The Thinking Southerner

I'm alive!

2010-05-19T14:36:00.003-04:00

ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVVE! (Say it in your best Dr. Frankenstein voice)

Just a quick update! I have half a billion projects in the fire right now, in different spheres of my life.

Kids are great! Oldest starts high school next fall, all honors classes, marching band, scouts, yada yada. Second just got accepted into our district's self-contained program for highly gifted kids, scouts, step team, blah blah blah. Third has come out with some jewels of reflection lately that have forced me to re-evaluate my understanding of who he is, scouts, etc. All three are in To Shin Do, progressing nicely. All three really starting to explore spirituality in new ways.

Twins are perfect, beautiful, mischievous little impish troublemakers who inspire me. Cute little mister asked me today if I was a princess (I was wearing a dress), and then if someone was going to dance with me. The girly girl is a beautiful little "slinky head" who loves to join me when I pray or meditate. They love to dance, chase birds, climb trees, and sprinkle joy.

Hubs is perfect as always, my rock, my perfect match, like some cosmic planet burst into two, whose halves, while different, still fit together perfectly, and whose atmosphere (energy surrounding both) melds and glows. He has a few projects in the works, but those are his to tell.

And me? Better than I've been in YEARS. Honestly. It is amazing. I have a massive personal transformation underway that began in earnest with the start of the new year, and which is now in full swing. I put my memoir writing project on hold last fall, but reopened an old writing project, began years ago, and am now probably 1/3 of the way through. We're going to be homeschooling over the summer-- just a wonderful, child-driven bout of research and mind-expansion-- and I've been busy writing curriculum for that.

Things are busy, no doubt, but in that wonderful whirlwind of creativity and joy sort of way that I don't mind so much. Maybe eventually I'll get back to regular posting, but for now, I've been too busy living life fully to think much about blogging, which is good for me.

:-)

Peace be with you!

Sexual Assault Prevention Tips-- Guaranteed to work!

2009-11-08T02:57:00.001-05:00

Passing these helpful hints along that I learned in training today.

1) Don't put drugs in people's drinks in order to control their behavior.
2) When you see someone walking by themselves, leave them alone!
3) If you pull over to help someone with car problems, remember not to assault them.
4) NEVER open an unlocked door or window uninvited.
5) If you are in an elevator and someone else gets in, DON'T ASSAULT THEM!
6) Remember, people go to laundry to do their laundry. Do not attempt to molest someone who is alone in a laundry room.
7) USE THE BUDDY SYSTEM! If you are not able to stop yourself from assaulting people, ask a friend to stay with you while you are in public.
8) Always be honest with people! Don't pretend to be a caring friend in order to gain the trust of someone you want to assault. Consider telling them you plan to assault them. If you don't communicate your intentions, the other person might take that as a sign that you do not plan to rape them.
9) Don't forget: you can't have sex with someone unless they are awake!
10) Carry a whistle! If you are worried that you might assault someone "on accident," you can hand it to the person you are with, so they can blow it if you do.

And ALWAYS REMEMBER, if you didn't ask permission and then respect the answer the first time, you are committing a crime-- no matter how "into it" others appear to be.

If I Were a Rapist...

2009-10-29T14:13:00.015-04:00

If I were a rapist-- a serial sexual predator bent on destroying as many women's independence and control over their own bodies as possible-- and an omnipotent one at that, with the power to create my custom rapist's utopia in which I could move and act freely, I can imagine the sort of society I would create.

In my imaginary society, women would be trained from a young age to disconnect from their own needs and feelings, and to focus instead on meeting the needs of others. They'd learn that what they really want in life doesn't matter so much, and that they always have to be polite and nonconfrontational, and that it's better to let someone else be "right" than to be too assertive. I'd make sure they saw plenty of examples of assertive, independent women who look out for their own needs being labeled "bitches," too, to remind them of what happens when women step outside the meek and accommodating mode and learn to stick up for themselves. Just to make sure they got this message loud and clear, I'd make the popular media be full of caricatures of women-- hard, assertive, mean characters, and modest, pleasing, timid characters. Maybe then they'd never figure out that real women can be both strong and vulnerable, both assertive and compassionate, both humble and accomplished.

I'd make sure women didn't know how to discern and protect their own boundaries. From the time they were small, I'd hope for their parents to make them kiss and hug relatives they don't want to kiss or hug-- "Awww, come on, kiss Aunt Ruth goodbye-- don't you want to be a nice girl?" "I know you think he's weird, but it would really make Uncle Keith feel a lot better if you gave him a hug." I'd want their caregivers to dismiss their feelings, making them believe that children's emotions don't really matter and aren't really real-- "I'll give you something to cry about," and "Quit whining-- it's just a toy." The younger we begin to teach kids to disassociate from their feelings, their pain, their discomfort, the easier it will be to maintain this training all through the rest of their lives.

By the time they were teenagers, their boundaries might be so completely blurred and unstable that they'd be primed to begin to engage in consensual, but unwanted, sex, having sex they don't want to be having for reasons ranging from "he expects it on the third date" to "she'll leave if I don't do this" to "if I do this, he'll know how much I love him." They'd continue to have sex that leaves them feeling empty, whether or not it is truly enjoyable and pleasurable and fun for them. I'd make sure that our society sends them messages letting them know that they're doing the right thing by being "sexually empowered" in having sex frequently, doing my best to obscure the part of the message that "empowerment" involves claiming power, not giving it away. And to make sure they were left feeling further confused and isolated, I'd want society to send messages of shame and judgement, so they'd know that they were doing something dirty and secret, that they were "sluts" for engaging in risky sexual behavior, and "bitches" if they made it about their own sexual gratification, and "prudes" if they wanted sex to be about real love and connection.

I'd make sure that married and partnered women and men knew that putting out on schedule-- some arbitrarily assigned number of times per week-- was part of their "job requirements," whether they felt like having sex or not. Then, they'd be more likely to continue the pattern of dissociating sex from passion and pleasure that was begun in their youth. And just for kicks, I'd pound into their minds the belief that you can't be raped by your spouse-- that he has "rights" to your body because of marriage or past sexual encounters, and that you don't have to consent or agree for him to take you when he wants.

I'd make sure that entire classes of people could be oppressed, and that all of us would be culturally trained to see other types of people as "less than." Further, I'd make sure we were all so scared of being labeled "prejudiced" that we'd be scared to even examine or admit our areas of judgment, staying blissfully unaware of how we contribute to the problem. I'd want a society that sees sexual harassment and battery and rape used as a instrument of subjugation, in military and war and corporate settings. I'd want a society that uses ritual degradation as a rite of passage or entry, like a form of hazing, because once degradation of another human becomes a norm, the door is open for sexual degradation to be part of that ritual.

I'd want every child who comes forward claiming sexual abuse to not be believed, because a child who is not believed will learn to expect that nobody is there to protect him, that nobody will believe her, that there is nothing that can be done to stop violence and violation and betrayal. I'd want grandparents to side with family members who are abusers rather than with the victim, so the kid learns that speaking out results in people turning their back on him. I'd want parents to tell the kids to quit making up stories-- that there's no way grandpa could be an abuser. I'd want parents to be so ashamed that sexual abuse may have touched their family that they'd refuse to report it to law enforcement for investigation, hesitate to get their child needed counseling and treatment, and live their lives in a false world in which nothing ever happened and none of it exists. Kids who are abused and ignored learn that being ignored is what happens when you try to make something of it-- I'd bet they'd make prime targets for me once they are older.

In my rapist's utopia, I'd make sure that women's bodies were used to sell EVERYTHING, and that half-dressed women in sexy poses, airbrushed and photoshopped to perfection, were on the covers of almost all the magazines in the stores. Then women would compare their bodies to the women they're seeing on the magazines and TV commercials and movies, and realize they could never measure up. Thin, beautiful women might work excessively at staying thin and "beautiful"-- doing everything they could to look like the women in the media, hoping to gain some sort of acceptance, while all along learning to use their beauty and superficial sexuality to make gains in life, win attention, and make life easier. Then they'd come to view themselves not as whole women, competent and with great potential, but as shells to be polished and presented, whose worth depends completely on a specific set of ephemeral physical qualities that may or may not last through life. I'd make sure that women who don't fit that narrow definition of socially approved physical "beauty" doubt themselves, and constantly think that nobody could ever find them sexy, so that when they are offered less than ideal sexual experiences that are degrading, devastating, or dismissive, they'll readily accept, having been taught that to be found sexy and attractive is an ideal to aspire to in and of itself, with or without the empowerment that comes from having your sexuality honored by a caring and attentive partner. And I'd definitely want children to see these media images from a young age, so that little girls learn that their value comes from their ability to use their sexuality, and little boys learn that women are objects to be used.

If I were a rapist, the concept of the sex industry would THRILL me as a key component of my utopia because it sets the precedent that women's bodies and sexuality can be bought and sold, and anything that can be bought and sold is fair game to be stolen. I'd want strip clubs galore, where young women barely out of their own childhoods and still experiencing the poor judgment of adolescence would come when they felt that they didn't have options, to take their clothes off for men of all ages. I'd make sure that there were no other entry-level jobs in my society that pay very well, to ensure a steady flow of desperate young women who know they can't make as much money in any other business. In the strip clubs, they'd see that they can make more money based on the degree of graphic nature of their performance, and that the more they DID, the more they'd MAKE. They'd probably end up meeting up with a girl or two who did pictures and videos, and these porn stars would be glamorized! Every "feature" dancer brought into the club would bring in a huge crowd, and be fussed over like a celebrity based upon appearances in a number of magazines and movies. So the girls might branch out into some nude pictures or "soft" video porn.

Eventually, they'd discover that if you go beyond pole tricks and lapdances, you can move into working for escort services and prostitution. The pay would up the ante, with sex itself (instead of just sexuality) being the commodity, opening the door for sex to be stolen. Women in prostitution would learn that sex is sex and that empowerment is empowerment and that pleasure is pleasure, and that they rarely ever go together, lowering her expectations for what sex should be. She's already learned how to suck it up and engage in a sexual act while dissociating somewhat from her own pleasure and sensuality. At some point, she realizes that exchanging sex for money brings a level of attention and identity that she may have been missing before. Perhaps this is the first time she's really been shown a lot of attention, or made to feel sexy, or whatever. Perhaps she has been doing soft porn, and discovers she can make even more money based on what she's willing to do on camera. So, she may branch out into harder porn, eventually engaging in sexual acts that she herself might find offensive or undesirable, simply to make money and "protect" or promote herself in some way.

If I were a rapist, the sex industry would be like an exquisite, gift-wrapped present at Christmas, bringing me precisely the kind of cultural phenomenon I would need to make potential victims have no real connection with their own true power, drive to be empowered, and genuine sexuality; all while making potential bystanders and accomplices learn to see women as bodies, as sex acts, as personal gratification, instead of as sentient, intelligent, independent beings with emotional needs and dreams and desires. The sex industry, particularly the parts of it that encourage violence or brutality as norms, would serve to desensitize my entire utopia to the objectification and victimization of women. I guess if I'm really omnipotent, I'd make sure that thinking people who object to the objectification of women were portrayed as anti-sex, or crazy, or not in touch with reality.

In my imaginary society, people who wanted to "justify" their sexual domination of another person could travel out of country, so they could take advantage of foreign, "different" children, and still consider themselves to be upstanding citizens, because they don't hurt "real" women or children. I'd make sure that every school child in my society was taught about the "end" of slavery, and how awesome our current society is for not allowing slavery, while ensuring that they never learn about the illicit sex slave trade that is alive and well, even in our society. I'd do everything I could to make sure that rape, and child sex abuse, and prostitution, and sex slavery were all things that we could not speak openly and comfortably about in our society, so that more and more people would remain unaware of what was going on in their own families and communities-- right underneath their noses.

And these same qualities of my imaginary society that would make women ideal victims would also serve to make men ideal victims. After all, if women are constantly portrayed as weak, sexual objects ripe for the taking, thus making them easy victims, men are portrayed as strong, unemotional conquerors. What man who has been assaulted and raped wants to admit to being in the same league as weak sexual objects? Men who have been raped are even less likely than women to come forward, to demand justice, and to admit what happened to them.

With all these pieces in place, I'd be damn near guaranteed that I'd have an unlimited supply of victims who would ignore their boundaries long enough for me to make a move, who would have mixed expectations about their own sex lives, increasing their accessibility and vulnerability to me for acquaintance rape. And when I committed a rape, acquaintance or stranger, extremely violent and brutal or simple and straightforward, this utopia would make it extremely unlikely that victims would come forward. Some might not even define what I did to them as "rape," afraid that it implies some degree of ignorance or self-blame on their part. Some might consider it rape, but worry deep down inside that others wouldn't believe them, would blame them, or would say they are lying. After all, these "others" have been seeing the same societal messages, received the same cultural training, and heard the same rape myths. Some might know it was rape, want to come forward, and still feel shamed into submission. Some might come forward and have well-meaning but ill-informed friends, authorities, and professionals question what they did to cause it-- after all, we have all been trained to mistrust the inherent wisdom of women's bodies and to doubt that women are capable of understanding the truth about their lives, much less speaking honestly and directly about their sexual experiences.

If I were a rapist, this is exactly the kind of society that would lead me to feel safe weaving in and out of different circles of people, always being able to hone my craft, never truly worrying about getting into any situations I couldn't talk my way out of. This is exactly the kind of society that I know would be more likely to blame or not believe my victims.

This is exactly the kind of society in which we live.

Praise God!! GUILTY!!

2009-10-23T23:53:00.004-04:00

GUILTY

It doesn't feel as good as I had hoped it would. Janet's still dead. There are still two beautiful, thoughtful girls who now have to begin to face up to and live with the reality that their father murdered their mother in cold blood. There are still a mother and father, two sisters and a brother, nieces and nephews, who have to live with the loss of their daughter, sister, aunt, and friend. There are still those people who were extremely close to Janet, to whom she confided terrible, sad, tragic details of her life with Tim, who will always be left to wonder what they could have done differently.

I hugged his neck they day after she died. It still feels gross to think about it. Some people just have no real conscience, and do not deserve our pity or compassion. It's been a long 4 years.

Rest in peace, Janet Lorita Harper Tillman

Ass-Kicker-Tracker

2009-10-16T13:46:00.005-04:00

In the spirit of accountability, here it is. The periodic tracker of how I'm getting myself back into ass-kicking shape.

Days since I last cried: 2
Days since I've engaged The Beast (aka my own self-destructive drive): 2
Days since I've wanted to punch somebody: 1
Consecutive days of GRE study in the last 9 days: 9
Time since my first hooping class: 1 week, 1 day (remember my bucket list?)
Total "flight time" since (and including) first hooping class: 15 hours
Total "flight time" yesterday: 2.5
Pounds from my good and healthy weight: 22
Pounds lost since March of 2009: 23
Days I worked last week: 6
Days I'm scheduled to work this week: 6
Days I'd like to be scheduled for each week: 4
Time since I married my best friend: 9 years, 10 months, 5 days
Time since I kissed my best friend: about an hour
Days of Rape Crisis Center companion training until training is done: 6
Current favorite song(s): Everything in its Right Place (Radiohead), Kiss of Life (Sade), Say Hey I Love You (Michael Franti)

I'm not going to commit to posting the Ass-Kicker-Tracker daily or weekly, but expect a check-in every now and then. I'm getting back into fighting shape.

And regarding the hooping classes, it's a hippy-ish, dance/spiritual, fun thing in the town where I live (and spreading with pockets of interest all over). Here's a video of one of the local hoop instructors rocking it out:

Here's the other local instructor:

Currently, I'm in love with...

2009-10-14T13:22:00.001-04:00

...being in love with the most incredible person I've ever met.

Currently, I'm in love with...

2009-10-05T00:28:00.004-04:00

... Muse. Especially this song.

Genuine, Surprised Laughter.

2009-09-29T14:34:00.001-04:00

You did it once, a few days ago. I heard the smile in your voice. I still hear it in my mind if I think about it. I even remember what I said that brought it about.

Hope all is well.

Such Great Heights

2009-09-28T00:20:00.004-04:00

Those of you who know The Hubster are aware that he is typically very understated and not prone to being overly romantic. I've gotten flowers once in 10 years, and that was only because I said, "Hey, I want flowers on Valentine's Day this year. And I want them to be purple, got it?" I got a glorious bouquet of irises, and was thrilled. I married him for his integrity, sweet spirit, kindness, friendship, sense of humor, and perfect compatibility with me, not for his grandiose notions of romance.

I've learned to genuinely appreciate little things, recognizing the profound meaning when he does offer even the smallest expressions of romance. And little things, I get all day long, more than I could ask for. A dozen or more "I love you's" a day. Soft kisses every time we enter or leave each other's presence. Foot or neck rubs EVERY NIGHT (with the rare exception of when he is not feeling well) for the past 9 1/2 years, since I first became pregnant with our daughter. No, my name has never been written across the sky with a heart surrounding it by a hired airplane, but I have never doubted where I stand with him.

And tonight, he has filled me with renewed love for him, once again.

I came home from work to find that he had been listening to Pandora radio today and heard a song that made him think of me. He emailed me the lyrics, which open:

I am thinking it's a sign
That the freckles in our eyes
Are mirror images and
When we kiss they're perfectly aligned

And I have to speculate
That God himself did make us into
Corresponding shapes like puzzles pieces
From the clay

True, it may seem like a stretch
But it's thoughts like this
That catch my troubled head
When you're away, when I am missing you to death....

-From Such Great Heights by Iron & Wine

I love this man.

Giving and Helping

2009-09-27T11:53:00.004-04:00

I'm still working on that other post (it's got some big stuff in it), but wanted to share that over the past few days I've been thinking a lot about human nature, giving, taking care of each other, and love. We live in a society that holds up giving/helping/compassion as an ideal, but rarely ever expects it of anyone. We think of those who are generous with their time, talents, and treasures as somehow better or different than the average person, instead of realizing that we all have it in us to give in one way or another (and, if I can say this without being too simplistic, that we SHOULD). What stops us from giving?

In the midst of pondering how it all fits together, something happened two nights ago at the restaurant. An elderly woman in the restaurant began to choke a few tables over from my section. I quickly went and grabbed another server who I know is also an EMT. When I said to him, "a lady is choking at table 12," he immediately dropped everything and literally ran to be there. By the time he got there, a doctor from a neighboring table was with her, assessing the situation and helping. My server/EMT friend, being the kind of guy he is (a natural helper and giver at heart), stayed in the part of the restaurant near the choking lady until he knew everything was okay. As I went back to check on my next table (which was just on the other side of a small barrier from table 12), the woman commented that she was a nurse, and had been about to go over and help when the doctor had walked up and introduced himself. I was struck with the fact that whatever is our skill, blessing, or ability, most of us want to be able to help. When I took CNA training (while considering nursing school myself), I remember the instructor (a registered nurse) saying that she kept a small emergency pack with rubber gloves and basic medical supplies in her car at all times, so that if she ever happened across a medical emergency (car wreck being the most likely), that she would always stop and help.

I don't know why this warranted a post, except for me to say that the beauty of giving, of compassion, and of human generosity, when it's put into action (which isn't usually as often as it should be), is overwhelming in its goodness.

Homebirth and "Journalism"

2009-09-25T11:47:00.002-04:00

I have a half-written post sitting in the queue that I've been piddling with for a week now (but haven't finished), but felt the need to post something that landed in my FB inbox today.

First off, a very, very precious twin mama friend of mine safely had her 9 pound 6 ounce baby in her home this morning, so I'm still basking in the afterglow for and with her, because I'm sure she is! Welcome, Ophelia!

And with that currently coloring my emotional climate, here it is:

Sept. 22, 2009

Dear Producers of The Today Show,

The Coalition for Improving Maternity Services (CIMS) and the undersigned organizations are disappointed with The Today Show’s misrepresentation of midwives and home birth that aired on Sept. 11, in a segment titled “The Perils of Midwifery,” later changed to “The Perils of Home Birth.” This biased and sensational segment inaccurately implied that hospitals are the safest place to give birth even for low-risk women and mischaracterized women who choose a home birth with a midwife as "hedonistic," going so far as to suggest that these women are putting their birth experiences above the safety of their babies. Neither could be further from the truth.

Unfortunately, The Today Show did not do its homework on the evidence regarding the safety of home birth and midwifery care. The segment featured an obstetrician who presented only the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists’ (ACOG) position in opposition to home birth, but it did not make any attempt to present the different viewpoints held by the many organizations that are committed to improving the quality of maternity care in the US. We are deeply saddened that the show did not take the opportunity to note that both CIMS and The National Perinatal Association respect the rights of women to choose home births and midwifery care, and that the respected Cochrane Collaboration recommends midwifery care because it results in excellent outcomes.

There is no evidence to support the ACOG position that hospital birth for low-risk women is safer than giving birth with midwives at home. What the research does show is that the routine use of medical interventions in childbirth without medical necessity can cause more harm than good, while also inflating the cost of childbirth. However, the current health system design offers little incentive for physicians and hospitals to improve access to maternity care practices that have been proven to maximize maternal and infant health.

“Birth is safest when midwives and doctors work together respectfully, communicate well, and when a transfer from home to hospital is needed, it is appropriately handled,” says Ruth Wilf, CNM, PhD, a member of the CIMS Leadership Team.

That is why the national health services of countries such as Britain, Ireland, Canada, and the Netherlands support home birth. In those countries, midwives are respected and integrated into the maternity care system. They work collaboratively with physicians in or out of the hospital, and they are not the target of modern day witch hunts. These countries have better outcomes for mothers and babies than the US.

Childbirth is the leading reason for admission to US hospitals, and hospitalization is the most costly health care component. Combined hospital charges for birthing women and newborns ($75,187,000,000 in 2004) far exceed charges for any other condition. In 2004, fully 27% of hospital charges to Medicaid and 16% of charges to private insurance were for birthing women and newborns, the most expensive conditions for both payers. The burden on public budgets, taxpayers and employers is considerable.

As US birth outcomes continue to worsen, it should come as no surprise to The Today Show that childbearing women are seeking alternatives to standard maternity care. After all, American women and babies are paying the highest price of all—their health—for these unnecessary interventions, which include increasing rates of elective inductions of labor and cesarean sections without medical indication.

To the detriment of childbearing families, the segment “The Perils of Midwifery” totally disregarded the evidence. Although the reporters acknowledged that research shows home birth for low-risk women is safe, that message was overshadowed by many negative messages, leaving viewers with a biased perception of midwifery care and home birth. CIMS makes these points not to promote the interests of any particular profession, but rather to raise a strong voice in support of maternity care practices that promote the health and well-being of mothers and babies.

One of the ten Institute of Medicine recommendations for improving health care is to provide consumers with evidence-based information in order to help them make informed decisions. The Institute recommends that decisions be made by consumers, not solely by health care providers. The Institute maintains that transparency and true choice are essential to improving health care. We remain hopeful that the medical community will soon recognize the rights of childbearing women when it comes to their choices in childbirth and will respect and support these choices in the interest of the best possible continuity and coordination of care for all.

We urge The Today Show to provide childbearing women with fair and accurate coverage of this important issue by giving equal time to midwives, public health professionals, researchers of evidence- based maternity care, and especially to parents who have made choices about different models of care and places of birth.

Sincerely,
Coalition for Improving Maternity Services
Academy of Certified Birth Educators
Alaska Birth Network
Alaska Family Health and Birth Center
American Association of Birth Centers
American College of Community Midwives
American College of Nurse-Midwives
Bay Area Birth Information
Birth Network of Santa Cruz County
Birth Works International
Birthing From Within, LLC
BirthNet
BirthNetwork National
BirthNetwork of Idaho Falls
BirthNetwork of NW Arkansas
Choices in Childbirth
Citizens for Midwifery
DONA International
Doulas Association of Southern California
Evansville BirthNetwork
Harmony Birth & Family
Idaho Midwifery Council
Idahoans for Midwives
InJoy Birth and Parenting Education
International Childbirth Education Association
International MotherBaby Childbirth Organization
Lamaze International
Madison Birth Center
Midwives Alliance of North America
Motherbaby International Film Festival
Nashville BirthNetwork
National Association of Certified Professional Midwives
North American Registry of Midwives
Oklahoma BirthNetwork
Perinatal Education Associates, Inc.
Reading Birth & Women's Center
Rochester Area Birth Network
Sage Femme
The Big Push for Midwives Campaign
The Tatia Oden French Memorial Foundation
Triangle Birth Network
Truckee Meadows BirthNetwork

About Us
The Coalition for Improving Maternity Services (CIMS) is a coalition of individuals and national organizations with concern for the care and wellbeing of mothers, babies, and families. Our mission is to promote a wellness model of maternity care that will improve birth outcomes and substantially reduce costs. The CIMS Mother-Friendly Childbirth Initiative is an evidence-based mother-, baby-, and family- friendly model of care which focuses on prevention and wellness as the alternatives to high-cost screening, diagnosis, and treatment programs.

References:
1. The Perils of Home Births,http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/32795933#32795933
2. Birth Can Safely Take Place at Home and in Birthing Centers,
http://www.pubmedcentral.nih.gov/picrender.fcgi?artid=2409129&blobtype=pdf
3. Offers All Birthing Mothers Unrestricted Access to Birth Companions, Labor Support, Professional Midwifery Care,http://www.pubmedcentral.nih.gov/picrender.fcgi?artid=2409134&blobtype=pdf
4. ACOG Place of Birth Policies Limit Women's Choices Without Justification and Contrary to the Evidence,http://childbirthconnection.com/article.aspClickedLink=790&ck=10465&area=27
5. Ratifiers and Endorsers of The Mother-Friendly Childbirth Initiative,
http://www.motherfriendly.org/ratifiers.php
6. Choice of Birth Setting,http://www.nationalperinatal.org/advocacy/pdf/Choice-of-Birth-Setting.pdf
7. Position Statement on Midwifery,http://www.nationalperinatal.org/advocacy/pdf/Midwifery.pdf
8. Midwife-led versus other models of care for childbearing women,
http://cochrane.org/reviews/en/ab004667.html
9. Evidence-Based Maternity Care: What It Is And What It Can Achieve,
http://childbirthconnection.com/pdfs/evidence-based-maternity-care.pdf
10. Lamaze Healthy Birth Practices,
http://www.lamaze.org/ChildbirthProfessionals/ResourcesforProfessionals/CarePracticePapers/tabid/90/Default.aspx
11. Millennium Development Goals Indicators, United Nations,http://mdgs.un.org/unsd/mdg/Data.aspx
12. National Vital Statistics System, Birth Data,http://www.cdc.gov/nchs/births.htm
13. Induction By Request,http://www.marchofdimes.com/prematurity/21239_20203.asp
14. Cesarean Birth By Request,http://www.marchofdimes.com/prematurity/21239_19673.asp
15. Crossing the Quality Chasm: A New Health System for the 21st Century,
http://www.iom.edu/CMS/8089/5432.aspx
16. The Mother-Friendly Childbirth Initiative,http://www.motherfriendly.org/mfci.php

Coalition for Improving Maternity Services
1500 Sunday Drive, Suite 102
Raleigh, NC 27607

Tel: 919-863-9482
Fax: 919-787-4916

www.MotherFriendly.org

Making Mother-Friendly Care A Reality
CIMS is a not-for-profit organization recognized as tax-exempt under Internal Revenue Code section 501(c)(3). Our mission is to promote a wellness model of maternity care that will improve birth outcomes and substantially reduce costs.

On Writing Memoir

2009-09-17T12:37:00.001-04:00

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5340618

Forgiveness is a wonderful thing.

Night Off

2009-09-16T20:13:00.003-04:00

It's a good night off. No big blog post for now, just a peaceful, relaxing evening with my family. Life is good.

(and so is this Trader Joe's Bavarian Hefeweizen wheat ale, just in case that's influencing my chill mojo)

Cheesy Fangirl Post of the Week

2009-09-15T15:58:00.006-04:00

Okay, I try to be all deep and stuff. Really, I do. But there are certain things that send me into cheesy fangirl frenzy.

Twilight is one of those things.

