Spreading the three-legged dog love

We have had so many wonderful people at the park this month, but one particular family can't avoid being unique.

Jim and Rene are hysterical, always seeking joy and happiness and just darn stinkin' nice. In addition to this fantabulousness, they have the most amazing dog, Wyatt, who happens to only have three legs. Their Tripawds community is a gathering place for three-legged dogs and their people who work so hard to provide them all they need for a wonderful life.

Seriously, check it out. They offer resources and products for these animals, as well as forums to swap tips and encouragement. It is also inspiring for those of you who are open to loving an animal with special needs. It just makes me very, very happy to see all they are providing to bring these people together. Pretty darn amazing.

At which point we crack up laughing

Today we had one of those almost-ran-away-from-home days.

One of my kids - not me.

From about 9:00 am to 1:00 pm, things were not great. We are just a few days out from a sibling having a birthday. This is what we do. We crater near the birthdays of others. The trauma says, "No one deserves special days," and does all it can to destroy every ounce of joy in its path.

So, we're talking and we're peeling back layers and we're deflecting and riding the trauma coaster. I was reminded, again, that life would be easier if she could just live by herself. I pointed out that I cannot protect my children if they choose to leave me. I received the threat that, indeed, she was leaving. Brothers squealed, "Pizza!" (if someone runs away, we call the police and we call for pizza - because the rest of us need lots of energy to go searching). She has only actually run away once, over a year and a half ago. Yes, the rest of us got pizza that night.

She heads to her room. Not stomping. Not in that shut-down robotic posture. Just ... walked. I made myself a cup of coffee and went to my room to read some blogs. Walked away. Let her know I trusted her with whatever decision she made.

Then it happened.

After about ten minutes, she walked into my room (again, completely regulated body posture!) not carrying anything. I raised my eyebrows and she TOTALLY cracked a smile and started laughing. That caused me to bust out laughing. Patted my lap for her to come over and sit down.

"So, why aren't you running away?"

"Because I want to live here."

"And why on earth would you want to live here?"

"Because I love my family."

"Well, that's good, because we love you, too. Oh, and maybe next time we could just have this conversation and skip the whole running away muck."

"Yeeeeaaaaah."

I was so annoyed with the earlier stuff during the day, but I can't deny it: that moment of laughter is now my very favorite moment I have shared with her.

We were on the same page. We were completely and totally connected.

Healing can look really, really weird.

But it's still healing!





(photo by Samantha Mesones, used with permission)

Magical Milk Pic-o-the-Week

"I nursed my older daughter until just past her 2nd birthday and realized after she weaned that I didn't have any photographs of this aspect of our relationship except for in her tiny newborn days. With my second daughter, I wanted to make sure to document it a bit better, and hence this picture. She is 16 months old now and still breastfeeding, and I imagine she will be for a while yet!"


(this photo of Julia and her daughter is used with permission by Kathy Krey Photography)

Flowers for Algernon (or "How Christine Weaned off Antidepressants")

I have been on antidepressants for about four or five years now.

They saved me from myself.

I was not suicidal, or ready to harm my kids (well, any more than every other parent on their worst day). But somewhere between college and giving birth the first time, I completely lost "Christine." She was still in there. She surfaced regularly, but I had to fight for her. Giving birth just tanked her, and she became a memory to my husband and I.

Things improved at one point (or should I say, they weren't as MAJORLY SUCKISH as they had been - perhaps that's a better perspective). I remember Michael making a joke, and I laughed. He just stared at me for a moment, smiled and said, "Your smile." I knew what he meant, because my face felt weird. I didn't smile much for two years, especially not a genuine smile - all the way up to my eyes. I felt sad and embarrassed and helpless. I didn't want to lose me again.

When Presh was about two, I had another dip. This one was a bit different. I started to have much more social anxiety. It made no sense. Well, in "normal" world, NOTHING of our depression/anxiety makes sense. That is what makes it so debilitating. The little things in life haunt us. At the same time, Mac's Tourettes became painfully obvious. It was her neurologist that opened my eyes to so much.

I got stuff.

I have always had tics. I can think of two isolated events when they completely took over, but every other time I could hide them. I didn't know the "why." I just figured I was a nerd, and being the good American kid, I fought hard to be as normal as possible. I have also always had depression and anxiety (hind sight). Neurological disorders of every kind are kinda like a pile of pantyhose that runs through the dryer. You know they are separate, but you have no idea where to start to even BEGIN to sort them out.

