tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23953409106790312182024-03-19T17:14:57.231-05:00Motherhood By MoonlightParenting my seven stars with magic, mayhem, and a little merlot.Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.comBlogger1257125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-76393938221231160062015-06-26T22:12:00.001-05:002015-06-26T22:40:57.970-05:00Love Wins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If you are an American, you know where you were today. Because today is the day that the Supreme Court decided that marriage is a civil right, that should belong to all persons, regardless of sexual orientation.<br />
<br />
In other words:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">We're All Gettin' Gay Married!</span></b></div>
<br />
Okay, okay. It might just mean we're all married now. Like we have been, some of us. Like we should be if we want. But whatever.<br />
<br />
As with any controversial decision, people have opinions. Strong ones. I do too. See, one of my children has come out to me in the last year. I have debated how much I wish to say on my blog and Facebook. As much as the child in question has wanted me to be open, I have hesitated. Not because I'm not proud. I'm so incredibly proud. But only because I didn't feel like my child's sexuality was mine to share. It's not my story.<br />
<br />
That said, parenting my child, <i>is </i>my story. And today I can look at the future and know that whomever my children wish to marry, they will be allowed to do so. And I hope they do. Honestly, when my kid came out, my reaction was, "Find someone who loves you, and likes me, and I would love grandkids, but no pressure. You do what's right for you." Which, by the way is what I tell them all. What I have told them all since they were tiny. I really want my kids to find people who love them, and like me. I figure if they like me, I'll be invited to things.<br />
<br />
And, today, my friends who have incredibly beautiful families, can now be recognized as such in all 50 states. I'm over the moon, excited about this!<br />
<br />
My Facebook Page looks like a rainbow exploded. It's a virtual Pride parade with nothing but joy. I have been brought to happy tears over and over and over again. <br />
<br />
Then I saw what Scott Walker (Republican Governor of Wisconsin) had to say:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“I believe this Supreme Court decision is a grave mistake. Five unelected judges have taken it upon themselves to redefine the institution of marriage, an institution that the author of this decision acknowledges ‘has been with us for millennia.’ In 2006 I, like millions of Americans, voted to amend our state constitution to protect the institution of marriage from exactly this type of judicial activism. The states are the proper place for these decisions to be made, and as we have seen repeatedly over the last few days, we will need a conservative president who will appoint men and women to the Court who will faithfully interpret the Constitution and laws of our land without injecting their own political agendas. As a result of this decision, the only alternative left for the American people is to support an amendment to the U.S. Constitution to reaffirm the ability of the states to continue to define marriage.<br />
<br />
“Recognizing that our Founders made our Constitution difficult to amend, I am reminded that it was first amended to protect our ‘First Freedom’ – the free exercise of religion. The First Amendment does not simply protect a narrow ‘right to worship,’ but provides broad protection to individuals and institutions to worship and act in accordance with their religious beliefs. In fact, the Wisconsin constitution explicitly protects the rights of conscience of our citizens. I can assure all Wisconsinites concerned about the impact of today’s decision that your conscience rights will be protected, and the government will not coerce you to act against your religious beliefs. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“I call on the president and all governors to join me in reassuring millions of Americans that the government will not force them to participate in activities that violate their deeply held religious beliefs. No one wants to live in a country where the government coerces people to act in opposition to their conscience. We will continue to fight for the freedoms of all Americans.”</blockquote>
This is my response:<br />
<br />
Dear Scott Walker,<br />
<br />
While I'd <i>like</i> to just say that you're a gigantic tool and be done with it, I actually have more.<br />
<br />
The truth is, your faith isn't under any threat whatsoever. The legal understanding of marriage has changed many times in the <i>millennia </i>you mention. Hence why my father paid no dowry, I am not my husband's property, and I am his only wife.<br />
<br />
Your religious understanding of matrimony will not change at all. Or it least it doesn't <i>have </i>to. No law will force it to. Saying so is ignorant, and deceitful. It is the <i>state</i>, not the church, that provides legal marriage, and therefore it is a civil right that has no bearing on your religion.<br />
<br />
Since state marriage has no say over your church, why should your church have so much say over state marriage? Isn't that the whole point of the 1st Amendment?<br />
<br />
Mr. Walker this ruling won't change what your church <i>will </i>or <i>may </i>teach about our LGBTQ brothers and sisters. And while I will fight for your right to believe what you want, I have to express sadness and <i>disgust </i>that another generation of gay kids are going to churches where they will learn that there is something wrong with them.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>So, while I will fight for your right to believe what you wish, I <i>promise </i>you I will raise a loud voice with other LGBTQ people and Allies, calling those children to a community that will love an accept them for who they are. </b></div>