OMG, OMG, OMG check this out:

Movie Trailers - Movies Blog

HOLY CRAP! YESSSS!!!!!

As you may know already (especially if you were on my facebook friends list back in July when this happened), I read the entire Twilight series in a single, sleepless 4 day period. I went to work a little early, read until my shift began, got home, and read until the next morning. I was obsessed, because there was something about the writing, the characters, and the conflicting emotions that touched on some of my own past relationships and times in my life.

Anyway, after reading them all, I did see the first Twilight movie, and it was pretty cool, but not as cool as it could have been. First off, Edward was nowhere near as spectacular as he had been in my mind while reading. Secondly, Bella was a lot more emotionless and boring in the movie than she had been in the book. And finally, there were SO many details left out of the movie, I can't imagine how anyone who hadn't already read the book could have a clue what the heck was going on in the movie.

It is worth mentioning at this point that New Moon was my least favorite book in the series. **SPOILER ALERT: Quit reading if you don't want to know**

There's just not enough Edward and Bella interchange in it to suit me, for starters. The relationship between Bella and Edward is what held me captive in the first book; reading New Moon, I found myself completely disinterested in what was going on between Bella and Jacob, because I just KNEW that she'd be back with Edward soon enough (how could she NOT be?), and reading New Moon was mostly just a countdown, or killing time, until she got to be with Edward again. Add to that the fact that I have my own abandonment experiences from past relationships-- times when someone that I've loved deeply has been ripped right out of my heart, leaving a gaping wound that I've had to face.

New Moon, p. 118:

"It was a crippling thing, this sensation that a huge hole had been punched through my chest, excising my most vital organs and leaving ragged, unhealed gashes around the edges that continued to throb and bleed despite the passage of time. Rationally, I knew my lungs must still be intact, yet I gasped for air and my head spun like my efforts yielded me nothing. My heart must have been beating, too, but I couldn't hear the sounds of my pulse in my ears; my hands felt blue with cold. I curled inward, hugging my ribs to hold myself together. I scrambled for my numbness, my denial, but it evaded me. And yet, I found I could survive. I was alert, I felt the pain-- the aching loss that radiated out from my chest, sending wracking waves of hurt through my limbs and head-- but it was manageable. I could live through it. It didn't feel like the pain had weakened over time, rather that I'd grown strong enough to bear it."

Having been there, done that, I knew that the book had to bring some sort of resolution. This is fiction, for crying out loud, right? Seconds were counted until his return.

So, having found the first movie a tremendous disappointment, and not really being that keen on the second book in the first place, I wasn't really expecting to be blown away by the next movie.

BUT

Turns out there's a different director, who is staying a little closer to the book, and seems to have a little different vision for how it's going to be. A little less expected and a lot more spectacular, know what I mean? Plus, I couldn't stand the wolf pack in the book. Just killin' time 'til I can get me some more Edward, ya know? But this trailer has painted them just a tad bit cooler in my mind, and I might just start to like them a bit more after this.

I've always thought people were insane to do what I'm about to suggest, but maybe, just maybe, I'll be camped out to get into one of those midnight showings. For the first time in my life, at age 34, I think I'm going to max out my cheesy fangirl points by doing whatever it takes to see this movie at the first possible moment. November 20, here I come.

Sunday Jazz Brunch thoughts

2009-09-13T12:52:00.010-04:00

I'm sitting on my favorite part of the patio at my favorite natural foods co-op, enjoying nice music, pleasant weather, and the laid-back, friendly feel of Sunday Jazz Brunch. Turns out, I got some kind of employee recognition at yesterday morning's biannual all-employee meeting, and since my managers know I love this place, they got me a gift card for here. :-) So, I'm enjoying some Moroccan cous cous salad and tabouli, and about to head in to pour myself a nice cup of El Salvador Dali blend coffee.

It's a nice morning.

In fact, it's been a nice few days. Sometimes, I think when something has begun to eat me up inside, just saying it out loud-- admitting it to myself and to whomever needs to know it-- ends the drama for me. Within 10 minutes of saying what needed to be said, I was over it. I still want to apologize to my friend, but no longer really feel an ounce of irritation or anger over the situation at all. I've had a wonderful few days, although very sleep deprived.

I closed the restaurant Friday night, and didn't get out of work until after 1:30 am, and wasn't able to get to sleep until almost 2:30 am. Then, I got up at 6:30 Saturday morning to get to the aforementioned employee meeting (which, due to the nature of the business, must necessarily be at weird hours when the place is otherwise empty). One cheesy video, 50 gift card dollars, and 60 minutes later, I was loading into the car to head to a volunteer training. After training, I had some time with my kids, and then found time to squeeze in a 15 minute nap, which almost seemed to make it worse. Then, back to the restaurant to close again, and I got into my bed at almost 2 am this morning.

(It is interesting to point out at this point in my writing that the "jazz" band has shifted to playing middle-eastern-sounding music and there are about 40 people hooping and pseudo-bellydancing on the lawn not far from me as I write.)

But, gift card aside (because I love me some WSM), the training was the major highlight of my day.

Backstory: Back in May, I began a training program to be a volunteer at a local rape crisis center. In mid-June, we were fairly certain that we'd be relocating to a town just over 30 minutes away, out of the zone within which I'd need to be when on call. We even had a place lined up and everything. So, I dropped out of the training. Then, after touring the schools in the other town, I just knew I couldn't give up our local school district. But by then, I had missed two weeks of the training that I couldn't make up. So, I asked them to let me know when the next training would be, and it started back up yesterday.

So, the previous training I attended, being over the summer, had been a very small group (5 or 6 women). Most of us (all but one, if I remember correctly) were in the 25+ age range. It had been a very intimate group-- perhaps a little too much so, full of incredibly heady and intense women.

Yesterday's training was awesome. I would guess there were about 30 people there, and that there were maybe 10 of us in the 25+ range, including one really cool guy. The rest were all undergraduate students at the local university. Can I just say that hearing some of them speak-- being witness to their passion and their intelligence and their compassion-- has lifted my already lifting spirits tremendously? My oldest will be a teenager in a couple of months, and my oldest daughter has a birthday this week that will place her fairly firmly into the realm of preteen-hood. I'll have a child in high school next school year, and the countdown in my mind has already begun until I'll be sending my children, one by one, off into independence, perhaps to include their own time spent at university.

I remember my first attempt at university studies, by the way. I remember it too well. I remember confusion and anxiety and trying to find my place, being surrounded by alcohol and drug abuse, making questionable life choices. I remember events that led me to first become painfully familiar with the kinds of experiences that make rape crisis centers such an imperative. I remember all of the fun, and all of the angst. I remember dropping out after a few years, amidst a whirlwind of intra-and interpersonal confusion. And I know, no matter how strongly I work to equip my children with faith and confidence and power and strength, they are going to face their own battles that bring them into adulthood-- battles that I will not be able to fight for them, battles that I should not fight for them because they are THEIRS to win.

And in the midst of my worries, thoughts of where my children will be heading and who they are becoming every day, yesterday, I had the privilege of walking into a room full of intelligent, empowered, thoughtful and funny college students-- the kinds of young women I would love to see my daughters become, the kinds I'd love to see my sons grow up to respect and honor and count among their friends.

I left the training yesterday not only hopeful as a mother, but energized and empowered as a woman, knowing that although there may always be crimes against certain categories of people deemed "disposable" or less than, there will always be small groups of thoughtful, committed people working to change the world. In this is some small reassurance.

Emotions

2009-09-11T02:42:00.006-04:00

I tend to be a very intense, emotional person. And while I like the intensity and it has gotten me far, and I appreciate and honor my nature as a sensitive, feeling, and compassionate person, I do not want to be ruled by my emotions. This is something that I've thought about over the past few years, and that in the past few weeks-- weeks that have been incredibly emotional for me-- has become a more pressing issue in my life.

Today, I became frustrated with a very dear friend. While I was not specifically angry at that friend and did not blow up at the friend, I let my emotions get the best of me. Focused on my own emotions regarding a situation in which I currently find myself-- a situation I may have created for myself to some degree-- I allowed my feelings of frustration, guilt, hurt, worry, and heartbreak to spill out in a way that was not very controlled, considerate, or fair. I truly and humbly feel regret over this, and hope that my friend, when we talk, will forgive me for giving myself over to the tumultuous and unpredictable emotions circling me during this time. I am sorry.

Over the past few weeks, being drawn to philosophies and practices that offer practical tips on managing emotions, I've been once again drawn to Tibetan Buddhism. A few weeks ago, I bought An Open Heart by the Dalai Lama at one of the many local used bookstores. From the inside cover: "In this book the path begins with simple and clear ruminations on the advantages of a virtuous life and moves on to practices that can temper destructive and impulsive emotions. Such practices can be undertaken at odd moments of the day, at once transforming the aimless or anxious mind into a disciplined and open mind." Sounds good, right? Yeah, and my husband thought so too, immediately taking up this book to begin reading it himself (which, if I'm honest, makes me very happy).

So, today, I went to the library and picked up How to Practice: The Way to a Meaningful Life by the Dalai Lama. While waiting on my shift to start, and for a short while after my work shift this evening, I read the first few chapters. It is wonderful, and very helpful. He discusses the three practices as the discipline of morality, concentrated meditation, and manifest knowledge (or wisdom). Morality, he discusses, is the foundation upon which the other two are built. And I was reassured in reading this because I feel that the first step-- practicing morality-- is one in which I am strong. I am easily compassionate and sensitive and empathic by nature, and hold to high standards of integrity and authenticity in my life. That part of practice will be a honing and broadening for me, rather than an introduction. Adding in a stronger appreciation for and practice of the other two will provide the pieces I've been missing off and on over the past little bit of my life. I am looking forward to working through this book, as well as the other one (once I get it back from my husband). I hope to always remain a compassionate, sensitive, loving person. Just one in which the passion part of the compassion is a little more controlled.

And speaking of my husband, have I mentioned lately how much the last few weeks have made me appreciate him more? He has supported me completely through a process in which I have done something very difficult because he knew I needed to do it. He has loved me enough to allow me the freedom to explore some ideas and thoughts that may not have always been comfortable for either of us. He has acknowledged who I am, how I relate to others, and that life isn't always neat and tidy. And because he has been so supportive and open through every challenge we've ever faced together, instead of responding to uncertainty with jealousy, threats, or defensiveness, he remains my confidante, my best friend, and my sounding board. He has never put me into a position where I have felt the need to hide from him-- not myself, not my thoughts, not my actions. I'm only recently realizing how precious and rare that might be.

Tired of Speaking Sweetly

2009-09-09T23:22:00.003-04:00

Had a wonderful afternoon with the family today, a great dinner date with my husband, and a relaxing night off hanging out at home. I am blessed! Tomorrow, I drive in to Raleigh to head to the Girl Scout Shop to pick up some things Sassy Pants needs for her first meeting as a Junior tomorrow afternoon.

Tonight, though, I'm still reflecting on the role inner turmoil plays in our lives, and how sometimes when we've allowed ourselves to be something that, at our core, we are not, the only solution is to shake it all down. I was reminded of this poem I came across a while back...

TIRED OF SPEAKING SWEETLY
—Hafiz

Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.

If you had the courage and
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would just drag you around the room
By your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
That bring you no joy.

Love sometimes get tired of speaking sweetly
And wants to rip to shreds
All your erroneous notions of truth

That make you fight within yourself, dear one,
And with others,

Causing the world to weep
On too many fine days.

God wants to manhandle us,
Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself
And practice His dropkick.

The Beloved sometimes wants
To do us a great favor:

Hold us upside down
And shake all the nonsense out.

But when we hear
He is in such a "playful drunken mood"
Most everyone I know
Quickly packs their bags and hightails it
Out of town.

(translated by Daniel Ladinsky)

Back to School Update

2009-09-09T08:47:00.010-04:00

Yesterday, while talking to my husband about some of the things going on in our lives right now, he offered in the discussion that the adjective he finds most appropriate to describe me is intense. He also thinks that I am loving, compassionate, funny, silly, thoughtful, perceptive, and adoring. But all of those things that I do, I do them more intensely than most people (so he says, and I'm inclined to agree). It's as if there's all this energy and passion packed inside of me, and when the spigot is opened, just a little, whatever is there flows out freely.

And I spend a lot of time thinking. I also spend a lot of time in meditation, playing with my kids, spending time with my husband, working, and writing. But the thinking-- that's what you get when you come here to read. If I've had a rather social few days, and a few opportunities to talk with friends about what is going on in my mind, the "need" to blog is less pressing. But when I've been a bit socially isolated (as I've been to some extent since we've moved to a new state, with a work schedule that doesn't leave much room for social time), it's all built up inside me begging to get out, and the blog serves the purpose.

But it occurred to me last night that if all you know of my life is what is in this blog, you might erroneously conclude that my life is full of drama, and that couldn't be farther from the truth. I have an incredibly drama-free life, with occasional events or thoughts passing through that need a little processing, but all in all, life is good.

So here it is: a blog post focusing on a friendly back-to-school update, so you know I really do lead a remarkably normal life.

THE HUSBAND

Since we've been in our current location, my sweet husband has been a stay at home dad, although he's poked around a bit for any appropriate opportunities that might suit him. He volunteers weekly at our local interfaith social services organization that provides a homeless shelter, food pantry, community kitchen, free clinic, and information and referral services. He's also researched the MSW program at the local university, and if the right puzzle pieces line up in our lives over the next month, he'll be applying for next fall and will, no doubt, do extremely well. He is a saint, a loving and sweet father, and one of the smartest guys I know. I become more and more aware with each day how much he loves me and wants me to be happy, which only makes me love him more. I likewise would do anything to make him happy. I give thanks to God for 10 years with this man, and pray for 50+ more (we got married on my grandparents' 60th anniversary).

THE BIG KIDS

School started back the last week of August for my oldest three, which is exciting! The local school district was one of the biggest factors in our decision to move to the town we did once we had decided on a general region, and although the district often takes some heat from the crunchy crowd for being extremely focused on academics, it is working out beautifully for our children. First, all three are extremely academically-oriented in the first place. Second, this district also does a ton of hands-on activities to make the learning real. Third, this district (and their schools in particular) have a HUGE emphasis on the arts. The art room at our elementary school looks more like a real artist's studio than a classroom. The kids learn recorder, reading music and all, beginning in 4th grade. Our elementary school has a science lab with a dedicated teacher, and kids get a science lab rotation at least once a week to do lab projects coordinated with the classroom lessons. And every school has at least one full time gifted specialist who coordinates with the classroom teacher to develop tiered lesson plans to provide extra learning opportunities for those kids who need it. The middle school offers a TON of elective courses to choose from (including 4 foreign languages and college-type art classes, courses on mythology, etc.). In short, this district is a dream for us, and our kids love school.

Funky Monkey is now almost 13, in the 8th grade, and would be mortified to know I am still calling him "Funky Monkey" on my blog. I would consider calling him something cooler, like perhaps "M Funk" or something along those lines, but then he would only be equally mortified that his now-34 year old mother is trying to get all gangsta on him. After just getting slapped onto the end of the trumpet line when we transferred to this district in March, he was thrilled yesterday to finally find out that last week's challenges placed him into second chair (out of 14 trumpets), and I'm happy that he's happy. He's taking algebra and Spanish this year, both for high school credit, is in the pep band, and is planning to go for the school's ultimate Frisbee team when they have try-outs this year. He is still awaiting this long-promised growth spurt he hears boys get around his age (keeping in mind that he's a year ahead in school, so a bit younger than most of his best friends), and says he may consider the cross country team once he grows some longer legs. He's very involved in one of the coolest boy scout troops in the country (the kind that does 10 week long cross country bike rides or month long trips to Guatemala every summer). If I have to be honest about what it is like to have a near-teenager, it is both wonderful and messy, all at the same time, but definitely more wonderful. Though he deals with some of the hormonal adolescent "You just don't understand!" drama, and doesn't always enjoy being the oldest in a large family when the younger ones are annoying him on purpose, he is a delightful and sweet boy with a ton of integrity. He spoils the baby twins rotten, dotes on them, and tries to be nice to the other two older ones. He is developing the kind of sense of humor that often leaves me rolling on the floor laughing at his wit, and might one day make a great writer for a comedy show. He's a popular enough guy (had two "girlfriends"-- aka we say we're "going out" and then never talk to each other again-- last school year), and a genuinely happy and upbeat and confident kid.

Sassy Pants turns 9 next week, and is already starting to act just a tiny bit like a pre-teen. She tosses her long, straight dirty blond hair to the side when she giggles, and sticks her hip out (typically with a balled up fist on it) when she gives her dad that sideways glance that both melts him like butter and convinces him that the next 15 years are going to be terrifying. Last week, while upset about something, actually said for the first time, "Nobody understands me!" Oh, be with me, God, the preteen years are starting! She, like her older brother, is a year ahead in school, and is in the fourth grade. She is in the gifted cluster class at school, which means that it's a mix of half kids with the gifted label. Her teacher seems super cool, which is a relief for me, because her educational needs are probably (out of the three oldest) the most demanding of my three children, as she reads and writes at a level several grades ahead, and (again, out of the three oldest) is most like me in terms of being incredibly intense. She writes stories all the time, has a natural gift for music (self-taught on the piano, and flying along with the recorder), and loves to draw, color, crochet, paint, and weave. She is a junior girl scout this year, in a really neat troop (I'm their newsletter editor). She is infinitely more beautiful and popular and confident and awesome than I ever could have dreamed of being at her age. This scares me just a little bit, because I'm not 100% sure I'll know the right ways to support her, but I'll always love her, listen to her, and try.

Short Stuff is now almost 8, in the second grade, and not so short any more. In fact, he's already taller than Sassy Pants. (Maybe it's time to let my boys decide on some new blog names for themselves.) While he is not a grade ahead (for which we are thankful), he is insanely smart and in the "nurturing program"-- a program his school does for children who don't yet qualify for gifted (they don't start gifted until 3rd grade here), but have been flagged as needing additional academic challenge. In fact, when his school decided this year to do a combination 2nd/3rd grade class (enough funding for one more teacher, but not enough for 2 new classes), he was one of the 2nd graders chosen to be in that class. So, they still do differentiated learning throughout the day for each grade, but much of their instruction is together, which I'm sure suits him well. He is still VERY active and energetic and struggles just a little with impulse and intensity control, but seeing as I struggle with both of those sometimes at age 34, it doesn't make me love him any less. We just have to get creative coming up with routines and habits that help him to be more successful. He reads constantly, and is very creative. He likes "tough guy" stuff, extreme sports, and running. He's going to be a Bear this year in Cub Scouts, which blows my mind. He is getting SO BIG. And, one of the bonuses of his intensity-- when he laughs, it simply lights up the world. That boy, when joyful, is a burst of life!!

THE BABIES

...are not really babies any more. They are now 2 years and 3 months old, talking non-stop, and trying to learn to go potty like big kids. Every morning, they get up and get dressed, put on their backpacks, and insist that they are "goin' to 'chool" like the big kids. "I goin' get on 'chool bus, Mommy!" They like to hug each other, play silly games together, play tag at the playground, and make trouble together (like emptying a 2 liter soda on the kitchen floor so they can throw themselves across it like a slip n' slide, or getting naked and smearing themselves and my entire bathroom with petroleum jelly).

Wonder Boy has straight blond hair, and a very sweet spirit. He gets his feelings hurt a little more easily than his sister, plays a little more rough than she does, and is a little more coordinated with things like stacking blocks and climbing rock walls and ladders at the playground. He is obsessed with sports, which neither me nor Daddy-O can figure out, since neither of us could give a hoot about sports. His favorite words are basketball, football, baseball, soccer ball, and "cool!" And, he's definitely a lefty.

Wonder Girl has light brown ringlets all over her head, and is a fireball. She is more stubborn than her brother, but has a very gentle touch and is incredibly compassionate. She is little more coordinated with fine motor things like drawing, feeding herself, and putting together Mr. Potato Head. She is obsessed with "baby dolls" of any kind (which include stuffed animals and creepy robots), and always asks me to play the "party music" on iTunes so she can dance on my bed. Party music, by the way, includes a blend of old school rap and cheesy dance music by Baha Men and Alvin and the Chipmunks. She also has slightly better verbal skills than him at this point, but we know that they're going to be different kids, with different gifts, and different growth curves. It's all good.

ME

So, my update. I'm still working full time at my joe job, which is okay, but obviously not my dream. A few positives about my joe job: First, I'm around younger people a lot, which has reminded me that I have a lot of energy and enthusiasm for life that I had perhaps forgotten. Second, we're in the middle of a big fundraiser for a nonprofit children's hospital right now, and the fundraiser has given me a reason to love my job. In the past week and a half, I've raised around $800 for the charity, which feels nice. In June, I had dropped out of a volunteer training program for a local women's organization because we thought we might be moving almost an hour away, but since we stayed, I restart training with them this weekend, which is EXCITING! I'm still waiting on those few puzzle pieces to fall into place as well (like Daddy-O). If they do, I'm going to blitz this fall and get my ducks in a row to apply into a PhD program at the local universities, in either anthropology or sociology or religious studies, to study cultural influences on birth and breastfeeding choices OR religion (as well as a bunch of other fun stuff). I know school will kick my butt, but for over 10 years now, all I've ever really wanted to be when I grew up was a college professor. There have been times when I've started other paths (like towards midwifery or social work) because that's what was available to me where I've lived in the past and with our family set up (homeschooling), but with our current set up (kids in school, babies getting older, living 5 minutes from a huge state university and 20 minutes from a major private university), I think I can do this. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's why I'm here. God is setting us all up (me, Daddy-O, kids) to have exactly the opportunities in our lives that we need right now to follow dreams and prepare ourselves for our purposes in life. Life is good. :-)

Change, growth, and rebirth

2009-09-08T01:14:00.012-04:00

Earlier today, seeking counsel from some wise women I'm blessed to count among my friends, I shared some of the stories that influenced my last blog post-- stories that had been directly confronted in the last post, along with some other issues with which I've been struggling the last few days. As mentioned before, I do deal with a great deal of self-blame and sadness when I feel I've done anything that is potentially harmful to another person, whether or not the harm was ever intended. It's just the way my heart is wired-- to worry about others, and to hope that I can be a positive influence, and only a positive influence (to the extent that is possible) in the lives of those people I meet, particularly those I love. When I feel I may have made a mistake, usually out of nothing but the best of intentions, it eats me up inside and I am consumed with worry and heartache until I find a way to see the good in it.

So my wise women friends all had incredible insights and loving things to say, knowing me well enough to know that I almost always have good intentions (even if I am at times confused or awkward). One statement in particular was the source of an incredible awakening in my heart-- something I needed to hear, but perhaps had been a little scared of knowing.

"There's a reason the Hindus created the goddess Kali to represent the magnificent forces of destruction and rebirth that God offers."

After reading that statement, I had to stop and take a moment to reflect on my current situation, and on many difficult situations I've faced in the past.

More on that in a minute. But first, for those who aren't familiar with Kali...

From http://hinduism.about.com/od/hindugoddesses/a/makali.htm:

Kali is represented with perhaps the fiercest features amongst all the
world's deities.... Kali's fierce form is strewed with awesome symbols.
Her black complexion symbolizes her all-embracing and transcendental nature.
Says the Mahanirvana Tantra: "Just as all colors disappear in black, so all
names and forms disappear in her". Her nudity is primeval, fundamental, and
transparent like Nature — the earth, sea, and sky. Kali is free from the
illusory covering, for she is beyond the all maya or "false consciousness."
Kali's garland of fifty human heads that stands for the fifty letters in the
Sanskrit alphabet, symbolizes infinite knowledge.
Her girdle of severed
human hands signifies work and liberation from the cycle of karma. Her white
teeth show her inner purity, and her red lolling tongue indicates her omnivorous
nature — "her indiscriminate enjoyment of all the world's 'flavors'." Her sword
is the destroyer of false consciousness and the eight bonds that bind
us.... Her three eyes represent past, present, and future, — the three
modes of time — an attribute that lies in the very name Kali ('Kala' in Sanskrit
means time).
The eminent translator of Tantrik
texts, Sir John Woodroffe in Garland of Letters, writes, "Kali is so called
because She devours Kala (Time) and then resumes Her own dark formlessness."
.... The reclined Shiva lying prostrate under the feet of Kali suggests that
without the power of Kali (Shakti), Shiva is inert.

From the bastion of "must be true" (but still good enough for the purposes of a relatively casual blog post) knowledge that is Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kali):

In spite of her seemingly terrible form, Kali Ma is often considered the kindest
and most loving of all the Hindu goddesses, as she is regarded by her devotees
as the Mother of the whole Universe. And, because of her terrible form she is
also often seen as a great protector. When the Bengali saint Ramakrishna once asked a devotee why one would prefer to worship Mother over him, this devotee
rhetorically replied, “Maharaj, when they are in trouble your devotees come
running to you. But, where do you run when you are in trouble?”[30]
According to Ramakrishna, darkness is the Ultimate Mother, or Kali:
My Mother is the principle of consciousness. She is Akhanda Satchidananda; indivisible Reality, Awareness, and Bliss. The night sky between the stars is perfectly black. The waters of the ocean depths are the same; The infinite is always mysteriously dark. This inebriating darkness is my beloved Kali.
-Sri Ramakrishna
....From a Tantric perspective, when one meditates on reality at rest, as absolute pure consciousness (without the activities of creation, preservation or dissolution) one refers to this as Shiva or Brahman. When one meditates on reality as dynamic and creative, as the Absolute content of pure consciousness (with all the activities of creation, preservation or dissolution) one refers to it as Kali or Shakti. However, in either case the yogini or yogi is interested in one and the same reality — the only difference being in name and fluctuating aspects of appearance. It is this which is generally accepted as the meaning of Kali standing on the chest of Shiva.[37]
....Gopi Krishna proposed that Kali standing on the dead Shiva or Shava (Sanskrit for dead body) symbolised the helplessness of a person undergoing the changing process ( psychologically and physiologically) in the body conducted by the Kundalini Shakti.[39]

Okay, back to your regularly scheduled blog post.

So, to recap. Kali represents destruction and violence, although in a way that leaves her viewed by many as a protective mother figure-- one who turns her wrath on those who threaten her devotees, or those she loves. She also represents one aspect of the cycle of death and rebirth-- she is the destruction that clears the way for growth, rebirth, and spiritual development. She is the fall/winter that prepares the earth for a more glorious spring/summer. She is the decay and rot that season the soil, preparing it to produce new life and beautiful growth. She is the downward portion of the inward spiral that promises to bring us back up again, each time closer and closer to Center. She is the emotional upheaval and internal violence we all feel just before the most incredible periods of intense growth and renewal, and the complete dismantling of what we believed to be our lives, our purpose, that happens just before our lives can be reassembled in beautiful, synchronistic, serendipitous ways we had never expected. She is fearsome and terrifying and disorienting, but only because we do not (in our human ignorance) understand what it is that she is preparing us for.

Please don't think I'm comparing myself to Kali, by the way. Although some of you who have seen my temper first hand might be inclined to differ, I genuinely am thinking in this moment of Kali as a force acting on and in my life with regard to my past and present experiences. Every time I've experienced what felt like a complete and total dismantling of my reality, it has hurt. It has been painful. And it has, without fail, been followed (usually sooner or sometimes later) by one of the most intense periods of spiritual and emotional growth imaginable. The broken bone that healed poorly sometimes must be broken again in order to heal more fully. The broken heart that has never allowed itself to be open again to genuine love sometimes must experience that brokenness once more to open it back up. The refiner's fire heats us to the point where we think we can no longer take the heat in order for the impurities in us to rise to the surface, where they can be gently lifted away by the refiner who loves us, never leaves us, and sits by us through every burning pain.

And in the end, we come out better and stronger. We have to. I can't imagine a world in which trials do not lead to further knowledge, growth, and strength. I cannot conceive of a God who does not allow difficult times in our lives to contribute to our good, often proportionally to the degree of suffering that creates the good.

This is my reality: Life brings challenges. Challenges help you grow. Growth is good, and helps to shape you more and more into the person you are called to be, equipping you with skill sets and characteristics and strength you will need to do what you are meant to do, once you realize you are meant to do it. This is not a bad thing-- this is just life.

