fresh mintings

Trying Not To Die

2012-02-03T16:24:00.002-05:00

I've decided that 2012 is going to be a year of ACTION. I spent the last few months of 2011 in deep contemplation about motivation, action and compassion. I have felt a coming change within me for a long time. It's been growing, as growth happens, slowly. But the end of last year came with a certain KNOWING that I could no longer deny. And the knowing left me with a deep angst, a weight on my soul, a nagging feeling. Then I spent January in denial. I think I knew that I was going to be making radical changes and had to eat and drink and process what it would mean to go without those things. I've often been someone who is impulsive and swings from one extreme (strict diets, chastisement) to the other (total self indulgence). But, over the past few years, I've been gradually finding my path to The Middle Way. And I don't want the decisions that I make this year, to be impulsive or unsustainable. But I knew they might have to be radical. So, maybe I wasn't in denial, maybe I was just planning. Maybe both. What resulted was this ache for change.

"We change our behavior when the pain of staying the same becomes greater than the pain of changing. Consequences give us the pain that motivates us to change."
-- Henry Cloud

Ever before in my life, I was motivated out of shame. I felt deep shame for being fat, so I dieted. I felt deep shame for being a failure, so I sought out physical affection. I felt deep shame for being promiscuous, so I drank. I felt deep shame for excessive drinking, so cried. I felt deep shame for being emotional, so I ate. And round and round I went. I hated who I was, so I would try to do radical changes to make myself better, in hopes of feeling worthy of love, of being good enough.

But sometime in the last year, after years of struggling to believe it, I came to know a deep, sacred, marrow-nourishing, hip-swinging, foot-stomping love. I just found it. It had been there all along. But it wasn't where I thought I'd left it. And it certainly wasn't where I was looking. It wasn't in Marco's embrace. It wasn't in my mother's voice. It wasn't in my sister's phone calls. It wasn't in my friends' words of praise. It wasn't in any books. It wasn't even in my kids' faces. It turned out it was where I least expected it. Love was dwelling in my scattered mind, my stretch-marked belly, my large calloused feet, my ugly knees, my wide hips, my flat chest, and buried deep in my bruised heart. It was as if all those other people had been shouting at me, through the din of my hateful thoughts, telling me to look down, saying, "It's right there! You have it!" And finally, when I got really quiet, I heard it. I felt it. I knew.

I hesitate to name it. You know I'm skittish about such things. I like to leave a little room for the mysterious. I like to leave a chair in my mind empty for knew knowledge. But love is what it is.

And out of this love has come immense change. Love for myself, a deep friendship with myself, a kindness and compassion for my wily ways has led to a care and concern for my well-being that I never had before. I've fallen in love with life and want to enjoy, extend and partake of it, drink it in, savor it. Recently, Maya asked me, "Why do we live on a planet?" I waxed philosophical and poetic about the miracle of the goldilocks conditions of Earth. We're not too hot. We're not too cold. Life grew and changed. It's amazing, no matter what way you view it, that we exist here at all. I was leading up to this big teaching moment about how precious life is. At the end, I proclaimed very boldly, "That's why we..." and Maya finished with, "Gotta try not to die!" Yes! That's it! Exactly! It's more than "living in the moment". It's fighting to stay fully alive. It's doing all I can to get the most out of this one, blessed life I have got (that I know of at least). Every day I'm trying not to die.

Trying not to die means not settling for complacency. Trying not to die means doing life-sustaining things like eating healthy and exercising and resting. It means dancing and laughing and spending time with great friends and reading great books and having stimulating, challenging conversations. Trying not to die means giving just a little bit more when I think I want to quit. And, trying not to die means helping others try not to die as well. They only have one ride on this blue boat. That means being kind, above all else, to everyone, especially those I love. With those I love I have the grace and space to be nasty and really let my cranky hair down, and I love that I have that freedom. But how much more blessed is the relationship when I speak with tenderness, knowing they too are a crumpled up, tattered old being of love too.

In an effort to try not to die, I've begun what I'm calling my Action Initiative. Inspired by Matt Cutts in this TED video, I'm going to attempt to do a different challenge each month this year. Each challenge is something that I have wanted to be part of my life but have lacked the self-love, bravery and discipline to implement. I have a lot of work to do. And I know that my feelings will waver and that some days will be harder than others. I'm going to write posts about how these changes are impacting my life and what I am learning along the way.

February the focus is on health. I have known for a long time that I need to figure out what is causing digestion problems, but I just haven't felt like it. Well, the pain of staying became too great. I want to feel better. I want to be lighter. I want to move with agility and strength and feel lean and mean. My goal is to exercise every day this month. I have also given up animal products including dairy. I'm focusing on expanding my healthy diet, feeding my body nourishing food and treating my old self with the love and respect I deserve because I AM ENOUGH. I AM LOVED.

I'm three days in to February, and I'll tell you how I feel. I feel satisfied. Last night, as I climbed into bed, and I said to Marco, "You know, that nagging feeling is gone. I did everything I said I was going to do today."

Let's see how tomorrow goes.

Will you join me? Let's start a movement of change based on love. Let's help each other try not to die.

Just Do It

2012-01-31T15:22:00.002-05:00

I’ve been writing computer code recently. It’s been a lesson in patience, endurance and being uncomfortable. I can’t say that I love it, but I’m learning to understand why other people love it. It makes sense. You write commands; the computer follows the commands. But I’m also learning something about human nature. You see, all these years that Marco, my husband, has been writing code, I had this idea that there was one way to do it. In order to get a desired result, you have to write a specific set of words and symbols, and voila, results. And that is the truth. However, it takes trial and error to arrive at the correct sequence to achieve the results you want. And there are long ways and short ways, disorganized ways and clean ways, systematic or disjointed ways of writing code and getting the results you want. But the proof is in the results, in the actions that the code produces from the computer. The true test if you’ve got the code right is if the program produces the results you wanted.

To me, this is similar to human nature. We know that children learn from modeling. They watch our behavior and learn how to be human. Sure, we teach information, but we model behavior. Our actions write the code. The models we had wrote our code. And we continue to effect our own code with our ongoing behavior. Each action re-encodes that into our system, ensuring similar results the next time.

I’ve had this idea that I could think my way into change. I can read books, listen to lectures, write my way into understanding, literally rewrite my code. But the truth is, if I truly want to rewrite my code, I have to ACT differently.

Karen Armstrong, an authority on comparative religion has said, “I say that religion isn’t about believing things. It’s ethical alchemy. It’s about behaving in a way that changes you, that gives you intimations of holiness and sacredness.” (TED)

The problem is, we’re all so hung up on orthodoxy rather than orthopraxy. But you can think anything you want, it’s what you do that tells the world who you are. Your actions reveal your source.

I think this must be what the apostle Paul meant when he said, “continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling” in his second letter to the Philippians. Jesus was quoted by John, saying, “If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love.” In fact, he starts that passage by saying, “He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.”

Our actions both encode and decode. The way we behave is constantly building those pathways in our brain, teaching ourselves to behave that way again and again. If you bear fruit, you’ll bear more fruit. The point is, we have to DO something.

When you begin to look at the root of many, many sacred texts, they echo the same call for action:

Do not to your neighbour what you would take ill from him. (Pittacus, 650 BCE)
Do not unto another that you would not have him do unto you. Thou needest this law alone. It is the foundation of all the rest. (Confucius, 500 BCE)
Avoid doing what you would blame others for doing. (Thales, 464 BCE)
What you wish your neighbors to be to you, such be also to them. (Sextus the Pythagorean, 406 BCE)
We should conduct ourselves toward others as we would have them act toward us. (Aristotle, 384 BCE)
Cherish reciprocal benevolence, which will make you as anxious for another’s welfare as your own. (Aristippus of Cyrene, 365 BCE)
Act toward others as you desire them to act toward you. (Isocrates, 338 BCE)
This is the sum of duty: Do naught unto others which would cause you pain if done to you. (From theMahabharata (5:1517), 300 BCE)
What is hateful to you, do not to your fellow men. That is the entire Law; all the rest is commentary. (Rabbi Hillel 50 BCE)
Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. (From the Bible, Leviticus 19:18 1440 BCE)
Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them. (Jesus of Nazareth, circa 30 CE)
(Think Humanism)

Compassion is a verb. It involves action. You are to either do unto others or do not unto others. Doing is involved.

We’re all interconnected. We’re all computers, jammed full of code, connected together by our actions in an interweb, a series of tubes, a cloud. My every action has an impact. Even when I’m alone, I’m impacting my own future behavior. What I do matters, and not because of some future reward or result. The action matters as the action happens. The gift is in the doing not in the having done.

Hugh Prather says in Notes to Myself, “My only sure reward is in my actions and not from them.” And too, Thich Naht Hanh says, “My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground on which I stand.”

When I was about ten years old, my brother and I were fighting, so my parents sent us to our rooms to read I John, which is all about loving one another. I read verse eight in chapter four, “Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love,” and I suddenly understood. God IS love. The action of loving someone, when we treat someone with compassion and kindness, generosity and patience, we are actually “godding” them. I had this vision, in my little room, of God literally moving from me to my brother as I treated him with love. It was the first time I had a true spiritual awakening, and it’s still the most important lesson I have ever learned.

My soul has been aching over the last couple months as I’ve been contemplating this. I’m constantly aware of how my actions reveal my selfish, judgmental code, my ego source. I see how I make all these little decisions that I don’t think matter, but they do. I’m writing the code for my future behavior. And I’m impacting the world. Selfish action begets selfish action.

I don’t know the answers to the big questions. I don’t know if there is a god or no god. I don’t know if there is a single equation that summarizes all physical laws. I don’t know why we’re here or where we go when we die. I most likely never will. But, no matter what you believe, no matter the theory behind your coding, the goal is the same for all of us: Compassion.

Just do it. It’s as simple as that. All the rest is merely commentary.

Stuck At Home Mom

2011-11-16T21:53:00.001-05:00

I know you’ve felt this way.

For various reasons, we take on the role of full-time unemployed parent. Me, I always wanted to be a “Stay At Home Mom.” In fact, when we got pregnant and it became apparent that I would have to work after Maya was born, I was aghast. But I’m a MOTHER. This is what I’ve always planned on doing. Being separated from my parents for most of my childhood really locked it in for me as an absolute. Plus, I just KNEW I was going to be an amazing mother. I love kids. I’m fun. I’m creative. I love glitter and dancing and play-dough. I had big dreams for my mommyhood.

But no one tells you that being home means so much more than playing with children.

No one tells you you might lose your mind.

First of all, you’ve got the housework. The maintenance of housekeeping is paramount. You start to let that slide and you’re on an episode of Hoarders before you can blink. As we speak, my bathrooms are in dire need of cleaning, and I swear I JUST CLEANED THEM. But one must have clean bathrooms. If nothing else, one must have clean bathrooms. And floors. You can’t walk around on dirt and grime and who knows what else these small people smear, spill, spit or smudge on your floors. Those must be cleaned every day - at least vacuumed. If you don’t do that - Hoarders! And that means cleaning under the couch and radiators and picking up all the toys in the kids rooms so that you CAN clean the floors. So, you have to do that too - clean up toys. And the toys must be organized into categories. Children do not play with instruments if they are mixed in with the train tracks. This has been researched and tested (mostly by me) and proven to be true. Therefore, organized toys - paramount.

And then there’s the laundry. With five people, I have to do one load a day to tread water. That doesn’t include sheets and towels. So, really, based on how often sheets get peed on around here, I do two loads a day to tread water. When I want to “get ahead” and wash shower curtains, floor mats and blankets, then we’re talking another 1 - 3 loads a week. The diapers are at least one extra load every other day. And I’m sort of insane about kitchen linens being clean. Those are washed constantly. But washing laundry is easy. It’s the folding and putting away that is a total nightmare. I would venture to guess that five out of seven days of the week we have at least one or two loads piled on the living room furniture at any given time. I spend nap times and evenings folding. In my dreams I have to fight my way through laundry to get somewhere. Laundry is my life.

But the people need to eat as well. Damn their little hungry tummies. These people want three meals and two snacks and gallons of water and milk and juice. And that means preparation, feeding and cleanup. That means negotiation, frustration, crying and more clean up. That means me eating cold eggs, luke-warm coffee and barely sitting down during our sacred “Family Dinner.” I’m in constant feeding motion. “Oh, you want more water. Sure thing. I’m here to serve.” I REFUSE to make multiple things or let them eat anything but what is served. There is just NO WAY that is even possible. Eggs - that’s what’s for breakfast today. No, you cannot have homemade cinnamon rolls, and no amount of crying and wailing and “It’s not fair” is going to convince me otherwise. Eggs. Only eggs.

Before you think that I’m even close to being done, don’t forget that I haven’t even mentioned outside play, exercise, diaper changes and potty stops. I haven’t even mentioned three people constantly requesting assistance or crying for being hit or pulling out all the tissues from the box. I haven’t mentioned that I sometimes need to pee. And somewhere, along the way, I need to teach them things like their ABCs and numbers and colors and reading and the structure of the universe (Maya is really into planets right now). I need to come up with creative play time and art and crafts and music and games. I need to read books and dance and sing and play Crocodile. Need, nay want. This is what I thought I’d be doing, but it ends up being an after-thought, a frustration, another thing I need to do.

Sometimes I’m enthusiastic about my job. Sometimes the simultaneous strain of a relentless routine and chaotic disaster is just the music I dance to. But sometimes I wake up angry. Taking care of my house and kids is the LAST thing I want to do. I want to be anywhere else but here. I want to do anything else but laundry. I am grumpy and snippy and bitter. I put them in their car-seats, planning on heading to the gym or grocery store or park, and I just sit there. Everyone is tied down, unable to move, and I can just sit for a minute. Sure, they start yelling at me immediately and harsh my mellow, but I get a minute or two of quiet and calm to sit there and be frustrated. I let their crying and demanding sour me even more. I sit there and spoil. I am skilled at savoring a bad mood. I should put that on my resume.

Maya knows I wax and wane with enthusiasm. She knows sometimes I’m grumpy. She’ll tell me, “You’re not being very nice today” or “Mom, you need to take a deep breath.” I hate when I feel this way. I hate how it must make them feel. I hate that it takes a couple days, sometimes weeks, to come out of it. It’s hard to find peace in the present moment when there is just so much goddam screaming and crying. It wears on your nerves. It fries your brain. You want to think a complete thought without someone crying. You want to walk out the door without someone getting mysteriously injured and completely derailing the train of people headed to the car. You’d like one meal to not end in plates of food being dumped or thrown all over the dining room (just one would be nice).

And the thing is, even if you decide to start working again or need to make some extra money, you’re ill-prepared for how hard it is to find well-paid work and reliable childcare that doesn’t cost you all the money you make. Finding my true calling and lifetime career? Sorry - I can’t hear you over the soundtrack to Dora the Explorer playing in my brain.

I know, I know, I am ridiculously blessed. Everyone is healthy and cute and charming and yadda, yadda, yadda. I know all of that. I know they’re hilarious and brilliant and I’m doing this awesome job. I know. I know this is precious time. I know it’s super awesome and a total luxury to be home. Yes, I freaking know that. I do.

But sometimes. Sometimes I’m not the Stay at Home Mom I thought I’d be. Sometimes I’m stuck. I’m stuck in between crying and folding. I’m stuck in between screaming and snot. I’m stuck in between cleaning and caring. The truth is, I’m stuck in my own funk. I’m just stuck.

I’m a Stuck at Home Mom.

Let It Be Me

2011-11-07T14:04:00.001-05:00

I’m often completely astounded by the complexity of life. After several phone calls yesterday I stopped for a moment and looked out at the changing leaves and just caught my breath. There is so much going on, so much strain, so much chaos, so much turmoil. My friend texts me “It’s cancer,” and my breath stops short. Then a call, “He lied. He did fool around with her.” I’m aching. My nephew posts on Facebook about a little girl he knows in Brazil who has gone missing, probably trafficked. The kids wake up all night, sick with colds. I choose my clothes, weigh my body, look at myself in the mirror. I just look like a regular old mom. You wouldn’t guess what’s in my heart right now. It’s amazing what a heart can hold. You can name any person I know, and I can tell you about the stone they carry. A lost job, a new business, a strict diet, a volatile boss, a longing for love, a longing for freedom, a longing for feeling.

I used to panic when things would go well. I was so afraid of the other shoe dropping. I was so afraid of the unknown pain that was just around the corner. When I attempted suicide all those years ago, it was fear of pain that was the reason. I just didn’t want to feel it. The fear hurt too much.

And now, with my life so utterly sweet, I have so much more to lose. I have so much more possibilities for pain. When you love people so immensely, you risk a pain so deep. I should be in absolute panic. And, admittedly, there are times when I’m sure someone I love is going to die. I’m still breaking the old patterns. And one of those old superstitions is this idea that if I think about the possibilities, if I hold them in my heart for a moment, then they won’t happen. I know it makes no sense. I know it’s ridiculous. It’s been an unconscious behavioral pattern for so long that it’s very difficult to break. But I’m working on it.

I’m getting comfortable with being uncomfortable. Uncertainty is uncomfortable. But it is also part of the very fabric of the universe. There is no way, no matter how many different scenarios I think up, that I can predict what will happen. And, even if I do hit on the truth of my future, there is no way that thinking about it will at all prepare me for what is to come. I’m here now, that’s all I can do. I’m getting better at being here. I’m so much more resilient and pliable than I ever anticipated I would be. I think the practice of being present is actually starting to become a way of life, as is exercise.

But I’m also horribly erratic. The middle road is much more difficult than it sounds. As humans we seek stability, equilibrium. We want to find the ground. I want to find solutions. I want answers. I want to do something that matters, that makes a difference. But when you look around at all the things you cannot control, it feels impossible. How can any amount of volunteering affect the lives of the 27 million slaves? Are we just swimming upstream thinking we can help all those children being trafficked? How is there any sense? How is there any solution? What can I possibly do to help them? The world just feels too big, too complicated, the pain too overwhelming. And I completely suck at maintaining consistency.

But then I get another text from my friend, “Thanks for checking on me,” and I think that maybe I can make a difference. Maybe all those little decisions, made in love, add up to something greater. Maybe my life is good right now so that I have the strength to help carry other people’s stones. Maybe my role is to help them find a place for their worries. Maybe I’m a wall builder.

People often think of Buddhism as a self-centered path. I grew up being taught that it was entirely self-focused. I grew up with the teaching that believing in Jesus was the only way to receive grace, to receive the peace that seems incongruous with being human. We’re imbalanced, horrible people. The Christian perspective is that the world has fallen out of favor with God. In order to get back to holiness, we need an external grace granted to us. There’s nothing we can do. And I really, really understand the beauty of that story. I love the idea of being forgiven and all of it being okay.

But I tend to look at it the other way. Instead of a broken system needing a fix, I think of the chaos and uncertainty and pain as part of the nature of existence and the root of the solution. By training to be present, by sitting with my pain and learning to accept uncertainty, I’m becoming a greater asset to my fellow man. It’s not out of selfishness that I pursue awakening, it’s out of love. It’s not to achieve some sort of perfection. It’s not to achieve recognition or be thought of highly, even by myself. I am in a constant pursuit of peace by staying just where I am, rotten thoughts, fearful tendencies and mediocre love all included.

It sucks, I’m not going to lie. This road is painful. That’s why they call it the way of the warrior. And I have so far to go and so much to learn. I’m a white belt in being present. But I’m at peace. I know peace is actually every step. I have a place to come back to, an understanding that lets me rest in the chaos.

I was listening to Ray LaMontagne sing “Let It Be Me” yesterday, and I felt this sort of melting. Yes, let it be me. Pema talks about sitting with your pain and thinking of everyone who is dealing with the same thing. You imagine yourself taking on all of the pain so that they don’t have to feel what you feel. Let me be brave. Let me be present. Let me hold the uncertainty and the pain. Let me do the work so that I can be the wall builder, the stone carrier, the strength.

Let it be me.

Prayer, perhaps.

2011-10-12T22:53:00.000-04:00

Today I heard Mary Gordon define prayer as “having something to say and someone to say it to.” And I just loved that idea.

As you know, if you read this blog or know me personally, I have come out of deep faith into a place of agnostic atheism. Well, I hate to even define it because it’s constantly in flux. I am agnostic. That will remain true.

Margaret Atwood said, “A strict agnostic says, you cannot pronounce, as knowledge, anything you cannot demonstrate. In other words if you're going to call it knowledge you have to be able to run an experiment on it that's repeatable. You can't run an experiment on whether God exists or not, therefore you can't say anything about it as knowledge. You can have a belief if you want to, or if that is what grabs you, if you were called in that direction, if you have a subjective experience of that kind, that would be your belief system. You just can't call it knowledge.”

I agree. I am agnostic. I do think that God’s existence is unknowable. And I tend to lean toward the atheist side. I’ve been very leery of even entertaining the idea of admitting that there might be something beyond the known. I have been saying to others and telling myself that all things can be known, are knowable, eventually. However, I find that I pause before I speak because there is a tiny little ember of doubt about that. Perhaps there is a level of existence that is unknowable. Or perhaps it doesn’t matter.

In the same interview with Atwood, she told the story of Life of Pi. At the end she says, “So we like the story with the tiger better. We like the story with God in it better then we like the story without God in it. Because it's more like us, it's more understandable, it's more human.”

And it sort of hit me.

It doesn’t have to be true.

My friend Kristin once told me that I could make up any God I wanted. She described her God to me, and I quite liked him. But I’ve still been largely against the idea of placing faith in something I *know* is not true, or that I cannot know is true, for sure 100% absolutely. I’ve been railing against the idea of the divine.

Bill Moyers also interviewed another of my favorite writers, Jeanette Winterson. She rocks my socks. Well, she grew up in a legalistic, fundamentalist Pentecostal home, yet somehow she emerged as a free-thinking, openly gay, provocative writer. I connect very deeply with her writing and her story. I ache to come to the same point of clarity, to write with as much fervency and honesty. I hold myself to her standard of living authentically, daring to be whole.

Well, I sort of expected her to be very anti-religion. I listened to the interview with this idea that she’d affirm my lack of belief, that she’d help me unbelieve.

Then she said, “I always need another world. I mean, I'm passionately connected to this one. I am. You know, with the world I think you might as well love it or leave it. So I love it. And I want to change it. I'm political. I'm involved. I'm engaged. All of that. But I think there are vast dimensions of which I know nothing. But sometimes I can apprehend them a little bit. So I think that in religious terms that sometimes I think of it as the kick of joy in the universe. It's the moment when you feel that the whole thing is bigger than you, better than you, and you connect with an energy which is gigantic. And, I think writers and artists do feel that. I hope that people who are not writers and artists feel that. And it is a moment which is absolutely true, and it absolutely cannot be proved by science. But you feel it.”

And I felt this little tether break inside me. I was tied so tightly to no-god, no-divine, no nothing.

Well, today, while going about my daily routine, I had three phone calls with three different friends. Each was moving, stimulating, encouraging, affirming. I spoke to each friend about different things. I threw ideas out there, I prattled about my life, I listened to stories of woe. I questioned or affirmed or bounced ideas back. I left each conversation knowing something more about my friend and about myself. I finished encouraged, inspired, filled with love and longing for more.

Then I was sitting there watching Bill Moyers and Mary Gordon while I folded laundry and it all seemed to click into place.

I pray. I access the sacred every day.

It’s just, usually, my prayers start with dialing numbers. Sometimes my prayers start with coffee or wine and a hug. But most of the time my prayers are over the phone. But they are all prayers. I am seeking something that cannot be defined or tested or completely understood. I am seeking a connection with that gigantic energy, that tingling of one soul communing with another. For me, the divine is in the wisdom of a friend. My energy, my peace, my clarity, my understanding all come from conversations with my friends.

I call different friends for different things. I have friends I talk to every day and some I talk to every few years (it should be more often). Each one holds a different place in my life, knows me from a different angle. There are a precious few I call when the bottom is falling out. They hold a unique and sacred place. They help keep me together. Some are woven into the fabric of my life. They aren’t necessarily the ones I call when I am most in need, but they are the ones who are always present. I don’t doubt them. They keep me buoyed in my life with regular laughter and an intimate knowing of the details. I get nourishment from the knowing and being known.

My friend Theresa was telling me about this concept that we are the amalgam of the five people with whom we spend the most time. Who we spend time with is who we are. And I think that’s true (if you count phone time). These people, these amazing friends, help make me. I come at them with declarations or tears, frustrations or gossip, and they help me figure it out, turn it around, see if from another angle. I can call friends and leave messages like, “I am calling to vent and complain,” and I know they will call me as soon as humanly possible just to hear my complaints. And I have many, as you well know. But I also share joy, stories about my kids, pains about marriage or family or work. And the stories they give me, the ideas they pass along, become part of the fabric of who I am, shape my story. I might be certain about something at the beginning of a conversation and leave questioning my choices, changing my mind. Or I might come to them with the muddled rantings of a human on the verge of collapse, and they help sort things out, put them back in the right order. I am who I am because of these friends.

I said before that the existence of God is unknowable. It’s true.

But I know I can reach absolute truth, sacred love and infinite knowledge any minute of the day. My friends are present everywhere, available when I need them and provide me with the strength and love I need to live. They grant me grace. They are abundant with their love. The truth is, I worship them.