<br />
The reality of this ruling is that another person having civil rights infringes upon yours, <i>not at all</i>. You trying to make <i>your </i>religious law the law of the land, however, is <i>definitely </i>a violation of my first amendment rights. In addition, government telling two consenting adults that they can't enter into a contract with one another should <i>really</i> disturb your conservative sensibilities. And not allowing a family legal recognition and protection under the law violates the family values you claim to hold.<br />
<br />
This ruling today was a blow for freedom, a blow against religious tyranny, and a victory for families everywhere.<br />
<br />
Oh, and Mr. Walker, you <i>are </i>a gigantic tool. Watching you and your kind fight this, is like watching the segregationists on schoolhouse steps, swearing that white and black children will never learn together. You, like them, are a fleeting piece of bigoted history, I can only watch your political death gasps and smile. You, like them, will fade into history and be remembered for exactly what you are.<br />
<br />
I can't wait.<br />
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(And a special thank you to my husband for reading and finding the typos I missed)<br />
*****<br />
<br />
You read all the way through that? Thanks! If you liked it, click the link below which registers a vote for me, would you? Thanks. You're the best!<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-53165526979850695102015-06-05T19:30:00.003-05:002015-06-05T19:30:50.407-05:00I'm Coming Back<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You have neither whined, nor complained. This makes you, my wonderful readers, either better than my children, or too busy yourselves to take me to task for my absence.<br />
<br />
Maybe both.<br />
<br />
But I will be coming back!<br />
<br />
The last two months as school has wrapped up and I have become busier in almost every aspect of my life (can you believe they've elected me Vice President of our PTO?) I have not had time to write here. And since I didn't want to be half assed about it, I just decided to set this blog aside, hoping it would wait for me.<br />
<br />
It did. Or at least maybe it did. Hello? Anyone out there still?<br />
<br />
But today is the last day of school. Reagan is graduating from High School on Monday. And there is so much to talk about!<br />
<br />
So, I <i>am</i> coming back. And I hope you'll still come by and see what I have to say.<br />
<br />
I promise, if it's not "worth it" exactly, I will at least find a funny story or two. Promise.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-20756610643151900332015-04-02T21:39:00.004-05:002015-04-02T21:59:30.418-05:009 Reasons I *Will* Make My Kids Share<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Over on Scary Mommy, I read an article entitled <a href="http://www.scarymommy.com/why-i-wont-make-my-kids-share/">9 Reasons Why I Won't Make My Kids Share.</a><br />
<br />
I was pretty interested in reading the author's thoughts. I still have things to learn, and am open to new ideas about this whole parenting experiment.<br />
<br />
But I have to tell you, I found her reasoning largely unconvincing and somewhat shortsighted. I understood some of where she was coming from, but felt like she painted an incomplete portrait of childhood and life in general.<br />
<br />
At one point she likens sharing to having a barista tell you, an adult, to give your laptop to someone else to play with.<br />
<br />
What?<br />
<br />
I think it's much more like when I go to the gym and jump on the treadmill. If there is someone waiting, I need to limit my time on that treadmill to 20 minutes. Sure, I could be a total jackass and stay on, and screw all of those other people. But I'm not.<br />
<br />
And I'd rather my kids weren't either.<br />
<br />
So, I thought I'd answer the post.<br />
<br />
Here are my 9 Reasons I <i>Will</i> Make My Kids Share:<br />
<br />
1. <b>Because playing with toys is not like baking a cake.</b> Toys in our house are often communal property, since buying one for every child would be prohibitively expensive. It's fair that they shouldn't be allowed to monopolize something that other people would like a turn with.<br />
<br />
2. <b>Because they're not the center of the universe.</b> With the exception of the computer, my kids rarely get sucked into an activity that someone then wants. What happens far more often is that child 2 goes to play with something that has been abandoned by child 1, and child 1 upon realizing that said toy is now desired by someone else, now has to have it back. Because now it's the best toy ever.<br />
<br />
I would really like them to understand that they're not always going to get what they want.<br />
<br />
3. <b>Because teaching them to share isn't throwing them under the bus.</b> It's parenting them. I hope my kids love playing with toys that expand their imagination, and encourage their creativity. But I also want them to be able to consider the feelings of others.<br />
<br />
4. <b>Because it's normal.</b> We absolutely <i>do</i> share as adults. I share my food, my home, my car, my bed, my bathroom (though my husband might argue that I monopolize it), and so much more with the crazy people who live in my house, <i>and</i> that dude I promised to spend my life with.<br />
<br />
