A new way of communicating...

So over the past few years, I've undergone a conscious and intentional process of self-improvement. From eating better to being more environmentally conscious, volunteering my time, being a better friend, being a better mom, etc.

Now I'm tackling what seems to be one of my most difficult challenges yet: to stop yelling.

OK, when I say "yelling", I'm not saying I walk around screaming like some old Italian grandmother all the time.  Sometimes I'm just yelling into the other room because I don't want to walk in there. It's not always angry, but it does create a very loud environment around the house, especially when you have three mini-me's who are picking up the habit, as well.  Four people yelling, a couple of them in much higher registers. It gets loud.

So my latest challenge is to take the time to stop folding laundry or doing what I'm doing, walk into the other room, and quietly ask the kids to pick up their toys or if they've finished their homework, and, if I'm angry, to stop, breathe, and address the problem quietly instead of immediately yelling.

This is hard, undoing a lifetime of this habit. My mother yelled and spanked...so did everyone else's moms in the '80's!  I'm not blaming her- that's how she was raised. On top of that, we were raised in a "children should be see and not heard" type of household, so my frustration at not having my feelings heard or validated would boil over and I would yell, as if projecting my voice louder would project my feelings to my parents at a level at which they would have listen and notice (which they did not, I would just get spanked or grounded). One of the biggest issues that I've had with my relationship with my parents is my feeling (and it continues to this day), that they do not listen, respect, or acknowledge my feelings but rather dismiss them as trivial, immature, overly-emotional, etc.

Now, as a mom, at Grayson's baseball game, his Papa and I were both yelling to him. "Keep your eye on the ball! Get behind that ball! Get under that ball! Hey, focus, Gray! Keep your head in the game," and finally, from second base where he's waiting for the batter to hit a modest line drive so he could dash around to home and possibly get his team another run, he yells to me and his Papa, "HEY, I GOT IT! LET ME DO IT."  Well.  OK, then. If I had publicly yelled at my parents like that, I would've gotten snatched up so fast my head would spin. Yet before I opened my mouth, I took stock of the situation.  Grayson already had two other, unrelated coaches yelling at him throughout the game. At the end of that inning, I snagged him as he was running into the dugout. I whispered into his ear, "You're doing great. Have fun and just look over there and I'll be there supporting you. I won't yell any more."  He grinned and went back to the game, and nailed the last two innings, catching every ball and connecting with a solid pop fly that went uncaught, letting him make it to second base while two tow-headed 8 year olds scrambled for the ball. I think having someone quietly supporting you instead of loudly dictating your every move makes for a better and more enjoyable learning experience.

So I'm trying to translate this into daily life at home. After a ten-day battle of trying to get the kids to clean their room without caving and doing it for them, their room was finally clean.  And it wasn't done until I figured out that I was just giving a general "clean your room" to an 8 yr old, 6 yr old, and 5 yr old. They had no clue where to even begin and were so overwhelmed that they would end up sitting in the middle of the mess and playing with whatever toy was nearest.  So when I broke it down into doable task, the results were clear: eight days of yelling= no results, two days of calmly instructing with simple tasks=clean room.

Score one for common sense.


I'm experimenting with the concept of treating kids like mini-adults.  Now, obviously this doesn't apply across the board...they're kids and need instruction and guidance as they grow.  However, more so than the content of what we're saying, perhaps reevaluate the way we're talking to our children. Are we "talking down" to them? And can they sense that? So to attempt to ascertain this, I instituted evening "family meetings" with the kids a few months ago.  In the evening, after dinner and after baths, just before bed, we sit down at the kitchen table with drinks (it started with Callie with her chamomile tea and then the boys wanted hot chocolate) and talk about our day. I ask them everything from what they learned that day to how their feelings were hurt that day. Rules are: no TV, no radio, no computer, no distractions, and everyone must contribute something to the conversation. The kids think it's so "mature" because they're holding mugs and having a "meeting", so they really ACT mature: speak calmly and quietly, take turns, don't talk over one another, listen carefully...it's amazing. And sometimes they'll say, "YOU hurt my feelings today, Mom, when you shushed me when I was trying to tell you something."  Hey, I never said I was perfect...but it's very cool to learn from that and get and keep open communication about these things with your kids.

Since the beginning of the nightly meetings, the rate of yelling has drastically decreased in our home. I've heard the kids having arguments in their room that includes the words, "I feel that.." and "This isn't respectful to my stuff," so I have faith we're moving in the right direction. Me included.

Do you have issues with yelling in your home?  What methods of communication do you use with your kids, your spouse, your roommates, etc. to avoid raising voices?  Comment, email, share, etc.

~m

A legend, an inspiration...

The day was dreary, cloudy, drizzling at times, but that didn't dampen our excitement.  We did our hair, packed a bag with a blanket, extra jackets, bottled water, and made our way downtown.

Took a photo at home before leaving...

Sure, I got a few weird looks...holding hands with a little girl, her skipping and smiling, walking to a Bob Dylan show.  We went across the street to the VGBG, a restaurant and bar, to get some food that wasn't outrageously expensive before the show. The tables were long and meant to be shared, so she was thoroughly enjoying my quinoa salad and ignoring her kids' meal when I overheard a group of overdressed Uptown types at the other end of the long table proclaim loudly that they "just didn't feel right" about drinking with a kid at the other end of the table, shooting us daggers with their eyes. The place had a friggin KIDS menu...it's not a saloon, people. So I asked Callie what her favorite Dylan song is and if she wanted to sing it with me, so we started singing "The Times They Are A'Changing" loud enough to be gleefully annoying, spittle and food flying from our mouths, as we gave the yuppies huge smiles full of quinoa, black bean, and Dylan words, and then we danced out of there to a smattering of applause and a few high fives.

The venue is nice, large enough to host a big name but intimate enough for it to be a good show.  We staked out our spot in the grass , spread our blanket, and proceeded to wait...but it wasn't long before Callie was making friends.  The ladies to our right, Dori and Amber, were having a mother-daughter date, also. They drove all the way from Saluda, NC because they won the tickets in a radio contest. Classic mountain types, they wore sandals with jeans, colorful vests and had eclectic bags.

