Parts+Parts=Whole

Fence"Post" (Maggie's first blog entry since moving out west)

2012-02-11T22:30:00.001-06:00

A lichen-covered boulder cited on one of our late summer hikes in nearby Snowy Range, part Wyoming's portion of the Rocky Mountains.

I guess it has been a very long time since I resumed this blog -- it has been seven months since our move. I've changed, our lives have changed, and my approach to this writing has no doubt changed.

Before, I made an earnest attempt to be scripted in my approach here, no doubt influenced by other SAHM bloggers to whom I subscribed, making sure I followed a theme. That didn't always work out for me, though, because I tend to thread multiple themes together that can seem disparate. Welcome to my life. I attempt to make sense of the disparate pieces. That is the essence of parts+parts=whole.

As an aside, the women (the mommas) I've networked with are examples of complex spirits existing as one from all corners of the globe. We are tribal.

This ain't the day when mommas sat around drinking coffee in aprons in each others' kitchens while their kids ran around barefoot together in the back yard. Mommas like me wear aprons to keep the coconut oil from splattering on our clothes, but we're missing our own mommas, and are far, far away from any extended family in many instances.

However, as of our moving date last July (2011), I came to accept the realization that I was not in a season of my life for blog sharing. I was too busy with the move, getting used to new terrain, a new climate and time zone, enjoying new recreational opportunities, and guiding a boy about to turn four.

Late August hike in the Snowys, which peak at 12,000 feet on this particular trail. We made it to 10,000 feet. Amazing how the mosquitoes hover right over the snow. Amazing how it can be hot when you are standing on several feet of snow.

I eventually found my way back to social networking, and feel at home in the impressively large circles discussing breastfeeding, intactivism, other elements of attachment parenting, and natural living.

I'm still politically motivated, but there are enough "friends" out there monitoring the landscape and informing my newsfeed that I'm focusing more on mothering, normalizing breastfeeding, homeschooling, and advocating natural living. If I try to do due diligence on representing my political acumen, it is just too much time spent online. I had to make choices, and the obvious correct choice is focusing more on family -- hence the increase in natural parenting advocacy sharing on my personal and fan pages.

Recently, I've guided my family to a more primal-paleo diet - the first lifestyle change that has brought cooperation and enthusiasm from my farm boy who has not complained about the missing grains and processed foods in his diet (he manages to still get a fair share, but he has cut way back).

Above are treats like gluten free bread, pepper (or sometimes rosemary) crackers, and dark chocolate chip cookies -- All of these grain substitutes contain ingredients like almond or flaxseed meal, sometimes arrowroot flour, raw honey or Medjool dates for sweetening, and lots of spices! The dark chocolate has enough antioxidants and beneficial compounds to justify the small amount of real sugar they contribute.

I no longer buy processed cookies, not even from the natural foods angle - instead I am making them from scratch weekly. (The exception has been a box here and there of Cliff or Kashi bars for convenience snacks when out and about with Sean).

I've experimented with oil pulling, and drink water with organic lemon every morning, and enjoy apple cider vinegar (ACV) tea with a cinnamon stick just about every afternoon or evening.

We've been using soap nuts for six months in the wash (those babies were great when Sean was still in cloth diapers!) and I have not had to buy a refill bag of berries yet! Note that the link shows the same bag I purchased six months ago - and we still have a couple months of washes left. Talk about a savings for both us and the environment! Also love our reusable antistatic cloths that replace dryer sheets - we used our first set (pair) for two years before buying new ones. Substantial savings. So nice to not have to cringe at the price of Bounce or to lug home a heavy bottle of detergent every month packaged in huge amounts of plastic!

I haven't purchased regular cleaning products outside of Swiffer type dusters and Seventh Generation dishwasher detergent since our move, using a spray bottle with distilled white vinegar and essential oils to clean almost everything. We've also recycled many of Sean's old trifolds into cleaning cloths to save on paper towels.

Below is my modest starter collection of oils. The oregano was actually my first oil, for colds. Then came the orange and lavender for cleaning, followed by the sage and rosemary for my ACV hair rinse.

I ditched my salon products for castille soap and ACV with essential oils, and now use unrefined coconut oil in the kitchen and the bathroom (instead of moisturizers). Having remarkable results!!!

My cosmetics and facial care are about 75% switched out for all natural, safe ingredients. I have just discovered honey and sugar (or sea salt) for facial cleansing, and almond oil and other oils for facial moisturizing (jojoba, unrefined coconut oil*). My bathroom counter is starting to look like my kitchen counter. Hubby thought I was spending too much on these products until I showed him the literal box full of more frequently purchased products (and their outrageous costs) that I am replacing - with ecofriendly ingredients.

*Know what you're thinking...the stuff must stink! Nothing could be further from the truth. Unsweetened coconut, especially unrefined has such a mild scent. Hubby and I both always hated coconut, until we tried unsweetened. There is just no comparison! I prefer Nutiva! I use Subscribe and Save at Amazon for the best deal!

If you have never tried honey for your face, just lather up with water (and a little salt or sugar for a scrub if you like) and get to work. So easy, so pleasant, so rewarding! Since going primal, we really don't use even Sucanat (rapadura) but once in a great while - I am eyeing my stash for sugar scrubs. I had some Florida crystals in my cabinet, so I upcycled those in the shower for use with either honey or almond oil for a great instant sugar scrub. These measures feel good inside and out!

Since my absence here on this blog, I have also been clarifying our mission for child led learning. That is going to have to be a separate post!

Mommas Uniting for Love and Justice

2011-07-01T20:23:00.001-05:00

It is Moving Time. I am busy packing and preparing for our moving sale. We are going to be close enough to the Northern Rockies to satisfy my soul. Since December, we've dreamed of new homes in four states with finalist interviews in each one. We are on our way to Cheyenne, Wyoming.

There is at least one crunchy momma welcoming me there, and she has boys - one Cubbie's age. I met her through Worldwide Women Support Habiba: IMMF giver her baby back on facebook. Like any of the more than 10,000 women fighting for Habiba would do (15,000 - 20,000 including the Spanish groups), she's had my back at every turn in my house hunting and relocation efforts - and we haven't even met face to face. Already, we know it doesn't matter. We are all Habiba. Just knowing we are part of that sisterhood was enough for both of us to open our arms to friendship. And we have discovered that the sisterhood of Habiba is full of pleasant surprises.

Since Habiba and Alma have been reunited, hundreds of blogs and reports have been shared across social, alternative, and mainstream media. Christine Gross-Loh addressed considerations about the Habiba-Alma love story here.

While numerous individuals organized, administrated, or otherwise worked to effect the victory of the Habiba-Alma reunion, Gross-Loh identified that perhaps it all started with the activism of Jesusa Ricoy, "a Spanish mother of two and childbirth educator living in the UK who has worked tirelessly (despite being 35 weeks pregnant!) to help Habiba reunite with her baby."

Jesusa stated: Habiba represented much to me and to so many: she is an icon of the maternal love that survives like a plant amongst rocks, her love is what kept Alma’s world together in spite of economic hardships, cultural differences, pain and abuse. What Habiba, the beloved, and Alma, her soul, had, took on the simple shape of milk, cuddles, and cosleeping. Yet even this was to be taken away, and why? because of its inconvenience to institutions, and timetables, and structures, and – if we look deeper – to society. (bolding is mine).

The women and men supporting Habiba - indeed families, and even a new mother as young as 16 all understand inherently the tears and pain cried for 22 days and nights across the globe. We were united, hurting, healing, wanting so much to bring peace to Habiba and security and compassion to Alma.

Such compassion and universal love could not just disappear once the beloved mother and her soul were together again. We Are All Habiba details the events as they unfolded and the activism and love that resulted in this beautiful embrace.

And born of this movement, A. L. M. A. - All Loving Mothers Association has adopted this embrace.

A. L. M. A. is a Global Action Network that protects the rights of families to remain together. We focus specifically on protecting mothers who are targeted for their instinctive mothering and attachment parenting choices.

