The Length of the Rainbow Bridge

Over two years ago now, on Saturday, May 20th 2017, we had to make the hard decision to put our buddy Buster to sleep, our beloved boxer mix dog, our family companion and friend. I haven't posted anything about it online yet even though it was awhile ago now. I wrote up most of a blog awhile back but then never finished or posted. A year after I still had his Pill Pockets in the closet and a bin of his supplements stuffed in a bottom cabinet. I'm not entirely sure why it is that I didn't post anything about it, perhaps because it was a difficult phase and decision for our family to deal with and make. Maybe I was too emotional at the time for the outreach, I don't know. I also had just given birth to our second child at the time. It was a time of transition for our family, but we have had some time to deal. Celie and I had a chat about him awhile back and we decided that we "don't feel horrible anymore" so I'm ready to post about it I reckon. Now, two years after she has started to ask about getting another dog. While I am not ready for that step quite yet, and am also currently preoccupied with now gearing up to have our third child, I suppose I could at the very least finish up the blog post. 

On August 4th, 2016 Buster was diagnosed with lymphoma cancer after we took him to the vet for a swollen neck and a persistent hacking cough. They delivered the sad news and I knew I had to reframe it for Celie somehow. She was just 6 at the time. It was also only around a week before we found out that I was pregnant with Jasper. We were excited to be having another baby but simultaneously sad for the impending loss we had ahead of us. The vet told us that dogs usually only live 4 to 6 weeks after diagnosis so we had to tell Celie something because we didn’t think we had much time. We were obviously heartbroken and were not looking forward to saying goodbye to him so soon, but I made the choice to tell Celie up front and talk to her about it through it all because I thought that he would die or that we would need to decide to put him to sleep within a month or so. Being 6  years old at the time, I felt that it would be good for her to be told up front in an age appropriate way. I immediately bought her All Dogs Go to Heaven and did my best to explain cancer to her and what was happening, also so that she would be aware that he wasn't feeling well and would act accordingly because we had no idea what was ahead of us. It forced me to break down death to a child's level while simultaneously reexploring my own thoughts and beliefs. It was painful, sad, and vulnerable, but in the end I am grateful that I had the opportunity to explain it to her using a dog companion first instead of a human one, as it was her first rememberable experience with death at the time. 

I am grateful for the pure love that Celie and Buster shared. We already had Buster when she was born so Celie was raised alongside her furry friend. “Buster” was even her first word. He was her four-legged older brother and he was so patient and gentle with her, despite her high energy. For that I will also forever be grateful. If he was a mean tempered dog, it could have been a bad experience but he seemed to understand that she was a tiny people, one of us, and very dear to us, never doing anything overtly aggressive unless in a defensive manner and having a great way of judging how gentle he needed to be with her. It helps to keep in mind that it was special for her to have a good connection with a dog so early and this was a gift in itself. It still hurt like hell and was one of the most heartbreaking things to witness and have to explain to her, given her mix of emotional reactions through it all especially because it ended up taking much longer than the vet initially told us.

I, of course, not wanting to accept the death sentence even in my adult mind, initially Googled my fingers off about dog lymphoma and things. I frantically considered chemotherapy briefly, read up on that. Decided against it. We purchased supplements and ebooks on dealing with canine cancer. I started him on a mixture of vitamins and things. Most notably we switched his dry dog food to grain free Blue Wilderness. Ultimately, though, his lymph nodes continued to swell and eventually he was hacking and could no longer eat the dry dog food. About a month after diagnosis he wasn't in the best shape, but he was still here. The swelling in the lymph nodes in this chest and throat eventually became so significant, though, affecting his ability to eat, that we decided to put him on prednisone to see if it would shrink them and give him some relief. This is basically the first line of cancer treatment with dogs anyway. Luckily it worked, the swelling went down, he was able to eat better again, and he just kept going. 

I had planned on making him his own homemade dog food from recipes I found on the internet in canine cancer support groups and the ebooks that I got, but in the end we just switched to Blue Wilderness canned food for the most part, mixing it with the grain free dried kibble. He seemed to love most kinds, he was hungry because of the prednisone so at least he kept eating. We were fortunate to be able to afford it because grain free dog food is so much more expensive and it added up! I switched up kinds when they were on sale but stuck to grain free, high protein. Merrick’s was a brand he liked a lot also and some of it honestly looked so good I would have eaten it! All through my pregnancy we were in this limbo state where we gave him his medication and bought him his special food, every week we repeated the drill and it somewhat stayed the same. I called in and refilled his prescription at the vet so many times. I broke his pills in half and put them into chunks of Fresh Pet loaves. All the while he slowly got worse but still remained basically Buster, playful and social with a happy tail. 

We switched him to a completely grain free diet when he was diagnosed and I attribute this to most of the bonus time that we got with him. Aside from his diet, we also refrained from giving him any table scraps unless it was a pure protein or fat source like meat or something. He lived quite a few fairly active months after diagnosis, fetching tennis balls a month or so in and even playing tug of war with Celie close to only a month before the end, but he slowly got worse, though, and the cancer ultimately took over his body. In the end it was in his stomach, which became swollen, and in his skin that started to harden and peel although it didn’t seem to bother him. He was uncomfortable but didn't seem to be in significant pain. I continued the supplements that I had read showed the most results in other dogs with cancer. In the end I still feel like I failed him, not trying aggressively enough with the supplements or not making him his own homemade food or not doing this that or the other. But who is to say Colloidal Silver would have done anything? If I had tried crazy baking soda treatments I could have sent him into heart failure. I wasn’t sure of anything, but my mind was awash with all of the things I had read or ever heard that could fight cancer, this invasive beast that had killed so many family members. Now it was taking the best dog I had ever had who was the equivalent of a human only in their 50s, no where near done with life with still so much love to give. Son of a bitch. 

Seemingly selfishly lost in my own depression at the time and dealing with my pregnancy, I feel like I wasn’t able to give him my all.  While that was true with everything else happening, I know that it is also true that I did try my best to keep him as healthy and comfortable as possible through it all. I believe it got us a good amount of extra time, the equivalent of a human living for 5 more years after diagnosis versus the 1 year sentence they were given.  That’s fairly significant considering most of those months were decent months.

I remember nights of me putting my legs up to ease my swollen feet. I would grunt and rub my swollen belly and he would grunt as well as he rolled onto his swollen belly. In my limited positioning, he would snuggle his face into my toes and I would rub the side of his head with my foot as we gazed into each other's eyes in an understanding misery, only mine was temporary and self-induced, the creation of life, while his was an unfair sentence that would take him from this place, the slow destruction of life. He held on and watched me grow our new baby, though, almost like he wanted to see the family unit completed to where it was advancing to before he left. He wouldn't give up the happy tail and seemed only in mild to moderate pain. After 8 and a half months, though, his front legs began to swell. We had all of this time with him to prepare for our goodbye and in the end it didn’t seem long enough. 

At one point one of the tumors on his side burst open and he needed a vet visit. She said she thought it was a cat bite or something like that, but I knew it was one of the growths he had on his side that must have broken open some how, or he dug it open himself. It was squirting blood, regardless of how it happened. We thought that was the end but we bandaged and tended to it, covering his dressing with pet sweaters to keep it in place...and he continued. When his legs started to swell and his one front paw seemed as though he had punctured it on something simply from the pressure of the fluid, we once again thought it was the end. We took him into the vet again and they said it was most likely the beginning of the end and this vet was actually so surprised that he had such a happy tail and was in such good spirits. We got him on an antibiotic to help with the swelling, and it did take it down temporarily. Because of the antibiotic we got around one more month after that point, but it was apparent that the stubborn old boy wasn't going to go on his own laying out in the sun one morning like we selfishly hoped would happen. After the course of the antibiotics he started to go downhill pretty fast.