It wasn't long before the spot in front of Dori and Amber was taken by a cute couple, John and Jan, also mountain people coming from Shelby and also won tickets from a radio station (the same one!).   They had a really cute blanket/tarp (cool design on top, waterproof, and tarp on bottom...perfect for outdoor concerts, festivals, camping, etc.) that they told me was made by their son, who has a business selling them: Tarpestry (http://thetarpestry.weebly.com/)...[I wouldn't plug them if it wasn't super cool, so there ya go].

Tarpestry

Anyway, they hit it right off with Callie also, letting her use their binoculars to see the guys from Dawes and then, when he appeared, Mr. Dylan himself. Callie was amazing. Away from her brothers and their hyper antics, she was cool and collected.  She was comfortable talking to the adults about Bob Dylan and his music and happy to lay on the blanket with her head in my lap for the hour or so until Dawes played.

Dawes was a bit of a let-down live. I had never heard of them, so I looked them up before we went and was pretty excited....their stuff on YouTube is really good. Don't get me wrong, their music is really good (their vocals...ahhh, like honey) and they were very good last night, but nearly everything they played was draggy. Yeah, it was cloudy and grey, but I'd like an opening band to pep me up a bit and all their songs were pretty mellow, almost too much so. I feel like they just got in their groove on the last song, where they jammed for over seven minutes, and it almost made me want to see a full show of theirs to experience their whole range....I hope I get a chance to do that.

And then Callie had to go to the bathroom, so we ran, not wanting to miss Bob starting up.  Just as we were heading back to our blanket, we hear a guitar and look up to see a sole figure in black strolling out on stage like...well, like he wasn't Bob mothafucking Dylan. Too cool for school.

What? I'm Bob mothafuckin Dylan.

Let me tell you, this man still oozes cool. I don't care how old he is. Stellar wardrobe, iconic frazzled hair, and a voice as gravelly and sweet as really good whiskey on the rocks. When he started singing, most people stopped talking and were mesmerized. And here's where I will indulge in a little rant....

When I say "most" people were mesmerized, I mean not all. I mean that there were a good number of young hipster types in slouchy hats, babydoll dresses with indian boots and ironic feather tattoos, who spent the entire time clustered around the beer stands talking, loudly, and ignoring the show. Thankfully, the security team was really good about moving these clusters of losers when they would stand in front of the lawn area and block the view while trying to get cool shots of themselves watching Bob Dylan in Instagram ("Did you get him in the picture? Well, did you at least get me?  Haha, OK, that's what matters...like, I'll tag the stage as Bob Dylan...hahaha" SHOOT ME.)

For this reason, I didn't even bring my phone inside...I left it in the car. I wanted to experience the show "old school"...I knew my phone wouldn't get any quality pictures from so far back but just having it there wouldn't prevent me from trying...repeatedly...and then assaulting my friends with god-awful, blurry pictures of a stage with some tiny people on it and insisting that one guy definitely is Bob Dylan. I didn't want to watch the show through a screen, I wanted to experience it live. I wish others had done the same...one of the women near us, an older woman, watched nearly the whole show through her iPhone screen.  Ridiculous.  Anyway, if you're going to a show and you don't really know the artists' music, that's cool...just don't be rude to those of us who are really big fans. I know it's cool to just "tag" yourself at the Bob Dylan show, but be respectful of people who paid for the show because they actually like the music and are trying to hear it and see the guy playing it.

I digress. Most of the people there were genuine, happy, beautiful people that were content to sit on the wet grass and let a perpetual mist glide over us as we basked in the beauty of good, solid music. I was pretty absorbed, but the few times I let my eyes wander, I saw people dancing, people laid back, eyes closed, just wrapped up in the sound. Callie dozed off during one of his last songs, on her back on our blanket with Jan and John's tarpestry covering up to her chest, where John had so sweetly laid it to block the misting rain, and her eyes fluttered open to "All Along the Watchtower", where everyone around her was up and dancing.  She lay there, flat on her back, and watched the beautiful people dance with an ethereal smile on her cherub face. If there were one moment I wished I had my camera, that was it, but it's almost better that it's a sacred snapshot memory in only her mind and mine.

I tried to explain to her that by the time her friends realize who Bob Dylan is, get into his music, or at least acknowledge his massive contribution to modern music, he won't be around for them to go see live, so she went into this show with a very serious, almost stoic, determination to absorb this experience.  She watched him, listening intently, with the quiet concentration of a student in a lecture. I couldn't have been more proud (and amazed, honestly...I didn't know how she would handle a concert, nor was I expecting her to behave like a real student of classic rock).  After his first song, she broke out of her reverie, looked at me, and said, "He has such a dark voice." I, and the people around me, stared at her. "Yes....he does," I said, realizing she just hit the nail right on the head...his voice has become "dark" over the years. It's the difference from his early music that many people struggle to capture in words, and my six year old nailed Bob Dylan in one word after one song. 

The concert was amazing. Bob Dylan was, of course, transcendent. I've been to a lot of concerts, but this was one where I truly felt I was in the presence of a master, someone who has a gift that is greater than most of us will ever comprehend, as he manipulated the sound waves like an artist sculpting clay and pulled from the misty air feelings of love, aching, hurt, a wistful nostalgia of our fondest and most wrenching memories. I found tears in my eyes and looked over to see Callie, brow furrowed in concentration, focused with a deep intent on the wild-haired man in black on stage, and I felt the greatest elation that I could give her the gift of music, the gift that has carried me through many dark times and given me so much joy, and that she should be so receptive and receive the gift with such respect.

Life is about these moments. Away from a camera, where human-to-human interaction is necessary. Where complete strangers huddle under blankets, share fries and festival stories, and feel the pulse of life threading through us all. Thank you, Mr. Dylan, for giving me this night of inspiration and a lesson in humanity.

~m

When to let go.

So after a full day of work, going home to change, eating a quick dinner and grabbing the dog, and running around getting all the kids, we made it to Grayson's baseball game this evening.