So, I got in on a study of Cymbalta in the very beginning (had long been an approved med, but they were trying to determine just how well it improved cognitive abilities). I was under the care and guidance of some of the best doctors in the state. Oh, AND my meds were free during the study. So, it was kinda' a win-win as far as starting to find help. Unfortunately, one of the side effects was very clear and vivid dreams. So much so, that I spent much of my day trying to determine things I had dreamt and things which had actually occurred. I weaned down at one point, and simply could not handle the withdrawal and a new move and the kids. I was getting brain zaps and all sorts of crazy stuff. Spent hours curled up on the sofa, or a walking zombie on meclizine. So, I started on some generic Zoloft, at a much lower dose. Steadied me out neurologically and stopped the effects of withdrawal.

Fast forward to a time when I have set myself up for success. My life is simple. We are not over-programmed (who am I kidding - there is barely ANYTHING programmed). We are rocking our diets. I did a very slow wean, while supplementing with lots of flax and niacin. I took my time, but the withdrawals from this particular med have been night and day different from the Cymbalta.

And here I am. I have been off RX antidepressants for just over two months.

Not only that, but I am actually letting my food be my medicine. The hormonal wave just before my cycle? I supplement with Niacin. I flood my food with flax. When I'm feeling lethargic, I whip up a massive green smoothie. If I have to get some work done, I sit by the window for a minute, listen to the birds and soak up some sunshine. I do simply wonderful things like ... just walk and look at the flowers and the grass and the bugs. I embraced the heart of therapeutic parenting - which is to choose what kind of day I will have. Cause - you can't make anybody do anything, really. You can't. But you can choose how their choices will or won't affect you. You can choose to listen to the birds. You can choose to smile.

Do I have any withdrawal? Sure. I feel like Charlie in "Flowers for Algernon." I am doing type-o's phonetically much more than ever before (I also blame my years as a shorthand guru for triggering this while my brain is self-correcting). My neurological system is trying to fill these gaps on its own, now. I get stuck on words much more than ever ... not just the I'm-almost-40 kind of forgetfulness. I have moments where I stop myself to concentrate on something, and it does. not. help. at. all. Moments where I simply cannot make my brain do what I'm wanting it to do. It sometimes feels as though I'm going backward developmentally. So, in taking back control of my brain functions, I'm having to be patient and understanding of ... myself.

Again, though, this is worse if things are moving too quickly and I have too much going on. It's my red flag to give my whole body, mind and soul a rest.

It was actually going on the meds which caused me to look harder at my lifestyle and diet. For me, it was putting the horse before the cart. I could not find the strength to make these changes until I received some extra help. Then, I was able to take it into my own hands. It took me years, but here I am.

Christine. The way she was meant to be.


(photo by Marko Mihajlovic, used with permission)

Friday pa-ching!

* I have been trying to find a way to introduce all of you to this wonderful gathering at the park, and Sara just did it for me. It was several months ago that Sara and Matt put the bug in the NuRVers ears about having their rally here. It's only their second one, so Kev was hoping they MIGHT be able to pull eight rigs, but we agreed to stay in contact and be flexible ... ya' know ... work around whatever they could pull off. It think it was about ten days later when we were already talking overflow. This group is contagious.

* After some great discussion and a few private emails, my kids have gone ballistic on the programming game, "Alice." All three of my oldest were enlarging heads of people and had their characters walking through tables ... all the while laughing their heads off. It was a giggle fest. My goodness, their brains and mouse were moving like lightening by the end of the night. Huge thanks to Heather for this suggestion, but also for sending me to this amazing post on how her husband unschooled his way to his career.

* Last weekend Michael helped First Baptist with their Disciple Now. Had some super duper fun friends in for it. If you do country, then allow me to introduce you to our old (and by old, I mean OLD! heh. heh.) friend, Jay Johnson. WE LOVE JAY!

Have a great weekend. May it be full of warmth, kindness and lots and lots of friends.

Green smoothie swirls.

Here is how I make my fun, multi-colored green smoothies. These are more "special occasion" concoctions because they take a tiny bit more time.

My kids' favorite base for smoothies is always Very Vanilla Soy Milk. I do not always use this, but it makes an appearance for special times. I start by pouring about an inch into the bottom of the glass.

