Many mothers who are parenting children from the hard places carry around a massive amount of guilt. They feel guilty that sometimes they don't want to be around their child. They have no loving feelings for them. They pull away from a hug or touch just as much as their child. They know that the bonding stuff is the medicine their child so desperately needs, but the thought of doing it makes their skin crawl.
And they don't feel safe enough to tell anyone. I mean, seriously? Can you show up at PTA and say, "Yep. Today my kid just walked in the room and I immediately felt like someone knocked the wind out of me and I almost dry heaved." We are alone in the parenting. We are alone in the behaviors. We are also so painfully alone in how we feel about our kids. We are alone in our guilt because we feel like something must be wrong with US. I mean ... how could any mom feel that way about their child?
Thank God, some of you allow yourselves the opportunity to unload on me. I will be the first to remind you that we are trying to love children who are doing every single thing in their power to make that impossible. Any normal person on the entire planet would feel exactly - EXACTLY - the same way.
If you can endure the kinds of things we do, and always have warm, fuzzy feelings and not be repulsed by your child, I would dare say you are not normal. Your are made of plastic.
The truth is, there are many, many days that our love for our children is a choice. We just wake up and choose to show them love. We do not want to. We want to hurt them. We want to ignore them. We want to punish them. Our hearts are so beaten down to nothing. The experts can tell us it is not about us - it is all about the fear and shame. But all we see is anger. All we feel is the punching and the spitting and the biting. All we hear are the words that cut us to the core, when we are being stellar in our love.
It crushes you. It makes you bitter.
To you - the parents and grandparents and caregivers of these hurting kids - I love you. I love you so very deeply. I am sorry that we have to do this kind of work for healing to happen. I am sorry that we have to be different. I am sorry that we find ourselves wanting to WANT to feel love for our kids.
Today I was standing in my closet, getting dressed, when this song came on. I've heard it before, but today I thought of me ... and I thought of you. I wept for all of us.
I love you.
**************************************
Teaching My Heart
(click link to listen)
by Joules Graves
i'm teaching my heart to spread its wings - unfolding
like teaching my fingers to play these strings - holding love
love... holding love
well, it stretches and aches and I've learned from my mistakes
sometimes my heart, like a guitar string, breaks
and I wonder how long this healing will take
how long this healing will take
sometimes it seems just too damn slow
but we crawl before we walk you know
we crawl before we walk, you know
one step and then another
we're learning how to love each other
one step and then another
we're learning how to love each other
one step and then another
we're learning how to love and be loved
now it's true when they say
you can't love someone else
until you can truly love yourself
i'm learning how to love myself
it's true when they say you can't accept someone else
until you can truly accept yourself
we're all learning how to accept ourselves
sometimes it seems just too damn slow
but we crawl before we walk, you know
we crawl before we walk, you know
one step and then another
we're learning how to love each other
one step and then another
we're learning how to love each other
one step and then another
we're learning how to love
and be loved
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Niacin and trauma
I first learned about how Niacin might (maybe, possibly, just a little) be of benefit to my kids with a history of trauma. I had watched the movie "Food Matters" and the information shared by Andrew W. Saul. It made a huge impact on me. I then found his website, Doctor Yourself and just kept absorbing how this may very well be one of the many deficiencies in my kids.
Here is a clip from "Food Matters."
Not to mention, I also used Niacin to compensate as my body weaned off my antidepressants. It does so many wonderful things when our body has a level it needs, like lower your cholesterol by boosting your HDL.
We started cautiously, as I try to only add/subtract things in a way that I can truly tell what is helping or hurting. So, we purchased the no-flush formula (time released, which lowers the typical flush sensation) of Niacin at our local drug store and started our attaching kid at one 500 mg capsule daily. After a week, we went up to two. We actually saw improvement. It definitely helped to counter that underlying flow of shame and depression that put her into a regular tail spin of crying, raging and for-what-seemed-like-no-reason defiance. It wasn't a happy pill, by any means. But it dealt with one of her many layers.
When things escalated in February, we went up to 1500 mg and have stayed there. We knew it had been helping, but got used to our new normal. We didn't realize just how much, until one day when she was just totally off her rocker (but for no apparent reason that any of us could determine). She finally admitted that she had run out and not taken her Niacin for four days. We bought some that afternoon, and one hour after her dose she was once again regulated.
Some children cannot swallow pills, and I now have two friends who have successfully delivered the Niacin to their kids by opening the capsule into pudding, yogurt, etc.
Anywho, feel free to peruse the links. I am also putting a link to Food Matters at the end of this post. Full disclosure: that is my affiliate link, and I do make a wee bit on any purchases if you enter the site that way. What I like about it, no matter how you get there, is that you can watch it instantly online for about $5.
It is not a "Watch Instantly" movie on Netflix, but you can get it via DVD if you have a membership.
It has made a tremendous impact on our daughter and kept her off of RX antidepressants. It has helped me to removed them from my own body. Do your own research, and find out if it may be one of your missing pieces to the puzzle your family is trying to complete.
Here is a clip from "Food Matters."
Not to mention, I also used Niacin to compensate as my body weaned off my antidepressants. It does so many wonderful things when our body has a level it needs, like lower your cholesterol by boosting your HDL.
We started cautiously, as I try to only add/subtract things in a way that I can truly tell what is helping or hurting. So, we purchased the no-flush formula (time released, which lowers the typical flush sensation) of Niacin at our local drug store and started our attaching kid at one 500 mg capsule daily. After a week, we went up to two. We actually saw improvement. It definitely helped to counter that underlying flow of shame and depression that put her into a regular tail spin of crying, raging and for-what-seemed-like-no-reason defiance. It wasn't a happy pill, by any means. But it dealt with one of her many layers.
When things escalated in February, we went up to 1500 mg and have stayed there. We knew it had been helping, but got used to our new normal. We didn't realize just how much, until one day when she was just totally off her rocker (but for no apparent reason that any of us could determine). She finally admitted that she had run out and not taken her Niacin for four days. We bought some that afternoon, and one hour after her dose she was once again regulated.
Some children cannot swallow pills, and I now have two friends who have successfully delivered the Niacin to their kids by opening the capsule into pudding, yogurt, etc.
Anywho, feel free to peruse the links. I am also putting a link to Food Matters at the end of this post. Full disclosure: that is my affiliate link, and I do make a wee bit on any purchases if you enter the site that way. What I like about it, no matter how you get there, is that you can watch it instantly online for about $5.
It is not a "Watch Instantly" movie on Netflix, but you can get it via DVD if you have a membership.