Yes, we share. From gym equipment, to taking turns at the checkout counter, to zipper merging on the freeway, sharing is a vital life skill.<br />
<br />
5. <b>Because I <i>am</i> interested in fair.</b> The world is not fair, and it won't be. But <i>they</i> can be. We can try our best. It can be a <i>value</i> we strive for. Because we recognize when it isn't fair, and I don't want my children just to accept injustice as a fact of life. I want my children to always work to correct it.<br />
<br />
6. <b>Because teaching them to take turns and share, gives me the opportunity to teach about choices and consequences</b>. If you choose to take something without asking, or if you choose not to let someone have a turn with something special that they'd like to play with, there are logical and natural consequences.<br />
<br />
If you grab it out of someone's hands, that's rude, and you don't get it at all. If you are refusing to take turns and share with someone, then later, when you want them to share with you, they won't want to.<br />
<br />
7. <b>Because sharing and taking turns can actually help them learn vital negotiation skills and set boundaries.</b> This isn't bullshit, either. I have <i>watched</i> my kids negotiate how long they will have with a given item, and work it out between them, only coming to me to set a timer for them. That is a <i>beautiful</i> thing.<br />
<br />
8.<b> Because while they <i>might</i> still learn to cooperate, sharing isn't always about cooperation, per se.</b> It can be, but sometimes it's just about seeing that everyone has a chance, and that everyone's needs are met.<br />
<br />
Besides, these little lessons, are good practice for later, when they really don't want to get off the treadmill at the gym. Or you know, go to school.<br />
<br />
9. <b>Because I <i>definitely</i> want to create nicer people. </b>I believe that sometimes kids have to learn that the answer is "no" and that they can't have it right now. But sharing isn't about taking <i>away</i> from one and <i>giving</i> to another. It's about making sure they both get a chance to play with something.<br />
<br />
It's about teaching them that sometimes they have to wait, and <i>sometimes</i> they have to stop. Because taking turns and sharing requires both of those things. And while it might require a little more work than just throwing one's hands up and saying that sharing isn't important at all, I think it's worth it.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
There are different ways to look at everything. And I don't have all the answers. But thank you for considering my perspective. And if you like it, please consider clicking the banner below to register a vote for my blog. It takes just a second, and you can do it every day. You're the best.<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-82603557814347073152015-03-31T21:20:00.000-05:002015-03-31T21:20:06.084-05:00The Tiger Cubs Go To The Fire Station<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It sounds like a nice story, doesn't it? Like a childrens book, beautifully illustrated with information about fire safety, and helpful firefighters.<br />
<br />
But this was about a dozen 6 and 7 year old boys. The blog post really should be entitled The Tiger Cubs Go To The Fire Station And Chaos Ensued.<br />
<br />
Knowing what Quinn is like with the other Scouts, I went over some ground rules with him before we even got there. Even <i>with</i> said ground rules established, he still needed reminders during the trip.<br />
<br />
I don't know if other parents took the time to do the same, but it sure didn't seem like it.<br />
<br />
Which, really, may just be the pull of insanity that grips a bunch of little boys like that. Or maybe dads don't always think of that as often as moms do. I'm not sure.<br />
<br />
I know their Den Leader didn't go over any rules. Maybe the thought hasn't occurred to him, and I should bring it up. He's a great Den Leader, but with that many kids, you just <i>have </i>to make sure everyone is on the same page.<br />
<br />
We let them run around a bit outside, first. I had <i>hoped </i>it would release some of their energy.<br />
<br />
No luck.<br />
<br />
Inside, the noise level was <i>unbelievable</i>.<br />
<br />
If I were to assign a numeric value to each boys volume, I'd say each was at a 4 out of ten. Just all by themselves.<br />
<br />
But if you put 3 boys together, each at a 4 volume, you don't end up with 12 volume. You end up with 36 volume.<br />
<br />
The accumlative effect of them is mind boggling.<br />
<br />
Still, the tour was wonderful. The boys were, well, little boys.<br />
<br />
They explained to the firemen how their own equipment worked. Because they might not know. They're <i>only </i>firemen. Not educated young men like our Sweet Scouts.<br />
<br />
They told the firemen that they should be allowed to slide down the poles, as they'd slid down way taller ones before. And they've <i>never </i>been hurt. Kids don't understand words like "liability" and "City policy."<br />
<br />
They asked important questions like "Has there ever been a fire in the firestation?" and "Has there ever been a fire on the firetruck?" which begs the question, what kind of firemen do they think we have here? Not very good ones, if they're setting their own fire station and vehicles on fire!<br />
<br />
There was a little hitting, some not listening, more trying to impress the firefighters with their vast 6 and 7 year old knowledge of fire. And there was so much chaos of boys this way and that way, and utterly refusing for the most part to just shut their sweet little yaps.<br />
<br />
