Laughing Through the Flames Together

Parenting is a lot of things. It’s an honor, it’s a blessing, it’s a privilege and it’s also a job. Parenthood can either be the most joyous time of your life or a living hell from which there is no escape. Honestly, even though we are encouraged and expected to “cherish every moment” the hard truth is that parenting is often both. Parenthood is the hardest job anyone will ever have...except for maybe that guy that gets his heart ripped out by Mola Ram and is lowered down into the firey pit on Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. They aren’t without their similarities, anyway: High pressure. Sacrifice. Rip your heart out. In a cage descending into fire. Very hot. It burns!  

Okay, it’s not all that bad but it helps at times to keep things as light as possible and to not take it too seriously...even though you need to because you are single-handedly making choices that are in part forming your beloved children’s personalities that they will then be at the mercy of forever...and even though they will go forth with these personalities into the world either to make it or break it. Kiiind of totally a huge deal. But don’t worry. No pressure. “Kali maa shakti de!!” 

What could be harder than parenting? Single-parenting, obviously, would take about a thousand cakes on that one. But actually sometimes, albeit to a much lesser degree, it can also be co-parenting. Parenting is hard in general to wrap your will around but meeting another person on the same page who has their own preconceived notions of what parenting is or should be and staying on the same page when it comes to your beliefs on raising children and consistently standing by said beliefs in the face of distraction and frustration…two different heads of the same snarling beast and they both chew your face off. My husband and I can agree that this is often really shitty. Call a spade a spade. We both can also agree, however, that it is the best thing to ever happen to us so where do we meet in the middle of this? That’s the million dollar question. That’s also where the continual relationship work resides. It’s no laughing matter...except for when it is. 

This past weekend my husband and I were jokingly talking about our day, and he had an errand to run. I had the baby on the boob and the other two were being their loud and annoying selves because yes, kids are often loud and annoying no matter how many times you post their pictures on social media decreeing them your angels and your everything. I said, “You guys should go with your father,” giving him an eye and a Cheshire Cat beam. We knew I was mostly joking. His face visibly sunk in an exaggeration of protest because everyone knows it takes twice as long to do any errand with kids in tow, and he said, in a wailing womanly voice: “You haate me!” We laughed. Humor is often your saving grace. It’s also wonderful when our daughter chalks up everything that goes over her head to “adult comedy” as she calls it. We’re not entirely proud but this is where we find ourselves. Parents make jokes because you either laugh or you’ll cry. 

Later that day, after earlier having discussed how his truck has gotten him over 100,000 miles, he said how he had to go out to work on it for awhile. I teasingly accuse him: 

“You know, you’re truck hasn’t needed anything big but you SURE do work on it a lot? What are you sabotaging shit just to get out there and get away from us? ‘OOoh NOOOOoOOO my BRAKE line broke, I better get out there and FIX that today for sure!!’ Is that how it is? ...’Cause that’s what I’d be doing.”

Again, we laughed. Humor through parenthood is like saying that the knife wound in your side kinda looks like a face. It’s simultaneously both denial and complete and total acceptance. We started doing impressions of him taking out his brake lines and other truck parts because they really did go out recently and it does seem he is perpetually working on his truck during his brief time at home. It’s seemingly never ending; duties and projects drag on into a balmy eternity. Everything moves like chilled molasses because there is never enough time in a weekend. It’s funny because the poor guy is actually out there as I write this working on it again. This weekend it’s universal joints. Lucky bastard. It’s funny because it’s not funny. At least we have humor. 

I think if you can laugh together you have a lot to work with. If you can’t make each other laugh, then it’s going to be a hard road for you because it can get a tad rocky and you’re going to feel every bump and stone. If you’re laughing you kinda just roll over the top of some of them and it doesn’t seem like such a bumpy ride even if your shocks are shot. Who you have as a co-pilot traveling with you as your partner in crime on the road of parenthood matters a lot. It helps if you get along with your celly. Your partner ultimately helps to determine how bumpy the ride will be and even when you have a good one the struggle is still real. Parenthood is where relationships go to train for the UFC; it will either make your marriage stronger or take it down blow by blow. 

