A random assortment of thoughts

This weekend was rather, um, shall we say, thought provoking. Not the kind of thought provoking that usually ends in some deep revelation about life or anything, but thought provoking in the sense that I spent a lot of time thinking about how that sucked, this rocked, and wondering why in the hell some people never seem to get it. EVER.

I have no answers, but since this is my blog and I can write whatever I want, I'm just going to start listing a few things that occupied my melon over the last few days (and maybe some this morning, too.)

First things first - Mamasan had a scary inconclusive mammogram a few weeks ago. Now, for most folks, this wouldn't mean beans, but we have a history of breast cancer in the family and not exactly the best health on other fronts AND Mamasan is on hormone replacement therapy, so an inconclusive / questionable mammogram is cause for concern. I'm pleased to say that a repeat scan this morning seems to have cleared up the issue and everything is fine and dandy (except, of course, for Mamasan's squished breast - I'm sure it had happier goals in mind to accomplish today besides being able to fit through a mail slot.) The complete and final okay should come within 24 hours or so, but it looks great. YIPPEE.

The shit is hitting the fan with regards to B's situation with his addict friend. Friend is a generous word, frankly because an addict slowly loses friendships and replaces them with resentments. The snag comes in the form of employment - the addict to whom I refer is a co-worker (technically a superior to B, although in name only, not in practice.) Just got off the phone with B and he told me that it's going down. NOW. And that B has been told to "keep his head down." I'm DYING to know what is going on, but will have to wait until I'm filled in. What an interesting family dinner we'll have tonight!

The race is on for 2 clients I have right now. One was due last week (first time mama -usually go a bit late,) and one due on the 3rd who has a history of going early and who is already 3cm / 90% - and isn't even in labor yet. They are both hospital births. DIFFERENT HOSPITALS. This could get interesting.

Some people never get it and they probably never will. Past behavior is the best indicator for future behavior. I'm not surprised - but it's annoying as all hell. I read in a schmaltzy Annie's Mailbox clipping the other day the following (about an unrelated topic): "You cannot expect them to remain an unending well of comfort." . I hope like hell I'm not the only one who read that - I know of a couple of others who really need to read it and understand it. There are folks out there who will just bleed you dry - just to prove to themselves that someone cares. I'm bone dry, folks, thanks so much. Your life is falling apart? I don't care - I cannot care anymore. You continue to make the same childish, selfish, ignorant, immature, asinine choices that continue to drop you on your ass in the same horrible places. It must be working for you, you must be getting something out of it, or else you would stop doing the same damned thing. I've given you folks everything I can give you - you're on your own.

You cannot see or hear something that some one has and then just decide to make it your own. This applies to catch phrases, favorite songs, a particular style, and even friends. And yes, there are folks out there who will just snag anything and everything from someone else just so they don't have to do the work to gather up their own. It is just not cool. Some folks say, "Well, maybe it's a compliment." Nope. "Wow, what a great shirt" is a compliment. "You make the best lasagna in the world" is a compliment. "You're such a good friend" is a compliment. "I'm going to take bits and pieces of your life and try to make them my own" is not a compliment. Which leads me to...

I'd rather have the whole world pissed off at me and be happy with myself than have the whole world love me and hate what I see when I look in the mirror. The only person I ultimately have to answer to is myself and, if you know me, you know I'm one tough cat. I find that I spend more time lamenting things I have said and done in the past that are just out of character - things that I have done to please people, to win people over, to try and find myself (yeah, see, I said in the past because I haven't lived that way in a long, long time.) Just last night I was feeling really crappy about something I did when I was 11 years old. I mean, good night Irene, that was 18 years ago! But, the event that clouded my mind was an event that took place because I was trying to be like someone else, trying to please folks. In 29 years of life, I have very few things that I regret that came from my own truth, but loads that have resulted from trying to live someone else's truth. To thine own self be true, you know? So, world, go ahead and set up your "We hate Mamakohl" fan clubs - I don't care. I won't be joining your membership roster.

I am blessed beyond words because I have wonderful things in my life. I have exciting opportunities, a great career (two?,) a plenitude of amazing and rockin' friends, a terrific husband, awesome kids. I am the proud owner of a mortgage. I have a really positive outlook on life ('cause I have learned how to set limits and care for myself) and, while I hate to admit it, the truth is that I'm really a hopeless optimist. I believe that anyone can change and grow and have a great life (unless you've burned me and if you've burned me, well, see above.) The problem comes when folks ask me how to go about getting all that I have. I have no idea. Honestly. NO IDEA. I know that I wasn't always like this. I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out when the switch took place, what precipitated it. I don't know. I look in my past and see a time when I was so desperate for attention and acceptance that I jumped through all kinds of hoops to get it. I don't know when it changed. I don't know how it changed - but it did. Must think about this some more - if I come up with an answer, I'll be sure to post it. Surely, I'm not the only one wondering.

Buying something brand new that has to charge for 24 hours before the first use can be really infuriating to a woman who is all about instant gratification. No, dear friends, those things take batteries - I'm talking about a vacuum. Sheesh! Get your brain out of the gutter.

There is just about nothing cooler than watching a 5 year old stomp around the living room singing "Get up, Stand Up" along with a Bob Marley dvd. I swear. And then the 3 year old raised his little fist and sang," Well, everywhere is War." Sent chills up my spine. I love my kids. I just freaking love them. I'm so proud of them. Stealth is named after Robert Nesta Marley and he knows why. We love Bob. Sandie, if you're still reading, I imagine you've had very much the same experience.

My sons are going to eat me out of house and home.

I'm stopping here. I gotta make some grilled cheese and soup for lunch and get to work on a hat and scarf set for (GASP) myself. I have several orders for Kohleidoscope - but Mama got take care of herself, first.

And my brain rattles on...

Weather School is Cool

Today we had Weather School with our homeschooling group.  One of the local news stations offers this program to schools and educational groups free of charge.  It's pretty cool.  I nearly had given up, however, because the guy was 30 minutes late.  Lovely.

 

When he did show up, things got a little nutty.  There were probably 25 home schooled children there, ranging in age from 3-11.  Duck, in his crazy way, found that the guy's tie was most interesting - and eventually, the meteorologist just took his tie off and gave it to Duck for the duration.  I'm told that one of the mom's got a picture of Duck in the weather man's tie.  Sheesh.  I'm so proud.

 

Regardless, he was very receptive to the kids.  He brought lots of fiber fill (like the inside of pillows) and gave some to each child so they could better understand 3 different types of clouds (can't beat hands on learning.)  He answered questions and got on the floor with them.  It was wonderful.  Stealth and Duck and all the other kids learned lots (what is fog?  what happens when there's severe weather during a football game?  Where do you hide in a pumpkin patch when there's a tornado?  You know, the essential questions of life.)

 

It was approaching 11:30 in the morning and he mentioned that he had to go back to the studio (about 15 minutes away or so,) for the 12 noon live news broadcast and he invited us all to go with him!  UNREAL.

 

So, we all piled into our vehicles, carpooling when possible, and drove en masse to the studio.  I couldn't believe it, but all these kids and their parents crammed inside the studio (not behind a window) and watched them do a live news broadcast for 30 minutes.  This meant sitting still, being quiet, not running in front of any cameras and lifting up dresses or dropping pants.  This is big time stuff for some of these small kids.   Every single one of them (my two monkeys included) behaved better than I could have ever possibly imagined.  We got to see the green screen that they use for weather, got to see the robotic television cameras move around the studio unmanned.  We got to see the control room and the teleprompters and all that so cool stuff.  And, after the newscast, the kids got to go back into the studio and check themselves out on the green screen.  Hell, even the adults were impressed with that.

 

It was by far much much much cooler than anything I could have planned to teach them today.  And it didn't cost us a dime (okay, it cost me the price of two ginormous cookies I gave the kids as bribes to keep quiet in the studio during the broadcast.)  I'm so blessed to have my homeschooling group.  I'm so blessed to be able to teach my children in this way. 

 

And, should I ever be in a pumpkin patch during a tornado, I know what to do.

 

Way to go, Weatherman, you've just won 3 new fans.

Jo Jo goes to work

This is a new hat that I have made for a special project. I have written about Jo Jo on the Kohleidoscope blog. It's good to finally put her to work. It's hard to tell, but the hat has a rolled brim. 

Windows have no limits

Did you see it?  Did you notice?  Probably not and that's cool.  But it's there.  Take a second and see what is different.

 

Give up?