After the case of Habiba and Alma was made public, other similar cases started coming to the surface. It is clear that certain parenting practices, that also happen to be healthy and normal (like breastfeeding and cosleeping), are criminalized by social services, and even by some extent by society at large. We have proven that we can fight back, and win. ALMA is a platform for activism to protect the rights of families.

During the Habiba-Alma ordeal, I shed many tears at my computer and in bed as I snuggled my sweet Cubbie. I brought those tears to Cubbie, who felt immediate compassion for little Alma, understanding completely what she must be feeling without her momma or her momma's milk.

I grew in this period. I suddenly realized that more than 10,000+ crunchy mommas have my back. Whenever I breastfeed my nearly 4-year old son, or pull him close in bed at night, or follow child led learning, I know that these voices - 10,000+ strong - are cheering me on, lovingly, passionately.

Much work remains to normalize compassionate, natural parenting, but we are indeed winning! No cultural conditioning can hold back the tide of 10,000 to 20,000 mommas who love all children, all babies across the globe, and will stand up against ignorance, prejudice, and injustice to right the wrongs that perpetuate the cycles of dysfunction in society.

We helped reunite Habiba and Alma in less than a month. Imagine what we can do over longer periods.

We Mommas have a noble mission that can lead to great change in the world just by the simple act of loving our children as nature intended, as our intuition sings, and as our hearts desire.

My posting might be sparse for weeks to come as we move and get settled (like it was the whole time that I was glued to the Habiba and Alma love story).

I'm excited for the weather, the climate, the geography, the history, and the adventures to come. There is so much for Cubbie and I to do in Cheyenne that I fear he'll be a big boy in no time at all! Already this summer the baby face, walk, and even some of the baby talk is disappearing right before our eyes.

But, this momma is going to continue nursing, cosleeping, and mindful mothering for as long as her *soul* desires.

Self Awareness is a Human Virtue

2011-06-06T20:44:00.004-05:00

One might think we could just arrive to our desired lot in life and then just stay put. Life has other intentions. She heralds change. Things only stay the same if you park it in denial and stop learning/growing.

I recognize that my parenting practices, secular philosophy, and progressive politics are viewed as extreme by many, but I also know that I am well grounded in reality and experience. Those who know me should at least take into account that I didn't just become stupid one day when I became a parent.

I see the cycles of dysfunction in a dance between husband and wife, parent and child, among siblings, and among in-laws, and I see the exact behaviors that result. I see the source of the dysfunction, and how it is shared like bread and wine across generations, cousins, nieces, and nephews.

I see the behaviors repeating, the lies and secrets shared and distorted and manipulated. I see a tide of disrespect, hypocrisy, an absence of self awareness, and in a few, I see desperation. I see these manifestations of dysfunction in various members of my own extended family on both sides.

But one thing I will give my family -- they have always treated my husband with the utmost respect. Oh, except for that time my mother leaned into him about Revelations and the impending Apocalypse.

Whenever I bring up the injustices wrought on me by his family, hubby reminds of me of that one time with my mom and the seven horses.

But, we can both forgive my mom because we know that she was likely already developing the early stages of her type of dementia at that point. On the other hand, my mother has always held a sense of entitlement.

Both my parents volunteered heavily in their able late years, But my father is the one who was concerned the most about philanthropy. With all due respect for my mother, she really did follow her own whims without really giving thought to how it might impact others.

My father had painfully low self confidence and an emotionally and physically abusive childhood from which he sought escape for the rest of his life. He quit drinking just before I conceived Cubbie. We had a brief respite of a new man for the first time ever - we enjoyed him as he had never truly been before. And then, only months later Alzheimer's took that away and trapped him.

My folks were amazingly supportive and loving parents and respected community members, but I vowed early on that self awareness would be very important to me and that I would seek to heal myself with a commitment for lifelong self improvement. To her credit, my mother was able to admit her regrets from time to time, and I recently modeled that for my 22-year old step daughter by telling her that I regret certain positions we took with her in the past.

Family trees have branches and those branches sprout leaves.

It is inherently important that we are mindful parents and that we parent with intention as opposed to authority. Humility is an element I find lacking in my husband's family. I see the absence of humility in certain individuals on my side as well, but I can pretty much expect my side of the family to acknowledge their own reflections in the mirror, and they control their tongues accordingly -- well, with the exception of perhaps one in-law.

We are all part of a system of energy, and how we face ourselves in the mirror or embrace others impacts our family and societal ecosystems for generations. This is a morality of human ethics. And some of the most religious persons I know do not practice or display the core teachings of their faiths. It is as if theirs is a one-way perspective.

Their religions forgive them, of course, for not being perfect. But, their religions cannot conceal the truth in their hypocrisy and prejudice. For too many people, religion offers a buffer against painful honesty. How ironic.

I have deep respect for religious persons who abide in their faiths while remaining open minded, humble, and respectful of others. These are people who are secure in their beliefs and do not see my manner of thinking as a threat.

Would-be-secular-preacher aside, I am the one to sound the alarm in relationships that all is not well when individuals are just not seeing.

A person like me that seems to get the big picture can come off as always having to be right. A person like me who navigates the family harmony and calls out warnings and orders from the bow as readily as from the stern can develop a reputation for having to always control the helm.

Numerous times, I have had to absorb the impact of others not listening to me. I have also been the glue that binds the vessel of family back together and then the navigator once again guiding the now humble creatures back on course.

Self reflection is a constructive exercise. It can produce characteristic humility, or it can provide transparency when you might have come off like an (ahem) ...elitist.

Which brings me to something I was called recently by my friend, Paul. Paul was a classmate once upon a time when I first started grad school. Now, he's an old furry couch activist and an artist (a damn good one) with a crush on Elizabeth Warren. Paul recently called me a cultural elitist because I made disparaging remarks about Lady Gaga.

It's not something I lost sleep over. Paul is a make love not war kind of guy, so his name calling arrives via felt-tipped pussy cat tails.

In fact, I pondered Paul's comment carefully while putting on makeup, folding laundry, or other such tasks (but not while breastfeeding... I use that time to dream about the future while I snuggle my offspring).

At first I disagreed. I questioned how could I be a cultural elitist, or rather, what did my friend mean by cultural elitist?

This reflection led me to thinking about how I speak my mind, how I hold such strong opinions, and how often in my life I have had to defend my unpopular position or prove the validity of my claims to someone that hadn't even bothered to learn about my position (instead reacting as if I suddenly became stupid and my position belongs in outer space).

Thanks to my fine arts mentor, Andy Cox and his Socratic method, I learned at an early age to dig in my heels, to weather the storm of criticism, and respond with ~~justifiable~~ defensible logic.

I can do that pretty well, unless it involves a person to whom logic, or scientific research for that matter, simply doesn't register. I ~~have to~~ have had to learn to squelch my true thoughts and feelings at times to keep the peace for the sake of family and livelihood. Sometimes I just get plain sick of this and I want to dial up all the injustices, disrespect, and blindness and let 'em have it, no apologies.

Goodness knows, I've had to take it in my own direction without apologies (a fact that is illuminated further by the offenders' lack of awareness) many times over.

But, as for being termed a cultural elitist -- this I will own. After all, I gave blood, sweat, tears, and my credit report (i.e., endless student loans) for a terminal degree in a cultural field.

In my degree field, every aspect of social, political, religious, anthropological, paleontological, and philosophical history must be studied. I explored the human history of visual culture, communication, and aesthetics.

Given that background, how can I not be an elitist when it comes to any art form? I think I am qualified to question why kids and adults alike are making Lady Gaga the wealthiest 'ho' in America.

I called it as I saw it (and believe me, I regret having seen it): Madonna already did that (check), Sex sells (check), Madonna's cone bra's been there done that (check), and Ozzy bit the head off of a bat so being flanked by raw meat carries about as much innovation as Duchamp's toilet.