That poor bastard in the basket on Indiana Jones didn't survive the destructive flames in the pit. He evaporated. Kali needed her sacrifice. It all seems so gruesome. We can just say he represents your egoic parts that need to surrender to the sacrifice. In Hinduism, Kali is the goddess of death and destruction. In her earlier depictions she is often a crone with red eyes, holding weapons and severed heads, with black skin and protruding tongue, a real bad bitch. Westerners generally view her as evil because of her form and requirements of destruction and human sacrifice. But in her complexity, she is a dualistic goddess, in her later Kali Ma form she is also a symbol of Mother Nature, nurturing and benevolent. Kali is like the transformative power of tough love, your darkness transmuted. When we are breaking apart from circumstance and heading into darkness that is Kali, but when we are fitting the pieces back together and finding our light, that is also Mother Kali. From my understanding, that is. Maybe you can see where I’m heading with this metaphor. 

Dealing with the stresses of parenthood together exposes you to each other’s deepest wounds. If there is anything ugly in your core kids will pull that dark shit right out of you and cover it in glitter and boogers before shoving it directly and repeatedly into your frame of view. “Look! LOOK! Do you see this?!” Kids are Mola Ram invoking the power of Kali to tear into your chest and hold your still-beating heart in front of your face before sacrificing your ego in a pit of flames. In short: kids’ll fuck you up. You need a strong resolve to survive the destruction of the goddess Kali. It requires a tight connection, a sturdy bond to hold your relationship together in the fire as the flesh of your old selves is seared away in sacrifice. Parenthood is some serious shit. It burns a good bit but as with much of life, it helps to laugh. 

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. 

Neo-words

Focus focus discipline.

I can’t I can’t I can’t win.

Lose it, lost it, once again.

Seek it, sought it, find the pin.

Laser, loser, precision.

Dueling needles, under skin.

Dig it, dig it, carve it in.

Kick it, kick it, in the shin.

Focus focus, self-control.

Hocus pocus, rig’marole.

One track mind, my mental goal.

No fault for a lack of soul.

Darling, darling, darling dear.

Keep me, keep me, keep me near.

Show me the darkness you fear.

Take me with, don’t leave me here.

Call me gorgeous, precious sphere.

Shed a crystalline blue tear.

Underground, bones rotting here.

Living hell, my darling dear. 

Darkness, darkness, in the hole.

Hill of beans upon the fool.

Working with the crudest tool.

Found my mind and lost my cool.  

Ode to Spirits

Crystalline view of your insides;
My fingers trace your curves.
Show me where my courage resides,
And give to ego what it deserves.

Craving my lips over your mouth,
Both bodies open wide.
An evil spectre, a poisoned Self.
I fight you off...most of the time.

My face pressed up against the glass;
Distorted cartoon features.
Outside, looking into traps.
Nectar for soul sick creatures.

Exit my body; I drain the well,
Purposefully pouring out potion. 
I hold on through a spasming hell;
Paying the price for my devotion.

Ode to Innocence

Georgia O'Keefe, Black Iris, 1906

Before he picked the flowers
from her secret garden,
was she softer on the outside,
or predestined to harden?
Beautiful and innocent in her personal hell.
Blooming in seasons through her broken shell. 

Before he plucked the petals,
from her ambrosia bouquet,
was she sure to soar,
or always meant to decay?
Degraded and innocent, a false world in her head.
Better than praying that she was already dead. 

Before he fed off of
the damage inside,
did her soul shine with pride
or did shame always reside?
Mending torn innocence, she stitches her seems,
Envisioning beauty and reclaiming her dreams. 

Ode To Body

Abundant substance, I behold;
matter over mind.
Obscuring truths sevenfold,
blind led by the blind.

Abusive fingers curl around,
the handle of a gun.
Liquid bullets to my lips;
death by consumption.

Barbara Kruger, "Untitled (your body is a battleground)"

Faithful subject, loyal friend;
true through darkest times.
Rights of passage, means to ends,
scenic view of crimes.

Restrictive habits starve my soul,
unconditionally unkind.
Sustenance---myself, I stole.
No fruit, only the rind.

I pledge my love, I make a vow:
nothing that I think,
Will from hereon ever weigh you down,
Or cause your heart to sink.


9.21.2013

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. 

Morning Scrawl

Somewhere in the dead of night,

You steal away my time.

You suck the essence from my soul,

And flee the scenic crime.

I awake, drained and shaken;

The empty shell of a seed.

My core has been invaded,

And raped by nocturnal deeds.

I’m left without a memory,

No grains of sand to hold.

You blanket me in ecstasy,

Divine fabrics unfold. 

Red thread between us like a leash,

You pull until it’s taut. 

Taking my love just like a thief,

My protests, all for naught. 