And this post-- this train of thought-- is an incomplete work for me. This is something to which I've devoted much thought in the past, which has been presented to me in a new light in the wee hours of this morning, and to which I will certainly give much more thought as the days advance. But for now, this is a start. Hopefully a good one. A new beginning. For me, for those I love, and for those they love. Good things, even if it may not seem like it now.

Currently, I'm in love with...

2009-08-21T07:16:00.002-04:00

...Vyvienne Long.

Honestly, I could listen to her cover of Seven Nation Army all. day. long. However, there's not a good video of her doing that online, so this is my next favorite.

In other news, there is too much I could blog about right now, but I can't really get my thoughts together well enough to write coherently about it all. Maybe soon.

Thank you, God, for another year

2009-08-12T01:15:00.000-04:00

Today, I celebrated my birthday. From midnight last night through all of my day today, life has been good! For the past few years, I haven't felt much like celebrating, but this year, for some reason, feels like a good time to really be thankful for my life, for who I am, for where I am, and for those around me. I am so blessed.

Tonight, I knew the cloud cover would prevent me from enjoying my best birthday present ever-- the Perseids meteor shower. Every year, it peaks on my birthday. And every year (for at least the past 8 or 9 years), I set my alarm to wake me in the wee hours of the morning, go outside, lay on the ground looking up, and just soak in the awesomeness of lights streaking through the sky. It is so amazing, and such a special, amazing way to celebrate each year-- better than fireworks! But the past two days have been rainy off and on, and the sky is cloudy, and I knew I wouldn't be able to see the gorgeous streaks across the night sky. But somehow, it didn't feel like my birthday without it.

So, just now, bare-footed and wearing only pajamas, I went out in front of my house, crawled up onto the hood of our minivan, and sprawled out spread-eagle on my back, looking up at the still-beautiful cloudy sky. It was dark and muddy, and I couldn't see anything. But still, I knew. It's my birthday, and that means that just on the other side of this blanket of thick vapor, it is there-- my meteor shower-- and God is good. Even when I can't see it, I know it is there-- my meteor shower, my good, my blessing-- and knowing it exists (even when I can't see it) affects me from head to toe, filling every cell with a resonating thrill of inspiration and awe. The engine was still warm under me, and the night air was slightly cool on my toes and arms, and somewhere, just beyond what I was able to see, the most spectacular gift was there, for me, reminding me that this year, like all others, God is looking out for me, blessing me, protecting me, and never leaving me.

It's always out there, you know-- our Good-- whether we can see it or not. Life just works that way.

Happy birthday to me. :-)

Interpersonal skills are not my friend.

2009-08-04T15:42:00.007-04:00

Imagine with me for a minute that a person exists with a tremendous natural gift for music which has been honed through years of practice, education, and experience. This person has a fair amount of talent, and her friends often comment that she is able to find the most unusual, but beautiful, harmonies for even unexpected melodies. Over the years, she has educated herself in all things musical, both with self-education found in her hours of practice and listening to the beautiful music of others, as well as a smattering of formal lessons and education along the way. She finds the beauty in almost every song she hears, no matter how unusual it may be, and her mind is constantly filled with some song or another-- replaying something beautiful or haunting that she's recently heard, or imagining up some melody of her own to keep her company.

She loves to have time to play or sing, but is still enough of a technician to easily read almost all of the sheets of music placed before her. In a symphony setting, playing off the same sheet of music with a group of friends equally committed to technical integrity, and with similar appreciation for musical beauty, she shines as a musician, combining both skill and artistry, enjoying the experience, leaving the concert full of energy, awe, and joy. Playing on her own, she is even more able to be lost in the experience, transformed by it, grown through it. With a small group of close friends, she's even able to improvise, lose sight of the technical details and just make music, play, share in the common experience of joy through music, no sheet music required.

But taken out of her comfort zone, placed into a group of people she is only now getting to know, things are more difficult. Attempting to get lost in the free-flow of playing together, she's never quite sure what she's supposed to be doing, not having the benefit of a few years of jamming with each other to draw upon. She knows she can fall back on using the sheet music and technical know-how as her cheat sheet, but then she's so busy following along that she misses out on much of the passion and beauty of the music, and leaves more mentally exhausted than emotionally refreshed. And it sucks, because she knows she's really damn good at music-- technically and casually-- and should be better than this.

And she knows that she can read people like a sheet of music, and craves social outlets, and loves experiencing that connection, no matter how momentary, or realizing that someone else is playing along with you, joining you in the joy of it all, and that the few of you are lost together, for the moment, in each others' company, and it is wonderful. It's wonderful, that is, when you know who you're playing with, and there's a comfort level there that precludes any need to censor or fear, and you can just put away the technical notes penciled into the margins of the sheet music, and Play. Be. Live. Love.

But for whatever reason, playing with the new crowd, she can't seem to get her footing to feel safe enough to put that stupid sheet music away, quit trying to figure out where things are going, and stop herself from over-analyzing every comment, every glance, every omission, for clues as to where things really stand (since most people, if we'll admit it, aren't often very transparent or straightforward about our intentions or opinions). It's exhausting.

Maybe I will become a hermit. Maybe I'll allow myself to slowly start turning into one of those crazy old cat ladies who lives in the house with the darkened windows, about whom all the neighbor kids tell ghost stories, and whose friendly "hello" to the kids as they pass by is enough to send them scattering in fear because she's just so damned WEIRD. Maybe I'll wear the same creepy gold lamé sweatsuit every day, with matching sequined slippers, and sip appletinis on my front porch all day long, every day, stopping only occasionally to cat-call the lawn guys. Maybe I'll just hang out with my husband, and do the best I can with my kids, and accept that in spite of my intense craving for friendship, that I am just destined to be a recluse.

Or maybe, if I'm lucky, things will get better. I just want some normal damn friends. Friends who are in similar places in their lives. Friends I don't have to keep secret. Friends who tell me what's going on so I don't have to intuit. Friends who treat each other with integrity and kindness.

Personal writing, seam rippers, and my new song

2009-07-28T11:42:00.005-04:00

In the process of working on my new writing project, part of which involves some writing about painful experiences from my past, I'm realizing something. Writing, at least writing with passion and authenticity, about past challenges and experiences is a bit like taking a seam ripper to old wounds, some of which healed jagged and lumpy in the first place, and trying to open them up again, carefully enough not to rip, but deeply enough to bleed, to hurt, to feel it all again. Only from that place of raw energy can I seem to conjure the genuine emotions of the situation, again to re-enter my life, recreating the feelings of fear, lack of control, and sorrow.

Also, I can't get enough of this song lately.

Haunted by Poe.

Come here
Pretty please
Can you tell me where I am
You, won't you say something
I need to get my bearings
I'm lost
And the shadows keep on changing

And I'm haunted
By the lives that I have loved
And actions I have hated
I'm haunted
By the lives that wove the web
Inside my haunted head

....

Don't cry,
There's always a way
Here in November in this house of leaves
We'll pray
Please, I know it's hard to believe
To see a perfect forest
Through so many splintered trees
You and me
And these shadows keep on changing

And I'm haunted
By the lives that I have loved
And actions I have hated
I'm haunted
By the promises I've made
And others I have broken
I'm haunted
By the lives that wove the web
Inside my haunted head

Always... always

I'll always want you
I'll always need you
I'll always love you

And I will always miss you

....

Come here
No I won't say please
One more look at the ghost
Before I'm gonna make it leave
Come here
I've got the pieces here
Time to gather up the splinters
Build a casket for my tears

I'm haunted
By the lives that I have loved
I'm haunted
By the hallways in this tiny room
The echo there of me and you
The voices that are carrying this tune

We interrupt this blog to bring you this important message...

2009-07-25T13:23:00.002-04:00

Last night's karaoke performance included a little freelance clogging.

That is all.

On ass-kicking, genetics, and being a grown up.

2009-07-24T00:25:00.010-04:00

I have taken on a long-awaited writing project, and much of my energy is directed into that at the moment. However, today reminded me of a few facts about myself-- facts I work daily to keep in check.

First reminder of the day: I am descended from some badass genes.

That's my Mema and Papa, out for a day on their motorcycle, back in the day when it was a bit more rare to find badass bikers with their hot chicks rambling the countryside wearing their leather boots and zippered shirts. I don't know exactly when that picture was taken, but probably sometime in the late 1930s or early 1940s.

And while my Mema was prone to feisty antics of her own, Papa was clearly the prize fighter. Tall and lanky, he was the skinny kid who'd rather pop a guy upside the head than continue to argue when he knew he was right.

Exhibit A:

That's him on the right, grinning like the cat about to eat the canary. I know it's silly to bet about things that have already passed, but if I had to wager on the outcome of this fight, all my money's on Papa.

Is there any other proof needed? His face, gleefully anticipating a good ass-whoopin', says it all.

When I was really little, we lived near the town where he lived, and I saw him and Mema all the time. I even lived with them for a little while the summer before and for the first part of my kindergarten year. And even after my mom got married, I spent a lot of time with Mema and Papa. When my mom's little sister found out I had gotten pregnant while in college, her words, though they stung, were not a surprise to me.

"This is going to kill them. Everyone knows you've always been their favorite."

I was their favorite. Papa always wanted to have a grandson, and didn't have the kind of relationship he wanted with my older cousin (his only grandson when I was born), and so he poured all that ass-kickin' boy energy into me. I had his big ol' field to play in, and he got me a go-cart (purchased second hand off of another aging finagler, I'm sure). When I wanted to go fishing every day, he converted their old concrete pool into a freshwater pond, stocked it full of bream, and made me a fishing pole out of bamboo.

And then there were the boxing gloves. Papa kept a couple of pairs of boxing gloves hanging on the wall just inside the big, open hallway. Having been a bit of a prize-fighter back in the day, and watching boxing matches every time one came on TV, he loved few things more than a good match. I was one of the things he loved more, and so he never shied away from an opportunity for us to don the boxing gloves and go at each other, him letting me get in a few KO's every now and then, in the hallway while Mema shot the occasional mom-comment from the kitchen. When we got a little older, my sister (who, like me, also inherited the ass-kicker genes) convinced him to let us bring the gloves back home, and we'd often work out our annoyances by beating the crap out of each other in the hallway at home, with our own mom shaking her head and muttering curses about her dad's influence.

Whatever the cosmic connection between me and my Papa, one thing stands for sure. I love few things more than the adrenaline rush of a good, dramatic battle.

Second reminder of the day: Loving to fight does not lead to an ideal life.

So, I knew this before today, but this is just to say that yes, I am aware that I cannot simply beat the crap out of everyone who pisses me off. I get that part. I am aware of my innate tendencies towards ass-kicking, and it is something I work on daily, and am getting better with all the time.

Third reminder of the day: My words are my greatest, and favorite, weapons.

I'm not exactly sure where she got it from, but I sure did inherit my mother's sharp-tongued genes and gift with words. Mom was an incredible writer, whether she realized it or not, and though she never fully honed her craft, she was undeniably a wordsmith. I thank her for passing along to me the ability to take words and put them together in way that creates an emotion.

Unfortunately, my mother's gift with words paired with my Papa's instinct towards ass-kicking have created within me a sharp-tongued monster, eager to make the verbal kill, taking out anyone in its path. It's a monster I've fairly reliably learned to tame, and to only allow to come out for the occasional play tussle, like baby tigers tumbling around, playing the hunt. But it's in me, part of me, yearning to be put to good use now and then. I usually save it for my activism and advocacy efforts, when sharp-tongued criticism and exposé can be a part of accomplishing the good.

This means that usually, when I'm inflamed over something, the mouth flies off before anything else. Most people who know me well understand who I am, and as long as the verbal lashing isn't directed at them, they give me space to vent when it's needed.

Fourth reminder of the day: Angry hives are like the odd behavior of the forest creatures, predicting the arrival of a terrible storm.

One of the strange things about me and my body is that I tend to break out in hives when I'm extremely upset. Most of the time, this is precipitated by a long period of uncontrollable crying. In the past decade, I remember the hives coming along with my sobs over things like the loss of my Papa, the discovery of a betrayal by a man that I loved, and the discovery that one of my children had faced an inconceivable pain, one from which I had hoped to always shield my children. Farther back, though, before I really began to work at gaining control over my anger, I can remember two times in which the hives were brought on by not tears, but uncontrollable rage.

In one instance, it was my desire to protect my child from a potentially life-threatening situation. As I took my child to leave a dangerous (for my sick baby) setting, a man grabbed me by the arms refusing to let me leave. Like an animal fighting capture, I flew into instinctual action, arms flailing, punches flying, with the startled man retraining his grasp from keeping me from leaving to keeping me from hurting him. When I finally got my son buckled into his car seat, I noticed the flame-hot burning on the skin on my face, neck, and chest. A quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed a splotchy red rash growing all across my upper body.

In the other, my sister (who, as you may recall, also carries the prize-fighter gene) escalated an argument to the point where she was up in my face, chicken-necking and carrying on like a crazed fool while ranting about how I didn't control her. I asked her calmly, not once, not twice, but three different times, to please leave the room. She (being sixteen years old at the time) thought I was telling her to leave because I wanted to boss her around. In actuality, I was telling her to leave my presence because I was becoming slightly scared of the urges that were growing within me. A few seconds after her last rebuff, she was picking herself up off of the floor, taken down by one strong blow to the side of the head, reeling from the physical and emotional confusion. It was Christmas day. As I took my child and left the house, I recognized that same hot feeling growing across me, and as I passed the mirror in the hallway, I again saw the familiar red splotches, confirming the overwhelming adrenaline flowing like lava through my veins.

Fifth reminder of the day: You can do a hell of a lot of growing in a dozen years.

Today, I had an unusual situation in which someone's misunderstanding of the intent of my words fanned the flames of my anger, sparked by being accused of an intent that I would not-- could not-- own. Perhaps misreading his own intent, I felt as if he were calling into question the one thing that matters more to me than almost all others-- my integrity. I allowed the razor tongue to fly, defending my intent, explaining my meaning, but the more the accuser argued, the less rational I was able to remain. Finally, emotionally exhausted by the continuing argument, I left the room and found a quiet place to regroup. When I passed by a friend a few minutes later, she pointed out to me that I was breaking out in a rash. I ran off to the bathroom and saw the evidence in the mirror-- hives. There had not been enough tears to bring this on out of grief, only anger, only irritation. I splashed some water on my face and chest, trying to cool my skin down enough to help them go away. I fanned myself with a nearby piece of flat plastic. I even disappeared into a giant walk-in cooler for a while, hoping to soothe the heat I could still feel burning across my face and chest. But it was still there, and I was dumbfounded-- "I'm breaking out in freaking hives over this!" -- like I couldn't believe it was really happening over something so stupid. It's never comforting to be betrayed by your own body.

Eventually, it went away and I made my peace with my accuser, and things all went back to normal. But it wasn't until later in the evening that it hit me.

The last two times that I remember breaking out in hives over my own anger and frustration, it escalated into me getting physical.

And while the mental image of me tearing into someone, flying fist-first into someone's chest to the reaction of their complete shock and surprise, is a strangely amusing one to me (for reasons I can't really explain, and for which I should probably feel shame), I'm thankful, for myself and for my family and friends, that a hell of a lot can change in someone over the course of a few years.

I'm still a genetically-predetermined badass. Just one with a little self-control.

Dante's Prayer

2009-07-09T12:43:00.003-04:00

The other day, I went into my room, locked the doors, put in some relaxing music, and stretched out on the bed for a little quiet time. Not a nap, mind you, but real, relaxing-to-the-bones, being in the universe kinds of quiet time.

This song came on, and I'm again reminded of how much I love Dante's Prayer by Loreena McKennitt.

When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone

I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and fire

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Please remember me

Friday Night Frolicking

2009-07-05T12:01:00.009-04:00

I sang karaoke, multiple times, Friday night.

Okay, I'll admit it. I love to sing karaoke, almost as much as I love to go out dancing, neither of which I get to do very often. Those of you who read this blog back in the dark ages, when dinosaurs still roamed the earth, may remember that my lack of opportunities to sing and dance like a crazy person has been a running theme in my life. I love to think about life and meditate upon its possibilities, and am a first class navel-gazer. I am also terribly silly with a performance streak and love to dance!

So, now that I'm around a group of young party people on a regular basis, I have plenty of opportunities to live it up, if I so choose. And I don't choose to all that often. But every now and then, it's nice to blow off some steam.

Friday night, Hubs and I went to the bar to hang with some people there and have a few drinks. And afterwards, he went home to avoid the spectacle, and I went with a few friends to karaoke night at the local pub. I started with a little Gretchen Wilson (everything sounds country when I sing it, so might as well work with it). My loud, yeehaw voice, paired with some phenomenal hip action (if I do say so myself), drew a little attention, some of it from a crowd of fun and rowdy lesbians across the bar. Then, I sang some Meredith Brooks as a duet with a friend, sharing a microphone and again making a scene. Then, a duet with a friend's boyfriend. And later, we put in a request for me and my three girl friends to sing Lady Marmalade, and we waited.

While we waited, two guys came up and sang "Hey Ya" by Outkast, which of course necessitated the kind of crazy dancing from me that made my friends all think I was drunk (which I wasn't, as I had quit drinking around an hour earlier). But it's Outkast, people. It's one of the laws of the universe that you MUST shake it like a polaroid picture when that song comes on, especially when all the other cool people in the bar are.

At some point, feeling all happy and full of joy, I went around and started inviting women I had seen having fun earlier in the night to come sing with us when we get called. I invited a few of the Outkast duo's backup dancers. I invited a woman who had been sitting with her boyfriend, quietly but happily lip-syncing along all night long. And I went over to the studded-belt ringleader of the lesbian crew and invited her. She put her arm around me and said, "You want me to sing with you, baby?" Yeah. That would be fun, actually!

Anyway, we never get called, and eventually all my karaoke friends (except for one guy I know, who seemed thoroughly disinterested in karaoke) went home. As luck would have it, within 10 minutes of everyone leaving me there, the karaoke dude gleefully calls me *and all my friends, who are no longer there* up to sing Lady Marmalade (the Moulin Rouge version). I giggle uncomfortably, being thoroughly sober at this point, and shuffle all alone up to the karaoke stage, a little bit nervous about the spectacle I was about to have to make all by myself. Before the music starts, I mutter into the microphone something along the lines of, "all my drunk friends left already." As if drawn by the inexplicable force of sisterhood in self-humiliation, the entire crew of rowdy lesbians (who had been making spectacles of their own all night singing Dixie Chicks and some old school rap) come out of the woodwork-- weaving through the crowd, jumping the railing, and crawling through the bar to make their way to the stage with me.

Before the first beat of the song began, I was surrounded by what has to be the most awesome, funny, live-it-up crew of tipsy, fun women that this progressive college town has to offer. We made a spectacle, alright, and it was SO. MUCH. FUN!

A little later, after the bar had thinned out a bit, a few other friends (who had just gotten off work) came and joined us, and I got to shoot a little pool with a couple of guys from work (something else I haven't done in YEARS).

.....

I sang karaoke and blogged about it back in January of 2006. Once, maybe almost two years ago, we lived in an old farmhouse across the highway from a biker bar, and I went to the biker bar to sing karaoke with the hellraisers. I need to get out more often. Friday night was fun, and although Hubster, being the strong and silent type, isn't much for karaoke and doesn't necessarily want to have to go party with me, he is enjoying second-hand all the benefits of having a life partner who (for the first time in many years) feels alive, youthful, playful, and fun, and it's all rubbing off on him as well. I don't think I want to be a crazy party person all the time, but if getting out every now and then keeps me feeling young and alive and silly, I might have to up my biennial karaoke night to make it something a little more standard.

My family, my marriage, my continually growing relationship with God-- those are my priorities. But I'm starting to think there's a way to keep those as priorities while still giving myself regular outlets for silliness and spunk, which nurture my heart and feed my spirit as well, albeit in much different ways from spending time with my family or in meditation. There is room in my Reality for a much wider diversity of celebration and joy, both of which I seem to need more of in my life. Don't we all?

Happy 4th of July!

2009-07-04T13:48:00.003-04:00

I'm taking a break from real blogging for a few days in celebration of our nation's birthday!

Today, I spent the day with my kids at a park, and am now drowning in burgers, dogs, kraut, slaw, and relish. No pics, no real post, just a whole lotta joy.

Have a great 4th of July!

Ubermondo Interview

2009-07-03T02:58:00.004-04:00

So, remember my awesome conversation a few days ago with an old friend? It's now available online at his podcast:

www.ubermondo.com

I had a great time talking with Dieter again, and hope it's as much fun to listen to as it was to record.

Subscribe via iTunes

The Fine Line

2009-07-02T02:30:00.007-04:00

Yesterday, I did an interview with a friend for his podcast. Much of what we talked about was change, how you know you need a change in your life, and how to get the ball rolling on that change once the need has been established. We talked about feeling that itch that your life simply isn't going where it should be, and how to respond.

Since then, I've been thinking about it even more (which is, of course, the way you can tell that a conversation was awesome, productive, and meaningful), and realized that one thing we didn't discuss was that before you can move on, there has to be a sort of blessing of the place in which you currently find yourself. You can't get to a place of being emotionally healthy about letting the current situation go until you are at least at peace with it (even if you aren't exactly happy with it). Even if you find yourself free of the old situation (job, relationship, city), it still will follow you, heavy on your hearts, until you make peace with it. Wouldn't it feel better to make that peace before the transition, starting your new situation with a clean slate and a freed heart?

When we first moved to South Carolina, there was a deep restlessness about the move. We love being near my family, and enjoyed being back up in the Carolinas, but knew that we were not where we should be. We fought it, tooth and nail, thinking of ourselves as outsiders-- travelers passing through, for at least the first two years. And somehow during that time, in spite of all our frustrations and determination to get out of the small town, two years after moving into small town South Carolina, we found ourselves moving not to a larger city, but to an even smaller neighboring small town with a population of 2000. Our drive to get out at any costs had led us even farther into small town South, leaving us a bit bewildered.

Realizing we weren't going to be going anywhere any time soon, we began to make efforts to see the good in where we were. We developed a closer relationship with my father and his family, began to make friends with a few families in the natural living underground of our community, even though their views differed from our own, finding the common ground wherever it presented itself. We began to embrace small town life, realizing that whatever our plans, God's plan was obviously for us to be there, for that time. We learned to garden and grew much of our own food. I learned to can, to pickle, to cook, to sew, and we all boned up on our carpentry skills. I threw out our crayola kids paints and filled the craft closet with pastels, oil paint, acrylics, charcoal, beads, wool yarn, quill pens and india ink. We put tiki torches in the backyard and hosted cookouts for friends, enjoyed our telescope in the backyard (since the town was pitch-black at night and the sky was crystal clear and beautiful), and ate the occasional hotdog at the town's only oil and lube shop, which also claimed to have the best hot dogs in the country (??). We began to love and bless where we were, even though it wasn't where we knew we wanted to be, and after a while, it grew on us.

This is where the challenge presents itself: Somewhere in the process of loving and blessing where we were, which I believe strongly is a necessary part of change, we began to take our focus from where we were going. In the mix of everyday life, there is a fine line between loving and blessing where you are, and muddying your focus. This is where I think we got off course, at least for a little while. I do believe, very strongly, that blessing where you are (working hard and with integrity at that job you can't stand, or making the most out of a temporary illness) is a necessary step before you can fully move on, at least without carrying the baggage and negativity with you into your next experience. Yes, see where you're going, envision it, imagine what it will feel like, and know you are moving in that direction. But also, enjoy where you are now, bless the space, feel it, love it, grow in it.

And somehow in the midst of living in the moment, blessing where we are, we are supposed to remember that it is not where we're going, that it isn't our final destination.

How do you remember to do one, while not forgetting the other? This is a fine line, and one which I'm exploring more in my life, as I currently realize that as blessed as my life is at the moment, this is still not the finish line, not my final destination. I am now (and will likely always be) in process, an unfinished but ever-growing work, breathing in the possibilities. I think I'm okay with that.

Talked-out Tuesday

2009-06-30T17:08:00.007-04:00

So, between an emotionally exhausting ordeal a few nights ago (long story, don't ask, involves helping to save a way-too-tipsy friend from himself), an awesome conversation last night with a new friend, and an awesome conversation today with an old friend, I'm about talked out. Those of you who know me well are likely amused with the irony of ME finding myself with nothing to say. But it just isn't in me right now, folks. I've gotten it all out of my system for now, and am thus left blogless.

But I've had a wonderful day, and want to share. So, here you go-- a few pictures from our day at the Durham Museum of Life and Science. At one point, I took the twins to the toddler play area to give Hubs and the other kids a chance to play big kid stuff, hence my having more pics of the babies than the big ones.

This next one isn't from the museum, but I snapped this one last week in the middle of our crazy move. They are tres cute, n'est-ce pas?

And finally, I saw this on the bumper of a car painted to look like a giant lavender flower field at the museum today.

Hope you're having a great day!

P.S. The awesome conversation today was recorded, and will be available soon in a podcast produced by said old friend. I'll post a link once it's up.

Dropping Keys

2009-06-29T01:27:00.007-04:00

In high school, I carried around a book of poetry by the medieval Persian poet, Hafiz. Strangely, the copy of Hafiz' poetry that landed in my life had been translated from the Persian into French, but I remember reading words that were at the same time deeply sensual and profoundly other-worldly. The past few weeks, I've been considering my role in life, and how I can best reflect brilliance (not my own, but radiating brightly from the Light of God through me) into a world that sometimes cowers in darkness. Tonight, for whatever reason, I'm once again led to Hafiz, and these two poems speak volumes directly into my heart.

The small man
Builds cages for everyone
He
Knows

While the sage,
Who has to duck his head
When the moon is low,
Keeps dropping keys all night long
For the
Beautiful
Rowdy
Prisoners.

.....

and

.....

We have not come to take prisoners,
But to surrender ever more deeply
To freedom and joy.

We have not come into this exquisite world
To hold ourselves hostage from love.

Run, my dear,
From anything
That may not strengthen
Your precious budding wings.

Run like hell my dear
From anyone likely
To put a sharp knife
Into the sacred, tender vision
Of your beautiful heart.

We have a duty to befriend
Those aspects of obedience
That stand outside of our house
And shout to our reason
"O please, O please,
Come out and play."

For we have not come here to take prisoners
Or to confine our wondrous spirits,

But to experience ever and ever more deeply
Our divine courage, freedom, and
Light!

.....

God, in this time of transition, I am learning to see myself empowered, strengthened, and inspired by Your love. May the words You put into my mouth and the actions You place upon my heart lift me ever higher, fully out of the cages once forced upon me by others-- cages I once accepted out of my own fear of love. As I grow, God, allow me to leave keys along the way-- keys You've gifted me throughout my own journey-- that my life may be a blessing, in some small way, to those who journey with me for this time on this path. Bless those whose sweet spirits have found their way into my heart, that they may be uplifted, strengthened, empowered, guided, protected, released, and at peace. And encourage us all to reach outside our own understanding, even into the darkness of what we do not yet know, and play, ever so sweetly, in the mysteries of You.

Free Spirit Sunday

2009-06-28T15:38:00.008-04:00

Those of you who know me well in real life know that I appreciate full and random outbreaks of joy and spontaneity, being prone to occasional such outbreaks myself. One of the things I love about where we now live is that half the town seems to be prone to random acts of joy and life, individually and communally.

The local natural foods co-op hosts Sunday Brunch events during the summer, with live music and a huge crowds on the lawn. We've been to two of these in past weeks, and took the family today for an outing to Sunday Brunch for oatmeal cookies and coffee. Today's band played a mix of Eastern European Jewish music, Russian cabaret, vaudeville, and polka.

The tall guy in the green has been there every week; the other guy, today was my first time seeing them. In either case, I love watching both of them! They are unique, that is for sure. They have a style that I may not end up adopting for my everyday casual style. However, I don't know that I have ever seen two humans as seemingly comfortable in their own skins, enjoying their lives, and not worrying about what others think.

What a fun day!