This baseball season has been tough, with me having to work many evenings that Grayson has practice. As a result, his Papa has been picking him up from the bus stop and taking him to practice.  I told him once my schedule changes, I'll be able to take him, but he keeps insisting it's no problem.

Tonight during the game, at which his Papa is a coach, I spent my time about equally watching Grayson and watching his Papa, and slowly realizing that I just hadn't been getting it.

It wasn't about me. Yes, of course, I'm going to support Grayson and go to his games, but this is way, way more important to his Papa.  His face was alive, lit up, smiling, yelling, cheering, slapping Grayson on the back and patting his helmet before he went up to bat. He needs this way more than I do.

I can't imagine raising a boy, being as involved and as loving as his Papa is, only to lose that child. I've never seen him so happy and alive as he was today at the game- at home, his face grows long and tired, sitting in his den surrounded by photos of Lee.

Who am I to step between him and Grayson in this rite of passage for boys- playing Little League with their dads (or in this case, Papa)? This isn't my place. Grayson doesn't need me there like he needs his Papa there. I simply can't fill that role. Nor should I.

The baseball field happened to be just around the corner from the cemetery, so I swung by, dusted the grass clippings off Lee's stone, righted the flower vase that lay on its side, and thought about it.  One of the hardest things about being a parent is knowing when to back off. I'm a mom and I'm really good at hugs, snuggling, discipline, reading together, making him eat his vegetables and not tell lies....but his Papa is really good at telling him when to swing, when to get under the ball, when to run...how to play baseball. And I have to be OK with that.

PTSD claims another...

A young man (I guess I can still call people my age "young"), fellow alum of AJHS, succumbed to  PTSD. I struggle to comprehend his pain and my soul weeps to think of it.

I don't have words right now, so I'll turn to a piece of writing by those much greater than I: Walt Whitman with his "Adieu to a Soldier".  I hope my readers take these words in with a state of meditative reception, contemplation, and levity.

God rest your soul, Will, and those of all the young soldiers whose most private of battles couldn't be won.

Please consider supporting organizations like Stop Soldier Suicide , Returning Veterans Project, and The Soldiers Project and help heal our warriors who can't heal themselves.  And always, always, reach out to the soldiers, sailors, marines, airmen, and veterans in your life, check on them, encourage them, listen to them, and be a part of the solution.

~m

Adieu to a Soldier ~ Walt Whitman
ADIEU, O soldier!
You of the rude campaigning, (which we shared,)
The rapid march, the life of the camp,
The hot contention of opposing fronts--the long manoeuver,
Red battles with their slaughter,--the stimulus--the strong, terrific
game,
Spell of all brave and manly hearts--the trains of Time through you,
and like of you, all fill'd,
With war, and war's expression.

Adieu, dear comrade!
Your mission is fulfill'd--but I, more warlike,
Myself, and this contentious soul of mine, 10
Still on our own campaigning bound,
Through untried roads, with ambushes, opponents lined,
Through many a sharp defeat and many a crisis--often baffled,
Here marching, ever marching on, a war fight out--aye here,
To fiercer, weightier battles give expression. 

I leveled up...

...to coin a video game phrase.

I've been approved to write for examiner.com, which is one of the best and most linked-to freelance media sources today. This means potential article views in the tens of thousands.

I am honored, thrilled, elated, excited beyond words, humbled, and extraordinarily grateful.

To celebrate, I'm making brownies.  Because...well, that's how I roll.

Tomorrow I write. For tonight...WE FEAST ON CHOCOLATE CAKE-LIKE CONFECTIONS AND WATCH FUNNY SHIT ON YOUTUBE!!!

Thank you.
~m

The Hell of American Daycare

I read this article about the current condition of American childcare for working moms, and I've been saying this for years: until we fix this, women can't achieve true equality in the workplace in America. You can't be expected to go to work and perform with total concentration while your child is in a sub-par daycare.

People have asked me if I'm done having more kids.  That question totally depends on the future of my career. If I held a position where I could afford a quality daycare, then I totally wouldn't be opposed to having more kids- I love kids, I'm a good mom, and I like the idea of expanding my family. But as it stands now, there's no way I could afford quality care for an infant (you're talking $200+ a week for dependable infant care).

I won't go into the bad experiences I had with childcare over a cumulative twelve years (four years of pre-school childcare for each child) for my children.  Sometimes it was ridiculous- I literally had to decide between going to work that day and leaving my child in what I knew to be a questionable situation (home daycares? Never. Again.).  My oldest son actually came to work in the morning with me and would sit and play board games, play with cards, draw, or play chess with a friend of mine while I was baking the pastries and opening up the coffee shop I worked for and he waited for his ride to school.  Thank GOD the owner was cool with it and a very supportive boss to a working mom.  I think he was probably the last supportive boss I had, come to think of it.

I thought my worries were nearly over since two of my children are in elementary school, but my current management team has assured me otherwise. Three times my kids' school nurse had to call me this year: two for Callie and one for Grayson, both times they had a fever and could not remain at school, so I had to leave work to go pick them up.  I got written up for leaving work early. Wow.

That's what you get for being a single mom working at a corporate "big box" store. I combed the employee handbook with a fine-tooth comb...there are exactly zero protections for employees having to leave work to pick up a sick child. To qualify for protection under the FMLA, the illness has to be a "long-term" one and you must apply for those protections/benefits at least a month in advance [How does that request go? "In one month, I shall find out my child has cancer and I must leave to take care of him/her." Seriously?].  So there are basically no protections against a single parent getting fired for essentially being...a single parent (who else is going to pick up your sick kid? No daycare is going to pick him up either, if he's got a fever. Grandparents at work?  Aunts and uncles all at work?  Guess what....I've got to go pick him up.)

It's not just single parents, either. In this economy, most families need to be dual income to make ends meet. However, I know families in which one spouse stayed home simply because the cost of putting their children in dependable childcare would have been more than that party would bring home in his or her paycheck.