11:47AM 8/15/13

My Desk Is Lava

There is the theory that all outer chaos mirrors inner chaos, or visa versa. It's an idea, a thought, a hard truth? I'm a believer. I'm constantly struggling to fit all of my stuff into my space. I have been working on cleaning out some dark recesses again this week. I am aware that I have some hoarder tendencies, and possibly too many possessions for our humble home.  I'm not a crazy materialist, we just all need stuff and I've been collecting it my entire life!  Also, I have a home business and about a million hobbies. Plus, I lost my office when we decided to breed, so the dining room is where the remnants settled.
My Desk is certainly a hot spot, to say the very least. It's sometimes a volcano spewing lava. I have the OCD to create an excellent system, I simply also have the ADD to not follow through with said system. I'll reinvent, follow, tire, fail and repeat! THAT'S MY ROUTINE! I feel like I finally manage to get on this bucking bull, only to lose my grasp again. Flung to the ground. That's a metaphor. My inability to schedule and organize myself stems from something far greater than laziness.
This is my Desk, which is basically a glorified shelf, or a waste basket filing system? It has better days than others. There is some order in this chaos, though, you better believe it...I'm just not sure where I put it right now.
So, is my inner chaos mirroring my surroundings? Or is my outer chaos a reflection of my confused inner realm? I'm not sure, but if they can meet in the middle, maybe I can ride that bull a little longer this time! Either ride the bull or live with the lava!

-MS

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.  

Motherhood Mishaps: When the Applebee Stings

“Why are people so bad to each other?”  This is a quote by Christopher McCandless, or from the movie Into the Wild at the very least.  It says a lot of society; it’s true as hell.  People can be damn nasty to each other.  My version of this quote is “Why are moms so mean to each other?”

My girlfriend and I took our toddlers to Kindermusik today, which is hectic enough.  Afterwards, every Tuesday, we have been having lunch at Applebee’s, which can prove to be equally challenging with two toddlers.  I am usually very ready to get Celie into her car seat and pray that she falls asleep on the way home by the time we are done.  She seldom is allowed down in the restaurant by herself.  Frankly, she is mostly never allowed down by herself, even though she is very capable of walking.  Today’s story is a great reminder as to why that is the way it is and has to be. 

We had our meal, I had taken Celie to be changed in the bathroom, and my friend left for the car with her daughter saying she would see us out there when we were done.  We returned to our table and I stood her down between my legs to put her coat on.  (I do the traditional knee hold on her.)  In gathering up her cup and diaper bag and my own items of wear, she slipped from my hold and ran up the isle toward the bathroom.  I, in retrospect, delayed 5 seconds longer than I should have.  It is these 5 seconds as well as the 5 to 10 words from the cook that led to me feeling like the absolute worst mother in existence for a brief amount of time.  Okay, it has officially ripped the scab off of that permanent wound of utter failure that is always living inside of every mother, even when dormant. 

I wanted one more sip of my ice water with lemon.  One more.  Is that too much to ask?  Actually, Missie, as a mother, yes it is.  Because she then slipped from my hold, ran up the isle, and hung a left at the bathrooms where I lost the sight of her head because of the divider.  I was for a brief moment unaware of which direction she took.  I was at full panic for a few seconds as I rounded the corner of the divider.  It was either to the left past the registers or to the right into the kitchen.  Stupid me hung left, telling the questioning server that I was looking for my kid with large deer in headlight border panic breakdown eyes.  I then heard a cough I recognized as my daughter’s from the place I had hoped she didn’t veer into---the kitchen. 

There are two open doorways into the kitchen at Applebee’s.  Here’s some foreshadowing: there isn’t even a door.  As I realized she had entered the kitchen I started to back step to head into the first doorway, at that moment a woman emerged from the left doorway with my child dangling from her arms, visibly distraught at this point (my kid, not the woman).

I don’t remember her exact words, as their meaning and my caring trailed off after it registered what her attitude and opinion was of.  The first words out of my mouth were “I’m sorry…”  The first words out of her mouth were “Do you realize all of the hot things that are back there and blah blah blah…” condescension.  No, please tell me what a kitchen is and what possible dangers lay in it, because we don’t have one and I have absolutely no idea.  I replied, calmly, “I’m sorry, but do you realize how quick a toddler is?”  “Yes, actually, I have two...” more blah blah, I’m a better mother than you, you 18-year-old fedora slut, attitude.  (I jest, but most times you REALLY CAN judge what people are meaning by the way they say things…the WAY you say something is very important. I knew what she was feeling, that was for sure.) 