I enjoyed R. Mutt's throne as much as any young artist discovering readymades, and perhaps it isn't fair to juxtapose Duchamp with Serrano due to the more than 60 years between them, but Serrano's Piss Christ is the piece de resistance of them all. Now there is art that I can dissect and discuss. It offends those that it offends with gravitas.

Perhaps I've been a bit harsh - but with Gaga's background, training, and vocal talent, I (as a cultural elitist) expect more from her than annoying songs like Poker Face (is anyone old enough to remember ring my beeeeelllll, ring my bell - or Olivia Newton John's let's get physical...animal) or dancing that pales in comparison to that of bubble gum pop stars.

The 20th century laid down some handsome acts, and it just seems to me that Gaga and her mega fame is mostly gimmick. Freddie Mercury she is not. For this assessment, I am deemed a cultural elitist. Touche'.

I have for decades (since my Socratic upbringing) sought self improvement and transparency. The latter is - obviously - often a dicey process.

There have been times of great exploration and facile development. I've had periods of holding shorter reigns, thus less flexibility. There were years of paying it forward with blood, sweat, and tears. Each of these periods could be a separate blog posting.

I could write about when I turned 41 and felt my parents slipping away from me just as I was coming into the self confidence that is characteristic of the decade. I could write about the perspective of being the youngest of many kids, and the many divorces and remarriages that we had collectively, or about growing up female in a patriarchal family, faith, and society. Add to that experiences of bullying (from both sexes) and rape, and finding my voice (understatement) in the pain of being rejected when I tried talking openly about the rapes when I really needed to in my late 20s.

I could write about healing processes.

I could extol the lessons learned as a young woman building her career within the good old boy network of state government in the south. I could write a how-to book (and how not to chapter) based on my nearly decade and a half of step parenting. I could write about the extreme joys and pitfalls of owning and operating wholesale/retail businesses, or the unique experience of working as a consultant for community colleges on Native American reservations.

It just seems to me that if I can expound in all of these areas from direct experience, I've earned the right to be right without being labeled an extremist, elitist, or whatever it is they are calling me these days.

The stings I've received from in-laws resurface long after I have swept them under the rug (that's something that offends my soul, to take a line from Walt Whitman). I don't forget these things because they jolt me. I just don't expect disrespect...you know...that old do unto others as you would have them do unto you thing.

I am 100% certain the offenders don't remember these incidents. That's how it is when people do not practice self awareness. I wish I had a dollar for every time this has happened with people who are supposed to know me, yet who still question my personal life choices as if I have suddenly had a frontal lobotomy.

When it casually entered the conversation that Cubbie still sleeps with us, the jaw dropping from an extended family member made me wonder if she was sending an invitation to her husband.

Seriously, What I really wish is that others would take me to honest task over my lactivist and attachment parenting and unschooling practices and my progressive liberal positions with respectful dialogue instead of treating me like I don't have a whip of sense. It might save us all some time and grief if they would just look into the mirror and practice some self awareness.

As for my friend, Paul the artist, I hope he doesn't change a thing. Look into his work linked to the narrative above. He is doing good work and giving a voice where one is badly needed.

WORDLESS BLOG ENTRY: OSAMACIDE by JuiceMedia RapNews

2011-05-18T22:59:00.001-05:00

This wordless blog entry dedicated to JuiceMedia RapNews. They always deliver. Click here to enjoy!

For my own commentary on the topic, see Compendium: OBL, Child Led Weaning, Patriotism, and an Age of Compassion.

My Journey To Homeschooling

2011-05-17T23:03:00.003-05:00

I'm homeschooling from my rear view mirror.

I'm looking back at the last 44 months and realizing that I've been homeschooling all along - since my son was born.

I knew a homeschooling family, but it was a long time ago. The mom did the bookkeeping for my business and her boys would accompany her and play in our back room. They were not secular.

When I was pregnant, I had a massage therapist/doula who attachment parented her kids (co sleeping, extended breastfeeding). At first, I thought the idea of breastfeeding an older child was... uncomfortably odd.

Fast forward to now.

My son is nearly 4 years old and still breastfeeds pretty much on demand. I absolutely love co sleeping - and so does my husband.

One thing led to another after my son was born.

I learned all I could get my hands on about natural and attachment parenting. I cut my WAHM hours and let my in-home sitter go so that I wouldn't miss another minute with my infant.

As I read about homeschooling in the cross culture that is attachment parenting, I began to see homeschooled kids as exceptional and happy. I am also heavily steeped in political thought and dislike what I see happening in society to most mainstream kids and their families.

I went from expecting to work when he started public or private school to instead knowing I will remain a SAHM and homeschool him myself. As a free thinker, it is my aim to raise a compassionate, ethical global citizen.

I now realize that everything I have done since his birth has been to give him the best I can possibly give in terms of security and love. This is in essence what homeschooling should be, in my perspective.

I am taking an unschooling approach for now, and might include some formal curriculum by the time he's 7 - but I don't plan to rush things. I am not concerned about winning a race or getting in ahead of the pack.

I just plan to nurture his interests and help him develop his own love for exploration and learning that isn't limited by curriculum design or scheduling - and can occur at his own pace. I want to teach him to love living and that learning lasts a lifetime.

OBL, Child Led Weaning, Patriotism, and an Age of Compassion

2011-05-16T19:26:00.004-05:00

Compendium was the title of my MFA thesis exhibition. It is quite simply a handy little term for organizing seemingly disparate parts. When seen together or linked by unifying elements, the parts equal a whole.

Herein is yet another attempt at emptying the contents as they flow and then trying to convince you that they relate and are self contained.

If not for my quick scanning through fb and twitter news feeds (usually while nursing Cubbie), I would be lost as to what is going on in the world until I finally weed through the articles pinned to my task bar (some are putting up vacation homes even now).

I've found Al Jazeera English to be very reliable on breaking news (including western news), and since AJ isn't mainstreamed to American TV, I just keep the main page pinned to my task bar and follow AJ and The Stream via the social networks. The AJStream uses an innovative, informal format and instant content generation.

Following these outlets on fb and twitter lands one in the line of global conversations.

There is much to be said for independent journalism and citizen-generated news over the spoon feeding found in Ray Bradbury's parlour of mainstream news.

In comparison, MSNBC - which used to be pinned to my task bar - is like picking up a copy of Entertainment Weekly. I'm really not kidding.

Articles that stand out from my news sifting about OBL are linked here from CommonDreams, and truthout, admittedly liberal but mostly spot on sources.

I chose to share the two articles because they align with my personal ideology and why I was disgusted with all the merrymaking over the death of OBL.

I observed hypocrisy in the mass hysteria of celebration that this mostly Christian nation exercised, seemingly forgetting their own scripted compass: WWJD.

Besides trying to keep pace with global news, I'm sorting toys and tubs in preparation for a move, but without a target on the horizon, I stand and stare at what I will do when the time comes. Another interview is coming up this week.

Speaking of targets, Cubbie is sensing our stress and strange disorganization and has ramped up breastfeeding. We talk about weaning sometimes. When asked last night when he feels he'll be ready, he declared, "I don't wanna stop. I not ready." Good enough, then. We'll just continue to go with... the flow.

I remember when the Cubster was about 9 months old and how easily ruffled I was over discouraging comments about extended breastfeeding. Even then, I only hoped to make it for one year. But, intuitively, I could tell that was going to change.

Kids don't suddenly go through a transformation on their birthdays like magic. The more I learned about breastfeeding and attachment parenting, the more I understood that I really ~~couldn't~~ didn't want to target the weaning process.

That's quite a change from the prepregnancy me, as I once thought while on my doula's massage table that her confession of breastfeeding her kids to age 2 was... an uncomfortably odd concept. I don't think I had ever even known anyone that breastfed until that point. She was there later when Cubbie was born to soothe my labor and support the beginning of an amazing nursing relationship with my son.