It has made a tremendous impact on our daughter and kept her off of RX antidepressants. It has helped me to removed them from my own body. Do your own research, and find out if it may be one of your missing pieces to the puzzle your family is trying to complete.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Magical Milk Pic-o-the-Week
Just stolen from the comments section: "oh I loved seeing this tonight--beautiful pic Paige! this momma & baby have an amazing, miraculous story. neither of them should probably be alive due to the mom's severe earthquake injuries...but they're both doing well and the mom continues to heal every day." - Dr. Jen
(photo by Paige Porter-Livesay when she was back home in Haiti this month, for a much-too-brief visit - Paige and her family work with Heartline Ministries)
Monday, July 26, 2010
Oh Bloody Hell!
When we were about to move, and one of my traumatized kids decided to start peeing all over every inch of everything (note: NOT an exaggeration) in hopes that it would keep us from moving ... I wrote the "What You Do With Pee" song. Don't freak out. I'm not going to write a "What You Do With Your Menstrual Cycle" follow-up.
Well, not one that I can post to YouTube, anyway. I do have it already half written in my head. But instead, I just wander around mumbling, "Oh, bloody hellll." I turn up music and dance while I'm cooking dinner. I cry because I am also hormonal and just extremely pissed off and annoyed (GREAT combination, by the way - you should totally try it). I play Words With Friends, and laugh and grin and blush at some of my wonderfully raunchy friends who keep me going (who knew Scrabble could be so entertaining?).
I pace myself.
My husband was just (days ago) hired on full time at a local school district, which is GREAT, and he will be using all of that math certification to teach some applied math courses as well as nerdy schmerdy technology-based engineering. Great, right? Yes, except that he got the job and immediately had to get on a plane to New Hampshire for a week-long conference on said software.
"Oh, bloody hellll."
The truth is, just like the pee, it is not the end of the world. If my house is covered in "Oh, bloody hellll" for the next year, it will get cleaned up. Every single month is a practice for the heart and the mind.
Oh, did you think I was talking about HER? Ohhhhh, no. I was talking about me. I am supposed to be playing this down. I am supposed to help her find a way to repair the hurtful choices and move along. I am supposed to be doing this while my own hormonal challenges are lined up so beautifully in sync with the other two cycles in the house.
Yet, if I can't do it ... me, the person who was raised in a home full of normal chaos and oodles of love and encouragement and support and attachment from the very first day ... if I can't do it, then how the "Oh, bloody hellll" am I supposed to expect her to?
Say it with me in your crappiest British accent ...
"Oh. bloody. hellll."
(photo by Billy Alexander, used with permission)
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Dude, you stink - eat this!
Did you know that your diet can make you stink?
Sure, we all know the gaseous issues that come with certain foods. There is the also the belching. Yet, have you ever stopped to ponder the pits? No? Well, join me, today, as we think about the history of our underarms and what we might be doing to make them disgusting.
I sweat. I sweat a lot. I have many times joked that I'm none too happy with my father, because the things I got from him were his nose, and his ability to sweat beyond belief. Perspiration has long been a problem for me. Thus, the stench of it has also been an issue. Throw on some massive deodorant products, and I then started to battle crusty, chemically coated armpits in each and every top and dress I have owned.
One day I thought to myself sweaty self, "Sweaty Self, you sweat. You will always sweat. Even antiperspirants do not stop the sweating. However, they do muck up your clothing. Not to mention, you are caking chemicals onto your body. Boo. So, perhaps it's time to just focus on the smell and stop with this losing battle of drippy pits."
And I did. I was super happy. I had always been the chic with the sweat rings, but now I wore them proudly. They weren't going anywhere. I knew that sweating was good for me, so I did it - well! I tried the deodorant crystal, but still had some odor. Not every day, but on the "bad days" I could knock someone over. I then made my own deodorant cream, fell madly in love, and have never turned back. I have not touched store bought deodorant in over two years. Meet my magic:
Christine's Homemade Deodorant
1 TB baking soda
1 TB cornstarch
1 TB olive oil
1 TB shea butter (optional)
5-10 drops of essential oil (optional)
I added the shea butter over a year ago. I would get a little red and splotchy with my original concoction, and the shea butter keeps me all smooth and splotch-free. I do occasionally substitute the olive oil entirely with the shea butter. Depends on the season, the day and the mood. One batch always lasts me about two months. A little goes a very long way.
Okay, I have caught you up. NOW, let me tell you about the other changes I have seen this past year.
My diet directly affects my stinkage.
Seriously. Garbage in, fart/sweat out.
I used to believe what I was told - the actual smell comes from bacteria on our skin. Just believed it. Never actually thought about it or considered challenging this theory.
I got out of the habit of putting on deodorant every morning. Instead, I only put it on if I noticed that I needed it. Then, the more vegetarian and vegan we ate, the less and less and less I used my cream. I would go days. A few weeks ago, as I ran across others discussing the same things, I started to pay attention to my stinky days. And wadda' ya' know? They directly correlate to consuming processed products, dairy or meat. If we had an extremely stressful week and ate out a lot, or if we had treated ourselves too much ... out came the deo.
"Conventional doctors like to say it's due to bacteria living in your armpits. But that's ridiculous: our entire bodies are covered with bacteria, not just our armpits," says Mike Adams, the Health Ranger Editor of NaturalNews.com.
Hey, that makes sense!
Okay, so we know that our diets affect our weight, our hearts/blood sugar, our libido and our depression/anxiety.
Now we know it affects our pits.
You are what you eat. Literally.
Sure, we all know the gaseous issues that come with certain foods. There is the also the belching. Yet, have you ever stopped to ponder the pits? No? Well, join me, today, as we think about the history of our underarms and what we might be doing to make them disgusting.
I sweat. I sweat a lot. I have many times joked that I'm none too happy with my father, because the things I got from him were his nose, and his ability to sweat beyond belief. Perspiration has long been a problem for me. Thus, the stench of it has also been an issue. Throw on some massive deodorant products, and I then started to battle crusty, chemically coated armpits in each and every top and dress I have owned.
One day I thought to myself sweaty self, "Sweaty Self, you sweat. You will always sweat. Even antiperspirants do not stop the sweating. However, they do muck up your clothing. Not to mention, you are caking chemicals onto your body. Boo. So, perhaps it's time to just focus on the smell and stop with this losing battle of drippy pits."
And I did. I was super happy. I had always been the chic with the sweat rings, but now I wore them proudly. They weren't going anywhere. I knew that sweating was good for me, so I did it - well! I tried the deodorant crystal, but still had some odor. Not every day, but on the "bad days" I could knock someone over. I then made my own deodorant cream, fell madly in love, and have never turned back. I have not touched store bought deodorant in over two years. Meet my magic:
1 TB baking soda
1 TB cornstarch
1 TB olive oil
1 TB shea butter (optional)
5-10 drops of essential oil (optional)
I added the shea butter over a year ago. I would get a little red and splotchy with my original concoction, and the shea butter keeps me all smooth and splotch-free. I do occasionally substitute the olive oil entirely with the shea butter. Depends on the season, the day and the mood. One batch always lasts me about two months. A little goes a very long way.