Literary folks, ADD, and RDS

2009-06-27T01:41:00.005-04:00

Okay, so I've finished Driven to Distraction by Edward M. Hallowell, and am currently reading Delivered from Distraction: Getting the Most out of Life with Attention Deficit Disorder in anticipation of having one of our children evaluated. And, as life would have it, the more I read, the more I think I should have myself evaluated as well.

At any rate, I was reading something in it yesterday that really made sense, and in which I saw a lot of myself. I would have blogged about it last night, but A) I had a baby who didn't want me to blog, and B) I left my book at work.

So, here goes. From Delivered from Distraction by Edward M. Hallowell (this is heavily edited down to not be too long, so that's why it sounds more positive and doesn't include as many of the negative traits; bolding is mine):

I have been drawn to literary people my entire life.... I have always liked to write, and many of my closest friends are writers, editors, publishers, agents, columnists, or other kinds of workers in the word business. I have always been intrigued by a commonality I have noted in literary people. They tend to be highly creative, witty, ironic, a tad cynical, and a tad depressed.... They have an extraordinary eye and ear for what is genuine. They pick up on the telling detail-- a man's pulling up his socks as he talks, or a woman's licking her lips just before offering criticism-- others overlook. They like to know exactly what happened. They love gossip. They abhor hypocrisy and spot it in an instant. They love honesty, and yearn for one honest conversation in a day....

As a psychiatrist, I have come to think of the literary type in genetic terms. I believe they inherit the gene that predisposes towards RDS [reward deficiency syndrome], as well as the genes that predispose toward verbal dexterity, keen powers of observation, a highly developed sense of irony, and a touch of depression. Due to the RDS, they can't find sufficient pleasure in ordinary life. So they resort to extraordinary means. For example, they write. They submit to that unforgiving discipline to try to improve upon life by creating order, even beauty, out of chaos. That is an extraordinary effort to find ordinary pleasure. When it works, they get a squirt of dopamine, and some endorphins and other pleasure mediators as well. They can get a milder shot of pleasure in other "word" ways, such as through a witty conversation or by reading a piece of writing that they love.

I have a whole lot I could say about this right now, but think I may finish the book and give this some time to roll around within before taking it on as a full blog post. But for now, suffice to say, this definitely describes much of what I experience, and describes quite a few of the closest friends I've had over the years as well. Whether or not it's in any way pathological, or simply inspired, or both, I'm not sure.

Thursday of Rest

2009-06-26T02:05:00.004-04:00

So, I came home all fired up to write again (I'm falling in love, all over again, with the art and release of blogging).

Unfortunately, Wonder Girl heard mommy clacking around on the computer keyboard, and came and crawled up in my lap and didn't want me to put her down. And since I'm gone a lot, working, doing, I just sat around and soaked it all in-- her little curly, baby-shampoo-smelling hair up under my face, her tiny fingers gently stroking my arms, her weight sprawled across my lap. These sleepy moments do so much to undo a day's worth of stress. I am blessed.

However, I'm not up for another marathon, all-nighter, sleep-depriving post, but still wanted to offer a little something to chew on. Tonight, it's courtesy of my super-awesome, incredibly smart, awesomest of awesome buddy, Crunchy Mama, a fellow twin mama, thinker, and lifelong seeker. We've only met online and via telephone thus far (a reality I hope to one day change), but I would consider her no less of a best friend than anyone I've ever known. Few people earn the keys to all my honesty and adoration-- Crunchy Mama is among the few.

Turning to a book is nothing new in the human spiritual experience. There are holy books for every dogmatic path. But what if every book had the potential to be holy? For me, the line between secular and spiritual is blurring and I’m much more comfortable with that than I would have been previously. This is where the questioning has led me. And for now, I really like it here. Let Holy Curiosity abound! I’ll be grateful for every relative moment of it.

My "Bucket List"

2009-06-25T11:53:00.005-04:00

Not that I'm planning to kick the bucket any time soon, but I've been thinking it would be fun to start collecting some ideas of things I want to do in my life, just as a reminder in case the opportunity to do one of them comes my way. Some of them I've already done, but I'm still listing them here, just because I wanna.

~~1) Bungee Jump~~
2) Learn to Bellydance (the right way-- I can already suck at it pretty well)
3) Learn to play the bagpipes
4) Get my Ph.D.
5) Sing in an all-girl bluegrass band
6) Live in a eco-friendly home that is highly self-supporting in terms of energy
7) Raise chickens for eggs
~~8) Learn to jar and can (pickles, especially)~~
~~9) Learn to sew~~
~~10) Get a story published in a national magazine~~
11) Get a story published in a major national magazine
12) Get a book (or a few) finished
13) Get said books published
14) Speak to a crowd of thousands about positive life change
15) Do that indoor skydiving thing (my son tried it a few months ago and love it!)
16) Learn to hoop like Beth

That's about all I can think of for now. I'm sure I'll add things as they come up!

Loving the Death Bot

2009-06-24T23:28:00.010-04:00

When we first moved to North Carolina four months ago, we did so with little money, no jobs, and an incredibly strong faith that we were doing what we knew we were supposed to be doing, all outward appearances aside. So far, no regrets! Shortly after arriving here and in accordance with our pre-move plan, I went and rounded up a job that would provide some income while we sorted out the other details of being here. The benefits of this are, of course, income, as well as the opportunity for a seasoned people-watcher to have a virtual national geographic special of co-workers and guests by whom I am constantly reminded of the complexity of the human journey. Some of them are even becoming friends, little by little, like the prince taming the fox, awaiting the secret. The down side to having a joe job, other than the amount of physical exhaustion, would also, however, be having a virtual national geographic special of co-workers and guests by whom I am constantly reminded of the complexity of the human journey.

Last Friday, we spent all day moving furniture into the new home. By Friday evening, exhausted, and hours past our children's normal bedtimes, I sat down to play with my children a little before finally putting them down for the night. And when Wonder Girl (age 2) came running up to jump into my lap, I first noticed a HUGE lump on the right side of her neck. She had been working through a little cold for a few days at that point, but wasn't acting all that sick or like it hurt, so we decided to wait out the night before getting her checked out. Saturday morning, after returning our moving van, I was sitting in the office of the local urgent care. We signed in, and Wonder Girl went to check out the toybox.

With three older brothers (if we count Wonder Boy as older, which he technically is by just over 2 hours), she immediately picked up a hard, plastic, evil-looking black robot/transformer/terminator-looking action figure-- the kind I don't even let my kids have in our home-- and which had a button on the front that, when you pushed it, made it pretend to walk while red lights flashed in its eyes. CREEPY. I could not, for the life of me, figure out why she liked that silly robot death machine better than some of the other toys in the toybox, but she did. "Yook, mama, it's a PIRATE!" She carried that silly toy around, every now and then declaring it to be a pirate, which from her experience (having recently watched Muppets Treasure Island) was a fun and funny and delightful thing to be!

And after a while, she went from mechanically pushing the buttons and making it do its death march, to holding it and cuddling it, and reading books to it. Pretty soon, she was even expecting me to get in on the action. She ran up to me, pushed the red-eyed robot up against my chest, and grinned. "Wuv it, mama! Wuv da pirate!" Amused by her innocence and irresistible cuteness, I did a lame snuggle, trying to appease her sweet nature. Apparently, my feeble attempt was not enough, and she pressed the death bot harder into my chest-- "Don't you wuv it, Mama? WUV IT!!" So, with all the sincerity I could muster, I snuggled and cuddled her silly toy. "Oh, yes!" I said, "What a wonderful pirate you are! I love this pirate!"

Sitting there in an urgent care office on the weekend, knowing I had to be at work that night, sleep-deprived, stressed out, and unsure of what was wrong with my baby, I snuggled that silly macho toy, declaring to love it, and watching the way my daughter's eyes lit up as I did. The funny thing?-- The more I snuggled it, the more I actually liked that toy, and the better I felt. I am 100% positive that "cute, cuddly, snuggly, and loveable" were not words that the designer of that toy would have thought of when designing that toy. I'm sure their intent was not to foster practice for loving relationships, or to give toddlers the chance to "wuv" and cuddle a new favorite toy. But for her, that didn't matter, and allowing myself (even for a few minutes) to get into her world, where the only intent that matters is her own, I did kinda wuv her pirate, and just for a little while, it was real.

We could learn a lot from a two year old.

I think part of why my relationships with my co-workers (most of them, anyway) aren't as complicated and prone to annoyance might be that usually (not always, but usually), I see the best in them. If they say something stupid, or do something annoying, or act in a way that doesn't on the surface seem to be kind, I do my best to assume positive intent, even if the outer expression of that intent comes in the form of a red-eyed, evil-looking, hard, plastic death bot. Most of us have good intentions, after all, especially when we feel that we are important to others, and that they're interested in seeing us for who we are.

And even if they had bad intent and were trying to frustrate or hurt me, what good would it serve to acknowledge that with either anger or hurftul behavior of my own? What good would it do to tear someone down, to insult them, to play mean-spirited pranks? Would it improve the relationship? Would it solve the problem? Would it make me feel better? What if we allow ourselves to imagine, if only for a few minutes, a situation in which someone DID call you out with specific intent to hurt you, and instead of being hurt and reacting from that hurt, we simply assumed (incorrectly) that it wasn't intentional, continued on our way with a cheerful spirit, and refused to hand over to anyone else the strings and buttons that control our emotions? Would we feel stupid for not fully understanding their ill intent? Or could we simply continue to be at peace with a positive assessment of the situation? What if, instead of getting pissed off, we simply let it roll off, continued to see that person as an overall good person, and refused to get caught up in the emotional drama that permeates our lives (not just at work, but in every sphere of our lives)? In the end, what is our goal? To avenge every wrong, no matter how small? Or to live a life that is fun and vibrant and fully alive? Can we be okay with being wrong about someone else, even if it means our own lives are happier? Can we simply ignore the hard, plastic shell and red, glaring eyes, and love the death bot in spite of it all?

Don't get me wrong-- I'm not always a ray of sunshine. I have my moments when I am full of rage, disappointed in humanity, and convinced that another person is a waste of space. I'm human. But I'd like to think I have many, many more moments in which my love for others outweighs my displaced anger, which assumes that they took my power from me, when in fact, I have to give it away to allow someone else to make me angry.

I guess what it all comes down to, for me, is intent. God's intent (for you to live a life that is constantly frustrated by others, or for you to live an empowered life that is full of joy and meaning), your intent (revenge and hypercriticism, or acceptance and love), and the intent of others (which often, in cases where someone else is coming out against you, boils down to their own self-protection amidst inter- and intra-personal uncertainty).

So what's it going to be? Can we be that patient with others, forgiving of them as we'd hope them to be forgiving of our own shortcomings? Do we stick around long enough to know the fox's secret?

Voici mon secret. Il est très simple: On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.

When the outer is throwing us off, messing us up, and keeping us frustrated, remember that The Essential is only found with the heart.

Making Frozen Moments Fluid

2009-06-24T02:37:00.003-04:00

Larry Losey. That was his name. He was a member of a church where I was working as a youth and children's ministries director, and was not your stereotypical children's ministries volunteer. A former rock-and-roller, long haired, and into eastern spirituality and meditation, he had no children and had never (that I know of) been married. Somehow we clicked and became friends. What struck me about Larry was the strength of his integrity. Integrity is something that is very important to me in my own life, and seems to have been the defining characteristic of those people I've chosen to become my friend-- not just acquaintance, but real friend with access to my heart and emotional energy-- over the past few years. Larry was who he was-- no small task in our modern society-- and seemed content to just be.

At that time in the church, the youth ministry (middle and high school) had been struggling for some time, and believing very strongly that the preteen and teen years were crucial in helping to establish a connection to something greater than oneself, I made it my mission to grow the youth group. I put out a call for volunteers, and personally invited a few friends to join in the effort. Larry was one of those friends. When I asked whether he'd rather work with middle school or high school, his response was that he wanted to serve wherever he was needed.

Through the experience of working together on youth group events, Larry and I developed a closer friendship that was based on time together, and lengthy talks about the nature of the universe. He came to our kinda-annual murder mystery party, bringing a bottle of non-alcoholic wine with him (he didn't drink). It was a 60s themed party, and he was probably the only one there who had been alive in the 60s! And when Jesus Christ Superstar came to Tampa and he had incredible box seats for the performance, he invited me and the Hubster to join him. It was wonderful, and our conversations with Larry (and the Catholic priest he also invited) were amazing that night! In any case, we didn't spend tons of time together, but there was still a mutual respect and mutual admiration between us, and I thought he was an incredibly interesting and unique person.

After leaving my job at the church and preparing to move to South Carolina, I decided to have a final get-together with my friends before the move. I invited a handful of people to join me at Applebees for karaoke (Hubs volunteered to keep the kids so I could have a night out-- he hates crowds and noisy places anyway)-- Larry was one of those people. That night, free from the yoke of having been bound by a volunteer-supervisor relationship, and with me free from the pressure to "say the right thing" as a representative of the church, we talked.

All night long, we talked between songs, talking about Paramhansa Yogananda, whose teachings had been influential in Larry's life, and about each other's histories. We talked about Roy Eugene Davis, chosen successor of Paramhansa Yogananda (who left the monastic life and gave up his successorship to be married), whose retreat center I had visited and with whom I had spent a little time. I learned things about Larry that night that I had never known before-- how he had lived his life before placing integrity and growth before other, less important desires, and about his recovery story from a painful past to a place of peace. He learned things about me, who I was, and some of the events that had shaped where I was going in my life. We talked about God, relationships, family, our pasts, our presents, and it's only in retrospect that I realized how little talk about futures there had been. We talked about karaoke, and friendships, and bungee jumping, and being silly.

And at some point in the night, shortly before I sang my last karaoke song, Larry became very serious. He looked me squarely in the eyes and said, "You are something special, you know. Just really, really special." My usual awkward and giddy self, I looked away and tried to change the subject. He focused in more closely on me, with a gaze I knew I couldn't escape, piercing right through to the core of my being. When he knew he had my attention again, he smiled a little, with the same look of sincere caring and amusement of a loving father. He added, "You are such a free spirit! Just really a free spirit, and I think that's awesome. Don't give it up. Don't let them get you down."

There was something in the way he looked at me that night, and the way he said what he did, that has been permanently burnt upon the film of my life and the story of my soul. It wasn't that he admired me or my free-spirited nature that stuck with me, but rather the overwhelming sense of longing I felt from him that night as he called me out for who I was. He wasn't telling me anything that was completely an unfamiliar idea to me-- I've always considered myself a bit quirky and free-spirited. But it was the nonverbal, the part of his communication that extended beyond his simple words and held me out in the open where I couldn't hide from myself, that made an impression. I knew that night when he said what he did that there was something more than a simple interaction going on, but I wasn't sure what.

And then my family and I moved to South Carolina, and I never saw Larry Losey again.

Shortly after the move, a friend and youth group volunteer from the church back home called, crying, to tell me the news. Larry had just passed on, and I believe she said it was from a rare form of pancreatic cancer. At that moment, on the phone, I understood what I had felt from him that night at karaoke. I still can't put it into words, but I recognize fully the emotion, the longing, the realization he was placing into my heart and for my future, from his own place of staring into the stark reality of not getting well again. For a few months, I saw him in my dreams. And then he just went away.

...

Our move to small town South Carolina in 2004 was initially a good one. The first year we were there, we realized we didn't fit in very well, but were okay with that, thinking it would be short term. Then, as our time there continued, I began to try to preserve my spunk, my uniqueness, in little ways, including using this blog as a creative outlet and emotional sounding board. And then, somehow, over time, I began to give in, in little ways, to the banality of stereotypical family life in a small town and to those who would do me harm. I quit singing karaoke, quit dancing in my living room, talked less and less about my past (even though that involved talking less and less about some of my life's most awesome lessons and insights), quit saying things that might not be socially acceptable, focused my blogging on more light-hearted and less personal things, and began to worry a great deal about fitting in and what other people thought of me. I willingly gave up so much of who I was in the name of maintaining connections-- ANY kind of connections-- with the people around me and the culture in which I was immersed, and left all my free-spirited parts behind. From talking to my husband about our lives and how the move impacted us, it seems we were going through different, but parallel, experiences of feeling we had to choose between being outcasts in our community (or at least oddballs) and giving up huge parts of who we were.

And so, last year, after the quest to become like all other nice families in our area had sucked the Life out of both of us, worried about what we were providing for our children, feeling like our integrity had been sacrificed, we decided we needed to move. Neither of us wanted to be in a big city, but neither of us wanted another super-small town, either. We wanted somewhere progressive, where we wouldn't be the oddballs, and where spontaneity, intellectual curiosity, and spiritual seeking were the norm, and where we could more fully express who each of us wanted to become. We researched, and inquired, and prayed, and finally settled on a smallish (but not too small), crunchy town in North Carolina near a major university. We planned for a few months, and then made our move on a short term lease, which we knew would be up on June 22.

Since moving here, we've become familiar with the local culture, local opportunities, and love where we are. We were feeling the gentle nudgings of Spirit, urging us to once again become comfortable with who each of us is, flaws and all, as long as we were being real, honest, kind, compassionate, and maintaining our integrity. In spite of nudges, however, neither of us was really sure what to do, or experiencing any major life changes or shifts in the past four months.

Until the day we signed the lease on the new place we knew would be a more permanent home. Somehow, over the course of that day, I began to think of Larry Losey and our connected talk at karaoke night years ago. I remembered the way he looked at me when he declared me to be a free spirit, and felt like a disappointment for having become someone so different over the past few years, someone so predictable and boring. I felt as if my spirit had become bound up so greatly in my own fears of disappoinment, of rejection, of loneliness, and of failure, and seeing Larry in my mind's eye, smiling as he reminded me of who I was, tugged at me day and night for several days.

This one moment, frozen in my memory, reminded me of how un-fluid everything in me, everything in my life and soul and spirit and being had become over the past few years-- years that began with one betrayal and were quickly followed by another-- years in which I realized that even those people I had trusted the most and loved the most might be flawed and imperfect and leave me hurt and bewildered. The past few years were years in which I began to feel the need for something outside of me to be stable and steady and predictable, and tried to make it that way by making everything within me as stable and steady and predictable as I wanted my environment to become. Thinking of Larry and his simple assessment (one made with a delight and appreciation I haven't felt from anyone other than my husband in recent years) reminded me that this one moment has become so crystallized in my memory because it is one of the last times that someone else (other than my husband, who knows me through and through, better than I even know myself, and loves me unconditionally-- craziness, quirkiness, intensity, and all) took the time to really get to KNOW me, and further, to encourage me to be comfortable in my own skin, without having to pretend or meet a certain standard of "good"-ness before being accepted.

It's been a long 5 years, and very lonely in many ways.

And frankly, I'm glad to be moving on.

I think I realize now why Larry has been so ever-present in my thoughts over the past two weeks. I'm being reminded that we are here now, not there. I am free now, not bound. I am allowed now to open up, to explore my reality, and to become who I am. I am being reminded that deep down inside, under the wounds and scars and anxieties, there is a free spirit. Someone who is very, incredibly special and unique, and who I'd like to get to know again. Someone who, perhaps, other people might want to get to know, and come to love, and want to befriend. Someone who has something to offer that isn't tied up in social appropriateness but is nonetheless powerful and exciting.

Thank you, Larry, for the reminder. Then, and now.

Coming back

2009-06-23T02:45:00.005-04:00

Okay, I've been inspired (partly by having my life come back into some semblance of order, partly by living in a new place that inspires my creativity, party by needing an outlet, and partly by a friend recently asking about blogging) to revive this old blog and get it back in action. First, I'm going to be transferring over some of the posts I've done on Wordpress since shutting this puppy down. Then, a little editing and reformatting. Finally, writing. I've missed blogging. It's time.

Since I used haloscan for my comments for a long time, most of the old comments are lost. But the posts are still there. :-)

Hypnobabies LIVE online radio show!

2008-06-12T10:59:00.003-04:00

I recorded an interview last week with Kerry Tuschhoff, founder of Hypnobabies, for her online radio show. It airs tomorrow, and again Saturday, and then will be archived online. This interview is more about my personal birthing history, what led me to choose a twin HBAC, and a little about natural twin birth. I'm recording another one in a few weeks (that will air July 11) that will address specific tips for improving outcomes in twin pregnancy and planning for a natural twin birth.

Anyway, here are the details about accessing it if anyone is interested, copied and pasted from the Hypnobabies newsletter:

Birthing Twins Naturally!

This week, Friday June 13th at 9 AM Pacific Time (and Sat. 6/14 at 1 PM Pacific Time) on Hypnobabies LIVE at http://www.HealthyLife.net we have Christy, mother of 5 children, including VBAC, homebirthed twins!

Our show this week is very important since many women having multiples are told that their babies will be premature and must be delivered by Cesarean section. Not true! Christy's babies were 7 lbs each and born vaginally, at home and were a VBAC. Christy very candidly shares all of her birth stories; very personal journeys of self-discovery and growth....

Please join us for this very special show, and please pass this information on.

Hypnobabies LIVE is on at 9 AM Pacific Time, (Noon Eastern Time) on http://www.healthylife.net. (Link below also) It will be replayed the next day - Saturday at 1 PM (Pacific Time), and 4 PM (Eastern Time).

** If you are unable to tune in for the live show, each show will be ARCHIVED and retained at http://www.healthylife.net forseveral months. You will be able to access our Hypnobabies Live shows *at your convenience* and listen to our archived shows whenever you want. It will take a couple of days for each show to appear on the Archive list after it airs for the first time.

Here are some helpful hints about accessing the show:To hear our Hypnobabies LIVE show go to www.healthylife.net. (click on the link below) To listen you will need Windows Media Player if you don't have it there is a link in the upper right hand corner of their homepage that will allow you to download a free version. If you are going to listen to the program live you simply click the "LIVE listen here" button in the upper right hand portion of the homepage.

Wait a few moments for the program to load and make sure your speaker volume on your computer is turned up. After a short wait you will hear the show. Depending on when you log in the show may already be in progress. If you want to listen to an archived version of any past "Hypnobabies LIVE" show you will need to click on "Show Archives". This will take you to a list of past shows and you can select which one you want to hear.

(Edited to add: A few episodes later, I did a follow up interview where I talked in greater detail about improving outcomes with twin pregnancy and birth.)

Natural Childbirth of Twins and Triplets!

2008-05-06T11:13:00.000-04:00

All is going well here. We're in the process of getting a few small family businesses off the ground (more on that later), but I still somehow found time to edit another fun video for YouTube. This one features over 20 moms who have had natural childbirths with their twins and triplets.

Homebirth FAQ

2007-12-15T11:16:00.000-05:00

from http://otherhood.blogspot.com/2007/12/homebirth-faq.html

Homebirth FAQ

As this baby gets bigger and lower, I find more and more people are asking me questions about the upcoming birth. Most are particularly fascinated by the fact that I actually plan to have my baby in my house.

Q1. A homebirth! Is that safe?
A. Not particularly, but we're big, fat risk-takers.

Q2. Aren't you afraid or scared of having a baby in your house?
A. Not half as scared as I would be to give birth in the hospital. The midwife has less stuff with her she can hurt me with than the doctors have in the hospital.

Q3. How do you manage pain at home?
A. Screaming, a lot. Biting things, or people, if necessary. Lots of swear words. Sometimes, I hit people, especially my husband, whose fault this whole thing is, after all. Just like in the movies.

Q4. What if something bad happens? I've heard about horrible things that can happen during a birth.
A. We'd be really screwed. Once we get out into the woods by the fire and the drummers burning incense, we enter a force field and can't leave it to go to a hospital. Ambulances can't get in, either.

Q5. Is the midwife trained?
A. If you're lucky...but if not, usually one of the drummers (by the fire, in the woods) will drop his drum and put out his incense and come over to help in an emergency.

Q6. Why do you want a homebirth?
A. Because I'm a control freak. Why else?

Q7. Shouldn't babies be born in hospitals? They're sterile and everything.
A. If the mother or the baby is sick, a hospital is the best place for them. Then when they catch MRSA, it won't matter so much because they were sick to begin with.

Q8. What about the mess? Isn't the birth messy?
A. You obviously haven't seen my house. Blood stains, medical waste, an errant placenta...it all blends in over here.

My Birth Video

2007-11-26T11:18:00.000-05:00

So, I finally got around to editing and uploading my video. It has been EXTENSIVELY edited, so it should be fairly safe for families and work. You see my legs (OH THE HORROR) and about as much cleavage as you would if I were in a tacky tube top. Which is a lot. But no nip. (Sorry, pervs.) ;-)

Justice?

2007-10-12T11:21:00.002-04:00

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

I'm a few branches over on the tree, but I can only imagine the relief felt by a mom and dad who've lived for almost two years without their youngest daughter, or by a sibling whose heart has been wrenched and torn out by the criminal (and inhuman) acts of this man. My heart breaks for the girls, to struggle with the knowledge that their mother was killed by their father. My heart breaks for my husband, and also for his mother, who struggled to protect someone without really even knowing the threats she faced.

I'd like to think I'm not the type to revel in someone else's pain or misfortune, but there's something deeply satisfying about seeing someone face the consequences of their horrible behaviors. After two long years of seeing the suffering of those left behind while the guilty one went on with his life and reputation relatively intact, it's truly satisfying to imagine what must have gone through his mind as he began to watch it all crumble around him.

And at the same time, I know justice isn't always served-- not on earth anyway. Sometimes, for whatever reasons, victims wait too long to report, or evidence is destroyed, or fear is employed to buy their silence for a time. Sometimes, sadly, we can't see the perpetrator fully and publicly punished for what they've done. In those times, we just have to rest in the knowledge that deep in the heart of most people who commit heinous crimes is the knowledge and full understanding of what they've done. They carry with them in their spirits the secret anguish and guilt over what they've done, the inability to confess such sins tearing them apart inside day by day. No matter where they go, they are never, and could never be, free.

And the ones who don't have that conscience... Not much to say about that.

I hope Tim Tillman gets the legal consequences he deserves. Only then can those who loved Janet begin to work on forgiving him, and praying for his soul. It's hard to forgive someone who refuses to admit or apologize or pay for their crimes against the innocent.

Back to School Whirlwind

2007-10-05T11:24:00.000-04:00

Aaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiieeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!

Yep, I definitely feel like I'm on a rollercoaster right now, which is why I haven't posted an update in a while. And as for real, fabulous, chunky, meaty substance, this isn't going to be much of a post, either. But it's going to be an update. Take it or leave it. ;-)

Hmmmmm... Where to begin?

A) We have been visiting new churches recently. We had found a church that we thought denominationally met our needs and had been attending since October of 2006. But, it was very, very big. Big, as in too big for us to even get a call or card from anyone when the babies were born. Big, as in corporate enough that there didn't seem to really be any need for new volunteers, since everyone kind of had their thing going on already. Big, as in, well, just too big for us to feel at home. We've become weirdo country folks over the last few years, and like small town living, and the small town feel. Which brings me to our second problem with the other church-- it's in the main city almost a half an hour drive from where we live now. So, that basically limited us to Sunday morning participation since we don't head into town every day. Something in our town (which is actually about a five minute drive since we don't technically live in town anymore) would mean we could do Wednesday nights, Sunday afternoons, and more. And then there's my third problem with the old church-- it is very much a "we are the only right way" kind of denomination that isn't very good with ecumenical interactions. As much as I liked the church and its beliefs, I kind of have a hard time believing that any of the other Christian denominations are heading to Hell en masse simply because their flavor of Christianity isn't the right kind. Shoot, I don't think I completely believe that people of other religions than Christianity are definitely going to Hell en masse, for that matter. So, if being an exclusivist Believer is a requirement, I'm really going to be a crappy church member. Anyway, we believe we've found a new church home in our own little town, and we really like it. It's a small church, with lots of room to grow and opportunities to serve, and the people are fabulous. We'll see how it goes.