At around 17 months, Cubbie staged a nursing strike. It was traumatic at the time, but just a blip in the nursing relationship anymore. Many kids are weaned either intentionally or by accident during nursing strikes when moms think the child is "done." Weaning is a gradual process.

By age 2, I targeted age 3. By age 3, I noticed some natural weaning, but not enough to write home about. Now, at just a summer shy of age 4, I know better than to even try to set a target. Cubbie is perfectly healthy.

He's compassionate, aware, agile, strong, and intellectual. He is both curious and cautious, creative and logical, and has extensive interests. He practices 3 and 5-syllable words (and a few... choice words), solves problems, thinks critically, looks adults in the eyes when speaking and goes right up to new people to say hello and introduce himself.

I don't think I've warped him too much.

He knows how babies are made, knows no awkward connotations concerning the fact that sometimes his penis grows - something we've never treated as remarkable - and has no qualms about announcing in the ladies restroom stall at Herberger's, "Look Mommy! There's your vagina!" (That happened during our recent trip to MN.)

Breastfeeding for a child Cubbie's age is like a time in (as opposed to a time out - a technique we do not use) that helps him reconnect and regulate his feelings.

Just last night, he was mad. He announced he was mad and said, "I'm leaving!" When I asked him where he was going, he retorted, "Ugh! Mom. I not really leaving."

With that, he took off to sit half way down the stairs alone and proceeded to mumble to himself. After a few seconds of that, he got up and announced that he was no longer mad. I was impressed that he imposed a sort of time-out for himself to self soothe.

Cubbie is the star of the family harmony backdrop. The girls (Bird Nest and Mimosa) are a different story altogether, and while we are all one blended family, the span in years between Cubbie and his sisters is significant enough to make this feel like not only a second chance at parenting, but also a more cohesive effort.

The global village does not interfere with our family harmony. Sadly, mothers and children and entire communities of innocents in war-torn, US and NATO-invaded countries cannot say the same.

I cannot bear to imagine their universe.

We in America target terrorism when we exact far more (huge understatement) misery and mayhem across the globe than any terrorism on our soil.

Then, we claim there is a God with patented designs on our superiority, blessing us every step of the way.

Our nationalist identity is a perverted, dysfunctional patriotism.

I attended the bicentennial parade in Cowpens, SC in 1976, sitting atop the roof of my father's car alongside a brother.

I won an essay contest in 5th grade about What Patriotism Means to Me (I focused on picking up trash to keep the community clean).

My grandfather, uncle, and father served America in the World Wars and Korea.

Today, I would not consider myself patriotic.

Art is life, life is art. The creation of art for many is no more than a bucolic hobby. But, for me, art is intentional, investigative, and self effacing. On the contrary, the brand of patriotism I see in America is self-righteous and arrogant, and for some - a bucolic hobby.

Art is more personal than the most intensive psychotherapy, more profoundly meaningful than any religious understanding, and in fact is the turning inside out of one's soul at will for crucifixion, in humble equanimity.

One might expect the WWJD crowd to hold similar spiritual values - because to be self examining in a truthful light is the essence of spirituality.

I see activism in the same light as art. Whether it be trying to perfect a compassionate, ethical global citizenry through attachment parenting or exposing hypocrisy and injustice through social networking and organized resistance.

Human rights supersede any national identity in my mind. Even criminals are human.

I'm not proud as an American when I think of families - innocent children - destroyed by our armed services. This is why I cannot chant in jubilation at the death of OBL. As the articles I linked above discuss, it doesn't change anything.

What blows my mind, and is utterly laughable if not more despicable, is how the general masses can claim to have Jesus as their Lord and Savior all the while that they want an eye for an eye and think that anything is justified when it is done by-God-America.

I try as just little old me to make this point ever so poignantly from time to time with my immediate family and (social network) friends. I get a few random thumbs up, but mostly - well, let me just put it this way - I know how Michael Moore feels. Ha!

I get land blasted from every side for my apparently heathen ideology. It is probably one reason my blog remains a bit obscure, save for the secular homeschool crowd (bless you).

I'm doing my part to raise a compassionate, ethical global citizen, and advocating peace and respect for earth and her global cultures in anticipation that we can evolve to an Age of Compassion. That's my intention. That's parts+parts=whole.

Being Self Aware During Periods of Change

2011-04-24T13:14:00.002-05:00

I'm taking special care to prepare Cubbie for upcoming changes in our lives when I myself don't have all the answers about what to expect, while reassuring him that the things he needs most in his life will remain constant.

My biggest concern is that we are aware of how we feel right now and that we recognize that how we choose to feel and respond to life events is sensed by the little charges in our lives.

So, even though Mr. and Mrs. Bunny wanted to sleep in this Saturday morning on the heels of a turn style week, we managed to make it to an egg hunt. It was a chilly 44 degrees lowered further by a wind chill.

While attending the egg hunt produced smiles for our innocent little hunter...

... It might be our last large hunt.

The crowd mentality was... greedy. Cubbie and other smaller children were nearly trampled by older kids and even some adults that weren't being careful as they prodded their kids along, and for what... a few cheap prizes?

Cubbie's observant Daddy knew just the right moment to pull our little tyke from the activity - early enough to preserve the fun he was having before he became whacked off his feet by 9-year-old kids (even though they were supposed to be separated from those four and under).

As we chart our course in the midst of new challenges (and tired mornings), Attachment Parenting International offers a valuable reminder of how important it is to practice positive, responsive parenting. Embracing Positive Discipline's Challenges affirms why it is crucial to surrender our conditioned responses based in old school ideas about training children that ultimately compromise the parent-child relationship.

I'm all but certain that my Mother responded in her role without questioning her own methods, at least while her six children were relatively young. She was fully confident in her choices. And while the validation and empathy she imparted is hard wired in me, I do ~~question~~ govern my daily actions and thoughts with diligence.

I know that the most important thing I will ever do is mothering Cubbie. I question constantly not because I am unsure, but because I want to be intentional and purposeful in my parenting.

My Mother might have expected that whatever she did in a day would naturally be attended or accompanied by me. Whereas my Mother might have baked as a means to an end, I see baking with Cubbie as being here now.

I let him in on the action, with imperfect results (imperfection = character). That's not easy for someone who makes the bed just so every morning. Being mindful with Cubbie takes practice, and I hope any instances I've missed will resolve in good faith - faith in myself as a mother and teacher.

Cubbie and I baked ginger bunnies this week because he wanted to take gingerbread men (that we baked during the holidays) to his final Kindermusik class. I think the character adds to the cookies' personality.

Just like me when I was little, he licked the beaters.

This represents the essence of a simple but powerful parent-child connection, wrought by tradition and continued in mindfulness.

A Secular SAHM During the Vernal Equinox

2011-04-18T10:53:00.003-05:00

Part 1. What I See

I've been thinking a lot about how I have been transitioning in my role as a SAHM and thinking increasingly about my role as Cubbie's teacher.

I've been thinking about how differently hubby and I view some things, and how intensely we are on the same page about other things. We've been together nearly 13 years, give or take a little depending on your definition of being together.

Life is so short. We only have this one shot along the slip-n-slide. We have very little control. And I don't believe a Divine power is in control - unless it is Mother Nature, and she's impressive, but on a galactic scale, she's hardly Divine.

This lack of control over life is why I don't want to waste any more of mine trying to grasp the golden goblet. I know what I want. I know what I realistically cannot have. And I know that what I am sure going to try to achieve revolves around family harmony for the three of us -- myself and hubby, and Cubbie -- and ultimately his sisters (my step daughters, Bird Nest and Mimosa) as well.

I am finding out that the homeschooling and unschooling approaches we are taking with Cubbie are key to our family harmony, to his happiness and future happiness, and his physiological, psychological, and emotional development. And I have a front row seat. I don't have to miss a thing.

It isn't hard to weigh the value of being able to afford expensive things and activities against the value of being there to enjoy every fleeting moment with Cubbie. Besides, my Mother taught me that great satisfaction for a shopping girl's soul can be found in second hand items.