Then there was a call, and that was it, the tour was over. Our brave heroes had to go off and do something bravely heroic. Honestly, I think they might have been secretly thrilled. The sirens couldn't be as loud as the kids.<br />
<br />
I'm still awfully glad I got to go. It's so much fun to watch the kids take it all in. Quinn even said that after becoming a baseball player, he might like to be a firefighter, and a police officer, oh, and a doctor.<br />
<br />
He has one <i>very </i>busy life ahead of him.<br />
<br />
And I got to see the cute firemen. Turns out, they have to buy their own groceries, and sometimes they get called away in the middle of their shopping. Then they have to go back and do it again.<br /><br />
I think they need a den mother. Someone who can shop for them. And bake them brownies. And you know, I could do that job. Out of the pure goodness of my heart. Because I'm <i>such </i>a nice person.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
You're such a nice person, too. Especially if you click the banner below, which registers a vote for my blog. It takes just a second and you can do it every day. You're the best.<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-39383955279055909632015-03-30T20:42:00.001-05:002015-03-30T20:42:33.390-05:00Insomnia Can Suck It<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I had things I wanted to blog about. I haven't been saying, "Be Quiet" for a whole week now, and that's an experiment worth sharing, right?<br />
<br />
And there's stuff. Other stuff. Interesting stuff.<br />
<br />
Really.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately for me, insomnia has been a most unfortunate friend, and I lack the ability to put coherent thoughts together.<br />
<br />
And while such an experiment is exhausted blogging could result in something humorous, I'm guessing it would be unintentionally so, and probably painful (I first typed painfrul. What?). At least for me, and probably for you, too.<br />
<br />
Anywho, real blogging to come soon. Maybe after sleeping for more than an hour at a stretch. Because sleeping that little is clearly painfrul.<br />
<br />
****<br />
Today I suck. But I still appreciate your time and your vote. You can click the banner below every day, and it takes just a second. Thanks. You're the best!<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-88518887557154387302015-03-29T22:18:00.000-05:002015-03-29T22:37:24.674-05:00Adventures In Breastfeeding: What The Hell Is Periodic Breathing?<center>
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<br />
I don't breastfeed. Anymore. But I did. I have over a decade of personal breastfeeding experience.<br />
<br />
I'm told that's a lot.<br />
<br />
These days I work part time, as a Breastfeeding Peer Counsellor. Putting my knowledge and extra training to good use, I start calling moms while they're still pregnant, to discuss breastfeeding with them. And then I follow them through their baby's first year, helping, educating, and encouraging.<br />
<br />
I'm thinking I'd like to tell some of what I've been learning, through the stories of my interactions with my moms. Of course names and details will be changed in order to protect the privacy of my clients.<br />
<br />
I've had several clients recently who've had trouble with an overactive let down, and have found their babies choking on their breastmilk. This is a common issue, and with a few tips and tricks, they've been handling it well.<br />
<br />
But one of my moms called me today, kind of frantic. Her baby stops breathing!<br />
<br />
<i>"Is it because of the breastfeeding?"</i><br />
<br />
Not unless you're smothering baby with your breasts.<br />
<br />
I didn't actually say that. She's not. I just reassured her a little. It's not the breastfeeding. She's doing great with that.<br />
<br />
<i>"Is this normal?"</i><br />
<br />
Well, yeah, it turns out that actually it <i>is</i>. I Googled it.<br />
<br />
She'd already called her pediatrician who had informed her that not breathing for a few seconds at a time was normal, but she didn't believe her. She wanted me, a mother, to tell her that her baby was okay.<br />
<br />
These are the kind of the calls I live for.<br />
<br />
They're easy, as the answer is readily available, and nothing is wrong. Sometimes my hands on experience as a parent actually has some value that can be shared with another person. Not to mention I love being able to help a frantic mom feel better. I remembered from my NICU time that the nurses never worried about when my babies stopped breathing, unless it was a particular long phase. And that almost never happened.<br />
<br />
Yes, New mom, it's normal. It's called periodic breathing and babies can stop for up to <i>15 seconds</i>. They can also breath quickly sometimes, and then more slowly. It happens to lots of babies, and is usually gone by six months old.<br />
<br />
Fingers and toes can even get a little bluish. That said, if they start to get bluish around their forehead, lips, or torso, get help immediately. That's not normal, and is a sign that your baby needs oxygen.<br />
<br />
Honestly, though, every once in a while I raise an (respectful, I promise) eyebrow at Mother Nature. Here we are, entrusted with these tiny people for whom we are frequently terrified. And <i>normal</i> includes things like not breathing? Way to freak a mom out.<br />
<br />
I try not to tell my moms about all the things that can go wrong in breastfeeding. I tell them that problems exist, offer a few really common examples, and promise help and support should they need it for <i>any </i>reason. But I don't want them worrying about things that may never happen.<br />
<br />