B) We've begun our homeschool year, and all the activities that come along with it. We started back to our year on September 17. We've also started the boys back to Cub Scouts (one is a second year Webelos and on track so far to have the Arrow of Light award, as well as every possible Webelos badge, and the other is a Tiger Cub), and Sassy Pants started back to American Heritage Girls. We're doing Scout popcorn sales and AHG candy bar sales, and I have to say that once again, I remember why I hate fundraisers. The two oldest are now in a homeschool Chess Club for 3rd grade and up once a week, my Webelos boy went to his first Boy Scouts campout over last weekend, and I took the four youngest munchkins on a field trip to an upstate farm. At the campout, big guy learned how to canoe and much more, and at the farm we learned about beekeeping, sheep herding, and got to eat goat and emu chili. We start our science unit on astronomy tonight! :-)

C) The babies are fabulous! They're now rolling over, trying to sit up, talking, cooing, and beginning to interact with each other. They weigh almost 17 pounds each at almost 5 months, and are in size 6-12 months clothing. As much as people made fun of us for wanting a 4th child, and as much as I almost had a heart attack when the sonographer told us it was a 5th one too, I can't imagine life without both of them. They're both very easy and very sweet babies; the only part that is sometimes hard is that there's two of them.

D) The house is coming along great. I got it all organized (at least well enough to have company) before Sassy Pants's 7th birthday party on September 22. It gets DARN COLD in there early mornings on cold nights. Winter is going to suck a fat one. Luckily, some friends from our new church have some farm land that needs clearing, so we'll be able to get boatloads of firewood one day in October when we go to help clear it out. Hopefully we can use the wood stove and bedroom space heaters wisely enough and avoid a killer gas bill this winter.

E) I've begun work on writing the book I've always threatened to write. I'm almost done with the introduction, and will occasionally post updates here about how far I am. The goal is to write about 10 pages a week. And no, self-centered, self-absorbed, manipulative crazy person, it's not about you. So get over yourself. ;-)

F) The hubster took a second job a couple of weeks ago. We really want to be able to buy this house, which will require getting ahead financially. We've been doing a so-so job of treading water and making teeny progress towards paying off more debt, but that won't get us where we want to be when we want to be there. So, we're going to continue to live off of job #1 for our regular expenses, and use 100% of the money from job #2 to pay off debts and begin to save up towards a downpayment on the house. If I could find a job I could do without abandoning the kids and giving up the SAHM and homeschooling, I would do that. We're just about ready to get radical if it gets us out of debt faster.

G) What kind of space cadet makes snotty comments to someone who OBVIOUSLY believes in having a big family about thinking that big families are bad? Seriously? It's been over a month now since someone offended me and the hubster-- someone we both care about very much-- and it's still a sore spot with us. The person was drunk at the time of the offending comments, so hubs and I were both wise enough to refuse to take the bait or try to engage in such an important conversation with someone who was obviously enebriated, but it definitely ticked us off. I'm going to update the family philosophy page of this blog to reflect what we believe about family size.

That's about it for the updates for now. I was going to add in a few pictures to the post, but time and technical constraints force me to save that for another post. :-)

Happy birthday to me!

2007-08-12T11:26:00.000-04:00

happy birthday to me

happy birthday to me

happy birthday, old lady

happy birthday to me!

Can't wait 'til tonight to go see my annual meteor shower. What a birthday gift! Thank you, God!

My Twin VBAC/HBAC Birth Story

2007-07-18T11:47:00.002-04:00

Okay, so I wrote out my birth story 2 days afterwards to share on some of my birth boards. I cleaned it up a bit and took out some of the more gory details so I could share it here. I figured that some of my online pals may be curious about it, and hope that some of the folks finding my blog by searching about twin pregnancy will read this, be encouraged and inspired, and know that natural birth IS a safe option for women having multiples.

So, here it is-- the birth stories of HM and BN. Enjoy!

The background (skip it if you just want the birth details):

I guess it really begins with the birth of their older brother, my third child, born in 2001. I had planned a homebirth, as I had really hoped to avoid unnecessary hospital interventions. As things would turn out, I ended up transporting to the hospital and having an emergency cesarean due to transverse lie. Before his birth, we had wanted a large family one day. Afterwards, I was so devastated by the loss of the birth I had planned, and so overwhelmed by fear that I would never again experience natural childbirth due to a prior cesarean, that my husband and I decided we didn’t want any more children.

Just last year, things shifted in our thinking a bit. I had researched vaginal birth after cesarean (VBAC) enough to know that it is a safe option in situations where induction, augmentation, and other interventions could be avoided, and we decided to try to conceive our fourth child. After I was pregnant, I began my search for a provider, and found that several local hospitals no longer allowed planned VBACs, and that none of the local doctors would be fully supportive of a VBAC. I looked into homebirth with a direct entry midwife, only to learn that the midwife licensing board made it illegal for direct entry midwives to deliver VBACs in my state as of 2004, even though they had successfully been attending VBAC homebirths for many years before then. Only a CNM could deliver a VBAC at home, and no CNMs in my state could find a backup OB to support them in a VBAC homebirth.

Through referrals from our many friends who had given birth at home near us and online acquaintances, we found a very naturally-minded midwife in a nearby state who used to work our area before she moved away. While she was not willing to drive all the way to SC (a several hour drive from her) while I was in labor, she was willing to take me on as a client provided we were willing to drive for appointments and for the birth. We agreed, and began our search for somewhere to stay for two weeks before and two weeks after our due date, so that we would already have a temporary home to have our homebirth VBAC (HBAC).

A month after securing our midwife’s services (but just before our first appointment with her) and feeling confident with our course of action, we went in for a non-medical ultrasound to find out gender, and were SHOCKED to learn that we would be having both a little girl AND a little boy. The sonographer took several extra pictures for us (including several showing that we had two placentas, which later proved valuable information), and later that day we panicked, calling our midwife and letting her know we would be finding an OB and switching providers. We were just too scared to go through with a twin HBAC.

We did a little more research, though, and found that twin VBAC moms are no more likely to suffer uterine rupture than singletons, learned that twins with two placentas have minimal complications (if any) compared to singletons, and began to wonder if it was really necessary to resign ourselves to a mandatory cesarean at the hands of a surgeon. I called my midwife back and asked her what her experience had been with twins. It turned out she has delivered tons of twins when working in hospitals, and almost 20 sets of twins (including many twin VBACs) since switching to a primarily home-based practice over a decade ago. All twin births were successful, none required transport. We switched back to the original plan, and began preparations for a twin HBAC.

Labor Begins:

For WEEKS I had been having strong and uncomfortable contractions-- so many so that I was terrified of preterm labor. Somehow I made it to 36 weeks (the earliest my midwife would attend a twin homebirth) and we relocated. My husband stayed with me and the kids Fridays through Mondays, and went home every Monday to work a full week. In spite of regularly growing contractions, I made it past 38 weeks, and when I was 38 weeks and 1 day (with a fundal height measuring 50 cm), my husband went back home to work his week. That night, I tossed and turned, having contractions in my sleep. Tuesday morning, May 8, around 3:30 am, I was awakened with painful contractions coming every 2 minutes. This had happened before, so I tried all my usual tricks to make the “false labor” go away. I had a glass of diluted wine, drank lots of water and rested on my side, and around 4:15 am I gave up and got into the bathtub to see if that calmed them. At 4:45 am, still unsure if I was in real labor or not, I called my husband and asked him to come be with me just in case it was time. At 5:00 am, I called my midwife and let her know what was going on. She told me to call my other labor assistants and get everyone on their way.

Around 5:30 am, as I was making the bed and getting my birth pool ready (I had really wanted a water birth), my water broke and things intensified. Around 7:00 am, the midwife arrived and said it was fine for me to get into the birth pool to take the edge off the contractions, and the water was SO soothing! By 7:15, the midwife’s assistant arrived, and by 7:30 my husband was there. Things get a little blurry after that point, since I was in a good bit of pain. At first, I did really well, breathing through the contractions, relaxing, staying calm. My doula and friend from back home would pray with and for me during the tougher ones, helping me to stay focused and peaceful. By around 9:30 am, I was thrashing about so badly during the worse contractions that it took four people holding my arms to keep me from drowning myself! At that point (in transition, obviously), I was exhausted already, and moved to the bed so I could lay down.

The births:

Soon, I told my midwife I thought I might be feeling the urge to push with contractions, and that it actually made me feel a little better to push a tiny bit. So, with the next contraction, I began pushing. As things would turn out, I pushed a LONG time for a little baby who had spent the last two weeks at a +1 station. It didn’t take long for him to crown, but then he couldn’t make it any farther thanks to an overenthusiastic episiotomy repair from a previous birth. I was crying, worried about how this was affecting the baby, but my midwife checked his heart tones after each contraction and reassured me that as long as his heart rate was good, we were okay. Finally, after 15 minutes of pushing with very little progress, my precious little son was born at 10:46 am. He was crying as soon as his head was out, and was nursing like a little barracuda 20 seconds after he was born! He pinked up right away, and they delayed clamping and cutting the cord until it had stopped pulsing. He weighed 7 pounds, 4 ounces, and was 20 inches long.

We left him at the breast, since the nursing might stimulate contractions to get baby B into position, and from the time he was born until the time his sister’s head was firmly engaged in the birth canal, my midwife’s assistant held her in place from the outside so she wouldn’t flip. After a few minutes, contractions started up again but they shortly became uncomfortable again and I asked someone to take my little angel boy so that he would be safer than I felt he was in my arms, with all the discomfort I was in. I switched to using a breast pump between contractions to keep things going, and soon enough I knew it was time to push her out. I was exhausted, and not very enthusiastic about it at first, and couldn’t bring myself to push that hard. Plus, I was expecting that after just birthing one baby, the second one would be easier, so I don’t think I was expecting the challenge she became. At some point the midwife suggested a squatting position to push for a few contractions. It was so hard to support myself, that once the baby’s head was engaged, I was begging to lay back on the bed again. So, I pushed for the next several contractions propped up in a half-sitting position. She wasn’t moving down very much, and I was getting discouraged, so I forced myself to get a little more energetic about the pushing (since that’s what my body was telling me to do anyway). After several contractions, there wasn’t a lot of progress, and I was in pain and needed to get back on my side again. My midwife, for the second time during the births, asked everyone to take a moment and pray with me. At that point, things started to move along, and after a VERY long pushing stage, my precious daughter was born, posterior and forehead-first, with her cord wrapped around her shoulders, at 12:49 pm. Her posterior position had contributed to my extended pushing phase and slow descent with her. She was a little slower to pink up, and took a little longer to figure out how to nurse, but soon enough was alert at my breast like her brother had been! She weighed 7 pounds and was 21 inches long.

I birthed the placentas at 1:09 pm, and although there were clearly two separate placentas, they had fused together in the middle and came out in one giant piece that likely weighed between 5 and 6 pounds-- almost like delivering a third baby, but without the giant head! I needed one stitch to fix a small tear from my difficult second birth. I was bleeding heavily, and over the little while after the birth had one intravenous shot of pitocin and two shots in the hip. I was also given my first dose of methergine (which I took for 2 days postpartum), and given a lot of blood-building and iron supplements to help replace what was being lost. I also had several clots remaining that my midwife manually removed, and after the clots were pulled out my bleeding began to subside. Apparently, excessive bleeding is a bit more common with twin pregnancies since my uterus had two raw areas from two placentas instead of just one.

Thoughts on the experience:

So, I have now had my first completely unmedicated, natural birth, my first home birth, my first VBAC, and my first twin birth. What an experience! I feel so good about how it all happened, and am so thankful that we chose the path we did because I KNOW that I otherwise would have been forced into an unwanted, and completely unnecessary, cesarean. Although I worried a bit before the birth about the toll that being so big was going to take on my uterine scar, during labor I never once questioned how my scar was holding up. I have no regrets about my birth experience, for the first time ever, and feel only positive about how it all went down-- not exactly easy, but definitely uncomplicated.

My babies were at the breast within minutes of being born, and my precious husband was able to be more involved in this birth than any other-- what a wonderful support he was! My other children were able to come in shortly after each birth to see their new little siblings, and the babies’ first night was spent bonding with their parents and siblings, rather than being poked, prodded, weighed, and messed with all night long. I’ve been able to rest when I need to, recover in a way that feels best, and avoid being poked, prodded, and beeped to death during an already exhausting and physically challenging time. I am SO THANKFUL for these beautiful little babies, their curious little eyes, and their sweet little cries. They are beautiful, precious, sweet, and fun to watch and be with.

I am thankful for my incredible midwife, her guidance throughout the pregnancy, her competence and patience during the birth, and her friendship postpartum. I am thankful for my birth team, my incredible midwife’s assistant, and for my friends who drove up from back home to be a part of that experience. I am thankful for my family, for my precious children for their excitement and awe of these babies. I’m thankful for my sweet husband for being there for every moment, holding my hand, stroking my hair, and kissing my forehead; for encouraging me, believing in me, and helping me out; and for being a complete and active partner in the birth process. And most importantly, I’m thankful to God.

Many times during this pregnancy, I prayed for God to keep this pregnancy safe, to protect us during this uncertain time, to guide us as we made choices about our birth plan, to keep me and my unborn children safe and healthy throughout the pregnancy and birth, and to help us to somehow fit all the pieces together for the birth to come together according to the Divine plan. I committed that if all went well, and my babies were born safely into the world, I would give God all the honor for it. It wasn’t me, or my midwife, or my birth team, or my husband who brought these children into the world. It was The All, whose hand guided every aspect of the experience. I truly believe that God provided the perfect people to surround me during birth, the perfect place for me to birth, and the perfect babies to hold in my arms, grateful for the opportunity to parent two more little ones and in awe of the divine aspects of motherhood. What a blessing!

If anyone reading this has heard any of the usual doubts cast upon the ability of twin or VBAC moms to birth safely, please know that there are options. Natural twin birth or natural VBAC (or a natural twin VBAC) may not be the right choice for everyone, but it can be the right choice for some women, and it can be done safely. I have proof!

(And there's now a video to go along with the story )

Lookin' for fun, and feelin' groovy!

2007-07-16T23:54:00.000-04:00

Two weekends ago was a FIASCO of a weekend. I didn't blog about it here, but suffice to say it was a prime example of how Murphy's Law can be demonstrated in a family's life. Over and over and over. I started off the weekend with best intentions, including listing two beds and a large TV on Freecycle just to get them out of my storage unit and attic. Two nice families were going to take the beds, and the TV was going to be delivered to a local children's home that responded to my ad so that their boys would have a TV if they ever could afford to get a game station of some sort. I was so excited to be donating the TV, that I called up my sweetheart of a little brother to ask if he'd donate his old Nintendo 64. Turns out, he sold that Nintendo years ago, but since he only plays his Gamecube and XBOX360, he donated his nice Playstation 2, and a bunch of games.

We were about to head into town to pick up the TV from our storage unit and take it to the children's home cottage, when the family who wanted the bed from our attic called and asked if they could come pick it up. We said sure, and I decided to go check out the leaky spigot on the back of the house while waiting for them to arrive. Long story short, the pipes were OLD, and after gently twisting the spigot a little to see how hard it would be to replace, the entire pipe broke and we had to turn off water the the whole house. We tried calling a plumber, but couldn't reach anyone at first. And then, the family who came to get the bed managed to break the spring on our attic ladder and left before we noticed. GRRR! So, in South Carolina in the ridiculous heat of a July day, my husband and 10 year old climbed into the attic, and I held the door shut for ten minutes while they fixed the spring. I opened the attic to let them out, and SPROING!!!!! The spring came off again. So, back into the sweltering attic they went, for round two of fix-the-spring. Ten minutes later, they emerged, smelling like camels and soaked to the bone with sweat. With no water to do so much as wash their hands, much less take a shower.

Frustrated, I called the family that wanted the bed from the storage unit and the children's home houseparent and let them know we'd just have to bring their things Sunday, and we went to swim at my dad's house so the kids and my husband could rinse off. While there, I managed to reach a plumber, who came by the house that afternoon and got the water working again, just before dinner and bedtime. That was Saturday, July 7.

Sunday morning of the 8th, we woke up and decided things would be different. We skipped out of Sunday morning church because we accidentally overslept (we usually attend Saturday vigil anyway), got up and ready, and went to the storage unit after lunch. The family who wanted our storage bed met us there and picked it up. And then, the real fun began. On Friday, I had arranged with the storage unit rental office to move all of our things into a smaller unit in a different building on the other side of the property, since we'd be getting rid of a lot of stuff and never really needed the bigger one to begin with. So, we borrowed a pickup and a hand truck from the family business, and spent an hour and a half loading up our pickup. The kids worked so hard, and I was so proud of them for all pitching in! And the babies slept peacefully in the back of the minivan the entire time. Once we got it all loaded, we were so excited to have it all finished, loaded up the truck and minivan, and drove across the property to the building where our new, smaller, unlocked unit awaited.

At least that's how we had envisioned it.

When we went inside the building to find our new unit, it had a lock on it. A big, red lock. I called the office, hoping it would have an after-hours phone number for situations like this, but no. So I left a frantic message begging for help from anyone who might check the messages over the weekend. And then I went back to the building with the locked unit, and check the doors of EVERY unit, hoping to find one unlocked that we could claim. Locks. On every door, even. After half an hour more of brainstorming some way to make lemonade out of lemons, I gave up. We decided to move everything back into our old unit. But first, someone was going to feel my pain, at least a little.

By now, both babies were in their car seats screaming their heads off. I got into the van with the babies, rolled all the windows up and closed the doors (to improve the sound quality, of course), sat in the middle of the van between the two screaming babies, and called the storage unit office voicemail one more time, with babies howling in the ~~background~~ foreground.

"Hello, this is Christy again. We've decided to move everything back into the old unit. We will not be able to borrow a truck again until next weekend. And I'll look forward to hearing from you Monday so we can work out some way, perhaps a big credit on our account, that we can make this all a little more fair. Thank you very much!"

And then, with babies screaming, and our 5 year old son crying, "Mommy PLEASE don't make us move it all back-- I don't wanna move it all back," my sweet husband and I moved all the big stuff quickly into the unit. Then I sat in the van and nursed babies while my husband and children made a billion trips to move the rest of the small stuff. It took an hour to move it all back in.

We needed something to make us happy, so we took all my brother's PS2 games (which were all rated T) to our local used game shop, explained that they had been donated but would not be appropriate for the children's home, and asked if we could get some credit to swap out for rated E games. The game store manager was so sweet, he gave us full retail credit, and we got 6 new, fun games for the boys. We called over to the cottage, and went by to deliver the TV, PS2, and games ourselves. Our kids LOVED it, and the looks on those boys' faces were priceless! What fun!

Anyway, that was the weekend before last.

I was hoping, praying, that this weekend would be better. And it was!

Friday afternoon we moved our stuff to the new storage unit (I got my credit, by the way). Friday evening, we left the three oldest kids in good hands, and the Mr. and I got to go out on a pseudo date (milkshakes at Hardee's while the babies slept in their car seats next to us). Saturday was spent preparing food, playing with my new birthday present (which will be announced once I have time to post about it properly), and enjoying family time. And Sunday was spent in family time until the afternoon, when our new friends came over for a cookout. We had so much fun, the kids played well, and the grownups had a great time! We were even able to discuss religion over dinner without things falling apart (we're currently attending a Catholic church, they're Adventists), which is no small feat on a "first date" with new buddies. And the dad is cool, which is a good thing. Many of the dads we meet in this area are macho Bubba types, so meeting another nice, semi-progressive dude was a good thing. At one point, the other mom and I walked from the kitchen to the livingroom to find the two dads there talking, each one with a baby in their arms. Sweet!

So, I woke up this morning feeling slightly tired out from visiting into the evening, but feeling very, VERY much at peace and content. It's amazing what a refreshing and fun weekend can do for the spirit.

New Friends

2007-07-16T11:56:00.000-04:00

As you may remember, I live in a tiny town. It has ONE grocery store. Two days ago, we went shopping there.

As we were heading into the store, I saw another mama with her minivan parked next to mine. She commented the standard comment I get when I go anywhere with three big kids and baby twins-- "Wow, you have your hands full!" She said it smiling, though, instead of snotty like they usually say it, and I liked her. I laughed and said, "sort of!"

Three cute kids jumped out of the car and followed her as she walked into the store. They looked like little ragamuffins-- in a good way! Big curly locks falling into their eyes, play outfits on that didn't match. I bet they homeschool, I thought to myself, and I made a mental note to try to find an opportunity to chat with her if I could work it in. But I didn't see her again in the store.

Later, while loading my groceries, I saw her come out and load up her van. "You have a beautiful family," I said, hoping to strike up a conversation. "Thanks," she replied. And then I chickened out. That stupid social anxiety welling up, I got into the driver's seat and closed the door. Disappointed in myself for not saying more, but still harboring some hope that we might still get to chat, I rolled down my windows (something I NEVER do when it's 100 degrees outside) to remain a little more accessible. She got behind the wheel of her car, cranked it up, and shifted into gear. Then, a funny thing happened. She drove her van right up next to mine, rolled down her window, and shouted, "Do you homeschool?"

Turns out she's a homeschool mom who has only lived in the area a few months. We talked in the parking lot for a few minutes, and then exchanged phone numbers before leaving. I called a little while later to invite her and her kids over to swim, and we had a BLAST! Turns out, they homeschool, they're vegetarian, they're into whole foods and natural living, and fairly crunchy in a few other ways!

Meeting her has been the highlight of my week, and it just goes to remind me to get out of my shell a little more!

Oh, AND I got an early birthday present tonight. But it's special enough to require its own post (maybe tomorrow) to present it to you. :-)

New Hobbies!

2007-07-11T11:57:00.001-04:00

Okay, some of you TS old timers may remember my post, Do It Yourself = Therapy for Stubborn People. Well, I've been at it again. But THIS time around, I'd like to do it right. So, I've been learning some new tricks.

First off on our hit parade of DIY magic (as opposed to the DIY madness of years past)-- gardening. Successfully, even!

Since we have a limited area in the back yard that gets enough sunlight, Mr. Thinking Southerner read up on "square foot gardening," which is a method of gardening that helps you grow more stuff in smaller spaces. So, we have three big garden boxes full of tomatoes, squash, zucchini, cucumbers, green beans, okra, canteloupe, swiss chard, spinach, lettuce, peppers, and more! And our live to die plant ratio has been pretty good!

Number two on our hit parade of DIY magic: Canning and pickling!

With all those tasty garden treats, might as well learn to preserve them, right? So two weeks ago, I made my first ever pickles-- bread and butter. DELICIOUS! And then two nights ago, I made dill pickles. They were fabulous, though not as good as bread and butter. I've always liked homemade sweet pickles better than dill, even though I like store-bought dills better than sweet.

Number three on the hit parade: Sewing!

I'm not that great at it yet, but I'm learning, beginning with small and simple projects. I've made a few baby carriers and slings, and a couple of play dresses for my girls. And beginning this fall, I'm going to start taking sewing classes at the local fabric store to get better at it.

Number four on our hit parade of newly acquired skills: Basic carpentry!

Last summer, we put together a very complicated build-it-yourself playground for the kids, from a kit that had all the parts pre-cut and ready to assemble. It boosted our confidence, so when we found out we were having twins and wanted bunk beds for the kids' rooms, we decided that instead of buying bunk beds, we would make them ourselves using construction plans we ordered from www. bunkbedsunlimited.com . We bought all the lumber and hardware for the project, cut it, sanded, drilled, stained, painted, and assembled it all ourselves, and VOILA! Bunk beds!

So, there you have it! Just as stubborn as ever, but the therapy is working. AND, I'm actually learning new skills now. What's next on my DIY learning list? Who knows where the wind will blow me...

Dear Blogger,

2007-07-10T12:02:00.000-04:00

I'm afraid I've been a bit unfaithful in our relationship.

I've been cheating on you, with a slew of hussied up parenting discussion forums with big hair and too-dark lipstick. Sure, they're not as fulfilling and meaningful as this relationship has been in the past. But they served a purpose for me for a short time, during a period of weakness on my part.

During my pregnancy, I was a bit freaked out. You see, I hadn't been pregnant in years, and the thought of being pregnant again was alien to me. After monkey #3 had been born, we spent a few years thinking we were done having kids. Planning for a new kid meant shifting my thoughts and focus back to having babies again! Planning for a new kid also meant having to learn everything I could about the safety, methods, and preparation regarding giving birth naturally after a prior cesarean. Monkey #3's birth (a cesarean) had been fairly traumatic for me, and had led to a LOOOOOOONG period of post-partum depression, so I was interested in avoiding a similar trauma this time around.

And then I found out it was TWINS-- WHOA! That of course necessitated trying to find other twin mamas online who had similar views on birth, breastfeeding, cosleeping, etc.

So, I'm afraid I became a bit addicted to the online support and chit chat I found on Babycenter, MDC, and NPT.

So now, the babies are here. The birth went well. Breastfeeding is established and going off without a hitch. Cosleeping rocks for lazy breastfeeding moms, twins or not. And all is well in the world of The Thinking Southerner. I have no excuse for my behavior. As it stands now, most of my online discussion forums are no longer uber-useful, and are primarily a form of entertainment. It's so different from my typically dysfunction-free real life to watch supposedly grown women fight online as if they are still stuck on the middle school playground. So different, so exotic and unusual and enticing...

And then there's the nak. In case you, Dear Blogger, are not familiar with the mommy discussion board lingo, nak stands for "nursing at keyboard." Most of the time that I'm sitting still long enough to open a browser and hit the keys, there's a baby hanging off my boob. Typing one handed lends itself to shorter and less meaningful posts, which isn't exactly my preferred blog posting style. Typing two handed while nursing means that I have to perfect my acrobat routine, as balancing a baby (or two) on my knees (which are propped up on the computer desk) while trying to hold a stream of thought is not easy.

And that, old friend, is why so many of the posts you've had lately have been quizzes, or reposts, or plain old lazy and un-thought-provoking.

So, Dear Blogger, there you have it. My lame attempt at an excuse for my infidelity. I know I am not deserving of your love, but if by some chance you'll have me back, I'll try to do better from now on. Just be patient with me as I rebuild our relationship-- I've been through LOTS of change.

I am so blessed!

2007-05-16T14:51:00.000-04:00

New babies born 5/08/07

One was 7 pounds 4 ounces

The other was 7 pounds even

Completely uncomplicated and unmedicated homebirth after cesarean

My last belly pics taken Sunday, May 6, at 38 weeks:

37 weeks and counting

2007-04-29T14:53:00.000-04:00

Well, as of today, I have officially made it to 37 weeks. YEEHAW... I think. Or maybe I'm about ready to be done. Either way, it isn't in my hands, and these babies are going to come when they're good and ready.

Yesterday, we needed a getaway, so we drove over to the Blue Ridge Parkway (it's a couple of miles from where we're staying), and just started driving north. We drove for over an hour, stopping at all the little overlooks-- BEAUTIFUL! I loved it! Of course, by the time we got to Craggy Gardens, it was misting and there was a little snow mixed in, and it was FREEZING cold! We weren't dressed for it (it had been sunny spring weather when we left Asheville), so that was where we turned around. But for the time we were out, it was beautiful.

Oh, and I took a few 37 week pictures tonight. I figure I should be doing belly pictures more often now that I could go any day now. I was just out of the bath, so I look a little rough, but oh well. I'm looking pretty rough a lot of the time lately! Tonight, at the grocery store, some security guard said to me, "Either you're having twins, or that's one heck of a big butterball turkey you've got hidden under there!" Too funny! Anyway, I am in a LOT of pain, but it won't last forever. Eventually, things will get back to normal, including my pelvis, back, legs, feet, ankles, fingers, wrists....

First lost tooth-- lost for real!

2007-04-27T14:53:00.000-04:00

My 6 year old daughter lost her first tooth last night. Really. She lost it. As in, we looked, and it was gone and we couldn't find it. I think she ate it in a hot wing.

We were at dinner at Wild Wing Cafe with some friends who drove up from back home to spend the afternoon with us, and one of her little friends shouted, "Hey, did you lose your tooth?" Sassy Pants says, "No, but I have one that is really loose!" Upon closer investigation, the tooth was in fact gone! Too funny!

And, at almost 37 weeks preggo with twins, I continue to be big as a whale! Here's a picture from last night.

I am officially a freak show.

2007-04-08T14:55:00.000-04:00

With at least 2 to 6 weeks left to go.