I am excited that hubby gets it (our parenting philosophies have not always synced). There is nothing I have been more thankful for lately.

Even though he struggles at times with the cultural conditioning that makes a man wary if his son is attracted to pink or is not yet weaned at 4-months-shy of being 4-years-old, he gets that such concerns are rooted in worrying what others will think, not what he knows in his heart is best for his son. He sees what few others get to see, and that makes it hard to describe to an outsider.

When Cubbie is ready, he will wean and he will lose the diapers. And in the blink of an eye, Cubbie will be 15.

If we look closely, the ones we fear will reject our choices are the very people in our lives who a) tend to treat us with disrespect, or b) could care less what we think about their choices.

The world is in a hurry. There is no need to hurry a child. Not from the womb. Not from the breast. Not from a diaper. Not from his parents' bed.

Homeschooling gives us the opportunity to transition Cubbie at his own pace from the secure base we've provided along a vibrant path of exploration as opposed to the institutionalization that limits the reaches of his investigations and fails to teach real life skills.

I would rather Cubbie learn his relationship skills from seeing us model interactions as we live life, as opposed to having him learn these skills from same age kids stuck together for hours each day in the confines of four walls (and let's not forget the ugly peer pressure).

If an 8-year old can teach my kid to get along with others, surely so can I, eh? Yeah. Makes you wonder how society ever got to the industrial age when the current model for schooling was introduced. Sort of like, how did babies ever get fed before the 20th century formula hit the scene?

Part 2. A Little of What I Do.

This has certainly been a transitional week for our family on the surface side of things. Hubby was *testing out* Southwest flights to and from Chicago for the week. That means that I made camp stove coffee because - even though we have a very nice Cuisinart coffee maker - I ~~hate~~ dislike intensely making java. The consequence: A little grit in my morning joe. Note the phantom blue-white glow that only appears in the picture. It absolutely does not appear on my glass top stove when in use. I found this fascinating enough to share with you.

The northeast Nebraska weather was in transition this week, too. Cubbie and I enjoyed being out early in the week when temps were in the 60s. We watched the robins chasing each other, inspected the waking strawberries, asparagus, and chives, and investigated Mr. and Mrs. Robin's new nest.

Then...

We realized we are in Nebraska. In April.

Hubby came home Friday to this:

By the next morning, temps were back up in the high 40s. That afternoon, Cubbie and I ventured out for some grocery shopping and also for some garage sales put on by the brave souls who dared to be the first to have garage sales on the heels of such weather. (More on the garage sales later.)

I should note that my choices for groceries where we live consist of a small health foods store, a prominent grocery chain headquartered in Iowa, and the overly stimulating Mega Church of discount shopping. Nonetheless, I have managed to transition our cupboards greatly in recent months toward healthier whole foods - another gradual process that is finally starting to impress me even as I am looking into my own pantry.

For months, I have been making this cookie and tweaking it. I call them my cookies.

The original recipe for Chewy Gingersnaps came from Keeper of the Home. My version cuts out the butter completely and reduces the coconut oil to 1/2 cup. Thus, it is missing 1/2 cup of butter/oil. BTW, unrefined coconut oil is good stuff for your body!

In this recipe, I also add an additional egg (always cage free, organic), use almond meal/flour instead of blanched almonds, and up the spices by a heaping lot. I don't flatten the balls. The original recipe produces a delicious, moist, more flat cookie.

I found it far too easy to over indulge with the original recipe - it is very good. My version produces more of a biscotti type texture - drier, yet still tasty. Cubbie also got in on the action this time around, though he preferred to just play with the dough that I rationed out to him on his own plate.

Contrary to the picture, this dough is not rolled out. That was an experiment that I conducted with some left over dough + other ingredients and a rogue bunny cutter. We don't need to talk about that. Trust me.

The finished product is featured on an ironstone platter, one of the weekend's garage sale finds.

As for the garage sales, we had a great time getting back to being sale chasers. I was raised on garage sales. Cubbie has been fully indoctrinated and begs for more stops even after every house on our list is crossed off.

Sometimes I cannot believe how much of what we own is second hand. Virtually Cubbie's entire wardrobe and toy collection (vast, vast, shamefully vast) is second hand.

This year, I decided my goal will be to find homeschooling supplies. I'm on the lookout for everything from fabric scraps to books. In the middle there somewhere is a large 1-month-weekly-daily pill box with closing lids for sorting buttons and beads that we found this weekend - a good half hour activity for Cubbie once in a while. When you have both a green and a homeschooling mindset, you pick up stuff nobody else would buy! (I'm also picking up glass plates and containers for safer food storage and microwaving.)

Some of our *priceless* loot included a Build-A-Bear lion (featuring Diego.. who pays full price for that ~~shit~~ mass marketing?)*** and matching pet carrier that has fast become a "member" of our family, and two illustrated encyclopedic books - North American Wild Life and Great Questions and Answers.

***Disclaimer: I do. And I have. But, I try not to if I can help it.

Daddy has read several chapters to Cubbie from the latter. The page shown features a scientific approach to the galaxy and space that embraces what what remains possible (as opposed to "the earth is the supreme creation of all creations and it was crafted in giant hands only 6,000 years ago"). Both books cost a quarter and feature extraordinary pictures and information for Cubbie to investigate. Also pictured is a 6-sided African animals puzzle, another quarter. The little lion was also a quarter.

Not lost on me this weekend has been that I lucked out by not having to go to the Easter Egg Hunt because of the snow. That meant we could mosey out of the house (late to the garage sales) way past lunch time.

Let me just be blunt: I very much dislike Easter. I have childhood memories of being a "little" excited and depressed (the religious focus on death?) -- talk about sending mixed messages to a kid...

In fact, when Cubbie was not yet two, I was chided a little by hubby for not getting Cubbie an Easter basket. Did I mention he was about 18 months old? Like he was going to notice?

I didn't see the point. I also didn't want to spend the money on the overly commercialized agenda any more than I wanted to burden Cubbie with what his relatives on both sides view as the reason for the season (like during *happy holidays*).

The reason for the season is transition. It is the vernal equinox and renewal of natural life.

My kid isn't some poor lost soul that is stained by the blood of mythological sin.

Not carrying that baggage frees us up to truly soar into the growth period in our lives that occurs this time of year. Our senses awaken. Nature displays tricks that beg our exploration and discovery. We shift gears completely, and we don't have to dampen our excitement with 40 days of symbolic sacrifice culminating in a somber ritual.

We are already free and our minds are not clouded with guilt (residual, maybe, from our upbringing) or sorrow for not being perfect.

That eloquence aside, Cubbie does live in the real world that includes evidence of a magic bunny that is just like Santa.

I started when he was two with a very modest (painfully small) basket of plastic eggs filled with candy. That residual guilt was prodded awake as friends and family ~~innocently~~ presumably asked Cubbie at 18 months if he'd had a visit by the great bunny.

So, at 2, we had him leave out the little basket. The bunny came and filled his empty eggs and hid them about the den. He found them one by one.

That was it. He's had ONE visit by the bunny. And I refuse to buy that plastic grass that later comes out of the cats' rear ends.

This year, at 3, he knows the game. Thankfully, he passes by all the Easter candy and commercial craziness without even taking notice. I also refuse to buy more bunny stuff, unless it is at a garage sale. We will use the same basket, the same scant supply of eggs. And we will hide them. The only difference will be what is inside.

I purposefully shopped our health foods store for anything that could be passed off as Easter candy in a plastic egg. I got organic evaporated cane juice-sweetened dark chocolate covered cherries (he loves both), a healthier version of an m & m's type candy, and organic (high fructose corn syrup free) gummy bears. Just to make sure there are no suspicions about whether the bunny shops at our health foods store, I purchased the smallest bag I could find of real jelly beans and will parcel a few into the eggs.