Okay, I have caught you up. NOW, let me tell you about the other changes I have seen this past year.
My diet directly affects my stinkage.Seriously. Garbage in, fart/sweat out.
I used to believe what I was told - the actual smell comes from bacteria on our skin. Just believed it. Never actually thought about it or considered challenging this theory.
I got out of the habit of putting on deodorant every morning. Instead, I only put it on if I noticed that I needed it. Then, the more vegetarian and vegan we ate, the less and less and less I used my cream. I would go days. A few weeks ago, as I ran across others discussing the same things, I started to pay attention to my stinky days. And wadda' ya' know? They directly correlate to consuming processed products, dairy or meat. If we had an extremely stressful week and ate out a lot, or if we had treated ourselves too much ... out came the deo.
"Conventional doctors like to say it's due to bacteria living in your armpits. But that's ridiculous: our entire bodies are covered with bacteria, not just our armpits," says Mike Adams, the Health Ranger Editor of NaturalNews.com.
Hey, that makes sense!
Okay, so we know that our diets affect our weight, our hearts/blood sugar, our libido and our depression/anxiety.
Now we know it affects our pits.
You are what you eat. Literally.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
And you thought your PMS was bad ...
If you read much about attachment disorder, you will start to find a theme. It is a really big deal if a child can receive treatment and start to heal before they reach puberty. We knew it. We knew our kids who had come from the hardest places had a fairly small window and we had to get crackin'.
And now ... I know why.
Hormones can crater a traumatized child. Hormones are the thickest, clearest most deeply manifested reminder of all shame and big, bad feelings they have ever experienced.
When you're female, they also spike monthly.
Ohhhhh, and when all the females in the house are on the same cycle, that means that the therapeutic mom is also having her worst week at the very moment the therapeutic parenting is needed most.
This is not pretty, folks. Not pretty.
For all of you that actually read the positive things I'm able to pull off and blow over the reality of me pacing myself, have no fear! I AM HUMAN!
Therapeutic parenting is supposed to lack sarcasm. Christine's hormones actually consist of 98.8889% sarcasm. It's true. Scientists have actually extracted my hormones and run tests. Seriously. I'm not being sarcastic!
In the last 48 hours I may or may not have:
* suggested she not pile wood outside her window for running away, but instead just jump to the ground - ya' know - making it harder to come back.
* knowingly copied the crying and fit throwing, NOT in a therapeutic way, but in a way that can only be described as "You big, whiny baby, let me give you a taste of your own medicine" - and enjoyed every second of it.
* yelled through the house, "Kids, it's gonna' be another five minutes before we can do that. Your sister is not quite done hating herself just yet."
* when she, in a fit of rage, broke a ceramic "princess" decoration I bought for her, I remarked to her later, "Yeeaaaah, that's about right."
The truth is that we are asked to be super human parents to these kids even on our good days. There are times we totally screw up. There are times we have to pick up the pieces and apologize. There are times (like today), when we will say, "You do what you need to do and I'll do what I need to do today - and never the twain shall meet. See you at supper." THAT is how you pace yourself. Some times, no matter how good you get at this, no matter how hard you try to set everyone up for success, the universe and phases of the moon come crashing together into a toxic soup of stress.
So, you wake up, blog about it, and try again.
We are adding some B6 and magnesium to our regiment. We have already taken some other medicinal steps to better regulate her system. Part of it will just be time. Each month she'll just be practicing feeling what she is feeling, and very slowly attempting to stay regulated in the midst of it. The only way I can describe it is that it is similar to the earliest days, but now in short bursts each month.
As I told someone yesterday, I'll get through this next phase of growth, development and healing and have tons of stuff to pass along to the rest of you when you get there. :)
(photo by Gary Mcinnes, used with permission)
And now ... I know why.
Hormones can crater a traumatized child. Hormones are the thickest, clearest most deeply manifested reminder of all shame and big, bad feelings they have ever experienced.When you're female, they also spike monthly.
Ohhhhh, and when all the females in the house are on the same cycle, that means that the therapeutic mom is also having her worst week at the very moment the therapeutic parenting is needed most.
This is not pretty, folks. Not pretty.
For all of you that actually read the positive things I'm able to pull off and blow over the reality of me pacing myself, have no fear! I AM HUMAN!
Therapeutic parenting is supposed to lack sarcasm. Christine's hormones actually consist of 98.8889% sarcasm. It's true. Scientists have actually extracted my hormones and run tests. Seriously. I'm not being sarcastic!
In the last 48 hours I may or may not have:
* suggested she not pile wood outside her window for running away, but instead just jump to the ground - ya' know - making it harder to come back.
* knowingly copied the crying and fit throwing, NOT in a therapeutic way, but in a way that can only be described as "You big, whiny baby, let me give you a taste of your own medicine" - and enjoyed every second of it.
* yelled through the house, "Kids, it's gonna' be another five minutes before we can do that. Your sister is not quite done hating herself just yet."
* when she, in a fit of rage, broke a ceramic "princess" decoration I bought for her, I remarked to her later, "Yeeaaaah, that's about right."
The truth is that we are asked to be super human parents to these kids even on our good days. There are times we totally screw up. There are times we have to pick up the pieces and apologize. There are times (like today), when we will say, "You do what you need to do and I'll do what I need to do today - and never the twain shall meet. See you at supper." THAT is how you pace yourself. Some times, no matter how good you get at this, no matter how hard you try to set everyone up for success, the universe and phases of the moon come crashing together into a toxic soup of stress.
So, you wake up, blog about it, and try again.
We are adding some B6 and magnesium to our regiment. We have already taken some other medicinal steps to better regulate her system. Part of it will just be time. Each month she'll just be practicing feeling what she is feeling, and very slowly attempting to stay regulated in the midst of it. The only way I can describe it is that it is similar to the earliest days, but now in short bursts each month.
As I told someone yesterday, I'll get through this next phase of growth, development and healing and have tons of stuff to pass along to the rest of you when you get there. :)
(photo by Gary Mcinnes, used with permission)
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Magical Milk Pic-o-the-Week
"Overheard: 'Breastfeeding is gross, especially in public, it is akin to urinating on the street corner in plain sight.'"
Photo by Rachel Valley: "When I created this photo exhibition, it was my goal to simply to have people see women nursing (since it is rarely seen in the West). It turned into this collection."