He had taken to standing instead of laying down, we are unsure if it was because it hurt his stomach to lay on it or what, but it was a weird stage. At first we thought that it was just the pain pill we had been giving to him at the end to keep him more comfortable but he seemed to be slipping out of consciousness while standing in the yard, almost dropping to the ground at times like someone falling asleep and then catching themselves. This is when we made the decision. He had taken to nodding out standing up in between lucid moments of happy tail interaction, but he looked in your eyes like he knew something big had changed. He sat out in the yard in different spots just looking around the grounds, like he was becoming aware of something we were missing. He was a mere 9 years old, only 57 in dog years, but in those moments he looked to be well over 100 in dog wisdom. Something was changing and we knew it was time, but it took us a good day to accept our responsibility. Nobody wants to put their dog to sleep. Nobody. The only reason we "want" to do it is to ease their suffering because there comes a time when our responsibility to them is to take their life, to show them mercy. There is a lot of guilt involved in trying to make the right decision when the time comes, a lot of dilemma over when the time is right and I think we did good by our boy. In the end, I think he'd understand we were trying to give him the most life that we could without allowing him to suffer unnecessarily. 

The day we knew it was time, Celie had left for school and I was having a chat with Buster in the yard. He gave me the look. I didn't want to accept it, I sent Celie to school that morning half knowing. The dilemma was then that it was a Friday and I didn't want to put him to sleep while she was in school so that she wouldn't get to say goodbye and know he would be gone when she got home. He seemed to be okay with it. I wished there was an at home service in our area for pet euthanasia, but there isn't. So we kept him that one last night so that Celie could say her goodbyes and wouldn't be jarred with him just being gone. So Buster got one last night at the ranch and that next morning as he sat in the yard in his drowsy state in what had become his favorite spot I watched from the window as my husband walked Celie over to tell him goodbye before he took her to my parents’ house. I will never forget his reaction to her approach, snapping out of it and immediately going into his happy tail and walking up to her. He was running on pure love at that point. I believe he knew he was going to die, or at least knew that something was up, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to leave us, but regardless of all feelings from all parties involved it was time to say goodbye. 

We had to travel to Mezger's in State College because of our decision, because our normal vet was closed on Saturdays and we didn’t want to make him wait until Monday, fearing he was experiencing a lot of pain. I had asked my mother to watch Celie for us, but Jasper was only 2 months old at the time and was still nursing so he had to come along. When we got there, the vet on call had an emergency surgery he was in. We were preparing to put him to sleep in the back of our Jeep in the parking lot so that we could avoid any added stress on him by taking him inside a weird and scary place in his state. Two nurses came out to put an IV into his paw as I nursed Jasper in the back seat. They said it would only be a little bit of a wait. We spent the time crying and loving on Buster in the back of the Jeep with the back hatch up in the parking lot. I bounced and held Jasper all the while in one arm while petting Buster with the other. 

At one point a stranger approached us in what was an odd interaction. In retrospect, I imagine she saw us upset and was just moved to do anything to help. She came up to us and asked if we were putting a friend to sleep that day, which was pretty obvious, I guess. She asked if there was anything she could do, offering to take a picture of us. In my surprise at forced conversation at such an upsetting time I almost told her to get lost then paused and thought she surely must have just wanted to offer anything she could. Given his state and appearance, though, it seemed like a weird request, but I did give her my phone and let her take one last picture of the four of us in the Metzger’s parking lot. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it at first, but in the end decided on appreciative. It was a kind act of a total stranger and a final documentation of our sad time. 

By the time the vet was out of surgery and able to put him to sleep we had waited going on two hours. We had waited so long for his transition that when it was finally happening it was surreal how quickly it was over. He wouldn’t lay down so he was sitting up as it was done. The vet, my husband and myself positioned ourselves to catch him. I lovingly rubbed his furry face. The vet did the first injection and then with the second his head immediately dropped into my hand and we all caught him as he fell, gently letting him settle onto the blanket we had placed under him. Buster Buddy was finally resting. I cried and stroked his snout and we both pet him, apologizing. I think that the vet felt bad for us having to wait so long and with a baby in tow and all. He said Buster seemed like he was a really nice dog. I agreed, through my tears, that he was the best we had ever had and he was so great with our kids. He apologized for us having to wait and to our surprise said he would give us the euthanization free of charge. We thanked him heartily. 

The ride home was sad and the wrap up was bittersweet upon our return. We were happy to know he wasn’t suffering but had to make him a box, dig him a hole, and help Celie process her big feels. We saw her through the curious touching of his lifeless body. We witnessed her raw reactions, at one point screaming his name up into the sky like some dramatic scene from a movie. We felt his soft floppy ears, his favorite part to be rubbed during life. He would always push his head against your hand and grunt and groan with pleasure as you gave him a good ear scratch. One last stroke before we covered him up, burying him with his favorite squeaky duck toy and some tennis balls. We chose a spot under the hemlocks where he would always lay and bask himself in the morning sun. We could see him from both the kitchen and living room windows there. 

In the end, it was our duty to help Buster transition as comfortably as possible. We grant them that act of mercy despite our qualms, guilt and personal pain. It’s the least we can do. It will always make me sad that he didn’t live a longer life but he had just made it to his 9th birthday in February and we ultimately gave him a pretty happy life. He had survived having Lyme disease as well as anoplasmosis a few years back and had outlived his cancer prognosis by a significant amount of bonus time. His diagnosis led to a longer walk across the rainbow bridge than we initially anticipated, but I like to think he would understand that the choices we made were made out of love and compassion. Him was a good boy. 

Stand Up to Anything and Anyone

A picture is worth how many words? I need to say a few about this good thing right here. It's clever. It's simple. It's positive. It's me and not me at all, simultaneously. Its none of me. It's all of me. It was also not my idea at all. All in all...it was all little Miss Celie Ruth who will be turning 8 in 3 days and is proving herself to be not quite so little anymore. 

Last week on a family trip to Lowe's Home Improvement, which is sadly and gloriously one of Celie's favorite places, we were walking past the display for Valspar paint that they have enlarged since their removal of Olympic, which I personally feel is for the best (okay, it's one of my favorite places to), when #celiesays "Hey, mom! Look! That could be a thing!" She points over at the signage and then says "That could he a good message!" She holds her fingers up to cover a letter in one of the Valspar claims. A moment of awe fell over me and I was compelled to document the moment on my shitty Grammy-phone with my 4,677th-4,679th photos for posterity.

She later would use the word "metaphor" when describing it as being a good message. Arguing all semantics and technicalities aside, this still brought on a "holy-shit-you-do-listen-to-me" moment. You know they hear some things but the vast amount of pearls you attempt to spew out at your children seem to fall on deaf ears. Needless to say, I had a moment. Her two little fingers outstretched to cover up the "S" in Valspar's claim that their paint "Stands Up To Anything" which is funny, because I would have just snapped the pic without covering anything and laughed and said Ha Ha yeah: Celie stands up to anything. Tough little shit. That's a metaphor. Yadda yadda. Not my girl, though. My girl gave it a twist; she made it an action. In truth, she gave it a positive twist and and made it a call to action. Love her love her LOVE her! 