Happy Vernal Equinox. May you transition in Peace and Wellness.

April Showers Bring May Flowers... and Hail

2011-04-10T11:55:00.001-05:00

Nature bestowed her bounty upon us Saturday afternoon. Thankfully, we have a garage.

We stood outside under the patio roof, Daddy and son sock-footed. Before long, we were collecting the hail from the wet grass (including the sock-footed). Cubbie had a blast lining up various sized stones.

Humidity prevailed early in the evening (note Cubbie was in long pants and sleeves earlier, as above). Daddy and Cubbie went out to test a toy bow and arrows set that I found at a yard sale last year (but not until after I duct taped one suction-cupped arrow that was broken in half).

I made Cubbie a quiver by tying a pot holder mitt to his back with a camo strip of fabric left over from making a baby blanket for a friend. Sorry to say I did not get a picture of that temporary gear. The pair also tested a wooden rubber band shooter (another garage sale find) outside. Both toys are kept out of reach for when Dad has time to play. Mom doesn't have the patience to teach such 5-year old technical skills to a 3-year old, but Dad sure does, and that suits me fine!

The same storm that dropped the beautiful hail (depending on whether your property sustained damage or not) wreaked havoc in the form of a 3-mile wide tornado just a couple hours east of us in Mapleton, Iowa, as well as pelted Mimosa's car with similar-sized hail an hour+ northeast of Mapleton. [NOTE: Mimosa is Bird Nest's big sister -- her myblog name denotes the sensitive flower that closes in darkness and opens with light].

Perfectionism, Udder Confusion, PINK RULES, Cussing Babies, and Institutional FAIL

2011-04-09T14:29:00.007-05:00

40 Days of Spring Cleaning in 2 Weeks, and Other Mindful Musings

Other than tweaking the blog layout, I've been spring cleaning, indulging my perfectionism. It feels good. My dear MIL who raised 5 kids on a 100-year-old farm in Iowa once hinted to me while in my home that she prefers a home that appears lived in. I never let her know that this comment crawled up my spine like a spider for a very long time - I became paranoid that my house would be too clean for her when she visited and would feel the need to explain why! If she reads this entry, she'll know, but she probably has me pretty well figured out by now.

My own dear Mother was in charge of her wants and indulged her whims as a matter of philosophy: Why not? This was the extent of her consideration. Short and to the point. Doubtful she ever focused on things the way I do. Mom employed me often to help her get the house in ship shape before company. I can still hear her tsking about what the mothers of my friends would think if they went back and told of our house being in disarray. However, with 6 kids of her own (me being the baby), the home I grew up in certainly appeared lived in most of the time.

I tend to blame my OC proclivities euphemistically instead on the nuns in parochial school who were prone to tip desks over that were not properly organized. Growing up, I had allergies bad enough to require shots, so dust was not allowed to accumulate in my bedroom and stuffed animals were reduced to one or two. I'm sure the most basic level of my perfectionism is rooted in some need for control.

What I do know is that my family runs more efficiently and sensibly with organization, and my hubby has ADD - he needs the organization as much as I do, but for different reasons. I also know from researching child development that children also need organization on a number of levels.

For me, nothing feels better than a clutter-free, spic and span home with everything in its place. As much as my MIL likes the lived in appearance, I feel most able to relax and unfold when things are picked up and clean. The exception are the toys and block creations my son establishes and that live in our living room floor for days at a time.

Toys are part of our decor, but even the toys are organized when not in use. By now you might have an image of total inflexibility. Tonight, Cubbie lined up more than 25 feet of DVD cases down the hallway just because he could. Making messes in my book equates exploration and learning. Let me give you some idea -- Here, he delights in driving each and every car, truck, and toy within reach off a cliff:

As I've been cleaning, I have been bookmarking and tabbing news stories and blogs. Some I have already shared on facebook and twitter. Here they are with unabridged comments.

1. Cows produce human milk.

For other responses to this news, see (funny) here and (poignant) here.

This news had me shaking my head. It is kind of like the war chests in our country. Despite popular opinion (not to mention, despite need), three wars plus more interventions are out of focus with the barely beating hearts of so many Americans struggling to pull back from the brink of socioeconomic disaster. What we know should matter.

Research has proven beyond a doubt that breast is best, yet big business continues its lobbying and research to produce an alternative to nature when instead the ideological approach should be toward educating women and advocating natural breastfeeding. It assaults the rational mindset. It is a waste of resources, like throwing your ~~big~~ unwanted American balls around in a foreign country while your own citizens struggle to survive on the home turf. It is like researching how to make a pig whinny like a horse. Why? WHY? Answer: GREED.

On a more positive note, next up is a blog that made my day as it hit so close to home.

2. Boys will be boys: Only if you tell them they have to be.

My comments posted about this story to Tales From This Side of the Mamahood explained that a "friend" (male) kept trying to push guns on Cubbie when he was barely 2. Hubby has several guns for hunting (hidden and out of sight and reach), but I wanted to keep guns out of Cubbie's hands and mind for as long as possible.

The "friend" (and also my FIL) would also chide me for comforting Cubbie's boo-boos. I've learned what to expect from my FIL, but I truly resent the lack of respect shown me (and our son) by other parents who presume to know what is best for our child.

What is wrong with people? A snarky nephew mocked me recently for trying to shield my son, now 3, from the violent war movie that the teen was watching. More disrespect. I'm confident the military career that the teen plans for himself will set him straight, at least as far as showing respect is concerned.

I'm pretty sensitive about this stuff because it means so much to me - that we are the ones to decide what will influence the clean slate that is our baby, toddler, child. The day will come soon enough when we have to let go and trust that he is prepared to make decisions about what the world presents to him. That time is NOT now.

Believe me, whenever this happens, I would like to take the offspring of those questioning or criticising our parenting and run them through the wash a few times to expose the holes left by their design.

Issues of respect aside, hubby has also had his moments with gender bias, after all, the apple does not fall far from the tree (FIL). To be fair, I am certain my oldest brother has similar bias (but at least he keeps it to himself). As far as hubby is concerned, first it was the color pink (also an issue with the above male "friend') and a baby doll and doll stroller I gave to Cubbie.

By the time I brought home second-hand toy kitchen appliances, he had pretty much given up. The exception was a last ditch effort to protest my eBay purchase of a used pink dollhouse and accessories (which my son loves). Hubby also gave an obligatory eye roll at the hot pink pumpkin Cubbie carried wearing his cowboy costume for Halloween (his choices included orange and purple, too) .

I don't mean to dis the spouster. He is a wonderful man and works very hard to provide for us. He balances me out on many fronts. That alone is good for our son. He is rough around some edges, and I attribute that to his farm boy origins - a farm boy that can fix anything. A farm boy that gardens with wisdom. A farm boy that isn't afraid to protect. A farm boy that swept me off my feet with beautiful blue eyes that he passed on to our boy - quite a cutie that looks at first glance mostly like his Daddy.

Truth is, my son has always loved pink and at one time it was his favorite color. He loves cars and all things boy, but he is already more naturally compassionate than his father. :-) I call this breaking the cycle of dysfunction. I believe with enough generations, the bias can be transformed.

Now, my biggest challenge is keeping my somewhat perverted farm boy from corrupting my little boy's innocence in terms of respect for all women. Thankfully, I am already seeing the fruits of my labors in terms of teaching my son that a woman's body and breasts are designed to produce and nurture life. I'm not sure whether media, or other influences and testosterone will win out in the end, but I hope my SAHM and AP (attachment parenting) efforts help hold the line.

3. The devil is in the details.

My mission against perpetuating gender bias established, I haven't done such a great job of protecting my son from gutter speak, otherwise known as potty mouth disease. Cubbie places "goddammit" for emphasis where needed more often than I care to admit, calls our chiropractor (really, he adores the doc) a loo-ah (loser), and sometimes tries the 4-letter s-word out for size. He comes by it honestly from both parents. It is so hard not to laugh, which only reduces my SAHM and child led weaning, homeschooling, co sleeping saint hood to a negative-zero percent.