Just to give you an idea of how I ended up this way:

[rockyou id=63411583&w=600&h=200]

Looky, looky!

2007-03-25T14:54:00.000-04:00

I made my first AIO (all-in-one) cloth diaper yesterday!

I ordered a kit with precut fabrics, elastic, and hook/loop closures from Diaper Kits. It came with a page of instructions, and all I had to do was sew it together! How cool! This is all made even more impressive by the fact that I can't sew worth a crap, still need to read the instruction manual for my sewing machine to figure out how to use it, and couldn't read a pattern to save my life.

Anyway, I was so pleased with it, I had to share!

An open letter

2007-03-19T14:55:00.001-04:00

Any of you who have read this blog for long, or know me and my husband in real life, know that we are research-oriented. I'm not sure how much of that is natural inclination, how much is background and experiences, and how much is based on the years we've spent in service to the higher education machine. Suffice to say, however, that before undertaking ANY major decision about our lives or our families, we are very likely to research the heck out of it. That's how it's been with major decisions about our parenting and family philosophies, and it's how we've been about our approach to becoming debt-free (something we've been working on these past 3 years, and we're now completely debt-free except for student loans and haven't used credit in over 6 years).

For those of you who haven't heard this yet, on September 14, 2006, we found out we were expecting! Back in May of last year, we began making plans for us to swap out yet again, hoping that by fall my husband would be working full time again, and I would once again be a stay at home mom. It was around that time that we decided that if I was able to be home full time again, we'd love to have a 4th child. Well, my dear husband began working full time the end of July, and we knew it was time. I believe strongly in the safety of VBACs, and many of our local hospitals have either banned VBACs or make them terribly and unnecessarily complicated (thus leading to an increase in failed VBACs and increased complications for mothers and their babies). So, we spent a couple of months researching our options, trying to find the one that would be safest for me and for our unborn. After much research, seeking referrals from friends, and reviewing our options with each other and in prayer, we knew we had found our perfect provider! We selected a certified nurse midwife in a neighboring state who we felt had the natural approach to childbirth we desired, while also having the experience and medical training we felt would be essential to our comfort level with the birth plan, and we began making plans to temporarily relocate to a city near her as the due date approached.

Then, in December, we found out we're having twins! Talk about a surprise, since there is not a family history of twins, and we have never needed any fertility assistance! Of course, our first reaction was shock. I believe our second was fear.

I spent much of the next 24 hours reading and researching about twin pregnancy, and much of what I read was fear-based. I read that 60% of all twins are born prematurely (before 36 weeks). I read about complications that can arise in twin pregnancy and birth, including complications for the babies as well as increased maternal complications such as pre-eclampsia, pregnancy induced hypertension, gestational diabetes, and more. I read that most twin pregnancies are induced before 38 weeks to prevent placental deterioration and reduce the risk of stillbirth. I also read that many twin pregnancies end up in cesarean births.

Because I believe that all other things being equal, natural childbirth is best and safest for mother AND babies, these statistics scared me. Disappointed (both for myself and worried for the safety of my babies) I called my midwife the day after we found out it was twins, told her I didn't think we could go through with it, and told her I'd be looking for a new provider.

And then I continued my research. I began to learn that the 60% prematurity figure includes both identicals (who are at risk increased complications including twin to twin transfusion syndrome) and fraternals, and mothers who have other complications of pregnancy. My babies are fraternal (boy/girl, two separate placentas for nourishment, thus no risk for TTTS), and I've never had any pregnancy complications. I learned that nutrition can often prevent pregnancy complications such as pre-eclampsia and gestational diabetes, and began to follow a modified version of the Brewer diet, a diet for healthy pregnancy (although I increased my own protein intake above Brewer's recommendations, to provide adequate nutrition for my twins). I learned that one of the greatest risks to otherwise healthy twins is low birthweight, and that adequate protein intake could increase twin birthweights significantly. And I also learned that nutrition is the single biggest factor contributing to placental deterioration. I ordered books about natural twin pregnancy and birth, and followed the recommendations as well as I could. I also learned that twin VBACs are at no higher risk for rupture than singletons, which was reassuring.

I started to think I might be able to go with my original plan, so 2 days after calling my midwife to drop her, I called her back and asked what her experience with twins had been. Turns out, she's attended vaginal births of dozens of twins, both in and out of hospitals, including twin VBACs. She's had positive outcomes with every one, and has only lost one baby in her 20+ years of being a midwife (and that wasn't at a twin birth). She wanted to be sensitive to my needs and concerns, so she recommended that I begin nutritional changes that could enhance my pregnancy outcome. She also suggested that instead of feeling like I had to make an immediate change, to take a few weeks to continue researching, meeting with twin mamas, and praying for God's guidance regarding our birth plans. We agreed that I would call her back in almost a month and let her know what we had decided, and she agreed that she would also be taking my situation into prayer to make sure she felt confident taking me on as a patient.

I began drinking a gallon and a half of water per day, eating well over 120 grams of protein a day (usually more), and taking adequate daily supplements (prenatal vitamins, vitamin C, iron supplements, liquid chlorophyll, alfalfa, fish oil, flax oil, and probiotics). And my husband and I met (online and in real life) with several women who had safely given birth to their twins under the care of a midwife, with minimal interventions. We both carefully read the twin books I had ordered. And we discussed and prayed about my pregnancy history, which has never included any of the common twin complications that can often lead to preterm birth or birth complications. After carefully and prayerfully considering our options for a few weeks, we called our midwife back and made plans to meet again soon.

Since then, I have received competent, professional, considerate, compassionate, and personalized care from a my wonderful midwife, who clearly views this not only as her profession but as her spiritual calling. Because twins are typically considered term at 36-40 weeks, we've moved up our relocation date to late April. We have VERY carefully researched, prayed about, and considered our options, and are solid in our conviction that we are doing what is safest for me and for our babies. If at any point something comes up that makes this plan risky or not suitable, we'll change plans. Until then, we feel we are doing the right things. And we have chosen not to discuss our decisions with anyone who can't bring anything supportive to the table. We simply don't need the stress right now!

So, if you feel you can be supportive of our choice and respect our decisions, we will gladly include you in our planning process, let you know when we're in labor, and keep you posted on how things go! If you feel you disagree too strongly to remain supportive of our plan, we'll be happy to call you after the babies are born to let you know how it went, but we'll have to request that you refrain from discussing our birth plans with us in the mean time. So far, everyone we've talked to has been wonderful and supportive, and understands that we would never take lightly our responsibility to choose the safest options for our children. We just felt it was appropriate to let folks know some of what has led us to the choices we've made, so that you can be reassured by the actual facts about twin childbirth (as opposed to myths and fears), just as we have been reassured by them.

Parenting Philosophies

2007-02-08T15:11:00.001-05:00

Here are some sites the explain, support, or present research on some of the parenting philosophies we use in our own family management. We don't expect everyone to agree with us, but to respect our choices and to understand that they are well-thought out, well-researched, strongly-held, and not likely to be changed through argument. Whatever argument against one of these you may have, chances are we've heard it, considered it, and decided against it for whatever reason already.

General Parenting Philosophy Information:

Sears Family Parenting

About Breastfeeding, In Private and Public:

Watch Your Language: Breast is NOT Best!

Nursing in Public

Public Breastfeeding

La Leche League

Militant Breastfeeding Cult

About Co-Sleeping:

Attachment Parenting International Explains

Co-Sleeping Safety Study

Solitary or Shared Sleep: What's Safe?

Cosleeping is Twice as Safe

Not Designed to Sleep Alone

About Circumcision:

It his body, and should be his choice.

There is no medical or hygiene benefit to circumcision, despite popular misconceptions to the contrary.

It's not any harder to keep clean.

The foreskin serves a purpose and is not useless skin.

If our boys one day decided to be circumcised, they can make that choice and have it done fairly easily. If we choose to have them circumcised without their consent and they were to one day want to restore, it would be a long and uncomfortable process (3 years or more), and would still not be exactly like an uncircumcised penis.

More Links:
Male Circumcision in the USA: A Human Rights Primer (This article has great information refuting generalizations from the recent study on AIDS transmission and circumcision in Africa.)

National Organization of Circumcision Information Resource Centers

International Coalition for Genital Integrity

Circumcision Information and Resource Pages

About Homeschooling:

John Taylor Gatto: Challenging the Myths of Modern Schooling

Home Education Magazine: Homeschooling FAQ

About Family Size

We believe that the number of children a couple has is an intensely heartfelt and personal decision, and that it should be prayerfully considered. The reasons people have one, or many, children are very diverse and are often private matters between the couple and God. We believe that when people are attentive to God's direction in their lives in this matter, they will feel so led when the time is right for another child. While we aren't at all "quiverfull" (practicing no birth control whatsoever), we do believe in remaining open to God's decision to add another family member when God places is on your heart. We also believe that when you trust in Him and follow His guidance, he will provide for your needs, therefore we do not believe in waiting until the retirement fund is fully funded and a family is rich before having another child. Children are not nearly as expensive as are lifestyles.

See Lots of Kids

Birth Research

2007-02-01T15:05:00.001-05:00

Here are some of the research and articles we've found online that have influenced our birthing choices. Some of these are medical research articles about the safety of birth issues close to our hearts. Others are news, commentary, or opinion pieces that reflect our beliefs about birth as a normal, natural process. Of course, we've done a good bit of research that isn't available online as well, but wanted to share some of the online information that is available.

About Natural Childbirth:

Does the United States' Higher Rates of Intervention Lower Morbidity?

Mothering.Com

Gentle Birth

The Assault on Normal Birth by Henci Goer

About VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean):

Relative Risks of Uterine Rupture

Uterine Rupture in Pregnancy

The Integrity of Uterine Scars

Vaginal Births After Cesarean Decline

VBAC.COM

About Twin Birth:

Optimal Gestational Age for Twin Delivery

What is the Optimal Gestational Age for Twin Delivery

Bedrest in Hospitals for Multiple Pregnancies

Vaginal Birth Safe in Twin Pregnancies

New Theories Emerge on Nonvertex Twin Deliveries

Vaginal Birth with Second Twin Breech

About Twin VBAC:

Twin VBAC Not Associated with Increased Risk of Rupture

Twin VBAC Research Review

About Cesareans:

International Cesarean Awareness Network

Weigh Risks to Mother, Infant, When Planning Cesareans

3x More Babies Die in Elective Cesareans

About Homebirth and Freestanding Birthing Centers:

ACOG Opposes Safe Birthing Practices

Outcomes of Planned Home Births

Video:

Born in the USA: PBS Documentary About Birth (select browse videos, and choose Born in the USA)

Election Day

2006-11-07T14:58:00.000-05:00

I Voted... Did You?

I'm a Super Nutty, Ultra-Crunchy Granola Earth Mama

2006-10-27T14:59:00.001-04:00

(... according to an online quiz I took)

Okay, so it isn't particularly groundbreaking, thought-provoking, or profound, which I find somewhat disappointing for my first post back in several months, but I have to start somewhere, right?

The Granola Factor Quiz

I took this quiz online today, and got a 122. That's on the low end of the highest range, but in the highest range, nonetheless! I was actually quite pleased with myself. A few years back, I would have been in the 140s or so, but somehow over the last 3 years we had gotten off track from some of the natural family practices we had previously held. We never quit believing that they were ideals, but we had sort of lost the will to act consistently with regard to what we believed. I have a few theories about where we first started to lose that commitment to our actions matching our beliefs, and the primary theory has to do with my last full time job in Florida, but we'll leave that post for another day.

I guess it also doesn't help that we moved to a small town in South Carolina. Living on the west coast of Florida in a fairly large resort area, we had access to just about anything we wanted, including delicious vegetarian Thai and Indian restaurants, a plethora of health food stores, and a large community of folks who didn't tilt their heads and stare at you sideways when you mentioned organic foods, cloth diapers, or co-sleeping. For the past 2 years, we've been over an hour from the nearest health food store, good Thai or Indian restaurant, or natural foods diner. Sucks.

But, ever the optimist, I will continue to look on the bright side. I LOVE the small town we live in. I love the community, and the longer we stay the more we connect with other slightly to somewhat crunchy folks. And I wouldn't trade my small southern town for a big city ANYWHERE. And 1 year ago? My quiz result would have been an 83-- only "Sprinkled with Granola." So, all in all, I think we're back on the upswing, and relearning how to live life in a way that reflects our beliefs about Christ, society, parenting, and health, EVEN in the Deep South.

:-)

Fawlty Gaydars

2006-03-31T15:00:00.000-05:00

I wish bloggers used spell check, or at least had an editor. But, this post is pretty funny.

Bread for Thought

2006-03-22T15:01:00.001-05:00

From The Crunchy Con Blog at National Review:
"Finally, I hope we can talk about a point Spengler and some others have raised, namely: is it possible to embrace a tradition that is not your own? Caleb is the only person in the Religion chapter who remains in the faith in which he was raised. Everyone else is a convert. Does migrating to another religion indicate a true subjectivism masked by a superficial quest for Truth? What do you do when you find yourself questing for Truth in a deracinated society that has effectively destroyed tradition? What about Evangelicalism, the most politically conservative American faith, but also the one most radically rooted in the individual experience, and therefore most adaptable to the way Americans live today? Is their success a sign of hope for our increasingly rootless country, or at bottom something that should make traditionalists despair? As Spengler observes: 'I agree with Dreher that the Chartres Cathedral is more conducive to spirituality than a shopping-mall megachurch, but there is a reason why Chartres is full of tourists and the megachurches are full of worshippers. What if this is as good as it gets?' "

Griddlecakes Radio

2006-02-19T15:02:00.001-05:00

Just in case you aren't a Griddlecakes Radio subscriber (and why aren't you, I might ask? Hmmmmmm...), I'm in a bit over there. Griddlesode 20: Business Babble. Check it out, and tell Ron I sent you.

Interesting study results

2006-02-15T15:02:00.000-05:00

I don't know, but the armchair sociologist/psychologist in me is fascinated by the results of this study.

Family Love

2006-02-14T10:43:00.000-05:00

Last night, my son had his big Blue and Gold Banquet for Cub Scouts. It was nowhere near as long as last year (which is good, because last year went on forever and ever and ever and ev...), and was actually a lot of fun. My big boy got his Bear badge, and an arrow point, and was so proud to be up at the front of the fellowship hall, getting recognition from everyone for his hard work. The little lady sat there slurping spaghetti and enjoying seeing her big brother get his badges. And when it came time for the "Crossing Over" ceremony, where the 2nd year Webelos cross the bridge and officially become Boy Scouts, both of my little boys sat there, starry-eyed, watching it all with envy.

"There going to be Boy Scouts now, Mama?" asked the little one, eyes wide, wanting to make sure he understood it all.

"Just two more years, and that will be me!" said the big guy, bursting with anticipation.

I'm a proud mama. Pictures will be at flickr later today, for sure.

My family is my everything. Ask anyone who knows me and they'll tell you-- my husband and my children light up my life. Being there last night, with all the other moms and dads, sitting through lists of kids getting awards that aren't your kid, sticking around, applauding, trying not to act bored-- it all reminded me that these little things mean so much to my kids. Family Uno battles, ticklefights, playing in the back yard together, fixing pigtails gently so that hair doesn't get snagged, bringing one of the kids to work with me (Whose turn is it now, mommy?), bedtime backrubs, kissing boo-boos, and doing everything I can to help one of my little ones when they are sick or hurt-- these are the things that they will forever bring to memory when thinking of me. No parent is perfect all the time. I can only hope that the good will far outweigh the bad, and that they'll always see me as their biggest fan and their strongest defender.

Yeehaw!

2006-02-11T17:27:00.000-05:00

Last week, I emailed a picture of my band I direct to the local paper. Not only did they publish the photo, they even included a nice little article about how cool it is that a private school that small can have a band program! Awesome! Unfortunately for my long-distance pals, the article is not available at their web site (they only put up the cover story, obits, and editorial online), and I'm not about to retype the whole thing. But, suffice to say that it is pretty cool! :-)

We got a new camera yesterday to replace the broken one. Excellent! Flickr users beware!

poem

2006-02-08T17:08:00.001-05:00

I feel like a nice, warm cup of Maya Angelou right now...

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

I have a few good interviews scheduled this week with people who have repeatedly risen out of the darkness. This will be good. :-)

Speech Enhancers, and Crazy People

2006-02-07T17:14:00.001-05:00

I recently sent in some audio for my part in an upcoming skit at one of the podcasts I enjoy. The podcaster emailed me back, letting me know that there was something resembling a "noise gate artifact" left in the audio, and could I please check and remove any effects. I hadn't added a noise gate, and didn't even know what a "noise gate artifact" was, Google being no help at all.

So, I was retelling the story to some of my band students today, and they were all laughing at me. My trombone player, who is a skilled musician on other instruments and whose father is a musician as well, explained to the class. "A noise gate is something you do to your audio to reduce clicks, pops, and other background noise from your recording. It uses some of its' own sound to cover up the unwanted sounds, so a noise gate artifact is when the sound it uses to cover up unwanted sound creates its' own unwanted effect."

"Oh, cool," I said, trying to act like I'm still the musical expert. "Well, it turns out that there wasn't a noise gate at all. But when you do a Basic Voice track in GarageBand, it apparently adds a Speech Enhancer effect by default."

"What's a Speech Enhancer effect?" asked one of the other band kids.

Mr. Trombone Know-it-all piped up again. Without as much as a teeny smile, he explained, "That's the effect that fixes it so when you say (faking his best redneck voice) 'Gee, golly, I ain't feelin' good at all today' covers it up and makes it say (sounding like a British robot) 'I. Am. Not. Feeling. Good. Today.'"

And you guys wonder why I like teaching band... Shame on you!

Checking out the news today, I'm just heartbroken over how a group of people can take their rage over a legitimate issue and turn it into something so out of control that they lose all credibility. When things don't go the way you think they should, that's a perfect opportunity to speak out in a confident but measured way to work toward greater justice and understanding. When you take that opportunity and completely violate it, you should not be surprised when people begin to make even greater generalizations and misunderstandings about the group you are claiming to speak for, whether you're truly speaking for the group or not. Freakish anger, vengeance, hatred, and random violence have never solved the problems of any individual or group, and will always just create more problems in the end.

Matt's Today in History

2006-02-06T14:32:00.000-05:00

One of the podcasts I enjoy a great deal, and one of the first I ever subscribed to, is Matt's Today in History. Matt, who also blogs at www.opaquelucidity.com, puts out a podcast in which he discusses interesting historical events that happened on this date in a past year. Well, he recently put out a call for guest podcasts, and being the excited podcast newbie that I am, I couldn't resist sending him my own audio. It's up now at his site, and you can find out about how on February 5, 1778, South Carolina became the first state to ratify the Articles of Confederation and Perpetual Union. Enjoy!

I've been thinking about some other stuff, too, but I'll have to save that for another post, possibly tomorrow. Stay tuned.

You don't know the power of the blog.

2006-02-06T10:52:00.000-05:00

While reading one of my favorite blogs today, I thought about how badly it must suck to be a family member or real-life friend of someone who blogs about every stupid thing you do. God bless my husband, Maher, my kids, and anyone else who puts up with the things I tell about them. :-)

Be advised, however, that my heartfelt empathy will not stop me from blogging about you if you do something dumb. It's just too good to resist.

Three cheers for...

2006-02-06T08:18:00.000-05:00

...SSSSSNNNNNNOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!

So, I guess those of you who live somewhere it snows regularly will think we're idiots, but yip yip yippeee--- it's snowing! May not even stick or have anything resembling accumulation, but it sure is fun to watch outside the window of my office. :-)

2006-02-02T20:29:00.000-05:00

Spastic Museum-Goers

2006-01-30T15:01:00.002-05:00

This story takes me back in time a bit.

In 11th grade, I took the National French Exam and came in 3rd in my state. In 12th grade, I came in 2nd (only because another bigger nerd than me from my same French class who had no friends and studied all the time beat me by one question). So, when our school coordinated a trip to Paris for some of the French students, I was first in line to go! It was a blast, and I spent most of my time translating off the walls of cathedrals, trying to avoid smelly tour guides, and making sure my vegetarian friends ordered the right kind of pizza at Pizza Hut outside of the Pompidou center. I got to go to Pere Lachaise cemetary, and witnessed a super-bizarre marijuana-smoking and wine-drinking ceremony at Jim Morrison's grave (the highlight of the trip, from my teenage perspective). I saw the Louvre, the Museum d'Orsay, and the palace at Versailles, spent all my shopping money on pastries, and got to hear the Red Hot Chili Peppers at the Zenith.

At the Louvre, I was busy talking to friends (like 17 year old girls do) and not paying attention to where I was going. I tripped over something, and then regained my balance and continued talking to my friends while walking along. I heard my friends shouting, "You eeeeeeeeeee-diot! Look where you're standing!!" That was about the same time I saw the grimacing security guard charging toward me. It was only then that I looked down and realized I had tripped over a small barrier edging, and was standing in the middle of an ancient Greek mosaic artwork that had been painstakingly relocated to the floor of the museum, one tile at a time.

Smooth move, right?

At least I didn't break anything.

My little girl did well in 1st grade today. The teacher said she finished her work before everyone else, picked up quickly on some of the new material, handled the 1st grade math with ease, and had to be moved up to the 2nd grade reading book because 1st grade was too easy for her. God bless private schools, because I wonder how amenable to meeting her individual educational needs the public schools would be. The school my kids are at is far from perfect, but it is perfect for us, for now. :-)

Me in the News!

2006-01-30T09:07:00.000-05:00

The local paper did an article on me and podcasting that came out today.

Not the most flattering picture in the world, but oh well. I thought the story was pretty good, and since she was transcribing straight from an audio recording of her interview with me, you all now have proof that I speak (even unscripted) just as wordy and froo froo as I write. ;-)

Daddy-O should have his Praxis test scores back within the next week. Nail biting will continue until further notice.

Challenger

2006-01-29T14:24:00.001-05:00

Watching the news on TV about the anniversary of the Challenger disaster, I remembered that I was in 5th grade when it happened, which made me feel really, really old. But, I'm 30. It's been 20 years.

I remember sitting in my classroom and my teacher, who had wanted to step out of the room to watch the liftoff, had us all raise our hands over our heads and hold them there. "Don't move a muscle-- I'll be right back," she said, and then she darted out of the room. When she returned a few minutes later, she was crying.

Sixteen years later, the Challenger incident would take on a new and more personal meaning in my life. At church, I befriended a new family who had just moved to town from Houston. The wife became a good pal of mine, their youngest child was the same age as my son, and their older daughters were great babysitters. When I first met them, I was chatting with the husband.

"So, you just moved here from Houston?"

"Yeah. I worked for NASA."

"Oh. What did you do for NASA?" (Expecting some sort of engineer or management kind of response.)

"Well... I was an astronaut."

By this time, I was about to fall over. Somehow, I sucked it up and tried to act cool-- "Oh, well I guess that's pretty cool."

"Yeah, I guess," he said.

So much for cool, I decided, and asked the typical stupid non-astronaut question. "So, what's it like being in space?" DOH!

"Do you mean before or after you quit throwing up?" he asked.

"Haha... heh... Uh, so, where'd your wife go?" That was it for that conversation.

Over the next year or so that I lived in their town, we got to know their family much better, and actually had many more (far less dorky) conversations about the space program, being an astronaut, and aviation (his real passion). I learned (through my own snooping at the NASA web site-- not through his bragging) that he had done over 800 hours in space, including over 18 hours of extra-vehicular activity (space walks to repair the hubble, I think). Way cool.

But his wife was my real best buddy, and my partner in crime. She didn't have to work, as she had saved wisely from her many years as an executive for one of the major oil companies. Like me, however, she was an armchair psychologist who loved people too much to just stay home. So she took a job pouring coffee at a local coffee shop, and I would go by three days a week to study and chat the morning away. We talked about life, about God, about human nature, and about family.

And then Columbia fell apart, and our discussions shifted focus. She had never been scared before, she said, when her husband would go on his space missions. She'd keep her mind occupied, stay busy, and have fun with their girls. It wasn't until the Columbia disaster happened that she felt the reality of the risks he had taken full force, and was terrified of what her life would have been like without him. Each night since the disaster, she said, she had held him, often crying, as she fell asleep, not wanting to let go.

Hearing one of my closest friends at the time say this, it was very easy for my heart to just ache for what the other people had lost. No, it wasn't my friend or husband lost in the Columbia disaster, or the Challenger disaster for that matter, but it was someone's spouse, parent, child, sibling, or loved one. And having that understanding made even more real in my life, my heart broke even more for the loss of precious lives, big dreams, and determination to do more.

My former astronaut pal and I would sometimes be in the coffee shop together, visiting with his wife on the same days. When she would get busy and have to leave us for a while, we'd sit and read the paper together, and talk about the news. Reading all the reports post-Columbia that questioned the importance of continuing space travel and implied that sending people into space isn't worth the risk we are taking, my friend was not happy. Everyone who enters the space program understands the kinds of risks they are facing, and knows that death is an unlikely, but possible, fact of the job. And yet still, many continue on, pursue careers as astronauts, and take the risks that come with it. NASA is obligated to do everything in its' power to make it as safe as possible, but there will always be a risk, just as there will always be people willing to take on that risk.

I guess my point is this: Every person on those shuttles knew what kinds of things they were facing, and still moved forward with courage and determination to discover new things that could, in the end, help those of us who are not willing or able to take those risks ourselves. Honor their memory, but also their courage. They were, and continue in our memory to be, awesome examples of bravery and dedication.

In other news, I'm in a foul mood today and almost didn't even write this post. (Deleted because problem has been resolved.)

And whoever it is that found this site by searching for "strippers in san diego"-- get a life. I'm glad you didn't find what you came here looking for.

Grrrrrrr.... I'm a grouch today.

Yep. Very weird.

2006-01-27T12:25:00.001-05:00

I am worth $2,316,044 on HumanForSale.com

When I drop the rest of this weight I've been elliptical-ing to death, I'll be worth even more. :-)

My IQ is worth significantly more than any other factor, according to their analysis.

Any takers? If my husband realized I was worth that much, he might just sell.

Skype = Disaster, and my political views

2006-01-27T08:54:00.001-05:00

I'm on a no-Skype-interviews kick for a few weeks until I can get my head out of my rear and remember things like setting my mic to cardioid patters so I don't get booming computer hums in the background on the interviews. Luckily, my next few interviews are local (within a couple of hours drive) to me, so I will have a few weeks to get myself together before trying a Skype interview again, and perhaps sometimes in that few weeks I'll draft a little Skype interview checklist for myself to remember to fix all the crap that has made past Skype interview audio sound so crappy. Grrrrr. Anyway, if you can tolerate the hum, my latest podcast is up now, and interview is REALLY, REALLY good. :-)

My next few interviews are with someone who was adopted (to go wtih the audio I have had sitting on my computer for over a month of an interview with someone who gave up a baby for adoption), my local Wal-Mart greeter (who is a gospel preacher and VERY animated fellow), and a couple of other friends. I have another Skype one set up for February 25 (with the mother of a teen boy with autism), so hopefully I'll have it together by then. Hmmm...

And I took John's test. No big surprise here!

You are a
Social Moderate
(43% permissive)

and an...
Economic Liberal
(36% permissive)

You are best described as a:

Centrist

Link: The Politics Test on OkCupid Free Online Dating
Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

Problem Resolved

2006-01-26T17:13:00.000-05:00

:-)

Just a quick post to say that our educational issues have been resolved! I went in this afternoon to talk to the Principal about my concerns, and the school's owners' daughter-in-law (who just happens to be my oldest child's primary teacher, a close friend of our family, and the Elementary Director) overheard our discussion. Turns out that she and my daughter's teacher had been discussing her educational needs a good bit over the past two weeks, and were getting together some supplemental materials (chosen by the 1st/2nd grade teacher) to try to keep her occupied, since they didn't know if she would want to leave her kindergarten friends and move to the 1st/2nd grade class. But they felt wholeheartedly that she was academically and emotionally ready for that promotion, and my husband and I have to agree. Particularly since we're in a school where children are placed according to educational needs rather than simply their age, the move just made sense. It's nothing unusual to find a 12 year old in the 5th/6th grade classroom doing 5th grade language arts and 6th grade math; or to find an 8 year old in the 3rd/4th grade classroom doing 4th grade math and 5th grade reading. It has just enough of a one-room schoolhouse feel to it that every kid is treated individually, and mixed age groupings are common.