We've seen time and time again that countries and organizations that provide childcare have higher productivity rates and more successful employees than those who do not.  How do we not get this as a nation?  Even if the government doesn't provide childcare or childcare subsidies, the massive corporations should provide childcare facilities for their employees.  You put in a childcare center with a few staff, you make a minimal investment (in the grand scheme of your corporate spending), and you would more than get that money back in lost hours from employees who have to call out due to childcare issues. Not to mention, those employees would be happier and more at ease knowing their children are nearby and are safe, thus increasing the productivity when they are at work.  It's really a no-brainer.  But hell, considering most of the companies are cutting hours to avoid having to pay medical costs under new healthcare regulations, who really expects them to act as if they have any sort of moral compass?

So read the article (there's a pretty horrifying story...be warned), and if you don't have kids, try to imagine what your life would be like if you did. Working at night? Never again. Working overtime? Probably not- most daycares won't put up with it. Having a flexible schedule to be available to your company whenever?  Nope. You'll be a hassle and a burden to your employer and, if anything like my current situation, they'll try to make your working life so difficult that you leave so they can hire a kid with a wide-open schedule to replace you.  That's the reality of it.

Thank you, friends.

I've got to send out some thanks to some friends of mine who are good enough friends to give me a cyber slap in the face when I'm freaking out and snap me back to reality.

Yesterday was just a climax of a lot of emotions (as evidenced in my blog post). All these national tragedies happening at just enough of a regular interval to keep us (or me) somewhat scared, and then the potential shooter potentially being at my kids' school...potentially.  As it all turned out, he was armed and was in the area, but the police acted with such swift and sure determination, in conjunction with the school district (who immediately executed a lock-down and shooter "drill"), that the entire terrifying situation was quelled in about two hours, from the time of the initial tip to the arrest.  That's fairly amazing, and a testament to the procedures in place and the professionalism of our local resources.

The staff at the school, while they admitted they were scared as they too hid in "closets and bathrooms" during the shooter "drill" [apparently, normally during a drill, staff members such as janitors and secretaries don't typically participate], were extraordinarily calm, professional, and empathetic as frantic parents began to arrive at the school. They handled all of our crazy asses with patience, especially the parents who were screaming through the phone lines (audible to the entire office area).



It was terrifying, especially that first few moments after receiving that email. Positively terrifying.  Grayson is eight years old, the same age as the boy killed in the Boston bombing and the same age as countless other young people killed every year by car accident, cancer, fatal accidents, drowning, etc. Every day I release him into the world, onto a bus, into a school, to a friend's house, and one day (Lord help any of you who know me on that day) into a car that he's driving.

And that's only one child. One day I'll have to release Callie on a date.
With a boy. Sheesh.

But you, my good, good friends, have the love for me to snap me out of my terror-induced panic and get me back to reality.  Life is going to happen. There is no way I can protect my children against all the dangers the world presents.  I could home school them, and we could all be killed by a drunk driver on the way to the supermarket.  I could move up into the mountains and our lovely, eco-friendly, off-the-grid cabin could catch fire.  Those Final Destination movies kind of hit it right on the nose...you can't escape it.

The only other logical alternative is to enjoy every single second you do have.  Sometimes, it may be more important to lay on the floor with your kids and play with Legos than fold that basket of laundry.  That can wait for after they go to bed.  Sometimes, when they're slurping their spaghetti and flinging sauce all over their faces, it's best just to laugh and enjoy their silly, raucous giggles around a table that one day will fall silent. Take a walk and accept the dandelions they pick for you and put them in your hair. Dance with them in a public park like no one's looking.  So if, on the horrible, tragic, unthinkable chance that something happens to one of them, you'll have the happiest, most glowing memories possible.

Thank you, friends.

Interrupted by a local school shooter...

I've tried not to engage in much discussion about the tragedy in Boston because I simply feel I don't have the words.  I'm weary of the dialogue, frankly.

I went through this the very first time 17 years ago when I was in Atlanta with a church group at the Olympics when a bomb went off just a few blocks away.  I was terrified and, at 14 years old, had no clue what was happening. Time passed and the memories faded.

And then, three years later, a group of misunderstood, bullied teens went rampage on their high school in Columbine, CO, slaying their classmates and then ending their own lives.  We held vigil at my little country school, the principle sounding weary and worn as he announced that no more rifles in the gun racks in the back of your trucks...drop 'em off at home if you were early morning hunting and then going to school. We held drills, looked at one another, confused, in anti-bullying assemblies (in a school with little to no bullying...we were all of relatively the same socio-economic status, very small school, very close-knit), and began peering out at this world with a hint of fear.

Just a scant year and a half later, some crazy jihadist blew a hole the size of a building in the side of one of our "impenetrable" Navy ships. I had just gotten back from visiting New York City with my parents and eating hoagies in the shadow of the twin towers of the World Trade Center, where we took pictures and craned our necks back as far as we could to squint against the sun at her height.

And then that was gone, and with it, the lives of thousands of innocent Americans.

It's a systematic process of being broken, but being performed on an entire nation. After you punch someone in the gut over and over, eventually they give up.

I can't do the same old dialogue, frankly.  I, like many of my peers, joined the military after this late-adolescent period of fear and intimidation, to try to make a difference.  To do the right thing. To make the world a better place, somehow. To stop the bad guys from hurting us. Now all we have is a generation of bitter, jaded, broken (sometimes physically) men and women who are sick of it all.  We sacrificed so much, some much, much more than others, and what difference did it make?

***Wow, I was in the middle of writing this when I got an email alert from the kids' school that there was a shooter in the district and they were on lock-down.  I grabbed John up and drove like a maniac to their school (which was not the school in question, thank goodness).  When I drove up, vans, SUVs, and sedans were parked all over the driveway, some askew, some still running, as wild-haired moms in sweats dashed up to the front door.  Not just moms...a BMW screeched up and a suited man who looked like a banker jumped from the car before it was fully in park. Concern for kids transcends all social classes. A resource officer, a psychologist, sent from the school district was rushing from the parking lot towards us, half-jogging, briefcase under his arm and ID card on a lanyard around his neck, hurrying to comfort the panicking parents milling about the front door.  The school secretary, principle, and school nurse, all of whom were anxiously manning the front desk, knew nothing except that it wasn't at their school.