But, at least, I am not alone as Immaculate Preconceptions posted this about similar guilt.

Cubbie also unintentionally throws around the f-bomb. He hasn't mastered the letter "t" in his speech at the beginning of words, so trucks are a point of ~~contention~~ shameful suppressed laughter for his parents. There is dumbf**k (dump truck), muhf***k (monster truck), and firef**k (fire truck). And in the middle of the store, he saw a toy truck and yelled, "Ma! I wanna f**k!"

4. Institutionalized education is not respectful of children's rights and does not provide balanced socialization (may my teacher friends and family forgive me).

Alex Bradstreet (UncommonRanting) presents the perspective of a supporting (working) Dad in the world of home schooling, and who also takes a direct role in helping his children learn. While I really felt that Diane Flynn Keith (Homefires) covers the topic of socialization wonderfully (Yes, My Grown Homeschoole Children Are Odd - And Yours Will Be Too featured at Homeschool Blog), Bradstreet tackles the topics of children's rights and socialization with direct points in brief narrative here and here.

A Letter to Concerned Relatives by Stephanie at Unschooling: Delight Driven Learning chronicles the personal experience that no doubt mirrors that of numerous homeschooling and unschooling families.

These resources save a newbie like me likely hundreds of hours of hand wringing to convey what I already know intuitively to be true.

The journey we plan (and research) for our son deserves respect.

We have the utmost respect for teachers in the job they must do with disappearing resources. In most cases, the teachers are not the problem. They are often helpless cogs, and what a shame for the ones that desire to make a difference.

At the risk of sounding trite, it is the education system that fails Americans. Bradstreet does an excellent job of making that point.

But, beyond what he presents in his narrative, we know that choosing to not mainstream our kid will sew the fruits of life long benefits and life-lessons no system or institution can impart.

Postscript added Monday (April 11): Why the United States is Destroying its Education System

Blog Revival

2011-03-16T14:50:00.004-05:00

I'm back. Time to revive this nascent effort. I return keenly aware of the times in which we are living.

I'm still wrapped up and all around my Cubbie. I am providing him the nurturing I believe will balance out whatever negativity nature might have mapped out for him and help him cope throughout life with whatever human nature tosses his way. And while insolated in my stay at home world, I am more distracted by world events than by work.

I anticiapte that maturing generations after me will realize amazing philosophies and facts and produce change that will astound me. But I doubt they are yet aware of just how significant are the changes happening right now.

I wish my own step daugthers could make a first hand comparison to 40 yeas ago and skip all the time wasting in their lives, understanding finally how precious and short is every moment. Then, I turn to my 3-year old son, and I want for him unfettered play and unstructured learning to help him prepare for the time when baggage will adorn his fresh canvas. He is absorbing input as a sponge absorbs what we want to wipe away. I'm trying to be careful about what goes in without impeding the person developing within. It's a delicate process. Afterall, we are human.

All this effect of attachment to produce interdependence is a process that respects as much as possible the natural inclinations and especially the desires of the child.

The awareness required to respect my child extends to awareness of my entire world.

Before my child, I was focused on my personal loss. My parents were deteriorating rapidly. I was losing my validation base. I still lament the loss of my parents as they used to be. They're still here. But, they are not the same. They can no longer give. Their awareness has dissipated. The world has overcome them. I intend to correct their unintentional mistakes (primarily via my own wellness) so that barring the unforeseen, I can extend my own state of acute awareness beyond their ages. They are products of their generation. It happens.

I am aware.

I am aware that Bradley Manning is a victim in a matrix of psuedogovernment that is willfully derailed, careening down a devilish path of corporate-induced blindness to the human condition.

I am aware that the impact my family has on the earth consists of far more than the 3-4 bags of weekly garbage plus the monthly 90+ gallons of recyclable material that we produce. Amazing is that we produce more recyclable material daily than trash.

I am aware of the dysfunctional partriotism that leads Americans to support the killing of innocent children across the world while simultaneously holding unforgiving measures against mothers with unviable pregnanices, and decimating the services needed by a village to raise a poverty-stricken child.

This same dysfunction cries out for liberty-by-God while supporting a giant propaganda machine hell bent on stampeding the liberties of the most desperate of global citizens, propping up corrupt regimes to ensure that devilish path of supreme wealth can be sustained by oil, no matter the human (or environmental) expense. Thank you, Wikileaks, for exposing these immoral measures.

Even earthquakes are tilting earth on her axis and rewriting her story.

The unbalance, the ignorance, the pure greed (while exclaiming that God hates and Jesus saves), and the swaying masses absorbing whatever the corporate media serves up is indeed massive calamity... Chaos.

Can't stop the moving train. So maybe earth will have her say now. Maybe people will wake up. I'm putting a hint of stock now in the idea of a transformation in late 2012. Seeing the alternatives, I am actually hoping aliens do reveal that we have achieved a level of understandign that enables us to start training for the next level of existence. Which is more absurd, aliens revealing a master experiment, or God-fearing people spreading hate and squashing desperate humans like ants?

For my part, I want to give the world happy, healthy, ethical global citizens for the future. I want to erase the dysfunction that prevents us all from reaching our full potential and influence during our short journey on earth.

I have decided what I want to do with my life (this should give some measure of comfort to those thinking they have to decide in their 20s).

My parents had a song and dance. They did exactly as they were taught. They "raised me right," along with all the conformities to society and religion that they held sacred. They loved me. They were generous. They had their own dysfunction. But, they validated me. Their faces lit up when they saw me or when I spoke, whether I was 3 or 30. Their enthusiasm was contagious.

I struggled with my own challenges and bumps, but I achieved a terminal degree, won the respect of authority in education and work, and advanced along a respectable course in career. I was a working woman who thought she didn't want kids.

I took risks. I took turns on the career path. Then, I got sick of the politics and took matters into my own hands.

I took more risks. I was happier being my own boss, but still I saw something unexpected emerging in myself... a desire to parent, certain compassion for children who needed a dependable advocate.

I felt the pains that come from membership in a blended family. I compared the parts I could not control to my own upbringing. I saw where both could be improved upon. I learned to never say never. I developed an intense desire for motherhood. I planned accordingly.

Fast forward 5 years. No baby. We almost forgot. I was healthy. The oldest was gliding toward HS graduation.

All of a sudden, I was pregnant. I was 42. Yeah. Amazing how that happens. It was as if we had never heard the story of the birds and bees.

The hormones were awesome. A perpetual high. I was calm throughout, working from home. I enjoyed my pregnancy. With my penchant for organzing closets, I was certain I could organize my son.

Ha! I do organize him now to some degree, but he naturally took the wheel at birth, tearing apart the seams of my plans and redefining the fabric of my life. He took my heart and soul for a spin that rocked my existence.

I cannot compare stay at home motherhood to the working woman's world. After all I have done and experienced, nothing can compare. To know the thing accepted, we must know the thing rejected.

No matter the battle I still face at times - and mainly with men - in proving to all but other SAHMs that my value is more precious than any bacon I could bring home from the outside, I know that I have achieved the most immeasurable moment in my life.

All I have to do is look at the world's aged women to see that the richest ones are the ones with family, not fortune, nor trophies. And I understand. And I almost missed the boat entirely. To that degree, call me fundamental, at last.

I want to be a domestic goddess spinning harmony into the family unit. I want to bake wholesome foods, reuse and recycle, home school, and create sustainable resources for living.

If only I had cared to pay attention when my Mother tried to instill sewing. I would be crafting woolen products, making my own cloth diapers, and toys.

I want to cultivate my son's interest in visual media, music, outer space, and rocks. I want to help my husband be the best he can be, and try to accept his rough edges. I want to remain a source of dependable honesty to my step daughters.

I want to perfect my own health and wellness for longevity.