So, I get why they don't tell parents all of the normal but weird things that babies can do. But then it's a pretty scary thing to discover on your own. And I've honestly never even seen this one even remotely touched on in a baby book.<br />
<br />
<i>Periodic breathing</i>. Who knew?<br />
<br />
Well, pediatricians, clearly. And now you, and me, and that poor scared mom. Who I really hope isn't scared anymore.<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-67567449522430340442015-03-28T22:24:00.004-05:002015-03-28T22:24:56.198-05:00One Nation, Indivisible<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I used to dream of imparting wisdom to my children.<br />
<br />
"<i>Mother</i>" they would say, "<i>Mother, explain to us the ways of the universe, and educate us as only you can."</i><br />
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I, their mother, would gaze at them, lovingly, and explain the great mysteries of the world, while taking joy from watching their eyes fill with understanding.<br />
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Clearly, I had this dream was before I ever had children.<br />
<br />
Reality turns out more like this:<br />
<br />
"Look, Mom, an American flag!" Quinn's voice bursts out behind me in the van on the way to a Cub Scout dinner. After some discussion about the flag, then the Pledge of Allegiance, and how I use to think it said, "one nation, <i>invisible</i>", we came to their "great mystery" of the day:<br />
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"What does 'indivisible' mean?" my seven year old asked. I gripped the wheel and thought about how to explain it in a way he could understand.<br />
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"Well, Quinn, you have two legs, two arms, a head and a torso, right? These are different parts of your body. But they can't be taken apart. Together, they form your <i>one </i>body. <i>Quinn's </i>body. And you are '<i>indivisible</i>'" I smiled, probably a little smugly, proud of my own quick thinking.<br />
<br />
Though I couldn't see his face, I could just imagine the look of understanding that was <i>surely</i> passing across it.<br />
<br />
"Well," he started, shattering my mental picture, Because the second he started speaking, I knew from the tone, that he was about to pull what I'd just said apart. "Someone <i>could </i>cut me up, with a big knife or a sword." I could feel the wheels begin spinning rapidly in my brain, screaming for extra coffee, and desperately thinking of how to respond to that while simultaneously erasing such a thought from my head.<br />
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"Well, not without a lot of bloodshed and pain!"<br />
<br />
This was not the right answer. And we both knew it.<br />
<br />
"But still, a really <i>big </i>sword and it could..."<br />
<br />
And this is when I stopped the conversation, reminded of my place in this world.<br />
<br />
Some days I kill it at the mom thing. Other days, it's a battle of wits, and I have left all of mine somewhere else. They remind me that I'm not as smart as I think I am. And while I hate to admit it, that's probably a good thing.<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-50267569687561116232015-03-27T23:36:00.000-05:002015-03-27T23:37:57.888-05:00And Liam Was His Name-O<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My BFF's 3 year old daughter can spell her last name. It's seven letters long. And again, she's <i>3.</i><br />
<br />
That child is so <i>amazingly </i>bright and talented. She is a joy to all who love her. Seriously, there's nothing snarky here, she's just a great kid.<br />
<br />
But there are things that she can do that it would never occur to me to expect from Liam. He's the same age, but...come on. The kid's got a unique kind of brain. The things he learns, they take different paths.<br />
<br />
It turns out, however, that his capacity for learning goes far beyond my expectations of him. And so, he keeps blowing my mind with things it would never have occurred to me that he might know how to do.<br />
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Today at lunch I was trying to work, and (like usual), he was trying to type on the keyboard with me.<br />
<br />
"W W W" he said, "wa, wa, wa."<br />
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"That's right, W says wa" I answered him with a teensy hint of annoyance. I had things to get done, and I really just wanted him to eat his food and go take a nap. But I don't want to discourage him. I'm excited about his love of letters and numbers.<br />
<br />
"Q Q Q" he continued, "qwah qwah qwah."<br />
<br />
I was starting to tire slightly of my alphabet lesson, pretty sure I had them mastered over 30 years ago, but was still going along, hoping he'd be done soon, when he completely threw me.<br />
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"Liam," he said, "L-I-A-M. Liam."<br />
<br />
I think this was something like the face I made:
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<br />
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My 3 year old may not be able to spell his <i>last </i>name, but I'm pretty damned excited that he can spell his <i>first </i>name.<br />
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Sure, he may think that the main function of my phone is to take his picture. And he's still banging his head against the wall as if it were a job for which he would be paid. But my little boy is <i>learning</i>. And he's learning some things <i>so </i>much faster than we ever expected. I'm so ridiculously proud of him.<br />
<br />
We've got to take the wins when we get them. Right? And I think it's important to remember that, special needs or not, we can't underestimate our kids. They're capable of so much more than we realize. And how much more could they do, if they knew how much we believe in them?<br />