I changed the name of the blog.  No longer Corners of My Mind, it's now Windows of My Mind.  I got to thinking - corners are VERY constricting, limiting, ending.  Once you're in a corner, you cannot go forward, only go back.  My mind is not like that - or, at least, I don't want it to be.

Windows can be closed or open - but there's always the option to go beyond them.  Always.

 

 

Hauntings

"Nature is a haunted house - but Art - is a house that tries to be haunted."
--Emily Dickinson



I found this today while cleaning out the boys' bookshelves. It's from National Poetry Month of this year, sponsered by The Academy of American Poets. I thought it was appropriate, what with Halloween coming soon.

It makes me think - "a house that tries to be haunted." Art tries to sneak into the attics of your brain and rattle around around in there, stirring up dust and long dead people and feelings of your past. Art may disappear from view, but it never leaves your soul. Art, indeed, is haunting.

BOO! 

New pictures on Kohleidoscope

2 new bags posted on Kohleidoscope today.  Stop on by and check them out.

Bragging

TODAY I'm going to brag on other people. TODAY I'm going to appreciate. TODAY I'm going to give credit where credit is due.

On with the show.

My business partner and dear dear friend, DDFF is making a HUGE change in her reality, she's taking a huge step in her career. My partner is becoming a midwife. She's going to catch babies for a living. She'll be testing with NARM in a couple of years, has her preceptor already lined up. Birthing women, get ready, you'll soon be getting a remarkable, wonderful new option. Love and Kisses and Praise for DDFF. My heart's just bursting with pride for you, Mamasita. Everything as it should be.

Jill wrote a post about her husband that changed my outlook on my husband. I've loved Jill for 15 years now (damn, I'm old,) and she just keeps getting better and better. I'm so scared for us - she's coming to the US for Christmas and I'm telling you, we're going to kill some brain cells in celebration. You know, things get a little crazy Down on Cripple Creek.

Velma is coming home for a month over the holidays. This thrills me beyond words. HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY. Oh, yes the bragging part of Velma. Check this out.

JenPen is a rocking professional woman and I love her to bits. With her Master's degree in education, she's actually EDUCATING children, not just schooling them. She is an amazing cellist and lord Almighty, the girl is fun to be friends with. Whooooo, White Lightning! I love you, toots.

Stealth appreciates things, too. Just this morning he said, "Hey Mama!!! Hey Mama!! Snots are sticky and they taste good, too!!" sheesh.

Duck has started reading my mail to me. And recipes. This is awesome. If I need extra hands, he can read while I work. And he's getting pretty damned good at the math stuff, too, so pretty soon he'll be balancing my checkbook and such. I love that little guy with the big brain.

B is doing something really hard for him today. In order to save his friend's life, he's going to rat him out. Addiction is a terrible terrible thing and sometimes you have to do whatever you can to help someone pull themselves up out of the cesspool. I know how hard this is. Believe me I know. It takes courage and strength and love - 3 things my husband has in abundance. I love you Monkey. You're doing the right thing.

As for me, I'm making money doing what I love. I'm loving the people I make my life with. And I'm making life be something I love. Amen.

Have a great day, all. Be good to yourselves. Listen to lovely music. Eat delightful foods. Read something that stretches your brain. And pat yourselves on the back -you're doing the best you can.

Fire in my head

A few weeks ago, I mentioned that I was having a hard time.  There was an overhaul coming, but I had no idea what or when or where or how.  Scary shit, eh?  I mean, honestly, we could be talking about maybe I would wake up one morning with new vision for my future or maybe I would wake up one morning with an infected and unremovable cyst on my ass the size of a space ship.  Either way, some things would be a changin'.

 

I'm pleased to announce that the overhaul has commenced and I have escaped the cyst!  Wahoo, that's 29 years and counting!

 

The overhaul, it turns out, is all in my mind.  My thought process is changing, my perspective is morphing.  Sometimes I think that my brain is bi-polar - long stretches of inactivity and depressive behavior followed by rapid insane bursts of creative thinking, cognitive reasoning, explosively grasping onto new concepts.  My behavior doesn't so much mimic that pattern, so I think I can successfully avoid the lithium and continue to rely on my own *ahem* herbal cures, but my brain - dear Elvis on velvet, my brain is a whirling dervish.  Things are making sense left and right, the answers are coming like those annoying rapid fire tanks on the 4th of July - non stop, without warning, and firing in all directions and sometimes hitting the gross of bottle rockets - read: more ideas- and sending them flying everywhere, too.

 

The last 36 hours have pretty much been like the tank hitting the bottle rockets which happen to get the stash of dynamite we have hidden in secret locations in case the rapture comes and we're left here (seriously, can you image how much fun it would be to blow crap up with all the other remaining sinners of the world?!!?!?  DDFF, don't worry babe, we've got enough for you, too!)  Okay, all crazy writing aside (and no, we really don't have any dynamite, dammit,) things have been going like mad in my brain.

 

I wrote yesterday about how I realized that my funk was not honestly directed at my husband at all, it was seriously all about me.  SO true.  The longer I mulled this around in my head, the more I realized that I was just being an ass and avoiding the issues with myself (after all, isn't it easier to demand that someone else change than to change yourself??)  I started making changes yesterday and I'm telling you, my outlook today is so much better. 

 

(Taking a moment to drink my coffee and decide which direction I want this post to really go.)

 

In effort to make this easy on myself, I'm going to just kind of list some of the ideas that have come through my head.

 

You cannot get what you want unless you ask for it

Sounds like common sense and it's something I tell my clients all the time, but it's harder to put into practice in your daily life.  Yesterday I posted that I need to get out more and be more social and that it will probably mean that I'll be spending some evenings without my husband on a regular basis (remember, he's not fond of people.)  This is something that I so clearly need, but I was a little spazzed out about telling B about it.  I mean, really, telling your spouse that you just have to get the hell out of dodge on a regular basis, which means leaving him at home with two small children, is not the easiest thing in the world to do.  But you know what?  Last night I just laid it out for him and he said, "FINALLY.  I've been wondering how long it would take you to see that you are feeling stifled."  You'd think I'd have throttled him for holding onto this information for so long without telling me, but honestly, I would have dismissed him had he tried to fill me in.  Damn, he's one smart cookie.  So, ask and you shall receive.

 

Making it through the day is wasting your life

Some email conversations with my sister spawned this one.  Now, if you're reading this (and I know you are,) let me just say right here and now that I struggle with this in my own life, so I'm not just writing about you.  You were just the punk that lit my fuse for this realization.  I cannot count the number of times I've had thoughts like, "Oh lord, just a few more hours and this day is over," or, "what can I do that will take up x hours?"  Most often, it all boils down to just wanting to get through the damned day.  But why?  I mean, what's going to be different about the next day?  I'm not talking about waiting for that glorious income tax refund check to come in or if your best buddy is due to arrive in town next week.  No, I'm not talking about looking forward to those moments that we all anticipate with childlike mania.  I'm talking about the "I'm dog assed tired, I don't care if you've already had Mac & Cheese three times this week, you are being loud, so let's just make it to bedtime RIGHT NOW," kind of making it through the day.  Guess what?  Tomorrow you're going to get tired again, you're going to have to feed the kids and that blue and yellow box will again look appealing, and yep, they're going to be loud.  It's the same thing. The only way that it's going to be any different is if you make it different yourself, and since that's the truth, why the hell are you waiting for it to happen TOMORROW???  (I'm using the collective you - I mean you, me, and my goldfish.)  Do something different today.  RIGHT NOW.  Don't try to make it through the day - try to make more moments in the day.  No one is going to change your reality other than yourself.  Don't waste your life trying to make it through.  It's not going to happen tomorrow.  It's not going to happen just by chance.  Carpe Diem!  Go get some sushi.

 

When you are really really really angry with someone, when you're just about as frustrated as you can be, hug and kiss on them.

Okay, I'm talking about friends and family members.  You're not going to see my driving up to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue with a big wet one for The Monkey.  I struggle with feeling angry and annoyed and fed up with my kids and my husband (is this news to you?  If so, you need to read more often.)  Sometimes I forget that the kids are just tiny little humans who are new to this life and sometimes I forget that my husband is just a man (oh Tammy Wynette, sing it, sister.)  When they are driving me insane and I want to smash dishes, I find that best way to get rid of that horrid feeling is to just love on them.  It may be about as appealing as voting republican, but it's what I need to do.  I swear, if I want to strangle Stealth and I go and pick him up and kiss him, I feel his soft little body, his warm breath and baby soft skin and I remember.  If I want to run B over with his own truck, I can hug him and kiss him and remember.  If Duck won't shut his mouth and I've heard the same saying over and over and over again, I can kiss him on the cheek, look into those blue eyes, and remember.  Rage is what happens when we forget that we love.