The positive, active mindset is one that I struggle the most to pass on to my daughter because it's also the hardest for me to hold onto myself. I experience such negative moods that it is essential for me to counteract that with grasps at positive perspectives. I strive to teach her to do her best to focus on the positive side of life as well as that side of me. While the beast cannot be fooled by platitudes or other contrived bullshit messages, I also try my best to look for things that are actually believable and resonate with me in order to raise my spirit. After every storm I do my best to trudge onward through the scattered debris and remember to look on the bright side of life as Monty Python taught me. It is a struggle, though, because I have both rides to hell and trips to the moon. In my understanding, the Eternal Nothing and The Absolute All are mere polarities of the same pendulum swing. I digress. 

My point being with all of this, parenting is hard regardless. I found it to be the hardest relationship to be in successfully because the size of the mirror may be small but it reflects every little fucking ugly angle right back at you. At least it only gets bigger in time, though, and if you break it, you're ego will be cut to shreds! Definitely keeps you on your toes with your bullshit and I come with a lot of bullshit. One of the things I have taught and encouraged Celie to do is to call me out on my bullshit. While you need to parent from a place of authority, they also need to see that you are human and capable of error. It does not serve their psyche to be totalitarian in your parenting, it crushes their spirits. They need to see that you are flawed, you make mistakes, and you are willing to own them. I've taught her to stand up to anything and anyone, including me. While some might think this is destructive, some people need to get real with their power trip parenting style. You aren't a super hero, you are only a person and they are capable of understanding that if you just take off the mask. I eat a lot of crow over the matter, willingly. Every day. I eat crow, I eat dirt, I eat my hat, I eat my words; I eat, I eat, I eat, I eat. Seems to be a theme in my life, but in this instance it's my sickening saving grace. While fucking up on the daily and losing my temper, saying stupid shit, doing stupid shit, and being generally emotionally unstable I have tried my best to explain the "boo boo in my head" to her since she was 2...because as a SAHM I had no other choice. I was alone with her and there was no escape. She picked the bathroom lock. That's a fucking metaphor. I had to keep it real in order to keep our attachment healthy. Has it shifted back and forth at times? Absolutely...it does with any parent-child relationship at times, but I always strive to remember that my point is connection and not control, which seems to be what comes programmed. Fighting the system is hard when you are a part of the system, which is why checks and balances are vital. I essentially taught Celie to call me out on my shit. This is essential but has also added to her already genetic inheritance of stubbornness from both sides, but I just like to think that she's going to be a hardheaded woman some day in a Cat Stevens kind of way. She knows how she should be treated because I am teaching her to recognize and express feeling even when I, her primary caregiver, cross a line. I don't just act like nothing happened and it's within my parental right to be a total asshole. She knows all about moods and emotions. She knows all about anxiety and is learning to deal with her own developing weirdness and the connected struggles. I do my best to help her to understand herself as I better understand myself through understanding her. Does that make sense? "I understand!" she is constantly telling me. It's fucked up...but I really believe her. I'm not the kind of mother that would stack bills to bet my kid is smarter than yours or give IQ that much overall value in a child. Celie Ruth is smart as a whip but her true gift lies in her innate sensitivity, her learned compassion, and her striking emotional intelligence. Kids can understand a lot more than you think they can if you just talk to them, meet them at their own level, and never take away their source of love. Know your audience, keep explaining yourself in order to be understood, and eat the fucking crow. Always. EAT IT!! Just don't choke on the feathers.

Okay, so I couldn't just say a few words about this image but I can seldom say only a few about anything. I essentially never really stood up to anyone or anything and I took people's bullshit all of my life which feeds into many of my problems. My goal with my daughter as a parent is to raise a woman that will not react that way to the world she finds herself in, no matter what. Celie has been through her share of bullshit and I will inevitably leave her with her own pile of bullshit because of my own bullshit because of their bullshit, but I hope that it's a small pile and doesn't stink as bad as mine does. #parentinggoals Knockin' off the shit, my girl is going to be turning 8 on Sunday and birthdays are bittersweet, every one of 'em. Her looks are changing; she's growing into her big girl face. I'm growing up right along with her, though. She has, so far, been my biggest teacher. Being called out is hard enough in life, but when it's by a child it does all kinds of weird things to your heart and mind. Ego punches; growing pains. Children innately have a very strong sense of indignation and if you allow them to apply a durable coat, they actually have their own excellent scrub and stain resistance. This whole idea was just too phenomenally beautiful not to share. Stand up to anything and anyone. 

Trapped Inside the Interstellar Bookshelf

The cycle of Life. It's fucked up, right? I've been in this crazy head space this past year and I have failed to describe it using words aside from saying that it feels like I am trapped inside the Interstellar bookshelf. Have you seen the movie Interstellar? If you haven't, you should; it's a good flick. And that's how I feel. Closterphobic, lost in space. All of time laid out before me. Endlessly spirally away from me. It's not an entirely bad feeling. It's a bit nihilistic, because everything I do is futile and pointless, but in the same breath, a fractal mirroring of that...everything I do is of the utmost importance. I am inside the cycle of life peering out at the entirety of the thing. It’s a little nostalgic, because I am fixated on the past and how much things have changed. But we can’t go back, we can only move ahead. And the beat goes on.

I am the age now that my parents, aunts, uncles, etc. were when I was Celie's age, when I remember them. I am them. They are my grandmother, who I can remember in her late fifties, who is gone now, God rest her soul, and I miss her every day. I'm a panicking child periodically as I think of the monotony of life and my role in it and I just want to crawl up into Grandma's lap again. I'm a mother and a wife. What the fuck happened? It feels like high school was yesterday. What happened to my twenties? I'm going to wake up soon and be in my 60's, I'm fairly certain that's how it happens. Out of nowhere, boom, there you are. Before you know it, you're elderly....going back into the vagina of life only to be shot out of one again. It's like a conveyer belt! I guess only if you believe in reincarnation, but still...I digress.

I just gave birth to my second child 4 months ago. My entire pregnancy seems like a blur. My dog was sick and dying of cancer for 9 months right along with my pregnancy. Life and death were occurring simultaneously once again. He died when our baby boy was 2 months old; at least he got to meet him. We just built an addition onto our house, two rooms that we desperately needed for expanding our family. My daughter's bedroom was my old office space, a tiny little room that's not much more than a closet. We remodeled the entire room for her when I was pregnant the first time. Since then we remodeled the bathroom and moved the washer and dryer into her already extremely small room. I felt horrible that she barely had a space of her own so I tried to make it hers the best that I could, getting her a lava lamp and a My Little Pony clock and all kinds of purple shit. There was a bed, a dresser that was blocked by the bed so it couldn't even be opened fully, and a tiny path to the washer and dryer, that were stacked in the corner. I would sit on her bed as I loaded laundry. It was tight, but we made it work for the past 6 years.

When I became a mother I lost that space, that room that I had my computer and office things set up in, where I would hide and write. In building the addition, we moved my daughter to our old bedroom, so her old bedroom could become JUST the laundry room but I have taken it over as more of a multipurpose room. My husband put wire shelves up along the whole length of the wall and built me a countertop in it. I made it my desk already. We are moving my two bulky filing cabinets that are in our dining room into it soon. This room is going to clear up a lot of cluttered space throughout the house. We are still shifting things all around; it's been so chaotic here lately. Everything is up in the air and there is a Great Settling that is going to take place. There's so much to do but I feel like I know where I'm going now.

Creating life is a mind fuck. It's intense, not only the whole process of pregnancy and the mighty pain of labor, but the rearing and raising. Parenting is what can change the world. Parents are directly molding the entire future...no pressure. There has been so much change here lately. Another baby, finally. Our dog is dead. Our house is changing. Trees were cut down?! (Is that a metaphor?) We just celebrated our 10 year wedding anniversary. I put off having a second child for a few years to take care of myself mentally. Although, I feel tremendous guilt for not making a playmate for my daughter sooner, I really needed those years to get to a better state of mind, one that is conducive to parenting. Parenting alone all week took its toll on me. This time around my husband is working locally so he can be home every night, that's a real game changer. It's a completely different life for us and we are still learning to coparent during the week. It's been an adjustment.