Hitting Below the Belt

2011-09-25T20:58:00.001-04:00

Gynecological cancer doesn’t get a lot of press. It’s private. Its effects are private. Many of the symptoms are things women easily ignore. There’s a reason they call ovarian cancer “The Silent Killer.” Bloating, pelvic discomfort, pain during intercourse, or terrible gas are not things that might make you run to your doctor. But you should. Early detection is critical. In early stages, these cancers are treatable and have high survival rates. Undetected, they are thieves in the night. They steal fertility, they steal sex organs, they steal lives. And gynecological cancer is under-publicized and underfunded. But we can do something to help. Awareness is the key.

No Evidence of Disease. These are the sweetest words a woman who has battled gynecological cancer can hear. This is the goal for all GYN Oncologists. But there are six incredible doctors who not only spend their days fighting cancer, they spend their nights spreading awareness. N.E.D. is the name of their band, and they take their mission and their music very seriously. They want to be a “lightening rod for awareness” and help drive funding for research and early detection. But they’re not just about spreading awareness, they are about making great music, music you can dance to, music with which you can celebrate survival.

Stephen Russ of beliefnet writes that the music “is anchored by a solid rhythm section and bluesy lead guitar while much of the musical intrigue comes from the work of John Soper who often adds the flavor to each piece through the mandolin and slide guitar. The two vocalists, John Boggess and Joanie Hope, each have a unique tone with John providing the pop balance to Joanie’s husky, homey folk tone.” NED’s music is about remaining upbeat while surviving life, whatever difficulties it brings. They have a message of hope for those battling cancer and suffering alone. As lead singer, John Boggess says, “there are worse things than getting cancer, and that’s feeling isolated and without help and understanding.”

But now, not only are they spreading awareness through music, they are the subjects of an upcoming feature-length documentary titled “Dancing with N.E.D.” Stone Soup Productions and Spark Media have taken up their cause and are in production of this film now. They need our help to get this film made.

Why is this important to me? Having suffered from a severely painful and life-altering gynecological syndrome, I know something about the difficulty of suffering alone. I was diagnosed with Vulvar Vestibulitis in 2003 after years of seeing various doctors, searching for an answer. I know how weird it is to talk about your vulva on a regular basis, to have it displayed on large screens and have it surgically altered. I know about how this affects you sexually, emotionally and physically. It sucks. But I can’t even wrap my head around going through that and battling for my life. I can’t imagine chemotherapy and radiation and radical hysterectomies. I can’t imagine having my uterus removed before I even had the chance to get pregnant. I can’t imagine the fear, the loss, the struggle for hope. And this year alone, 90,000 women will face that battle.

Please, help fund this film. Help spread the word about gynecological cancer. Help women learn about prevention and early detection. My mother is a survivor because of early detection. Help reach out to the thousands of women who are suffering with a message of hope. These cancers really hit below the belt. Let’s fight back.

Here’s how you can help.

Go check out the film at http://www.dancingwithned.com/.
Check out the band at http://nedtheband.com/.
Become a fan of the movie on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/DancingWithNED.

And then think about something you can afford to GIVE UP so that other women won’t have to.

Every little bit will help. Make coffee at home for a month and GIVE UP your Starbucks fund to Dancing with Ned. GIVE UP that cab ride and walk instead. GIVE UP a movie, a dinner out, a new book. Give It Up so that more women know they can hear those sweet words,

No Evidence of Disease!

Visit The Give It Up Campaign at http://www.facebook.com/HAPPYGIVING to tell them what you’re giving up. Then visit the donation page and make your pledge. Thank you.

I'm Just Getting Started

2011-09-19T14:49:00.000-04:00

Today I begin again, fresh.

Yesterday was my birthday. I have now commenced my 35th year on this earth.

Growing older, reaching this weird mid-early adulthood is hitting me strangely. I’ve been doing inventory of my life, weighing the losses against the gains. What does it add up to? Is it enough? Eleven years with the same partner. Three children. A beautiful house with a yard and garden. All good. No career to go back to, just a series of random jobs. Unattained goals of further education. Never published. All crummy. Then there’s just the stuff of age - the wrinkles that are forming, the body that has been forever changed and will not return to its former state, no matter how much weight I lose. Those stretch marks and saggy boobs are part of my physique now. And wrinkles are forming. My face has smiled and scowled so many times that it’s left permanent marks on my face. That’s kind of cool, for now, until they take over. My hair is a different texture. My face has weird bumps and discolorations. I keep thinking the dark circles might go away, but they seem also part of the new Heather Minter. Interesting.

I’m old enough now to look back on chapters, to understand a little bit about how life accumulates on you. I have had some friends for 25 years. Twenty-five years we’ve been telling each other secrets. That’s a lot of knowing. That feels really good. And my partnership has endured. We’ve been married too, but I count the years we’ve been together. The party and the paper had little to do with our relationship, as fun as it was. He’s still my best friend. We’ve had to fight for that. We’ve endured painful seasons, hanging on with fingernails, but we have endured. And we have thrived. And the love that comes from that is layered and seasoned and complex and so very delicious. There is a deep knowing that I can tell will only grow down, rooting into one another. There’s no fear there. We’re in it for life.

I know myself so well now too. I really like me. Sure, I battle myself and can be unkind, harsh and critical. But mostly I really get a bang out of being me. I do things I like to do. My concern for other people’s opinions is dissolving. And right before my birthday I had a great epiphany about that. I was feeling low and beat up and frustrated with all my accumulated lost opportunities and failures. I was feeling sad about being this old. I was grieving the loss of the beginning, when life is wide open. I was letting other people’s opinions of me get in my way. I was getting in my own way by repeating negativity over and over. I never did so I never will do.

But then, my niece auditioned for and got cast in one of three positions in NYU’s improv comedy group, Dangerbox.

I felt this rush of emotion. I am extremely proud of her and excited for her and excited for the world to see her talent. I want to go see her perform. I can’t wait to hear about her rehearsals and shows and who she meets and where she goes. I’m extremely pumped about this. And, I realize, that she’s doing what I wish I had done. She jumped off and is flying, and I just stayed stuck. I didn’t even audition because I was too scared.

And hearing this news completely knocked me out of my funk, and I woke up and realized that I’m ONLY thirty-four. I’ve got a ridiculous amount of life left (hopefully). And I’ve got shit to do!! I’ve got at least 30 years of work left to do, probably more. That means I can go back to school multiple times and do many different things if I want to. I can do anything I fucking well please because I also realized that if I’m going to get shit done, then I can’t give a flying fuck what people think of me. That’s right. I’m done with all of that. And I’m done with beating myself up and repeating the same old junk.

I’ve decided a few things that I’m going to do from now on.

1. Assume the best. I’m going to assume the best about me, and, if I learn otherwise, then I’m just going to take that in advisement and not feel like shit. I’m just a human out here trying to live. I’ll assume the best about me, and I’ll assume the best about you.

2. Do the best. In order to assume the best, that means that I have to actually be doing the best. “I have to fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds worth of distance run.” Sometimes that means relaxing. But it’s holding myself accountable but not beating myself up. It’s knowing I have done my best.

3. Be with the best. I want to be with people who are inspiring and creative and positive. I want to be challenged to do more. I want to surround myself with people who assume the best and do the best. I want to laugh and talk and learn.

So, that’s my new policy.

This morning, I got up and put this into action. I’m knocking out the work I need to do and went to the gym. I’m counting calories again and being disciplined about what I’m eating and drinking and taking proper care of myself. I want life in my years. I want vibrancy in my life. I’m tired of dragging my feet. So, I’m going to do like Kyleigh, and I’m going to go for it. I am looking into graduate school and thinking about what the next chapter is going to look like, where I will work, what I get to do. I’m psyched. I’m 34, and I’m just getting started.
But I’m not wasting another minute.

Home Maker

2011-08-31T16:38:00.001-04:00

They say your house should rise up to greet you. But my house, lately, has risen up and accosted, with odors, with disorder and with filth. I get an F in housekeeping lately. I know I’m hard on myself. I know I have a perfectly reasonable excuse for not having an immaculate house. I have three really challenging kids. They make constant demands, scream if they are not met immediately and destroy as punishment. Well, they destroy just for fun. I think they must have attended the Kim Jung Il and Naomi Campell School for Future Tyrants before they were born. This is how I account for their wild fashion sense and the absurdity of requests. And it’s tough, meeting the needs of irrational people and cleaning one’s home. You have no time and everything you do is undone almost immediately. It’s rather frustrating. So, I struggle.

However, my job is not housekeeper.

My job is not caretaker.

My job is Home Maker.

And making a home is a complicated task. To make a home you have to create an environment that facilitates growth. You want it to be a safe, clean, organized space. You want it to be a warm, well-fed, comforting environment. You want it to be a space that fits the people living there - with rules that make sense, with freedoms that match desires. Ultimately, you want to create a space that is ready. The floors are cleaned and ready for dancing. The table is uncluttered and ready for yummy food. The beds are made and ready for sound sleeping. The couch is clear and ready for jumping and fort-making.

T.S. Eliot said, “Home is where one starts from.”

I had a moment of anagnorisis recently. That is the Aristotilian term for the tragic moment of discovery when you realize your true identity. It’s painful awareness, and it’s usually followed by paripeteia, a turning point. In Greek tragedy this is the moment that Oedipus realizes he’s having sex with his mother. For me, this was the moment when I realized that I’m not doing my job well. And it’s not because of the housekeeping. That is only part of it. The failure has been in my attitude.

I go about my life with an attitude of “why me?” I act like a victim. “My kids are more difficult.” “I didn’t get a single ‘easy’ kid.” “My life is so hard because I do cloth diapers.” “I have to cook all the time.” “I hate cleaning up toys.” “I don’t want to fold laundry.” I treat everything as though someone else made the decision and I’m just forced to do the job. I get resentful of my children. They’re taking me away from writing. I get resentful of being at home. I’m trapped. It’s usually just background noise in my head, but then, when I’m tired or the kids are being particularly difficult, it reaches a crescendo of a whiny teenager. I find that subconsciously I’m looking for exits. I want small little ways to get out. I let them watch more TV than I know is good. I spend more time on the computer, on my phone, reading a book. I just start to slide on my housekeeping and my upkeep of myself, the kids and the house. I justify the behavior as necessary “me time.” And me time is absolutely necessary. But it’s the amount that is sabotaging my own existence and the lives of the people I love.

Well, I accidentally hit the reset button the other day. Because I had left my laptop on in the dining room so that I could use it off and on all day, it was accessible to a small person. Said small person upended it onto the floor and destroyed it. I spent most of the day crying. I was mad at myself. I was hit with the tragic discovery of my own weakness and selfishness. Marco was mad. I was mad at him for being mad. I was crying with self-pity about having such wild children. I was beating myself up for not being a good anything (there have been other failures lately). I just cried and cried and cried.

The next morning, after talking to Marco, I sat there, again, all mopey and bummed and feeling like “my life is so hard.” And I started up with the voices about my suckishness.

And then something just clicked. The peripeteia kicked in.

I heard in my head my own voice say, “Is this the life you want? Is this how you want it to be? What do you want to be different?”

Me. I want to be different. I want a clean house. I want things organized. I want to be on a clear budget. I want to be on a better schedule. I want a plan. These are not someone else’s desires. These are not being forced upon me. I’m choosing to be a home maker. I’m choosing to be here, in this house, with these children, at this time. So, why don’t I just do it?

So I got busy. I cleaned my stack of papers. I washed, dried and PUT AWAY all of the laundry, including all the diapers. I cleaned floors, made beds, organized. I planned dinner. I cleaned the kitchen. I stayed on top of the toys. I just did my fucking job. And it sure didn’t take me as long as I had thought it would. And I felt like a million bucks when I looked around and was happy to be HOME.

Then I heard this Charles Bukowski poem, “The Laughing Heart”

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

My life is here, taking care of these three wee people. I’m making the place they start from, their launch pad to their lives. Making it clean and organized is necessary to facilitate all the other things I want this home to be. I want my home to be a place of music, of creativity, of art, of learning. I want it to be a place where conversations are savored. I want it to be where friends gather, a safe place where anyone can talk about anything. I want room for dancing. I don’t want nice things because I want them to be able to jump, to paint, to be messy, to not worry about stuff. I want toys in categories because then we can pull out the train or the puzzles or the instruments and focus on doing that one something awesome and enjoying it. I want cleanliness so that they can know they care capable of taking care of things. And that means they help me. I want my home to be a place where good food is shared at a family table. I want this home to be about sharing, about uninhibited play and about dancing. It doesn't have to be perfect, but I have to try to make it what I want it to be - ready.

My job is Home Maker. I don’t get paid to do it, and it is ridiculously hard. But this is my choice. This is my life. And the more I learn to beat that dark, deathly attitude, I can let more light in. Then there will be more light so I can see my amazing home.

Trial and Error

2011-08-11T15:55:00.001-04:00

I am not someone who takes making mistakes lightly. I beat myself up badly. I used to chastise myself and berate myself for misdoings. I suffer greatly the weight of my mistakes. I should have done things differently. Why can’t I get it right? I’m frustrated by sluggish growth. I’m annoyed at myself for being a slow learner. Being a broken, imperfect human is a major bummer. I want to do good things. I want to be good.

I’ve discovered recently that I’ve been perpetuating this model of chastisement for mistakes with my children. I find I sometimes say, “You are so naughty.” I put an equal sign between my child and badness. I know this comes from the Christian concept of the world and of humanity that I was raised to believe. Man is born sinful. Man deserves to suffer for eternity because of his sin. I understand why that concept exists. We are struggling folks here on this planet. We are evolving at a very, very slow rate. It’s tiresome to read about all the horrific things that people do. It’s awful to know how many bad decisions I have made and continue to make every single day. I am far from perfect.

But I’ve discovered a new way to look at it.

Humans have been long in the design studio. We’ve been in the making for billions of years. Evolution happens through trial and error, many, many errors. It takes so long because the successes are few and far between. But evolution is hard for my pea brain to wrap my head around…billions of years, that’s just too much to think about. I think instead of Edison. Edison tried over 10,000 different filaments before discovering the right one for the electric light bulb.

He said, “I haven’t failed. I’ve found 10,000 ways that don’t work.”

He also said, “The electric light has caused me the greatest amount of study and has required the most elaborate experiments….Although I was never myself discouraged or hopeless of its success, I can not say the same for my associates.”

He was never discouraged. Perhaps Edison wasn’t entirely human. Because having faith in oneself, in the process of growth, in the future dream is really hard to maintain. I feel for Edison’s associates. They must have, at times, felt they’d hitched their wagon to a falling star.

I recently learned of a Japanese mathematician named Yutaka Taniyama who conjectured a mathematical theorem. In 1986 someone proved his theorem. Unfortunately, Taniyama had committed suicide in 1958. He had lost confidence in his future after working tirelessly and never being able to prove his theorem.

It’s hard out here for a human.

But I’ve decided to try to live like Edison. I’m not going to say that I won’t get discouraged because I make disastrous mistakes and hurt myself and others. But at least I’m learning thousands of ways not to be. I’m moving in the right direction. I have hope in my success. I have peace that passes understanding, right here in my good self. The guilt and the chastisement don’t really serve any purpose. The berating and the sadness only weaken my resolve to get back into my lab and try another way. It’s a lot of work this life. Edison said, “Genius is one percent inspiration, ninety-nine percent perspiration.”

But my favorite is “Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.”

And I’m trying to change my language with my kids. They are not bad folks, these wee people. They make bad choices, mostly just uninformed (and frustrating) at this point. They don’t need to feel bad about their failures. They just need to know that there’s got to be a better way. I have faith in their success as well. And mankind. I don’t think we’re doomed. There’s a lot of suffering that will happen, from all the bad choices, I know. But not for eternity. Surely everyone gets a fresh start if there is a next life. Everyone.

Brain Damage

2011-08-05T16:11:00.001-04:00

I’ve recently learned that there are two periods of rapid brain growth in children. The first occurs between birth and age three or four. The second occurs between age ten and puberty.

If you miss those windows of growth it is much more difficult to develop the vital connections later on.

So, what happens if you undergo emotional abuse during that vital period of brain growth?

Trauma occurs to the medial prefrontal cortex.

Not only is the brain stunted from growth in ways that make learning new skills much more difficult, the brain is literally damaged in ways that affect a broad spectrum of functioning.

The medial prefrontal cortex has nine functions.

1. Body Regulation – digestion, heartrate, immune function

2. Attuned Communication – mirror neurons that automatically interpret the motor actions of another as one’s own

3. Emotional Balance – balance between rigidity and chaos – the ability to not become overwhelmed

4. Response Flexibility – the capacity to pause before action

5. Empathy – conscious awareness and sensitivity to the mind of someone else

6. Insight – limbic firing that gives emotional texture to the emerging themes of our present awareness, life story and image of the future

7. Fear Modulation – neurons that release calming meurotransmitters

8. Intuition – registering the input from neurons from the heart and gut – a gut feeling

9. Morality – the ability to think of the larger social good and enact those behaviors, even when alone

Well, it just so happens that during that vital period of rapid brain growth I was living with caregivers who were emotionally abusive, neglectful and fear inducing. I was in a constant state of stress which flooded my brain with hormones and literally gave me brain damage.

The bad news – If I don’t make sense of that period of time in my life and learn to integrate what happened to me into my overall concept of myself, then I am doomed to repeat the same behavior. I can already see how, when I get pushed to that limit, when I’m tired, hungry, stressed, I completely lack empathy and can feel myself being unkind in a way that is immoral, emotionally unbalanced and harmful to other people’s minds, especially my children.

The good news – it seems there is something I can do about it. So, I’ve been writing about that period in my life.

It is both painful and liberating to write, mostly liberating. I’m giving a voice to a little girl who had none. But by writing it I’m also making all these connections between what happened then and the behaviors I have now. And learning all of the functions of the medial prefrontal cortex makes me understand why I’ve suffered from having problems in many of the areas from digestive problems to impulsiveness and emotional imbalance.

I feel like Humpty Dumpty. Those fuckers just pushed me off a wall, but I’m gradually putting the pieces back together again.

It’s hard work. I’m a broken person. And sometimes I get pissed off – feel like I’m swimming upstream all the time. It’s exhausting. And it’s so hard to be going through this “on the job training” when there is so much at stake. I want so badly to not do the same things to my kids. And I am often, often pushed to the limit by the stress of this life with these three. I’m trying to learn habits that can help me keep myself from getting to that point – putting myself in time out, keeping my mouth shut when I want to shout, narrating what has happened rather than shaming, etc. But I have SO MUCH to learn. And I have zero time to do it. I’m trying to be patient with myself and also hold myself accountable. And I’m trying to allow that brokenness to open me up and allow great empathy and compassion to come out of seeing my own behavior.

My greatest hope is to come to a place of forgiveness.

I’m holding on to hope. I’m singing Leonard Cohen’s Anthem.

The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed
the marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
of every government --
signs for all to see.

I can't run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they've summoned, they've summoned up
a thundercloud
and they're going to hear from me.

Ring the bells that still can ring ...

You can add up the parts
but you won't have the sum
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum
Every heart, every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.

Check out Dr. Dan Siegel for more information about brain development and interpersonal neurobiology.

Things I Love

2011-07-25T13:28:00.000-04:00

Life has been rough lately. I mean really rough. I feel like we’ve been living in a bunker of sickness while outside is the Hotocalypse. The kids all got sick on vacation which included vomiting and fevers and coughing and CONSTANT waking in the night. Then I got sick as soon as we got back. And that damn cough lasted for three weeks. Meanwhile, the little wakers were not adjusting back to our regular routine. And then, just as I was improving, all three got croup at the same time. And now I’m sick again. Insanity. And when you have three waking 2 or 3 times a night…you are being woken about every 15 minutes. Well, it feels that way. And that sleep deprivation starts to make my brain melt. I mean that. I literally feel a physical sensation that there is a sinkhole in the middle of my brain. It’s like the power keeps surging off. This leaves me an emotional mess. TOTAL MESS. I cry often. I call my mom about 30 times a day. I call Marco and beg him to come home. I do not handle it well. I could NEVER be a Navy Seal. I could NEVER be President of the United States. I could NEVER undergo torture – I would give away secrets in about 20 seconds. Although, they might release me just to avoid the annoyance of having me around crying all the time.

But after hearing myself complain constantly for several weeks, I started trying to focus on things around me that truly make me smile. And I’ve found many.

I love Silver Spring. I love our YMCA. I love normal people in regular bathing suits. I mean moms who hop out of the pool quickly to retrieve their rogue toddler and have their swim bottoms sag as they scurry. I love being with the wide array of mankind that comes to the YMCA. I love all the intercultural families (I love being one of them). I love Maya’s swim class and that she’s a really hard worker by nature. She really practices at things. I think that is about one of the greatest qualities a person can have. She works on her letters and coloring carefully in the lines. She practices her swimming. I also love the downtown Silver Spring fountain and watching all the parents try to not get wet while attempting to encourage their kids to soak themselves. We all end up dripping. But it feels great, and there are so many laughs.

I love when Zoe wakes up cheerfully. This doesn’t happen that often, so I really, really appreciate it when she does. This morning she woke up, tossed her pacifier at me, shouted “Cama! Cama!” and sprinted toward the dining room laughing. It caught me off guard with joy. I love that she’s feeling better. She has the hardest time being sick. But when she’s happy, she radiates joy to everyone. I really love that. And I love that Elliot stays pretty even most of the time. It's a great balance I could never have imagined.

I love afternoons spent in our semi-cool living room. We have an old AC window unit that only cools one room and yet still costs a fortune to run. Most of the time we are completely content with the summer temperatures and just use fans. However, when the heat climbs over 95, we turn it on and hunker down in the cool room. We build forts and do “shows” and attempt games of Duck Duck Goose. Marco plays guitar and we sing and march and dance. Everyone mostly remains in their skivvies. I love these times. This weekend we spent hours and hours together, wrestling and laughing and comforting the wounded and giving wedgies and flying everyone up on our legs. I felt completely terrible and just let them pile on me and “tickle” me and read me books. I really, really love my family. I need these times, to carry them with me in my pocket as a reminder when the bottom is completely falling out.

And speaking of the bottom falling out, I even found things I love then. I love the intimacy that comes from five people in one bed, constantly waking. I hate watching my kids struggle to breathe. And I wanted to cry from fatigue, but I would just look at Marco sometimes and smile. We’re in this together, sweat, snot, vomit and all. I love the island of absurdity we’re on together.

And you know what else I love? I love, love, love Marco’s family. I love that I can have 13 people in my home when my kids are sick and not be stressed. I love that at 2 am when Zoe has vomited all over my bed and everyone wakes up and is crying that Marco’s cousins came swooping in to hold babies and wash faces and change sheets. I love that they helped with everything. I love that when they left it was as if they had never been there. They cleaned and put everything back together. I love that they did magnet therapy on Maya and made her feel comforted and healed and loved. I freaking love these people. I want to be with them all the time.

And there are all these little silly things that I love. I love the gorgeous china that I inherited from my grandma. I so look forward to actually using it one day. I love my green depression glass in my kitchen window that glows in the sunlight. I love my backyard. I love picking tomatoes from the garden. I love the sound system in our kitchen that enables me to music and change the mood in an instant. I love hulu. I love Facebook. I love that I have the greatest neighbors in the world. I love that we have a park at the end of the street. I love that when you think you can't take the heat any longer it rains. I love that eventually we get well. I love that my husband loves me and supports me and treats me gently even when I am a brat and complain constantly. I love that he makes all these little sacrifices without even a word of complaint or comparison. I love that man. I love our house. I love that we're in a really metropolitan area that can still feel like a small town. I love that I can walk to Trader Joe’s and CVS and several restaurants and the YMCA.

Did I mention that I love the YMCA?

Groundless

2011-07-14T17:49:00.000-04:00

I ripped open a scabbed over wound last week. I'm not really sure what prompted it. There has long been a division in my family over belief. That is nothing new. So, I don't know why I got so upset about that. I'm not sure if it's because things have been so particularly difficult with the kids lately that I've felt so groundless. And I'm not so sure what drove me to that place of superiority and bitterness. So, I've been just feeling all the yuck as much as I can. I've been observing my thoughts, trying to get to the bottom of that anger. It's a little treacherous in there, so I'm trying to tread lightly, with great gentleness.

But some great things have come of this wound-opening experience.

First of all, I discovered that I am far from healed. The emotional abuse I suffered as a child is still having a profound affect on me. That wound is still there. And I'm feeling it all the more now that I've poked at it and picked the scab off. But rather than do all the things I used to do to try to escape it I'm just feeling it, all the pain, all the sadness, all the anger. And I'm doing it with love and gentleness. Buddhism refers to this as Maitri - unconditional friendliness with oneself. It's being honest with yourself in the a loving way. It's seeing where you are right now and being okay with that. I am who I am.

The first realization led to the second. I am not a child anymore. I need to stop expecting that I'm going to get the things I missed out on from other people. I need to figure out how to be the grown up. Again, the honesty that comes with this view of oneself is the necessary ingredient to growing up. I've been a child for so long - waiting for my parents to pick me up. If I can feel all my own junk and love myself unconditionally, then I won't be desperately seeking everything from outside of me. It's beautiful. And I can feel that strength - even now - being able to admit things to myself. It takes the power out of them. I'm human and terrible, but that's okay.