 

You cannot get what you do not know how to give

You'll never know what it's like to be loved unconditionally unless you can love someone unconditionally. You'll never have deep and true friendship unless you can give deep and true friendship to someone else. Your kids will never be understanding of you unless you are understanding of them. You gotta give to get. But you have to be careful and you have to give *exactly* what you want.  You cannot give sex and expect to get love.  You cannot give rules and expect to get respect.  You cannot offer up Spaghetti-o's and expect to get Spinach and Ricotta Mannicotti.

 

 

 

I could go on.  It occurs to me that I've been doing work on the computer for a few hours now and, well, that is a craptastic way to spend a Saturday morning.  After all, if I want my kids to be attentive of me, I need to be attentive of them. And, I'm sure there will be more brain fireworks in the coming days - I gotta make sure the firewall is secure.

 

 

 

 

Quote of the day

"Stealth, I am NOT a hippo!!!!"

         - spoken by Duck

further thoughts

The post yesterday about my cape and Lex spawned a lengthy email conversation with my sister. I don't think that she would mind me writing that she is a single mother of three, living on a limited income (aren't we all - let's all take a minute to thank The Monkey for that one,) and dealing with some pretty heavy trials and tribulations that accompany ex-husbands (child support, custody, court dates, etc.) She's got it rough, without a doubt.

She found it imperative to point out to me how golden and Rosy some aspects of my life are compared to hers. I cannot disagree with her. She's right. SO, to all of you readers who may have found my post yesterday to be selfish and perhaps petty, know that I understand that I'm luckier than many people out there. I am blessed, unquestionably, because I do have a wonderful husband and partner (annoying and ungrateful though he may be,) he is a stellar man, I have a roof over my head, food in my belly, and the ability to avoid punching a time clock in order to raise and educate my kids. To those of you who don't have those things, my hat is officially off to you.

I still feel, however, that I have the right to have my own complaints and issues and gripes. After all, no one has a perfect life. *No One.*

With that thought in mind, I spent the hours between 3:40 and 5:00 this morning mulling over my displeasure in my life. Sometimes my brain will just wake me up like that and demand some attention. It occurred to me that I'm just angry. I'm full of rage. This has been an issue with me my entire life. I remember being just a little girl, still in a school grade that could be counted on one hand, and my mother told me that I had my aunt's temper. I thought this was awesome, but then my mother looked me dead in the eye and said, "No, Sarah, your Aunt's temper is enough to kill a person. That's not cool." Yikes.

While I have not ever killed anyone (tick tock goes the clock,) there are times that I do get so angry that my body literally shakes and my eyeballs kind of pop out. I'm a small woman, but I pack a lot per square inch. I've not really found a fail proof way of dealing with this rage, although as I get older, I get better and better. My biggest problem with my rage is not how I express it, it's that I often displace it.

DDFF and I were talking the other day about my current sense of annoyance and boredom with my husband. She mentioned to me that I am not alone in my feelings, that she and several of our other girlfriends have gone through, or are currently going through, much of the same situation with their men. I sincerely appreciated hearing this. But then my wise and wonderful friend mentioned something to me - that for some of these folks, it is often dissatisfaction with themselves that births dissatisfaction with their mates - they're not really bored and pissed off at their men, they're bored and pissed of at themselves. See, isn't she brilliant?

Turns out, yep, I think I'm in that boat. I DO absolutely have legitimate complaints about my husband's doings and not doings, I won't disagree with that, but they're not new. He's never ever been the one to dole out compliments, to say that he appreciates things, to remember where the dishwasher is more than 2 days after he finally found it. I've known these things about him for going on 7 years. Why is it so critical NOW?

I've been having dreams every single night this week about old friends from high school and college. In these dreams, I'm always out doing something with them, laughing, having fun. I'm active and interactive. I'm around a lot of people. I wake up feeling so refreshed after these dreams and as my day starts and I get back into my daily groove, my refreshing feeling wanes away. Same ol' Same ol'. Why am I having these dreams NOW?

Both of those questions can be answered quite simply - I'm bored and angry that I'm bored. I'm a very social being. VERY SOCIAL. I have always had a large group of friends, always have had plans every weekend. I thrive on interaction with other people. My husband, on the other hand, is anti-social. The idea of going to a party makes him want to peel his skin off. For the last year or so, I've stopped being social. I've stopped going out with my girlfriends as regularly as I need to, I've stopped going to parties and lecture and functions and gatherings. For reasons that I do not need to divulge here, my husband has felt the need to stay out of social situations even more strongly for the last year and I honor and respect that. In order to support him, I stayed away from those situations as well. I've stayed at home about as long as I can handle, however. I think I've hit my wall. I am bored. And I'm angry that I let myself get bored because boredom to me is like Kryptonite to Superman. It kills me.

So, B, I get it. You see my cape. You know it's there and you think it's lovely. I know that because you haven't used it as a shop towel. It's still intact and functioning. And, I know you'll be supportive when I wear it out on the town soon - not only does it make a good PB&J sandwich, it just screams out for dancing with the girls.

Kohleidoscope hits the West Coast

I met with my friend, David, today.  David is the founder, owner, and artist of Ozark Handspun.  After months of trying, Ozark Handspun will finally be sold in Mid-Missouri at Hillcreek Yarn Shoppe.  WAHOO!

 

David is entering a fashion show at a yarn trade show in San Francisco in January.  He will be show casing his yarns and hopes to open up exposure to Ozark Handspun (I gotta say, however, that he's doing a damned fine job of it already - selling in something like 37 states and 2 other countries!!)  He has asked me to make part of the ensemble.  Yep.  I'll be making 2 items (which, out of respect to his business, I'll be keeping under wraps) that will go along with items he's making as well as items that my friend, Velma, is making (I think this is how it works.)

 

Regardless, in less than 6 months, my stuff will be on stage in California.

HOORAY!!!

 

Don't you see my cape, Dammit????

It was my morning to get up with the boys today while B sleeps in.  My husband rolled over, shoved me with his elbow and said, "Duck is hungry - you better get up."  Mornings are not his strong point.

 

I get up and listen in horror to the pops and cracks that accompany aging (and I'm only 29!!,) and realize that the nasty cold that has been flying all around me, touching here and there, has finally come in for the kill and I'm as sick as a stray dog cleaning up after a county fair.  I make it to the bathroom, blow my nose, and nearly pass out.  Fuck.  I don't have time for this.

 

By now, Stealth is up and coughing.  Poor baby.  The boys have been dealing with this cold for a few days now, but with amazing grace - never has anyone (other than me) whined about being sick.  Anyway, a round of medicine for everyone as the rattling cough joins the clan.

 

Immediately, upon realization that I'm sick, too, the boys scramble to the books shelf and pull out their favorite book, 1000 Facts on the Human Body.***  They hunt around until they find their favorite pages.  Duck loves the ones on conception, pregnancy, and birth (imagine that,) and Stealth really likes to look at the anatomy of the ear and teeth.  While they got stuck mulling over these pages again and again (seriously, in a week or two they're going to know more about anatomy than I do - and I studied it in college,) their original motivation didn't elude me - they were looking for ways to make me feel better.

 

Hoping for some good news or at least something that will make me forget how crappy I feel, I turn on ol' Bob The TV.  Apparently, B was up watching The Dukes of Hazzard and pigging out on ice cream after I went to bed last night - Bob was still set to CMT.  I sit down with a paper napkin for my nose (out of Kleenex,) and heard these words:

 

She's never pulled anyone from a burning building
She's never rocked Central Park to a half a million fans, screaming out her name
She's never hit a shot to win the game
She's never left her footprints on the moon
She's never made a solo hot air balloon ride, around the world,
No, she's just your everyday average girl (but)

She's somebody's hero
A hero to her baby with a skinned up knee
A little kiss is all she needs
The keeper of the cheerios
The voice that brings Snow White to life
Bedtime stories every night
And that smile lets her know
She's somebody's hero

She didn't get a check every week like a nine-to fiver
But she's been a waiter, and a cook and a taxi driver
For twenty years, there at home,...

 

 

Suddenly it hits me with full force.  I'm the hero of these two sweet angels sitting on my couch, eating apples, rubbing snot on the arms of their PJ's, and reading and looking for ways to make me better.  It's so sweet it hurts.  Their soft eyes and warm hands and sloppy kisses.  It should be enough that they appreciate me.