In my blender, I put in a can of pineapple (I try to have it already chilled in the fridge), two large handfuls of baby spinach and a little bit of water or soy milk. I let it stay thick. Then pour an inch or two of this into the glass, usually right down the middle, dividing it between all glasses.

Then, I start over in the blender. Usually this time around I do another handful of spinach with some frozen berries and more water or soy milk. When I pour THIS batch into the glasses, I try to keep it over to one side (so you can see the color through the glass - otherwise it's not NEARLY as festive).

And that's that! Swirly green smoothies. Packs a health filled punch and it makes you smile.

(photo is my two boys and Organic Sister's boy after a sleepover last week - giving their body a boost so they can continue with more play)

This ain't your momma's programming.

My boys want to create video games.

Then, the more we discuss it, they want to be able to create ANYTHING on the computer.

Check.

Help them discover ways to learn programming. Ahhh, and do it in a way that slowly exposes them to all the elements of programming, giving them a firm grasp of the concepts they desire to attain, while keeping it developmentally appropriate (a.k.a. - ENJOYABLE!).

This has been my mission for the past several weeks. Finally, I have uncovered some wonderful (and free) little tools to get them going. I share so that the rest of your unschooling delishies can dive right in ... not having to wait on the hours of research their mother does while sighing heavily over and over ... and over.

Don't expect me to tell you what ages these things may fit. You have to check them out and know your kids. My 10-year-old son has started to blow through Light Bot. His older brother is taking it more slowly. Their brains process different things in different ways. They main goal is the same, but getting there will not be mirrored in the process.

Light Bot is a great little programming game. If you sit around for awhile, waiting and waiting for it to load, not realizing you just have to click "PLAY" on the right side, below the ad ... well, I will call you normal. Very, very normal.

Light Bot teaches you the basic concept of programming, including the use of functions. The boys immediately equated it to the function keys used in several of their other games. They totally "got it." We're also all stuck at certain levels, so we walk away and come back to it as we wish.

Our next step will probably be some actual dabbling in language. I have found Simple, Logo and Scratch. Granted, there are a ton out there, but these seem to be ranking above others.

I am having flashbacks to Mr. Davis' computer class. BASIC programming. My big project was a program that drew two kids in a canoe who kissed. Basically, I rotated between two pictures, one with their lips touching (and a heart appearing over their heads, of course), then the non-kissing picture. It was SUCH A BIG DEAL to me. I made it happen. It felt amazing. I typed in "run" and I made the screen do stuff ... my directions.

It was also very tedious and linear. My right brain is not fond of that type of work. So, it was a fun project, but became very evident it was not something I would want to build my life around.

Fun. I get to watch my boys make those same discoveries, and perhaps, fall in a deep, passionate, life-work love. Ya know ... or not.

Magical Milk Pic-o-the-Week

(photo by Kim, a reader)

Video: "Therapeutic Parenting - Is Love Enough?"

Would you do it all over again?

I get that question a lot.

The quick answer? Yes.

I absolutely, positively do not speak for everyone, and I am not special or better or ANYTHING. It's just how it is playing out for me. I say "yes," while simultaneously thinking, "I really am a complete idiot."

We invited Reactive Attachment Disorder and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder into our home. You can read/learn/listen til your eyes pop out, but nothing - zero - zilch - can prepare you for what it is like to fight for attachment when a child is doing everything in their power, night and day, to stop it from happening.

It's awful.

It's hell.

It's gross.

It's sometimes unbearable.

It's painful.

It's terrifying.

It's defeating.

But ... it's possible. Healing is possible. Their potential CAN be reached, and it looks different for every single kid.

Today marks two years since we brought R and M into our home. I will not kid you. It feels WAY longer. The past two years have been a very purposeful, therapeutic intensive. We planned it that way and built our lives around it. We are just now loosening up those boundaries and allowing more freedoms and choices every day ... sometimes realizing they aren't developmentally ready and we have to back up.

I would totally do it again. I don't know if we will. I don't know how, exactly, we need to be using this knowledge and skill set. Not like you apply for a regular job and receive any special nods for, "Well, if someone becomes violent I can restrain them in a safe basket hold, singing 80's love songs in their ear til they calm or get the giggles while holding my pee the entire time," or "I can be spat upon, rub it in, thank the spitter and NOT dry heave until out of the room."