Third, I was reminded that I have the most loving people in my life. And I learned that nothing I think or say is going to drive them away. I am surrounded by such immense love and support. I have this amazing space to grow, surrounded by great wisdom and lucid thought and joy. Even with all my rantings and mean thoughts, these people still want to be around me and find joy in my company. I am not alone.

Fourth, I have had a real softening of my heart. I kneaded the resistance and the rightness until it began to loosen up. This goes back to being okay with being groundless. It's very disconcerting being a parent to so many small children. You don't have a say over whether you sleep or when you wake up or if you get to shower or over vomit or poop on the floor. You can't even get a roll of toilet paper out of the cupboard without a fight. You're in a sea of demands and screaming, and, very often, you can't find your footing. So, I think, I'm clinging to this idea that I can have control over something. I can have control over what I believe. I can have control by finding out THE TRUTH. Then I can know for sure and feel grounded. I can rest assured. But the truth is that we don't know. We'll never know. And being groundless is the beginning of fearlessness. "But if we totally experience hopelessness, giving up all hope of alternatives to the present moment, we can have a joyful relationship with our lives, an honest, direct relationship, one that no longer ignores the reality of impermanence and death." Pema Chodron

Anne Lammot says, "Your problem is how you are going to spend this one and precious life you have been issued. Whether you're going to spend it trying to look good and creating the illusion that you have power over circumstances, or whether you are going to taste it, enjoy it and find out the truth about who you are."

And today is particularly groundless. Maya screamed in the night for an hour or more and now has a cough and a fever. The babies fight every nap and every diaper change and fight and cry and break me down all day. Elliot is crying for me right now. It's really, really hard. And I snap and have to leave the room and take deep breaths (and try not to make those eye-rolling sighs). I'm groundless.

But I'm trying to stop grasping and to stretch my arms and feel the freedom in that.

The Sweet Discomfort of Humility

2011-07-12T16:02:00.000-04:00

Over the last few days, since I wrote my post about being godless and criticizing faith, I have been sitting with some pretty rotten feelings.

In the practice of yoga there is a place of growth they refer to as “Sweet Discomfort.” This is the place you go to when you push yourself more than you thought you could but not too much that you will wish you hadn’t. It’s uncomfortable but it’s not painful. It’s challenging without breaking you. It’s that moment when you say, “I want to quit!” but you just stay. You know a new strength, a new experience a new you is on the other side of staying in sweet discomfort. It’s the only way to get stronger.

Well, I created a place of sweet discomfort for myself by exposing my anger, intolerance and self-righteous arrogance. I try, when I write, to capture how it feels to be human, to be emotional, to be troubled and to be present. I had some valid points and some strong feelings when I wrote my last post. But I sinfully savored my bad mood too much. I indulged myself with a nice big cup of superiority. It was wrong, and I’m sorry if I hurt you or made you feel that I am always feeling that judgmental or that critical.

But I must admit that I am deeply conflicted.

I spent my entire childhood steeped in faith. It was a faith so thick you couldn’t see through it. And I’ve spent the last ten years trying to find my way out of the fog. Now that I see clearly I am riddled with anger for being deceived for so long. And I am extremely frustrated by the way I see so many people basing their lives on a concept of God that is problematic.

I do feel at times judgmental, wrongfully so. I feel intolerant. I feel confrontational. And I feel that, when I do say something, it falls on deaf ears. It wells up within me, and I feel the need to shout.

But no one listens to someone who is shouting. No one hears someone who cannot listen.

But I’m glad I wrote the post. It gave a keen awareness to some of my most awful characteristics. Several friends boldly confronted me and helped me see my own attitude. I was forced to sit back and exchange my cup of superiority for a nice, hot slice of sweet uncomfortable humility. And this humility has made me notice things. I’ve put on my listening ears and heard things around me quite differently. Here are a few examples of what I’ve heard.

I heard Cat Stevens sing, “I let my music take me where my heart wants to go,” and I felt humbled for not having been more beautiful with my words instead of ugly.

I flipped on NPR and heard someone say, “You can criticize without tearing down.” Marco gave me a look for that one.

And I heard the characters of Clifford the Big Red Dog talking about respecting other people’s differences. Geez, even a cartoon is nicer than me.

And I’ve been really, really thinking about faith and what makes people believe in a god. I’ve been trying to sit with my anger long enough to let it soften me into a place of understanding.

I might not be there all the way. I’ll admit that this is a struggle. I’ll admit that the PTSD from Christianity is still raw. And I do believe that I have some really valid points for criticizing the concept of God in the Bible. I’m not done talking about that. However, I promise to do so in the future with much more respect and love.

I don’t think this love and respect comes from a god. I do think we all have the capacity for the kind of deep learning that comes from the humility of being in sweet discomfort. We ALL have The Spirit of Truth with us all the time.

Thank you to my dear friends for not letting me stay and pushing me.

I love you, and I’m sorry I was a bit of an ass.

I've been saved!

2011-07-07T15:46:00.002-04:00

When I see the sun shine through the window, I do not see God. I see starlight. I think simultaneously of vast empty space, of light travel, of dark matter and photosynthesis. I think about the things we know from years of scientific study and testing and research. I wonder about what we might discover. I hear Ira Flatow in my head asking questions. But I do not see a creator. I see only existence.

But I’ve been thinking about God lately. Well, I’ve been thinking about godlessness. I’m always in some sort of transition in my beliefs about spirituality. God has just about dissolved for me. In truth, he was never actually there. My belief has dissolved. It’s taken me over ten years to figure out about god what it takes a six year old only a second to grasp about Santa. “No, Heather, there is no god.”

As is typical for me when I learn something new, I immediately become disdainful of those who don’t know or see things as I do. Therefore, yes, I’ve been judging you believers. I’ve been inwardly scoffing at your faith. If you know me, you probably already know this is true. I try very hard to be understanding. I remember what I was like to believe something so much. But now it all seems so silly, like I spent 25 years believing a fairy tale. I like the Urban Dictionary definition of Christianity best:

“The belief that a cosmic Jewish Zombie who was his own father can make you live forever if you symbolically eat his flesh and telepathically tell him you accept him as your master, so he can remove an evil force from your soul that is present in humanity because a rib-woman was convinced by a talking snake to eat from a magical tree... yeah, makes perfect sense.”

But I get it that there are things at work in the universe we don’t understand. And I get it that sometimes coincidences look like miracles. And I know, deep within, how comforting it is to believe these things, to “know” that there is a great, loving being out there who is looking out for you. That’s a very nice idea. It’s very tempting. But there just isn’t evidence to support its existence, and so I cannot believe it.

And here’s the thing, life without god is still amazing and phenomenal and wondrous and profound. Life here on this planet is radically awesome just as it is. Existence is startling. However I got here and wherever I’m going when I’m done, this time, this life, this universe takes my breath away. And I’m not saying that because my particular life is so wonderful. For me it is, truly. I have been fortunate beyond measure. But I’m talking more about nature and the pure existence of what is. And if everyone on earth could see the beauty and the interconnectedness and the goodness, we might not have all the truly horrific problems that we have. We, as mankind, have access to goodness at any moment. But we feed the wrong wolf.

In the same way that Christians have a life-changing moment when they “get saved,” I too have had a radical change within. The radical change was realizing that I had goodness all along. The radical change was realizing that I don’t have to accept a man’s death as payment for my horrible sin. I am pure just as I am. I may not always do good things, but I am not doomed to hell for eternity because of that. It is incredibly liberating. I sometimes feel that same sort of evangelical passion – to tell people. You too can be free. You too are good.

And scientific evidence is revealing more and more that I’m on the right track. Mindful meditation has been proven to help us train our brains to build new pathways that enable us to have a greater capacity for empathy, morality, attune communication, emotional balance, extinguishing fear, pausing before you act, autonoetic consciousness, intuition and body regulation. We have healthy, truthful, kind living right here in our minds and bodies. Watch this video to hear what I’m talking about.

I’ve got a lot of training to do. But I love doing something that has actual research behind it showing its effectiveness. I feel so at peace basing my life on things that can be measured, studied and duplicated.

The problem I have with faith is that it can be so easily manipulated. Once you get into the realm of basing your life on what “god” is telling you, you’re headed into dangerous territory for making decisions based on what is most likely your own desires. Once you attach god to an idea, it makes it all the more appealing, all the more important. Faith is too loose, too vague, too fickle. If I started telling people that aliens were telling me to do things, you’d all be very concerned about my well-being and fearful about what I might do. Faith leads to jihads and persecution and witch hunts. Faith led a man up a mountain to kill his own son. That’s insane. If you are following a god who would tell a man to kill his own son, you are in dangerous territory.

I know, you’re thinking, can’t I be making crazy decisions with my own mind? Yes, I have the capacity for that. But I’m at least starting from a point of Do No Harm. The same cannot be said of the god of the Old Testament. That guy was horrific. He was downright evil.

I know that I’m being self righteous. I know I’m probably feeding my own wolf of pride and judgment and intolerance. I’m working on that. I want to be patient with believers. I want to be kind to those who do not yet know the truth. I want to come from a place of love and understanding. Truly I do. But I’ve been an outsider for so long. I’ve been treated as the backslidden, the confused. So, I just wanted to set the record straight. I truly feel that I’m headed in the right direction. I truly want the world to know that there is no god. You have the capacity for goodness. You too can be saved from religion.

Taking it Easy

2011-06-28T15:04:00.001-04:00

I feel like saying today is a bad day. But that isn't true. I just feel bad today. The day is actually okay. We've gone through another cycle of sickness that has rendered us sleepless for two weeks. With three children, the sleep deprivation is just so extreme. It's worse than the newborn phase because they wake separately and cry for so long and fight you. Last night all three were up for about an hour each, at different times. My brain feels like it is melting.

But the good thing about times like this is that I have learned, when we get to this point, to let go of every single expectation and thing I need to do. I just exist with the kids. I lie down on the couch and let them crawl on me and kiss my face and get crumbs all over the place. We made sticker faces and lounged around the basement eating graham crackers for lunch. And, it's weird. Because I'm just there with them, there's a lot less fighting. There's a lot more laughing.

My friend Adam recently pointed out to me that this intensive period of childhood is really but a brief passage in our lives. I mean, how long is childhood? Twelve years? After that you aren't really a child, you're becoming an adult. You pull away and want your own space and don't want to be read to anymore. There's still with you, but it's just different. So, I've already only got ten years left of this, if I'm lucky. And they'll be graduating from college in a blink. I saw it happen with my nieces and nephews. My throat closes at the thought. I mean, we're raising them to become adults, to start their own lives. And the dreams we have for them are large. We want them to be fearless and travel and live abroad and do great things for mankind. But that translates into being far away from me.

Maya made this face with stickers that she said is her "when she was a grownup." And it looks a little like someone I might imagine her to be with lime green glasses and flamboyant earrings. She cares so deeply and is such a nurturing person. And she loves art and is fastidious with detail when she paints and draws. She's wildly imaginative and tells amazing stories. She recently told my mom about the older sister she had who died and how sad she was. She's three years old. I love this kid. I see her doing the most amazing things. I hope I can foster her care for people and her creativity and her fearlessness. I want her to be a risk-taker. I want her to dream much greater dreams for herself than I ever dared to dream.

Zoe is a spicy little peanut. She's strong and willful and yet so very gentle and sweet. She loves to sit in my lap or to lean over my shoulder and say, "Hi mom." She's difficult. She cries so very much. And she's very mean at times, so I know she's probably going to be a challenge. But I've been really working on letting go of trying to correct the bad behavior and just focus on the positive. I've been really deliberate about greeting her with love and smiles and tenderness. She's going to have a wide breadth of feeling and possibility. She's still so little that her interests are still unknown, but I see how much she loves to watch Maya doing things. She's mesmerized by dancing and watching Maya paint. She sings all day long and babbles on about little things - pointing out details of life enthusiastically. She's vibrant. She has no interest in television but would much rather read and chat. I hope that continues even though it is easier otherwise right now.

Elliot is my little buddy. He's rough when he plays, but he never seems to be malicious. I think he's genuinely shocked when Maya and Zoe retaliate. And even though he's rough with them, he does not handle their attacks very well. He comes to me crying for comfort all day long. And he gets it. He's such a munch, and I can't resist the snuggle time. I know it's even shorter with him. Boys don't want snuggles for nearly as long as girls. They grow up and away and leave you. So I give him a little extra sometimes. He is hilarious and loves to show off. And he has a captive audience with his two sisters. He's a tentative little guy despite his seemingly rough nature. He'll climb high and then get nervous and want to be helped down. I wonder how all this will play out as he gets older, if he'll let fear get in his way or if it's just a toddler thing. I hope I can help him become a valiant warrior and a tender man. He's got a great role model in Marco.

I'm clearly really tired and a little weepy. I'm glad that today I've let the difficulty soften me instead of drive me to that place of rage. I'm learning. The parent coach is helping. So far, every single thing she's taught us has helped. Bed time problems seem to have ended. The atmosphere at home is so much more calm. Plus, dinner time is actually fun. Forget begging for more bites. We just put food out and hope for the best. That's it. And we talk and sing and laugh.

She said the greatest thing to me. She said, "You have decide how you want to live your life? I don't even mean how you want to parent. I mean how you want to live your life. I just decided that I don't want to live my life being angry and fighting any more. And it's so much better."

And she's been right. I'm anxious to learn the next step in this parenting plan about how you do correct things that need addressing. But focusing on the positive and stopping the punishing has changed things tremendously in our house. It's all about changing the parents, not the kids. And I'm relaxed.

Well, now they're up from naps and watching Shaun the Sheep. I can hear Zoe commenting in her sweet little voice. And I still need to clean up from breakfast. Like I said, I've done nothing today. I did try to sleep, but I just laid there and rested. So, now I'm going to clean and figure out dinner and try to just exist with them some more. Maybe we'll go to the park or swim in the baby pool or put on more tattoos. Hopefully we'll sleep tonight. I'm begging the universe, but it's echoing back it's emptiness. It's okay, universe, I still love you and all your beauty even if you can't make my children sleep. They will eventually. And then they'll be in college and I'll miss them terribly. I love those crying little snotty buggers.

I mean, seriously:

Swimming

2011-06-06T14:26:00.001-04:00

Lately I've felt I am drowning.

When I am alone, when everyone is sleeping, I wonder, "what is so hard?"

But it is.

It doesn't even have to be a particular thing gone bad. It's just so hard to get three pairs of shoes on and three people into the car and three people into their seats and three people not to hit each other. Even if I'm calm. Even if I'm present, it is still exhausting.

But the best advice I got from the parent coach we went to on Saturday was, "You MUST do something for yourself."

So I did. Yesterday I went to the mall. I know, that is completely out of character for me. I had not set foot in the mall to shop in months and months, I honestly don't remember when. I've been to the play areas but not just to walk and look at things. It was intoxicating. It was bright and air-conditioned. There were other people there. And lots of beautiful shiny things that make you want them. I went with the intention of finding a couple sun-dresses and maybe a bathing suit. I tried to relax. But I was watching the clock. I can't just stay away from home forever. I need to get back. Oh crap, I just wasted 15 minutes of my time waiting in line at Forever 21. I felt VERY old. To those kids I am very old. But they have great long dresses. I bought none.

But I did find a bathing suit that supports my poor sad boobs. I actually feel good in it...not as good as I did in the bathing suit I wore last time I was in Play del Carmen for my friends' wedding. I made them all look at me. But in this one I do feel a little more feminine and a little less like a cave woman. Shopping does not fill me the way I want to be filled, but I was a little more relieved to have a good swimsuit. But I left the mall with mediocre resolution. I am not a shopper.

And then today I went to the YMCA. I dropped off those babies for my 90 free minutes of babysitting.

And I went swimming. I swam and swam and swam. It felt glorious and smooth and tiring. It felt meditative and relaxing. I felt all that tension, all that Cortisol, all that misery just melt into that pool. I watched myself do stroke after stroke after stroke through the clear blue water. Breath. Stroke. Stroke. Breath. I felt my legs tire and my arms begin to ache. And yet I kept on swimming until that was all I was thinking. I love freestyle, the rhythm of the breathing. And then I do the backstroke, my ears under the water, listening to the movement. It is so exhausting in a completely amazing way. And you're in the water, which buoys you and makes you feel refreshed.

After I finished and showered, I still had a little bit of time. So I drank some of their free coffee and read US Weekly and relaxed.

So, now I'm floating. I feel relieved and still within for the first time in a long while. I need to keep doing this.

I need to stop drowning and keep on swimming. And now I feel a little better doing it in my new suit.

Designing My Life

2011-06-03T22:37:00.000-04:00

Okay, enough with the grumbling about not having and wanting and not doing and wanting to do. I've decided that I'm going to design my life. I'm going to start planning for what I want my life to look like - what I would do if there were nothing impeding my path. Here we go...the Top 10!

1. I will have a glorious bathroom with this tub.

2. I will go to culinary school and study pastry so that I can make these.

3. I will open a store like this one - The Curiosity Shoppe...or maybe like a real-life Etsy. Only I would feature a lot of local artists. And it would also have a little mini cafe with the best sandwiches you ever had - and pastries, of course. I would bake all the bread (or by then I'd oversee the baking of the bread). And the menu would have a few great vegetarian options and my world-famous chicken nuggets that kids LOVE. And there would be a place for live music (a little mini stage for singer songwriters to perform at my command). And there would be a few smaller rooms with couches where book clubs could meet or women could open a bottle of wine and not talk about books. I know - I'm trying to cram a lot of things - but this is my dream. When there's not live music - I will play the playlists from The Folk Sampler. I'll serve Monte Cristo sandwiches like this one:

4. I will write a great book about life and existing that is both a best seller and critically acclaimed. It will be something like Bird by Bird or Operating Instructions or Traveling Mercies - but with an atheist twist. Yes, I aspire to BE Anne Lamott.

5. I'll have a radio show where I talk to people about their thoughts on life - sort of like Speaking of Faith - but about philosophy and what we're all trying to do to get by - how that applies to parenting and social justice and neighborhood barbecues. It'll basically be Krista Tippet's show On Being...only that won't have already existed and I'll be hailed as brilliant.

6. I will sleep with this bedding.

7. I'll learn to play the banjo so I can play like this guy - Chris Coole.

8. I'll knit a lot more and learn to sew. And I'll make myself cool things like this, and I'll look fabulous in them and people will beg me to make them some!

9. I'll paint a mural like this on my wall. I might do this soon.

10. I will lose the last 20 pounds and keep it off. Somehow I will do this while eating my chicken nuggets and Monte Cristo sandwiches and chocolate croissants.

Well, that's the beginning. I better get started. First order of business...get some damn sleep so I can start tomorrow.

Gifts I Have Given Myself

2011-05-27T16:00:00.002-04:00

We went down to our condo in DC today to do a couple repairs and get some things out of our storage unit. I know, we haven’t lived there for nearly five years and still have stuff in storage there. It’s shameful. And, what’s worse was that the only reason we went down was because the Board warned owners with fines for keeping hazardous materials in their storage units, and we had a bunch of old paint there. So, off we went.

It turned out to be a delightful day. Our babysitter was here because we had planned on doing a lot of work, so we were able to go down just the two of us. I read in the car. I’ve been reading Elizabeth Berg’s book A Year of Pleasures, and it’s made me very concentrated on enjoying moments and small beauties. It’s a sadly beautiful book.

Marco left me in the storage area to go work on the repairs for our tenants. I was supposed to pack boxes into the car. And I did…just very slowly. I got a little side-tracked by all the treasures I found. I had left myself all these little time capsules. I forgot how much I love Marco. Well, I didn’t forget that – I guess I forgot how long and how much I’ve been loving him. I found all these little mementos of our life together. I found framed photos of us, poems, cards and art we’d purchased. The paint was junk, but it still reminded me of all the spaces we’ve turned into homes, the colors of my memories.

And then I started digging through my own archeological history. I found tons of little wooden boxes, some I had made, others I’ve picked up on travels. Inside were all these random artifacts – shells, flowers from high school boyfriends, glass beads, a clay head, pennies. I had one box that I had divided into categories and labeled “Not Mine” where I had placed little pieces of paper with various worries. I’d given them away. I loved it. I was so thrilled to meet myself. Turns out I’m pretty freaking cool.

In one box was a huge pile of photographs I had completely forgotten existed. In between books on gender identity and used Jeanette Winteson novels, cookbooks and sculptures was my life in pictures. I was flooded with memories. I flipped through, watching myself descend into a deep sadness. I started with charming pictures of me in high school. I was so lovely and had no idea. And I ended with pictures of a much sadder, miserable person doing everything to cover herself, change her appearance, escape her body. I ached for her. I wanted to hug that poor girl. I was so very grateful for the friends who were there with me during those dark days, and who are with me still. They loved me when I could not love myself. Thank you Katie and Kristin.

After I finally loaded the car with my treasures, I went upstairs to ~~help Marco~~ wait around and check out our tenants' stuff. I was sitting on the couch and picked up a book titled Sensing the Self. It is about recovering from bulimia. After a quick flip through, I started reading a passage out loud. I ended up sobbing. The description of the pre-bulimic child was so accurate and hit home so acutely. And reading it just after seeing those pictures, I was overwhelmed – with gratitude, for the fight I’ve fought for myself; with frustration, for not having understood sooner; with fear, that I might pass along these problems to my girls.

Just as I recovered, my tenant arrived home. I told her about what had happened. She said she’s had the same response. She loaned me the book. I can’t wait to read it.

And I can’t wait to unwrap the art we have wrapped in old newspaper (BTW – who knew a wallaby had once been loose in Ann Arundel county?). I can’t wait to really go through all those boxes, to scan the photos, to use the old stationery, to read the old journals. I can’t wait to find all these little gifts I left myself along the way.

So, as a now very aged person, I am giving this advice. Pack away special things in a storage unit and don’t touch them for five to ten years. You will thank yourself. You will be astonished by how much you’ve grown. You might even fall in love again. I know I am a very crazy person to live with and that for Marco, the analytical engineer, it must be mind-boggling – all my weird little ways and pieces of odd art and collections of random things. But he was standing there smiling when I pulled out that Dennis Kucinich for President sign that I had stolen from someone’s yard when we were drunk and young and laughing. He’s loved me all along. And now I’m finally seeing why. I have gifted myself with joy.

Who's in charge here?

2011-05-26T10:21:00.000-04:00

I’ve been listening to Pema Chodron again.

She says that in order to know fearlessness, one must really know fear.

It’s at the root of everything. Every exasperated shout, every fit of helpless crying, every over-indulgence, every sabotage is rooted in fear.

I’ve been rather fearful lately I guess, because I’ve been absolutely awful – to myself, to my kids, to Marco. I’d venture that even the universe is a little shocked at my behavior. It’s low.

But before I start beating myself up, I’m going to attempt to look at my actions, my attitudes, my hysterics with a little loving kindness. I’m new to this, so don’t fault me if I end up back at chastisement. I seem to find self-hatred a comfortable place to be.

I’ve been fundamentally lacking in loving-kindness lately. I’ve discovered that I have “Premature Expert Syndrome.” I take once small piece of information and assume I understand much more complicated systems before learning anything more. I’m filled with Idiot Bravado. This leads me to be judgmental, self-righteous, and unkind to other people. I think I know. I’ve seen this quality mirrored back to me in a three year old, and it’s startling. I do that, I think. And I just don’t know anything – not about where you’ve been or why you did something. Who am I to judge?

And I’m even more ruthless to myself. I give myself no room for error.

When I get angry, when I’m totally overwhelmed with three people crying and fighting and hitting and pooping and breaking things…when I reach that snapping point where I start to yell and can feel that vibration of instability at the first sound of a cry…What is the fear there?

I’m afraid of being out of control.

I’m afraid they’re going to grow up to be terrible people.

I’m afraid I might run away or jump off a cliff or start drinking in the mornings.

I’m afraid of the fragility.

At the root is this terrifying fear of being alone. I sometimes think, “Can the person in charge please show up and relieve me?…because I don’t know what I’m doing!” There’s this immense insecurity. Who am I to be the mother here? Shouldn’t someone with more experience have gotten the job? Shouldn’t someone with better qualities? Shouldn’t there be a grown up here? I still feel like that basket-case nine-year-old living with strangers wondering when I my parents are going to show up.

You see – judgment. Where’s the love? The longer I sit with the crappy feelings, the more judgmental I become, rather than more compassionate, rather than more loving, rather than gentler. And I sink deeper rather than taking another step forward.

In yoga the other day, the instructor said, “Wherever you are today is exactly where you are supposed to be.”

I have an expectation that I should now be as wise as Maya Angelou, as calm as Pema Chodron, as accomplished as Oprah, as well-written as Anne Lamott, as patient as Aung San Suu Kyi, as strong as Gloria Steinem, and as kind as Mother Teresa.

But these women were cured with time, steeped in difficulty. They did not come by their greatness lightly. But they had a vision of how things could be different, and they just did it. But at each step, all along the way, they were where they need to be to get to where they were going. But they also didn’t just stay stuck. They kept moving, with great courage.

Maya asked me the other day, “What is courage?”

I said, “Courage is when you do something you need to do even when you are afraid.”

Today I’ll probably be afraid again. I will. But since I’ve come to realize that I’m the grown up here, I’m the mother, I’m the role model, I’m the one in charge…I’m going to try to have some courage. And I’m going to put a big X on my hand to remind myself to accompany my courage with loving-kindness.

Deep breaths.