 

But it's not.

 

The fact of the matter is that I'm angry and resentful that other people in my life do not understand what a critical role I play, they don't appreciate it (me,) or if they do, they've taken a vow of silence. Thank you is not something I hear.  My job is not to do the dishes and the laundry and the grocery shopping.  My job is to raise two boys into men.  It's hard work.  Beyond hard work.  The hardest job there is.  And yet, I still get the usual, "What do we have to eat?"  This idiocy of this question is always compounded by the fact that the asker is always standing in front of an open pantry full of food when he asks the question.  "Babe, do I have any clean jeans?"  Yep.  I'm the sole keeper of this information.  "So, do you think you ought to get a job?"  Don't get me started.

 

To these small people who've only been on this orbiting rock long enough to see the full trip around the big ball of fire a few times, I'm a hero.  They love me and appreciate me and value me and want to help me.  They think I'm magic when I can turn a hot dog into an octopus, a paper towel roll into a rain stick, the stuff in the box into macaroni and cheese.  With a kiss, I can make the ouchie go away, I can make a blanket and some chairs turn into Fort Knox in a flash, I can answer the hard questions. 

 

My boys see my cape.

 

Sometimes I wonder why I'm married to Lex Luther.

_______________________________________________

 

*** Barnes and Nobel has a whole series of these 1000 Facts books.  Located in the children's section, these hardback books are REALLY cheap and incredibly educational.  Lots of great pictures, wonderful organization.  A great buy.  And yep, DDFF, the educator's discount DOES apply.

 

Talking with the fish

 

Wanna Hump? Nah, I have two of my own.

 

Ooh La La Okapi

you sassy thing

Witnessing the birth of an activist

***DISCLAIMER***

The following post is not endorsing, advocating, or preaching the viewpoints of animal rights activists, vegetarians, or vegans NOR is it blasting hunters, meat eaters, etc.  I have my opinions about these matters and I'm sure you do, too.  I respect your views and your right to have them.  This is about my son, not about politics.

 

I've been trying to step back and watch my children from a distant perspective lately and I've been amazed at what I've seen.  They are getting older and much wiser and I'm realizing that they don't apply to "the rules."  There are certain things that they are ready for at a much younger age than I was, a much younger age that some other children might be.  They are much more aware of what is going on around them and they seem to be much more capable of integrating different ideas and concepts into their daily lives and discussions.  As a result, I've been letting them watch parts of documentaries with me - documentaries on the women's prison system, on deafness, on homosexual parenting, adoption, slavery, and more.

 

Most children, if given the chance, will set their own boundaries and limits with regards to what they can handle.  My children have grasped this concept of self lead exposure with both hands and they do a remarkable job of listening to their own cues.  When they are interested, they come and sit and ask questions.  When it's too much for them or they've just had enough, they get up, kiss my cheek, and move on.  As their brains mull over the bits and pieces they have picked up, they come back and ask more questions - sometimes days or weeks later.  I'm telling you, these kids get it.  They understand so much more than I've given them credit for.  They can handle a lot.

 

Lately, Duck has been taking a deep interest in the plight of animals.  There is a commercial on TV airing these days about a "Hands Free Mouse Trap" that "Kills mice dead."  This really bothers him.  He doesn't understand why folks would kill a mouse.  To his reasoning, if someone doesn't want a mouse in their house, why don't they just put the mouse outside where it's supposed to live anyway?  After all, says Duck, the mouse is probably just trying to get back outside to his mouse hole and his family.  For days and days, we've been talking about this.  He feels we must save all mice.  ALL MICE.  He even wants to make Tshirts.

 

We watched A Natural History of the Chicken and he grasped onto the idea of free range chickens like most 5 year olds would grasp onto a candy bar - he's holding on tight and not letting go and the "candy" is all over his face and hands and comes off on everything he touches.  As he helped me prepare breakfast this morning, he asked me if the eggs we were eating were found in the grass on a farm or did they come from a metal tray under thousands of chickens?  I had to look him in the eye and, with tremendous sense of guilt and "Damn, you know better, Sarah," I had to tell him that yes, they actually were from the metal tray and the over crowded, neglected, abused chickens.  Imagine - getting a much deserved lecture from a 5 year old about responsible eating.

 

He asked for chicken nuggets for lunch.  I made them and he mentioned that he wasn't eating real chicken - these didn't have feathers.  Not wanting to back down on a really important lesson in life, I had to explain to him that yes, it was real chicken, that it did start out having feathers and a beak.  As the realization of what he was eating crossed his mind and sunk in, he ate a little slower and eventually asked for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

 

I am very careful to present both sides of every situation - even when it is about as pleasant as gouging my eyes out to give credit to my opposing viewpoint.  I don't want my children to believe what I believe in just because I believe it.  I want them to make fully informed choices for themselves - even if it is a different choice than I would make for myself.  It matters not to me if my children grow up to be vegetarians, vegans, NRA members, or members of the Sausage of the Month Club.  It's their lives.  I just want them to be educated.

 

Watching Duck comprehend these truths of life reminds me of myself - but when I was 14 years old.  I can see his brain going to those places mine went.  I can see him struggle to find the line (if, indeed, it exists,) between the human animal and other animals.  I can see him think before he acts, before he eats.  Where this will land us, I don't know, but I'm so grateful to have him as a partner on this journey.

 

I've always said that Duck will change the world.  I can see him doing it now.  He's already made a change.  Look in my refrigerator and marvel at the new residents - free range eggs.

 

Chicken, my dear, I hardly knew ye.

Okay, you have to see this. I know, I know, The Natural History of the Chicken doesn't sound like something that you'd intentionally watch. It sure didn't sound like something I'd be into. A couple of weeks ago, I found it at the library and I checked it out for my kids. Homeschooling takes all sorts of forms and I dig it. My kids get 1 hour of tv time a day where they can watch a movie (of some educational merit - and believe me, I can find education in nearly anything.) Sometimes they watch Fraggle Rock or Bob the Builder, but sometimes they get into documentaries (my kids, I tell you.)

SO, the chicken flick. Put it on today and I have to say, I was enthralled. It's political. It's humorous. It's informative. It's beautifully done and it does show case some classic nut jobs (think a crazy dyed haired woman living in Florida who keeps a chicken as a pet, feeds it Big Macs, and calls it her baby,) so I'm all for it. I swear, you'll never look at a chicken the same way.

Find it at your local library. Find it online. Just find it.

Cluck!

happiness is ...

paying all your bills either on time or early and still having your checkbook be in the black.  Wahoo!

With that done, I think I've been productive enough for one day.  :-)

 

Bath Time

Yesterday, MIL and FIL took us to the Zoo. We do it every year, or at least try to. Everyone has a favorite animal to see. Duck loves the elephants (3 of whom are pregnant by Raja - the little stud,) Stealth loves the zebras and giraffes. Me? I love the apes, the penguins, and the hippos. Oh, I love those hippos.

Curious as to how the water can be so clear with 3 or 4 enormous hippos in it? See those fish? They clean the water. To be totally frank, the hippos poo, their tails fan it around, and then the fish eat the poo. I'm not kidding. And then the fish clean all the heebie jeebies off the hippos skin.

Great partnership, eh?

I'm off now to revel in the fact that, while I may be the Mom and resident cleaner upper, I am not a fish living off a hippo.

Bi-Peds Unite!!

The Bonehead Comment of All Time

I am a mother, sister, daughter, wife, friend.  Doula, breastfeeding educator.  Designer (of sorts,) and fiber artist.  Homeschool educator.  And, believe it or not, I am also a Stay at Home Mom (this cracks my ass up - show me one flipping SAHM who ever stays at home and I'll eat my fucking shoe.)

 

That's about 5 full time jobs.  At least.

 

I mentioned to someone recently that I am feeling overwhelmed, overworked, under appreciated, exhausted, worn out, ungrateful, taken advantage of.  That I feel like screaming most of the time because I never get a moments peace, acknowledgment, or gratitude.

 

His response?

 

"So, you think you ought to get a job?"

 

If you need me, I'll be banging my head against the wall.

Praise for Waiter

I've been having a hard time lately. I know it doesn't seem like it - I'm writing about how successful both my businesses are and posting lovely pictures of my loved ones. In truth, I'm struggling. My life is headed towards a huge overhaul. I have no idea when it will happen or what form it will take, but it's coming and, like the Iron Man, it's often the preparation that is most grueling.