<br />
<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-77075678694124640432015-03-26T21:16:00.001-05:002015-03-26T21:16:27.708-05:00The Best Things About Kids' Shows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Piper, 12, was in her school play tonight. It was the second night, and a free show for all who attended.<br />
<br />
Broadway it was not. Adorable though? They had that going on.<br />
<br />
The show was <i>School House Rock, Live!</i> and took us through a teacher's first day, with all the songs that helped her to teach her students.<br />
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As I sat there in the audience, surrounded by other parents, friends, and students, I started thinking of the things I enjoy about my kids shows.<br />
<br />
<b>1. Mistakes.</b><br />
Kids don't have error free shows. Well, at least not normal kids in normal Middle School settings. There are errors, and watching them cover for those mistakes, is sometimes the most fun you have in the show. Tonight one little girl got up at the wrong time, for the wrong song. She looked at the main character, told her she looked good, and sat back down. If 20 other kids hadn't been loudly whispering to her that it was the "wrong song" it would have almost been a part of the show.<br />
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<b>2. Smiling, or lack thereof</b><br />
I think there's a rule that directors remind the kids about 1000 times in rehearsal to <i>smile </i>during the show. I find it hilarious to watch that reminder war inside of them with the desire to remember their lines, music, and choreography, and to deliver them correctly. So, they'll look deeply contemplative, singing their hearts out, then they'll smile at strange interludes. Because the director said to smile, and they just that moment remembered that they should.<br />
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<b>3. Watching them not get sick</b><br />
I'm sure someone somewhere actually does get sick. And for them, I have nothing but sympathy. Most kids I notice, however, never do. They just look like they're about to. Then they forget that they feel sick, and smile like the director told them to, then look sick again. I find it adorably endearing.<br />
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<b>4. Pure joy</b><br />
I love it when the kids get to a number that they truly enjoy. The smiling becomes more frequent, and they give it the gusto that is often distinctly lacking in other parts of the show. Their joy is contagious, and whatever number it is, immediately becomes my favorite. I love that they take joy in drama and music, which gave me such a sense of belonging as a kid.<br />
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It is fun for me, to see what experiences my children are drawn toward, and to support them as they explore them. And way to go Piper and all her classmates. Well done, guys!<br />
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*****<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-59866546952845099252015-03-25T23:11:00.001-05:002015-03-26T00:04:01.255-05:00I'm Not Better Because I'm At Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This award, it isn't a <i>thing</i>. There's no medal, no award, and no blue ribbon for a job well done.<br />
<br />
Neither are there guarantees that what you do is going to provide you with the kid you always dreamed of.<br />
<br />
But the reason that there is no Best Mom Award, is that it's <i>not a competition</i>.<br />
<br />
I was reading an article today by Lydia Lovric called, "<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/lydia-lovric/stay-at-home-mom_b_6925826.html">Dear Daughter, This Is Why I Don't Work.</a>" and was really bothered by a few things she said.<br />
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First of all, Stay At Home Moms work very hard. I know I'm up early, and often I don't get to bed until late.<br />
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There's school drop off, pick ups, practice for the school play, clubs, cub scouts, baseball, PTO, Special Education Advisory Committee, meals, shopping, cleaning, laundry, and so <i>freaking much more</i>. I am amazed I don't forget half the things I'm required to do, or that I've volunteered to help with.<br />
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Add to that I work part-time from home, and am trying to launch my Scentsy business (see sidebar for a link if you're interested) and I work almost all the time. But even if I weren't doing those things, I would be ridiculously busy. Being a mom is work, whether you have a job, or you're at home.<br />
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But that's not really what I take issue with in her piece. She says:<br />
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<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 15px; padding: 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility; vertical-align: baseline;">
Recently, I came across <a href="http://www.parenting.com/blogs/true-mom-confessions/sasha-emmons/why-i-work" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #7b0340; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_hplink">an article</a> written by Sasha Emmons, the Editor-in-Chief at Today's Parent, who made a startling confession about her eight-year-old daughter: "Not long ago you asked me if I love work more than I love you and your brother," she wrote in a piece titled "Dear Daughter, Here's Why I Work."</div>
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Such a question would break my heart and crumple my sense of pride and self-worth.</div>