For My Mom, and Yours

2011-05-06T16:42:00.001-04:00

I recently read this passage written by Ricky Gervais in response to a question about his article in The Wall Street Journal about being an atheist.

“One selflessly did her best for me all my life. That’s what mums do though. They do it for no other reason than love. Not for reward. Not for recognition. They create you. From nothing. Miracle? They do those every day. No big deal. They are not worshiped. They would give their life without the promise of heaven. They teach you everything they know yet they are not declared prophets. And you only have one.”

We know as a matter of fact that we’re all going to die. Maya reminded me of this first thing the other morning. “Mom, we’re all going to die.” “Yes, but let’s get dressed first.” I decided to be very matter-of-fact dealing with death when she said recently, after my parents had left our house one day, “I hope they aren’t going to die.” I found myself saying, “They’re not going to die,” but that just wasn’t true. They are. We all are going to die. It’s just part of the deal. What happens after that – no idea. But the energy goes somewhere, so we’re teaching our kids that too. We go back into the pool for another round – your particles, your energy – you get to be part of other things. But the one unique YOU will never be again. You are special, exclusive and cannot be duplicated. So we better enjoy our time together while we can.

My mom definitely fits the category of unique soul. There is none quite like Carol Minter. She’s generous beyond measure. But not just with money and presents. She gives people time. She welcomes, with open arms, the people who need the listening the most. Her home is open for anyone. She’s housed all four of her grown children and our friends and even an ex-boyfriend when we needed a place to stay. She’s got room for you, if you need a place. And she’ll sit with you and hash out what’s going on in your life. And she’ll hear you if you need to say, “I just need to be heard. Please don’t try to solve it.” But she won’t be afraid to tell you when you’re dead wrong and you need to hear it. She’ll show up with wine and groceries and treats just when you need them. She is a tremendous friend. She has taught me what it means to truly value friendship and to keep them thriving for many years. She’ll do anything for those women in her life. You better have a sense of humor to be around my mom though. She’s got a wildly inappropriate and wicked wit. She is so stinking funny. She doesn’t take herself or life too seriously. There’s always the funny side of a situation.

If it weren’t for early detection my mother’s breast cancer could have taken her life. And every day, when I’m chatting with her on the phone about nothing, I’m so extremely grateful. My mom’s energy will one day join the universe and become part of a duck-billed platypus or a Venus flytrap or some other unusual creature, but, for now, it’s all packaged together in the completely unique package of my mom. For now she's still making me laugh with jokes about herself and about this crazy life.

Today, as I was leaving the mother’s day breakfast at Maya’s school, I saw another mother waiting for me in her car, crying. She had heard me talking about walking in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. She wanted to tell me thank you. Thank you? Her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2008, and it has now progressed to brain cancer. She’s not doing well. And this woman wants to thank me? Her one unique mother is dying, painfully. I felt so humbled. I had been on the fence about whether to walk again next year, and, all at once, I felt like I could run 39 miles. Yes, I’ll do it. Again and again. Because, even though we all have to die, we don’t have to die like that. We don’t have to lose our mothers, sisters and daughters to this disease. We don’t have to watch another woman diagnosed.

Walking was the least I could do. The real people to thank are the people who gave the money. My team of donors contributed over $2200. Our team raised over $20,000, and the Washington, DC Avon Walk 2011 brought in over FIVE MILLION. And that’s money that will fund research for early detection. That’s money that will keep families fed with home-delivered meals while their mothers undergo treatment. That’s money for counselors to help people as they navigate treatment and insurance and ongoing wellness. But they need more.

So, I’m writing this to say thank you to my donors. Thank you for giving. Thank you for helping save someone else’s one unique mother. I’m also writing this for my mom. Because in two days it will be Mother’s Day, and I’m going to spend the day thanking people for helping me keep her around. She’s the only one I will ever have. And, dammit, I want to keep her! I’m also writing this to tell you that I’ll be walking again next year. And I’ll be shamelessly asking you for money again. Because I can’t look another mother in the face unless I know that I’ve done EVERYTHING I can to help save her one unique mother.

I love you, mom.

Happy Mother’s Day, you rascal.

I am outraged!!

2011-04-29T00:41:00.001-04:00

There are a lot of problems in this world. We’ve got HIV, malaria, cancer. We’ve got poverty, natural disasters and the destruction of our natural resources. We hear about major charities doing great work in all of these areas. And that is wonderful. I myself am walking this weekend in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. It’s going to be a huge event. We’re going to raise a lot of money. And I’m happy to be involved. Then why am I outraged?

Because there is an issue that I believe does not get the attention it deserves:

Child Sex Slavery and Human Trafficking

You would think that a cause as horrific as the trafficking and slavery of children would be one people really, really want to stop. So, why aren’t we marching in the streets? Why aren’t we talking about it in our church groups and book clubs? Why don’t you see celebrities doing telethons to raise money to stop it? Why aren’t there gigantic national walks to raise money for this cause?

I’ve started looking into it. And I’ve come to the conclusion that there are two reasons we don’t hear that much about this issue. First, I think people don’t realize how bad the problem is. Well, I can tell you, briefly. Click on the links to read more research and statistics.

· There are more people in slavery today than at any time in human history – 27 million.

· Two million children are bought and sold in the global commercial sex trade.

· In just the United States, between 100,000 and 300,000 children are enslaved and sold for sex.

· The buyers of sex from juveniles can be anyone — professionals, students, tourists, military personnel, a family member.

So, that means there is a chance that you know or have contact someone who has paid for sex with a child. And, chances are, you’ve purchased something that was made by slaves.

The second problem is that I don’t think people feel like there is anything they can do. We feel helpless. But we can. Here are just a few ways you can get involved.

1. Shop like you mean it. Don’t buy slave-made goods. That cheap sweater you got on sale? It might be made of slave-harvested cotton. Ask. That delicious coffee – unless it’s labeled as Fair Trade, it may have been made by slaves. Not so delicious.

2. Make noise! Since 76% of the transactions to buy and sell children for sex happen on the internet – you can report any suspicious activity on Craigslist or Backpage. You can also report to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children through their Cyber Tipline. Then tell everyone you know about the issue and start making a stink about it. We’re marching ONLINE!!

3. Volunteer. Find an organization in your area and see what you can do to help. The Demi & Ashton Foundation has a great list of Important Organizations. You can also take their pledge and donate directly to them. They fund some amazing programs.

4. Donate. These organizations are not getting the kind of publicity that many large charities do. Give. Give some more.

There are many other ways you can help. Kevin Bales of Free the Slaves has a wealth of information and practical resources for how you can get involved. And they have their financial statements right there on the site. You know the money is going directly to great programs.

Shared Hope International is another amazing organization with great research and progressive programs that deal with prevention, rescue and justice.

If you really want a wake-up call, watch Very Young Girls. This problem is not going to go away unless we do something about it. Let’s take to the streets. Let’s get involved. Are you with me?

The Edge of Chaos

2011-04-21T15:11:00.005-04:00

Once, many years ago, after Marco and I had a huge fight and were attempting to clear things up, he said to me, “Don’t worry. We’re going to be okay. The universe favors chaos.” He then used the example of flight to explain to me that perfectly smooth flow of air over a wing makes the airplane have a much more narrow range of stable flight. In order for it to fly longer, smoother and with more stability, a wing requires a certain amount of turbulence. I’ve been thinking about this for the past few years, especially the last three and a half since our dear children entered our lives. Once again, not long ago, I was weeping, collapsed after a long day with three very wild, unruly, emotional people. And so, once again, I started asking Marco about chaos. He said, “Systems require chaos. Perfect takes too much energy to sustain.”

No wonder I am exhausted. No wonder I am cranky. It turns out that I have zero control and am exerting all of my energy to sustain something that in its very nature cannot be sustained, perfection. I’m sure it started out early, living with horrific dorm parents, unable to communicate with my parents, unable to have any control over my circumstances. I found coping mechanisms. I did what I could to give myself the feeling that I can be in control. I can handle life. But, I think, instead of growing to become more flexible, I became more brittle. I’m strong, yes. I can do a lot of things. But I am not flexible. My mind flashes to Hans and Franz telling Patrick Swayze, “Here’s some flexibility for you!” while they do their pose. I am rigid and have zero tolerance.

And this parenting gig is breaking me down. All of my supposed strength and any strategies I used to maintain stability are completely useless in the face of the utter chaos of children, my children in particular. I completely lose it. I fly off the handle. I yell. I curse. I become a terrible parent and role model. I just snap. And who is in charge then? Not me. More chaos, that’s who. But I’m the parent. I’m the adult. I’m the one who is not only in charge of keeping them physically safe, but in preparing them for life outside these walls. In fact, that is my only freaking job. I’m here to protect and prepare. It’s a lot of pressure. And I’m not easy on myself. I kick myself when I’m down.

Chaos Theory says that there is order in the universe and that outcomes can be determined. We can know them, if we know all the initial data. But, in real life, in real time, there is no way to know. Therefore, it looks like chaos. Another theory called Complexity Theory seeks to understand complex systems and the point at which order and chaos meet. Complexity lies at the “edge of chaos.” Apparently, this is the ideal place to be. The edge of chaos is when a system is at its most adaptable and evolvable. It is not rigid and ordered, yet it has not devolved in to utter chaos. It is ready. It is flexible.

I was walking today in the sunshine. I know why ancient civilizations worshiped the sun. I do. The sun gives me my strength and endurance and fills me with warmth and readiness. It helps melt all that stiffness. I’m just a lot more okay with everything when it’s warm and sunny. And give me a nice breeze and forget about it. I’m a sail. Zoe and I were walking back from the playground. I could have just started crying out of relief that the winter is over. I was looking at the crooked trees, random patches of purple flowers, dandelions. Zoe was shouting out everything she saw, “MAMA! MAMA!” I looked. I paused. I spoke gently. I felt like my best self…just me and Zoe, one on one in the sunshine.

But we came home. And everyone was hungry. Maya got naked and ran around demanding a “beautiful dress” to wear. Someone got hold of a permanent marker and wrote on their faces. We attempted lunch. At one point I found Elliot attempting to cut himself a slice of bread with a knife. Chaos. Well, no, we’re just at the edge of chaos. All of our systems are bombarding one another, swirling around in what appears to be chaos. And because I can’t know everything, I can’t determine ahead what each of them will do…or not do. But just like that wing needs turbulent air to maintain stability, maybe we need all this insanity. Maybe in order for our complex system to remain adaptive, we need a higher level of turbulence. Maybe I do. Maybe I’m being broken down, boiled into a wet noodle. Maybe I don’t have any choice. Maybe the determined outcome is for me to become less rigid. I hope so. I’m tired of trying to fight this chaos.

I’ll leave you with this, a little quote from the Tao Te Ching about flexibility.

A newborn is soft and tender,
A crone, hard and stiff.
Plants and animals, in life, are supple and succulent;
So softness and tenderness are attributes of life,
And hardness and stiffness, attributes of death.

Just as a sapless tree will split and decay
So an inflexible force will meet defeat;
The hard and mighty lie beneath the ground
While the tender and weak dance on the breeze above.

Kneading and Being Needed

2011-04-04T15:53:00.000-04:00

The house is quiet, and the air is warm. I'm in short sleeves. The sun is streaming through the window allowing me to see the massive amount of dust in my home. I should be cleaning the bathroom or finishing up the dishes or folding laundry. I'm always saying this. I should be. Which begs the question, "What am I doing instead?" I'm eating fresh-baked cinnamon bread and writing a blog post. Why can't I be okay with that?

We've turned a corner recently in the QM household. Elliot & Zoe are now 18 months old and have become far more demanding of my attention and difficult to manage. Elliot is the roughest but not the toughest. He's always hitting and kicking and climbing. But he's also always crying because he can't get down or bumped something lightly or heard a dog in the distance. He's in constant need of hugs and soothing. Zoe has begun a high-pitched willful screaming to get attention. It is worse than her newborn cry, for those familiar with that glass-shattering sound. They've started fighting a lot more which increases the amount of crying and needing to be soothed. I am high demand.

And then there's Maya. She's at school right now, so I am somewhat relaxed. I love that dear girl immensely, but she has become very bratty, demanding, obstinate and mischievous. Well, the mischief has remained the same, but the capability has increase. She recently cut up my brand new (and expensive) walking sock with kitchen shears. She wrote on the dining room table in pen. She got into my makeup and put mascara all across her eyebrows. She pees on her hands occasionally to see what that's like. I have to keep all writing utensils out of reach because there have been numerous infractions including walls, furniture and important documents. She's like liquid I cannot contain. And any correction or instruction is met with screaming and wailing. She's started lying and back-talking and being quite sassy. I'm not in love with this behavior. On top of it, she wants me to do everything with her. She wants cook with me every single time I'm in the kitchen. She wants to help me with every single domestic chore I need to do. It's very sweet but terribly exhausting. I try to be patient. However, I largely fail.

Having these three very small people need me every minute of the day has taken a toll on my well-being. I feel drained when I wake up. I told Marco the other day that I feel like I'm always surprised when morning comes. I never wake up ready. I'm crabby and overwhelmed right off the bat. I've started getting up extra early and exercising. I do this for several reasons. First, I need to prepare for the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. Second, I need to exercise. Third, I want to start the day ahead of everyone. I want to take up arms against the sea of tiny troubles. But it's so difficult for me to put myself to bed early in order to gain that time in the morning and not turn into more of a crabby bitch for lack of sleep. I like my childless evenings of being with Marco and watching Netflix and folding laundry. I like lying in bed too late talking and talking. But I loathe being woken by crying and the screaming of "MOMMY!" Rare is the morning when all wake cheerful and want to snuggle.

Well, I recently started baking my own bread. I know, I'm a glutton for too much to do. But baking bread is fairly easy, aside from the kneading. It doesn't take much time to mix, and mostly you just wait for it to rise. If you're around the house anyway, it's no big deal. I was using the mixer to do my kneading, but my bread was turning out fairly dense and heavy. So, I decided to start doing the kneading by hand. It only takes about 10 minutes, but you really have to work that dough. I make three loaves at once, so it is a giant ball that I wrestle. That part is work. It's only ten minutes, but it is physical work. My arms start aching, and I find I'm watching the clock. But let me tell you, my bread has come out so unbelievably light and fluffy and delicious. It's all in the kneading. It's all in standing there for ten full minutes working that dough with your hands.

People tell me that these early years go by so quickly. I'll be done with this baby part in a blink of an eye. Pretty soon Maya will be going off to kindergarten and I'll miss these days together. I'll miss doing crafts and laughing and dancing in the kitchen. I'll miss all her crazy stories and ideas. I'll probably forget the stress and only remember how funny it was that she used to sneak gum into her closet. I hope so. I'm grateful for the luxury of getting to be home with my kids. It's so stinking hard, but I'm grateful for the time. And I'm hoping that all this being kneaded will make me lighter. I'm hoping that I'm learning so much from the intensity of this time that I'll come out a much more delicious mommy. I just have to be patient for my little loaves to rise.

Life on Earth

2011-03-14T21:23:00.001-04:00

It’s bath time. And there is still light in the sky. The trees look like lungs, dark against the pale grey sky, empty still of leaves. Every little branch that has survived this brutal winter is stretched out, fully exposed, begging for carbon dioxide, for sunlight. I was looking out the other day and thought that it must seem so strange, if you’ve never seen large trees, that we live surrounded by such massive creatures. And now I’m looking out, imagining a tsunami wave, rushing through, destroying my world, carrying away the foundation of our existence. I keep thinking of the Rudyard Kipling poem, If. Could I stoop to build again with worn out tools? I guess you do what you have to do. And today the Japanese have no choice but to just put one foot in front of the other, do the next thing.

The season change is imminent. I can feel the vibrancy in my bones. The melancholy is there still, as is the chill. But it’s lifting. I opened the doors today to let in the fresh air. I feel like one of the trees, reaching out, trying to expose myself to the outside, to the sunshine, to the air. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

And all the while, all day, I’ve been thinking about Japan. I’ve been trying to imagine what we would do, what it would look like here, all of us carrying our babies, walking toward shelter, hoping for water. I can’t even imagine the panic of every mother trying to protect her babies, to keep them hydrated, fed, warm and comfortable. I didn’t sleep last night because, once again, my people are sick. Zoe was up most of the night coughing and crying. In the morning I was cleaning in our bedroom and looking at the bed, her little head indentation on the center pillow, her sippy cup still there. And I smiled and was thinking how glad I am that we’re in a king size bed now with plenty of room for extra bodies. And then my mind flashed, to families making a home on cots, to people trapped, watching their businesses, their cars and homes and every single object they own swept away in a single wave.

I usually start these posts with some point, with some idea about where I’m going and the clarity I’ve come to understand. I usually write with purpose, with intent and then feel satisfied at the end. But today, I’m just writing because I see no reason. I see no point.

The universe is immense. The earth is filled with power. We’re just little tiny creatures living on this planet hurling through space around a burning ball of gas and fire. We’re nothing. The truth is that we’re damn lucky to have gotten to exist at all. No matter what way you cut it, we’re so fortunate to have gotten the chance to live, to experience this life on this blue planet. We get this idea that all these ridiculous things are important. We spend a stupid amount of time worrying about children’s birthday parties and what to make for dinner. We try to create an identity, be different or the same to the right amount that makes us happy. We work so hard to make our houses homes. We want it to be beautiful and happy and give us some sense of belonging.

When we fly in the little plane, I’m always struck with how short everything is. When you’re on the earth looking up, you think we’re taking up a lot of air space, growing taller with our buildings and towers and houses. But when you fly, you realize that we’re all just so trapped by gravity, tiny little creatures with our tiny little structures all trapped on the earth.

I kept thinking about that today when I was looking at the before and after satellite photos of Japan. The water just wiped out everything. Every single thing that man had built, an entire society of businesses and homes, wiped out in six minutes.

You can’t tell me God is in charge of that.

That’s just fucked up shit.

We’re all just subject to the universe we’re in. And now we’re all somewhat affected. The earthquake shifted the mass of the earth, causing it to spin faster, shortening our days. We have no say. We have no impact.

Tonight I’m warm. Tonight I’ll sleep in a comfortable bed. Tonight we had enough food to feed our kids. Tonight our house is standing, our cars are parked. Tonight we are safe. And for that I’m grateful. Tomorrow, who knows.

What does good look like?

2011-03-10T16:16:00.001-05:00

I have been finding it impossible to be happy lately. I have complaints about everything. The house is too cold. The winter is too long. The rain is too wet. Everything just feels completely out of my control, and I don’t like it one bit. I can’t make my kids sleep when and how long I want them to. I can’t keep them from screaming and crying and fighting. I can’t make the weather change. That probably annoys me most of all. I’m mad at the physics of the universe. The earth’s axis is making me angry. Can’t we be leaning toward the sun already? Man, if it were up to me, I’d have structured things differently.

On top of it, I’m not making any money. I’m a home-maker, a stay-at-home mom, a wife. I chose this. It’s what I’ve always wanted and envisioned for my life. But losing a salary and being home all day with three very small people is truly, unbelievably difficult. And my response to the situation is less than desirable. I thought I’d be good at this. I thought I’d be the super-fun mom who is calm and understanding. Instead, I’m impatient, combustible and harsh, especially on myself. I thought I’d have great planned-out days of learning and nature. Instead I’m still in my pajamas at noon and have crumbs all over the floor. I have this vision of being this crunchy, bread-making, recycling, non-consumer who raises her children to be self-sufficient and resilient. Instead, I am constantly wanting to buy things to make my life easier. I could really go for some Starbucks right now.

And I have a pretty good life. What about children sold in to slavery? What about women in prison for moral crimes? What about women battling breast cancer? What about a loving father fighting a losing battle to have time with his daughter? Why does life have to be so goddam hard?

The other night, as I was standing at the sink washing dishes for the fourth or fifth time that day, I was mulling over my hatred for the task. I was grumpy about how unfair it was that I had to do it. Life is too hard. The teenager inside me was in full tantrum mode. I shouldn’t have to wash dishes. I shouldn’t have to clean my house. I shouldn’t have to change diapers. And suddenly I thought, “Well, if this is not good, then how exactly should it be? How would I change the situation?” Ultimately, the bottom line question is one an old boss used to ask me, “What does good look like?”

It stopped me in my tracks.

Would I not have children? Would I have a job? Would we win the lottery and afford cooks and maids and assistants? Would I have a bigger house? Would I live somewhere warmer? What is it going to take to make me happy?

And as I began to answer the questions, I began to see the things I was complaining about as necessary parts of the life I actually wanted. Anything I removed had dire consequences. A bigger house means a bigger mortgage which means more stress. A warmer climate means moving away from my sister. To quote The Grateful Dead, “Every silver lining’s got a touch of grey.” It’s just the nature of existence. And I can’t fight against nature and the physics of the universe all I want; it ain’t gonna to change a damn thing. If I really stop to consider it, the things that I find the most difficult to handle are simultaneously the most beautiful parts of existence. I loathe winter. But I love the surge of joy that comes when the sun returns. I love the cycle of seasons. I love that the ache in my bones is relieved by the hot, humid summer days. I truly don’t believe I’d appreciate the glory of summer without the difficulty of winter. But I hate it. I really do. I want it to end so badly.

There are elements of life on this planet the need for which I’ll never understand. Why must we stub our toes? Why do toddlers throw food? Why, sometimes, when we try to do something completely good, does it all go so badly?

So, what does good look like? I guess good looks like me coming to some acceptance of the nature of life. It’s hard dammit. “Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” I’ve been asking people lately, What is the point of prayer? And the response seems to be that prayer is a way of letting go of knowing, of letting go of control. It’s accepting that we, as humans, don’t have much say in the way things work. And for those who pray, there is a belief that someone is out there with some understanding and good intent. But for me, it’s an acceptance of what is. It’s an acceptance of the very nature of reality. There is no cure. There is no solution. If you want to live, you better get your big girl panties on and fucking deal with it. Stop the complaining. Embrace the chaos. As Jillian Michaels says, “Get comfortable with being uncomfortable.” And maybe it looks like me making some changes.

I’ll just go now and drink my tea with the broken tea bag. I’ll clean while the babies are sleeping. I’ll get down in to the nitty gritty part of existence. And maybe, I can only hope, if I stop fighting and stop complaining, I can find some freaking joy here, right here, on this spot. Serenity Now!!

Why I'm Walking

2011-01-19T13:04:00.003-05:00

I wasn't a fat kid. I thought I was a fat teen, but I wasn't. I was, however, a fat twenty-something. I started eating my way through my feelings in 1995. I continued eating (and vomiting) for the next 10 years. I was crippled with insecurity and addicted to food. That's a dangerous combination. By 2000, I had put on 60 pounds, putting me just over the 200 mark. I was unhealthy, unhappy and unloved. Or so I thought.

I tried losing weight. I did, in fact, lose 40 pounds that year. But it was hurried and desperate weight loss. I was still sick inside. I was still fat inside. I still loathed exercise. It was a means to an end. I had to do it to not be fat. But I hated every minute. I fought myself every singe step. And then I would give up. It was easier to just be fat.

Over the next six years I put on all that weight again. By the time I got pregnant with Maya I was 199 again. By the time I was admitted for delivery, I weight 237 pounds!! And, let me tell you, a body is not meant to carry that much extra weight. My knees and hips were damaged. I suffered crippling pain in my hips during and after the pregnancy. My pelvic floor was a mess because of the hip problems. I ended up in a pain clinic treating the chronic, acute pain with injections. I had done that to myself.

A few years before I had gone to a special therapist who deals with eating disorders and that did set me on the road to recovery. Marco even got dragged in, which helped us both. But healing takes a long time. I had a friend ask me once, "Well, if I go in to therapy, how long will it take to get better?" Um, maybe six years, maybe more. I'm not the poster child for the quick fix. Nothing I've ever done quickly has ever been very worthwhile. It takes me a long time, with small changes to really make a difference.

I knew then, as I know now, that, above all, my health had to be the reason for losing weight. I just didn't know how. But then I watched my Grandmother grow sick and die. And my mom got sick. And I became a mother. And then I turned 30. And suddenly, my life mattered in a whole new way. I realized that I only have a short time on this blessed earth. And, if I want to actually enjoy it, I better get off my ass and start moving. I didn't want to be like my Grandmother, weak from years of sitting, unable to recover. And the only way I can not be an weak old lady is by being a strong young woman.

My diet changed, gradually. I began to get back to actually listening to my body and knowing when I was satisfied. I grew uncomfortable eating too much. We began eating mostly organic, mostly happy, cage-free animals. We started eating less meat. I really started to notice a difference in my day based on what I ate. I'm still working on that. My diet leveled out to a mostly healthy, balanced diet. I eat less sugar and don't drink as much. But I'm not so strict as to cause myself any kind of panic from that feeling of deprivation. I can't have any hard and fast, strict rules. If I want chocolate, I eat it. I just don't eat a ton of it. I do sometimes drink too much, and I'm still sorting that out. I do like my beer. But, the point is, I wasn't gaining weight any more. In fact, the baby weight came off pretty quickly.

And that brings me to 2010. That is when I decided that enough was enough. I decided to lose the weight, for good and make exercise a regular part of my life. Marco and I used our Wii and did workouts together after we got everybody to sleep. It was tough, at first. When you have three under three, all you want to do is sit down at the end of the day. But I knew I couldn't succumb to the old way of thinking. I knew I had to be healthy. The weight loss continued while I worked in the restaurant. I biked through the summer and sweat off a little more. I was trying to hold myself accountable without being really hard on my internal well-being. That is the most difficult thing for me. By the end of the year, I had lost 30 pounds and had (mostly) made exercise a regular part of my life.