Waiter has been taking some time off, posting less than usual, due to a crashed computer. But today I checked him out and was given a gift. There aren't words for me to comment on his post - it doesn't need it. My opinion only matters to me. I think, however, that it will speak to many of you - in whatever ways you need it.

Check it out and let it sink in.

Pinup Profiles

Is this me or what?

Okay, so this was just fun. I was checking out the profile of a long time friend of mine on My Space and saw that she had this little picture and write up about her pinup profile done via a quiz on Quizilla. So, I checked it out, did the little online quiz, and this was my result. Dead on accurate. So, if you want to check it out and do your little quiz, you can do so here.

More pictures from the wedding

Okay, lots of folks have been asking for more pictures of the wedding. Here you go - all I'm going to share. :-) I did write a regular entry this morning, so if you want to read it, scroll down after the pictures!

Not long after everyone at the reception finished dinner, the dancing began. There was, of course, the traditional first dance, mother-son, father-daughter dance, the dollar dances. Shortly after that, FIL mentioned to me that he had requested a special song and dedicated it to MIL. It was their song - a song which has been their song for over 35 years. It was incredibly sentimental, especially since they've been going through a rough time. What brough tears to my eyes, however, is that he wanted me and B and my BIL and SIL to dance to the song as well. EVERYONE cleared the dance floor except the 6 of us, sharing one song, sharing the experience, sharing the hope that we'll all still be dancing together after 35 years.

Dancing

Stand By Your Man.

One of the nicest snapshots of me and my monkey.

My best girlfriend in the world, JenPen, and me. JenPen was B's first love, high school girlfriend of 4 years. She married B's best friend. It's complicated - a soap opera. It's fitting, though. Isn't she pretty?

Making sense of the senses

As humans, we are considered to have 5 senses - sight, taste, touch, hearing, smell. Everyone in my family has of these senses. Yes, some of us have senses that are stronger than others. My father's sense of hearing is deteriorating with age. My vision, as that of my siblings, is less than perfect and we use corrective lenses. I have an uncle who cannot smell, but miraculously can taste - he thinks this is a HUGE bonus in life. Some of our family members have what would be considered a perfect set of senses - no need for aiding them in any way.

But what if we didn't? What if one of us completely and totally lost one sense? What if it was a sense that, typically, was considered vital? Essential for safety? Societally necessary? What if deafness came into our family?

I just finished watching an amazing documentary that I've been wanting to see for a very long time. Sound and Fury follows the journey of a family through one of the hardest decisions they have ever made - whether or not to surgically allow their deaf children to hear through the use of Cochlear Implants. The story of two brothers (one hearing and one deaf) and their families (some members being hearing and other members being deaf,) dealing with the emotional struggle of having deaf children and wondering if the implant would improve their lives or would it destroy their sense of culture? One brother is hearing with a hearing wife and three children, two of whom are hearing and one is deaf. The other brother is deaf, has a deaf wife, and three deaf children. Interestingly enough, the parents of the brothers are hearing and the parents of the hearing wife are deaf! Emotions expressed span hope to rage to grief to shame to fear to elation. It's a gut wrenchingly emotional struggle and it brought tears to my eyes.

Hearing has always been so essential to me. I always have sound around. I am always listening to music or making music of my own while going about my day. I can be in the deepest sleep imaginable but if one of my children so much as sniffle in the night, I'm up and investigating. I depend on my sense of hearing to aid in my safety. I know when someone is behind me because I'm always listening to the branch snap, the pebble slide, the footsteps. I can tell when the water is ready for the pasta just by sound. I teach my children to appreciate and identify sound. Is that a cello or a violin? Is that a flute or a clarinet? Is that a dog or a wolf? Is that a "hey, nice to see you" honk on street or a "get the heck out of the way" honk (easily told by the length of the honk!) Is that a firetruck or an ambulance? Do you hear a train in the distance? Get off the track.

But if that option were gone, what would I do? Would I surgically alter them? Would I see it as giving them the best options and hope for life? Or, would I just dive deep into an unknown (to me) culture and expose them to everything that being deaf has to offer? Hard to tell. I just don't know. I can say what I think I would do, but it holds no weight. Until facing the issue, no one can say.

I have no real closure for this post. My brain is spinning. Today, I will thank my ears for working. Today I will listen to all the messages they send me. Today I will imagine what it would be like to not hear. Maybe some day, it will make sense.

Kohleidoscope - always changing

I created a blog for Kohleidoscope in order to eliminate the constant posting of photos of my pieces on this blog. Also, some potential buyers might not appreciate my editorial blogging (to say the least,) so it works well for showing my goods. Occasionally there will be little tidbits about knitting and felting or sewing or whatnot. Anyway, it changes pretty regularly, so if you want to check it out, you can do so here.

Sister Carrie and Brother Seth come to visit

Um, yeah, we look stoned, but we're seriously not.

Yesterday, my brother and sister of the heart, Carrie and Seth, came to visit. They brought with them my dear Maizie Moon, their beautiful daughter. I hadn't seen them in over a year. In fact, it was their wedding that I missed this past summer. I'm so glad to say that they are back living in my state and only about 2 hours away.

We spent almost 5 hours together yesterday, letting the kids play in the yard and then letting them destroy the house, while the adults chatted and caught up and laughed and cried and all that deeply joined friends do when reunited after a long separation. I was fortunate enough to help Carrie and Seth bring Maizie into the world as their doula, nearly 2 years ago. My partner was also there. In fact, this was our first birth together as partners. So much of what my life consists of today can be tied back to Carrie and Seth. We're connected deeply. Carrie is now pursuing birth work in her town and Seth is trying like hell to turn their plot of land (okay, 15 acres) into a sustainable organic farm.

I'm so blessed to have such wonderful friends - family, really. Welcome back to MO, folks. You'll have significantly less snow and significantly more mosquito's than where you've lived for the past year. And we're still lovin' you, so stay this time, okay?

Stealth, Maizie Moon, and Duck

I must be a genius...

because, apparently, I'm the only one in my house who can figure out how to use the dishwasher, washing machine, dryer, clothes hangers, garbage disposal, toilet brush, broom, telephone,  can manage the basic function of pick up toy - put toy away, who isn't stumped by the prospect of making a bed or a sandwich, knows that kids need breakfast, knows that Mom needs 5 fucking minutes to piss in peace, realizes that if there's something defrosting in the fridge and it's in a casserole dish - most likely it's for tomorrow's dinner and not for your late night munchies and, for the love of Elvis and Apple Butter, I damned well know how to flush.

 

Mensa, here I come.

 

Is it wrong...

to lock your children in their room and tell them to fight to the death? 'Cause they're driving me up the damned wall.

Setting Limits

When I was younger, there were a few things of which I was absolutely certain: 1) My parents couldn't possibly understand my angst, 2) my personal boundaries were firm and well defined, and 3) when I died, wherever I ended up, Jim Morrison would be waiting for me and I would finally get laid properly and often. Now I'm older and I can see that, while my parents probably never had the same angst that I had (have,) they had their own brand. Jim Morrison is probably not going to be waiting for me, but that's cool 'cause I'm not waiting for my carnal rewards after death (somewhere along the way, someone in charge finally felt me deserving of a talented man and gave me the strength to say the magic words, "No, darling, a little to the left.") But through the years, my boundaries had become fuzzy, less defined, and oh so easy to cross.


I can almost see when things started going bad. When I was 18, I fell in love with a guy of 21. I totally lost myself to him. I'm not sure why or how, but I'm certain that it was my own doing and I hold nothing against him. Yeah, he made some pretty heinous mistakes, but dear Elvis, he was 21! These days, I wouldn't trust a 21 year old to tie my shoes much less protect my sense of self worth. Besides, that wasn't his job. This guy and I endured a pretty rough experience or two and I came to find myself losing every bit of myself to him. I gave my power away - maybe because I felt like it wasn't enough to protect me. Man, 21 and 18 = the blind leading the stupid.

Regardless, nothing with me was ever the same after that. What followed was about 5 years of self destructive stupidity. We all have those years, eh? I did a lot of things I shouldn't have, said a lot of things I shouldn't have, and certainly let a lot of folks get away with things they never should have gotten away with. I had no boundaries - well, none that couldn't be persuaded. While I'm not proud of a lot of what I did and a lot of the choices I made (and I sure as hell wouldn't repeat them,) I'm not sorry that I went through it all. It's made me who I am. I am learning and getting stronger again. I'm connecting to that bad ass inside more and more often these days. I like who I have become, who I am. And who I am just keeps getting better.