Thank you, Rachel, for allowing me to share your work. It is amazing and poignant.
I will share more of her photos in the weeks and months to come. Remember, you can send me your own Magical Milk pics via email: christinemoers [at] hotmail [dot] com
Friday, July 16, 2010
Letting my dready freak flag fly
Today my dreads are 8 months and 1 day old.
I love them more every day.
I love how they go from flat and tame to frizzy-freak-out overnight.
I love thinking about them and I love not having to think about them.
I love how I still sometimes have to stare at myself in the mirror to let it sink in - "Wow. I actually have dreads. I actually did it."
I love how easy it is for me to accept them exactly the way they are, in their natural state, as they slowly twist and turn and find their way into a nice, tight lock.
I know that not everyone gets it. I know not everyone wants it. I know plenty of people think it's the nastiest, craziest, most unkempt ... anything.
But oh my holy cow, I love them. They complete me.
(many thanks to my long-time friend, Stephanie Kimbrough, for sending me this pic she grabbed at our All-School Reunion - Steph is really itching for her own head of dreads)
I love them more every day.
I love how they go from flat and tame to frizzy-freak-out overnight.
I love thinking about them and I love not having to think about them.
I love how I still sometimes have to stare at myself in the mirror to let it sink in - "Wow. I actually have dreads. I actually did it."
I love how easy it is for me to accept them exactly the way they are, in their natural state, as they slowly twist and turn and find their way into a nice, tight lock.
I know that not everyone gets it. I know not everyone wants it. I know plenty of people think it's the nastiest, craziest, most unkempt ... anything.
But oh my holy cow, I love them. They complete me.
(many thanks to my long-time friend, Stephanie Kimbrough, for sending me this pic she grabbed at our All-School Reunion - Steph is really itching for her own head of dreads)
The gift of decluttering
Simplifying the crap in your life takes a massive amount of effort.
Keeping it that way can take a sheer act of God.
Not acquiring even more stuff along the way that you still don't need (despite what the nice lady on television or your peers tell you), takes a deliberate effort.
Everything in our country works directly against simplification. We are raised to be consumers, instead of producers.
Consumer or a producer? This isn't the kind of question I have asked myself once. Regularly I stop and evaluate, "Which one am I, right now? Which one do I do more of with my time and my energy? When I am consuming, is it consumption of things that will disappear quickly or land in a dumpster somewhere ... or am I sucking up renewable resources like happiness and love and laughter and conversation?"
When you force yourself to work through those questions, you have set yourself up for the absolute necessity to declutter, ya' know ... if you still plan to live with yourself.
It's the sentimental items that get most people's goats. I have worked my way through most of mine, and realized I don't need 12 objects to remember one person or one event in my life. In a land of Netflix, that DVD collection is losing its significance. Most media can be digitized and even stored online.
Nancy McGivney, a professional organizer and owner of Getting Things Done, suggests taking a picture of the objects you are having a difficult time parting with. I love that idea. You can digitize it (no more wasting space) and you can pass it on to someone who needs it and will use it right now. You are letting it go physically, holding on to the visual memory, yet passing it on to better care for yourself, others and the planet. Beautiful.
SIDE NOTE: If you are going to donate your extra's, make sure you know where they are going. Be deliberate about it. Find out why some thrift stores will not send clothes to "developing nations" - for the greater good.
I have to declutter fairly often. I swear, my kids crap clutter. Even they were shocked to face the truth of how they hold on to every little thing without a thought as to how it is suffocating the entire house or family experience.
Case in point: four of the kids and I went out to tackle the minivan this week. Everyone was armed with cleaning spray, an old cloth and a trash sack. One of my son's declared, "Okay, my spot is looking good!" I suggested he might want to bend down and look under that seat. He was mortified. We were all a little nervous that we might, indeed, have another family member that we were going to unearth in the middle of all of the old crayons, trinkity toys and bits of paper from Scout meetings and long trips.
Thankfully, there were no extra humans or animals discovered in the process. Nope. But the kids discovered that they smiled more and felt a new sense of energy being surrounded by one another, instead of so much ... stuff.
Some good helps:
Fly Lady's Declutter Fly Lesson
The DeClutter Project: Heirlooms and Sentimental Items
Zen Mind: How to DeClutter
Mommy Savers discussion on decluttering sentimental items
(photo by michael lorenzo, used with permission)
Keeping it that way can take a sheer act of God.
Not acquiring even more stuff along the way that you still don't need (despite what the nice lady on television or your peers tell you), takes a deliberate effort.
Everything in our country works directly against simplification. We are raised to be consumers, instead of producers.
Consumer or a producer? This isn't the kind of question I have asked myself once. Regularly I stop and evaluate, "Which one am I, right now? Which one do I do more of with my time and my energy? When I am consuming, is it consumption of things that will disappear quickly or land in a dumpster somewhere ... or am I sucking up renewable resources like happiness and love and laughter and conversation?"
When you force yourself to work through those questions, you have set yourself up for the absolute necessity to declutter, ya' know ... if you still plan to live with yourself.
It's the sentimental items that get most people's goats. I have worked my way through most of mine, and realized I don't need 12 objects to remember one person or one event in my life. In a land of Netflix, that DVD collection is losing its significance. Most media can be digitized and even stored online.
Nancy McGivney, a professional organizer and owner of Getting Things Done, suggests taking a picture of the objects you are having a difficult time parting with. I love that idea. You can digitize it (no more wasting space) and you can pass it on to someone who needs it and will use it right now. You are letting it go physically, holding on to the visual memory, yet passing it on to better care for yourself, others and the planet. Beautiful.SIDE NOTE: If you are going to donate your extra's, make sure you know where they are going. Be deliberate about it. Find out why some thrift stores will not send clothes to "developing nations" - for the greater good.
I have to declutter fairly often. I swear, my kids crap clutter. Even they were shocked to face the truth of how they hold on to every little thing without a thought as to how it is suffocating the entire house or family experience.
Case in point: four of the kids and I went out to tackle the minivan this week. Everyone was armed with cleaning spray, an old cloth and a trash sack. One of my son's declared, "Okay, my spot is looking good!" I suggested he might want to bend down and look under that seat. He was mortified. We were all a little nervous that we might, indeed, have another family member that we were going to unearth in the middle of all of the old crayons, trinkity toys and bits of paper from Scout meetings and long trips.
Thankfully, there were no extra humans or animals discovered in the process. Nope. But the kids discovered that they smiled more and felt a new sense of energy being surrounded by one another, instead of so much ... stuff.
Some good helps:
Fly Lady's Declutter Fly Lesson
The DeClutter Project: Heirlooms and Sentimental Items
Zen Mind: How to DeClutter
Mommy Savers discussion on decluttering sentimental items
(photo by michael lorenzo, used with permission)
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
I love to spend the night with people I've never met
One of my favorite things about this whole blogging thing is the people.