So, here I am. After 6 years and a ton of life changes I find myself once again sitting in this little room writing. I paid all of our bills the other night, too. I have been avoiding that…for years. I think having somewhere to actually sit my laptop and paperwork helps. That’s a whole other part of me that I haven’t been in touch with since I became a mother and had to give up this room. This room is a metaphor. This is where my Drifting Sun dream began over 12 years ago. This is where I set my small business self up. This is where I kept up with my blogging self. This is where I kept my life in check with my office manager bill-paying self. This is where I designed t-shirts with my graphic designer self. There are so many parts of me that I lost when I became a mother because I foolishly thought that was what mothers were supposed to do. Ultimately, this way of thinking is what required me to take that time to go to therapy, etc. I had lost my Self in motherhood. I feel that I have done enough self analysis and discovery to know how to approach it this time around with a better grasp of what I need to do to take care of myself, maintain my own identity and continue to grow as a person. Self-love is important because you can’t pour from an empty glass. I am no good as a mother if I am not CONTINUALLY caring for my self. Now doing it is the hard part. So, it’s a long road ahead. At least I am more self aware and know when I’m fucking up now.

Inside the Interstellar bookshelf, I reside. It’s funny that I am in this room once again after all these years. I’ve heard that nothing ever goes away until it teaches you what you need to know. Apparently I have more to learn from this room. It’s like starting out, making tons of progress, you think, then unraveling all of said progress, and ending up right where you started in the beginning but with new eyes.

Second Hand-Me-Downs

Celie is in my 80's sweater here. #flashbackfriday or #throwbackthursday? It's so crazy to think that she is wearing a sweater that I wore when I was her age. It's funny how time just keeps going, kids wear sweaters and grow out of said sweaters and grow up to have kids of their own that wear the same sweater? I can remember that sweater. I can remember it, that's what's crazy. I can remember things that don't seem that far away to me. That life is there, like a foggy dream, more like a feeling than a memory but still alive in me. It's there, reaching out into the present from the past and touching the Now ever so gently. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Recitations and Reflections

I wanted to make sure that I blogged about this photo moment, especially since my phone ran out of room shortly after taking this picture and I couldn't take video of this day. On December 18th, 2015, Celie was in a Christmas program at her preschool. It was tiny, as there are only 9 kids total in her class, but it was kind of a big deal. Every kid had a spoken line to recite in front of all the parents and family. Given how she handled the Halloween party that they had, where parents were allowed to take pictures and watch as the teachers guessed who everyone was, I was a little nervous about what was essentially her first public performance.

We practiced her line for awhile before the big day as instructed by her teachers.  Each child had his or her own line to recite and then they had a line together to say in unison. It was pretty exciting. She didn't seem thrilled. I tried to stay positive and excited about the whole thing so I wouldn't make her nervous myself. She had her line down pretty well and was spouting off some of the other kids' lines. She said it super fast at times and super silly at other times. I just hoped that they were working with her too on it and she was taking it more seriously in class. Come the big day, she made me proud though. 

Grammy and Pop came to see her that morning with me. She was excited and went over with the other kids just fine, instead of refusing to come in like she did on the Halloween party. I didn't bring my Nikon because I thought I would make her nervous if I made a bigger deal about it with a big camera. She knew what to expect this time though with the visitors coming to view the program. All of the parents were there with their cameras and that's what I think freaked her out about Halloween so I just tried to be discreet with my phone. Then it spazzed so I ended up just watching after taking this picture, which was nice. She recited her line just fine and put her little candle where it was supposed to be. "Light the candle of peace today, the giver of peace is here!" She didn't freeze or cry or freak out or forget her line. It seemed like no big deal, or at least she made it seem that way? Either way, she did good. It was cute. 

I was trying to remember how I would have handled such a task at the age of 5. I don't think I would have even done as well, but then again I can't remember. At one point in my childhood I was rather outgoing and didn't give a shit. I slowly got taken over by social anxiety later on, but I still did things then, I just felt like I was dying inside while doing them. I openly talked with Celie about her nervousness, though, and she shared the fact that she was a little scared but she wasn't terrified or anything. "Just a little nervous," she said. I assured her that it was fine to be a little nervous or scared but she will be fine, all the other kids have lines too. I think that was maybe why she was better, because they were all in it together. There is something to not being the only one, right? Strength in numbers? Plus, we practiced at home and she practiced it with her teachers a ton in the days leading up to it, and practice, also, leads to confidence. At least, that has been my experience.

My Kid is Kinda Creepy

My kid can be a hurricane. She can be a firecracker and a handful; she uses every second of her waking day for movement. At the very least, it can be a little challenging for her to be still...especially when she's tired. She fights it to the end, even when she goes willingly. Books and snuggles, she will still literally go through a twitching and relaying-of-her-dreams-to-you stage before giving in to Morpheus. The struggle.is.real.

I have also decided that she is part zombie. Exhibit A...this sweet photo I took of her this Christmas Eve. D'awww! Super cute, right? NO! It's creepy...it's creepy as fuck?! I have spent a number of times over the past 5 years panicked and staring at my child, wondering if she was breathing. It's a little weird, I think, that she sleeps with her eyes partially open! 

Now, I don't think that she got this from me, or her dad for that matter. Truth be told, my brother sleeps with his eyes slightly open the same way. So she got it from Uncle Tony. It's actually funny having a kid and seeing so many aspects of your siblings in them. I wasn't prepared for my brother's weird eye thing. It's funny, though. 

So, at least they aren't COMPLETELY open. That kid's gotta be out there somewhere, the poor bastard! Maybe this title IS a little over the top. She doesn't chant in her sleep or anything, I'm sure that kid is our there too! I joke that she hates sleep so much that she doesn't even fully close her eyes for it. Maybe that's why? It's like Enter Sandman...she sleeps with one eye open. Or---two eyes half open? That equals one, right? What's she looking at? At times I have closed them, but that just seems too morbid and freaks me out. So I just let her be...Celie, the squinty-eyed sleeper, lover of worms, coordinator of chaos and keeper of caterpillars. Dream on, you crazy kid! 

Snow Men, Snow Angels, Snow Women

January 13th 2016

On this day we came home from preschool and played in the snow a bit. Celie made some snow angels. We also made an impromptu snow man and I was actually proud of myself for giving in to its creation. This was a hard winter for me, not as hard as previous ones, but I still was fairly low mood and energy the whole time and it was hard to get me to do much of anything fun. I'm glad that Celie coaxed me to the out of doors and into the snow when she did. I let her have a winter trampoline session at one point. It's sad when the woods are completely snowed over and we can't do the things that we do in summer. Celie has a hard time understanding. There is also a very isolating feeling that is laid down on the hill with that snow. Surrounded by white, the snow leaves a silence and stillness to the woods. The winter can be lonely and long.

A couple of times this winter we sled down the back yard hill on little plastic saucer sleds. We bought them after Celie suggested we buy them when she spotted them at the Hardware in Kylertown. Her and Joey went sledding the first day and I stayed in. Then when he was gone that week I went out and sled with her a couple times. On our final ride, after the snow was replaced by hardened ice, it was a day that I just really didn't want to go sliding, I had my period and was feeling rather unpleasant. But, again, I let Celie lead and I found myself flying down the hill on the patches of ice that were left over. We slid so fast on that stuff, we were wiping out left and right and out came the long lost laugh...and then Mom ended up breaking her saucer. Yep, I busted a hole in the bottom of it on the jagged ice. It was a good time, though. We had some fun this winter.