What I do know is that there are children out there who missed something vital, and we know how to give it to them. I know there are parents out there who are willing to try, but also want to jump off a cliff, and need intensive support. I know that one of our children entered our home two years ago having never attached to another human. That child is now attached. That child trusts. Not like the rest of us, but it is there. That child tries. That child has interests. They have uncovered who they were born to be because they no longer spend every waking minute in fear and trying to manipulate every aspect of their world. They can go farther, but they have already climbed mountains.

Another of our children has been freed from a continuous flow of nightmares and daily flashbacks of terror. They are there, but we can count them on one hand now. Still a part of their life, but no longer their ENTIRE life. They do normal, tooty, teenage things. It took 22 months, but they now allow me to kiss them good-night on their cheek, instead of the top of their head. Twenty-two months ... just to allow me to move that six inches. All on their own. They asked to make that change.

I would do it again, because they all so desperately need what my kids have received. We will do SOMETHING. We have not been released from it, by any means. We are meshed with all this attachment stuff. It will forever be a part of our lives. We'll see how it plays out. Adoption? Fostering? Parent coaching? Dragging on this blog for decades?

In the meantime, I continue to be amazed at the bravery and accomplishments of my children.

The only thing harder than parenting them is being them.

No mom is an island

My dear friend, and fellow therapeutic mom, Lush, sent me a text today. She was sitting and waiting on attachment therapy to start, in a whole other state, and a woman recognized her from online. She asked Lush to tell me hello, because she also reads my blog.

I want to say a big, giant hello to this mom of four. One of many. I want to hug you somethin' awful.

I pulled over so I could cry a little bit (was about to order something to drink, and didn't want to pull out any ugly cry face for the cashier). It was a mixture of happy and sad and determined, all in one. I'm thrilled to know our family and this story can be an encouragement to anyone. I am sad that we cannot all live closer, in a giant trauma-recovery commune. And ... I am determined.

I am stinkin' determined.

I don't want any of us to feel alone. The kind of "physical therapy" required for our kids to heal is hard, it is bizarro and exhausting. It's one thing to bond and nurture with an infant. To recreate that entire process with a 10-year-old ...

We are not alone. None of us is an island, entire of ourselves.

Today, delurk and just let us know you are there. I'll turn on anonymous comments for a few days.

Feel the love. Feel the community.



(photo by mac pale, used with permission)

It's never just about the spoon

Parenting traumatized children can be a butt-whoopin'. Who are we kidding? Parenting children in general can be like a semi driving over you, backing up, pouncing on your head with hydrolics ... then backing up again, only to rest on your sinus cavity. Yet, you would never think of NOT doing it. That is why it can be so challenging - because you are CRAZY about these people in your life who are changing and stretching you every single day.

There has been a lot of hub bub recently over variants of home education and whether or not unschoolers and/or radical unschoolers are just lazy parents.

Dear God.

Lazy parents. My goodness that is a painfully large blanket statement to place on anyone. It immediately assumes that a parent does not love their child intensely. That they are selfish and put themselves, always, above their children. Youch.

There are days I dream of being lazy. To have one of my kids start to meltdown, and just walk away and let them dissolve into their own mess while I enjoy a cup of coffee ... I have those fantasies.

But I want to give my kids what they need and what they ask for. It is hard. It is exhausting. It is TIME CONSUMING. It is inconsistent. Throw in the therapeutic parenting that is required in this house, and holy tamale. Some days that is all I ever accomplish.

Yet, that is what they need from me. It is what they need to grow and develop and love and give to others. It is what they need to heal from past trauma, and find a way to be free from its oppression.

My children have taught me a lot recently. We are extremely verbal around here, which means I have to work twice as hard at reading their non-verbal communication.

Case in point: My daughter is getting some serving spoons out for lunch. She brings out a choice, and asks me if it is appropriate. She knows what will and what will not dish out bean sauce well. She also knows I could care less which spoon she chooses, as long as it works for her.

It wasn't about the spoon.

That was her way of saying, "Mom, I am still really mad that my sister did not want to play with me earlier, and you did not make her play with me." NEVER just about the spoon. She needed to be heard. I was COMPLETELY annoyed, and I DO get very tired of doing it over and over and over again.

Yet, that is exactly what she needed at that moment. Why on earth would I not do that for her?