With all that in mind, my husband and I talked about it, discussed it with the Principal and Elementary Director, and discussed it with our daughter. She can't wait to move up, and starts as a 1st grader (probably in the 2nd grade reading group) on Monday. She has the option to do afternoon activities (art, music, crafts, centers) with either the 1st/2nd grade class or with the kindergarteners, and we'll play that by ear until we see how things progress. I'll meet with the 1st/2nd grade teacher after her first full week in that class, and find out what our next move will be, if any.

So that's it! Problem solved!

In other news, my beginning band students are starting to sound like a band of musicians! I almost started crying today in band, thinking about how this little handful of kids and teens in a super-small private school can now play pretty well on their flutes, clarinets, trumpets, and trombones, and that I brought that to them. :-) Gleeeeeeeee!

Attempts at real blogging

2006-01-26T08:54:00.001-05:00

As much as it is one of the simple joys of my life to incessantly discuss strippers and porn, enough of that for now. If I get an interesting interview with a current or past stripper for my podcast at some point, then I'm sure we'll revisit the issue. But for now, I want to avoid giving the impression that my life is all about hot chicks.

Let's talk about something more sensible. Like body hair.

Gentlemen: If you're that obsessed over whether or not your woman shaves daily, weekly, or never, you need to rethink a couple of things. For starters, time. If a lady is running late and doesn't take the time to shave in the shower, too frickin' bad. At least she showered. Get over it. And if it's winter-- puhleeze. If she wants to run around looking like she's wearing some hairy legwarmers, she can. If she doesn't complain about your body hair, man stench, and beer belly, she can be hairy. And yes, (name omitted to protect the not-so-innocent but someone I like a lot anyway), I am talking to you. ;-)

Wait... That's not a whole lot better than talking about strippers and porn, now that I think about it.

It might even make me sound weirder. Maybe I'll go put some strikethrough on it and try again.

Ugh.

My 5 year old daughter has been dragging for the past few weeks, when it comes to getting up and getting ready for school in the mornings. She finally broke down this morning, started crying, and told me that she hates school. I'm sure part of it has to do with the fact that it's been pretty cold and rainy lately, and they aren't getting as much outside time at school as kindergarteners should. But part of it is that she's bored. She started sounding out words when she was 3, and finished reading all two hundred eighty-something pages of her children's Bible before her 5th birthday-- all by herself. She can do double digit addition and subtraction in her head (don't really know how she picked that up; she's been doing it for months), and loves to write letters to people (wonder where she gets that?). "Mommy, they make me do math and Ms. Debbie makes everyone count sticks, and I can do it without counting sticks. And they make us spell things one letter at a time, and I can write the whole sentence all by myself!" And the complaints went on and on.

I remember my school years vividly. Like a big nightmare.

I was a lot like my daughter, and learned to read and do math early. When I went into kindergarten, my teacher gave me a hard time. Why did your mom have to teach you to read early, anyway? Mom never really taught me to read-- she just read to me and answered my questions. In 1st grade, they realized I was drowning in my own boredom. So, worried that letting me skip to 2nd grade might cause emotional adjustment issues, they came up with a much more bizarre plan. Beginning in first grade and lasting all the way through 7th, I was in two grades at once. I would go to school with the kids my age for social studies and math (and they all thought I was the weird smart kid), and then I would go to school with kids a year older for language arts (and they all thought I was the little nerd).

In 4th grade, I moved to a school that had a good gifted program called PELICAN. It meant that several other gifted kids my age and I got pulled out for a full day one day each week to do hands-on projects, experiments, and study units, and it was SOOOOOOOOOO COOL! But my time in the regular classroom was still painfully boring, so they started pulling me out a second day each week to go to PELICAN with the older kids, too. So, I was in 4th grade for a half day and 5th for a half day three days each week, pulled out for 4th grade gifted program one day each week, and pulled out for 5th grade gifted the other day each week. That was when I was 9.

Sixth grade brought another cranky teacher who was annoyed that I needed to do a different reading level. I don't know why you can't just do the same book everyone else does! Um, because I did it last year?

Eighth grade brought band (woo-hoo!), and tracking, which meant that I got fed into all the honors classes and could finally be in one grade, with kids my age. It also meant that things got pretty easy, and I could skate by without doing my homework. That lasted through high school, and I never really developed anything that could be considered a study habit, much less study habits, plural. I rarely ever did homework, but could ace the tests if I listened even a little bit in class, and graduated high school with a good bit of AP credits and dual-enrollments and was accepted into the honors college at USC-- which I immediately bombed out of, having no study habits, no self-discipline, and having had any true enjoyment of education beaten out of me by a history of whacked out attempts at engaging me academically.

Enter the homeschooling idea. I homeschooled my children up until this school year, so this whole school thing is pretty new to me. I had enjoyed homeschooling because of the freedom to challenge my children, teaching them at an individual rate that wasn't to pushy but that did encourage self-discipline and taught my children the joy of a good challenge.

I don't want to look like a freaky parent who is controlling or delusional about my child's capabilities, but I sure as anything don't want them being bored. I have seen firsthand how boredom with the educational process can create bad study habits, instill a lack of self-discipline, and generate a general disregard and disrespect for the educational process in general, and educators in particular. I don't want my kids growing up with that. I want them to always challenge themselves, to always know that education is SUCH a gift and a blessing, and to enjoy the process of learning new things as much as they did back when we were homeschooling.

Hmmmmmm.... Not sure what to do.

See, this is the kind of wacko post you get from me when I'm sleep deprived from staying up too late to edit the podcast. I didn't quite finish, but it should be up by tomorrow, and this is going to be a good one. AND a reporter from the local newspaper sat in with me so that she can write a feature article in Saturday's paper about podcasting and local podcasters. Oh wait, I'm the only podcaster in my town (that I know of). ;-)

And I promise to those of you who listen to the 'cast that after this, I have several in-person interviews planned, so you will be spared the skype audio quality, at least for a little while.

Ho-hum. Better start my day.

A Good Day

2006-01-25T08:57:00.001-05:00

Geez, now I have performance anxiety after all the responses to my last post, Acceptance and Change. And all I have time to blog about today is that yesterday was a good day.

I got a very exciting phone call yesterday afternoon, and while I'm going to wait to see how it pans out before telling more about it here, it could bring a bit of publicity and more listeners to my podcast.

I wasn't planning to work out last night, but the phone call got the ol' adrenaline flowing so freely that I went to the YMCA and did the elliptical, weight training, and the rock wall (did I mention I'm terrified of heights?), which was all exhilarating.

On the way home from the Y, with no makeup on and wearing gym clothes, I got carded at the store. C'mon! I'm 30, for crying out loud.

I spent 45 minutes soaking in a bubble bath in my lit-only-by-my-favorite-scented-candle bathroom last night, blasting my "Inspire" playlist on my iPod.

I was snoring by 10:00 pm. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh....

And I have a very good interview scheduled for tonight. :-)

Now I just have to work my rear off at work today so that I can finally get caught up from the daily stuff I let fall by the wayside while I was freaking over year-end. I. Can. Do. It.

MFP Episode One: Acceptance and Change

2006-01-23T17:06:00.003-05:00

So, I don't do a very good job of keeping secrets about myself, particularly when I think there might be something to be learned from the experience. This has, over the past few years, led me to embarrass a few people by awkwardly telling someone something that, while not so big of a deal to me, freaked them out just a bit. It's not intentional, trust me. It's just that my experiences are, well,... just part of my life to me, and I sometimes forget that we each have our own comfort level (based on our own unique experiences) with what experiences we consider to be just a normal part of life, and which ones we consider to be pretty far out of the mainstream. But I'm rambling...

I've been thinking a bit about acceptance in how we share the love of Christ lately, and it has brought me to thinking about one of the more bizarre parts of my past that you, dear reader, may or may not really want to be privy to. So, I will start to categorize these more bizarre, possibly TMI posts under the "My Freaky Past" headings, and today, I'll start with Episode One: Acceptance and Change. Read at your own risk. :-)

The Background

There was a time, back when I was in college the first time around, when quite a few of my female friends from college decided to go get jobs as topless dancers. Over the course of a year or two, I had the chance to see how working in that kind of environment affected them emotionally, spiritually, and academically, and got more of an insight than I was ready for into what happens to girls who work in the sex industry. During that time, I had a chance to get to know several girls who worked as dancers, call girls, and porn actresses. Many of them came from rough childhoods in which a good number of them had been sexually abused, and most of them had drug and alcohol problems ranging from excessive drinking and pot smoking to doing hard drugs. And then there were a few who were really nice girls-- just very much confused and struggling with who they were. I became close friends with a couple of the nicer girls who weren't scary-- just scared, and wanted to find a way to help them out.

At the time, I was living in an apartment completely paid for by Double Agent, who was rarely ever in town. I hated living alone, and needed a roommate anyway, so I approached one of my pals who was a dancer, and made her an offer. The offer was like this: she could move into my spare bedroom, rent-free, if she wanted to quit dancing and get her life back on track. She was welcome to stay with me as long as she wanted, as long as she didn't go back to work in clubs, and didn't do drugs. She took me up on it, quit dancing, and stayed with me for almost a year before moving out to get married.

Over the next year or so, I had a small handful of girls take me up on a similar offer, and almost always had at least one roommate. Some of them left to return to dancing and partying it up, and others left to get back into college or some other form of somewhat normal life. Word spread.

The Story

One day, during one of my roommate-free phases, I got a call from a complete stranger. "Hi, Christy. You don't know me, but XXXXXXX (who used to live with you) gave me your #. I'm coming into Columbia for a photo shoot and need a place to stay. Do you mind if I crash with you for a few nights?" Being 19 years old and stupid enough to let a stranger come stay with me (I figured that since I was friends with the photographer, it couldn't be that bad), I agreed. We made plans, and a week later, A* was on my doorstep.

Now, A* was not doing a photo shoot for Good Housekeeping, and while I won't mention the specific magazine, it is one of the higher end, less-trashy, erotic magazines. And in line with what I would have expected, A* was a real party girl. But she was also a single mom with a sweet streak and big heart, who loved discussing psychology and human nature during late night heart-to-hearts, and who was open to new experiences. I didn't treat her like anything other than a true friend, and we became instant best buddies. A* invited me to go to a local bar to sing karaoke with her, and I did, and we had a blast! I invited A* to come to an Advent-wreath-making dinner at my church, and she did (even though she had to borrow some of my clothes to have something appropriate to wear). I also taught A* how to make these cute little craft wreaths out of fabric scraps and straw wreaths, and she LOVED it! I'll never forget how hard we both laughed when some guy who had gotten her number at the bar the night before called, and she told him she couldn't go out because I was teaching her how to be Martha Stewart (before the prison time) and she was having too much fun making wreaths to go party with him. I think he was more-than-a-little-bit offended.

To make a long story a little shorter, what was supposed to be a weekend visit turned into a 3 month roommate (with A* traveling home a few times over that period to spend time with her daughter). In a number of late night girl talks, A* told me that nobody had ever treated her like she was just a normal person before, and told me how nice it was to not feel judged or looked down on or stereotyped. The night before A* did finally leave to return home for good, we both sat up all night crying. All her friends back home were crazy women, strippers, and generally not very good people, she said, and she didn't know how to make real friends any more. But she went home anyway, and we stayed in touch for a few years after that. One year later, when I found out I was going to be a single mom, A*'s mother invited me to move to Tennessee to live with them, as they wanted to return the favor of kindness I had shown, but it just didn't feel like the right thing to do. A few years later, I heard she was married.

The Point

I think that most of us Christians (and other religious people, as well) insulate ourselves a little too well from those people we think are off the path, or led astray, or under the wrong influences, at the expense of truly changing people's lives. Granted, my life is different now. I have more responsibilities and a family to care for and help protect, so inviting random party people to come and live with me is not an option. As a dedicated Christian, teacher, and family person, I'm not really into the same kind of partying I used to do from time to time, back when my life was different. I might talk trash from time to time, but don't really have the interest or desire to do the kinds of things that would take me off the path. But I am still in contact with a good number of my old pals, and don't really feel that much discomfort or embarrassment about it.

See, A* was a big lesson for me on how a good number of people live according to the expectations placed upon and opportunities offered to them. Back in Tennessee, as an exotic dancer and model, A* had been a complete party girl-- living the life one would expect of someone in that position. But for the brief time she was staying with me, she actually enjoyed going to church, playing board games at the apartment, and getting to know my friends, who were all pretty mellow and straight-laced by that point in my life. She had a support system (me, Maher, and a couple of other pals of mine from Church) who encouraged her and had fun with her, all within the context of healthy friendships, complete acceptance, and good, clean fun. I didn't preach to her about the evils of her lifestyle, and she didn't complain to me about the boringness of mine; we just became part of each others' lives, took each other at face value, and accepted each other as humans. No preaching, no judging, no snobby lectures.

And that changed both of us for the better-- more so than anything else that we could have done together.

Here's the challenge, though: After A* left to go back home, she went back (at least partly) into the lifestyle from which she had come. As straight-laced and modest as she had enjoyed being while she was around me and my pals, once she was back around her old pals, she fell back in line with them.

Which brings me to the issue of acceptance. I am one person, and a flawed person at that-- insecure, hypersensitive, and moody. But I take people as people, usually treat them with respect, and am generally not very judgmental of the people who come into my life. Thinking of A*, and how being accepted changed her lifestyle and self-image a bit (even if only temporarily), I can't help but wonder how many more people's lifestyle and self-image could be changed if they truly felt accepted by those they consider to be normal, or typical, or mostly-good people. Granted, I know that only God can effect a true change in a person's heart, but how many people are closed off to even accepting the love of God in their hearts, when they don't even feel the slightest bit of that love and acceptance coming into their lives from God's people?

Those of us who are people of integrity know that we are humans-- flaky, flawed, and imperfect. But to someone who is now and has always felt like s/he has been on the outside looking in, we can seem a bit larger than life, and our judgments upon the people whose lifestyles we reject can do more to drive people away from God than we ever imagined.

But how do we show our acceptance of the people we encounter without giving a false endorsement of a lifestyle we may not like? I think we have a pretty good role model for that, and it sure isn't me. Jesus spent time with people that others in his day wouldn't go near, and the mere fact of his acceptance and friendship opened hearts, just as it continues to open hearts today. So, doesn't it make sense that we should follow that example, and somehow work to find that balance between honoring our own purity while still demonstrating the love of Christ?

I'm not a master at this, obviously, as I still have so much to learn and grow and live. But I think it's something that we should at least be discussing, thinking about, and praying about. What do you guys think?

Sunrise, pictures, podcasts, and yumminess

2006-01-21T13:34:00.001-05:00

This is sunrise at the beach, photographed from our balcony last weekend. You can check out more pictures at flickr (my user name is the same as my primary email). Most of the pics of my kids are friends and family only, so you'll have to add me as a contact and let me know who you are if you want full access. :-)

In other news, my husband is a saint, and not just for putting up with me. The man realizes how the one thing I miss most about living here in a small town is the lack of places to go to get yummy ethnic foods. Last night, he prepared an awesome spread of meal and snack food for me... Mmmmmmmmmmmmm! Thai stir fry with peanut sauce for dinner, and then tabouleh and homemade hummus on pita for snack. Oh. My. Goodness!

Commonllegiate Sense

2006-01-20T17:10:00.000-05:00

Study finds more than half of students at four-year colleges -- and at least 75 percent at two-year colleges -- lack the literacy to handle complex, real-life tasks such as understanding credit card offers.

This is news?

Don't get me wrong, folks. I'm speaking as someone who has done a cumulative 5 years of undergraduate and 2 years of graduate work, all of which greatly benefited me, as far as I'm concerned. But, here's the deal... We present new college students with all these stupid ideas, beginning with the first lie we tell them-- that college must necessarily be the next step in their education after high school. Rather than presenting a solid college education as a benefit to be enjoyed once you're at the point in your life where you are ready for personal and educational growth as well as learning new skills to improve your career opportunities, it's presented as just the next step in the imsupposedtobeaneducatedcitizen process. And so, it is taken just about as seriously as the previous 13 years of education, which usually tends to be not very.

I say this from experience. When I first started college at age 17 (almost 18), it was just like high school, except without my parents there to stop me from partying. I was in the Honors College at my university, started as a second semester sophomore due to some AP credit, dual-enrollment, and placing out of requirements through exams, and I thought it was all a big joke. I didn't think, "Hey, this school is getting my money, so I'm going to get my money's worth out of them." I just took whatever courses the HC advisor told me to take, without ever really questioning if I had any other options. After a few years of crappy performance, non-performance, and general disinterest, I dropped out of school (by this time on probation with the Honors College, and with grades that were less-than-spectacular). I had very few skills, very little real life experience, and had no idea what it really meant to take on responsibility.

Until I had my son.

When I returned to college three years later, as a single mom, I had discovered a few things about life, none of which were learned in the classroom. Among those life lessons was the fact that if I was handing someone large chunks of MY hard-earned money, they were beholden to ME, not the other way around. I was going to get what I wanted out of my education, and they were going to tailor the degree program to my specifications. I had almost all of my core classes out of the way, and knew there would be some required courses, most of which I enjoyed. But I also knew that many of my degree requirements could be met through my choice of avenues. In my entire 2nd-chance college career, I only took 1 course I didn't want to take but had to. The rest (including about 20 credit hours of directed study courses for which I wrote my own program), I LOVED.

But what does that have to do with college students and common sense? Not much, except that I don't think people go to college to learn common sense, money management (business majors aside), and life skills-- not directly, anyway. Life skills are learned in the real world, if you're actually willing to step out of your ivory tower and live in it a bit. And if you're pretty perceptive, you're likely to pick up more life skills from the process of your college education than you are from the classes themselves. If you aren't so busy partying that you completely dork out, that is.

College has its' place, but I don't believe that the organized educational system is now, or has ever been successful, as a complete and thorough reformer of a society that doesn't value intelligence in the first place. If you go (or send your kids), do it for the right reasons-- to be yet another avenue for the enrichment of an already educational experience-- and not as a replacement for a life that embraces learning.

The Think'n Southerna

2006-01-19T22:23:00.001-05:00

My blog, according to gizoogle.

A bizzle fo` tha southern ladies n gentlemen who aren't afraid ta think a bit `bout life, tha universe, n everyth'n. Commentizzles news, reflection, accusation, prognosticizzle n everyday shiznit frizzay a southern point of vizzy is our specialties upside yo head. Pull up a ho-slappin' chair on our digital porch, pour some sweet tea over ice in a mason jar, n let's git ta ponder'n, chill yo.

That's me, all the way. ;-)

Maybe I'll start running my podcast scripts through that before recording.

Me, the Uptight

2006-01-19T13:36:00.001-05:00

Through clicking on a series of profiles for people that commented in a friend's blog, I have discovered that I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much more sheltered, straight-laced, and removed from what a lot of people out there are doing than I ever thought. Which is A GOOD THING, as far as I'm concerned. :-)

I may post more about this later, if I can ever get my jaw up off the floor. Or maybe I'll spare you.

In other news, someone found my site recently by searching for "unstructured bellydancing" on google. While my belly is somewhat unstructured at the moment, and I do love dancing, I'm still not convinced that they found what they came here looking for.

Lessons Learned

2006-01-19T10:16:00.002-05:00

Figured I'd dispense a little unsolicited advice, just to start practicing so that it will come a little more naturally when I'm 50. So, read and learn, dear friends.

Gentlemen: if your lady calls you from work and asks you to bring her gym clothes when you come to pick her up from work so that she can go to the YMCA, ask a few specific questions before simply deciding to bring the first thing you grab out of the closet, which just happens to be the oldest clown-suit highwaters and too-tight workout tank top in her possession, which she really should have thrown out a few years back. And... if once you get to the gym you decide to play racquetball with her while she's still annoyed at you for forcing her to look like a fat and creepy clown around a bunch of extremely healthy and hard-bodied people, it's not likely to be a good idea to keep serving to her left, especially when you know she's not left-handed and can't return very well in that corner. Because... once you finally serve to her right, where she can aim (and with a good deal of power), she's likely to aim straight for the back of your head, just because she can. Just a suggestion, though. Do what you like.

Ladies: If you haven't worked out in a month or so, and decide to get back into the habit, an hour of racquetball followed by an hour on an elliptical machine is a good way to kill yourself. Fortunately, if you somehow make it through without severe injury or death, it is also a good way to guarantee your first good night's sleep in months.

And, I wrote a skit last night that will hopefully end up eventually being podcasted. I'm a co-leader for the 10-11 year old class in a national scouting organization for girls. They asked me what kinds of topics I could present on, and I told them that podcasting is my latest hobby. So, I wrote a skit about some girls learning what Locks of Love is. We're going to record our parts tonight, and I'm going to teach the girls how to do some basic audio editing at our next meeting so that they can edit it themselves. Then, assuming I can get parental permission to play it on my podcast, I may do one in the near future about some kids who have donated to and benefited from Locks of Love. Neat. :-) We'll see!

Reality, the Musical

2006-01-17T23:34:00.001-05:00

I'm sitting here watching Scrubs as I write this which, while it's not one of my usual shows, is one that I enjoy a good bit when I do get a chance to watch. My warped sense of humor as well as my extremely visual sense of ... well, of everything, makes me a good fit for shows that so flawlessly blend nonsense, keen wit, good writing, sharp delivery, and slapstick to make both entertainment and a point. Currently on my television screen, the creepy janitor is dangling half naked outside a window suspended by the speedo that he's wearing, but the episode that came on just before this one actually touched on the issues of religion, honesty in relationships, parenthood, and childhood trauma. And it was funny! And not really in a sick and evil sort of way, as I really don't appreciate, get, or enjoy genuinely mean humor, but in a intelligent silliness sort of way. It's amazing that because the show engaged me in a less threatening way, through use of effective theatrical diversions, I was more relaxed, and therefore more easily receptive to the more serious messages the show had to offer.

Earlier today, I posted my most recent podcast, which was an interview with the author of Love Jerry-- the so-called "pedophile musical" I heard about just last week. The interview, while obviously about a heavy subject, was a wonderful experience for me and in the end of the interview, Megan thanked me for approaching her work with an open mind and said how refreshing it was to be able to actually talk about the play without having to constantly defend it. It's so important to me that each person who is a guest on my podcast look at is as having been a positive experience, and being 6 for 6 in that regard feels good.

Megan is heartfelt, friendly, thoughtful, intelligent, and clearly committed to being a part of the solution to end child sexual abuse, in whatever ways she can. People have made issues of three key facts about the play that could potentially be objectionable: 1) It's a musical, and quite a few people find that inappropriate; 2) Jerry is not demonized in the play, and rather than being presented as the manifestation of pure evil is offered up as a very flawed human whose horrible choices devastate his family's life as well as his own; and 3) A handful of people have proclaimed that child sexual abuse is not an appropriate topic for public entertainment.

Which brings up quite a few other elements, to my view. For starters, Megan made clear that this is not a musical in the style of Oklahoma or Li'l Abner. This is a play in which acoustic, natural, folk-style music is used as a way for the characters to express heartfelt emotions and truths that might not come out in any other way. That kind of music not only expresses a kind of emotion and sincerity that is difficult to express in any other way, but it provides a less threatening context into which to place an otherwise unsettling exploration of a terrifying social plague. It, in some ways, makes an intimate exploration of such an intense issue a little more palatable in the end.

Megan conducted a good bit of research on and interviews with actual sexual offenders and child molesters as part of her preparation for this play. One of the things that struck her was how human they seemed-- these were not creepy and sinister characters barren of emotion, living in solitude under the social radar, without family and community connections. Instead, they were people with families, dreams, feelings, fears, and worries-- people who would not stand out in a crowd as people to avoid. See, as long as we, as a society, continue to expect those who abuse our children to be dark and looming characters, we will miss out on the true threat to our children. Most sexual abuse is not by openly disturbed or threatening people. It's almost always someone the child knows-- a family member, trusted adult, or teacher. The real threat to our children isn't secretive and lurking people, as much as it is secretive and lurking ideas in our society regarding how we address sexual abuse when it does happen.

Which brings me to the question of what is or isn't an appropriate topic to address through theater. See, I am a big fan of the arts as a personal diversion, as well as of the arts as a way of working to effect dramatic cultural change. I grew up in the theater, performing on stage as a singer, dancer, actor, and musician. I understand how the experience of an artistic project, both as a participant and as a spectator, can change your heart and open your mind to new possibilities. Addressing sexual abuse as an issue, and only an theoretical and intellectual issue, it is far too easy to remove the issue from its' context, to throw away the humanity of the abuser as we address criminal acts, and to assault the epidemic with platitudes, narrow-minded (albeit well-intentioned) anger, and a completely useless rage against what is clearly an injustice. This does nobody any good, least of all the person who was abused, or whose child was abused, for whom platitudes are meaningless and the offender is often more human than their heart would have ever preferred. It's far too easy for people to theorize about what is or isn't an appropriate forum to discuss child sexual abuse when their own lives have never been touched, either through their own experiences or those of someone they love, by the personal and emotional devastation that child abuse leaves in its' wake. Those who have been through it are less likely to be interested in arguments about where and when sexual abuse should be discussed... they just want to see the discussion happening.

Megan brought up a particularly powerful point during our conversation-- a point that has replayed itself on the spectacular backdrop of my far-too-intense imagination over the last few days. We repress this, refuse to discuss it, and expect people to heal from their sexual-abuse-inflicted wounds quietly and without great fanfare precisely because it is a topic we're scared of. We can't define it in terms of genetics, microbiology, or a cure, so we are scared to stand face to face with what we can't control. If this were polio, or bird flu, or any other definable illness that was affecting one out of three girls and one out of six boys in this country, it would be on the cover of the papers every single day until we had found a solution. Sadly, I think our head-in-the-sand stupidity with regard to sexual abuse goes even deeper than that, as erectile dysfunction and frickin' male pattern baldness often get more play in the press than the violation of our children. (Of course, we plaster sexually abused children all over the media when they are killed by their abusers, which makes it easier to demonize the abuser, but what about the thousands of others who live daily with their scars? But, alas, that's another blogpost for another day.) Where are our priorities, people? Why is it that when someone makes an honest effort to address a societal epidemic, we tear her apart, assuming it's a perversion of reality, when it is sadly, horrifyingly, and inexcusably likely to be one of the most honest and genuine looks at sexual abuse to date? Sad, horrifying, and inexcusable not because she addressed this issue in the format of a musical that does not make the bad guy a monster, but sad, horrifying, and inexcusable because WE as a society have, in some way, allowed it to become (and continue to allow it to be) the epidemic that it is, through our own silence and unwillingness to be gently led out of our comfort zones.

Earlier today, I did a google search to find any press or blog coverage about Love Jerry. What I found was, in most cases, a collection of the most ridiculous, misguided, misinformed, irrational, knee-jerk reactions I've ever seen in regard to a topic. Bloggers, it's just a little too easy to fire off at the mouth, or the keyboard, as the case may be, without having ANY IDEA what we're talking about. Why do we do that? I'll admit, when I first heard about this play, my first reaction was that it must necessarily be an atrocity. But the first sentence I fired off about it wasn't in a blog post; it was in an email to the author of the play, to find out from the delightfully open and sincere horse's mouth what the real deal was. Do a technorati search, or some other blog search, on "Love Jerry" or "pedophile musical." I dare you. And then prepare to cringe, as you read what would be a ridiculously funny series of idiotic tirades by people who don't know anything about it, except for the fact that real ignorance is rarely ever funny. Pull your heads out of the sand of your self-presumed righteousness, and face the facts that we REALLY need to have open and honest discussions about what is happening to our children if we are ever to have any hope of truly protecting them. And please, if you have no idea what it is like to be a survivor of sexual abuse, a parent, or a friend of one, listen in intently on the discussion, contributing only when you feel you have something to say that brings a greater truth to light for the benefit of our society. Don't pretend to speak for the little people; chances are you aren't really speaking for them in the first place. And most of the adult survivors can speak for themselves quite nicely, thank you.