Master of Minecraft Puppets

December 18th, 2015

After Celie's Christmas program at preschool on this day we came back home and ended up making some popsicle stick puppets? Random. She had me, at first, making all of the animals from Minecraft, starting with the pig, which is her favorite, and then the cow, the sheep, the horse. I made her. And then I started making them more Minecraft-esqe looking while doing the chicken and I got into it a little more. When it was all said and done, I ended up being rather pleased with my Creeper and Zombie Pig Man. The girl loves her Minecraft.

Ode to My Daughter

Her eyes well with wonder;

She looks up to the stars.

Her voice is like thunder.

She is beautiful, bizarre.

Her hair is like corn silk.

She's wild and free. 

Her skin is like fresh milk. 

She stings like a bee. 

Her smile is magic. 

She's seldom seen sad. 

Her anger is tragic;

She's tough when she's mad. 

Her compassion astounds me.

She forgives and forgets. 

Her kindness is lasting;

She gives what she gets. 

Her love is a gift;

She laughs, it's a treasure.

Her life is a wish. 

She lives for this pleasure. 

Dear Daughter, always growing.

Today you are turning five!

To my heart, you are showing,

The joys of being alive. 

The Abrasive Side of the Sponge

So, I was watching Sponge Bob with Celie the other day and I laughed so hard and mused a bit.  It's a funny show, and sometimes I doubt my 3 year old is learning much from it, but I am, so it seems harmless enough?  Sponge Bob is THE man in this house.  He is the only show that can actually keep the kid hooked for more than 15 minutes at a clip.  I've never seen anything like it!  Are you kidding me?  Of course I shall embrace the Bob Pants!!  This is something we can both 'learn' from.

So, basically on this episode, Gary, thinking Sponge Bob too passive or what have you, orders him an accessory of sorts for sponges.  It's one of those rough and tough green abrasive sides!!  Sponge Bob puts it on and he loves it, marching down the street declaring "I have an abrasive side!! I have an abrasive side!!"  I couldn't help but laugh.  Some of us are just that proud of it, aren't we?

As Sponge Bob continues on his way, he soon finds that he can't control his other side, which is basically a green face on his back that randomly flips around and throws insulting remarks at his friends. He even tells off his grandma at a cross walk and refuses to help her across the road. For awhile he's sort of blissfully unaware this is happening, but then he begins to realize all of his friends are mad at him and he is filled with regret when he thinks of how he treated his grandma. The Awakening!

Abrasive is an adjective that according to Webster's means 'tending to abrade' or 'causing irritation'. Irritating. This basically means that Sponge Bob's other side was irritating to everyone around him. The things he would come out and say in almost a bipolar manner could be hilarious. Some things were just brutally honest. Other things were just down right mean. There are two sides to every sponge. I know people like this. People that seem to announce it as they parade through life. Others, like myself, don't really realize how the other side seems because our yellow side is so snarky, sometimes it's hard to tell the difference. I digress.

Ultimately, Sandy Squirrel ended up ripping the abrasive face right off of Sponge Bob's back. What a pal! That's what friends are for. We could all use to be a little more abrasive on some tough messes, and that's what abrasive sides are essentially made for, those ancient, caked on messes that give the most resistance. But for those softer, milder jobs, the other side of the sponge is more than sufficient. The abrasive side, which is used for tougher stains, is overkill for those gentle jobs. If it could only be controlled, maybe we could get the job done without scratching the china? No matter, squirrelly friends will always be willing to help you find your true face on the other side of the sponge.

Asking For Help: A Retrospective Ramble

[Started February 3, 2012]

Last week I was still dealing with crazy head.  Don’t get excited, nothing has changed, but I have a plan of action now at the very least.  I’ve said I want a Renaissance.  I’ve been saying it and feeling it.  But it’s hard to work on my Self and be a semi-single SAH mother and a wife and a writer and an artist and a musician and a business owner.  For some reason I guess I always felt like I should be able to do it all.  Not 100%, but at least do it all myself.  My husband is always away, so I take on the role I have to in order to exist here.  But I want my other roles; I have many.  It’s hard to keep things going and still manage to do everything.  Motherhood trumps everything else, including my sanity.

Drifting Sun has been back burnered for quite awhile now.  My shed was inundated with all of the stuff that was in my office prior to us needing a room for the baby.  I only printed one or two jobs the entire time I was pregnant.  I actually had my sister and husband do the physical printing, and I just did the screening, prepping and registration.  It can get a little smoky while printing, and in July while being 8 months pregnant the last thing I wanted to do was be standing and printing in my tiny hot box of a shop.  So they printed for me as I oversaw the process while sitting outside in a chair, and it worked out nicely.  I did print a couple pieces when they ran into problems, though, and helped them get straightened out.  And I printed a jacket job I had, because it was one jacket (ONE CHANCE SWIPE!) and my husband felt a little too intimidated to do it himself, which is understandable. 

I just printed a job for my cousin (December 2011), a memorial shirt for my Aunt Leslie who died of cancer in 2008.  It was an honor to print these shirts and it got me back into the swing of things with printing after the pregnancy hiatus.  This still doesn’t change the fact that my printing and chemicals and dark(bath)room stuff doesn’t exactly mix with watching a toddler.  And even when I am working on graphics or other things, it takes a great deal of my attention.  I’m always split.  I’m not a working mother and I’m not a stay at home mother...I’m something else.  I’ve tried to work out a situation where I could have her consistently watched once a week but haven’t been able to make it work yet.  At a loss, I’ve taken a friend on as my “assistant” instead.  I need help.  I think it’s obvious, and if I am pleading “please, I’m dying here!” and am not answered with a helpful hand, then by the fuck I’ll MAKE a helping hand.  Leslie is my friend and it seems appropriate she shares my aunt’s name.  Truthfully, other than my aunt, she is the only Leslie I have ever known.  She will visit me a lot and simply allow me to get simple things done like the dishes or getting a shower, just by being another individual that is around.  Leslie has agreed to help me out with my business also.  It seems appropriate that the first time I met her I was in the shed printing a job.  She actually helped me out watching my kid AND printing the first day I met her.  Maybe it was her eagerness, or something inside of her I recognized that seemed familiar, but this girl is a lifesaver.  Sometimes you just recognize people on a soul level and the connection is immediate and effortless.

 

Sometimes asking for help can be difficult.  I have grown to have a problem with this because the response was usually unsatisfying.  I shirked from asking for help...but in truth, I need help.  Isn’t it obvious?  It can be hard to submit to the fact that you are lost, look at the male stereotype of how hard it is to ask for directions.  Last year I struggled with this dilemma when deciding whether to take antidepressants or not and whether to begin to see a therapist or not.  Decisions decisions.  Life decisions.  This year has been chock full of the help I received because of that decision, the decision to heal.  The decision to leave the victim mentality behind.  It’s mostly a battle with EGO.  Ego doesn’t need help...so it thinks.  Truth is...EGO needs help more than anyone or anything.  EGO is the prime reason for all suffering and most of the communication problems among us.  It’s quite the bitch. 

So last year was fucking nuts but it was a first step into what really feels like a whole new life, it seems fitting that December 2012 was the end of the Mayan calendar and the supposed end of the world as we know it.  Nothing seemed to happen, aside from symbolically.  Was that really such a bad thing?  I needed the change.  I needed my world to end so that my new life could begin.  It was a matter of SURRENDER.  I simply had to surrender to the help that I have always desperately needed...physically, emotionally, mentally...and spiritually. 

