenly aware that my self-consciousness has been slowly receding. I can tell because I walked around all day today wearing a ridiculous hat I bought at the grocery store and aviator sunglasses like Tom Cruise wore in Top Gun, while my sunburned neon face and legs literally shined a light onto anyone who came within 2 feet of me.

 

Photo on 5-26-14 at 5.26 PM #2

 

I was keenly aware that I looked like a ridiculous tourist and I absolutely did not care. Yes. It’s happened. Either I’m middle aged and I’ve finally reached the point where I don’t care what others think of me, or I’m officially a “mom” and the benefit of what is practical in any given clothing situation far outweighs what is attractive.

 

The voices of judgment and fear of being judged have grown so quiet during my time here, that I feel my sense of humor sprouting up and actually growing back. Like a lot of women I know, when stress gets me down, I tend to really get in my head. My sense of humor disappears. Everything is worrisome. I can’t do a single thing without wondering if it’s the right thing. Wondering what people are thinking about it. Whether I look (or am) ridiculous or sad or out of my element. I feel hyper-aware of what I’m saying and doing.

 

So I was psyched to find today, as I walked on the beach, that the critical, worried voice in my head had faded.

 

If I were starring in an HBO sitcom, the narrative of my walk on the beach would go like this:

After gathering seashells on the beach for hours, I started to realize that I was my own worst enemy. So much of my own energy was being wasted in wondering what others were thinking of me. I had been dampening down my actions or changing my course all together so as not to offend or distract the people around me. I picked up a pink shell and threw it into the waves. A young couple walked by and I listened for the voice in my head…that self-conscious flag alerting me to others that might be watching or noticing me, and what they might think of me.  I reached down to pick up a black shell with a small chip on the side- imperfect in the most beautiful way- and noticed the voice was gone. All I could hear was the sound of the waves breaking on the shore.

 

OK, so that’s sort of what happened. In reality, I could still hear the voice a little. I am not a tv show character. But after spending 3 days alone, crying my eyes out about my dad, and soaking in every drop of healing the ocean offered, I noticed that the voice was quieter, sitting way in the back row balcony of my self-talk.

 

Surprisingly, I did discover a new voice emerging to the forefront. This one is sassy as hell. When I walked on the beach past a hot middle-aged, string bikini-wearing woman with thin, toned, legs and long blonde hair, and boobs that were naturally still at boob height…this voice immediately snarked in my head “Well, congratulations.” But the difference was that I wasn’t wishing to be more like her or wondering what she thought of me and my grown-ass-woman-wearing-an-ugly-hat self.

 

So that’s something.

The Mom-cation: You’re next.

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I am writing this post while sitting in a tiny Florida cottage on the Gulf Coast. I am by myself and have been by myself for 56 hours now. I can hear the clock ticking. I have spoken no more than a handful of sentences since I’ve been here, except for the times I talked to my husband and kids on the phone.

 

Let this stock beach photo inspire you.

 

I came to this place to visit the spot where my sister and I sprinkled my dad’s ashes into the ocean 2 years ago. I came here, too, because I need to stare out at the ocean once or twice a year…if I don’t do that, then something undefinable is missing in my world. I came here because the routine of my daily life was starting to feel like a routine of stressors. I was tense all the time- enough so that a yoga class or a walk in the woods wasn’t going to make me feel better. And I ain’t no dummy. I’ve been down the road before where a little slip turns into a long slide and there you are suddenly wondering about how to change your whole life when really all you may need is one small change. Like maybe a vacation all to yourself.

 

I firmly believe that time alone is healing for most people. I encourage you to give it a try. You never know what you might discover.

If you’re ready to explore the Mom-cation, here is how it goes:

Pick a place you would like to visit. Not a place your kids would have fun visiting or your partner has been talking about going to. A place YOU would like to visit. Maybe it’s been on your mind for months. Maybe you’ve been thinking of it for years. You know the place. Start short and sweet if it’s more comfortable. A car ride and an overnight. You don’t have to jump into a week in Thailand just yet.

Find a moment to get online. (The next time you are supposed to be taking a shower, turn on the water, close the door and sit on the toilet seat lid while researching trip options.)

Bolster you nerve. Yes, you can do this: Number of travelers: 1.

See if you can make it happen financially (where there’s a will there’s a way.)

Tell your partner or support system that you need this. The kind of need that is non-negotiable. Like I need to work out. I need 4 hours of sleep. I need a haircut. Tell him/her that you will help arrange for extra support for the kids if needed and will return the favor in kind when he/she needs time away. If a partner is not in the picture, try your closest friend or relative.

