I'm alive!

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!

Ass-Kicker-Tracker

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:

New Hobbies!

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...

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

(... 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.

:-)

poem

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. :-)

Yep. Very weird.

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.

Attempts at real blogging

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.

MFP Episode One: Acceptance and Change

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?

My 100 Things List

So, my favorite blogs have made it clear that after you've been blogging a while, it's customary to post a list of 100 things about yourself-- a little bit of random snapshots into your life to give the readers who don't know you in real life the chance to see a bit more of who you are and who you've been.

I've been blogging now for 3 years, and at this particular blog for almost 3 months, so here goes. My list:

1. My greatest strength in life, next to my God, is my family.

2. They are also my greatest joy, and the source of my inspiration.

3. After my family, my next greatest love is education.

4. I rarely ever read fiction, ‘cause non-fiction is so much more fun.

5. I have my belly button pierced.

6. I have a B.A. in Religious Studies.

7. I completed over 30 hours of graduate work in religion, but never finished my M.Div.

8. I have not always been a Christian, and did not grow up in a religious family.

9. I have been a Christian since 1996.

10. I first started attending church in 1995 when I found a church with beautiful stained glass windows while on a jog one day.

11. I attended church for a year without getting involved.

12. I would sit in a different pew every Sunday so that over the months, I could study every window.

13. The year before, I had taken a course and learned how to do stained glass.

14. I don’t know where all my stained glass tools are now, and have no idea where I lost them.

15. One day, when I have a house with a bit more space, I would love to do stained glass again.

16. I also enjoy singing and dancing.

17. My job throughout middle and high school was singing and dancing in country music shows in a coastal tourist town.

18. I miss performing.

19. Every now and then when I can get a babysitter and a party-mate, I like to go sing karaoke.

20. I once met Chubby Checker when he stayed at the hotel I worked at part-time when I was 16.

21. He got me 2 tickets to his concert, and my mom and I went to see him that night.

22. He recognized me from the hotel, and pulled me up on stage to sing “The Twist” with him.

23. Before we knew who he was, my mom and I watched my (soon-to-be) stepdad on “That’s Incredible” catching a bullet in his mouth.

24. I grew up with my mom, my stepdad, and their two children-- a sister and a brother.

25. It was a pretty crazy and unstructured upbringing.

26. Until fall of 2004, I had never lived near my dad, my stepmom, and their son, my brother.

27. I have never had a lot of money.

28. I don’t think anyone ever really taught me how to manage money well.

29. I am trying to learn now.

30. I met my husband while in school working toward my B.A.

31. He is a total cheapskate, and fairly quiet.

32. We balance each other out pretty well, as I am not as much of a cheapskate and way too talkative.

33. I have pretty much always had some major trust issues.

34. My husband broke through all of those with his piercing honesty and gentle spirit.

35. If I could put on a cape and be a superhero, the first people I would beat up and string up are people who abuse children.

36. I don't take myself too seriously; even when I'm on a crazy-woman rant, I am at least aware that I'm on a crazy-woman rant and find myself a little bit amusing.

37. I tend to be a very intense person, no matter the experience. When I’m silly I’m very silly, and when I’m joyful I’m exhilarated; when I’m sad, I’m crushed.

38. For some people, I think I may be an acquired taste.

39. Correction: I’m pretty sure I am.

40. My husband couldn’t even stand me when we first met.

41. He thought I would never shut up.

42. I only kept talking because he rarely said anything.

43. We met as co-founders of a student disability activist and education network on campus at our college.

44. I worked as a behavioral consultant for children with autism for 7 years.

45. My specialty was play therapy, and when I was 20 years old, parents would pay me insanely great money to come teach their children appropriate play skills so that they would have a better chance of being mainstreamed.

46. I spent a lot of time playing tag, cops and robbers, and hot wheels.

47. I also taught language skills to children who had formerly been mute.

48. One of the greatest feelings in my life was being there when a mom heard her 3-year-old say his first word-- “Mom.”

49. Motivated by a spin on a tire swing, you can get a kid to say anything.

50. I loved working with the kids, but burnt out on dealing with whiny parents.

51. At the time I quit in 2000, over half of the children I worked with had been successfully mainstreamed (with appropriate accomodations) into regular education classrooms.

52. I was a total band geek in high school

53. I was even the grand poobah of the band dorks, and spent two years as drum major of my high school marching band.

54. I was a music education major for two years.

55. Unfortunately, I spent most of those two years being an idiot, lost my scholarships, and dropped out of college in 1995.

56. The summer of 1994, I lived in an apartment with two gay guys who adored me and a very large lesbian who thought I was an annoying twit.