[Finished September 10, 2013]

(Facebook Meme Graphic/artist unknown)

Labor of Love: 138th Cooper Picnic

Today we did what we have done for Labor Day...well, all of my life?  I wonder if it really has been 32 years in a row?  Surely not, but most years of my life.  I don't know how old I was when we first went.  Surely I missed a year or so in there somewhere? Who knows?  Most of the years of my life I have gone to the Cooper Picnic on Labor Day.  This was Celie's 3rd year.  She made her Cooper Grove debut about 7 days after she was born; it was our first outing as a family. This year was the 138th annual Cooper Picnic.  My family's involvement in these festivities has spanned decades and it is a tradition that is close to my heart and will hopefully continue.

When I was younger Labor Day sometimes started the day before the picnic.  My dad is an electrician, and often fixed things or helped out as they were preparing for the event.  I remember going with him when he fixed the soft serve ice cream machine.  I thought it was so neat, I got to see how it was made.  My family also helped out and we were expected to for many years once we were older.  My grandmother worked in the kitchen when we were younger and we would run into the old dining hall kitchen to see her.  "I love you!" she'd tell us every time.  We would visit a minute or two, watching as she did the dishes.  It was also in this hall where my parents had the dinner part of their wedding reception.

The Cooper Picnic has games and small rides, like the unforgettable hay rides, but I can even remember when they used to have a ferris wheel and there were ticket booths.  They have the traditional bbq chicken dinner but also have a stand with burgers and such.  Funnel cakes, blue berry milk shakes, birch beer!  A few of my favorite things. The games and flea market are even better.  I can't even say how many gold fish we've won and free goods we have acquired.  My pap spun the chuck-o'-luck wheel for well over twenty five years!  I can still hear his voice declaring, "An ace, a deuce, and a trey!"  My grandmother worked at the Chinese auction when we were older, this was actually the last place that I saw her alive.  We stood in the spot where I last spoke to her on this Labor Day as we talked to a friend and watched his dad's band perform.  I forgot to mention the live music they have every year.  It's a good time.  Plus, you never know who you are going to run into at the Cooper Picnic, family, friend, or foe!

The grove is haunted by the spectres of my youth but I am sure more than that clings to this place.  I used to attend catechism classes every Wednesday in the main building that has long been torn down and replaced by a new one.  We used to ride the merry-go-round until we were sick!  They used to have the yearly 'Sleigh Full of Gifts' dinner here where we saw Santa.  I remember coming to Karate events here that my dad was in when I was a kid.  What else happened here, beyond my life?  To think, what was this grove like 138 years ago when the residents of Cooper Settlement started this community tradition?  What did these grounds look like?  The grove itself must have been so different; these trees, while impressive, were clearly not here 138 years ago.

As my daughter ran wildly evading my husband's attempts to control her, I saw myself running around the Cooper Grove as a kid, barefoot and wild, lost in tradition.  Living in the holiday.  Times have changed, the grove has clearly changed, the food has changed, the games have changed....the people have changed.  Many things about this event have changed over the years...but the tradition continues. 

Michael's Morals

Earlier this year I packed away my canvas and oil paints as a necessity but also as a symbol of the sacrifices of motherhood.  There is no way I could oil paint with my Indigo child present;  I can barely shower and shit as it is.  Too much mess and involvement in that hobby to do around a monkey.  It was sad, but I didn't paint all that often anyway, so I could wait a few years to do it again.  Right?  There was still that creative itch.  I'm realizing there really is a hands on artist in me that loves and wants to draw, paint, mix, blend, shade, sketch...wants to create images with her hands.  I just put her away somewhere and stopped letting her hone the skill.  I thought I could vent this into my other activities, but that's apples and oranges.  I can't scratch my drawing/painting itch with music.  Writing doesn't and can't replace my desire to make colorful art with my fingers.  Texture.  I need to feel something being created, blend with my fingertips again.  I needed some watercolor pencils, pastels or charcoal and such.  I took it upon myself to decide it was time to repay myself the karma I made this past December.  Sometimes, you have to take the bull by the horns with the Universe.  I jest, but let me explain.

Last December at Christmas season I was presented with a moral dilemma.  It was hard.  Not so much to decide what to do, that I knew, but it was so hard to give up the prize.  The booty.  The loot.  The goods.  It was like it was meant for me?!?! It was like the Universe was fucking with me...or was it presenting me with a gift?? Which one was it?? Ah!!  Anyway...

We were late Christmas shopping and my husband was waiting in the car as I ran into Petco, I believe.  When I got back into the car I saw a Michael's bag and was intrigued (along with Staples, the book store, and Lowe's, that is one place I can get lost in for hours.)  My husband explained a woman had came out of Michael's and tossed the bag in the back hatch of her vehicle, but it didn't shut and the bag ended up falling out onto the ground.  He tried to flag her down but she just drove off.  Was it a gift?  WHAT WAS IN THE BAG??  Oh, it was magnificent, like it was meant for me.  It was a brand spanking new set of 24 Staedtler watercolor pencils and a big old watercolor tablet to go with it.  I have been wanting a set for so long!!  I used to have a set but it was only a set of 12....and was cheap.  It was nowhere near as magnificent as this Staedtler set!  The receipt was in the bag, the person paid with a credit card, and I didn't have to look at the total to tell you it was a find (but the actual total was over 80 dollars, yo!)

I sat there with that precious gift on my lap wondering what to do with it for a little bit.  Would the lady ever come back?  If she doesn't, can they find her somehow from the receipt?  If she didn't come back for them and they don't do that, I may as well have not done it?! WHAT!?!  Dilemma.  "What are you gonna do?" my husband asked.  It was down to me and my morals.  I handled the beautiful art set, a decent one like I'd never had and have always wanted, and I knew what I had to do.  I knew my real value of what was in that bag, and if the owner or gift receiver was like me, they would be pretty damn bummed about its loss. 

I stepped up to the counter at Michael's.  "Can I help you?"  "Um, yeah...I have a moral dilemma" I told the lady.  I explained what had happened and asked if there was any way they could locate the woman from the receipt.  She said they weren't allowed to do that, and that most times people will come back.  Most times.  Geez, lady.  So, I left the goods at the counter hoping to hell that bag wasn't meant for me...and that this mystery woman would realize her items missing and think to check with the store. 

So, I feel I earned some good karma.  I did what I thought to be the right thing despite my selfish wants.  It was time to reward myself.  I have been itching to use watercolor pencils again, having loved them before, because I figured it would be a little easier to use around the kiddo.  I was right.  Tonight, while Celie sat beside me on the couch as we watched Yellow Submarine, I played around with my new toys getting myself reacquainted with the feel.  It has been quite awhile but it was still just as sensational.  I colored a simple picture to paint in, and Celie even helped me a little with the pencils and the brush.  Goal!!  I scratched the drawing itch and painting itch simultaneously!  That's like killing two itches with one scratch!  I successfully created art tonight with my toddler sitting beside me!  Take that, motherhood!
  

Rising Reflections on Fear and Faith

This morning while still sitting in bed I heard Celie, while she was playing pretend beside me, telling her Snoopy “It’s okay, honey, s’nothing be ‘fraid of.”  It is in the tiny moments like these that I feel proud as a mother, like she actually IS absorbing some of the things I struggle to teach her, the things I desperately try to push into the chaotic ADHD toddler sponge that is my daughter.  Usually it’s something deeper that I then realize she actually DOES understand, and that is so touching and refreshing to me, because sometimes in the bowels of the battle of wills and ye olde discipline game, it’s hard to know if you are being heard, let alone listened to.  I love that Celie has started into the imaginary play stage.  It’s fascinating to watch when she really gets into it and forgets that I’m watching.  When she plays, she’s in essence “passing it on”---playing telephone with my words.  Those stuffed animals are in theory my future grandchildren, and I take comfort in the fact that she is already soothing them and assuring them that there is “nothing to be afraid of”. 