So much better, in fact, that it is again becoming easy (and secretly fun) for me to say NO. No, I cannot come this minute, I have my own things going on. No, I cannot bring those samples because they currently don't exist and I'm not going to kill myself creating them. No, I will not let you eat my last piece of chocolate - I'm bleeding and it's essential to me as oxygen. If you want to keep that finger, you'll get it out of my ice cream right now. Yes I can help you but no, not in that way. No, I will not support you when you continue to make asinine choices. NO, I will not say it's okay when it's not. NO, I will not agree with you when I think you're being an idiot. No, I will not compliment you when you're being an asshole. No, I will not add a zipper to that bag - I didn't design it that way, thank you very much.

You know what? Saying NO works so well that no one argues with it. NO is a complete sentence. Anyone who doesn't listen when you say NO is trying to control you. Heh Heh Heh. Go ahead, sucker, just TRY to control me. Hope you have insurance.

In the coming years, I'll be the one who cannot possibly understand my kids' angst. I'll be the one who is so uncool that I've never possibly experienced anything as profound as their lives. My boundaries will, hopefully, continue to strengthen when they need to and flex when called for, but hopefully my resolve to respect them will grow until the very end. And, when I finally get to where I'm destined after this time on the planet, I just hope Mr. Morrison can handle it when I tell him NO.

And that is how you do that!

In my line of work, the word "Induction" usually evokes one thought - "UGH." Just basic facts - inductions hugely increase the risk of cesarean, labor is often harder to handle and integrate because there's no natural ebb and flow of things, and they are usually LONG and end with a baby looking less than happy and a Mom either being a) drugged or b) so tired she couldn't care less if she gave birth to a boy, a girl, or a gorilla.

Occasionally, however, things are different.

Yesterday, I attended an induction with some clients with whom I've been working for a few months. Induction was the second to last thing that they wanted, but their care provider was giving them the choice of that or the very last thing they wanted, a cesarean. After considering those options, as well as the option of doing nothing at all, my clients decided that an induction would be fine -they wanted to see their baby. These folks had done it all right. They read the *right* books, took the best childbirth education class around, hired a doula, asked the hard questions, made good choices. Both my partner and I felt really good about them. If an induction could be awesome, which it could, then these would be the folks who could do it.

I could go on and on about the nitty gritty details, but 1) you probably don't care, 2) it's not my place to tell their story, and 3) it doesn't really matter. What DOES matter is that this couple made this birth fun. Plain fun. Bullet points of happiness about this birth (from my eyes.)

• in 13 and half hours, less than one full IV bag of pitocin was used. Yep. awesome
• positioning was never limited. No one ever said, "You can't do this, you can't do that, get back into bed."
• Internal exams were kept to HER request (unheard of in the hospital.)
• No one flinched at her eating and drinking at will
• Multimedia included music by Johnny Cash, The Who, and the Ramones and TV of King of the Hill, and That 70's Show. You know that makes me happy.
• Mom never once asked for any pain meds and no one even mentioned it.
• Mom chose her desired way of pushing.
• Baby boy born looking happy and healthy (and beyond adorable) and not even once taken out of Mom's arms until she was ready.

This was the first time I had worked with this doc. Let me just say, she very quickly has moved up into my list of favorites. She was so respectful and, frankly, spent most of her time looking to me for suggestions for positioning and pushing and whatnot. After all, she knows that she's trained in catching the baby, I'm trained in helping the baby come. Right on.

Congratulations A, J, and Baby Z. You showed them. You showed them all. You did it with style and grace and you did it under your own power, your own way. That's just hard core. I'll come to your baby-having parties anytime.

And that is how you do that.

Pick a title, any title

Random thoughts -

I posted new pictures to Kohleidoscope today. There are some before and after shots of two bags that were custom ordered so folks can see how they start out and how the end up. Seriously different. And, there are pictures of 2 bags that are knitted and lined - no felting. They're pretty darn cute, cheaper than felted bags of their size, and up for grabs. I'm getting feedback on these things since putting the blog up. Wahoo!

I have been an evil Mom lately. Just really no compassion. Hard assed. Think Red from That 70's Show. Happy Fun Time has been over. Shit, that really sucks for my kids. I mean, come on, they're just a breath away from still be babies, you know? Bad Mom. Bad Mom. Bad Mom. Guess I'll have to fork out the big dough for the stuffed gorillas when we hit the Zoo in a couple of weeks. Yeah, I know, buying my kids. I gotta say, at this point, it it's between buying them and beating them, I'm sure that they'd appreciate being bought. We can sort out the mess later.

I've been working like mad lately. DDFF and I have a slew of clients coming due. That means we're going to births AND fitting in a couple of prenatals every week. And I make appointments to see folks for Kohleidoscope probably once a week. For the last 3 weeks, B has had to put the boys to bed without me at least 3 out of 7 nights. No big deal, in the long run, but I tell you, it's quite a change from the months that I hardly ever missed a bedtime story. It's good for me. And it's good for them. And no one is sneezing at the looser purse strings, you know?

DDFF has written a post about her weight loss. Awesome! She's doing great and I'm so proud of her. I tell you, we're two foxy doulas. Oh my, sometimes I crack myself up.

Kindermusik rocks. Just rocks. Check it out. Enough said.

My doula gig is getting in the way of me enjoying my one (hush, my friends) trashy vice - Days of Our Lives. Yep. Yesterday a baby was born and I have to tell you - just about the ONLY thing they got right is that this baby didn't come out the mother's nose. Holy Cannole, do some damned research, folks!! Even us birthy folks look for an easy escape now and then, a fantasy to get lost in while folding the laundry and wiping noses and cuing up birth videos. DON'T BE A BUZZ KILL. Maybe I'll get a job making sure these folks don't look so asinine. I think Salem could use a doula, eh?

This coming weekend I'm going to a joint party (again, my friends, HUSH, it's not that kind of joint party,) for my nephew and one of my nieces. It's a birthday party. Somehow, they'll be 12 and 6. The 12 year old's, my nephew's, was the first labor / birth I ever attended. A failed induction that ended in a cesarean, this was the birth that made me see that it could be, had to be, another way. Unreal. He's grown into an amazing young man - actually becoming more man than boy every single day. But he still lets me hug him, as long as I listen all about his girlfriends (there are many.) The 6 year old reminds me of myself. She's blond haired and blue eyed and feisty as all hell. She doesn't take shit from anyone. Right on. Happy birthday, folks.

Love and Rockets forever.

With thanks

A little boy was born in the wee hours of the morning. I was there, as was my business partner. We've done births together before. Many, in fact. It's always fun working together. Almost always after, we meet for dinner and talk about those moments we'll always remember - the funny thing that Mom said right after that whopper contraction, finding the stash of chocolate, the amazing sight of a baby looking around underwater while waiting for the rest of his or her little body to slide out into the birthing tub. In our line of work, talking about details of a birth with folks who weren't there is a no-no. Sure, we might tell friends, family, and other doulas about this or that, but it's always with a tight lip. Never is a name mentioned, never an identifying detail. We adhere to a strict code of confidentiality in order to protect the family's privacy and the sactity of birth. Birth is passionate. Birth is intimate. Birth is personal. Birth is sacred. It's also sometimes funny, jubilant, intense, annoying, exhausting, trying, challenging, mysterious. It's always emotional. Having a partner with whom to discuss and debrief, for lack of a better term, is a blessing and I'm grateful that I've been gifted with such an amazing one.

Sometimes, having a partner means the difference between hanging up the birth bag for good and slipping on those funky purple Birki's and dashing out the door at 2 in the morning to help greet the next new person in town.

I've always written about the beauty of my job and sometimes the complaints of my job. Really, the beauty goes without saying. I mean, c'mon, I get to see people come out of people. I get to hear a child's first sounds. I get to be present for that magical moment when parents lay eyes on this new person for the first time, and I get to see the realization between long lovers that, "wow, we did it! We made that little human from our love."

The complaints? Well, the hours suck. No question about it. Sometimes I get a nice and easy butter birth and get home in enough time to kiss the kids good night, or at least fall into bed myself early enough to make saying good (very early) morning to my kids less excruciating. Most of the time, however, I go 24 hours or more without sleep after getting called out to a birth about 3 minutes before I finally drift off to sleep after a long, haggard assed day of being Mom. As I get older, it takes longer and longer to recover from a birth and the "hangover" that comes the next day seems to last longer than it used to. Most of the newbie doula birth obsession has long since faded into a pragmatic approach. I don't jump out of bed in the middle of the night with quite so much excitement and fervor as I once did. I'm noticing that I'm becoming less tolerant of labor arresting whining and much more apt to take the, "Yes you can so do this - you're a mother and mothers can do ANYTHING, so get on up and have this baby" point of view.