57. My heart broke last year when one of my old roommates from that apartment died of AIDS just shy of his 29th birthday.

58. I moved out of that apartment and into a suburban house with an acquaintance who was a single mom.

59. I thought it would be a more functional and normal environment.

60. I later found out she was a call girl and a porn star.

61. I moved out as soon as I could afford the move.

62. Nothing about the 2 months I spent in that house were normal.

63. In 1994, I met a guy.

64. In 1996, he became the father of my first child.

65. Keeping the kid and ditching the guy are two of the best things I’ve ever done.

66. Finding out I was pregnant forced some serious life evaluation.

67. It was the first time I realized how empty my life really was.

68. That was when I quit looking at the windows and started listening to the homilies.

69. Then a nice guy named James invited me to be a youth group sponsor.

70. I was like, “Whoa, dude-- ME! You would actually let ME around your teens?”

71. Volunteering with the youth group taught me more about life, about Christ, and about forgiveness than a lifetime without church.

72. From 1995 until I moved to Florida in 1997, I spent about a week or more out of every month at an Episcopal convent.

73. If I were ever alone and without family obligations again, I could definitely be a nun. I really like monastic life.

74. In the meantime, I’d like to become a social worker.

75. I plan to go back for my M.S.W. in fall semester of 2007.

76. I currently live in a smallish town.

77. It’s nice, but not my ideal.

78. The local college does not offer a M.S.W.

79. We plan to move near Columbia by the time I go back to school so that I can go to the University of South Carolina.

80. That was where I went the first time, when I goofed and dropped out.

81. I will do better this time. :-)

82. I am a very protective mother.

83. I homeschooled my children for several years.

84. I was a stay-at-home mom for a while.

85. I actually loved being a stay-at-home mom.

86. I think that natural attachment parenting is an ideal to follow as much as possible, depending on your family circumstances.

87. Very few ideals work out 100% in real life.

88. My husband and I have had to pick and choose which we can actually implement.

89. From December of 1999 until May of 2003, I was either pregnant, breastfeeding a baby, or both.

90. That’s 3 years and 5 months of wearing modified undergarments and/or toting a breast pump.

91. I was in college in Florida (on my 2nd try) for most of that 3 years and 5 months.

92. Somehow I juggled it all and had maintained a 3.95 GPA upon my graduation in 2002.

93. I thought Florida sucked.

94. I love the Deep South, in spite of its’ checkered history and occasional social shortcomings.

95. I love to write almost as much as I love to talk.

96. Oh yeah-- I also enjoy learning foreign languages and cultures.

97. I studied French for 6 years, German for 2 years, Spanish for 1 year, and took Biblical Hebrew at a synagogue one summer.

98. I cry easily, but hate crying in front of other people.

99. If someone takes the time to get through my tough guy, comedienne, not easily rattled act, they will find that I am a fiercely loyal friend.

100. I have a big heart and a lot of compassion, and care deeply for the people who come into my life, whether it is through work, school, church, my blog, or some other way.

South Carolina

I recently recorded a guest podcast about Francis Marion, one of South Carolina's greatest heroes of the American Revolution. It got me thinking about my home state and why I'm so in love with everything Carolina. I was born in North Carolina to children from great, big, country families. I was the first on my mom's side to get a college degree; the third on my dad's. I lived with my grandparents for a time as a child. They gardened, built things, sold things, fixed things, and rode motorcycles, all of which made them great fun and makers of mystery for a 4 year old child. I had a go-cart, a zip line that went from the shed up on the hill down to the house, and a red wagon. I'd hike for hours through the clay hills, claiming my own personal mountain on which to build my throne, sliding downhill through my own Indiana Jones adventures, bringing home piles of clay to mold into more pinch pots than anyone could ever need, and finding "pop rocks" to bust open so I could paint on the side porch with the colored dust inside. I had a pellet gun, a climbing tree, and a strawberry patch; and I hated the way okra prickled on my fingers when my Mema would make me pick dinner.

When I was 5, my mom was living in Myrtle Beach and working as a performer at The Lighthouse Christian Theme Park. While working there, she met an entertainer who also worked at the park. They fell in love, and were married four months after my fifth birthday. Since then, South Carolina has always been home. As a kid and teen, all I could see was what was lacking. In high school, I worked hard at losing my southern accent, and was always so pleased when people would say to me, "you're not from around here, are you?" I looked at Myrtle Beach-- South Carolina's most popular vacation destination-- and saw how small it was, and how lacking in real opportunity. I loved Columbia when I moved there for college, but felt that things would somehow be better if I lived somewhere less backwards, with bigger cities, a more sophisticated population, and more non-Southerners. When, as a young, single mother, I was offered a chance to relocate to central Florida to help start a nonprofit organization for children with autism, I jumped at the chance to get out... to try my wings somewhere bigger, somewhere higher.