To their credit, the York PD and Clover School District handled this with astounding speed, proficiency, and professionalism, curbing any potential danger and apprehending the shooter before any damage was done. The implementation of the "shooter" plan was flawless, as far as I could tell.  Resource officers being sent to all schools, both to calm parents and staff and assist in dealing with the children,  is a very cool part of the plan.

However, the fact remains that THERE WAS A FRIGGIN SHOOTER IN MY CHILDREN'S SCHOOL DISTRICT.

To be honest, it's looking more and more attractive to get a piece of land up in the mountains, home school the kids, and get away from this society of threats, shooting, violence, and fear.

To any who have any advice, comment, email, etc.
~m

Who's scared of failure? EVERYONE!

This weekend I finally gathered the courage to share my book outline (over three months since beginning to scribble it out) with my closest friends and the boyfriend.  This was a big hurdle.

I could only wish to look this suave with writer's block...

Writers are a lot of things...we're neurotic, we're typically just slightly crazy, and we both detest sharing unfinished work and crave feedback on finished works.  So we want no eyes on it before it's done and once it's done, we demand the whole world look at it right then and give us feedback, preferably 99% positive with super cheerful, barely-there constructive criticism (or, God forbid, a harsh critic and spend the next three hours in the bathroom crying and fixing makeup....for real).

Yet I'm aware that harsh critics are what I need before even beginning to release any major piece of writing, especially criticism from my closest friends who will be more gentle than strangers.  So just the step of sharing my outline was scary...I was convinced that (a) the plot was too complex and they would say, "Whoa, whoa, this is insane..too much going on. No one will read this." and (b) that the story itself isn't compelling or interesting enough (which simply isn't true...I find myself fascinated to see how these characters' lives will play out).

Considering all of that, it was a pleasant surprise that all of them found the story very interesting, compelling enough that each time I discussed (three separate times), an intense discussion began on potential conclusions, inquiries on details of the characters, and a general sense of 'Wow, go write this now...I want to read this book.' They said that.  Two separate friends at two separate times.  How cool is that?!

Right now, I'm finishing up the outline and the conclusion of the conflict and plan on starting to pound this book out towards the end of May and then dig in over the summer and get as much done as possible before the kids all return from their respective family vacations. This is, of course, a first draft and will need much sculpting, but the plan is to get most of this out of my head and onto paper.

So, dear friends, I have a favor to ask of you. If you see me wandering around some coffeehouses this summer, dirty, with tangled hair and a vacant stare, please order me a shot of espresso (or a PBR, if after 5 pm) and direct me back to my computer.  I may take up smoking again...I may move a hammock out onto my balcony with a desk for my laptop so I can write and sleep and live outdoors. I may not smell great. You guys push me through it, and for God's sake be nice to me....you can bring out the blades when I ask you to 'read and edit'. Please and thank you.

Namaste,
~m

Personal Goals....

So I feel like I've been treading water a little bit, so they say (and I do it...it works) that putting your goals in writing helps you achieve them.

Well I'm going to put them in writing out there on the interwebs so you guys, my real-and-cyber friends, can harass me and shove me into completing them.  Please and thanks!

1) Have a real job by July.  June is ideal.  By "real job", either working in my ideal field, nonprofit, or swallowing my pride and taking one of the bajillion "receptionist" jobs here in corporate Charlotte (something 40 regularly-scheduled hours, anyway). I've been fighting the latter tooth and nail but it may just have to be a reality, until a nonprofit opportunity comes open, anyway. While I am a complete minimalist and am fine living hand to mouth, my kids' needs and wants are growing exponentially every day, it seems. Now there's baseball...theater...a violin? I need better employment to give them better opportunities, or to at least fully equip the opportunities they currently have.

2) Start pushing out chapters on my book.  Outline is almost done. Need to start fleshing it out and maybe even reaching out to publishing houses.  Either way, by July, I need to have at least the concrete outline and at least the first 3-5 chapters on paper.  I'm so terrified of failure that I'm terrified to start. That's no good.


3) Rock climbing.  Be doing it. There were so many places on my hike yesterday where, if I were properly trained and with a good belay, I would have thrown a rope over right then and there.  Too many cool rocks to climb on this planet, and too many wide, boring trails to avoid them. I don't want to take the safe route...I want to take the road less traveled.

That's me, at peak of Crowder's Mountain, wanting to scale down that big rock..

Curried chickpeas. Yum.

4) Fully ethical eating, all the time. I've been cheating here and there (thanks in part to my fully carnivorous boyfriend...OK, OK, I won't blame him...my will has been weak in the face of Havarti cheeses and shrimp and grits).  No more cheating.  I go back for another cholesterol check in a few months...I need those numbers down, even lower than this last visit (apparently [I'm adopted, so I don't know my medical history], I may be genetically predisposed to higher cholesterol). The sodium and chemicals have a pretty immediate impact on my health, from what I can tell...since cheating, I feel kind of crummy. Gotta bring it on back to Veganville.

I think that's good...no need to cram too much into just a few months.  My stress level has been fluctuating lately, too, and that's not good.  High stress is what got my health all screwed up a couple of years ago and part of the reason I moved, changed lifestyles, etc., so I have got to keep a handle on my stress.  A couple of days ago, I literally, physiologically felt my anxiety rise up and through some yoga & meditation and talking it out with the person involved was able to avoid a full-blown anxiety attack and to level it out without much harm being done.  So I'm trying not to stress too much about these pretty large goals looming in the very-near future.

Words of encouragement are always welcome! :)
~m

The day Garth Stein wrote back...

Garth Stein

A few years ago I read the book The Art of Racing in the Rain.  Amazing book, insightful, well-written (obviously- it became a bestseller), and bore a really striking resemblance to a particular time in my life.  It made me cry, actually, and books don't typically do that.

So, for the first time ever, I looked up the author's email address and emailed him, letting him know how much his book touched me.  I forgot about it within a few days, honestly, and went about my life when out of nowhere, about a month later, I have an email from Garth Stein sitting in my inbox.