One of my kids had a rough go today. Very unusual, because that child truly has moved into being smack on their developmental level in all areas. Yet, the trauma still catches up with them and clouds things. Competition can make them feel extremely vulnerable. I watched my child, today, move instantaneously out of a regulated state. Total fight/flight response. Very reactive and hurtful toward me. I suggested they go outside to calm and regroup until they wanted to talk (because if they aren't wanting to, you can. not. make. them. talk. - but you sure can force them to shut down even farther).

When they came back in, the first words out of their mouth were, "I'm still mad because you weren't listening to me." Now, when a kid has hit fight/flight, they do not communicate clearly. They cannot. Their fear has taken over and they are in survival mode. However, the very worst thing I could have said to my child in that moment would have been, "Um, you were a mumbling MESS about the computer game this and the computer game that! Are ya' KIDDING me?" What purpose would that have served, other than to make me feel really good and snarky? Instead, I said, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. What would you like me to hear?"

It's never just about the computer game.

It was so much deeper than that. My child needed me to be patient, to help them move to a place where they could speak and be heard.

Yesterday, another child wanted to explain every single solitary detail of a quest he completed on RuneScape. I'm pretty sure it took him 45 minutes, and I know my attention was fading in and out, but oh my cow - how it fed his soul to share the details with me. He needed me to listen and share that part of his life.

It's never just about the RuneScape level.

My youngest wanted to play pretend. Not the kind of pretend where I can knock out an article while she dances her baby dolls around my feet. No sir. This was full on, boss to employee fake conversation via telephone, including a full presentation, flower delivery and a vat of personnel issues. I. did. not. feel. like. doing. it. However, she needed that time with me. She needed me to join her. Me. No one else.

It's never just about the fake telephone conversations.

My oldest daughter is in full-on Harry Potter mode. She is creating costumes out of old bathrobes, book covers to fit the character (involving google searches for clip art to print and put on said covers), needing ways to debark sticks then sand and stain/polish them for wands. She finds the Wizard Swears video to be just about the funniest thing she has ever seen. Like ... ever. She wanted me to share that with her. I have overhead this video approximately 4 million times in the past few days. SO TIRED of that video.

Yet ... it's not just about the video.

It is hard to be attuned to your kids. It is not always fun to give them what they need, when you are trying to accomplish the mundane things in life. On the flip side, I am not a martyr. My husband is currently hauling all of them into town right now for my weekly freedom-from-parenting-Wednesday-night. My needs are important, too. I make myself a priority. Make my marriage a priority. I hide in my room put myself in a timeout regularly.

However, I give them what they need. I love them. I don't give or do any less than what I truly needed as a child. To be heard. To be valued. To have a mother who is her own person as well as a guide and giver.

If that's lazy parenting, then slap a label on my butt.



(photo by Michal Zacharzewski, used with permission)

Magical Milk Pic-o-the-Week

"I stumbled on to your blog from another blog I stalk and love the breastfeeding pics. I've attached my own pic, which although is blurry, is my favorite picture of myself maybe ever."

(pic from Amanda, a stumble-upon-er)

You can submit your own Magical Milk pics to christinemoers [at] hotmail [dot] com

*Updated* I have learned a few things this week

#1 - Techno geeks are bad, bad, bad news. They have the latest and greatest. They write apps. They ooze very, very interesting things. I find it all extremely exciting and addictive. They are crack for nerds. I love them. But still - bad! I dreamt about the iPad last night. Snake-in-the-garden bad!

#2 - It is worth it to challenge people to know and understand the people in their lives. The story builds the community and smooths the rough edges. Watched Brook Shield's episode of "Who Do You Think You Are?" last night. It was so beautiful to hear how she did not wallow in the bitterness of a relative, but instead sought out her story. She uncovered the pain, and she understood this woman. She hurt for this woman. She cried for this woman. She was forever changed. I do not believe people are born with pain and a need to hurt or alienate others. When you find that, there is a story. Seek out the story, and shroud your love with the necessary patience and healing boundaries.

#3 - This past weekend I had a wonderful RAD mom come and visit me for a few days. It was an amazing treat. One of her children finally let the RADalicious stuff fly on their last night here. When I realized things were escalating outside, I brought her something to drink to help refresh her. When she was getting the holy badoodle pinched out of her because her child would not let her come inside while they regulated, I happily offered to take over the restraint until they were ready to regulate on their own. And they did. And Mom got a break. And restitution was made and the evening ended with regulation, smiles and hugs. It also made me very happy to give to a woman who is in the throws of the exhaustion I have experienced so much over the past two years. It truly is in giving that we receive.