</blockquote>
I think it's a pretty normal question for a kid. My kids have asked all sorts of questions like that. They don't really think I love anything, or anyone, more than I love them. They're just re-affirming their place in the world. It's an opportunity for a discussion, like so many things kids ask and say.You sit down, pull them close, explain how and why they're important to you, and ask what brought up the question, answering any more they might have. And then ask if there's something they'd like to do with you.<br />
<br />
I call it parenting.<br />
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The mom who was asked that question, Sasha Emmons, I thought had some really great answers. Answers that affirmed that she was a <i>person </i>with her own desires and interests, and could continue to be that while still being their mom.<br />
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Well done, Sasha.<br />
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Lovric continues, with a harsh judgement of what I thought was Emmons' lovely response:<br />
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But Emmons -- who admits she left her daughter at just three months of age -- freely offers some rather selfish reasons for going back to work:</div>
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"I work because I love it."</div>
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"I work because scratching the itch to create makes me happy, and that happiness bleeds over into every other area, including how patient and engaged and creative a mother I am."</div>
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"I work because this nice house and those gymnastics lessons and those sneakers you need to have are all made possible by two incomes."</div>
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"I work because I want you and your brother to be proud of me."</div>
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Those are Emmons' words. Not mine.</div>
</blockquote>
The really harsh "left her daughter" comment makes it sound as if she abandoned her child to murderous circus clowns when she was barely old enough to hold her own head up. That tiny comment is fraught with a really disgusting attitude, and says so much more about Lovric than Emmons.<br />
<br />
I have clients who are forced to go back to work when their babies are much younger. They're not selfish. They're just trying to survive. And I don't blame them for going back to work. I am instead frustrated with a system that creates a financial burden so heavy, that mothers are forced to go back to work when their babies are so young, and then shames them for somehow being bad mothers for doing so.<br />
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But, I honestly don't find Emmons' reasons selfish. I find them <i>honest</i>. Is she not <i>allowed </i>to love her work? Is it <i>unacceptable </i>for a person to find fulfillment and joy in something they do? And, not that you have to have two incomes to survive, but I can tell you that without two full-time incomes in our house there aren't gymnastics lessons, and fancy sneakers. In fact, there's a lot of "No, we can't do that."<br />
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Don't get me wrong, I'm not always sorry about that. There are benefits and drawbacks to busy schedules. We hope that what they lack in lessons and activities, they make up for in relationships with their siblings. But I'm not going to lie, they do sometimes miss out because there are things we just plain can't afford to let them do.<br />
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Wanting to give your kids those things, isn't selfish. Neither is denying them. They're just different choices made by different parents, with different views of the world, and different priorities.<br />
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All that said, I loved Lovric's reasons for staying home:<br />
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I stay home because although I did love my job very much, I love you more.</div>
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I stay home because although writing and radio did make me extremely happy, I knew that you seemed happier when I was around. And your happiness was more important to me than my own. And making you happy also made me happy.</div>
</blockquote>
These are awesome reasons to stay home, if that is an option for your family. For so many, even though these things are true, that second income isn't about gymnastics and gym shoes. It's about a roof over their heads and food on the table. And I don't think any parent should ever feel guilty because they have to provide for their families.<br />
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Nor do I think any parent should feel guilty for following a career path that brings them joy, and allows that joy to spill over into their parenting.<br /><br />I'm actually a big believer on abolishing the vast majority of parental guilt, which I find unnecessary.<br />
<br />
Then she added this:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">I stay home because I want you to learn that family and love are more important than material possessions. A large home or fancy sneakers will not make up for an absent mother.</span></blockquote>
Again, why the need to attack working mothers? As I said, many moms work because they must. Will the food and clothing make up for the "absent mother"? Or does she not judge those who <i>have</i> to work?<br />
<br />
And those who work because they love it? Well, why does that mean that they're absent?<br />