Celie has been “scared” since early on in her existence, a year or two ago she started verbalizing being scared.  She’s an odd kid.  She sees “Ameet” and Shadows and is scared a lot.  Not in a debilitating kind of way, she is still mighty curious and brave, but she has always been a little funny.  A couple of months ago around 2:30 in the morning she woke up freaking out and screaming about “shadows” and them “touching her stomach”.  She wasn’t entirely awake but pointing and it actually got me freaked out thinking like “HOLY SHIT WHAT’S THERE?”  I assume she has some sort of night terrors, which would explain her hatred of sleep and the process of falling into it, although she still mentions these things randomly throughout her waking day.  Randomly.  No rhyme or reason sometimes.  “Oh, there go a shadows...”  I’m dumbfounded.  “Okay.”  What do you say to that?  So needless to say with seeing “Ameet” everywhere and shadows and stuff she is “scared” a lot.  I stewed over how to deal with this for awhile.  I didn’t want her to be afraid, but I didn’t want to tell her nothing is there?  What if there WAS something there?  How the hell am I supposed to know what she sees?  So I don’t want to negate any sensitivity she may have to such things because I force her into seeing things in my reality.  It’s possible.  Anything is possible.  So how was I supposed to deal with her fear without simply dismissing it or neglecting her need for some true comfort?  In the end, I chose to comfort her to the best of my abilities, but instruct her to not be afraid of anything she sees.  “There is nothing to be afraid of.”  I know, right?  Why am I blatantly lying to my child like this at such a young age?  In the darkness of a crazy world like the one in which we live, I perhaps would receive criticism because I chose to tell her that there is nothing to be afraid of.  There is plenty to be afraid of, but is there really?  We should be cautious of many things and be careful, but being fearful, I have found in my life experience, isn’t too beneficial.  I don’t want my daughter to be afraid.  I want her to feel her fear and recognize it, but not feel guilty for being afraid.  I want my child to understand that fear is not a desired emotion or state of mind; it’s a bridge to faith. 

I remembered a conversation I had with my Grandmother at her house, just before she was going in for one of her many surgeries, this time to amputate part of the leg that she had previously had several surgeries on trying to save.  I was sick with fear and worry, but struggled with not letting it show to this woman, this incredibly strong and faithful woman.  “I’ve never been afraid,” she told me that day.  I marveled over that.  “You’ve never been afraid going into any of your surgeries?”  “No,” she replied, lowering her eyes and shaking her head, slightly nodding at the same time. "It's God's will," she said.  The corners of her mouth rose into the small, humble grin of self pride and she beamed; to me that was more beautiful than Mona Lisa’s smile.  Gram's self-pride didn't come from the fact that she wasn't afraid or was so brave, herself.  You could tell it was REALLY in the fact that she knew she was teaching by example...every second of her life.  She was teaching you not to be afraid...by not being afraid.  I couldn’t prevent a teary-eyed good-bye, even after her reassurance; I was still unnerved by the whole ordeal and the fear of a surgery of such gravity on a woman of her age.  I just remember how brave she was in the face of it, batting not an eye, eternal smile still on her face.  Who knows if my Grandmother was putting on her straight face like I was trying to do, for the benefit of those around her, but honestly, you got the impression from Leona Cecelia that she walked her walk.  She practiced what she preached, and she believed in her heart of hearts that whatever happened---it was God’s will.  To a woman of high faith, such as Leona, this removed all fear from her.  Whatever is to be, will be.  Life will unfold.  What is there to possibly fear when you know that it will all work out, regardless---regardless of ANYTHING? This is what faith is, folks; believing in something, no matter what the consequences.  Believing that there is NOTHING to be afraid of.  We can feel our fear, learn from it, use it to grow, use it as a warning, etc. but when it comes down to it, if you believe it is all in the hands of the Universe---then there is NOTHING to be afraid of.  That’s where my Grandmother lived, sitting safe and snug with that everlasting smile in the palm of God. 

You can’t teach faith.  I will never be able to exactly convey or pass on to Celie my reverence for religion, value of positive thinking or faith, because I learned it first hand from having this woman in my life...through example.  I could never set such a strong and positive example.  Maybe that is why I feel like such a failure at times.  I struggle with wanting Celie to truly understand my beliefs and get my good parts.  This is the only way I know how.  In little lessons that I hope my daughter is paying attention to.  Some seeds don’t sprout for years, but it’s important to have faith that they are planted.  I’ll never forget what my grandmother said that day, and it came to mind this morning as I watched my daughter comfort her “friends”, assuring them that there’s nothing to be afraid of.  She was practicing the example she will someday set.  Grandma has successfully, in essence, “passed it on” down to her great-great-grand animals.  A lesson in faith and fear that she taught me is in turn teaching my children and will someday, God willing, be passed on to my children’s children.  That’s one mighty legacy.  That would definitely make her smile. 

Get Back to Beatlemania!!!

We went to the yearly Beatlemania again this year on the Old Main lawn in State College this evening.  They have been doing this for ten to twelve years now, but this has been the second time we've made it.  It may seem a little weird if you think about it, but don't think about, just go!  It really is a reasonable facsimile, you won't be too disappointed.

Now, given, they aren't exactly clones or anything,but The Cast [of Beatlemania], as they are called, dress the part, even change outfits for the Beatles' different stages, and sound pretty close to the fab four!  Their music director on keys in the back helps a lot with their ability to get the sound so authentic and even pull off Strawberry Fields, but the guys are all really decent musicians also.  They don wigs of different lengths and faux Sgt. Peppers suits (which are my favorite) and even sound like them when they talk.  Pseudo John is super, pulling off the voice the best out of them all, and looking incredibly authentic in his white suit and long hair piece.  He seems to carry the show to an extent, which makes sense because he is also the band's manager.

Hey Jude was exciting; Celie recognized that one the most, singing 'Na na na...' and yelling out 'I want John!'  She is her mother's daughter indeed!  It was so cute.  'Ders anover Beatle!'  If she would have only pissed her pants, it would have been like the real thing.

Overall, it is an exciting experience to hear the music of the Beatles being performed live during Beatlemania because there is no way you would ever be able to otherwise.  Go ahead and try to not dance at a fake Beatles concert...I dare ya!

Kitty Spit Resurrection!

Celie was playing over by the dog pen today and pushed her kitty through the fence.  I did't see her do this.  She started screaming and I ran over, thinking they hurt her somehow.  Her back was to me and she didn't turn to face me, so I figured it couldn't be that bad.  She didn't turn because she was watching and upset about the outcome that was playing out.  She was learning the consequences of handing over her beloved toy which she probably squeezed through the fence just to see what would happen. She found out. 
Kitty was resurrected today, freed from a fetal sac of spit, like a new born calf. It was so disgusting; I about had to chew through it myself, like a wild mammal.  Dog spit should be used as an industrial adhesive!  At least the kitty was saved, unlike some other things she threw in it afterwards.  Kids aren't the best scientists but they sure do experiment a lot!

A Meet in the Middle of Reflections and Shadows

How far is a shadow's reach?