And I want to see amazing things unfold before us as humans while we grasp increasingly more of the concepts our universe has hidden for discovery by our scientists and explorers.

And I want my Cubbie to be prepared to be a leader in the Age of Compassion. One more thing, such leadership is... humble.

Echos of the Womb

2009-11-02T08:25:00.017-06:00

The womb, the egg, intuition, and the mystery of the female experience. These are things that remind me of a connectedness to earth, to time, and a sanguine color.

I have this pair of socks that I cannot part with. They are footies - ankle socks - white with a scalloped trim. They are blood stained from when my water broke. Since they have been washed, the stains are...sanguine.

Anyone else would have discarded them as trash. I cannot. I keep them like one would keep a lock of hair from a baby. No - it is more deeply emotional than that.

I keep them like one might keep the scent of a lost loved one by hanging on to an old article of clothing. To discard it is to discard the evidence of an experience that is connected to my soul.

I had a C-section. I had 34+ hours of labor. Without any warning (or my permission), medical personnel ripped apart my tissues (an unnecessary "stripping of the membranes" that was the single most painful part of child birth for me despite my ultra long and intense "pitocin-racheted" contractions).

By the time the emergency C-section was ordered, I was ready to be put down like a lame horse. I never felt denied. I had experienced enough labor pain to suffice missing out on the pushing. When my contractions were 2 minutes apart after so many hours, I didn't think I could live through each subsequent one. My doula, and my husband assured me I would continue living. Strangely, I both wanted and feared (terrified comes to mind) each building, pulsating, beating, searing, seeming to last forever inquisition that rocked my entire being.

My birth plan was for a natural birth. I dismissed my own instincts for the manipulation of my physician. He guided me toward inducement at 39 weeks, using the meconium threat and my high risk age (then, 42) as justification for scheduling my birth "at the last minute." He cinched the deal by scheduling his hunting trip out of state during my 40th week - instilling certain trepidation about "waiting" in this first time mom to be. I gave in to inducement, which I am 99% sure he knew would end in C-section. Perhaps if I had been tended to by a Midwife, she might have let me go to 41 weeks or longer. We'll never know.

Before I knew it, Cubbie was 6 months, and then 9 months, 2 years... I remember wondering what his personality would be like. Looking back, I can see that little person he is now in the same eyes in the pictures of an infant. I just didn't know what those eyes were saying back then.

The experts agree that kids are babies long after we stop thinking of them as such. A vast majority of brain development occurs between birth and around three years of age.

Research is also discovering that environment and attachment practices have tremendous impact on this developing brain, actually limiting or boosting intelligence quotient and establishing a framework for social and emotional development for a life time.

Human genome research is opening these doors for consideration, and even though we only know a fraction of a fraction about this new science (and have not even begun to uncover the infinite power our mind has on our body), I find it alarming that anyone would not come to attention and examine their own choices and philosophies.

I am so engrossed in caring for Cubbie that I cannot imagine another mother not seeing what I see. I realize that the polite thing to do is to say "it isn't for everyone" to excuse the mother who bows out of the level of commitment I am so fortunate to be able to make.

I do realize not every mother has the opportunity as I do to stay at home. But, in retrospect, knowing what I know now, I could have made it work at any age, not just middle age. Had I started earlier, it is doubtful I would have as much in my life materially as I do now.

But, if it came down to it, I think I would stop at nothing to be home with my child, even if it meant stepping down notch after notch on the socioeconomic ladder. Armed with the knowledge I have now, I would chuck the dress clothes and work world, choosing domesticity instead. I would make family harmony my career goal, and I would make raising happy, securely attached, ethical children my life's work.

I am sure there are plenty who would take me to task. I don't think my own mother - as enormous as she is in my heart and as tremendous as her influence has been on my life - gave to me the level of focus I give to Cubbie.

But, unlike my own generation that followed, hers was a generation that stayed home and raised the kids. I was never in day care. She was physically present. To me, that is as important as nutrition and sleep.

The rest of what I give to Cubbie is probably on the extreme end of what is the cultural norm in America - so many women and mothers draw limits when giving of themselves. I am like I said: engrossed.

I think in about 2-3 years, I will long for this immersion in meeting the needs and wants of my child just as I long now for the pregnancy and infancy period.

I truly believe that this will be the most important four (give or take) years in my life (and Cubbie's life for his future) and it is my ultimate responsibility. I believe it will pay dividends for years to come, but most importantly, I love being Cubbie's mommy.

Life is but once. Each decade looks like such a short road when looking back. Early childhood development is a drop in the bucket of a lifetime. But, it is arguably the most critical for a "life."

I long to re-experience the labor pains, that moment when my water broke, and to endure every contraction. I long to again experience that ultimate pain that bonds women of every previous and future generation on a level that is nearly ecstatic.

For decades, I feared child birth. I would like to examine that twisted notion, but who has the time?! I am just relieved that the time came when I entered the realm of reproduction. Had I known having a child would help to heal any leftover hurts from my 4 and 1/2 decades of living, I would have made it my career choice by age 30!

As for those socks, I hope I never misplace them. Once in a while I come across them, and I feel a connection with myself that is immutable.

Virgin Blog Entry

2009-10-17T10:19:00.007-05:00

Good morning. I should be working. I should be getting dressed (because my "Cubbie" has already exceeded the lucky4mom sleeping late period and will awaken any moment). But, thanks to Tonya who never ceases to amaze me, I am motivated to do this which I have long wanted to do...execute my own blog. So, here I sit with the giant coffee mug that Skye brought us back from NYC featuring Mz. Liberty.

My blog title comes from my artist days (the period before my parent days) and is a corner of life I keep snug against my hip because it is a) never over, and b) transformed temporarily into something I call "balance" in life. Just don't address the issue of balance with me when it comes to my Cubbie... he practically consumes my life.

I still "paint" in everything I do, because for me it is a process - and isn't it quaint that "process" was central to my graduate thesis - thus she manages to come full circle as she always seems to do!

Secretly, I am both pleased and surprised when that happens. Did I lose anyone? Hang in there with me...I'll get back on track soon. (My oldest brother used to tease me about the number of accidents I had in my early years of driving...said it was related to me not being able to remain within the lines...in life, I guess). Thus, I find it ironic that I crave structure and organization so much. Guess it is my yinyang.

These jumps in conceptual discussion caused me to lose the interest of some during my developmental years (haha - we'll call those age 13 to now). My editing experience has taught me to restate and restate for objectivity and directness - a process (there it is again) of reduction - but I doubt that will take place among these ramblings. Sorry!

There is nothing more pleasing (or daunting) than a blank canvas...which is a pleasant feature of our recent move into new construction. Our next move could only be enhanced by designing the new structure from scratch, as I am still confined to decorating within the scope of predefined space and materials.

I've spent years working within the framework of existing floorplans and materials (apartments, farm house, 50s and 60s houses, and even a Mission style house). Again, it goes right back to my process for painting. The paintings on blank canvas were fresh and ethereal. The paintings I often revisited became challenging in terms of composition and were excruciatingly complex. The former gave me a sense of peace and balance. The latter provided me with a sense of self confidence, as if the layers of connecting and reconnecting throughout the image created stability - groundedness. Ahhhh. The cerebral guns flexing.

At least for now our new home flows with an earnest effort to keep the decor simple. HGTV and DIY shows are helpful for keeping me on the simplistic decor wagon.

So there it is, moving and unpacking have dominated the last month of my life, whereas packing dominated the third quarter of 2009. I tried to work as much as possible to earn an income, but Cubbie was my first priority and concern throughout the transition of hubby's new job and our move.

At last, I really must get down to business. Cubbie is awake and enjoying wa-uh-man (watermellon). I just got up to join him in the "Hotdog" dance. It is no wonder I love being his mom. The simplicity of his child-view brings me happiness, while the intensity of the pull upon my heart strings created by his existence grounds me from the core of my will and convictions. It pretty much brings closure to any need I might have ever had to "understand" life.