I can finally post her actual face and say, "Hi, Carrie!" Mum was the word until now because she had not told her mother she drove 11 hours to see me, instead of three hours to see her. Said mother does read my blog, though, and loves me ("Hi, Carrie's mom!"), so I think she will be forgiving. Oh, and did you read that right? Carrie drove 11 hours ONE WAY ALONE WITH TWO CHILDREN, ONE WHO IS NOT FULLY ATTACHED, JUST TO SPEND TIME AT MY HOUSE! We trauma-parenting momma's, we are crazy brave like that. Still, feel free to adore and praise her in the comments section. Not only was she super courageous to come all that way, but she really is ROCKING the whole therapeutic parenting thing. She is a gift to her children. I am so very honored to call her my friend. This is tough noogies, but she just keeps waking up every day and doing it.

#4 - Homemade butter from the cow down the road kicks store bought butter's a**. This last batch was the richest yet. Very deep yellow. Heavenly.

#5 - If you think you will knock out a blog post by 9:00 am, you are an idiot.

Creating brings me joy

A few weeks back I spent a day working through piles of ... everything in my bedroom. I had not organized and purged my yarn and fabric since moving into the double wide.

That is a dangerous thing for me. My inner Threadbanger awakens and begins to devour anything in its path. If you so much as drop a gum wrapper, I will twist it, paint it, and turn it into a jumper ... or a headband ... or a salt shaker.

I have held a bag of old key tags since we bought the park. Once upon a time the restrooms were always kept locked, and guests could acquire a key for a fee. We have since done away with this system and let our potties fly free. We were left, however, with a few dozen key tags emblazoned with the park's former name. They are this fabulous retro red.

I love them.

So, after staring at them for several months, I finally tied them up with some fun stringy yarn stuff and hung them from a can. Boom! The chandelier key tags formerly known as Rivershade RV park.





I made a skirt not long after. Just a bunch of panels cut out of scrap fabric. The seams were sewn on the outside (then washed and dried to get it all ratty). Waistband is the bottom half of an old gray T. Of course, I stood on my tub to get a pic for a friend with my phone. Cause that's what you do, right?



Followed by reconning a $1.50 Goodwill T into a halter top.



It's spring! Time for butterflies to emerge from their cocoons, and recycling surgeons to come out of hibernation. Bring it.

And post pictures.

Chia Fresca - my new best friend

So, what to do with that wonderful chia gel you now have sitting in your fridge? Make yourself a chia fresca.

I have adapted mine to fit what I like. You can google yourself a million different recipes. But this is my favorite (and VERY simple) version:

Take a pretty glass - or a sweet little mason jar - as long as it makes you feel either pretty or funky. This is a first-time-maker requirement for MY adaptation. It makes it taste better. Really.

Put in a few teaspoons of lemon juice. If it's a tea glass, I would guess-timate about 4 teaspoons (better to start with less and add to taste, unless you have a high pucker tolerance).

Pour in some chia gel until it fills about 1/3 of your glass.

Throw in a few pieces of ice and a packet of Stevia.

Fill the rest of the glass with water. Stir. Then call me crying because it is SO GOOD!

Basically, it's a chia lemonade. There are plenty of versions where you put straight chia seeds in. I prefer to do the already-gelled version. I like the texture better, I guess.

You can also play around with this recipe. Use lime instead of lemon. I have done it with orange juice. Really, the sky is the limit. Choose your favorite citrus and make yourself a refreshing chia-ade.

Or should that be cheee-ade?

I have been dreadful for five months

Can you believe it has been FIVE MONTHS since I ratted up my freak and let it do .... whatever?

If you've known me long, you know I change my hair every five minutes. For the first time in my life, I have found my hair love. Like LOVE. Passion. Why on earth did I not do this sooner?

Once I was old enough to get my hands into my own hairy mess, I have never - not once - kept a style this long. Which is another reason it's perfect for me. It can change daily, just on its own. It doesn't even bother to ask. Very rebellious hair, I say.

I have researched dreads for years, so I knew long ago I would be going natural. It was a perfect fit for my no-pooing self. No waxing for this dread head. Instead, five months of watching it twist and twirl and frizz like a crazy person. My hair finally matches my psychological make-up. heh.

Have I mentioned that I LOVE IT?