ON Monday, Celie was introduced to her shadow.  That's a loaded concept and a metaphor; complex for anyone, let alone for a toddler.  I'm speaking of course of the shadow in the psychological sense.  I think she sees MY shadow more than any other human being, even more than the sun, so I suppose it is only right she learn how they are made, starting with the 'physical' ones, if you will.  I also gained some insight into "A Meet" and it's identification.  A Meet has been a character in the family for going on 3 months or more now.  We have no clue as to its true identity, aside from the many cryptic descriptions we are given almost on a daily basis.  It's a mystery, much like all of life, but one that we are determined to get to the bottom of.

Celie first started talking about A Meet around the holidays.  She was watching You Tube videos with her Grammy and Aunt Kate.  This one video was just a scene of Christmas lights going on and off backed by music.  On this one spot the lights didn't go off because it appeared to be lights from a house in the distance that wasn't part of the lights display.  Celie began to say "A Meet! A Meet is onna spot!!"  We didn't know what she meant, but figured it to be that "spot" on the video she pointed out, which was weird and perplexing.  She has since then gone into an "I'm scared!" stage of sorts where often times she is scared of areas, or the dark, or "things".  She hasn't liked the dark since she was young but had never verbalized being scared of anything until 4 to 6 months ago.  She started saying A Meet was "onna win'ow" at my parents' house.  They have a large bow window in the kitchen and she didn't like it while sitting in her high chair.  Was it a reflection in the glass?  She has also always said "A Meet is sad!"  So far we knew A Meet to be "sad", "onna win'ow" and "onna spot" but had no clue what it really was or why it was so damn melancholy and creepy.

Celie has since then brought up A Meet many many times.  She has said it was on our windows, usually at night, which leads you to believe it is a reflection of sorts she is talking about.  But, still. WHY is it sad?!  Plus, it is very odd to hear the things she has been telling me are "like A Meet".  So far it is apparently like the goat in Green Eggs and Ham as well as the little heart shaped pillow the blue haired pet sits on in One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish?  What in the hell does this thing look like?!  No wonder it's scary!  She will also just start telling people about A Meet even when she doesn't say she is actively seeing it, just a random "oh by the way..." in conversation.  Last week when my mother-in-law was visiting, I was blissfully using the bathroom alone when I heard her up in the living room telling her about A Meet.  It's quite the popular oddity with her lately.

While in the living room on Monday, the sun was coming through the window and throwing a shadow on the floor as it often does that time of day.  The tassels of the valance style curtain were forming a dark visually interesting shape on the carpet.  Celie pointed at it and said "A Meet! A Meet!"  I looked at the floor and wondered what it was she saw in the shapes.  I realized she didn't really understand the concept of what a shadow is, how it is made, or where it comes from.  She was scared of the shadow, so I moved the tassels on the curtain, being the part of the shadow she was pointing at, showing her how they and the shadow both moved, hopefully showing her how the shadow came from the sun on the curtain.  We had played with the sunlight in this window using dangley shiny streamers before, shaking them and playing with the light reflected on the ceiling.  She had seen the light, and I hoped that would allow her to understand the dark.  (That's a metaphor!!)
After moving the curtain and it's shadow I extended my arm into the light, pointing out my arm moving and the new shadow form that was moving.  She seemed to understand and immediately declared, "I needa try it!"  She climbed up onto the couch in front of the window that was creating the magic, and began moving her arms, seemingly satisfied that the movement was hers.  She extended individual fingers, playing with the changes and locating her shadow hand.  She got onto the floor and started stepping on it and walking around.  This calmed her fear, and she moved past it not mentioning A Meet again for the moment.

Celie learned that she makes her own shadow and can control it.  I learned just how scary reflections can be and how they can be interwoven with shadow, and used to help us to understand the dark spots.  She is afraid of A Meet.  Reflections can be scary, so can your shadow.  It's a different form of yourself that follows you everywhere, but you can control it if you can see it.

Reflections are sometimes intimidating.  To the human mind programmed to find order in chaos,they tend to take on forms and shapes...symbols, if you will, and therefore have meaning.  They change.  Perspective changes them.  The image is always different; sometimes it's a horned goat in your face, sometimes it's a cushion to sit on.  Reflections come from objects throwing the light source back out onto another object.  A passing of the light, in a way, letting the light shine.  Reflections should then, theoretically speaking, be positive.  They are a vicarious source of light.

Your shadows are dark reflections of your soul in a psychological sense, that you can see if you are backed by light.  They are areas of blocked light, where the source can not move through us.  Shadows are also intimidating.  They show a distorted version of ourselves; a taller tale or a stretched truth.  Perhaps if we become more reflective we can better understand our dark side and become more shadowless, bending the light in accordance to our shape and movement, adding our own twist, and then sending it back out to space, rather than blocking the light and creating darkness.  Learning to control your darkness, your own shadow, is a milestone at any age.

How far is a shadows reach?

Musing Through,
Missie Sue

Thanksgiving

In the spirit of the holiday, I would like for my positive side to make a fuss over my daughter now, because there is really nothing in my life that I am more thankful for.

It is funny to think of how fragile a human life is, in general and on the web of existence. They are each such tiny stands in the fabric of time, yet they can powerfully touch so many lives.  There is a delicate balance that holds them in 'being'. Had anything happened differently in the course of my life, there would be no Celie Ruth.

Anyone can say this, but do you truly grasp what that means? Anything. Obviously, had I not married and mated with my husband, she wouldn't be here, but the nuances of fate are even more delicate than that.  If I hadn't had an early miscarriage before conceiving her, she wouldn't be here. If I hadn't waited until I was 29 to conceive, she wouldn't be here. If I had EVER used the pill as a contraceptive, suspending my ovulation and the order of my eggs...she wouldn't be here!

Those are some odds. Are they really odds? It just seems to me that this is the way it was supposed to be, the Universe wanted its Celie Ruth. While I was pregnant with her, I would tell the Universe in my head, ' This is your child...' I was but a vessel for the amazing thing brewing inside of me. Something has far greater hopes and dreams for this critter than even I can imagine. She is a child of the Universe, my daughter, but my little sister in creation as well.

I know that she stresses me out a lot and can drive me crazy, but I would surely be lost without her. She is seriously cooler than about 78% of the people I know. A friend was warning me the other day about becoming too much of a friend to her as sometimes happens to single parents. This is something I'll surely have to struggle with, because unconsciously I am just hanging out everyday. We are alone together so much and I am alone with her so much, we're going to have to make sure the parent/child line is distinct. I'm not a single mother and could never imagine the hardships those women face daily, but as a SAHM all week on her own, I experience a tiny sliver of that life.  When you are lonely, you lean on a companion you can, and I have her.  We'll see how the balance unwinds as she gets older.

Mostly we hang out and listen to music, watch our favorite shows, read books, color, draw, talk, and play pretend. Sounds like best friends to me! What does that say about me, then, if my two year old is my best friend? It means she's one cool cat, that's what it means!

7 Thoughts by The Good and Bad Voices

Why I Feel Bad For My Daughter

                                                                                 

1. She got the short end of the stick.
2. She is only a toddler and is aware of my fluctuating moods.
3. She sees things in her mama she shouldn’t see. 
4. She is my blood relation.
5. She has a high chance of turning out just like me. 
6. She has a highly depressive, artsy, flake of a mother.
7. I’m selfish.

Why I Feel Good For My Daughter

1. She got a piece of the stick!!
2. She is only a toddler and is empathetic enough to understand when I am down.
3. She sees the good in me when I can only see the bad.
4. She is my blood relation.
5. She has a high chance of turning out just like me, only stronger. 
6. She will understand how complicated people can be before I send her off into it.
7. She is learning independence. 

This has been a random pointless list brought to you by Self-Loathing and Positive Thinking.