Pick a few days that will work with your calendars. Yes, the kids can miss preschool. Yes, relatives can help out. Yes, you can miss your book club meeting.

Book your trip.

Go. You deserve it.

 

 

Who Are You Now?

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Two nights ago I had a dream about a bald eagle hatching. Most animal dreams are significant and I try to pay attention when they happen. This one, in particular, jumped out at me as containing a relevant message, particularly because eagles are such a powerful animal and have represented major spiritual concepts to many cultures throughout history. Powerful medicine.

I’m lucky enough to know a man who does shamanic work here in Madison (and around the world, as well.) When I told him I was planning to do a little research to find out what this dream’s meaning was, he said he believed it was that a deep dream of mine was “hatching” or about to be realized. Sweet!

Then I got to thinking…What are my dreams these days? I am so intimately absorbed in the day to day life with my kids and husband, do I even have dreams that go beyond getting a full night’s sleep, going to Target by myself, and getting in a good workout a couple times a week? That feels so lame, somehow, but is really indicative of this time of my life. Family life, man, I’m deep in it.

But to honor the parts of me that might be holding steady to some of my other dreams I may have lost sight of, I sometimes revisit questions to bring those dreams back into my awareness. To find my location and spiritual coordinates on my life map.  I encourage you to answer some of them for yourself. It’s often surprising what you don’t know about yourself. Here are a few….

What makes you laugh?
What scares you?
Where do you most want to travel to alone?
Where do you most want to travel to with your family?
What is your favorite color?
What are three things you would like to spend more time doing?
What are three things you would like to stop doing?
What are three life goals you have already achieved?
What are three life goals you look forward to achieving?
What is a goal you have that you don’t think you can achieve? What if you could?
What do you love about your home?
What do you not like about your home?
What do you love about your town?
What do you not like about your town?
What makes you feel happy?
What makes you feel lonely?
What is your favorite song?
What is some new activity you’d like to try?
Where do you see yourself in five years? Does it make you smile?
What is your favorite piece of clothing?
Who is a good friend to you?
Whose friendship are you letting go of?
What do you feel guilty about?
How can you celebrate who you are today?

Children’s Book Review: Old Turtle by Douglas Wood

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Today’s Favorite: Old Turtle by Douglas Wood

 

oldturtle

Old Turtle. Spiritual without being religious. Poignant without being sappy. Ecologically aware without being preachy. Wood expresses truths (in my world) without being cliche. I’m so grateful to have found a story that I can read to my little ones that touches on the bigger questions and interconnectedness of all things. When I read it, I skip over the part about people doing harm to each other because I”m not ready to introduce my 4 year old ot the concept yet. The story works beautifully without it. Warning for those seeking out non-religious spiritual books- it does contain the concept of God. Not a judgy, power-hungry God, though. God that is in you, me and everything. The paintings are really beautiful too.

Children’s Book Review: Sitting Still Like a Frog: Mindfulness Exercises for Kids (and Their Parents)

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(Note: This is a repost from 2015) A few weeks ago, my 5 year old was having trouble falling asleep. I was resting next to him on his bed, waiting for the wiggling to stop, for his eyes to close. It didn’t and his eyes stayed open for 10, 15, 20 minutes. I had him place his hand over his belly to feel his breath and mentioned that when I was a kid, I used to have thoughts flying through my mind at night.  He turned to me and said, “That happens to me all the time.” (After weeping silently in my mind that a 5 year old has racing thoughts that keep him up, I gathered my composure.)  We talked about how paying attention to your body and breath can help shift you into a lower gear, settle those thoughts, and allow sleep to come.

On a mission the next day, not wanting him to have to go through the same anxieties I did as a kid with an overactive worried mind that never seemed to settle down, I went in search of a book that could help me help him start early with mindfulness and self-calming techniques. I hoped for simple exercises, short meditations, fun imagery, effective strategies, and a cd that could guide us through. And….

 

sittinglikeafrog

 Sitting Still Like a Frog: Mindfulness Exercises for Kids (and Their Parents)
– by Eline Snell

 

Every single one of my hopes was answered in this book.  It’s beautifully simple with tips and info for parents about mindfulness and soothing cd tracks that guide you through short (4 min+) mindfulness exercises. These tracks are stand-alone- they’re perfect. Simple enough for my 5 year old to listen to by himself, interesting enough that it keeps his attention.

After listening to a few tracks over the course of several days, he suggested we do a mindfulness exercise every day.  (Joy!) Ten minutes later I was buying this book online. You can’t buy happiness but you can buy this book. Being present in our bodies and teaching our kids to do the same is the happiest of happies.