My goal for 2011 is 20 pounds. I knew I needed to up the ante. So, when my friend asked if I wanted to join her in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer, I said yes, right away. And then I started to panic. I'm actually going to have to walk 39 miles in 2 days!!! I'm actually going to walk an average of 26 miles each week for the next 16 weeks?!! And it's cold and dark, and I thought I couldn't afford a gym membership. And when am I going to do all this walking??

Now, I'm not one who is really moved by statistics. But I have fallen in love with my body over the past year. I feel good moving. I feel sexier in my thinner, healthier body. The idea of not being healthy enough to chase my kids and hike with them when they're older is terrible. The idea of being stuck in a chair like my Grandma is stifling. And the idea of losing one or both of my breasts truly makes me terrified. But, most of all, the idea of dying and not getting to see my kids grow up, brings tears to my eyes. So, I'd like to do everything I possibly can to prevent those things from happening. And that's why I'm walking. That's why I am getting up dark and early to go do my miles. That is why I'm raising money for the Avon Foundation, so other women can be just as healthy and see their kids grow up and run with them. The universe seemed to honor my initiative by pointing me to a local gym that only costs $9.99 a month with no contracts.

On April 30 and May 1, I am going to walk 39 miles. I'm raising at least $1800 for the Avon Foundation. And that money goes toward research and assisting women who have no insurance. And I'm walking for me, because, after all these years, I actually love myself and realize that a lot of other people love me and want to keep me around as long as possible. Thank you, Theresa, for asking me to join your team. This has come along at the perfect time.

Social Justice on an Ordinary Day

2011-01-14T13:02:00.001-05:00

Right now, in Managua, Nicaragua, in a large city dump called La Chureca, my nephew is doing a solid day's work. He moved in with a family yesterday and will be living and working alongside the people who make La Chureca their home. His goal, over the next couple months, is to design something for them that will make living in the dump somewhat more livable. This is his chosen senior project for his Industrial Design degree at Virginia Tech. I am in awe of him.

My sister is constantly questioning herself and beating herself up about her parenting, among other things. But, I have to tell you, I don't think there are two greater parents than Wayne and Julie Johnson. Yes, they're not perfect, but that's what makes them so amazing. Their four kids just have no idea what a rare gift they have been given to get to witness truth being lived out, honest and raw and growing. They have seen two imperfect people fall and get back up, fail and try again, hurt and be forgiven. And, the things I think they have passed on to their children, the characteristics I hope I can teach my kids, are two-fold. One, I think they have managed to raise risk-takers. They have not hovered and overprotected and questioned. They have allowed their children a very long leash to explore, wander, fail, stumble and learn. They have had a "go at it" approach to just about everything. And it's not that they just throw money at every whim. They've taught their children to figure out a way to do things. They've helped them raise money. They've helped them find ways to travel. They've given them this amazing set of skills and a risk-taking, no obstacle too large kind of approach to life.

The second thing they have given their children is a deep love and concern for others. Yes, they are Christians and they know that caring for others is clearly what Jesus would do. But, these people are not just doing something because they should. They really, truly love people. They volunteer to teach English. They feed people at the homeless shelter. They befriend people in their church who are struggling and lost. They seek out and help people from other countries who are trying to make a life here. They make doing unto others part of their everyday lives. And now, their children are doing the same. My oldest nephew, the one living in the dump, has fallen in love with the people of Nicaragua, started a non-profit for street kids and spends just about every break he has helping them. My niece is bold in reaching out to others and shouldering their pain, often listening and helping other people, including me. My other nephew is going to study medicine with the explicit goal of becoming a Doctor without Borders. Their youngest is headed to college next year intent on studying social work. She volunteers at an organization that helps the victims of sex trafficking. She is part of the mental health club at her school. These kids (well not so young anymore) really love people. They know we're all connected. They feel the burden.

I didn't intend to just praise my sister and her husband. I intended on writing a piece about what Jesus really did. I intended on writing about making social justice a part of our everyday lives and not just something we do during the holidays. But I just can't stop thinking about my sister's family. These are not "do-gooders" who just want people to notice how nice they are. These are not rich people with time and money to spare. These are not perfect people. They share their struggle. They share their story. They invite people into their home for a warm meal. They relate to the struggle of others. They see the "suchness" of people and relate to their story, their struggle, their hunger.

I've been really challenged after this past Sunday and hearing a great sermon about Justice at UUCSS. I've been really convicted about what I'm doing, every day, to help others. How am I standing up for my beliefs? How am I showing love? How am I making a difference? My sister dropped everything to come over yesterday and spend the day helping me. I always feel guilty asking her for help because I know she has a million things to do. But she is always so gracious. And she always makes me feel okay about having a hard time being a mom of little ones. She relates. She knows. She cleaned my fridge and floors and folded laundry and changed diapers. We talked endlessly. It was a huge boost to my spirit. And I'm just one person.

I read THIS SERMON today, and it hit me again. What would Jesus do? Well, he wasn't just hanging out with just the nice pious folks. He spent his time and his life with the disenfranchised and people of other faiths. He was with the sick, the poor, the filthy. He was teaching and practicing social justice. We are all the same. We are all in this soup of life together. And no matter what you believe. No matter if there is a God or not, the necessity for all of us to help one another is the same. I look at my sister and see a woman truly living out her values. We have wildly different beliefs, and we are often at a loss for how to completely see eye-to-eye on certain issues. But, the longer I am around her, the more I hear her heart, the more I want to be just like her. I want caring for others, expanding my arms as wide as the world, to be part of my every single day. What am I reading? What am I buying? What am I eating? How does that all relate to everyone else on this earth? Do I have more than my fair share? Do I give as much as I could? What can I sacrifice so that someone else might eat?

Jules, you are truly a lighthouse. You keep shining so that others might see.

What I learned this year

2010-12-30T13:37:00.002-05:00

As usual, I am pensive as the year draws to a close. However, this year, more than ever, I am simply amazed at all that these 365 days have held for us. I am quivering with gratitude and amazement. If you had asked me, at the beginning of this year, how I thought it would go I would probably have started sobbing. And now, I am sitting quietly, filled with joyful calm.

This year came in with blustery, blizzardly frenzy. We had two very small babies and a two year old with more energy than all of us combined. We were buried with snow, and I was overwhelmed. I was frozen in a state of dizzying exhaustion. Most of my faith fell out of a hole in my pocket years ago, but what was left as crumbs of hope slipped right through my fingers when I tried to grasp it. I am not exaggerating the state of things. It was, by far, the most difficult time of my entire life thus far. I had no idea where the strength was going to come from to care for these three people entrusted to me. The winter was cold and felt endless.

Fortunately, I had the best teammate on earth and the greatest support from family and friends. I also happened to discover the writing of Pema Chodron, and that has given me the perspective and resolve to get through those challenging times. And so we moved on through the days.

Maya did learn to use the potty with proficiency although I started to worry she would leave for college untrained. She also learned to say “a really bad word” and has been a mirror to my many faults in other countless ways. She’s precocious and daring and wildly curious. She’s funny if slightly mischievous in her humor. But Maya’s greatest trait, by far, is her kindness. Her teachers have told me several times how patient she is with the kids with special needs. She is always trying to teach Elliot and Zoe and can be so gentle with them. Her first year teacher told me she is a voice for the kids who cannot yet speak. To hear that made my heart sing. I am choking up as I write this. She is my teacher in so many ways. I have learned to let her rage when she needs to and put myself in timeout when necessary. I am still learning to listen.

Elliot is following in Maya’s dangerous footsteps. He’s a determined little guy who loves to take things apart. He’s also extremely tender and nearly melts when we tell him no. Zoe then takes up his cause with vigilance and rebellious determination. We call her The Reporter and rely on her to keep us loudly informed of all the misdoings of her siblings. Their little personalities are still being revealed to us, but it is clear they are not two peas in a pod but more like oil and vinegar. One is nutty and a little slick while the other is tart and strong. They are yummy and quite nice separately but are incredibly delicious mixed together. We’ll keep them. I have learned that there is no way I can be in three places at one time. I have learned that I just have to put my head down, focus on the task at hand and get us all through the day. There will be less crying in the end if I focus on making breakfast rather than consoling the weepers. This is a very difficult thing to do.

Marco, my cube-mate and co-manager on this family project, has been a fearless and supportive collaborator. He continues to amaze me with his unending patience and diligence and strength. He is always learning and really challenges me to fill my day with more and not be defeated by the clock. I could wax poetic about how the strain of parenting these three people has tightened our bond and given us so much more respect and admiration for each other. I will refrain. J Fortunately, Marco loves his job and continues to “put bread on the table” as he likes to tell me. He had another great garden this year and started brewing beer. He’s only brewed two batches and already wants to “take it to the next level” which, I think, means very large equipment we can neither afford nor house. He’s been reading about irrationality and continues to remind me that the universe favors chaos, so we’re on the right track. The greatest lesson I have learned from Marco is to challenge myself and see if I can do just a little bit more. And the second lesson I have learned is to sit back and actually relax. It’s all about balance.

Marco finished his pilot’s license which made it possible for him to fly us out to Columbus and for me to be able to help his family in their restaurant. I learned a lot about running a restaurant, as planned, but, more so, I learned a lot about all that fear that holds me back from doing things in my life. I learned to ignore the fear and just do it. And I learned that I am awesome and capable of more than I had ever imagined. The confidence I gained working at The Fork & Spoon and under the tutelage of my mother-in-law has carried me through the year and pushed me to exercise more, write more and be more fearless in my relationships. I’ve lost 30+ pounds and continue to try to get “sixty seconds’ worth of distance run” in every unforgiving minute of my day. And when I don’t, I’m learning to be patient with myself and a little kinder to my spirit. I hope I’m being kinder to everyone around me as a result.

People often ask me what I believe. And for many years, I had no answer. But, after learning so much this year, I can say, with confidence, that the one thing I believe in, for sure, is a fresh start. No matter what has happened in a day and no matter what chaos exists around me or within me, I can stop, at any moment and access peace. I can start fresh. It’s all about forgiveness. For me, this is salvation, and this is access to the divine. And that is what I learned this year.

Life with the three grows easier. I sing and dance a lot through the day with them. And Marco and I just have to laugh at the chaos. We have big plans to do more flying and do more beer brewing. Marco’s citrus trees are finally producing. I’m writing more and trying to use my free time to be creative. I’m cooking and knitting and sewing and drawing. I’d like to get back into Tae Kwon Do with Maya, and I’m going to learn to play bass guitar. Marco plans to work on his instrument rating, and we both plan to start using the Bowflex we inherited. We’ve overloaded ourselves with reading to do. All-in-all 2011 looks to be a pretty fantastic year.

I’ve learned so much this year. I’ve learned to stay. I’ve learned that just when things seem as though they are going to fall apart, they start to get better. If I just stay in it, no matter how crummy it feels, I can access the really sweet nut of life. I’ve learned that instead of escaping and filling and doing, I can just be, now. It’s terribly difficult. So, I’ve learned to breathe deeply and not be so hard on myself. And, above all, I’ve learned to give myself that fresh start.

I’ll leave you with a quote that has inspired me.

“Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us...It is all about letting go of everything.” Pema Chodron

Needs vs. Wants

2010-12-21T13:16:00.000-05:00

We’re on a budget. Because I stay home with the kids and am not employed and because we live in one of the most expensive areas in the United States, we are on a budget. This budget is fairly restrictive. We hardly ever eat out. I almost never shop. We try to stick to a very specific budget for groceries. Things are tight. And I’m not a big fan. I’m always trying to negotiate with my husband about what we can or cannot buy or do. I’m often grumbling about how money would make things so much easier. I could pay for routine house cleaning. I could have a babysitter now and then. I could not feel so much pressure to use every last bit of food we purchase. There would be some breathing room. Yeah, money is the answer. Money would make life so much more livable. Money would make me happy.

Last night I did go out to dinner with a group of women. And, at first, I was listening to them talk about work and about their lives and I found myself comparing in my mind. I can’t do that. Oh, wow, that sounds fun. We couldn’t afford to do that. And, once again, as many times before, I started to go down that jealousy path toward If Only Land. If Only Land is that idealized place we think we could be in if only we had money or time. But If Only Land is a lonely place to live in your mind. When you live in If Only Land in your mind, the place you actually live starts to look a little more grey and dingy. It starts to reek of dissatisfaction. And, unfortunately, I spend a lot of my time living there. I’ve written about it before.

But last night I stopped in my tracks and took a U Turn. I sat and listened and enjoyed hearing about their lives and their travels and all the fun things they do with their kids. But then I thought about my choice to be home. It was a choice. And sometimes I still make it every day. I choose to not run away. And, while I’d love to pick up some writing jobs, I choose to not be employed. Although, the way the economy is right now I’m not sure how much of a choice that is. And, listening to these women talk about the stress of their jobs and trying to figure out what is next in their careers, I did feel a sense of relief and gratefulness. Sure, being home with these three little people is stinking hard. I sometimes feel like a tightly wound spring and struggle not to snap at everyone. But I don’t have a boss. I don’t have deadlines. I don’t have to be anywhere at a particular time. I usually have time to cook dinner and make crafts with Maya. I get to have impromptu dance parties and where I blast any music I want as loud as I want. Those are things I cherish dearly.

And I’ve started thinking about what I would do differently if we did have more money. Yes, there would be some breathing room, but should we spend money any differently than we do? Do we need to eat out more often? Do I need to buy more clothes? Do I need to be wasteful with food? Anne Lamott says “It’s good to do uncomfortable things. It’s weight training for life.” Maybe being on a restrictive budget is teaching me some skills for how to live my life when the budget isn’t there anymore. Maybe, instead of thinking “I can’t afford that” I should be thinking “I don’t need that.” It’s sometimes hard to know the difference. It’s so easy to convince myself that I need something. I have lost weight and only have a couple pairs of pants that fit, and they are wearing out. But, do I really need new ones? I’m home most of the time. Do I really need nicer clothes for the rare times I go out? I colored my hair and my roots are coming in, but do I really need professional highlights? That one is easy. No. I don’t. But I could see talking myself into them.

Because we live in a very affluent area, it’s easy to confuse the wants with needs when everyone is living with many of their wants. And sometimes friends say, “You guys won’t fit in that car. You need a bigger one.” Yes, a bigger car would be easier, in some ways. But, you know, we don’t need one. It’s difficult to determine sometimes. How warm do we need to keep the house? How many pairs of pajamas do we actually need for the kids? How important are the passionate wants like musical instruments and books? At what point are you being thrifty, and at what point are you just being cheap? What can we sacrifice to make some of our wants a reality like travelling and entertaining friends?

It’s easy for me to judge people who splurge on different things than I do. It’s easy for me to point at someone else and say, “They’ve got their priorities all wrong!” I’m severely righteously indignant. It’s a weakness. But I justify things to myself all the time. And, during this gift-giving season, I’m particularly weak. I tend to be a person of excess. If I do something, I tend to overdo it. I take on that “throw caution to the wind” attitude and do things with abandon. That can be great when it comes to music and dancing and laughing and singing. But I am learning to find more balance when it comes to food and drink and money. It’s tough though, I want all of them, and I want them bad. I find it terribly difficult to strike that balance. I understand the principle of manifesting what you want – of setting financial goals and working toward them. But at what point is that manifesting just greed?

For now, I’m working on trying to make the budget restrictions my choice. I think I should carry five bucks around with me and see all the ways I could not spend it on purpose. Today I won’t spend it on coffee or disposable diapers or more presents. Today I choose to not eat out. Today I choose to stay home with my kids. Today I'm trying not to be in If Only Land. But, don’t judge me if I waver. I told you before, I’m just learning.

Winter Wonder

2010-12-16T12:51:00.001-05:00

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show. ~Andrew Wyeth

I can’t say that I prefer it. It is bitter cold. The wind is whipping through our drafty attic and freezing my fingers. Gone are the gorgeous colors of fall. All the leaves are brown, and the sky is grey. We’re leaning away from the warm sun and feeling the frigid winter of deep space. Everyone has been sick, and we are extremely tired. But I have to agree with that underlying feeling of hope, that sense of promise when everything looks dead. Under the snow and ice, our heirloom tomatoes are waiting for us.

Upon review of our calendar from 2010, I am reminded of so many reasons to rejoice and to remember that, the winter will pass and the warmth will return to my fingers. Our people will be running naked in the backyard soon enough. Last year began with great difficulty. We got so much snow and were cooped up indoors for far too long. We had about six weeks of illness that nearly put me over the edge. Our Nurse Practitioner said, “These are the days that try men’s souls.” She was right. But we made it through. We snuggled and laughed and watched our babies grow and somehow were healthy once again. I am eternally grateful for pro-biotics and homeopathy.

The spring brought great changes. I began helping my in-laws with their restaurant and travelled back and forth to Columbus, OH with the help of Marco’s new pilot’s license. I changed diapers and gave bottles mid-flight. Then I cooked and cleaned and waited tables and designed a menu. I spent priceless hours talking to my mother-in-law, cherished memories indeed. Skype got us through the separation. I learned so much about cooking and restaurants and organization. I fell in love with food even more and got great satisfaction watching the restaurant grow. It was an amazing experience.

Summer was hot and humid and wonderful. I did far less laundry, as our kids were indeed naked most of the time. I took Maya to school on the bike and sweated off the baby weight. We picked berries and ate piles of tomatoes. Elliot and Zoe started walking in July. Elliot immediately used his skills to get stuck behind doors and under tables. Zoe started dancing. We purchased and destroyed yet another pool, but the kids loved it. There was a great deal of dangerous jumping around two very unstable walkers, so I nearly had a heart attack every day. But I can’t complain about summer. I can’t complain about fresh salads and salsas from the garden. I can’t complain about hanging out with the neighbors. And I certainly can’t complain about sunshine and warm toes.

You know that I love the fall. Maya fell in love with the leaves this year, which gave my heart an extra little surge of love for her and for the season. We tried to capture the colorful leaves in wax paper, but that utterly failed. But we collected them and piled them around our little pumpkin family. We jumped in them and threw them in the air and at each other. I taught her to smell the autumn air, the sweet aroma of fallen leaves and the crisp scent of apples. I reveled in the melancholy and attempted to prepare my spirit for the descending darkness of winter.

And now, here we are again, days away from the winter solstice, the darkest day of the year. But now my babies aren’t really babies anymore. I’ve got three toddlers now. Really I’ve got three climbing, running, yelling monkeys. And we’re sleeping once again, at least last night. Snow is falling as I write this. It’s in that gorgeous stage before anyone walks or drives when the world looks like it’s covered in powdered sugar. We’ve got the Christmas lights on and candles burning. My dad is coming over soon to play with the kids and laugh with us through dinner. I know it’s just the beginning, of winter, that is. December 21^st just marks the start of this cold business. And, I must admit, most of the time I’m just complaining and dreading and even laid myself on the floor the other day in tears. Winter is tough and usually means long bouts of illness and cabin fever and aching bones. But today I’m trying to focus on the positive.

"Hear! hear!" screamed the jay from a neighboring tree, where I had heard a tittering for some time, "winter has a concentrated and nutty kernel, if you know where to look for it." ~Henry David Thoreau

The Cheese Condition

2010-12-01T11:20:00.000-05:00

Stagnant. That's the best word to describe how I've felt lately. I'm not really sad, per se, but I'm just entirely lacking in motivation. I'm not completely indulging, but I'm just being slightly lazy and not being very disciplined. And I KNOW I'll feel better if I can get my shit together and get back to being really clean and healthy and meditative. But I've slid just far enough down this slippery slope of slackerdom that the climb seems kinda hard.

What makes this the worst place to be is the constant argument that happens in my brain.

"I really should give up dairy today."
"Nah, you can do that tomorrow."
"God, you are such a slacker. Just don't have dairy."
"But I want to, so I will."
"You suck. I cannot believe you are eating that cheese. You have no discipline."
"Oh crap, my stomach feels gross. I shouldn't have eaten that cheese."
"You are an idiot."

Now, why on earth would I subject myself to such thinking all day long every day? Is the cheese really worth it? Is the fat and slobby feeling not motivation enough to get moving? What happened to my ganas?

I've reached this point where my diet is mostly healthy and full of whole foods and fruit and veggies and whole grains, etc. I'm not gaining weight. So, lately, I've been trying to lose it in a healthy way by cutting out more fat and watching my portions and not eating sugar. And I've had success. But this always happens to me. I hit this wall where I've seen some success and I think, "That'll do." I mean, it's not like I go back to eating a sleeve of Ritz crackers and a bowl of ice cream. I don't need the "U Turn" motto anymore. I don't really pig out. I just lose the motivation to take good care of myself. I'm fighting with years and years of bad habits and negative programming. I never had good exercise habits or eating habits, so, now, at 33, it is a lot harder to teach myself that discipline is worth it. It's just so much easier to eat the cheese.

There is nothing wrong with cheese. It's just, I know in my body and spirit that I should probably give up eating dairy. And every day I don't. Every day I protest and gum up my gut and pollute my system. And the thing is, I know what it feels like to free myself of something not good for me. A while a go I gave up beef and have never felt better. My digestive system just does not do well with red meat. I should probably give up animal protein all together, but I'm just not there yet. I might cry on the day I have to give up pork.

So, after starting this post, I decided something. It's never going to change. I'm not admitting defeat, but I'm realizing that if I want to stay on track and stay healthy then, even when I feel like a total slug, I just have to do what's right. I just cannot entertain the idea that the other option is even one of the choices. It's a major bummer. I like that cocoon of comfort. I like cheese and wine and sitting. However, I have to remember that, in the end, what I really like is feeling light and energetic and positive. So, for most of the time, I have to eat light and energetic and positive.

Discipline is remembering what you want.

I read that at a yoga studio long ago, and it has stuck with me. Obviously I haven't practiced that, but I know it is truth. There's a reason they call yoga a "practice," you have to practice every day. You have to do it so it becomes the norm. I've seen this happen in other areas of my life, why can I not do it with exercise and meditation??

So, the goal for today is to not eat dairy. I've got to get out of this cheese condition. And if I don't feel like it, well, that just doesn't fucking matter. My future self needs to take the wheel of this off-course ship!

Christmas is Coming

2010-11-15T14:55:00.000-05:00

For the past couple years, now that I have children, I have wrestled with Christmas. I am no longer a Christian. I don't necessarily have an "ism" I can claim. Perhaps I am a Humanist or a Naturalist. I do believe there is something at work in the universe - some kind of energy or power or spirit. I believe it could eventually be explained through scientific research and greater understanding. But, I am quite certain, that there will always be more for us to learn, an infinite amount of information that, because of our probable limited time of human existence, means that we may never know. We will probably never know, for sure, about "god." Therefore, I guess, I am an agnostic. However, because I believe there is something at work, and, because I believe, most of all, in humankind, I'm still very much on the hunt for understanding. I'm still very much in love with spiritual pursuit. I'm sill reading and talking and craving information. I'm not content to say, "Ah, well, we can't know, so let's just sit down and do nothing." What's the fun in that?

I went to church this past Sunday. I went with my neighbor and new friend to a Unitarian Universalist church. I don't know why I never did this before. I guess I always had this idea that UU had some sort of doctrine of vague Christian values or something very bland and boring. I didn't get the point. But, what I've been craving since leaving Christianity, is a community. I've been missing the music. I've been missing the gathering. I've been missing that special time set aside each week dedicated to reflecting. I know I could make up some sort of practice in our home, and I do want to establish some practice for myself and for our family. However, what I wanted more was to gather and discuss and spent time in communion. But this is very difficult if I also don't want to sign my name to some belief system or have my children indoctrinated with some sort of dogma. Well, UU is the perfect solution. It's a church for all of us who are on these winding paths. It's a place to gather for community and support while on your own spiritual journey. Atheist? Welcome. Sit down and have some cookies. I'm a big fan. This is exactly what I've been wanting. I've found a path of understanding and practice through Shambhala, but this is really more of an individual journey. It's, in fact, very lonely. And I can't take the kids with me to meditation. So, church...who would have thought I'd be back at church. But they have nursery and preschool classes and coffee and cookies and small groups and book discussions. We can learn all about other religions and teach our children about faith and no faith and have a community of support as we're on our own journeys. Yes, I'm a big fan. I get to sing hymns and listen to a choir. Maya gets to go to Sunday School. But instead of learning that she's going to hell without Jesus, she's learning about listening and being kind and respecting others.

So, back to Christmas. I have this internal struggle with Christmas. First of all, I have all of these warm, wonderful memories of Christmas. I loved decorating and making presents. In PNG we had no means and no money, so presents were often hand-made for each other. My parents would plan, months in advance, and have people send us packages with very special things Michael and I had requested. It was so exciting...the anticipation, the one present on Christmas Eve, the stockings, the big breakfast, the opening of gifts, the day spent in PJs playing with new toys and cooking and eating. I loved it all. However, after returning to the US, Christmas started to get really out of control. My mom, in response to growing up with very little, loves to buy gifts. She loves to find just the right thing (or many things) for everyone. It's the day she loves more than any other. And I get it. I'm a gift giver too. I do love thinking of just the right thing. The problem is, it can so easily become this day of ridiculous consumption. Present after present gets opened and piled into gluttonous piles of STUFF, some of which we need, most of which is just stuff. And there's a part of me, the same part who walks through Target and lusts after shiny objects, that loves the greediness and abundance of all of that. But the bigger part of me, the spiritual part of me, knows that all that excess is just not good for any of us. PLUS, we just don't have a lot of money to spend on 8 million gifts for every member of the family.