Yes, I'm a broken record. People, people, people. I just loooove me some people. Not all at the same time, but seriously - the world is a lovely place overall.
So, as it happens with many of you delightful lovelies out there, I build some friendships via digital means and social networking. Some of you have been there to carry me. Some of you have let me carry you. Yet others ... well, we just click. We share some stuff, some history, some really unique things.
That's my Annie. We have always had a lot to talk about. We have some shared experiences and understanding of one another which has caused us to always keep gravitating together.
Being the very conservative, withdrawn person I am (*cough*), when I mentioned I would be in Austin last week, and she said, "You should spend the night at our place!" ... I, of course, said, "OKAY! Oh, but I can't be there until after 11 pm."
Yup. Meeting she and Helen for the very first time, and I don't cross their threshold until late into the evening! I couldn't help myself, though. We had been dying to bring our friendship into flesh-and-blood for such a long time. They were both so unbelievably gracious. Their sweet daughter was scrumb-diddly-icious. They are expecting a baby boy in just 10 weeks - whoop! It was just so very, very rich.
I guess this post has three points:
#1 - to serve as a massive THANK YOU to Anne and Helen and Jude for sharing themselves and their home with me.
#2 - I wanted to pimp their blog "We are Fambly" because it's a fun read.
and
#3 - as a warning to be careful when you offer to meet me by having me spend the night at your house. I will totally take you up on it ... even if I'm not arriving until after God has gone to bed.
Yes, I'm a broken record. People, people, people. I just loooove me some people. Not all at the same time, but seriously - the world is a lovely place overall.
So, as it happens with many of you delightful lovelies out there, I build some friendships via digital means and social networking. Some of you have been there to carry me. Some of you have let me carry you. Yet others ... well, we just click. We share some stuff, some history, some really unique things.
That's my Annie. We have always had a lot to talk about. We have some shared experiences and understanding of one another which has caused us to always keep gravitating together.
Being the very conservative, withdrawn person I am (*cough*), when I mentioned I would be in Austin last week, and she said, "You should spend the night at our place!" ... I, of course, said, "OKAY! Oh, but I can't be there until after 11 pm."
Yup. Meeting she and Helen for the very first time, and I don't cross their threshold until late into the evening! I couldn't help myself, though. We had been dying to bring our friendship into flesh-and-blood for such a long time. They were both so unbelievably gracious. Their sweet daughter was scrumb-diddly-icious. They are expecting a baby boy in just 10 weeks - whoop! It was just so very, very rich.
I guess this post has three points:
#1 - to serve as a massive THANK YOU to Anne and Helen and Jude for sharing themselves and their home with me.
#2 - I wanted to pimp their blog "We are Fambly" because it's a fun read.
and
#3 - as a warning to be careful when you offer to meet me by having me spend the night at your house. I will totally take you up on it ... even if I'm not arriving until after God has gone to bed.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Magical Milk Pic-o-the-Week
"This is a picture of my fourth kiddo nursing! We got off to a really rough start but have managed to breastfeed against all odds and at 17 months she is still nursing ALL THE TIME and obviously with lots of style!!!"
(photo by Anne)
Submit your Magical Milk Pic to christinemoers [at] hotmail [dot] com
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Pixar, I've got a bone to pick with you
*slight spoiler alert*
Last Monday we loaded up the crew for a fun-filled day of eating out and blowing through a movie theater gift card like it was nothing. We splurged (cause it was paid for) to see Toy Story 3 in 3D. Everyone was thrilled. We looked like dorks in our Buddy Holly glasses. We ate a big lunch so as not to spend a dime on the made-of-gold-priced concessions.
It was a Moers Holiday Extravaganza!
The movie really was great, except for the part where the big, mean bear's story was revealed, and music swelled as we learned he was ABANDONED on the side of the road and easily REPLACED by another, newer bear and had remained BITTER AND ANGRY ever since and continued to be a hurt person that HURT OTHERS.
In that moment, I saw the next few days flashing before my eyes.
I purposefully had some discussions with my two youngest adopted children the next morning, about adoption in general. I knew their hearts may be sensitive. My older child via adoption started to act out. I did not jump on that one right away, because he processes these things much more quickly and successfully than the other two. Didn't see it coming. At some point I do recall getting the "I HATE YOU!" and a slamming door. He came back in within about an hour and immediately told me what it was, and very clearly stated the above scene and why it hurt him so much to watch it.
And what did I do? I actually thought that might be it. I actually bopped along today, assuming the discussions we had were all that Mar needed.
Oh, my stupidity even amazes ME sometimes.
By dinner time, she was in all-out, "Please notice I'm acting out!" mode. So, I did. I noticed. There was much slamming of doors and one broken glass and plenty of other things thrown around (we'll assess any more damages tomorrow). She could NOT come in and describe the above scene. Not even close. So, I decided to help her, "Honey, if you're feeling a little more calm, would you like to talk about the movie?"
Stupid, Christine. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I could see this had thrown her into Backward World. What I should have said immediately was, "I bet you really hated the part with the bear, huh?" I finally did. Much later. Michael and I finally just sat in some lawn chairs outside where she had been throwing bottles and smashing up an old toilet.
"You are acting as though you might like to be restrained. Would you rather have a hug?"
"No."
"Do you want to be restrained, so you can have some touch?"
"No."
"Would you like to hold my hand?"
"No."
"Could I just make kissy faces at you?"
Boom. Totally got a smile.
More talking and finally just saying the words for her ... and we were done with the tirade. Michael shared a lot of examples of people we know who also hurt over their situation, their adoptions, their family structure. Emphasized that she is not the only one, and that she is loved, and that her situation is very, very painful.
Then we came inside. She cleaned up the broken glass. She gave me $2 to replace it. She gave us our kisses and hugs and went to bed.
*sigh*
Now, the reality of our situation is that this movie certainly was a trigger for our kids. However, both of them verbalized how they want to see movies, even when there are themes that may take some processing for them. We are at a point in their healing where we are guiding them to do that more on their own. We are exposing them to more things and then working through it together.
So, okay. I'm not totally mad at Pixar. In fact, I'm wondering if a bunch of you have been blogging warnings about the MAJOR abandonment issues in that flick, and I had my head stuck up my butt. We would have seen it anyway, but the discussion would have started BEFORE the movie. Once we have already seen it, and the trigger has occurred, it is much more difficult to have the conversation.
Hind sight.
I've still got one more kid who may need to blow tomorrow. We'll see ...