Oh. My. God.  A NYT best selling author wrote me back.

So we exchanged a few emails, basic stuff, but it absolutely blew my mind that he actually wrote back.  I thought when you sent those emails out into the blue yonder, they stayed there.  I think great authors take on celebrity status so much that we think they're inaccessible and wouldn't bother talking to us nobodies once their books start flying off the shelves, but I've noticed since then that many of the books I read actually have the author's email address printed right there at the bottom of the bio (Christopher Moore, for example).

So that's my challenge to you....find your favorite book (OK, the author has to still be alive...I know one of my smart-ass friends will bring that up), find the email, and write your author.  Let them know you enjoyed it.  As much as their works may sell, which is proving that people are enjoying it by buying so many copies, I'm sure many authors just don't hear personal connections about their writing and writers are the most codependent people ever...we need TONS of validation.

Do it!
~m

Garth Stein's site...check him out : www.garthstein.com

Melissa's Rules for Raising Amazing Children.

I just read this article on 21 ways to raise a feminist child and I love it!

So, I've got three kids and as I'm going through the list, I'm thinking...yep, yep, yep...that's about right, so I'm proud of my efforts to be a progressive parent.

My kids have grown up in an intentionally exposed environment.  When I worked at an AIDS agency, they frequently visited my office.  They also visited our attached LGBT center and made friends with a few transgender employees there, who were and are dear friends of mine.  Sometimes my children would ask, "Is that a man or a lady?" And I'd simply answer, as if answering what color the sky was right then.  No need to freak out or act weird, because those are non-verbal cues that your child will pick up on and proceed to think they need to freak out.

Now, after a few years of being in an open home, my kids ask questions like (when visiting my friends' Katelynn and Brooke's house), "Are you two wives?" and I let them answer.  I love that my children now understand and accept that there are more household types than one man/one woman.  I also love that they are curious, inquisitive, and not scared to voice their questions.

My kids have been to protests with me, and I always explain what's going on (in as appropriate a way as possible..Callie went with me to a protest in Richmond...no,  she didn't get an in-depth description of abortion.  What she got was a day where she saw thousands of women gathering to speak to their government in a civilized, respectful manner, where nothing but women (and a scant few boyfriends/husbands) took up signs, banners, armbands, and stood up for themselves and all women.  She kept her little armband emblazoned with "My Body, My Choice" in turquoise puffy paint, and it stays in her jewelry box with her other prized possessions.

So here begins what is, quite obviously, a shameless showing-off of my kids, but a list of what I've prioritized when raising them. The reason I've included pics is not only to show off my beautiful children, but to prove that I practice what I preach...I'm not making this shit up.

 Grayson is now 8, into musical theater and basketball, who is apt to dancing his way across the court and pretending to shoot free-throws on stage during rehearsals. He can read at a level two grades higher and has a crack mind, when it comes to logically destroying any parental argument ("Because I said so", etc).

Callie is 6, a self-affirmed vegan and artist, if given the preference would only wear Chuck Taylors (preferably black) for two years now, and has a real problem with cleanliness. She's my mirror image...absolutely the most "like me" of all of our kids: questions authority, stands up for herself yet deeply hurts privately when someone is mean (and she confides in me, which is so humbling), and may one day live in my basement while she figures herself out.

John is 5, wants to be a doctor yet has the cunning wit of a budding comedian/actor.  His curiosity and love are boundless, and he has spent the most time out of all of the kids (basically his whole life) deeply entrenched in the LGBT and activist communities and it has given him a deep and passionate empathy for others and a sparkling love of life, every day.  He's the least likely to complain, in any situation (including myself).  He rolls with the punches and has endless optimism.

So here are the rules with which I have raised my children to be the amazing people they are.  I'm not saying I'm perfect, but I am saying I'm doing a damn good job given what astounding people my kids are becoming.

#1) Above all else, love. Love, love, love.  We, as a family, are each others' best friends.  At the end of the day, after friends come and go, boyfriends/girlfriends break our hearts, for all of our lives, we have one another.  Be our best best friends.  Love and nurture your relationship with your family. Truly be best friends, and absolutely shower your children with love because one day they'll be gone and you can't give them a hug whenever you want.

 

#2) Love and respect animals.  We've had many pets...old dogs who have now crossed the bridge, puppies that are still frolicking, turtles, hermit crabs, you name it.  Teaching children to care for animals instills empathy, a gentleness of nature, and unconditional love like nothing other.





#3) Love reading. Love education. Love school. You get nowhere in life, no matter how big your dreams and ambition, without a solid education.  Read together. Make school a fun experience, not a dreaded end-of-summer-bummer.  Let your kids see you read. Don't wait until after they're in bed...read, all the time, in front of them so they see it's a viable and fun activity for adults, too.  Turn off the TV, throw a bunch of books in the living room floor, and have family reading time. Encourage older siblings to read to younger ones.  They love that...they eat it up. Encourage them to read above their level...read the paper, magazines, etc.
 




#4) Love Nature. No planet...no life. No nature...no life. Make sure your kids are out in nature, enjoying it, but also understanding how important it is to respect it and treat the earth well.  Volunteer to pick up trash together. Recycle, garden, hike, get out and enjoy nature as often as possible.




















#5) Love and respect ART. In all forms. Painting, writing, singing, dancing....enjoy art.  Take your kids to art museums (and don't giggle or act weird at the nudes). Take them to live art demonstrations. Give them easels, paints, paper, typewriters, instruments, whatever they need to flourish in the arts.  Growing the right side of the brain is just as important as growing the left.
 

#6) Maybe this should be first....LOVE YOURSELF. LOVE UNIQUENESS.  Love and adore your children's quirks and teach them to do the same.  We are all so gloriously different...let them be as weird, funny, goofy, as they want and never EVER, EVER try to stifle that and put them in some social-conforming box. Never crush a kids' spirit like that. If they're a boy and want long hair, let them. If they want to paint their nails, let them. If they typically behave as goofy as early-career Jim Carrey, let them.  If they want to pick out Rubix-cube sneaks for the first day of school, oh my God, how rad is that?  If they want to sing and dance on the sidewalk in the rain in front of rush hour traffic, OH MY GOD LET THEM.  Let them rise their faces to the sun, eyes closed, absorbing everything. Let your children live their lives to the fullest, because when they are adults, society may tamp down on that.  Let them be as free as possible for as long as possible.