Seven years later, in 2004, I was growing more and more dissatisfied with the life I had chased down. Florida was beautiful much in the way a brochure of a tropical resort is beautiful-- beautiful oceans, nice sunsets, fancy restaurants, and beautiful people with blonde hair and flawless fashion sense dining on street corners at fancy bistros-- all very two dimensional. I lived in 3 different cities during my time in Florida. Each one had Brady Bunch style buildings, no architecture (only stucco, and lots of it), and more people than not who knew nothing of kindness, compassion, integrity, or courtesy. There were no hills, few (if any) old beat up barns on the sides of the back roads in most parts of the state, and my children never got to see leaves change colors. You can just forget about snow, too. None of that, either. With all due respect to Florida-loving readers, the state of Florida was, to me, like a big, shady go-go dancer. Seductive and larger than life when you're looking from a distance and under the right lighting, but unstable, not-so-beautiful, and gaudy if you get too close.

So, in 2004, when the brunt of Florida's lack of ethics, sanity, and integrity was unleashed upon us full force and the opportunity came to move back to South Carolina, I was ready. I had experienced life outside of the Deep South, gotten it out of my system, and realized that greener grass does not a true home make. My husband, a Florida native who had fallen in love with South Carolina on our many visits here, had his bags packed before I could even ask. It was time, and it never could have been a more perfect time.

Moving back to South Carolina last year, I had an experience that few Carolinians get to have-- discovering the home state you never before appreciated as if for the first time. I'll never forget the way that my husband and I would marvel at every back road. Big, hilly fields of soybeans, or hay, or cotton lined every state road, and old, metal sheds and barns speckled the countryside as if they had fallen out of a painting and into every path that existed between my home and my dad's. The fall leaves were the most amazing thing I had ever seen, up against the backdrop of a cool, foggy morning, and Columbia had never had more character. Every now and then, our first winter back, I would run out the front door in my pajamas in the morning, just so I could really feel 22 degrees on bare feet and crisp cold on my nose. South Carolina's rich heritage, gorgeous old buildings, and peaceful simplicity were just what I needed to rebuild my heart. Together with my family, I had found in the place I once fought to escape so much of what I truly needed in my life. The last year has been a time for healing, and a time for simply appreciating God's perfect plan-- beauty, simplicity, and family. I'm at peace.

Self-reflection tends to be a hobby of mine; I'm well-aware of how much I idealize and romanticize the Deep South. I know its' history well, know its' landscape and people, and know that no matter where I go, I can't escape from myself. But for now, I choose to see where I am as a beautiful place God has prepared for me to rest in for a while, and I am thankful.

Choice

Yesterday, while sitting in my car in the Fuji Express drive through waiting on my tofu teriyaki, I was listening to NPR's All Things Considered (one of my favorite shows). This story about a young woman (Laurel Snyder) whose mother named her after the clinic where she almost had her aborted, came on, and spoke to my heart. If you get a chance to listen in, it is well worth the few minutes it will take.

For years, I've had trouble explaining how I feel about unexpected pregnancies and the choices we talk about as if they're political statements, rather than the expression of personal hopes and dreams. For me, the opportunity to make that choice came into my life in 1996.

My first real dating, fall-in-love experience was with a guy a good bit older than I was (16 years). I was in college, already struggling with my grades, my life, and my emotions due to a series of stupid lifestyle choices I was making. Everything in my life felt like it was spinning out of control, and he seemed to stand pretty solid and settled in the midst of everything I felt I was missing in my own life. He was older and "more mature" than most of the guys my age (who were mostly involved in frat parties, stupidity, and their own egos). He had a real career, was a real business guy, yet at the same time was a real southerner. He grew up the son of a country hellfire preacher, and had gone on to Emory to get two bachelors degrees, a masters degree, and was ABD for his PhD. He was good conversation, good fun, and a good friend, or so I thought.

And then came the phone call when he didn't come home from work. I thought I was calling his parents... and everything came crashing in on me, and nothing would ever be the same. After the nightmare began, I went through 4 years of back and forth, more lies, not knowing the truth, being strung along, dropping out of school, and not really knowing what I wanted anymore. And somewhere in the middle of that chaos, my first child was conceived. I was 20.

From the time I learned I was expecting, I was just that-- expecting a baby. It wasn't a medical condition; it was a complete and total changing of my life forever, and I knew from the moment I learned I was pregnant that I wanted this child. I knew, somehow, that this child was special, even though so many of my friends from college thought I was crazy for not getting an abortion.