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Last Monday we loaded up the crew for a fun-filled day of eating out and blowing through a movie theater gift card like it was nothing. We splurged (cause it was paid for) to see Toy Story 3 in 3D. Everyone was thrilled. We looked like dorks in our Buddy Holly glasses. We ate a big lunch so as not to spend a dime on the made-of-gold-priced concessions.
It was a Moers Holiday Extravaganza!
The movie really was great, except for the part where the big, mean bear's story was revealed, and music swelled as we learned he was ABANDONED on the side of the road and easily REPLACED by another, newer bear and had remained BITTER AND ANGRY ever since and continued to be a hurt person that HURT OTHERS.
In that moment, I saw the next few days flashing before my eyes.
I purposefully had some discussions with my two youngest adopted children the next morning, about adoption in general. I knew their hearts may be sensitive. My older child via adoption started to act out. I did not jump on that one right away, because he processes these things much more quickly and successfully than the other two. Didn't see it coming. At some point I do recall getting the "I HATE YOU!" and a slamming door. He came back in within about an hour and immediately told me what it was, and very clearly stated the above scene and why it hurt him so much to watch it.
And what did I do? I actually thought that might be it. I actually bopped along today, assuming the discussions we had were all that Mar needed.
Oh, my stupidity even amazes ME sometimes.
By dinner time, she was in all-out, "Please notice I'm acting out!" mode. So, I did. I noticed. There was much slamming of doors and one broken glass and plenty of other things thrown around (we'll assess any more damages tomorrow). She could NOT come in and describe the above scene. Not even close. So, I decided to help her, "Honey, if you're feeling a little more calm, would you like to talk about the movie?"
Stupid, Christine. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I could see this had thrown her into Backward World. What I should have said immediately was, "I bet you really hated the part with the bear, huh?" I finally did. Much later. Michael and I finally just sat in some lawn chairs outside where she had been throwing bottles and smashing up an old toilet.
"You are acting as though you might like to be restrained. Would you rather have a hug?"
"No."
"Do you want to be restrained, so you can have some touch?"
"No."
"Would you like to hold my hand?"
"No."
"Could I just make kissy faces at you?"
Boom. Totally got a smile.
More talking and finally just saying the words for her ... and we were done with the tirade. Michael shared a lot of examples of people we know who also hurt over their situation, their adoptions, their family structure. Emphasized that she is not the only one, and that she is loved, and that her situation is very, very painful.
Then we came inside. She cleaned up the broken glass. She gave me $2 to replace it. She gave us our kisses and hugs and went to bed.
*sigh*
Now, the reality of our situation is that this movie certainly was a trigger for our kids. However, both of them verbalized how they want to see movies, even when there are themes that may take some processing for them. We are at a point in their healing where we are guiding them to do that more on their own. We are exposing them to more things and then working through it together.
So, okay. I'm not totally mad at Pixar. In fact, I'm wondering if a bunch of you have been blogging warnings about the MAJOR abandonment issues in that flick, and I had my head stuck up my butt. We would have seen it anyway, but the discussion would have started BEFORE the movie. Once we have already seen it, and the trigger has occurred, it is much more difficult to have the conversation.
Hind sight.
I've still got one more kid who may need to blow tomorrow. We'll see ...
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
One month to BlogHer 2010, and why I'm one of the "Her's"
I may be dumb, but I ain't stupid.When I finally do work my tail off to be able to afford, plan and coordinate my first trip to the BlogHer conference, I do it when it is in New York City.
Who else is making the trip? There are a handful of people I have known online for years, and will finally get to see their pores and let them accidentally spit on me in mid belly laugh. Very exciting. I'm wondering who else is out there I will bump into at the snack table (FYI: looking for Christine? SNACK TABLE!).
I do not actually blog much about BlogHer (that's a mouthful), but it is a network that I have been with for years and have absolutely no reason to leave. It is obvious that I allow their ads to run over there on the right side of the page. In fact, BlogHer is the only paid advertisement I have ever put on my blog. They truly work to support women bloggers by paying working wages for ads, writing and reviews. I do not make much on my ads because I don't have thousands of readers a day. However, it is something, and it is absolutely appropriate for my level of traffic. Not to mention, I have really grown to love, appreciate and respect the women who oversee my projects at BlogHer. I also have a say in what does and does not run on my page. I have always been treated with value, even though I would be considered one of the smaller blogs.
So, I'm going to finally move this little business venture into real life. I'll get to learn a few things from others. Hug some virtual friends. Make some new friends. Make a meal out of munchies as I go cocktail party hopping (do you actually think I will pay to eat dinner in NYC?).
Again ... Momma' didn't raise no dummy.
Let me know if we'll be bumping into each other. I wasn't even sure I was ready to make it work this year, but Kristen Howerton was kind enough to
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Christine's Fancy Pants Almost-Vegan Enchiladas
Please do not be jealous and super impressed. You can't all be as dedicated in the kitchen as I am. I'm just way better than all of you. We must accept reality. So, here goes:
Christine's Fancy Pants Almost-Vegan Enchiladas
Ingredients
1 package of corn tortillas (30 ... or 36 ... whatever)
3 cans of enchilada sauce (we do mild, because we're a bunch of weanies)
3 bags of Veggie Shreds*
Preheat oven to 350. Take a pizza cutter and slice the tortillas into fourths. You can do this with about 20 at a time. You now have three "things" - tortillas, sauce and shreds. You will divide each "thing" into thirds. Then throw three layers into a 9 x 13 pan. Tortillas, sauce, then shreds ... lather, rinse, repeat.
Let it sit about 10 minutes so the tortillas can soak up the saucy goodness.
Put in the oven for about 20 minutes, til all is hot and melted.
That's what she said.
*Veggie Shreds contain casein, which is a dried milk protein, so they cannot be considered 100% vegan - although still a SUPER alternative to cheese*
Christine's Fancy Pants Almost-Vegan Enchiladas
Ingredients
1 package of corn tortillas (30 ... or 36 ... whatever)
3 cans of enchilada sauce (we do mild, because we're a bunch of weanies)
3 bags of Veggie Shreds*
Preheat oven to 350. Take a pizza cutter and slice the tortillas into fourths. You can do this with about 20 at a time. You now have three "things" - tortillas, sauce and shreds. You will divide each "thing" into thirds. Then throw three layers into a 9 x 13 pan. Tortillas, sauce, then shreds ... lather, rinse, repeat.
Let it sit about 10 minutes so the tortillas can soak up the saucy goodness.
Put in the oven for about 20 minutes, til all is hot and melted.
That's what she said.
*Veggie Shreds contain casein, which is a dried milk protein, so they cannot be considered 100% vegan - although still a SUPER alternative to cheese*
Saturday, July 03, 2010
How, exactly, did my birthday go?