And then there's Santa. I didn't grow up believing in Santa, and neither did Marco. It just feels sort of odd to tell my kids that a man is going to come in the night and break into our house and we should leave him cookies. But it's cultural, and all her friends will believe in Santa, and everyone tells me that it was so magical. And there's something kind of fun about this spirit of Christmas, of giving, who goes around the world and passes out gifts. I get that.

Last year I decided that we'd only give hand-made gifts. The only presents I remember from my childhood are the hand-made gifts. And I intended on only giving Maya hand-made gifts. But that is nearly impossible, especially with two newborns. But last year Maya got too much stuff. She was totally happy when she opened her tool box, and we could have really left it at that. However, part of the memory of Christmas is all the gifts under the tree, all the unknowns. I was excited for my brother's gifts too. There was just so much mystery. So, I'm back to thinking this over.

In an effort to help myself resolve some Christmas issues, I looked online to find out about the UU view of Christmas, and I found these two great sermons. First is a sermon on why they celebrate Christmas. And it makes so much sense. It's all about the birth of a child, the birth of hope of a new world. I love that. The second sermon is all about light. And that is the thing I keep coming back to...light in a time of darkness. There are just so many religious holidays at this time of year that celebrate light. Diwali, Hanukkah, Christmas, the winter solstice, and Kwanzaa are all festivals of lights. We are desperately looking for hope, for light during a period of immense darkness and cold and the feeling that it will never end. We celebrate hope. And, as he says in the sermon, we celebrate our own freedom to celebrate. So many, throughout the history of mankind, have been denied their ability to celebrate, so we celebrate hope for them, the light of hope in all mankind. We celebrate our ability to join together to overcome adversity. We celebrate the coming of the sun again.

So, this year, I think I've pretty much come to terms with the fact that I very much want to celebrate Christmas. And, even though I don't believe in Christ as my savior, I believe in the joy of his birth and the hope he brought. That's reason enough to celebrate, right? And I believe in the giving of ourselves so that we might bring joy to others. I'm still not sure about Santa, but we might leave him cookies, just in case. I think we'll start our own tradition of lighting candles. And I think I want to have them gather one toy each day during the week leading up to Christmas and put them in a pile to give away. And I definitely want to continue the hand-made tradition. I'm going to let my mom buy gifts, within reason. And Maya will get a few special gifts, and she'll give a few special gifts. And I think we'll start doing the Posada, the Mexican tradition of bringing baby Jesus to the manger. And we'll have to have a piñata and ponche. I definitely want to have stockings with tiny little treasures like toothbrushes and socks and oranges and nuts. And food will be cooked, in abundance. I'm sure, as they get older, we'll develop other traditions. I'm really open to ideas, so post away. I think I'll make an advent calendar this year where, instead of chocolates, we light a candle and say a blessing and maybe find coins...I'll have to work that out. But I'm coming to terms with my faith, or lack thereof, and I'm really happy Christmas is coming. Happy Holidays! Enjoy Thanksgiving first of all! :)

I Think I'm Better Than You

2010-10-27T09:13:00.000-04:00

Facebook has been amazing for reconnecting with people from so many different parts of my life. I love that on one page I can see the updates from a super-Christian home-schooling mom who is grinding her own wheat and a gay friend who is making kilts for his fiancée. That is truly fantastic. The other thing I like about Facebook is how it reveals to me all my judgments, of my self and others. I find I have this ranking system in my head. "I'm better than her. I hate that guy, I'm so much better than him. Oh, seriously, you spend that much money on clothes. I would never..." I click through pictures and go through a series of emotions. Jealousy, Outrage, Anger, Pity, Sadness...all based on how I feel about someone else's life, or, rather, the images of someone else's life they choose to present. You never know the real story.

In Buddhism they teach of the three lords of materialism. Basically, these are the things we turn to for comfort, the things we use to distract us from the real work we need to do. They are the blankets we wrap ourselves in to make us feel like we are safe, like we can protect ourselves. They make us feel like life is permanent, like this moment won't end.

The first one is the lord of form. For me, this is the easy stuff to recognize. This is all the physical stuff we do to distract ourselves. Form is shopping, drinking, buying, eating, watching TV or getting lost in a good book. It's not that we can't do any of those things. It's just that we often do them in order to not be where we are, feeling what we're feeling, just being present. We want to consume. We want to fill. We want to satisfy the aching, longing, sadness or the burning, raging anger. We want to not feel lonely. It's the faulty thinking that, if I buy this, then I'll be happy. If I eat that cookie, I'll feel better. And even though we KNOW it won't, it's such a difficult habit to break, to just not do it. The Bible even says, "Be Still, and know that I am God." It actually says to just sit with your crappy self and be miserable and feel that. That's where real bravery comes in.

The second one is the lord of speech. This one is a little more tricky. This is how we use our intellect to relate to the world. Speech is all of the stuff we believe to be true in contrast to something else that is not true. Speech is our political beliefs or religious conclusions. We hold on so tightly to these ideas. We don't want to budge. This is who I am. I believe this, and I am right about it. It gives us a sense of peace to feel that we have some idea to cling to, something that is for sure. But the truth is that, there is no absolute but this present moment. This is the one that hangs me up the most. I found this story Pema Chodron told to be very compelling. Basically, a man is watching TV with no sound. First there is a KKK rally. Then there is an environmental march. Finally, the President and some Senators are arguing. The man notices that no matter what they are wearing, they all have angry faces.

It doesn't mean we can't have a political or religious belief. "However, if we find ourselves becoming righteously indignant, that's a sure sign that we've gone too far and that our ability to effect change will be hindered." And I can be SO righteously indignant. If you watch Glen Beck, I think I'm smarter than you. If you feed your kids junk food and let them watch too much television, I think I'm a better parent. Of course, there's also a flip side. I condemn myself for not learning enough about politicians. I judge myself for getting angry and always assume other people don't do that with their kids. Everything is either good or bad. And I find that I have such a hard time looking at things with neutrality.

I did try to practice this on a trip to church this past weekend. Usually, when I go to church with my family, I spend the whole time judging everyone around me. I think, "How can so many people believe something so crazy?" I judge them for being materialistic. I get on my high horse about what I think is the right way to live, and I just sit there judging. But this last week, when I caught myself doing that, I tried to just be neutral. I tried to drop the story line about my whole life growing up in Christianity and just hear and see everything as if it were the first time. And I started seeing all these people who come every week because they want to change. I saw all of these broken people, just like me, who are longing for truth and understanding and love. And I heard my brother-in-law speak, and I saw a man as a man should be, raw, open, naked speaking the truth about what it means to be human and struggle. It was amazing.

Of course, on Monday I started right back up with my Facebook screening..."Wow, they look so cool, their life must be amazing. Geez, she had another kid, how can they not believe in birth control?" I am utterly ridiculous.

Suffering

2010-10-20T11:03:00.000-04:00

I'm not feeling as enlightened today. I'm struggling to get back on track. I know this is part of the deal with being human. I know this is definitely part of the deal with being Heather Minter. My ups and downs have certainly leveled off as I've gotten older and healed a lot of open wounds, but I think I'll forever be on a wave pattern with my mood and wellness and motivation. I tried to do the Yoga Meltdown yesterday, and I did it. But I didn't try as hard as I usually do. I struggled to find that "ganas" within me to push myself. I just felt like crumbling. I am glad I stayed. I'm trying to just stay. I have all those usual places I go to for comfort...food, alcohol, TV, music and plain old laziness. I'm trying to just do what I have to do and not focus on these feelings of "don't want to." But everything feels so half-hearted. Where is this coming from? Why now? Where did my strength of mind go? When will it come back?

The kids have been sick for weeks. The doctor says they have allergies. Now Zoe is really sick and crying all the time and wanting me to hold her. And that makes Elliot want me to hold him. And while that's going on Maya is usually doing something naughty like stripping the sheets off all the beds or opening the basement door or stealing gum or giving everyone metal spoons to beat the walls...it never ends. I feel like I have to be on constant Maya Watch, which is completely exhausting. I know for sure that I'm expecting her to have done something bad when I leave the room. Unfortunately, I'm usually right. It's so hard to pick my battles. I know that stripping the sheets is not a big deal, but it exhausts my spirit. It's another thing I have to do before the next nap - make all three beds. I try to focus on things that are potentially dangerous for Maya or the babies like access to the stairs or access to the electrical outlets or using the cord to a lamp as a "jump rope." It's just, after a while, I'm tired and grumpy and start getting angry even before it happens. Afterwards, I tell people, and I know it's funny. I know years from now I'll laugh about her pooping in the bath and playing with the poop. But it almost made me cry the other night. I had to spank her and drain the bath and scrub it out and wash her and get through it while she screamed that she was cold and mad at me.

I'd really like a road-map or a framework for this parenting gig. I picked up this discipline book, but I have only read a couple of things. And I just don't see how I'm supposed to answer each time she calls for me as an example for her to respond when I call. She calls me all day. Last night she was screaming in the bath, so Marco ran in there. She just wanted to tell him that she wasn't ready to get out. Seriously?? I think she spends her days dreaming up ways to break us down. She must have been an interrogator in a former life. It's so hard to maintain the vigilance of not giving in with all the screaming and begging and tantrums. It's so hard to have fights over something totally insane. And I question myself, "Should I just give her a different cup, or should I stick this out because of the principle?" Can you really ever know?

Well, this post is a poorly written ramble, but that's where I'm at. I want to document it. I feel like I was doing so well maintaining the vigilance. But now I just feel like giving up. I want a break, but there is no such thing. I could get a babysitter for an evening, but I still have to get up in the night with sick babies and a screaming toddler. I still have tomorrow. I know that sounds so defeatist. But today I'm feeling defeated.

Can I just stay here and feel this feeling? Last night, in the middle of the night, when Maya was throwing a tantrum because I wouldn't let her in our bed (we already had Zoe, who is sick), I was so overwhelmed with anger. I found myself wanting to spank her. That sounds awful, but it just felt like I could spank her and get her to stop screaming and yelling and keeping everyone awake. I tried so hard to just stay there and feel that anger and figure out that it was really fear. I struggled to turn that around into compassion. I tried so hard to put myself in her shoes and feel the frustration and sadness and rejection and fear of my own anger. I felt like I might just snap or fall apart or disappear. I don't know if I really accomplished anything or learned anything, but I didn't hit her. I did take her water and talk to her. I felt so angry, and at first I told her that and was almost shouting. But I could see her little face in the dark, and my whole spirit just felt so terrible. I hugged her, and she did go to sleep then. But Elliot woke up shortly thereafter and ended up in bed with us.

I'm writing now to sort this out, to ignore the cleaning, to take a break. I'm listening to music to try to soothe this brokenness, but I'm just feeling low. I will still exercise today. I will still clean and do 3 loads of laundry and bike to pick up Maya and all of that. I have to do it. And I won't eat and drink. I don't want to stay here. I don't want to. But this is my suffering. This moment is my teacher. If I'm serious about learning, then I better fucking buck up when it gets tough because that's when I can learn the most. I can soften, or I can become more angry. I can go back into my cocoon of self-indulgence, or I can just feel this aching exhaustion and try to find the heart center in it. Some people can't afford to go to the doctor. Some people don't have children. Some people are in unhappy marriages. Some people don't have food to eat. I can suffer this with the idea that they don't have to...or something like that.

Being Here in October

2010-10-08T12:30:00.000-04:00

October always makes me nostalgic. I think I’m even nostalgic for this moment. I want to hold it, like a tiny acorn, in my hand. I want to carry it in my pocket, feel the weight. I want to take it out over and over and enjoy it. Basic goodness is streaming through my window. The light on the leaves illuminates my spirit. My fingers are just the tiniest bit cool from the crisp morning air. I love October.

Last night I found something stuck behind our living room radiator. It was Halloween candy from the 1960s. Now, I know this doesn’t speak well about my housekeeping. I’m not sure how we never discovered this when we basically gutted the house, but it’s been stuck there for about 40 years. It was just so strange to think that this little time capsule, this little pocket of ancient junk was with us all this time. It brought to my mind what I’d just told Marco the night before. I feel mostly healed of all my food issues. Sometimes circumstances make me discover that there are still little pockets of gunk in the folds of my being, but mostly I am done with all of that.

When I think back, to who I was, to the tempest, to the desolation to the utter weakness of being, I feel as though I’m remembering someone else’s life. Why did I throw up? Why did I feel so inferior? Why did I put myself in such dangerous and harmful circumstances? And, how did I make it through that and get to live this life I’m living now? I sometimes grieve over the loss of my youth. It’s not grief that the fun times are gone. I have grief that I wasted so much time, so many years, with sadness, with self-hatred, with wastefulness. It’s gone now. I’m losing weight, but I’ll never look like I did in high school. I’ll never have the chance to actually appreciate that body which was probably gorgeous. I just didn’t know it. I asked Marco last night, “Do you think I’ll get another chance in another lifetime to get to be young again?” He pointed out that I wouldn’t remember. But maybe I would. Maybe I’ll take some growth along with me. I like the idea of that. I like the idea of enjoying myself earlier in life. Is there anyone who does that?

I’m just at the beginning of my understanding of basic goodness. I’m just learning what it means to stay with the suffering, to embrace the difficulty of life and see it as my chance to connect to goodness. It’s heartbreaking, this life. I think of the Coldplay lyrics, “Nobody said it was easy; No one ever said it would be this hard.” My neighbor just died, at 32, from a heart attack. I just saw his father walking down the street and my heart just nearly broke thinking, “This man’s son just died.” I cannot imagine the pain of that. But yet I think we feel it a little bit every day. We feel the sense of loss in the most perfect of moments because perfect moments are impermanent. I watch my children in their footie pajamas dancing to silly songs and my throat closes in joy. Each day is so, so very hard, yet each day is so completely full of immense and utter joy.

I’m crying now looking at the leaves. October will pass, and it will be cold. I want to remember that it comes back around again. But it will be different. Who knows what will happen in this next year, what pockets of pain I’ll encounter, what moments of bliss. I can’t control it. That’s the thing I have the most difficulty accepting. I cannot stop it. I cannot control it. I cannot make babies sleep when I want them to or keep my toddler from shouting and waking them up. I cannot get Elliot to stop fighting every diaper change. If I can just ride the chaos, if I can just accept the flux and challenges, I could really have more of this joy in every moment. I’m always trying to change the circumstances, to order the chaos, to make life the way I want it to be. But it’s really me who needs to change.

Pema Chodron talks about here how the greatest teachers are the troublemakers in our lives. The day after I watched that YouTube clip, I looked down and realized that the shirt I had put on Maya said, “Troublemaker.” Maya’s name, in Hindi means illusion. It is the belief that everything we see in the world is an illusion, the product of our dualistic thinking that there is a separation between physical matter and consciousness. I really believe she was put into my life to cause trouble, to help me see my own neurosis and also to help me see the basic goodness in the phenomenal universe. She’s the link that connects me to now, connects my consciousness to this physical moment. Well, all three of them are. I didn’t do this on purpose, but Elliot means “the Lord is my God,” and Zoe means “life.” It’s just interesting the connection between all of them – spirit, physical life and illusion.

I’m supposed to be here, now. My troublemakers are waking up. My little pocket of time is gone. I hope someday, maybe in heaven (who knows), I can watch my life again with time-lapse photography, to watch the fleeting moments, to see the passage of time. Right now my life is fertile ground for growth. I’m sure I’ll pass through more winters of difficulty. Tomorrow I might melt down and actually cry over spilled milk. But today the sun is streaming. Today is Friday. Today is October. Today is perfect. I’m going to attempt to just breathe today, to feel the way I get so agitated when things don’t go my way, when I have to face painful truths about myself. I’m going to feel the itch to get out and not scratch it. I’m just going to try to be. I’ll let you know how it goes.

The Least Complicated

2010-09-22T11:26:00.000-04:00

They say meditation is like taking a swirling glass of mud and letting it settle. All the dirt goes to the bottom, and you are left with clear water. It's just so difficult to wait, to wait and watch. My mind is like a river. There's a reason they call it "stream of consciousness." Sometimes it's raging, after a recent storm. Sometimes it's clear and green. But it's always moving. I'm just not always aware of what's in there. I go about my days bustling from task to task. Sometimes I'm distracted or hooked on the anger that's swirling from that stupid morning argument. Sometimes I'm just waiting for the day to end, thinking myself out of the situation. But I'm always thinking, churning.

But lately it's been different. Well, it's been a few years now in development. It started off when I read A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle. He talks about being present. He really helped me realize the difference between the core self, the observer and the ego self, the self who is swirling in that river of thought, caught with every emotion. I started practicing awareness in little moments. I'd be in the shower and catch myself telling a story or having a conversation beforehand, preparing for what I'd say or how I'd react. I'd be all caught up in emotion I had manufactured. It was easy to do in those quiet moments, but I gradually began bringing awareness in the difficult times, when I was really upset after an argument or in one of those recessions of the spirit when all I wanted to do was eat nachos and watch reruns of Wings. I started becoming more and more aware of my patterns of behavior. Why am I eating this? What am I eating? Where is this tone coming from? Why am I stomping around?

Then, after the babies were born, and the winter came, I was like a mouse in a new maze with no light and no scent to guide me. I'd been in dark times before, but this was something new. Ever before I could just sit down in the dark and sort of wallow in the self-pity. I could stomp about and blame Marco and waste time ignoring my feelings. But suddenly, I couldn't do all the things I used to do. I had three people depending on me all day, every day to feed them and nuture them and guide them. I had followers in the dark. I had to keep going. It made me keenly aware of all those things I turn to for comfort. It made me crave satisfaction. My body ached to do nothing. My mouth salivated for comfort food. My mind was yearning for laze. But I just kept on getting up and being there, because I had to. I knew I needed help, but I had no where to turn. I didn't believe in God. I didn't have a spiritual belief at all.

I went to the bookstore and started searching. I found this book by Pema Chodron called The Places that Scare You. Clearly, the title was what sucked me in. The subtitle is, "A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times." It sounded perfect. And it was. It is. Pema's writing is so clear and honest and easy to understand. I'd picked up books on Buddhism before that just sounded esoteric and boring and so far from waht I was looking for in my life. I wanted simple, clear truth. I did not want to have to learn some new doctrine and believe in something fishy. I just wanted to start to undersand how to deal with being human. That much I know is true, I'm here, existing on this earth.

And the truth, of course, IS so simple. But, as the Indigo Girls said, "The hardest to learn is the least complicated." I've got this body, this mind, this history, this family, this house, and I'm living in this time, now. So, I just need to have the courage to be here, as richly present in this now as I possibly can. Chogyam Trungpa, in his book, Shambhala: The Sacred Path of the Warrior, talks about going even further into the moment. Just be still and breath and exist NOW. Be attentive to every detail of what you're doing. It's amazingly simple and beautiful and so very powerful.

Almost an entire year after I first picked up Pema's book, I've finally begun a meditation practice, which is at the heart of the Shambhala path. You sit and breath and focus on the breath. You train your mind to be present. You remain still in that river of insanity. And don't judge. Just watch the junk float on by, all those crazy, wicked, angry, loving thoughts. Don't try to remember. Don't try to hold on. You just sit and breath.

I found that the most peculiar things come up when I'm meditating. I feel like there are three of me. There's the observer, the thinker and the gatekeeper. The observer just alwasy is and always was. There are no feelings, just calm observation. The thinker is always going as well, producing more and more thought, checking off lists, planning and remembering and creating drama. The thinker isn't really right or wrong, it's just busy. And then there's the gatekeeper. This is the part of my mind that reminds me to come back to the breath, to drop that hot iron of thought, that addictiong storyline about how bad someone made me feel. The gatekeeper is like a coach blowing the whistle. Back to the breath. The problem is, the gatekeeper has all the qualities of things I have hated about leaders in my life and things I despise about myself. The gatekeeper is judgmental. The gatekeeper is unkind. The gatekeeper calls names and tries to make me feel bad for thinking. I've come to realize how much of a gatekeeper I am with myself and how much I am with everyone around me. I judge and condescend and demoralize. So, I'm trying to let that go. I'm trying to silence the gatekeeper, or alter my coaching techniques. I'm attempting to be kinder to myself, encouraging even. I try saying, "Back to the breath, my friend" instead of "Goddammit, you're thinking again, you idiot!"

This new perspective on self-love and patience is givng me something to really focus on throughout my day. I'm new, so don't have great expectations of me. Give me some time to learn. When someone asked Pema Chodron how long they would need to keep practicing, she said, "At least until you die." So, I've got some years of learning ahead. But I'm feeling a lot more freedom. If I just drop the storyline. If I just drop the years of guilt and judgment, then the present moment, me here, is quite beautiful.

I looked in the mirror the other day, and my first thoughts were, "You look terrible. Your hair is a mess. What an awful color. You look so tired and dull. You always look bad. You never..." Then, it was like a switch went off, and I just dropped the line of thinking. I let that poisonous fish swim away. And there I was, just me, a face, in the mirror. And I was astonished at my beauty. I was astonished at the loving-kindness that came pouring out.

That's me. That's who I am, here now. And that's a good place to start.

What's Cooking?

2010-09-13T10:16:00.003-04:00

I've been contemplating the idea of having a separate blog just about cooking and what we ate and how I used our produce, etc. I know there are a million of those out there. But I thought I could really be helpful about how I accommodated for smaller people, what was well received, what wasn't, etc. I spend so much time working on food that I thought having a little review session each week would be helpful. Plus, I always forget what I cooked and hardly ever repeat because I don't remember how I made it. It would be good for me to start recording that...

So, I figured I'd start by posting something here about my process. Below is a list of what I have coming through South Mountain Veggies and South Mountain Creamery and what I still have in the fridge and freezer. I'm also including any research I've done for recipes and ideas I have on how to use it. At the end of the week, I'll recap to show what I made and how it turned out, with pictures. Let's see how it goes!

Here's what's coming from South Mountain Creamery on Tuesday:
Chicken breasts - 4
Eggs - 2 dozen
Whole Milk - 6 half gallons (we're switching the babies to milk)

Here's what's coming from South Mountain Veggies on Tuesday night:
Romaine Lettuce, 1 head
Green Beans, 1 lbs (Everyone but me dislikes...ugh)
Broccoli, 1 bunch
Sweet Potatoes, 2 lbs (YES!!!)
Green Cabbage, 1 head (hmmm, coleslaw with bbq??)
Cherry Tomatoes, 1 pint
Red Beets, 1 bunch (yuck)
Apples, 6 pcs
Mix Color Carrots, 1 lbs
Sweet Banana Peppers, 1/2 lbs bag
Butternut Squash, 1 pcs (So excited...maybe soup or just steamed...hmmm)

Here's what I still have in the fridge/freezer:
Carrots I bought and from the garden
Fennel bulb
A few tomatillos from the garden
Fresh salsa (very hot)
Sour cream
Cheese (various)
Pizza dough
Shrimp
Salmon Patties
Burger Buns
Beans and Rice
Leftover Mac-n-cheese with broccoli
Bib Lettuce, 1 head
Yukon Gold potatoes, 2 lbs
Granny Smith apples, 6
Avocadoes - 3
Cilantro - 1 bunch

And here's my plan so far:
Tonight:
Braised Carrots and Fennel (yum) with leftover beans and rice (boo)

Tomorrow:
Lettuce wraps with chicken (loved by all previously) using the bibb lettuce and chicken

Wednesday:
Salmon burgers with buns (banana peppers?), Salad, sweet potato fries

Thursday:
Butternut squash and apple soup? What will the babies eat?? Maybe steam some for them...

Friday:
Enchilada Chicken Casserole (I already volunteered to make one for a fellow mom of multiples, so I'll make it for us too)
Apple crisp

Saturday:
Homemade pizza for the kiddos, Date with Marco for my birthday!!

Sunday:
BBQ with coleslaw (will need to buy pork butt...not sure what to do with the cabbage and beets)

Well, that sounds good so far. I hate planning ahead completely because I usually like to see what I feel like each day, but I also like having an idea of what I can do with all my produce. So, this is tentative. I'll see what needs to be eaten first and what will keep, etc. I'll keep you posted!! :)

Sacred Body

2010-08-11T12:27:00.002-04:00

Lately, I have been obsessed with Through the Wormhole with Morgan Freeman. It is a show on the Science Channel that is blowing my mind. I think because I grew up in a Christian, six-day creation household and culture, I was taught science in a factual way that was based on the idea that we know what we need to know based on the Bible and the rest is bunk. Although my dad is a nature lover and definitely gave us a strong appreciation for nature, it was always with the admiration of the Creator in mind. God and spirituality were separate from nature; God created it. Nature (including mankind) is other and must worship the God who created it. I was never given a fascination for or an appreciation of science and the search for understanding in the universe. In fact, I was always taught that we should really look skeptically on scientific research and that most of the research done is all based on lies. There is this idea in the really conservative US Christian culture that scientists are all building their careers trying to discredit the truth of Christianity and the truth of God. They want to deny God and want to deny creation, so they go out of their way to come up with things that are the opposite.