In other news, south clearly trumps north, according to googlefight. So there.

Also, listenership is up, thank you very much to the nice podcasters out there sharing about what I'm doing! And as exciting as the growing stats (particularly 1st day posting stats) are to me, they are not the true indicator of whether or not I have arrived as a podcaster-- I got my first piece of slightly inappropriate email feedback over the weekend. SCORE! From a guy. Who liked my accent. (What is UP with you Great Lakes states freaks? Seriously!) Truthfully, though, it made me smile on an otherwise boring day, so whatever. Also, today I noticed that I had my first review on iTunes-- 5 stars and a nice comment. Unfortunately, the review was written by my dad, and referenced my "sultry, southern drawl."

*crickets*

Thankyouverymuch.

I think I'm going to shove a bottle brush in one ear and out the other and scrub hard until that reference has been completely and totally erased from my brain.

Topless Blogging

2006-01-17T10:36:00.001-05:00

Today is my busy day with my job(s), so I may not get a chance to make a real post of my own. But I just read a blogpost that is quite possibly one of the funniest things I have ever read in my life. Seriously. Like I'm sitting here at my computer trying to look cool while tears (and snot) are streaming down my face, breaking out in hives and having an asthma attack brought on by attempted stifling of raucous laughter.

Ladies: this is the post that made me snarf.

Gentlemen: That post might be a little more of an insight into a women's minds (and bodies, for that matter) than you are ready for at this point in your evolution. Read this instead.

In other news, my interview with the author of Love Jerry is now up at my podcast. I liked her, liked her style, and liked what she's doing, and will likely blog a bit more about her when work chills out. For now, take a listen, and let me know what you think.

ENFJ, and an update on Tropical Man.

2006-01-16T12:11:00.000-05:00

So, I was just goofing around on my lunch break and took some online personality test. Here's my results:
Your Type is ENFJ
Strength of the preferences %
Extroverted Intuitive Feeling Judging
33 12 50 22

You are:

* moderately expressed extrovert
* slightly expressed intuitive personality
* moderately expressed feeling personality
* slightly expressed judging personality

Here's one analysis of my personality type, written by someone with a slightly more favorable than is objective perception of ENFJs.
Here's another, written by someone who even mentions being annoyed by ENFJs but who brings up some good points anyway.
And another.
My bloginality take on it.

I have a few thoughts on the nature of the test, the kinds of questions (and how hard they were for me to answer), and what this means about why I'm such a weirdo. But I'll have to blog about that later. My lunch break is.... 5....4....3....2....1.... over.

In other news, tropical man WAS in fact married, and is thus, a jerk. However, Saturday night, when my sister and I (and our brutish, grimacing chaperones) were there, he got an unsettling phone call from his wife. See, he was at the beach for some kind of fishing convention. His wife was back home, out with friends, and called him (while he was in the bar) to tell him she had gone out, was really drunk, and was having a blast, partying it up. He was freaking out, saying that he had never heard her tipsy like that before, and was really worried to not be there with her.

Talk about that big ol' cosmic 2 by 4 (which I sometimes like to think of as divine justice or karma or whatever) spinning right around and whacking him in the head! I think that made my night all the more entertaining. Does that make me a mean person? ;-)

Hope you all had a great weekend, by the way.

haloscam

2006-01-15T18:33:00.000-05:00

In the past few days, a couple of you have told me you couldn't leave comments. Bummer. If that keeps happening, would you let me know so I can try to figure out how to fix it? Just comment and let me know. HAHA! No, really-- most of my readers know my email anyway, so just drop me a line if there is a problem.

In other news, one of the delightful people who reads my blog from time to time, and who emailed me to let me know comments were not working for her, has her own southern lady blog that I can't get enough of. Check out Empress Baggie for a good read, fabulous haiku, and creepy pictures of headless baby dolls violently seeking revenge against each other. Her Royal Highness shares her thoughts on life, soul food, and the antics and scary scout-leader socks of His Royal Heinie. What more could you ask for in a blog, or a monarch, for that matter?

Survey says...

2006-01-15T11:24:00.001-05:00

Success! Down time achieved, stress somewhat relieved.

The girls got their night out.

The boys got to chaperone.

I'll get back to regular posting later this week. :-)

age, or maybe growth, revisited...

2006-01-14T11:17:00.003-05:00

From ages 18-20, I was a party girl. Not in the sense of going to bars to pick up guys or be picked up (I've never left a bar with someone I didn't go in with), or having one night stands (something else I've never done). But I really enjoyed getting lost in the intensity of it all-- the lights, the loudness, the fog... By daylight, I was rather mild mannered, nerdy, and insecure. In the right lighting, I could pretend I was someone else.

I think there's just a little tiny bit of that party girl left in me, in the sense that I'm a bit of a free spirit-- fun loving and silly-- but it's different. I'm more of a party girl in the abstract rather than in the tangible reality of my life. As much fun as I have blogging about what a wild woman I'm going to be, given the chance, it just isn't really me anymore.

In true fashion, I talk a big game, but am really a homebody. This morning, I snuggled in bed next to my husband and watched the sun rise over the ocean. My day since then was spent sipping chamomile tea while reading my Bible on the balcony of our room, and walking the beach and nearby pier with my family. I have a feeling that the rest of the day will be about the same, perhaps with a hot tub soak or pool swim thrown in. Last night hubs and I did go to karaoke, which was a blast, and I've talked my sister and her man into coming here for karaoke tonight instead of hitting the hot clubs. I guess, in spite of my grandest fantasies, that I'm a pretty simple girl, easy to please, who just wants to be with her family. Maybe, just maybe, there isn't as much in my life anymore that I want to escape, and my life is satisfying enough without having to be obscured by disco balls, fog machines, and thumping bass.

Hubs and I talked this morning about the whole protection thing... I think we figured out a few contributing factors to why we felt the way we each did-- things relating to past experiences. You know-- the baggage we tend to drag into relationships and carry with us over time. So, it's resolved. If we can both afford to go, we will. If not, I'll go. Simple. No hurt feelings, no sulking, no nightlife. I probably wouldn't really want to go out anyway, given my tendency toward talking bigger than I'd ever really try to be in real life. But I am a big girl, and could make a trip on my own if that's the way it works out, and he knows I'd spend the whole time babbling to anyone who would listen about him and the kids. They are my heart.

The whole guy behavior thing is an interesting discussion, though. I think that some guys think women are stupid when it comes to knowing what some guys are like, what they think, and how they behave. I think women get it much of the time; we just don't necessarily react the way that guys think women will react. I've said it before and I'll say it now-- the manly man national geographic strut and preen mating dance that some guys do really cracks me up! It does not turn me on or weaken my knees. It's just anthropology in action-- a fascinating display of usually misplaced effort.

Last night, I went down to karaoke, and hubs was going to join me later. I walked in, ordered a beer, and immediately picked up the karaoke song list. I'm here to sing, remember? A small crowd of sixty year old guys (late sixties would be a generous guess on my part), one of whom was extremely friendly and had an earring, were flirting with me. Old guys-- well, that's just kind of cute. I flirted back, because they were so funny, and went back to reviewing my song list. Within a few minutes, 1/2 my beer was gone, and I had found my song. I couldn't find a pen to write my song on the slip, though, and was leaning in toward the bartender to try to get his attention. After a minute, he came and sat another beer in front of me. "No-- I just needed a pen," I said. "Oh-- the drink is compliments of the gentleman at the end of the bar." I looked, and there was a forty-something guy with a tropical print shirt smiling at me. "Thanks," I mouthed, thinking about how I'll never see California after this. Less than 5 minutes in the bar, and old guys were hitting on me while some dopey guy at the end of the bar was buying me a drink.

But see, here's the thing. I'm guessing (because I'm not a man) that tropical man thinks, "Hey, I bought this chick a beer. She smiled at me. That must be because she wants me. Maybe I'll get lucky." And as far as I'm concerned, I don't really care if that was what he was thinking. I was thinking, "Kind of dweeby, but seems harmless. Free beer-- not bad. If that guy is married, he's a jerk. Maybe he's not, though, but what do I care. When's hubs coming to the bar? I can't wait for him to get here. I'll drink my two beers and sing love songs to him all night."

A few minutes later, hubs arrived to find me with a beer in each hand (not a normal thing for me, just for the record-- I drink a couple of beers per month when I'm on a roll). I smiled at him, kissed him, and then gestured down the bar-- "The second beer is compliments of the gentleman at the end of the bar." Hubs looked, and tropical guy smiled at him. Tropical guy then walked over, play slugged my husband in the arm, and said, "Hey, man, I was just getting her another beer so she'd sing-- haha!" Hubs smiled, because truthfully he's not a very jealous kind of person, recent hooha aside, and slugged tropical guy back. "Yeah, she's a keeper," he said, and laughed. I then spent the rest of the night singing country music to my man (with my voice, everything is country when I sing it), and dancing with a group of forty-something women who were there. We really had a blast, and before long my husband was even chatting with the old dudes, even the one with the earring. They really were friendly guys, and had neat stories to tell (old guys usually do).

So, here's the thing. I think some guys are pigs. Back in my party girl days, I had plenty of married guys offer to meet me for flings, and brazen single guys who expected me to be something I wasn't. I've seen men at their worst, trust me, so much so that I went for years thinking all men were horrible. But truthfully, most of the guys I know now are pretty good guys. I think guys put on this silly show because they think it impresses other people, and who knows?-- maybe sometimes it does. But most men I know now, deep inside, just want someone to talk to, to listen to them, to believe in them, and to cheer for them. They just usually don't expect that other person to be a guy, because it might violate the man code, which really is a silly thing to begin with. And guys, most women are smarter than you think. Even when they go along with your manly man act, it is usually with the awareness that you are in fact doing the manly man act, and that they are doing the easy female act. Don't flatter yourselves too much!

This vacation is a nice thing. Time to chill out, time to reflect, is rare in the daily grind. It's nice to get away from it all for a while. I feel good.

Holy moly beach madness

2006-01-13T21:45:00.002-05:00

So, I guess that most of you guys were too chicken to comment in public. My hubs and I had a little bet going as to what kinds of comments my last post would get, and whether or not they would be divided along the gender line. So, you peeps are costing me a full body massage, I'll have you know. Go back and comment, darnit!

We drove to the beach today (5 hours), through thunderstorms and tornado warnings, but it is BEAUTIFUL now. This is the place we stay every time I come to the beach (I worked here in high school-- Chubby Checker, remember?). Usually, I'm rushing in during the busy season, for a high school reunion or quickie visit, and we get stuffed into whatever little room they have available. And when the Christy family stays in other hotels, it's usually on a long road trip, when we're just too tired to drive anymore, and it's a crappy four-hour-sleep kind of hotel. So, since I've been out of the business world where I traveled, we haven't done nice hotels very much, or at least not nice rooms in the nice hotels.

And it's free, right? And I'm the kind of person who is simply grateful for whatever I get, so I wasn't expecting much... Just a couple of beds, a TV, and a bathroom. We walked into our 12th floor room today, and my 9 year old grumbled, "Oh, great. No beds." That was when we realized we were standing in the living room. We're in a super-fly suite that has a living room, dining room, and kitchenette, and hubs and I have our own room separate from the kids. Yeah, baby! ;-) And we have TWO-- count them-- 1, 2-- balconies overlooking the ocean. Holy snot, folks-- I'm overwhelmed. I think maybe my old friend heard my desperation yesterday morning when I called to ask for a room-- "I need a break, really bad. We just need to get away..." He certainly delivered, and it will take everything I have not to throw myself at his feet when we get to see him tomorrow.

So, I'm sitting here at the hotel business center, just because I wanted to tell my blogpals that I am the happiest and most relaxed I've been in a long time, and that it will only be getting better over the course of the weekend. Fifteen feet away from me is the hotel lounge, where some drunk weirdo is singing "Strokin'" by Clarence Carter-- heck yea, KARAOKE, baby! I'm in weirdo heaven! After I go back upstairs and get the munchkins to sleep, I might be down here singing "Strokin'" before the night is over. Or "Like a Virgin." Or "Lady Marmalade." Or any number of my karaoke standards (yes, I am that big of a nerd). And tomorrow during the day-- little sis is taking me shopping to buy some sexy club clothes for our dance outing tomorrow night (she's taking me to the hottest new clubs here). DO YOU PEOPLE REALIZE HOW LONG IT'S BEEN SINCE I BOUGHT A SEXY GARMENT OF ANY KIND?!?!?! HMMMMMMMMM?????????? And then hubs and I are going to spend the day playing on the beach (the weather is gorgeous), playing laser tag with the kids, and generally having a better time together than we've had in a long time. And then tomorrow night-- GIRLS' NIGHT OUT. My little sister's man might come over to knock back a few with hubs, while the girls are out cavorting all over Myrtle Beach. I'm giddy like a schoolgirl, if you can't tell. I need to get out more often, yeah, I know. But three kids... Priorities shift.

I may not be able to do this very often, but you better believe I'm going to get enough of it out of my system to get me through to the next time, just in case it's another 2 years. ;-)

Later, gators. Clarence Carter is calling out my name... He says Christy... Christy... Christy... LOL

Dweeby Married Guys

2006-01-12T08:35:00.002-05:00

So, I've been thinking that this fall, I need to go to Podcast Expo. For starters, I could use some guidance, ideas, and networking to help me improve and promote my podcast. Secondly, it would be fun, particularly since I've never been to California. I experienced it indirectly, through all my sister's Tahoe snowboarding videos, showgirl stories, and inability to speak the English language without excessive word ups, gnarlys, and peace outs (P.S. I found a pic of her to link to with clothes on). And I was at least close when we went to Sedona, Arizona, on our honeymoon. But I've never been there. Finally, I'm such a people person that it drives me ABSOLUTELY INSANE that I don't know what half my podcaster acquaintances look like. Grrrrrrr! (If any of you are reading, email a picture, just so my mental processes can be a little more well-rounded when I'm listening to you.) It drives me just as nutty when I don't know what my blogger friends look or sound like (skype, anyone?). I'm the kind of person who as I'm reading or listening to something, develops an intricate accompanying experience in my mind, complete with sound, visuals, and emotions. And I'm not much for mysteries. So, finally meeting some people I've come to like, admire, and enjoy having as a part of my life would be pretty cool.

However, the Christy family is not particularly wealthy, and I wonder if we'd be able to afford to get both me and my hubs out there. So, last night, I brought up the possibility of me going it alone, and the ensuing discussion was an interesting peek into the bizarre dynamics of my relationship with my husband. Here is my retelling of the incident. It isn't particularly accurate, partly because I can't remember word for word, and partly because, hey, it's my blog. I'll tell it how I want to.

I don't like the idea of you going out there alone.

Why not? What's the deal?

I don't know. I just don't like it.

So, you don't think I'm capable of going somewhere without you, successfully navigating the city, and not getting mugged, killed, or seduced in the process?

No, it's not that. It's just... just... I don't like the idea of you out there with all those computer geek guys.

It's not just guys, you know.

(glares at me) You're the one that told me the other day that you got an email from one of them that he sent to the podcasters in his address book, reading "Lady and Gentlemen."

Well, if you think they're all computer geeks, then what are you worried about?

You like geeky guys, for starters. (Faking a girly voice:) "Smart guys turn me on, ooh ahh," remember? Half the guys you've ever dated have been 34 year old geeks, even when you were 18.

So, you don't trust me?

No. I trust you.

Most of the podcaster guys I know are married anyway.

So. You know as well as I do that being married doesn't always stop guys from being stupid.

Apparently not.

Shut up.

I can't believe you don't trust me.

I DO trust you. I don't trust THEM.

You don't even know any of them.

No, but I know YOU. And I know geeky guys. And it just doesn't sit well with me.

What do you mean, (faking my best dorky man voice:) "I KNOW YOU"?

You're hot, for starters, easy to talk to, sweet, friendly, thoughtful, loving, lovable, beautiful, voluptuous, gorgeous, a genius, with irresistible blue eyes and keen wit to spare. (Okay, so I made up part of that. But he really did say some of it.) You make people feel special, and that really plays well to the geeky guy crowd.

Okay, what if I got V-dogg (my sister) to go with me?

(*crickets* *crickets*)

Seriously, hon. What if V went with me?

That's the making of a reality television special, there.

Don't be an ass. It would be fun. You don't even like going out, dancing, any of that. At least if I took V, I'd have someone to go out with. I haven't been out dancing in years (this is, sadly, a true statement). Hey, I haven't even been to karaoke in over a year, now. If V went, I'd have someone to go enjoy the nightlife with.

That's what I'm afraid of. I love your sister, but you going to California with her makes me even more nervous than you going alone.

Old fart.

Party animal.

(crickets chirp outside, as we both sit there, staring away from each other, like a couple of two-year olds in timeout for fighting over a toy.)

Tomorrow, I'm going to blog about what a dork you are.

I don't care.

(More silence...)

Seriously, man, you can't really be this big of a dork!

Well... I guess if you had to go alone, or if you went with your sister, it would be okay. I wouldn't like it or anything, and I'd worry about you while you're gone. It's a man thing, you know, and I can't protect you if I'm not there with you.

One wrong move on the part of anyone out there stupid enough to mess with me, and I'll break out some of those martial arts skills-- a bit of Pitida Fu would put him soundly in his place.

Now who's a dork?

Whatever. Anyway, it's still several months away...

...............

And that was the end of the conversation. So, if any of you have any ideas for comebacks, pleading my case, or whatever, should the issue be addressed again in the near future, send them my way. :-)

*Edited 2:00 pm to add: In his defense, we've never really been much for doing things that aren't family-oriented. Homeschooling hippies, remember? Anyway, I spent my first night away from my children EVER in June of 2004, and have only done it twice since then. And my first night away from everyone-- kids and family-- was in October of 2004, when I went back down to Florida for a quickie visit to perform a funeral for a good friend's grandmother. My friend's mom had specifically requested me, back before I left my ministry position, to do the funeral for her ailing mother, and I also married both of her children, so it seemed the right thing to do and I kept my commitment even though I had moved out of state in the between time. I spent 17 hours traveling by bus to get there, about 4 hours there, and then another 19 hours to get home. I haven't spent the night away from my husband in our entire marriage, except for the two nights I spent sleeping on that bus. So, for all you well-traveled geeks out there wondering what the big deal is, this isn't a typical thing for us.

In other news, it's amazing what a good night's sleep can do for a foul mood. I need to get away this weekend, and since the convent wasn't an option, I went to plan B. An old friend, mentor, and previous employer from my childhood and teen days now owns a good number of hotels, timeshare, and condos in Myrtle Beach (where I grew up). I have an open invitation anytime I want to go visit to stay, for free, in one of his properties. So, I called him this morning, and my family will be checking into an oceanfront hotel tomorrow evening to stay for the weekend. Excellent. ;-)

Pppppphhhhhhhlllllllltttttttt......

2006-01-11T18:15:00.001-05:00

I had written about 6 paragraphs of a post, and then realized it was going nowhere. Usually, this would not stop me from foisting my blab upon you. But, for some reason, I just deleted the whole post.

I was up until after 3:00 am recording and editing my most recent podcast episode, goofing around to produce a short audio feedback/promo bit that I am reeeeeeeeallly hoping to get played on DSC, rubbing the back of my very sick 4 year old, and cleaning up puke. You know how you feel better right after you throw up, and use that window to nibble on saltines? My son didn't want saltines, but we wouldn't let him eat anything else. So, while we were in the other room, he took advantage of that opportunity to sneak into the kitchen, hide in a cabinet, and eat many bananas. My carpet may never be the same again. I couldn't get in for my much needed downtime this weekend, because the retreat at the convent was filled by the time I called. I have been a cranky turd all day long, with a headache to boot. There's really not much more to blog about, at this point.

Maybe, we'll take a day trip to Charleston this weekend. Yeah, that would be nice. Now to try to convince the hubster...

Want to cheer me up? Add yourself to my frappr map (see sidebar), and when I come into the office in the morning and open up my email, I'll feel like the belle of the ball. Maybe. But it's worth a shot.

In other news, while teaching a unit on Baroque music to 1st and 2nd graders yesterday, one of the boys asked me, "When did Bach die, again?" "1750," I responded. "Oh yeah," he said. "I think that's when my dad was born."

Thirty-somethings-- we're getting old.

Love Jerry

2006-01-10T17:33:00.000-05:00

In response to my recent post, openness, secrecy, and shame, I saw that Kordalian linked to an article about a play, Love Jerry, that's about to be done in Atlanta. It follows the story of two brothers after one discovers that his brother had sexually abused his son. It has sometimes been referred to in the press as the "pedophile musical," giving an air of flippancy about it. After reading the article, and then reading the information at the production company's web site (which, of course, is extremely sensational to try to get the audience numbers up), I found the author's web site, and emailed her asking about the actual content of the play.

She seems like a very sensitive and heartfelt person, and bristled at the media dubbing her work a "pedophile musical" simply because she incorporated some of her own musical talent, composing a few original works as part of the play. Child sexual abuse is an issue close to her heart, and I get the impression that she truly intends it as an in-depth exploration of the issues families face when things like this happen. Mike (a character in her play), like all parents who discover sexual abuse by a much-loved family member, is forced to try to reconcile a lifetime of loving his brother with an absolute dedication to protecting his son and the horror of discovery of the abuse.

It could go either way. But, if she handles the issues as tenderly and with the same level of integrity and sensitivity that she responded to my email, this play might actually be a good thing. I'm even looking into performance dates to see if we can scoot into Atlanta to see it during its' run.

In any case, she has agreed to allow me to interview her for an upcoming podcast, assuming we can find a mutually agreeable time, and I would be honored to hear her perspective.

I guess my questions would be:
*What motivated her to write this kind of play, to choose this topic?
*Did she feel like she had to take certain precautions when writing, due to the subject matter, and if so, what kinds of things was she particularly careful of?
*Does she worry that this kind of a play might perhaps be a negative trigger for those who were sexually abused, or for families in similar situations, bringing up emotions and reactions that might not be healthy?
*Reviews note that she does not demonize Jerry, the abuser. Was it a continual effort not to do that? Does the play, even if it does not demonize the abuser, adequately express the absolute wrong nature of these kinds of acts?

Please feel free to comment and leave me a few more suggestions for possible lines of questioning that would be helpful or interesting. I'm actually looking forward to talking with her, and hope we can somehow bring our schedules together. :-)

I need more down time...

2006-01-08T22:44:00.001-05:00

(edited 01/09/06 to add some stuff at the end.)

It's amazing how when you stay as wound up as I tend to stay on a regular basis, it is a painfully deliberate and conscious effort to just chill out. Remember what Ferris Bueller said about his friend Cameron being wound up so tight? When I first watched that, as a teenager, I thought, yeah, that Cameron, he's a nerd. Now, I'm searching for my own rare gems. Let my people go.

Yesterday, my husband took his teacher certification exams. For those of you that don't know, he had a massive stroke 11 years ago, when he was 22. He's had mild aphasia and limited use of his right side ever since, and his work history has been sporadic, at best, since then. He began walking and talking again within a few months of his stroke, and lived with his mother during his recovery time. A year later, he could read children's books and speak in longer phrases. Two years later, he got his driver's license back, and the year after that, he moved back out to live on his own. That's about when we met. We were both in college at the University of South Florida, and I was envious when he beat me to a B.A., shortly after our marriage. In spite of his academic achievements, finding a job where he stood a chance to excel was tough, and I've been the working parent for much of our marriage.

Last fall, when our children officially went from being homeschooled to private schooled, I overheard the principal mentioning a shortage of strong teachers. As my husband had done much of the homeschooling for our own little ones, was college educated, and looking for opportunities to get out and do things, I volunteered him, and set up an appointment for them to work something out. Since then, Daddy-O has taught intermediate social studies for the school part time in exchange for tuition. It was only after the first month at the school that he realized how much he enjoyed teaching, and discovered what could be a lifelong career. If he could teach part time in exchange for tuition, he could teach full time as a career. We began researching certification options for non-education majors in our state, and discovered the PACE Program, in which people with degrees can get certified to teach in their field by passing the Praxis II exams, getting hired, and completing a 3 year program while teaching in public schools. He began studying for the exams, and felt pretty good about his level of preparedness.

So, on the test results (which we won't have back for approximately four weeks) rides in part whether or not we become a two-income family, or remain a single income family of five. Granted, he can always retake any particular exam he did not pass, but I really think he will do it this time. After testing from 7:30 am to 4:30 pm, he was ready for a break. And seeing as I won't take time off for myself to chill, I was more than happy to take that time for him! So, Maher drove up, and we all went bowling (I beat the snot out of everyone else, of course!), and then came home for a Trivial Pursuit: 90s Edition battle royale. Beer was consumed (by me and my husband, at least), competitive insults were hurled, and a great time was had by all. Nice! Why can't I do this when I'm feeling like I'm about to crumble? Who knows. Maybe it's a mom thing.

And then today, I spent from 9:30 am until noon fighting with Skype to see if I could get it to record calls, checking on my children (who were climbing all over pallets of vinyl siding in my warehouse) every few minutes. //Blech//

Then I took them home, and came back to fight with Skype, Audio Hijack Pro, LineIn, and Wiretap from 1:00 pm until 2:30 pm, still with no success. //Ick//

Then I typed up some quick notes, and shoved my headset mic into the computer to do an interview with another podcaster who had asked me to do a bit for his show, and his internet connection crapped out in a painfully frustrating way. //twitch twitch//

So, I went back to fighting with Skype to try to record, and (angels singing, heavens opening), got it to work around 4:30 pm. //sigh of relief//

Jason, with History Podcast had been sweet enough to offer to be available for some practice Skype recording, and we had a great chat. What a nice guy! //Ahhhhhh... this day's not so stressful after all...//

So, at 8:30 pm, after feeding, bathing, and tucking in my darling little angels, I went online and attempted to purchase Skypeout credits. It indicated that a confirmation code was sent to my email address. It is now 10:10 pm. I have clicked on "get mail" about three million times in the last 100 minutes. //eeeeehhhhhhhhhh//

I think that my head is going to explode if I don't wrap it in duct tape immediately, or maybe I just need medication. Either way, the twitching is slowly returning, and going to bed now may be the only way to make it stop.

...............

10:40 pm
And now, after realizing that it's too late to call my stepdad, taking down my entire recording setup, shutting down my mac, blogging for the past who knows how long, and deciding to give up and go to bed, I check my email. There are a zillion confirmation codes from the ass-clowns at Skype, and I'm homicidal. Happy new year.

...............

Edit Monday, January 9:

So, after a bit of reflection, and after carefully retrieving my head from my rear, I realize that yesterday was not all bad.

1) The conversation with Jason was nice.
2) Matt added a link and nice words about my blog, which I'm sure he regrets after reading this load of crap.
3) An old college pal of mine now living in Seattle left me a comment on one of my MySpace pictures: "I forget, sometimes, how really foxy you are. Rawr!" Yeah, baby. You got it. Getting virtually cat-called by a gay guy rocks, because I feel no disloyalty toward my husband for enjoying it so much, plus Q-boy has STYLE with a capital S, T, Y, L, and E. Bam! And he called me foxy. It's been a few years since I've thought of myself as foxy, but I guess I am a little foxy in a Mae West sort of way. Va, va, voom, baby!
4) The 4th nice thing about yesterday is not blog-friendly. But it was nice.
5) I emailed libsyn support last week complaining that I couldn't give separate titles to my category feeds, even though my listeners could supposedly subscribe to them separately. This morning, I got an email from libsyn telling me what a great idea it is, and that they'll be adding it in as a user menu in the next few days. I'm a genius! Really, I'm just amazed that I'm the first person to ask about that. Can I really be the first to want separate titles listed if I list several feeds separately but under one umbrella site? Amazing. So, all you libsyn podcasters: you're welcome.
6) And today, I am registering myself for a retreat next weekend at the convent. Smooth. Next weekend will be nice. I'll get my down time, after all!