#7) No gender rules.  If a boy wants to paint his nails, play with dolls, grow his hair, let him. If a girl wants to pay ball, get dirty in the yard, and not wear dresses, let her.  Why on earth would you not?  How would you like it if you hated wearing corduroy (as I do) and some asshole made you wear corduroy every single day?  What a horrible way to live!  Don't press gender roles on your kids...let their spirits develop naturally.  Society, school, and friends will be along soon enough to press gender assignments on your kids, but hopefully they'll be strong enough from an early childhood without those pressures to be secure in who they naturally are without the pink or blue airbrushing of society.

#8) Get them involved in politics.  Yeah, I'm serious.  They need to be informed on how their democracy works.  Use age-appropriate language, of course (don't go talking at a six year old about sequester....duh), but take them along to political events (and yes, this includes protests and rallies, provided they are peaceful, safe places for kids).  Kids need to see democracy in action. (By the way, John is wearing his Michael Jackson glove in this picture...the one he wore for a month straight after watching "This Is It" and learning every move.  They can totally express their individuality while supporting politics...LOL.)

#9) Embrace exposure to all walks of life. Now, I don't have a lot of pictures of this because I didn't want to take pictures of my kids in the LGBT Center or in my office as I felt like that looked (at the time) like a photo op.  When I worked at the AIDS agency and the LGBT center, my kids dropped by about 2-3 times a week. They would sit and talk, hang out, while I finished up, made copies, etc.  My home is an open environment...I have friends over all the time, and many times those friends are gay, transgender, bi, whatever.  The thing is, my kids don't know that, they just know that they are cool people.

This picture is from a community work-day where we freshened up the paint in the LGBT Center.  Grayson was playing chess with Julian, who Grayson will probably never realize is anywhere on the LGBT spectrum. Julian is an attorney, that's what stuck in his mind, as it should. Teach your kids to love people, not their labels or what box they fit in.  This is advice a lot of adults should heed, as well.

#10) Embrace responsibility.  Nobody gets a free ride in life.  You have to work.  Teach them early...chores are a mom's best friend.  You have absolutely no obligation, once they can walk and comprehend basic instruction, to pick up after them.  Teach them to take care of their own space, clean up their own messes, and take care of common spaces as a team. Trust me, their future roommates and partners will thank you.
My reward system worked great, and now we don't even have this poster anymore but the kids remember their basic chores.  Sometimes, if we're doing something extra like spring cleaning, I'll work out a system, "OK, I'll give you each five bucks to pitch in on your closet, pack up these summer clothes, and put everything away."  They get five bucks, I get a check on my cleaning list. Win/win.




So there it is....my rules, which I've learned all by experience and taking many, many wrong turns, to raising amazing kids.  And if you doubt it, give me a call and you can come hang out with some of the coolest kids you'll ever met and see for yourself.
~m

Thoughts and reflections...

I just re-read my friend Jesse's piece announcing his end of tenure as editor of AltDaily, our local rag in Norfolk, and took the time to digest and contemplate a little (since my initial reaction was a WTF moment).

Jesse's one of those people...you hear about him, both good and bad, he's seemingly everywhere and yet nowhere since you can never quite make contact, and then suddenly you're sitting across the table talking to him over a coffee and you find yourself pushing back all the preconceived notions and just opening up your mind and consciousness to the conversation.  I liked what I saw.  He's earnest, sometimes zealous, but always, always reaching for higher and higher ground.  Reaching and pulling many of us along until we see his bigger picture and say 'Aha!'.

He's a visionary.  He saw Norfolk as many of us couldn't.

So...do I want to dictate his life course and tell him to get his ass back up to 757 and keep writing, editing, making AltDaily bigger and better and dragging us all along on his crazy, amazing ride?  Yeah!  Selfish, yes. But I know what he's feeling and that he needs to go do whatever it is he needs to do to personally evolve on to the next stage of his life, wherever his river takes him, he's got to take that ride. It's not for us to stop anyone on their journey, only enjoy what we share with them along the way and learn as much as we can from their past, and our shared, experiences.

I left Norfolk with very little forethought- I just knew I had reached this bend in the river and I was tired and I knew that I would have family and friends that would help with the kids if I moved back to SC, so I did.  It was ridiculously hard, harder than I ever imagined it would be.  I'm poorer than I ever thought I would or could possibly be.  I am more exhausted than I ever thought I could be. I grossly underestimated the work of being a single mom. I grossly underestimated my ability to find great employment in a new city, where now I'm a nobody fish in a huge pond, er, ocean.  I have cried over Norfolk and her sunsets, her people, my friends, my family, more times than is probably prudent to admit.  I still miss her achingly. Yet somehow I know that I made the right decision....even if the evidence of that may not have come to full fruition.

Yes, I've met amazing people here.  Yes, I've had some wonderful experiences. I'm still working on building and creating the same sustainable lifestyle that I had in VA, which will probably take years to do. But I'm still at a very winding part of my river and can not quite see clearly through the mist around the next bend, and this has become a very taxing and educational part of my journey.  I've had to learn and relearn..and relearn...patience and trust.  Trust in the greater power of the universe, trust in my own skills and capabilities to provide for my family, trust in the people I choose to invite into my life.  These are all the things I want to tell people like Jesse, who are embarking on a radically new stage of their lives....be sure you are aware of the growing pains of such a transition.  They can be searingly painful.  Choose your path wisely.

I'm reading a book on Buddha and will be sharing a small series based on my reflections after reading each section of the book.  I really, really enjoy reading and learning about all forms of religion and self-examination, so I'll just share what I'm reading and learning and you can take from it what you will...I'm grateful for all the feedback and all the texts, messages, and emails that give me so much inspiration and strength to continue rambling on.
As always, in peace, love, and pride,
~m

"Don't be selfish"....