Now that I’ve been outside the Christian faith for many years, I can see this way of thinking as extremely dangerous and limiting. Instead of the scientists being the ones in denial, it’s the Christians who are in denial of all the amazing discoveries and research that is being done. I know a lot of people reading my blog are Christians. In fact, now that I think about it, probably most of you are Christians. I am not trying to be anti-Christian. I am just writing about my own journey and the discoveries I have made about myself, about what I’ve been taught and about what I believe to actually be the truth. And, lately, having learned so very much about how the universe operates and how our bodies function and the very structure of our beings, I am getting angrier about all the years I’ve missed out on knowing these things. It really frustrates me that I’ve been taught from such a narrow perspective. Instead of teaching me how to search and learn and discover, I was taught, “THIS is the truth.” Instead of saying, “This is what I believe to be true based on these things” my teachers said “THIS is the truth.” Instead of giving me a thirst for discovery and openness to what we might learn, I was taught, “THIS is the truth.” There was no room for change. There was no room for discovery. There was no room for any other way of thinking. God created the world in 6 days. He created mankind in his image. But mankind sinned and is therefore terrible and wretched and rejected by God. I was taught little songs that said, “It took him six days to make the moon and the stars, the sun and the earth and Jupiter and Mars. How loving and patient He must be, ‘cause he’s still working on me.”

Because of this perspective, I was never given an appreciation of or respect for my body. My body was just an “earth suit” that carried around my spirit that would one day be with God again. My body was sinful. My body was full of cravings. Yes, I was taught that my body was “fearfully and wonderfully made,” but that was usually taught in the context of not having sex and not having abortions. My body was just secondary to my spirit. And, even though God made it, I was never taught to respect it or cherish it or care for it. More than anything, I was taught to try and get my body to submit to God. I truly think that because of this point of view about the body, I developed a deep disrespect and irreverence for my body. I have hated it. I have treated it with utter contempt. I viewed my body more as my “cross to bear” in life rather than my tool to live my life.

So, now I’m nearly 33 years old. And I’ve had this awakening about my body. I’ve had this “aha” moment of realizing that I have been mistreating and disrespecting the one thing I’ve really got in this life. I mean, everything else can be taken from me. If my body goes, then I’m gone. So, it’s all I’ve got. AND, after learning so much about how we’re made and how we’ve evolved and all these amazing things that are happening in our bodies, I have a deep and growing respect for my body. I’ve done a lot of damage to my body. I’ve eaten poorly. I’ve not exercised. I’ve had unprotected sex with strangers. I’ve done drugs. I’ve been binge drinking. I’ve cracked my knuckles. I’ve carried excess weight around and damaged my hips and knees. I’ve rarely flossed. I’ve picked at my fingers. I’ve gotten too much sun. And yet, my poor body is a dear and faithful friend. It keeps on going. It repairs itself. It has carried three babies. It has gotten me through difficult situations and helped me run after my kids. I’ve climbed a mountain in my body. I’ve ridden waves in the ocean in my body. I’ve sat on the porch in a highlands tribe in Papua New Guinea and felt a wind blow through me so strong I may never feel its likeness. I’ve traveled and jumped and spun around in circles. I’ve gotten to experience so many wonderful things because of this wonderful body. I’ve felt a connection to something greater, something that gives me strength every day. It is there, part of me, part of my body experience. Whatever it is, makes me feel as though I am not alone. Whatever it is keeps me peddling my bicycle, keeps me going. And I truly believe it is part of me, part of who I am as a sentient being on this particular planet revolving around our particular star in this particular galaxy and in this particular universe. And, based on what I’ve been learning, there is still so much more to learn about what it means to have a body, how we function, how our brains work.

I have come to truly understand and believe that my body is sacred. I have come to respect it and am just beginning to treat it better. I’m realizing that, at 33, I still have many, many years to live in this body, so I better start caring for it and getting it in the best shape I can to carry me through all those years, to give vibrancy and life to my years. If I want a life filled with adventure, I better remember that it’s my body that’s going to take me on those adventures. If I destroy my knees, I won’t be able to run with the bulls. If I pick at my fingers, it won’t be a pleasant hand to hold as I grow older. If I get too much sun, I’m going to look older and maybe shorten my life with illness. If I drink too much, I may destroy my liver. You get the idea. And that is just the physicality. I also want to harness the strength I have as a soul. I want to learn to love my body and love my self and treat other people with the same love and respect. I want to have mindfulness and awareness. I want to harness the strength of my mind and my body and figure out how to truly BE HUMAN, because that is all I am that I know for sure. I want to learn as much as I can about the scientific discoveries about our bodies and how that relates to how we experience the world. Is there a “God” part of our brain? Is there a force within us we don’t yet know or understand? Do we have separate “sprits” or are we all connected with some sort of energy? What is really going on here? I want to know. I want to learn. I want to stay open. And, more than anything, I really want to start respecting my body and treating it like I would a friend. Poor old body, you’ve been mistreated for too long.

A Day in the Life

2010-08-04T10:44:00.004-04:00

The other day I kept track of everything that happened in my day. Enjoy. :)

5:20 am – Elliot wakes up and has a bottle. He goes back to sleep.
5:45 am – Zoe wakes up and has a bottle. She goes back to sleep.
6:45 am – Elliot and Zoe are awake. We bring them into bed. Zoe is miserable with the teething.
7:15 am – Maya wakes up cranky and crying. Great.
7:20 am – Potty, Change diapers. Argue with Maya over her incessant crying. Maya put back in bed for time out.
7:30 am – Breakfast together in the dining room. Everyone is eating cereal. Maya says, “Papi, isn’t this delicious?”
7:45 am – I take a shower. Maya stands outside the door screaming about wanting to watch a show.
8:00 am – Marco takes a shower. Try giving bottles to soothe a crying Zoe. Maya begging for juice. Drinks milk.
8:10 am – Get Maya dressed and sunscreened. She wants to wear the ballet bathing suit with a dress and a bow.
8:20 am – Begin making coffee (boil water, put coffee in cloth filter...)
8:25 am – Elliot pooped again. While I change him Maya is screaming and Zoe is crying. Ah bliss. 8:30 am – Maya begging to go to Josh’s house, watch a show, or draw. Zoe still crying. Elliot escapes onto the front porch.
8:45 am – Marco off to work. Maya is playing harmonica. Elliot attacks her, and she screams at him.
8:50 am – Take Maya potty and fix her hair. Get the Ergo on and load up Elliot.
8:55 am – Walk down to Josh’s for playdate. Drop off Maya.
9:05 am – Put babies to bed.
9:10 – Drink lukewarm coffee. Turn on computer to work on blog post. Really hoping the home repair guy shows up now (kitchen fridge is broken).
9:30 am – Zoe scream crying. Put pacifier in, and she goes back to sleep.
10:00 am – Zoe wakes up crying. Put on some teething gel and walk her around singing her songs. I am hungry and realize I never ate breakfast. What is healthy and yummy and easy to prepare with one hand?
10:10 am – Make and drink more coffee while holding Zoe. Also freeze grapes and OJ for popsicles. Have to take it all to fridge in basement.
10:33 am – Temp has reached 85 degrees. I turn on the AC.
10:40 am – Attempt to clean kitchen from breakfast. Zoe is screaming, so I have to hold her and walk her around.
10:55 am – Elliot is awake.
11:00 am – Maya comes home. She peed in her bathing suit. Everyone is crying, so we eat grapes on the floor for a “picnic”.
11:15 am – Everyone is wearing the strainer on their heads and laughing.
11:20 am – Take everyone to the basement play room. I empty the cooler. Maya pees on her dress.
11:30 am – While I’m gathering supplies for lunch, Maya traps Elliot in the cardboard house and makes him cry hysterically. Rescue Elliot and hold him. Carry babies and bottle of milk up the stairs. Maya shuts the door in my face. I get unreasonably angry and have to apologize. Bad Mom.
11:38 am – Oven on, Water boiling. Making white sauce for mac-n-cheese and baking some “nuggets”
12:00 pm – Maya goes to the potty and is gone for some time. I was trying to make the white sauce, so I didn’t check right away. When I opened the door she screamed at me, “I’M NOT DOING SOMETHING!” Even though I didn’t mind that she was brushing her teeth, I did mind the tantrum she threw because I opened the door. Time Out. Screaming continues, “I want my baby!!!”
12:10 pm – Everyone is starving and crying.
12:20 pm – Lunch is ready. Load everyone into place at the dining room table.
12:25 pm – Maya is loving her chicken. “I really like it, Mommy.”
12:30 pm – Maya starts melting down, “I don’t like the sauce!” “I want milk!” “I want blueberries!”
12:40 pm – Maya is pretending to sleep at the table after I threatened to put her to bed with no lunch. My parenting sucks. Babies finish their mac-n-cheese and eat tons of blueberries.
12:50 pm – Sears calls to tell me no one is coming to fix the fridge. My spirit dies a small death.
1:00 pm – Zoe is wilting. Carry her around while cleaning up lunch. Put her in bed to sleep. Maya goes potty. Screams when I find her putting tons of paper on the seat.
1:30 pm – Elliot asleep. Milk and stories with Maya
1:38 pm – Maya asleep. Starts raining, so I open all the windows and doors hoping it helps everyone sleep.
2:00 pm – Zoe wakes up crying in pain. Rain stops, and the humidity is unbearable.
2:15 pm – Put a suppository in Zoe. The tab breaks on her diaper, so I put one of Maya’s on top. Carry her around until she poops.
2:35 pm – Maya wakes up. She’s a crying mess, so I send her back to bed. She wakes up Elliot with her wailing.
2:45 pm – Spend 10 minutes changing Zoe while she is screaming and whimpering.
2:48 pm – Put Zoe in the Ergo so I can clean up. Maya wakes up and walks out to the living room. She says, “Boobs are private. Butts are private. Don’t show everybody.” What??
3:00 pm – Put on SYTYCD “Dancing Show” while I give the babies bottles
3:20 pm – Turn off TV and attempt to clean kitchen
3:30 pm – Set up Maya in the dining room to paint. Babies are happily playing with toys.
3:38 pm – Put on music, and we all start dancing.
4:03 pm – Maya is done painting (some painting on the table) and goes potty. I clean up paint stuff.
4:22 pm – Finally cleaning kitchen. Maya has a piece of “Papi’s candy”. Elliot and Zoe are playing happily in the bedroom. Constipation must have been bothering her. Glad she pooped. What to make for dinner?
4:25 pm – Everyone dancing in the kitchen.
4:45 pm – All hell breaks loose. Put Zoe in the Ergo again. Carrying Elliot. Maya is crying. Sometime Marco comes home.
5:35 pm – Marco plays with everyone while I make dinner. Salmon, Rice, Salad.
5:50 pm – Marco starts feeding kids. Then we eat.
6:30 pm – Start cleaning up from dinner and run the bath.
6:40 pm – Discover the bath mat in the trash. Call Maya in to ask why she threw it away. “So Elliot and Zoe don’t get it.” Don’t throw away things that are not trash. “Well, I folded it.” Indeed she had...neatly folded in the trash.
6:50 pm – I hate dishes. Now I know why the recipe said to use non-stick. Grrr. Poor some wine.
7:00 pm – Marco gives E&Z a bath.
7:04 pm – “Mommy, can I play playdo?” No. “Why?” I don’t want the mess right now.
7:07 pm – I find her playing playdo in the dining room. Put her in timeout. Grrr. Go back to cleaning.
7:23 pm – Marco finishes baths and takes everyone downstairs to the playroom. I keep cleaning. 7:45 pm – Maya comes to go potty. Wet underwear.
8:00 pm – Done cleaning and begin gathering laundry. Discover two dirty diapers in the clothes.
8:15 pm – Throw laundry in and go vacuum.
8:30 pm – More pee underwear. Find pee on top of the cooler where she’s put the potty seat.
8:40 pm – Bottles. Maya throws tantrum and takes off her diaper.
8:53 pm – Everyone crying. Went too late past bedtime.
9:15 pm – Everyone is asleep, finally.
9:22 pm – Marco watches TV. I get on Facebook and boil water for drinking the next day. We watch TV. I am stressed the whole time knowing I should go to bed...
10:45 pm – Zoe crying and inconsolable. Marco carries her around to comfort her.
11:01 pm – Zoe back to sleep. I finally go to bed.
(Zoe wakes up 5 times in the night screaming)

5:45 am - It all starts again...

Gravity

2010-07-12T12:17:00.002-04:00

I love the summer. I love the intensity of the heat and the way it makes me sleepy. I love the way there are pockets of cool. Riding my bike, sweating and straining uphill, I came around this bend, checking to make sure it was the right street, and, suddenly, I was in a pocket of cool underneath the shade of this enormous tree. And just like that it was like every ounce of stress just melted away. Reprieve. Relief. Calm. Deep breath. And then back into the sunshine, a drip coming down my forehead into my eye.

I don't feel quite the same about winter. I've grown to endure it better, to see the beauty in the starkness, to appreciate the dark, the still and the cold. But I don't love it. However, I wouldn't trade it. What I do love is that it passes, that the seasons change and come around again. Now we've travelled 585,331,663 miles around the sun and we're back here to the heat of mid-July again. And each day we're 1,598,400 miles closer to leaves falling and jackets. For now I'm glad it's warm. I'm glad we spend our evenings in our skivvies. I'm glad I can hear the crickets. I kind of hate the birds in the morning, but I love the windows being open and the coolness of the night air.

I want to know the future. I want to know how best to prepare. I do all these stupid things and tell myself all these stupid stories in an effort to prepare myself for worst case scenarios. Somehow, I have this idea that if I think about it, it won't happen. I live with this slight vibration of sheer terror because I know that there is actually no way to prepare. There is no way to know. But I try. I wish I could come to appreciate this feeling instead of hating it. I wish I could treat the anxiety the same as the adrenaline rush you get when body surfing a 6 foot wave at dusk. It's the same I guess. Gravity is whipping us around the sun, tilting the earth, changing seasons. The moon's gravity is pulling the oceans and affecting tides. And we're just hurtling through spacetime with a general idea of the immediate future but really no clue if at the end of the hour we won't end up ground into the sand, choking salt water and struggling to breathe.

And sometimes it's not a difficult event but just the weight of possibility that makes it hard to breathe, all the more now that I have these three little people and Marco whom I love with such massive intensity. And I've turned into this complete control freak. I try to orchestrate bedtimes and meals and make everything go smoothly. I find myself flipping out on Maya for making noise as we try to put the babies to bed. They must sleep. I must sleep. I must have some control over this situation. And I can't control a 2 year old who just wants to shout and jump off the arm of the couch and who needs help on the potty (loudly). It's like I'm choking on my desire for control. Life isn't that hard, but I ruin it with worry. I ruin it with my own fear of what might happen. If they don't sleep and I don't sleep then tomorrow will be horrible and then things will just spiral down into total chaos. So Maya needs to shut up and Elliot needs to go to sleep. And Zoe needs to stop crying. And I need to sleep. I need to sleep. I need to sleep. Now. Jesus, it's exhausting just to think about it.

We're revolving around the sun at 18.5 miles per second. We're spinning on the earth's axis at an astonishing 1000 miles per hour. And even though I've got more mass than I should have, I really have very little gravitational pull on anything. I better just figure out a way to love the uncertainty the way I love the seasons. Oh crap, Elliot just fell off the couch!

Black Holes

2010-06-21T13:34:00.001-04:00

We're closing in on nine months with these two babies and nearly three years with Maya. Time seems to have evaporated. Weeks and months just fly by without realization. They're both crawling and pulling up. Zoe can stand on her own. We can bathe all three at the same time. It's truly amazing. With Maya I remember feeling that each month was momentous and that the year was this giant accomplishment. This time it feels like I blinked and the year is nearly gone.
Yet each day feels eternal. Seriously, eternal. I lose track of whether it's Monday or next week because all the days are endless.

As I sit here writing the babies are sleeping. I know my time is short. I have chosen, today, to use the time to write. That means that other things have been sacrificed. I have not showered. I am still in pajamas, and the kitchen still needs to be cleaned. I have a stack of papers that need to be sorted (I take after my dad in my paperwork accumulation). The laundry is mostly done, but I have still not unpacked from the trip (I got back on Friday, and today is Wednesday). But, if I don't write now I will not do it today. But I might be able to clean with them around. Showering is trickier. Maybe I'll do that when Mom gets here or when they take the second naps (cross fingers that they are at the same time). Perhaps a better homemaker and mother would have a more streamlined schedule and strict sleeping habits. Perhaps I lack motivation (definitely). There are pros and cons to being laid back or uptight about cleanliness and schedule. Probably there are more pros to being uptight. But I can adapt easily to a changing schedule, have a bunch of people over without stressing about mess, and travel at the drop of a hat. That's more important to me than structure. But, the con is that I must deal with the aftershock...cranky babies, unclean house, dirty body, etc. and so the days merge into one another. Someone is often crying or needing something. There is a vacuum of time and space in our house. I barely make it through the day, it's only 11 am? Yet my bedtime seems to come suddenly, with no time to sit and relax or get the things done I didn't finish during the day. Wait? It's 10 pm already? It's the strangest phenomenon.

Thus, I'm developing this theory about parenthood, particularly stay-at-home parenthood because that is what I know, mostly. Marco and I recently watched the Morgan Freeman narrated program about Black Holes. And while the majority was beyond my comprehension, what I did glean from this program (after pauses where Marco explained again what was being said), is that there is an event horizon surrounding a black hole where spacetime is deformed and anything within that boundary is pulled into the black hole. Someone falling into a black hole would experience a normal passage of time while, to an external observer, it would appear the person would take an infinite time to reach it. Time slows down. And this is due to the intensity of the gravity and velocity. Please don't fault me, all my physicist readers, for my total and complete inability to describe and/or comprehend the details. What I get is that time and space get morphed at the event horizon because of the mass and gravity of the black hole.

My theory is that as our mass as a family has increased, space and time have deformed. Each day appears to go on endlessley, but the weeks fly by in a blink. And anyone in our event horizon is sucked in, crushed to infinite density and their mass is added to our mass. Before that happens, they are torn apart by tidal forces in a process called spaghettification. You don't even know it's happening. You come to visit, and before long you're sitting on the couch feeding a baby or chaging a diaper or you find yourself pushing a stroller to the park. And hours pass without realization. When you leave the outside world has passed 10 years. It's 2020, and Sarah Palin is President. You may as well just stay and help us.

Well, the past 1.5 hours have passed in a blink, and I am still unshowered. And now they are waking up and ready to maul me with slobbery kisses. I'll see you in 20 years. I'll be 85 by then. I think.

Grace

2010-03-22T11:09:00.003-04:00

For most of my life I've viewed myself as a guilty person. I learned early to judge myself harshly and to hold myself to ridiculous standards of excellence and then beat myself up for not being or doing or achieving. And then I just started to view myself as someone who couldn't. I just learned to give up when things got challenging. I dropped out of school. I dropped out of business opportunities. I quit jobs. I gave up on eating properly. I gave up on looking good. This quality of quitting and not caring became part of the fabric of my personal brand. I'm just someone who doesn't wear makeup or blow dry her hair. I'm just someone who wears jeans and T-shirts all the time. I'm just someone who's really laid back and doesn't care about appearance.

Here's the truth. I didn't want to try because I didn't want to fail. I didn't want to "put myself out there" and have people not like it or criticize or make fun. I've been so terrified of failure and of difficulty that I've wasted the last 10+ years doing nothing. I had various jobs and such, but I was never doing anything really challenging to push myself into the life I wanted. Part of it had to do with the old Christian church mentality of guilt. I so wanted to be done with the idea that we are guilty and that we somehow are not worthy people. I have been angry about this idea for a VERY long time. I think it's just wrong. But I've continued to actually feel this guilt and to fight against any internal or external pressure put on me. You think I should finish grad school...FUCK YOU. I quit. You think I should eat healthier...FUCK YOU. I quit. I will not be controlled. I will not be made to do anything or try hard or feel guilty. I'm my own lazy ass person and I'm okay with that. I just don't want to do it.

And, most likely, if I hadn't met Marco, I'd be living in squalor in some horrible apartment with some horrible job and probably a severe drinking problem and maybe weigh about 400 lbs. It's not that he solved anything. But he just challenged me. And pushed me (sometimes too hard and meanly). He questioned why I quit things. He never understood why I doubted myself. He just does things. His whole damn family just goes out and does things and isn't afraid. Sometimes they fail, but, mostly, they succeed. And Marco just exists in this state of confidence and lack of self-doubt. Well, the other night when I asked him if he ever doubts himself he said, "When I start something I doubt sometimes." Then he added, "But then I just decide to do it. And I don't doubt anymore." He's not kidding. He's not bragging. He just sees life as a bunch of things he gets to do.

I've admired these qualities, but mostly I've just judged myself for not being like that. And then along came Motherhood. And this I actually thought I'd be good at and thought would come easy. Well, as you know, it is not easy. It is so extremely difficult. But the difference between Motherhood and every other challenge...I can't quit. Every day, all day these three little people need me to care for them. Their development and care and health is dependent on ME. I have to feed them and clothe them and not let them live in squalor. And I have to provide learning and parenting and love. And there are no breaks. They always need me. And even if I am tired and in pain and sick and grumpy and constipated and unshowered and overwhelmed and want to crawl back into bed...I can't quit. I can't stop caring for them. There is just too much at stake for me to quit on these people. And I love them and want only the best for them, so I have to be the best for them, cause I'm who they've got.

Well, I reached a point a few weeks ago, after months of snow and being trapped and pain and dieting and exercising and not sleeping and never stopping and going and going and needing and needing and never getting anything done. I was home with all three, and I was unshowered and still in pajamas. Maya was being really difficult, and the babies were restless and wanting to be held. And I just broke. I sat and cried and cried. I fed them and changed them and hugged them, but I still cried. And suddenly, this verse a friend of mine had shared with me came to mind.

"My grace is sufficient for you for my power is made perfect in weakness."

And it suddenly hit me.

I am not enough.

Through my tears and my brokenness I allowed myself to lean back and trust that while I am not enough, someone bigger than me is with me and will help me take care of these people.

But I didn't feel guilty. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I had worked as hard as I could work and done and pushed and been everything I could be, and it was just not enough. I had nothing left to give.

And peace came pouring in.

And liberation.

The following week I decided to go to this women's retreat to hear my cousin speak. I knew she was speaking about the book of Ruth from the Bible, but I just hadn't given it much thought. I knew the title of her book was called, "Loss, Love and Legacy", and I was drawn to it. But still, I hadn't given it much thought. And then, straight off, they started singing those praise songs (I always loved a good praise song) about love and resting in God. Ugh. I almost started crying right away. And then Kelly spoke about Ruth losing everything and working so hard and having nothing left and throwing herself at the mercy and grace of Boaz. She wasn't guilty. She'd done everything she could. She wasn't flawed or dirty. She worked hard and took care of her mother-in-law and tried to be everything. But she was not enough. There was just no way for her to be enough, and she had to go and throw herself at the feet of Boaz and say, "help me, please."

And, I knew it wasn't a coincidence. I knew, after all these years of not knowing, that this Great Spirit, Higher Power, God or Universal Being was not just powerful in the abstract but was powerful in the personal. I was reached out to and touched with love when I had nothing left.

What a relief. I desperately wanted to take off the burden of carrying the world on my shoulders and put that on someone else, someone much stronger. And rather than feeling like I was guilty and deserved punishment and needed mercy, I felt like I was as full in myself as I could be and still wasn't strong enough and I was given grace.

So, here I am now, leaning back as much as I can, into that grace and greater strength. It's nice to know I can never be enough, no matter how hard I try. It's so freeing to think that it doesn't matter if I fail as long as I give it my best shot. As my mother-in-law described, sometimes I just feel like a leaf floating down from a tree with no idea where I'll land or what is next. It's nice to know that the wind is coming from someone with some idea why. I still don't like being in limbo and floating, and I don't like struggling each day. But it's just a little easier now. Maybe a lot easier. And I feel so much less afraid.

I've begun to stop questioning myself and doubting. I am just going and doing things. Because, sitting on my ass being angry has really not gotten me anywhere. There's just no point in worrying anymore and doubting. This morning, when I was tired and when I would have normally used that to get out of everything I didn't want to do, I put on my sneakers and biked Maya to school. And as I was going along looking at the hills, I had this internal dialogue. "That's going to be hard. I don't want to do it." And the other voice, the inner spirit or the outer spirit or whoever it is said,

"Just peddle, and you might find you move forward."

On Being Loved

2010-01-27T14:48:00.005-05:00

I love my husband.

This morning, amidst the normal morning chaos, I was bustling about trying to get Maya ready for school and the babies changed and fed. And suddenly I said, "Oh, I better take a shower before you leave!" I sometimes forget and then am sorry when I am unclean and in my pajamas all day. And Marco said, "You already did last night. Why don't you just sit down with Maya and enjoy your coffee." I'm getting a knot in my throat just thinking about it. It sounds so simple. It sounds so small. But it meant more to me than you can possibly imagine.

This simple statement said so many things to me. You do enough. You are enough. You need to relax. You need to enjoy. You need to care for you. It was a simple, pure gift of love. Here, Heather, take this moment. It's yours.