Anyway, apparently she is either the best mother in the world or her toddlers have no posterior limbs, because doesn’t every mother of a toddler understand how they can be??  WHY ARE MOTHERS SO NASTY TO EACH OTHER!?!?  Cut me some slack.  YES, I realize I am greatly in the wrong for delaying my wrangling efforts that 5 seconds for one more sip of ice cold lemon water for my frazzled dehydrated tongue. I’m not being sarcastic, I realize that was wrong because you don’t get the privilege of random sips of refreshing drinks at will with motherhood, you just don’t, but it was only maybe 10 to 15 seconds that she was in the kitchen, and I would have had her out in like 3 to 5 had I taken the right turn and not hung a left toward the registers!!  Why didn’t any of the other servers who could stop to ask me what I needed, not stop her from heading in there, as they must have seen her round the corner?  It’s not like I sent her back to make me a steak of something? Come ON!  Apparently you are the best mother ever, Applebee’s worker, and your toddlers are made of gold, stationary gold. 

I assume a lot of it was that I may come across as looking like I am 18 to 21 years old.  I may look like I’m completely green, but don’t let the fedora, feathers and nose ring fool you.  This lady was probably 5 to 10 years my senior and she had the attitude that I know absolutely nothing about child care and apparently kitchen ware.  Not that age really matters in motherhood, I realize I am a new mother, and I realize there is a lot I don’t know, but don’t talk down to me like a lot of mothers do IN GENERAL to young in age mothers because you think I am very young.  JUDGEMENT!  Tell me again what dangers lay in the Applebee’s kitchen?  If you’re going to be that way and act like things like this don’t happen in a place that allows children, then please…PLEASE…put a door on your kitchen and don’t have TWO very LARGE access points to it right beside the entrance to the bathroom.  Let’s face it, toddlers eat.  They’re going to be patronizing your restaurant.  They’re going to be entering that bathroom.  Things like this happen and I like to think I was filled with the proper amount of motherly dread and terror as I rounded that corner and didn’t see my daughter.  PLEASE do not use your superior parenting skills and advanced age and rank in the Applebee’s kitchen to purposely make life more stressful for a fellow mom.  Why are moms so mean to each other?  Because we’re BITCHES!  Because motherhood is hard!  Because motherhood is TERRIFYING and you don’t know at any point in time that you are making the right decision.  Because you are always on edge, waiting for someone to judge your way of parenting because deep down you are WORRIED THAT YOU ARE WRONG!!  Deep down there is a place inside of you where you are worried that you are a BAD MOTHER every second of your day!  Welcome to Motherhood. 

At the end of this experience I was left feeling like a shitty ass mother.  I felt so horrible for those 5 seconds, because when it comes down to it, I KNOW BETTER.  You can’t hold on to a spirited toddler’s hand enough to control them without breaking it; it’s like like trying to walk a terrier on a leash of cooked spaghetti.  I know how fast Celie is and I know why I don’t let her down in restaurants, but I find it hard to believe that no child has ever entered that kitchen on a pass through.  Hell, I’m pretty sure my mother has walked into a kitchen trying to find the bathroom.  SHIT HAPPENS!  I also find it hard to believe that lady has had a handle on her kids every second of their existence.  I simply walked away when she started the whole “Yes, actually, I have two and...” where she was then going to go into some other words of wisdom and advice and correction.  Well, lady, if that’s true, then why be such a bitch?  I understand that you are probably stressed out and tired from work, and you may even be generally concerned about the well being of my child, which was my primary concern as I was trying to fetch her.  Hey, life is hard.  But women are not going to advance themselves any farther by being so snippy and judgmental with each other.  Thank you for representing the part of my psyche that does completely agree with you and acknowledges that this was entirely my fault as a mother, but as a mother, please…could you develop some empathy?  Haven’t you had one of those days?  When you have chased for hours and just want a sip of lemon water?  Haven’t you had a few seconds when they just slipped away from your control?  I’m well aware of the dangers of a kitchen, thank you very much.  I have worked in the food industry; I have a small version of one at home as well.  Nobody was more terrified or concerned when my daughter entered that kitchen than I was.  Thank you for making it even harder as a mother to do the right thing.  Thank you for being that mother, “That Mother” that makes my girlfriend and I loathe and detest play groups and mother functions where they gather.  Thank you for judging me to be unfit in a matter of seconds with the tone of your voice.  And congratulations, because you are, therefore, better than I am.  You are “right”. Isn’t that the hopeful end result of meanie mom logic?