I did get my first, "Mom, LOOOK!" at the store the other day in our small town. I am free entertainment for the locals. Maybe it's time to start charging admission.

Magical Milk Pic-o-the-Week

"I loved nursing my oldest son, but realized way too late I should have taken a picture of it. After losing four babies I thought I would never again have the joy of nursing a child. We found out last June we were expecting a baby again. We were not sure what God had planned for us, but were thrilled when we found out the baby was a girl. We experienced many complications including Intrauterine Growth Restriction. She wasn't getting the nutrients she needed from the placenta. The doctors prepared us for the worse. We responded with prayer, as did thousands around the world for us. On January 29th, our daughter, Abigail was born at 35 weeks. She weighed 3 pounds and 5 ounces. She amazed doctors and nurses by breathing on her own. Ten hours after her birth, against all of the odds, I went to the NICU and nursed Abby. She is an amazing little miracle and I'm taking thousands of pictures, including this one of her first time breastfeeding."

(photo by Angie)

*I love posting pictures from actual readers. Submit photos to christinemoers [at] hotmail [dot] com*

Who pulled up at your house this weekend?

Have a couple spending a month with us - the husband's name is Jack Frost.

Seriously.

A sweet couple from our previous church came in for two nights. They brought cards that had been signed with notes from church members. I can't tell you how many times I have read those sweet words in the last two days. Made my whole week. LOVE you guys out at First Blackwell. LOVE YOU!

Seriously. ;)

There is a family who were here last month. The live in a nearby town. The father spent most of his early years out on this reservoir in his family's cabin. This time he brought back more family to share their new find (our park). I think they will become "regulars." We love having them, and their girls love playing with Precious. The mother's parents live in town and own an organic, free-range egg company!

Seriously.

Come visit me. Soon.

Seriously!


(photo by Loretta Humble - used with permission via stock.xchng)

Unschooling Blog Carnival

It's up!

Head over to Enjoy Life Unachooling and check it out!

Therapy, poo and ink

* Mary the Mom is recapping the Katherine Leslie conference. Don't miss her notes if you are parenting a child with a history of trauma. Good stuff. Painful, and hard, but good.

* Laura has a post on them taking away the battle of schoolwork. Just ... removing it. Poof! Gone. Beautiful.

* THIS is friggin hilarious, and painfully accurate:



It's also something which I'm finding everyone is agreeing on ... like everyone ... red, yellow, black, white, Democrat, Republican, Wiccan, Baptist, rich, poor, decaf, regular ...

* Our family is considering taking the plunge (NOT literally) into at least one compost/sawdust toilet. We did the math. At 3-4 gallons per flush, and each person averaging about five flushes daily ... our family of seven uses over 100 gallons of perfectly drinkable water to send our pee and poo out to who really knows? There are many solutions, and we are totally willing to try this. No, it's not gross, and yes, you can actually compost your poo. If you think I have some sort of fecal fetish, you are painfully mistaken. Learn about it. You'll be surprised. Not to mention, my attaching kids CANNOT CLOG A COMPOST TOILET! BRILLIANT!

* Sitting at the public library while typing this, and there is a guy totally trying to hit on me. Then one kid comes up to ask a question ... and another ... and another ... "Mom ... Mom ... Mom!" He is soooooo out of here! ha! High tailed it back to the genealogy room. Done, and DONE!

* And last ... my only really big announcement for the month (NOT an April Fool's joke). I finally got a tattoo. Now, the best part is we can make it a drinking game. Come back here later tonight, and have your beverage of choice in hand. Take a swig every time someone responds to/comments on said tattoo with anything sounding remotely like:

"Wow, you're officially low class ..."
"Personally, I’m against tattoos, but ..."
"I’m not really into tattoos, but ..."
"I am not really a tattoo fan, but ..."
"I think you're going to hell, but ..."

Because, seriously, I do not go to other people's blogs and say, "I would NEVER wear that, but it looks great on you," or "You have SUCH old lady hair, but I think you're a great person," or "It goes against my personal convictions to own and wear a Snuggie, but I'm glad it works for you." (Okay, I've totally said that last one to Cammie, but it's cause we're good friends like that - and she is about to TOTALLY go OFF on the whole compost toilet thing ... in 3, 2, 1 ...).

So, go ahead. Take your pot shot on the ink. Bring it. Everyone else is gonna' get snockered. It's the therapeutic mom in me. I found a way to be insulted and still win! Whoop!