So I've been gone for a few days (sorry!), and it's been kind of like the Magical Mystery Tour.  It all began with a day trip to Asheville to meet the kids' dad for their spring break visit. My good friends Kat and Brooke rode with, and I took way too much allergy medicine on the ride there.

So, I'll set the scene.  We hop off pretty much the first exit, with no idea where we're going, and almost immediately find the West End Bakery, a neat little coffee shop & bakery just chock full of people who looked like they just wandered off some trail on the mountain. The kids scampered around while I adjusted to my mental state of fogginess, trying to remember how much allergy meds I had taken and suddenly very curious if the establishment had almond milk. They did, so I got a latte, hoping the caffeine would bring me down a little.
[I don't think that's how it works. It didn't. Work, that is.]

So after a few moments, The Ex showed up and we had a very pleasant exchange, the kids were happy to see him, we transferred their stuff to his car, and they left, after excessive mom kisses and triple-checking their seat belts.

So when I went back in to the bakery, I suddenly wanted to walk.  I talked to Kat and Brooke and we began Googling open air markets while returning to the car and I just started driving, with Brooke loosely navigating.  Anyway, we found ourselves smack dab in the middle of downtown Asheville, parked, got the dogs strapped up, and began walking.  We walked past what appeared to be a loop of coffee shops, head shops, and exotic cuisine restaurants, every fourth building being a coffee house that started the loop again. The streets teemed with people, dreadlocked and tattooed, smelling of patchouli.

We walked for about four hours, stopping frequently to chat with complete strangers who wanted to talk to, pet, and/or play with our dogs. After a frustrating time trying to find an ATM for a cash-only open-air coop where a guy was cooking wood-fired pizza in a homemade oven he had fashioned on a wooden cart behind his car, we just decided to get pho directly in the middle of the main thoroughfare and people watch.  Three buskers were within eye and earshot...one juggling, one making balloon animals, and the third was a New Orleans-style jazz trio.  We noshed on that pho like we were starving, then sleepily drove down the beautiful mountain to the Queen city.

I dropped off Kat and Brooke and then home for a shower before my date with Chris. Not so much a date as Time To Meet His Friends, that night where they determine if they like me and will tell him, "Hey, she's alright." or if they hate me and will perpetually talk shit about me and make excuses to not hang out in the future with Us As A Couple.

I know. No pressure, right?  PLUS my head is STILL floating on a string about three feet above my shoulders.  Oh, yeah, about that..I re-read the box. I was only supposed to take one at a time...I took two, and I was supposed to wait 4-6 hours and I took 4 pills within 3 hours.  Oy vey.

Hoping a shower would work to bring me down...it didn't.  Hoping a shot of espresso through a Starbucks drive-thru would work....it didn't. By the time I was walking in the door of EB's with Chris, I had given up so I drank a couple of beers and tried not to say too much.  I'd rather come off as stuck-up than some crazy drunk or something.

The next day I finally felt better, like my head was normal, so we went to brunch with a couple of his friends and then wandered NoDa, just talking and hanging out when we wound up back at EBs and I finally met more of his friends and was capable of carrying on a conversation. Something struck me....Chris has a lot of friends, and they've all been his friends for years. I mean...like decades.  They didn't have to say things like, "This is a great guy right here.." I just know it because they've been his friends for so long. Stuff like that is very reassuring.

So we made our way to my place, where watched an exorcist movie, which Chris talked half the way through before I told him to shut up and just watch. He laughed. I smiled.

Then Monday morning brought work for both of us, regular stuff, back to the grind. Today I've been working with him, after making a venison meat loaf (hey, even a vegan will eat meat if it's wild game...totally free range and chemical free!) and bringing it up to his office, where I'm finally plugging back in and catching up with the real world.

The past few days have been like a vacation.  I miss the kids terribly- they give me such purpose and drive- but I really think it's good and healthy to have a vacation every once in a while, especially since I only get a vaca about two or three times a year.  I've done more urban wandering and PBR consumption than I have in years, and some of my nostalgia and heart-wrenching missing of Norfolk is beginning to fade as I meet more and more people here and begin to acclimatize myself.  Who knows if this relationship will last longer then the others...but I knew as soon as I met Chris that I had to give it a go.  He's all those things I joked with friends, "This is what my dream man would do..." and had them roll their eyes and say things like, "Guys like that don't exist, Melissa."  Well...I guess they do. Or one does.  One crazy NPR-listening, hard-question-asking, recycling, hiking, wildlife guy who thinks I'm pretty and touches my hair.

So that's where I've been.  Thanks for the vacation and thanks for the texts and messages. I'll be back on tomorrow, blowing up the news feed and maybe working on some more original stuff.
Love, love, love,
~m

Humans Losing Emotion? Weigh in...

So I read this article where researchers determined that humans are losing emotion...or rather, we are failing to express emotion (based on a survey of literature) as much as past authors, poets, etc.

http://www.naturalnews.com/039608_emotions_literature_culture.html

Don't believe it?  Think about the great love stories of time gone by.  Boy sees girl across the May Day Feast.  One glimpse, one flutter of eyelashes, blushing cheeks, and he's gathering whatever wits he has to approach her family about a marriage.  Sonnets have been written, ballads sung, entire epic quests have been launched, based on love at first sight.

Does that happen now?  One word: prenup.  I, for one, do still believe in love at first sight, if you're prepared to deal with your and your partner's families and friends treating you like you're insane. I think society has shoved it down our throats that relationships must be constructed over an extended time period according to a very specific set of rules in order for it to gain "validity".  I don't think so. I think you can exchange correspondence and then meet someone whose combination of intellectual, physical, and emotional attributes makes your heart and stomach flutter and you feel as though you'd leap mountains for them.  That's just me, though...

Anger?  Display it and you have an "anger management problem".  Sad?  You're depressed....take some meds.  Happy?  You're senile, crazy, or "unstable".  Free-thinker?  You're a dirty hippie and need to straighten up and conform.

Yes, I can completely see how society is making us lose emotion by making us shove it down, bottle it up, and try to pretend it doesn't exist.  What do you think?