Some folks may say that I've become jaded. I disagree. I think I'm seasoned - and getting more and more so with each rapidly successive birth. I'm certainly still learning from each one, but when you stop learning from them, you should just stop doing them all together.

This morning, I saw a little boy decide to stay in this world. I saw him come out looking like there was no hope, but feeling and knowing in my heart that he wasn't done here. As the doctor and my business partner worked to bring this beautiful boy into his own awareness with stimulation, oxygen, and the breaths from their own lungs, I helped out by reminding the parents that their son needed to hear them, so talk to him now. RIGHT NOW. I warmed towels, grabbed the oxygen tank, spoke to this old soul in a new body, gathered hats and blankets and faith. As I put hat after hat onto this soft new head, I prayed to every higher power I've ever known, believed in, or even heard of. Please, Elvis, please help him. Help us. Baby, breathe. Please breathe. Come on baby, breathe for us again.

And he did.

As he got his first ride out into the world (in an ambulance - what boy wouldn't be thrilled with that?) he got pink and started to cry. And now, nearly 20 hours after his birth, I'm matching his cries with my own. As it turns out, this little boy is fine and beautiful and, most likely, enjoying a long comforting meal at his mother's breast right this minute. There's some controversy about whether or not he will remember this, whether infants remember their births. I have my own opinions about that and other folks have theirs. What's irrefutable, however, is that I will remember this one forever, as will the other folks who were there. It has had a profound effect on me. This little guy left his mark on my heart.

My partner and I didn't meet tonight for our usual dine and decompress session. We've spoken on the phone several times, but I think we both know that what we experienced together today doesn't need to be voiced- at the moment, there just aren't words. Well, not words that we need to say to each other, anyhow. This is also the advantage of having a partner - sometimes a look or a pause or a breath says it all. DDFF, I know. Oh, I know. For the rest of you, if you know my partner and you know her blog, be sure to read today's entry. It's beautiful. A tribute. A benediction, of sorts. An "I know" moment of her own.

Thanks for taking the leap, little boy. I'm glad you are sticking around. And, in appreciation for what you've given me, I'll tell you where to find the good chocolate - it's stashed in the pantry.

Ozark Oh My! 

Whammo Cammo (for David) 

AHOY! 

Raspberry Fizzzzzzzzz 

Monk and Sass 

Duck 

Stealth 

Fancy Pants

That's Duck and Stealth with their Uncle B.

The wedding was amazing. Just amazing. Of course, lots of things messed up. The flowers were wrong. The cake was wrong. The vocalist messed up. The groom's grandparents had to leave before the ceremony due to the cruel effects of Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, and dementia. My freaking camera decided to choose yesterday to refuse accurate automatic focusing. But, they're married and blissfully happy. And so am I.

Duck and Stealth handled the tuxedos with style.

Pretty handsome, eh?

Fifty bucks

My brother in law is getting married tomorrow. TOMORROW. That means today will be known here on out as The Day For Complete And Total Mental Breakdowns or, if you're the expressive type, HOLY FUCK AND GUACAMOLE. I'm thinking of making it a National Holiday, complete with honorary bird (an exploding crow,) and anthem (We're Not Gonna Take It, by Twisted Sister.)

I'm a control freak. I don't like to admit it, but it's true. If I don't have a hand in things, if I don't know exactly what is going on every second, if I don't have a plan, I go nuts. This is playing an interesting part in this wedding as I actually have NO role in the wedding at all. My sons are ring bearers, my husband is Best Man. I am, apparently, the panic person.

Tonight is rehearsal. I've been told that it's "oh, sometime between 5:30 and 6." I asked about the wedding, where the guys are getting dressed (I will NOT try to put a 5 year old and a 3 year old in a Tux and then drive them out of town,) and I've been told, "Oh somewhere - we just need to be ready for pictures at 4." I asked about timing and dress code and everything and have gotten, "Eh, sometime, something, whatever."

My husband is making a custom mat and frame for the bride and groom. The mat will be set out at the reception and all the guests will sign the mat. Later, the bride and groom will use the mat and frame to frame a wedding portrait of themselves. Cool, eh? The mat should be there tonight or tomorrow afternoon - my husband mentions to me that he's going to have to go buy the mat board after work TODAY and make the mat tonight. Shit on a shingle, nothing like last minute.

I asked my husband if he has black socks. His response? "Eh, I don't know. If I get off work tomorrow (holy shit, he's working tomorrow???) and find that I don't have black socks, there's a Walgreen's about 10 minutes from the church - someone can make a run to buy some!"

My husband mentions that he will work until 2. We have to be ready for pictures (read: men and boys in tuxedos with shoes on and flies zipped) by 4. It's a good 40 minutes from our house to the church. It takes my husband 15 minutes to get home from work. And he HAS to shower somewhere in between. Damn.

Stealth, the 3 year old, hates the tux. HATES it. Refuses to wear it. SCREAMS like a banshee when he sees it. Duck, the 5 year old, refuses to take it off once it's on. Mentions that he wants to look PERFECT for Uncle B's wedding. He's going to break my heart, that little one. My husband says that Duck looks so good in his tux that it makes him catch his breath. Must remember to bring tissues.

I'm really looking forward to it, however. I know I'll bawl like an infant. I know that I'll be overwhelmed with emotion for my brother in law and his new bride (who, by the way, is so amazing.) I know that I'll look up at my husband and my children and be flooded with pride and love and gratitude. I know that I'll look at my mother in law and my father in law and, as the tears flow down their cheeks (which I know will happen,) I'll probably understand why they have been so resistant to let my brother in law go. He's their baby and he's found his partner for life.

And then I'll cuss my bra that is starting to slip and hate the shoes I have on and wish like hell that someone had a little whiskey stashed in their purse.

The bride and groom are so sick of this wedding. They just want it to be over. Sincerely. I understand. They've been living together for awhile now. They own a house. They have been married in the heart from the day they met. I understand that, too. It was exactly the same for my husband and myself.

It makes me think of my wedding to B, coming up on 5 years ago. There was no rehearsal dinner. There were no tux's, no ring bearers, no seating arrangements. No one went into debt for our wedding. No one had to get measured for anything. The whole thing took about 2 minutes and cost us a whopping $50 for the marriage license.

For that $50, I got a new name, a new life, a husband, and peace of mind.

Best money I ever spent.

The Monkey is a Poet

My friend, Sandie, sent me an email today and I just felt it HAD to be posted. Thanks, Sandie. Viva La Idiot and God help the rest of us.

This is a poem made up entirely of actual quotations from George W.Bush, arranged for "aesthetic" purposes, by Washington Post writerRichard Thompson.

MAKE THE PIE HIGHER!
I think we all agree, the past is over.
This is still a dangerous world.
It's a world of madmen and uncertainty
And potential mental losses.
Rarely is the question asked
Is our children learning?
Will the highways of the Internet
Become more few?
How many hands have I shaked?
They misunderestimate me.
I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity.
I know that the human being
And the fish can coexist.
Families is where our nation finds hope,
Where our wings take dream.
Put food on your family!
Knock down the tollbooth!
Vulcanize society!
Make the pie higher!
Make the pie higher!--

Sound FX suck (or, why I wish I was deaf)

I have 2 sons. This was always what I wanted because I'm terrified at the thought of raising a girl. So, two beautiful boys that I love and cherish. Two boys who fill my heart with such love, my life with such laughter. Two boys who make me glad I'm alive. And who, quite frequently, make me want to stab ice picks into my ears.

It has been slowly creeping up on me, but it has finally hit with full, unrelenting, torturous force - my children have become full time sound effects machines.

From before I open my eyes until I blissfully close their bedroom door at night, I'm assualted by pops, hisses, spits, and assorted Thhhhhhhhhhhhhhhtttttttttttts, phhhhffffffffttttttttttts, bshewwwwwwwws, and shhhhhooots.

I'm telling you, it drives me up the fucking wall.

Ooooooooooom booooooooooop.

CRASH!!!

I got it, now what?

Yesterday I started writing a post entitled Black Sheep which pretty much dealt with the fact that every family has a black sheep and, in my family, it would be me. What has become clear to me, though, is that there's a bigger picture, a bigger issue, on the forefront of my mind and it has sprinkled it's flavor on every aspect of my life. This issue has touched my black wool and my businesses, my friendships and relationships, my marriage, my intellect, my social passion. It lays out in front of me like a freshman at an afterbar - passed out, inconvenient, and insistent on tripping me up:

Be careful what you wish for - you might just get it.