We are five days past B-Day.
Here comes the big question. The one I have refused to answer. The emails I am ignoring (yes, I am ignoring you).
How did it go? Did the trauma screw it up? Did you awaken to a house full of pee and nonsense questions and lying?
No.
Okay, wait. Maybe you didn't catch that. I'll try it again.
No.
I feel safe to go ahead and say it now. All mothers who parent trauma know that if you talk about the good days out loud, you have then destined yourself to a giant crash and burn. That's cool. Bring it. It will be worth it because I GOT MY BIRTHDAY.
AND ... the day after my birthday, my still-struggling-pretty-heavily kid clogged one toilet. Not even really clogged. Just put toilet paper in there on purpose (after finishing up her chores - oh, crap, yep - we do chores, too - when I screw over a label, I REALLY screw over a label!). Anywho, it was very easily flushable. She just really wanted to do something and get caught.
So, she did. And she did. And I said, "HEY! A late birthday present! Cool! What would you like to do to repair it?" We agreed together that she would walk the trash down to the dumpster and clean up the few dishes sitting on the cabinet.
And she did.
And she was done.
When she was working on the dishes, we started to talk. I asked her about the big elephant in the room. "Honey, why would you do that today, when you could have easily done it yesterday?"
*Note to other moms - we are very far along in the healing process. This conversation would have been a joke a year ago. She is healing. I have been home full time, doing purposeful attachment/therapeutic parenting, bonding activities, and touch out the whazoo, ongoing for two years. Don't get discouraged if you're not there. Let it kick your butt to keep doing the work, and focus on bonding - not on the behavior.*
Alright, where was I? Oh, right, "Honey, why would you do that today, when you could have easily done it yesterday?" It took a good 60 seconds for her to answer this question honestly. There was a lot of hemming and hawing and a few mumbled not-quite-the-truth's. I did what she needed. I kept my mouth shut and waited. Then ... out it came.
"I wanted you to have your birthday."
Was there a great amount of shouting and dancing and whooping? Oh, you betcha'.
*Another note to other moms - she could not always handle this amount of praise. Once upon a time, it would actually trigger her shame and she would crater. This is a newer thing for us, because we tried it in dabbles and realized her heart can hear it now. We oozed into it. Some of your kids aren't there yet, so keep it more matter-of-fact, if necessary, when they cross a giant mountain.*
That one little sentence: "I wanted you to have your birthday."
BEST BIRTHDAY GIFT EVER.
In the history of ever.
Speaking of history ...
Last year Mar still had a door alarm. That has been gone for almost eight months, without a need to put it back on. Last year, the day after my birthday, I wrote "Talking it out ... again." However, note I refer to "old school behaviors." Know what that means? It means that she was having enough good days that some of the craziness seemed "old school!"
Two years ago, Mar was still honeymooning quite a bit (although, we didn't think she was - oh boy, did we not know what was around the corner). Rocky's PTSD was in full swing. We were still in the middle of deliberate cuddle time (even bottle feeding with Mar, then-8-years-old) and 10 minutes a day of bonding activities that involved insane amounts of touch. I wrote "A little RAD bonding" the night before my birthday. They say the average person has to be doing therapeutic parenting a full six months, before they feel like they are really clicking with it. This post was just two months in. I was but a wee pup. Still several months before we put an alarm on a door or had to restrain anyone. I was getting a good dose of the rages already.
I'm sure one-year-ago Christine would totally shoot the bird at two-years-ago Christine. This year's Christine just wants to hug them both, shove some chocolate in their mouths and say, "I will not let you give up!"
Here comes the big question. The one I have refused to answer. The emails I am ignoring (yes, I am ignoring you).
How did it go? Did the trauma screw it up? Did you awaken to a house full of pee and nonsense questions and lying?
No.
Okay, wait. Maybe you didn't catch that. I'll try it again.
No.
I feel safe to go ahead and say it now. All mothers who parent trauma know that if you talk about the good days out loud, you have then destined yourself to a giant crash and burn. That's cool. Bring it. It will be worth it because I GOT MY BIRTHDAY.
AND ... the day after my birthday, my still-struggling-pretty-heavily kid clogged one toilet. Not even really clogged. Just put toilet paper in there on purpose (after finishing up her chores - oh, crap, yep - we do chores, too - when I screw over a label, I REALLY screw over a label!). Anywho, it was very easily flushable. She just really wanted to do something and get caught.
So, she did. And she did. And I said, "HEY! A late birthday present! Cool! What would you like to do to repair it?" We agreed together that she would walk the trash down to the dumpster and clean up the few dishes sitting on the cabinet.
And she did.
And she was done.
When she was working on the dishes, we started to talk. I asked her about the big elephant in the room. "Honey, why would you do that today, when you could have easily done it yesterday?"
*Note to other moms - we are very far along in the healing process. This conversation would have been a joke a year ago. She is healing. I have been home full time, doing purposeful attachment/therapeutic parenting, bonding activities, and touch out the whazoo, ongoing for two years. Don't get discouraged if you're not there. Let it kick your butt to keep doing the work, and focus on bonding - not on the behavior.*
Alright, where was I? Oh, right, "Honey, why would you do that today, when you could have easily done it yesterday?" It took a good 60 seconds for her to answer this question honestly. There was a lot of hemming and hawing and a few mumbled not-quite-the-truth's. I did what she needed. I kept my mouth shut and waited. Then ... out it came.
"I wanted you to have your birthday."
Was there a great amount of shouting and dancing and whooping? Oh, you betcha'.
*Another note to other moms - she could not always handle this amount of praise. Once upon a time, it would actually trigger her shame and she would crater. This is a newer thing for us, because we tried it in dabbles and realized her heart can hear it now. We oozed into it. Some of your kids aren't there yet, so keep it more matter-of-fact, if necessary, when they cross a giant mountain.*
That one little sentence: "I wanted you to have your birthday."
BEST BIRTHDAY GIFT EVER.
In the history of ever.
Speaking of history ...
Last year Mar still had a door alarm. That has been gone for almost eight months, without a need to put it back on. Last year, the day after my birthday, I wrote "Talking it out ... again." However, note I refer to "old school behaviors." Know what that means? It means that she was having enough good days that some of the craziness seemed "old school!"
Two years ago, Mar was still honeymooning quite a bit (although, we didn't think she was - oh boy, did we not know what was around the corner). Rocky's PTSD was in full swing. We were still in the middle of deliberate cuddle time (even bottle feeding with Mar, then-8-years-old) and 10 minutes a day of bonding activities that involved insane amounts of touch. I wrote "A little RAD bonding" the night before my birthday. They say the average person has to be doing therapeutic parenting a full six months, before they feel like they are really clicking with it. This post was just two months in. I was but a wee pup. Still several months before we put an alarm on a door or had to restrain anyone. I was getting a good dose of the rages already.