I spent a lot of time during my pregnancy trying to figure out what I had to do for my child and myself. I spent weeks on end at the Convent of St. Helena, living in the guest house. By day, I tended to daily chores, helped with yard work, took Eucharist, Bible study, and prayed all the daily prayers. Every night, I would curl up on the couch in the guest house with a cup of hot tea and a book from the library-- Julian of Norwich, Catherine of Siena, Hildegard von Bingen, Thomas Merton-- anything... just something to help me make it through. I remember the curious faces of neighborhood kids sneaking up to the building, hoping to catch a glimpse of a real, live nun, and startling when they saw my growing belly, asking, "where's the nuns?" I wrote letters to my son's dad, to his family, to my family... letters that never were sent... letters to help me heal my heart.

None of it was easy. There were many tears, and many nights where I felt I didn't really want to be a mother yet, that I wasn't ready, or that I didn't have what it takes (emotionally, physically, financially) to provide for a child. I alternately doubted myself, hated myself, comforted myself, encouraged myself, believed in myself, and kicked myself in the ass for ever believing anything my son's dad ever told me. I had volunteered for a couple of years as a telephone counselor for a local suicide hotline; I ended up moving in with another of the phone counselors I had met-- someone who, like me, had been through an unplanned pregnancy as a young, single woman, and who had spent nine months being pummeled with a Bible in a home for unwed mothers. She and her husband offered up their spare bedroom, and I became a part of the family.

Just before my angel was born, I moved into a tiny, one-bedroom apartment, ready for the first time to give it a go on my own. I set up a crib in the livingroom and a bassinet in my bedroom, and thought I was ready.

Somewhere in my eighth month of pregnancy, I was driving home from work in the rain, singing along to some Eric Clapton song that reminded me of my son's dad, when my car was rear ended, thrusting my car into the rear of another car. I went into labor early, and little man was born 5 weeks early. He was a BIG boy to be so early-- 7 pounds 8 ounces-- but group B strep got into his blood, and when he was a few hours old, he quit breathing. At 16 hours old, he was on a ventilator taking 600 breaths per minute, and his tiny blue body was shaking with the force of the machine. He still wasn't getting enough oxygen, though, and we went with a risky (especially at the time) procedure called ECMO, with all its complications and all the fears that went along with them. It was 4 weeks before I got to hold him again, and almost 2 months before I got to bring him home. Only then could we really begin the process of learning to be a family of two.

My son changed my life in ways I couldn't begin to describe. Self-destructive things I used to do when it was only my life I was ruining were no longer options where his life was concerned. Relationships that were not great, but good enough for me, were not good enough for him. I quit thinking about how much better the world would be without me in it-- I now had someone for whom to be strong. I took my life from the hole it had fallen into, and began the long crawl out into becoming a decent human-- a functioning member of society. I moved to where I was more than a one-day drive from my son's dad (to make it easier to get him out of my head), and got back into college. I graduated from college in 2002 with a 3.95 upper level GPA (because I wasn't just going for me; I was also going to make a better life for him). He gave me all the motivation I needed to get my life back on track.

And then there's his life. I don't believe I've ever seen a more intelligent, gentle, sweet-spirited, brilliant, funny, deeply sensitive, beautiful child. He is so compassionate, and so loving; I can't imagine the world without him in it.

I read things sometimes about choice, making abortion more accessible, and the devastation having a child can wreak upon a young woman's aspirations, career, and education, and all I can think about is how little I knew before having my child about what real love was. I think about how unprepared I was for the blessing I was about to receive, and how it wasn't really until he was a few years old that I began to understand how powerfully he had transformed my life. I think of how easy it would have seemed for me to have made a different decision, and how much I would have been missing without ever even knowing it. I think about all the legitimate reasons I could have had to not have my child.

We tell women that as single mothers they will give up their education, give up their careers, and give up the social/dating life that most girls their age have. I imagine that if we supported single mothers, helped them to find ways to go back to school, and worked to create a society in which dating was a more healthy, trust-based process to begin with, that we could reduce the abortion rate without ever marching in the first rally or passing the first law. It never should have been reduced to a mere political issue to begin with. Unplanned pregnancy is a deeply personal situation in which too many women find themselves, and one in which support from family, friends, and caregivers can go a long way towards taking away the fear that often guides women's decisions. A fear-based decision, whatever that decision, is unlikely to be a decision that changes a woman's life for the better, and the decision about whether or not to have a child is far too important to make lightly. You won't know what that child could bring into your life until much later...