When I was much younger, I never had moments of wanting to grow up to be "just like" anyone. Yes, it's true, that I once wrote a letter to my sister saying that I wanted to be like her when I grew up, but see, I still wanted to be ME. I have never really patterned myself after anyone, although I have been influenced by many. I'm very much a "little of column A, a little of column B" woman. I have a sprinkle of this, a dash of that, a heaping tablespoon of xyz, etc., blended in with my own individuality that makes me what I am. But, as a result, I see that I've become something almost unrecognizable in comparison to my family members. I spent the better part of the weekend with my extended family (sister and her family, brother and his wife, mother and her husband) in varying forms and combinations. While I was so happy to see them all, I honestly felt as though I didn't belong. That's a hard feeling to have amongst your own blood. They all like the same music - except me. They all like the same TV shows - except me (I've never even seen most of the shows they rave about, nor do I care to.) They all watch the same sport (if you can call it that) on TV - except me. They eat the same foods, drink the same beer, laugh at the same jokes, read the same magazines - except me. We sit at dinner and I have almost nothing - NOTHING - to add to the conversation. Of course, I will admit that most of the things they are passionate about do not interest me in the slightest. And, of course I know that my passions don't interest them a lick. I don't hold that against them and I hope they don't hold my disinterest against me. I'm different than them. I am the black sheep of the family. I love myself and who I am and what I do and all that I'm passionate about. I wouldn't want to change myself. It's distancing, though, sometimes - having nothing to contribute to the conversation and knowing that no one would care to contribute to any conversation that I might start. I wanted to be an original. I wanted to be an individual. I wanted to be independent. I wanted to be unique. I wanted to stand apart. And I have accomplished all of those things. Now what?

I have always dreamed of helping women in birth. I have known for nearly all my life that birthwork is what I am on this planet to do. I have worked hard and studied and practiced and researched and learned. I have made professional connections and can move comfortably around the L&D department of any given hospital, I am relatively well known amongst the homebirth and free standing birth center community in our area. I can tell you when the baby is getting close just by the smell in the room, when the "birth mojo" is heavy and thick. I can, with fairly accurate results, tell how much a woman is dilated by the sounds she is making. I am a doula and I'm good at it. I wanted to be busy. I wanted to attend a lot of births. I wanted to be well known. And now I am. I am so busy that I forget clients from the past and forget the names of the clients I have now. I'm so busy that I, along with my wonderful business partner (shout out, DDFF,) have turned a few potential clients down lately because we're too booked. This is what I wanted. Now, when the phone rings, I give Elvis a holler and ask that it's not a client in labor because I just want to sleep. And then there are days when I beg for a client to call in labor so I can mark one off the calendar. I got what I wanted. Now what?

I love making bags and other fiber arts. Bags, hats, scarves, ponchos, you name it. I dreamed of folks contacting me and asking me to make them one of a kind bags and such and then getting paid to do it. I dreamed of being known as a fiber artist. I have been so blessed to have folks promote Kohleidoscope for me - and now, folks are calling. Folks are emailing. Folks are stopping me in diners and bookstores asking me if I'm "the Sarah that makes those amazing bags?!?!?!?" And I smile and say, "Yep, that would be me." And then, like right now, I freak out about how much people want from me, what they expect from me, "What do you mean you don't have a large inventory and that you prefer to custom make them?," "What do you mean you don't have a store?," "What do you mean you won't cut me a deal - don't you know that I'm your second cousin's old college roommate's veterinarian's hairstylist??" I got what I wanted - now what?

I've always believed that what you put out into the world returns to you. I have always believed that if you ask for something and live in the way that would support what you want, it will come to you. I have always believed that if you live the life of an artist, you will walk in art, that if you issue forth dreams and desires and passion, you will be filled to the brim with those same rewards. And I guess it's my time to cash in.

From my Black Sheep status, I have learned that there's 2 types of family: the type you are born into and the type you birth around you. The family that I was born into might not share my passions for life, my political voice, my love of art and creation, my eclectic taste in music and literature. But they share my blood, my DNA, my lineage. I will love them, and they will love me, until the end of time. While we may not agree on much, we are connected. Because of them and the roots that they have given me, I've become the type of woman who has given birth to my own family. I have chosen a man with whom to share every one of my days - a man who is my best friend, my devil's advocate, my partner in crime. We, in turn, have given birth to two children who are just about the coolest little people I've ever known and I would want to spend time with them, even if we weren't related. Because of my strong roots that I know will support me regardless of my lot in life, I have been able to choose a multitude of people who started out as my friends and are now my family of the heart. My girlfriends who love me and let me love them, who will tell me that I'm out of my mind, who will knock me off my high horse when I need it, and who will throw a parade in my honor if I need it, regardless of whether or not I deserve it. I have men friends who want NOTHING at all from my body, but they want everything from my mind. I have friends who are in their 80's and friends who are 8. And they all are my family - and there are no black sheep.

As a doula, I have been blessed to see many many people take their first breaths of air and many people take their first breaths as parents. I have learned that life doesn't always go as planned and that sometimes it can go awry before it can really truly start - but I've also seen and learned that imperfections don't exist at all through the eyes of love. I've learned to fall asleep anywhere at any time because, frankly, I don't know when I'll get the chance again. I've learned that often times doing nothing at all is more powerful than doing everything you can. I've learned that scheduling is essential - and so is time without a plan. I've learned that I know more than I acknowledge and, with that knowledge, comes the awareness that there's always so much more to know.

Kohleidoscope has taught me that I am an artist and that I need to treat myself as such. I have learned that I am blessed to be creative and have an eye and a hand for fibers. I have learned how to say, "Yes, I am charging $100 for that bag," "No you cannot come to my house to look at samples," and, "It's going to take a few weeks for me to get to your order - I have to eat and sleep sometime." I have learned that a beautiful bag can make anyone feel gorgeous. I have learned that good wool is worth the price and that schwag acrylic is not. I have learned that a discount isn't a discount if it's loaded with resentment.

I've gotten so much out of all my facets. Not a stone has been left unturned, no area left unexplored. I'm spread out like a huge quilt of influences and lives. I'm but a single fiber in the rich tapestry of life.

So, now what? It doesn't matter because, I guess, most of all, I've got the knowledge and security to know that not knowing what comes next is okay.

Color Wheel 

Mad Hatter and Scarf 

Sharp! 

fine art 

Listen up, Monkey. Listen up.

Aaron Broussard, president of Jefferson Parish

"So I'm asking Congress, please investigate this now. Take whatever idiot they have at the top of whatever agency and give me a better idiot. Give me a caring idiot. Give me a sensitive idiot. Just don't give me the same idiot.”
Aaron Broussard, president of Jefferson Parish

Jessica survives Katrina!

Mud Mask Fun! 1997

Many of you know my friend, Jessica Cutter, or know about her, anyway. Jessica and I have been friends for 10 years or so. She's been living in New Orleans for a few years now and, last fall, took over the position of head pastry chef at Emeril's in the Big Easy. Since the storm hit on Monday, I've been unable to get a good nights sleep due to my concern for her.

I spoke with Jessica's mother early this morning and, Thank Elvis, Jessica and 2 of her co-workers made it back to Missouri last night! THEY ARE SAFE!!! This morning, Jessica is driving her friends to KC in hopes that they will be able to find a flight back to their families, and then she will return to her parents home here in Columbia.

Jessica has lost her apartment. She's not sure what, if any, of the structure is still standing. She has lost ALL of her belongings. She has the clothes on her back and one extra set of clothes -- that's it. That's all they were able to gather up before they were forced to leave. New Orleans won't have power for 2 or 3 months and who knows how long it will take after that to rebuild.

I'll be speaking with Jessica sometime today and figuring out exactly what she needs, what other's need, what can be done. Some of her family friends may host a shower of sorts for Jessica in order to give her some of life's basic necessities.

I'm so eternally grateful that my friend is alive and safe. There are so many thousands of others out there, however, who are not as lucky. They have no money, no home, no where to go. Please, support them if you can. Visit the Red Cross website to learn how. Donate money. Donate clothes. Donate food. Donate toothbrushes. Donate whatever you can, even if all you can donate is your thoughts and prayers.

I'll keep you all updated as I learn more from Jessica! Thanks, everyone.