From a fellow mother, would it have been too much for that empathetic smile, and a word TO MY DAUGHTER about the dangers of the kitchen and not me?? In an age appropriate way??  So as to help be the village and learn HER of the dangers?  I would have even taken a “you should know better” look from you if you had done that.  I forgot all about correcting her behavior for running away from me in the first place because I was too busy calling you a bitch on my way out the door!  I was so worked up trying to find her, then I got Dr. Toddler jumped when I found her, I was a mess the whole drive home.  “Stop yelling at me!” my girlfriend says.  I was obviously heightened and complaining loudly, it was a miracle the girls fell asleep in the back seat. 

Really, Applebee’s?  Here’s a thought, put a swinging door on your kitchen if it’s like Louis III’s dungeon back there!  But, honestly, thank you for the condescending direction, because I don’t know about you, Applebee’s cook with two toddlers, but I am a reflective human being, and I will take this experience and try to learn from it.  Maybe you should do the same.  There really is a chance that you were unaware the way you approached things could have been different, and therein lays the problem with mothers connecting.  Instead of recognizing that part that is similar inside of us all you chose to go the ol’ yes I have kids therefore I know how to wrangle yours, do you even know what a kitchen is? route.  Thank you for mirroring my motherly doubts and further perpetuating the cycle of indifference and judgment among women.  You worked me up into a tizzy.  I’m going to go vomit and cry now.

Judging You,

Missie Sue

Towers of Terror: Falling Bodies Over Coconut Cream

Remembering is important, especially for traumatic events.  While we strive to get over the event we also want to honor it by remembering it for all time.  9/11 was a very traumatic event in American history so it only makes sense that Americans should want to “remember” it.  Why must we remember 9/11 through the eyes of Fox news?  I was trying to enjoy some pie and coffee tonight at the truck stop and I was inundated with TV footage from the past.  I understand the REMEMBER mindset of Americans, but bodies dropping from buildings while I’m working on some coconut cream is really unnecessary! 

Where were you that fateful day?  I’m sure you have heard that.  I was sitting in an Integrative Art class taught by multiple professors in the theater at college. My one teacher kept coming in and out because he was watching it on the television screen that was in the hallway.  I think they may have even let us go early and I remember some of us gathering in the hall way in front of the tv and looking up in a mix of horror and disbelief.  I returned to my off campus house and informed my boyfriend and his cousin who was spending the week with us that we were being attacked!  They had seen and we continued watching about it together all day in between my classes. 

9/11 is a hell of a tale.  There are still even some discrepancies about it to this day, depending on who you are.  It can be a touchy subject.  A lot of people lost their lives, their loved ones, their security.  Tonight when I caught footage of the “REMEMBER” propaganda on TV (I basically otherwise try to steer clear of the news), I wondered what those people felt about “reliving” this event now.  I jokingly told my friend that people with Alzheimer’s could possibly think it was happening for the first time.  Ignorant citizens would be living it all over again!  Mass panic could ensue, War of the Worlds style!  Okay, probably not, but it was a muse. 

It may just be something to blog about, but it also brought tears to my eyes having to sit through that again.  I watched a body plummet to the earth from a massive building, like a rag doll, limbs flapping almost ridiculously, over coffee and a slice of coconut cream pie.  Media.  I can’t believe it.  And it was Fox news of all sources.  I wondered why it seemed that they were focusing so much on the terrifying side of the event.  Not that there is really a pleasant side to this, but there were a lot of positive ceremonies for the victims and their families, there was a decent humanist patriotic movement that ensued.  There were certainly more positive things to focus on!

11 years later and that’s all it was to Fox news.  It’s still bodies falling from buildings.  Why?  Why do they have to show the falling bodies?  Not even just a little clip, but a haunting long drop where the body really has some time to be played around with by the air.  Who was that?  Specifically?  Do they know?  That’s a person, God dammit!  Act like it, FOX NEWS!  Let’s remember how 9/11 made us remember how we can come together for each other in times of need, for help or support.  Remember the victims with a photo or something, but not a poor person free falling to their death because they are so terrified by what was happening that was the only logical option in their mind.  THAT is terrorism.   

It has been 11 years and we still can’t get those images out of our heads, and I doubt that we ever will. Lucky for us, we don't have to try to forget; Fox News will always be willing to remind us of that moment, that plummet, that free fall drop that changed our American lives forever.