I've been getting a lot of these gifts lately. I sleep on the couch due to some pain issues I have. This means that Marco sleeps in the bedroom with the babies. For the most part, he is able to sleep through their huffing, puffing noises and only wake up when they are crying and ready to eat. Then he calls me, and we go into action together. But, after one of them is done, he almost always offers to finish feeding the other one so I can go back to sleep. And then, if they don't go back to sleep right away and fidget and snort and cry, he cares for them and holds them and settles them down. He lets me sleep. He gifts me with sleep.

It seems like, in life, we are often fighting for our own rights. I mean, I hear it from Maya every day. "That not you doggy. That my doggy." "They not you friends. They my friends. You friends gone." She wants to claim something, anything and everything, as her own. I'm the same way. I'm selfish. I want things to be equal and fair. I want my way. I'm the first to say, "I did the dishes last night. It's your turn." "Hey, you got more of [blank], that's not fair." I get angry and demanding. I don't deserve to be gifted with sleep when I'm complaining if he got to sleep in more than I did. I don't deserve to be gifted with a moment to sit and drink my coffee when I can be such a grumbling grump, always begging and never offering. But I am.

Now, because I am crazy, there are two thoughts that come to mind when I am in these moments of pure love and grace. First, I feel guilty for accepting them. I worry that I haven't done enough or been nice enough to deserve it. I haven't earned it. And, when I am able to accept it and sit in it and enjoy being loved, I am filled with paranoia that it is going to end. I sit there, drinking my coffee, listening to Maya tell me about her monkey eating bananas and watching Zoe and Elliot play in their gyms, filled with unbearable love, and I am terrified. There is just no way, in my mind, that such a life can continue in this fashion. I cannot continue to be loved so much and love them so much and live in this little house with all these people steeped in this love. Something is going to ruin it. Something bad is going to happen. I play through these absurd scenarios of what could happen, as if doing so can prepare me in any way for the actual situation.

Here's what I realized recently. I am already ruining it. If I'm spending these blissful, perfect moments filled with fear that they might end, then the moment is completely ruined. It is true, bad things are going to happen. "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." But, I am out of my right mind if I think that I can prepare for what will happen. I can't predict it. I can't prepare myself for it. Even if there is order in this seemingly chaotic universe, there's no way I'm going to know about it with my little pea brain. And, if I could know ahead, would I want to know. Wouldn't the knowing of the bad thing on the horizon completely shadow the purity of happiness that exists NOW?

Therefore, I have decided some things. First of all, I'm just going to accept the love and the help and the gifts. I'm going to say thank you. And, to honor the gift that is given, the unbelievable love and grace, I am going to honor it by actually enjoying it. I'm not going to waste it. My babies are giving me this gift of time to do some writing. Thank you, Elliot and Zoe for sleeping at the same time. And on top of accepting and enjoying, I'm going to attempt to give back by being kinder and more gracious. I'm going to gift them with the love I've been given so freely.

When Marco and I got married, there was a quote read at our wedding by Rainer Maria Rilke:

"Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue to exist, a wonderful living side by side can grow up, if they succeed in loving the distances between them which makes it possible for each to see the other whole against the sky."

I believed it could happen, and now we are finally getting there. Marco, thank you so much for all the little gifts you give me each day. I love you more and more as time goes by and am filled with appreciation for this amazing love we have. You were right, the universe does favor chaos. We're living proof.

Rotten

2010-01-19T21:54:00.003-05:00

There is no doubt that I am an awful person. I have seen this all the more clearly now that I have a toddler. I mean, one cannot yell at a baby, it's just a baby. But a toddler who is constantly in to everything and who willfully poops in her pants and tries to cut her brother with playdough scissors...well, now that just sounds funny, but I was angry earlier. I have a very low threshold for crying. When those two babies start wailing, my tolerance for my daughter goes down to nothing. I become this awful, yelling monster. I am angry at the step stool for being in my way, even if I put it there. Screaming just really makes me lose my shit. And when I can actually remain calm throughout the day, my husband gets the brunt of all that pent up frustration in the form of ridiculous complaints about what he is doing, like taking out the trash...I mean, how dare he not read my mind and feed a baby instead of doing any other thing that needs to be done. I am utterly and completely absurd.

The other morning I was in this Red Zone where I was at the complete base of myself. I had to apologize to Maya for being a complete bitch. I was so angry at Marco I could hardly see straight. He was flying, and I couldn't reach him. This did not stop me from calling him 30 times (no exaggeration) and texting him the following series of messages:

Not a good morning.
Please come home NOW!
Everyone is crying.
You are NEVER allowed to do this to me again when there is a crying baby.
You have 29 minutes.
You said you'd be home by 10.
I am really starting to get mad.
You are NEVER flying again.
I cannot believe you are still flying. Now you won't be home until after 11.

I always feel that I am completely justified in my anger. At the time, in that Red Zone of anger and hostility, I can see no other response other than the one I am giving. Well, that's not true. I know there is an alternative. But I choose to stay there, in my anger and frustration. I choose. It doesn't feel like a choice because of the circumstances that led me there. I can hear the voice in my head saying, "The babies are screaming, so it's okay that you're frustrated. You're only human." But I know. I know I'm not supposed to act that way. I know. And sometimes I am able to back up mentally and witness the scene, to see myself shouting and huffing and puffing. I can see myself angrily shoving the footstool across the floor. I hear myself treating Maya with disrespect, speaking in a tone I wouldn't use with anyone else because they would yell right back at me. It's absolutely ugly. It's ugly and mean and just plain wrong.

And that's not the only way I suck, but that is a major area for me. I am a VERY poor example of how to deal with anger and frustration. And I am the example. I'm not parenting - I'm modeling. I can say all I want and get Maya to take deep breaths and put her in time out, but what she's learning is almost completely based on my example. Crap.

Now, I have grown so much in recent years. I am unrecognizable to who I was in high school and college. I feel liberated from most of the food and body issues that crippled me for many years. I feel strong and confident and comfortable in my own skin (most of the time). I feel capable and smart and even organized (hard for old roomies to believe, I know). I even feel wise sometimes. At least I see glimmers of it. But put into stressful circumstances, and I am a fit-pitching toddler. All of my centeredness goes completely out the window. My focus narrows to the immediate.

So, we've established that I am, indeed, a rotten human being. Maybe the rottenest. The question is, at my core, am I the rot or am I the observer?

Christians would say that I am the rot and that rottenness separates me from God. Thus, I am in need of salvation and forgiveness in order to be in God's holy presence. And the only way to get that forgiveness is to believe that Jesus died for my rotten self and rose again and paid the price (death) that is required by God. Did I get that right?

But I don't get it. Sure, I feel badly about my horrific choices. I'm not saying anyone else is to blame. I am not justifying my behavior in any way. I am completely, awfully wrong. There is absolutely no question about the rot. However, it seems to me that this is the very nature of being human. We're all born this way. But am I deserving of hell and damnation because I am human? Is God really going to send MOST of humanity to the pits of hell to burn for all eternity because we were born imperfect? It just doesn't make any sense to me.

Here's what makes more sense to me and feels like truth. I think we all have spirit or God or essential nature within us that is separate from the rot. I think my real self is the observer of all the madness. My true spiritual self is the one who knows what I'm doing is wrong. I am the one who wants to change. I don't think that good works are somehow going to get me ahead or into heaven. I think being aware and living in that awareness and tapping into that love that already exists IS heaven. I don't know what will happen after this life. No one does. It doesn't really matter, does it? I think that Jesus meant living life in the spirit is what we're aiming for. He said, "I am the way the truth and the life...If you really knew me, you would know my Father as well." (John 14) He was a living example of being in that place of awareness, of tapping into the spirit. We all have access to it. Even if you believe in Jesus as God's son and as the way to salvation...I still think it's pretty clear that he didn't mean to just stop there. The whole idea is to live in that spirit here and now.

I'd really like to have some sort of faith. I'd really like to have a concrete set of beliefs to base my life on and meet with others to discuss. I still love reading what Jesus had to say. I think there are a lot of great things there. I think he got it. I just don't believe that the salvation comes from the outside in. I just don't believe that God is going to exclude most of humanity from his spirit. I don't believe in the Bible or any other written text (most of which I have not read, I'll admit) as the inherent word of God at the exclusion of all else. I wish there were some place to gather together to discuss these things that was not church or temple or mosque. I'd like to do a book club of many spiritual books. I do want to learn. I do want to grow. I do want to understand. I certainly don't want to stay in my rot and ruin my life and the lives of those I love because I'm so stinking awful. Any suggestions??

My Mother Body

2009-11-13T11:35:00.007-05:00

My body is not my own.

Until three years ago, I had a very different relationship with my body. It was my body. In my view, it was the body I was forced to have. I didn't really appreciate it. Actually, I hated it. I abused it. I drank and smoked (socially) and did drugs and took too much Advil. I never cared for my body or exercised properly. I ate poorly. I threw up for years and then yo-yo dieted. I associated who I was with my body. I was my body. And I hated me, so I hated my body.

Then, I got pregnant. And suddenly, my body was not my own. Someone else had taken up residence inside my body. Someone else, who I loved, already, far more than I loved myself, was relying on me for sustenance and protection. Somehow, I thought this experience would turn me into this earth mother, body-loving, fully-embracing person. I thought all my self-hatred would just evaporate and that I would love my growing belly and breasts. I really thought I would LOVE being pregnant. Turns out, that didn't happen. I was miserable. Rather than embracing and loving my body for what it was capable of doing, I felt hijacked and trapped and frustrated.

Then, I gave birth. I thought this would give me some relief. I thought, despite all my preceding fears, that I would fully embrace breastfeeding. I thought, this would be the thing that turned me into the earth woman I wanted to be. All my fears and hangups would leave and I would develop this beautiful nursing relationship with my daughter. That didn't happen either. Maya never latched on, and I HATED it. I didn't say that, of course, because what mother hates feeding her child? I complained about the complications, and I forced myself to stick out the attempts at breastfeeding and then the pumping. I struggled with two long bouts of horribly painful yeast. I somehow felt like I was doing penance for being such a terrible mother, for being so bad at being pregnant and for hating pregnancy and breastfeeding. I truly felt like I was being punished, that I deserved to have a difficult time because I was such a selfish person with my body, because I didn't like sharing my body with my baby. I felt guilty and wanted people to think of me as a "good" mother. I thrived on the compliments when people would say, "I can't believe you've done all this for her. I can't believe you stuck it out for six months." I somehow thought that all this approval from other people would soak in and make me feel okay. But it doesn't really work that way. And when I finally weened Maya I went through this depression. I didn't realize how much I was relying on the fact that I was providing for her to give me a sense of usefulness and pride in myself for being that good mother. And when it was over I felt like I was admitting defeat. I was terrible at being pregnant, and I was terrible at breastfeeding. Basically, I just sucked at motherhood. I was a selfish woman with a fat body who just happened to have a baby, but I wasn't really a MOTHER.

Somehow, despite all of this, I thought I'd have a different experience the second time around. I was still looking for vindication. I was determined to embrace it all and love myself more, etc. I had lost weight prior to getting pregnant the second time and entered it feeling slightly better about myself and my body. I was sure I could overcome my fears and actually breastfeed the second child. I was terrified, knowing how I'd felt before, but I was hopeful. And then I found out I was having twins. SERIOUSLY!?? It felt like a cruel joke. Rather than getting to have the experience I thought I was supposed to have, I was going to have a totally unique experience all over again. It felt like I was starting from scratch. Depression set in. Why? Why me? I sucked so much at this the first time that I'm getting two this time. What?? It just didn't seem fair. I didn't say that because I didn't want to appear ungrateful. And I was, sometimes. It's truly amazing the breadth of emotions one can hold in a single moment. I struggled to force myself to enjoy being pregnant this time. And I was blessed with not being as sick or in as much pain as I was the first time. And, as time went by, I started to feel more distanced from my body. I began to feel that my body was just my earth suit and that I was sharing my earth suit with the people inside. Maybe it was because there were two in there. How can you feel like you are your body when you're walking around as a group of three? I still didn't love it, don't get me wrong. But gradually some of the feelings of guilt began to disappear. I began to give myself permission to not love being pregnant. It didn't mean I didn't love being a mother. It was just a means to an end. I was using the body I'd been given to grow some new humans. It didn't really matter whether they grew in me or in someone else. When they arrived, that's when I became their mother. I began to let go of the notion that pregnancy was fundamental to motherhood. I could suck at being pregnant and hate it and still be a "good" mother. Well, that remained to be seen.

I attempted to breastfeed this time as well. I even met with a Lactation Consultant beforehand to talk about how to nurse two babies. I was scared shitless until a few weeks before delivery when I finally just let go and decided it just HAD to go well. And it did, at first, go well...much better than the first time. I was determined to make it work. I had to, isn't that what a "good" mother would do? Breast is best, right? So I struggled to get them to latch on and let them nurse for what felt like eternity. And I barely slept. I began to, once again, live on the compliments from other people. "I can't believe you're breastfeeding both of them." Yes, I am awesome. I am a strong earth-mother, boob-loving, sacrificial MOTHER. But secretly I was longing for it to end. I was praying my milk wouldn't come in or that something would go terrible wrong and I would be forced to stop, no choice of my own. I wanted someone to give me permission to stop. I absolutely LOATH having my nipples stimulated all the time. So, when they began to crack and bleed and it was apparent that the actual breastfeeding was taking too long and keeping me from Maya, I felt relieved. Yeah, I can pump again. That wasn't so bad, was it?

But my damn nipples kept hurting. And I mean HURTING. The pump is supposed to not hurt, and I was clenching my teeth through every pumping, every three hours. And there is nothing like waking in the middle of the night to have your nipples painfully tweaked for 30 minutes while simultaneously bottle-feeding a baby. Let me just tell you, it sucks (no pun intended). Turns out I had yeast. So, I figured I could stick it out and see how I felt after the course of Diflucan. But I did drop down to pumping only four times a day. My milk supply dropped from 36 to 30 oz. a day. So, I got myself the Fenugreek to try and boost the supply, secretly hoping that, even though I was doing so much to increase it, it would dry up on its own and release me from the bonds of milk production. I mean, there are just so many things that go along with this boob business they don't tell you. First of all, the hormones decrease your vaginal moisture. Boo. And your milk lets down any time your baby cries or your nipples are stimulated. And because my poor nips are so tender from the damn yeast, my milk lets down just from the water falling on them in the shower. Wrapping a towel around me is excruciating. On top of that, the Fenugreek makes my body smell like maple syrup. And, I swear, I have WAY more body odor when I'm producing milk than any other time. So I stink like BO and maple syrup. Sexy. When I met with the NP at my Pediatric Practice, I told her how miserable I am, but she encouraged me to keep going to help protect them from H1N1. I'm thinking, "Great. I just had to have twins when there's a damn swine flu epidemic!!!" And she said that, indeed, I may just have yeast on my nipples ALL the time. So I have to treat with gentian violet every day. Have you ever encountered gentian violet. It is potent and staining. My nipples are bright purple, as are my nursing pads and bras and fingers. Hot, I know. And I am not used to having breasts, so when I go running around with Maya, my boobs bounce in unexpected ways, and, you know it, my milk lets down (ouch!). And I absolutely HATE pumping. And my breasts somehow feel like these creatures I have to care for rather than a part of my body. And I'm still feeling like I'm not a great mother. Yeah, I'm doing all these physical things that make me look like a good mother, but I am still completely self-centered and hating every minute of it.

I have heard many people say that they felt an instant bond with their baby, that they knew them right away. I did not feel this way. I remember looking at Maya and wondering how I was supposed to feel instantaneous love for this swollen, alien-like creature. I mean, I loved her and felt very protective and felt responsible. But I didn't feel instantly bonded. It scared the living daylights out of me. And it took a long time to grow and know her. I constantly wondered if the things I thought were unique about her were just normal baby things. Who was this person? And despite the fact that I have, in the last two years, really gotten to know and love her, I was still shocked when I felt this way again with Elliot and Zoe. I think I was even more scared the second time around. I thought, "Maya is my baby, who are you guys?" They just looked so unfamiliar. Even after a few weeks I still wondered when I was going to really fall in love with them. I am so grateful for my sister through all of this. She just kept reminding me, "This is normal. You will love them. You will get to know them and bond with them. It just takes time." And she was right, of course. The fetus starts to turn into a baby before your eyes and their unique characteristics start to emerge. They smell a particular way and like certain things, and, before you know it, you love that about them. And you start to feel like they are part of your family, part of your story.

I wish I could end this piece with this note about how accepting I am of myself and my body and how I truly feel like a good mother now. But I think that what I'm coming to understand, through all of this, is that there is no one thing that defines motherhood other than self-sacrifice. And self-sacrifice isn't easy. And maybe it's not supposed to be. I guess I just thought I was a nicer, less self-centered person than I am. But you don't get much choice in this mothering business to stay that way. I'm at this point right now where I've been railing against motherhood, complaining about how hard it is. I think I've rounded the corner of depression in the grief cycle, I'm plowing through some testing, and I'm coming up on acceptance. There's a light at the end of the tunnel. And I so want to get to that point of acceptance. Then maybe I can learn to care for myself, truly care for my body, knowing that the only way I'm going to be able to care for these three people is if I actually do take care of me. If I force myself to take time just for me each day, to satisfy that desire for my own space, I can come back into the mayhem with a little less anger and a lot more acceptance. Maybe, just maybe, I can begin to feel like a good mother. Maybe I am one. And it's not the purple nipples and maple-syrup smell that proves it. I don't have to love the difficulty, just get to the point of accepting it.

My Armature

2009-10-06T12:38:00.004-04:00

I took a life modeling class in college. Basically that is a human figure sculpture class where you work from a live model. One of the ways we worked, when creating a standing figure, was to use a metal armature and build our work on that inner framework. Clay alone could not stand up on its own. At the time, I remember realizing that in my current state of emotional fragility and with my cripplingly low self esteem, I had no inner armature. I could stay upright for some time and then begin to lean and eventually would find myself an unrecognizable pile of clay. I could recognize in others the strength I wanted for myself, and I imagined what it felt like to be filled with that inner framework. I tried so hard to force myself to behave as though I had it, as though I believed in myself and thought of myself as a great human being. I did not. I was a total mess. When anyone would say something negative, I would crumble. If you pressed me in the slightest way, I would fall apart. I looked for the strength to come from other people. "Please hold me up!" I was shouting. Hold my hand. Help me. If you tell me I'm great, maybe it's true. But when your strength comes from the praise or support of other people, you will fall apart without it. It's impossible to continue to function that way. Believe me, I tried. And that need for external approval and praise and support took me down some dark paths and into some scary, dangerous situations. I would do anything for it. I was a junkie for male attention and approval. I remember knowing it didn't make sense, knowing that was not the life I wanted, but I did not know how to change it. I didn't know how to build that armature for myself. And God wasn't doing me much good.

After years of this ridiculous behavior, I finally decided I wanted it finished. I wanted to build that framework. I just could keep crumpling. It was exhausting. I could feel it happening, almost watching from the outside. Oh crap, there I go again. My emotions were all over the map. I couldn't rely on my own self, on my reaction to anything. I was spineless and inept. I wanted to function.

It took a long time. I remember a friend of mine asking me, after I'd been in intensive therapy for a year, how long it would take, to be rid of it, to be healed. She wanted the same thing, to be strong and to be rid of the crippling doubt. But she wanted to know that if she invested in therapy, it would end in healing. I just kept saying, "Well, it's getting better." And it was. Slowly but surely I began at the base and started building that armature within. It was tedious and difficult and stripped me down to nothing. I had to eventually learn to just sit with the ugly, the mean, the sad and the acidic. I had to let all that clay fall away and focus on twisting together those bands of identity that had nothing to do with the external. I guess I'm still working on strengthening that armature, but, for the most part, there is a stature there on which the rest of me can depend, there is a substance that stays when the rest of it is being molded and formed and pushed and prodded by life. The external changes, but the internal remains the same.

So, here I am, during one of the most difficult periods of time in my life. And I am so grateful I spent that time building. I am so thankful, to myself, for stopping the destructive and rebuilding. Because even though I have horrible days and am exhausted beyond belief, I know that I cannot be torn down to nothing. I am waking every two hours and recovering from surgery and pumping my breasts constantly and feeling this mass of numb fat hang over my incision. I am challenged every minute by a difficult toddler. I am rubbed raw. I am stretched to the limit on the outside. But I know my own self. I am clinging to that inner armature like nobody's business. I will make it through. I will remain. I know this time will pass and I'll be sad that I no longer have infants. I'll wish I'd spent the time really focused and not lost in the fog of it all. The days change. Some days I muddle through and some days seem golden. But even when I'm muddling, I never doubt my own ability. I never question my own strength. The rest of me may hang limply on the armature. I may be in pajamas and barely keeping my eyes open, but I am calm within. I am strong at my core. At the end of the day, I am sure.

Here we go...

2009-09-28T15:15:00.003-04:00

Today is Monday. On Wednesday I am scheduled for a C-Section to deliver the two very large babies (are they still fetuses?) inside me. They're estimating over 7 lbs each. I know it's just an estimate, but it somehow makes me feel like all this struggle has been worth it. I can't wait to see how big they really are. And what they look like. And if they have hair.

A boy. I am somehow very stunned about having a boy. I'm going to have a SON. He's going to grow up and be taller than me and grow whiskers and become a man. That is really difficult for me to comprehend. We've decided not to circumcise. After doing some research, we just decided there was no great reason to alter his body so dramatically without consulting him when there are no immense benefits to him now or in the future. It seems like a fairly important decision to make for someone else. I hope he is okay with our decision! I guess he can always have it done later in life if he so chooses. He. Him. Boy. Penis. What? Still just can't grasp the concept. Will I treat him differently than I treat Maya and her new sister? Will I have to teach him different things? Will Marco? I can't wait to see if there are differences even from the very beginning. It's hard to imagine him being more wild and rough and wily than Maya. In fact, in utero, he's been rather calm. I can only hope one of these three will be.

Another girl. I love that Maya will have a sister. I hope they will be friends, great and true friends. I wonder so much how she will be different than Maya. She does seem active, but that could mean anything. I wonder if she'll be more delicate or more girly. I wonder if she'll care about her clothes are like dolls or want to be clean. Maya is still so little, so it's hard tell. I wonder how they will influence each other. I wonder how my son will fit into the mix.

It's interesting to think that we won't have the typical birth order going on - no one is the youngest of three. Maya will still be the oldest, obviously, but I wonder how being the oldest with two the same age is different than the oldest in a line of three. It will be fascinating to watch their development and see how that all plays out.

Well, it's nearly 4 PM, and I have just one more hour all to myself before I go pick up Maya and my parents arrive and Marco comes home...I know I won't be truly alone again for a long time. I won't have hours to sit and read and think and nap and watch TV. I'm going to be the mother of three kids. I already know how much personal sacrifice goes into being a mother, but now it will be all the more amplified. I can only hope that it really breaks down any residual selfishness I have been clinging to over these last two years. Yes, it will be tough, but it will be so good for me to learn to let go and just be present and to truly mother them. I think so often I am a mother part-time. I get frustrated that my own agenda gets tossed by the way side. I can't get somewhere as fast as I want or without some small disaster. I get annoyed at the messes and the whining and the "dealing" with a child. Yes, I'm human. Yes, it is normal to need to care for yourself and preserve yourself and your sanity. But how can I do that and also give them my utmost in patience and presence and kindness? How can I model for them the characteristics I want them to have? If I'm getting mad and swearing and slamming doors, they will do the same. If I'm eating poorly and not caring for myself, they will do the same. If I don't communicate with Marco well and articulate my frustrations in a healthy way, they will do the same. I basically need to mother my own damn self and figure out how to live in the way I want them to be able to live. That's not to say I have to be the perfect mother and never mess up - I've just got to deal with being human and the difficulties and heartache that come with being human with as much forgiveness and patience and as many deep breaths as I can.

The next few weeks are going to be tough. We're going to have a toddler and two infants and tons of family around helping. I'm going to breastfeed (hopefully). Marco really wants to do cloth diapers, and we are leaning that direction. I'm going to be exhausted and cranky and sore and frustrated and at the end of my rope in a way I may never have felt. I really want to look back on this time and not say, "That sucked." I want to look back and say, "I didn't know my own strength." I want to accept it. I want to be in it and at peace with it. I don't want to say, "This too shall pass." I want to say, "It won't be like this for long, so I better cherish it." I was watching Maya and Marco in the kitchen over the weekend. She was helping him make bolillos. I love to watch them together - the special relationship they have just between the two of them. He's so patient and teaching and doesn't get as annoyed as I do. He was explaining each thing and showing her how to do it. She was wearing her soccer clothes, and her hair was in the typically mad scientist way. And my heart was just bursting with the beauty of it, the preciousness of that moment. She just keeps getting bigger and talking more and doing more things. She won't be this age, this unencumbered by social consciousness, this innocent for much longer. I hope that her exuberance for life can stay and won't be crushed by all the pressures that come with friends and being a girl. I hope she keeps that "I'll show you" excitement about life. There is nothing that lifts my heart more than to hear her say, "Come on!" She wants nothing more than to have other people join in on the joy she has over life. She wants to share it. On picture day at school, before we left, she was hugging each kid. The teacher said she is so accepting and loving and makes the other kids feel so happy. I really hope that continues. I want to foster that quality.

Well, my battery is running low, and it is getting more uncomfortable to be sitting here typing. Hopefully I can get back to posting on this blog. I know there will be much to say in the coming months.

And then there were five of us...