I'm sure one-year-ago Christine would totally shoot the bird at two-years-ago Christine. This year's Christine just wants to hug them both, shove some chocolate in their mouths and say, "I will not let you give up!"
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Taking your life down a notch ... or twelve
If there is one consistent thing about my life, it has been that it has changed ... a lot.
In some ways, I have done a full circle and just landed right back where it all started.
As a child, we had little. We had so very little. Yet, it just wasn't that big of a deal. There were times that I worked extra hard to buy things off the clearance rack at Express to try to somehow, sorta' keep up with what other people were wearing. Of course, I lived in a tiny town, and we were all a little behind anyway. So, it all seemed to balance out.
During my freshman year of college, I found myself stranded in my hometown, after driving up one night to work a little part time job (if you knew my car, you would understand why). I called a friend from college to pick me up. She came from extreme wealth. I didn't really understand that, at the time. I just didn't pay attention to what people had on, or their car. I mean, it was a car. It was a shirt. It was a purse. Who made it? I didn't know. I didn't really care.
I didn't think twice about driving her around town before we went back. I wanted to show her my old houses and stomping grounds. She was mortified. She was actually disgusted and mortified. I'll never forget the look on her face when she said, "You said you were poor, but I didn't know ... like you were THIS poor."
I didn't know either. Even after she said it, I didn't know! I couldn't see what she was seeing.
Fast forward to my early married days. My husband and I started to go out on one outlandish date a month. No kids. No sitter to pay. Just blowing money on overpriced food and pretentious atmospheres. I had two different jobs during those early days where my bosses had a lot of money and a lot of prestige. So, I rode a lot of coattails into meetings at the finest places in town. I helped to set up the brunches at the homes of the infamously wealthy. So, yeah, I was throwing away trash at the end of the function, but I got to be a part of it. I started to get a little lost in it. I started to want it.
I started to actually think about whether or not my brows lined up or my toenails had fresh polish or my heels were ashy or roots were touched up. I paid attention to whether or not the heels of my basic black boots were square or pointy (depending on what was "in" that year). Oh GAWWWWWD, I did. I can recall the day that I looked back on my former life with disdain, almost feeling proud that I had "escaped it."
Escaped what? Escaped a relaxed pace? Escaped true relationship over status? Escaped happiness?
I have since found my way back. In fact, we worked our way backward (what we see as truly "forward") on purpose. I am embarrassed remembering some of the thoughts I once had, and some of the wasted energy and stress. It was truly all for naught.
"And that's the thing about consumption: It's essentially a myopic, self- centered pastime. Addictive consumption submerges our concerns about ourselves, others, and the Earth. The things we buy and use become extensions of ourselves; we use them mindlessly, with little awareness of why." - John R. Ehrenfeld (from "Feeding the Beast")
I was reminded of this recently as I had the joy of watching our friends, Cherie and Chris, explain their life choices and processes. Check out Agile Living's video interview, as she asked some wonderful questions and allowed them space to put answers to something which is still constantly evolving and unfolding every day.
It was so freeing to look the beast right in the face and say, "I created you. I don't need you. In fact, you do not make my life better. You make my 'better' appear not good enough. It's a lie. Off with you, beast! I feed you no more!"
Yes, I actually said that, right before dramatically touching my corset and walking away with my petticoats bustling behind me.
You get the idea, despite my sarcasm.
May you spend your summer days choking out your beast, finding freedom from that which you allow to enslave you. Off with its head!
In some ways, I have done a full circle and just landed right back where it all started.
As a child, we had little. We had so very little. Yet, it just wasn't that big of a deal. There were times that I worked extra hard to buy things off the clearance rack at Express to try to somehow, sorta' keep up with what other people were wearing. Of course, I lived in a tiny town, and we were all a little behind anyway. So, it all seemed to balance out.
During my freshman year of college, I found myself stranded in my hometown, after driving up one night to work a little part time job (if you knew my car, you would understand why). I called a friend from college to pick me up. She came from extreme wealth. I didn't really understand that, at the time. I just didn't pay attention to what people had on, or their car. I mean, it was a car. It was a shirt. It was a purse. Who made it? I didn't know. I didn't really care.
I didn't think twice about driving her around town before we went back. I wanted to show her my old houses and stomping grounds. She was mortified. She was actually disgusted and mortified. I'll never forget the look on her face when she said, "You said you were poor, but I didn't know ... like you were THIS poor."
I didn't know either. Even after she said it, I didn't know! I couldn't see what she was seeing.
Fast forward to my early married days. My husband and I started to go out on one outlandish date a month. No kids. No sitter to pay. Just blowing money on overpriced food and pretentious atmospheres. I had two different jobs during those early days where my bosses had a lot of money and a lot of prestige. So, I rode a lot of coattails into meetings at the finest places in town. I helped to set up the brunches at the homes of the infamously wealthy. So, yeah, I was throwing away trash at the end of the function, but I got to be a part of it. I started to get a little lost in it. I started to want it.
I started to actually think about whether or not my brows lined up or my toenails had fresh polish or my heels were ashy or roots were touched up. I paid attention to whether or not the heels of my basic black boots were square or pointy (depending on what was "in" that year). Oh GAWWWWWD, I did. I can recall the day that I looked back on my former life with disdain, almost feeling proud that I had "escaped it."
Escaped what? Escaped a relaxed pace? Escaped true relationship over status? Escaped happiness?
I have since found my way back. In fact, we worked our way backward (what we see as truly "forward") on purpose. I am embarrassed remembering some of the thoughts I once had, and some of the wasted energy and stress. It was truly all for naught.
"And that's the thing about consumption: It's essentially a myopic, self- centered pastime. Addictive consumption submerges our concerns about ourselves, others, and the Earth. The things we buy and use become extensions of ourselves; we use them mindlessly, with little awareness of why." - John R. Ehrenfeld (from "Feeding the Beast")
I was reminded of this recently as I had the joy of watching our friends, Cherie and Chris, explain their life choices and processes. Check out Agile Living's video interview, as she asked some wonderful questions and allowed them space to put answers to something which is still constantly evolving and unfolding every day.
It was so freeing to look the beast right in the face and say, "I created you. I don't need you. In fact, you do not make my life better. You make my 'better' appear not good enough. It's a lie. Off with you, beast! I feed you no more!"
Yes, I actually said that, right before dramatically touching my corset and walking away with my petticoats bustling behind me.
You get the idea, despite my sarcasm.
May you spend your summer days choking out your beast, finding freedom from that which you allow to enslave you. Off with its head!
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