<br />
Some families have a dad that stays home. Some people have <i>amazing </i>care-givers during the day, and when they're with their kids, they're <i>so </i>excited to spend time together. They have amazing experiences with their kids. There are also stay at home parents who are resentful and disconnected.<br />
<br />
My parents were public school teachers. I would have loved to have had a stay at home parent. But I never felt like my parents were <i>absent</i>.<br />
<br />
There isn't a one-size-fits-all answer to how to be a family, and I'm tired of women justifying their perfectly legitimate choices, at the expense of other women.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">The feminists may not like it, dear daughter, but even if I made it to the very top of my profession, even if I drove a fancy company car and went on a slew of business trips, I would feel like an utter failure if any of my kids felt the need to ask me if I loved work more than I loved them.</span></blockquote>
I suppose it wouldn't have been complete without a subtle attack on feminism, while showing a complete misunderstanding of what the point of feminism is. That she would feel like a failure has everything to do with her seemingly myopic view of how to be a mother, and nothing at all to do with feminism.<br />
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As a feminist, I support the decision for her to stay home and care for her children. If that's what's best for her and for her family, I applaud her choice to make financial sacrifices and make that work.<br />
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My hope is that, should a time ever come when she has to, or would like to work, she is paid a fair wage, and not less because she is a woman. I would like her to walk down the street and have her personhood respected. And I would like her not to be demeaned as less of a woman, or less of a mother, because she works outside of the home.<br />
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In fact, there are a whole <i>host </i>of things I would like as a feminist. Not the least of which is a stop to the idea that there is only one right way to be a mother, only one right way to be a woman, or only one right way to raise a family.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>It's not a competition. </b></div>
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And I really wish that she could see that the ability to sit home and judge other mothers for not making the same choice she did, is an elitist luxury.<br />
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I'm <i>so </i>glad I've been home with my kids these last few years. But I would so much rather build up other moms, instead of making them feel doubtful or guilty about how they're doing things.<br />
<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-9208606264798383112015-03-24T21:20:00.001-05:002015-03-24T21:21:46.425-05:00Life Is Sweet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Life is hard, sometimes. In big ways, and in small.<br />
<br />
My son is going to graduate from High School soon. I can't slow it down, and I can't get a do-over for anything I might have screwed up along the way.<br />
<br />
He's not going away to college. And I suppose I could get all bogged down in the idea that he's not doing something that other kids are, but you know, he's going to graduate. That's not true for all High School Seniors.<br />
<br />
And there may be some who don't think that I have any right to complain about that. Because maybe their kids aren't graduating. But hey, at least they're healthy. They've got that.<br />
<br />
Well, unless they don't. And those parents could easily look at the parents of a kid who isn't graduating and think that they have nothing to complain about.<br />
<br />
Of course, some kids haven't made it to their senior year. For one reason or another, they're not here anymore, and their grieving parents wish they had their child, even unwell, to hold.<br />
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We've all got something to worry about, be nervous about, or be afraid of.<br />
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We've all also got something to rejoice over, be thankful for, and appreciate.<br />
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I read a blog recently of a mother who is skipping her child's graduation. I don't judge her choice. I can't say what the right thing is for her and her child. I just know that I read a lot in the comments that was very judgemental about "normal" parents and all the things they're worried about.<br />
<br />
Not that I've never been guilty of this. There have been times it's been hard for me to watch my friends children doing things I don't know if mine ever will. But I can not get bogged down in the "whose pain is worse" game. No one ever wins at that, and you just feel dirty for having played it.<br />
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Life is hard. But none of us has a monopoly on hardship. And it's not always hard. We take turns with the hardship, like a horrific game of hot potato, passing it from one to another.<br />
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None of us will get to escape catching it at some point.<br />
<br />
But life is also sweet, and full of unexpected joys. Liam asked me a whole question today, a whole sentence, with the word please at the end. My baby who I wasn't sure would make it, now asks me questions. He says "please" and "thank you." Sometimes he even tells me he loves me.<br />
<br />
Like Natalie Merchant says, "I tell you, life is sweet, there's so much more, be grateful."<br />
<br />
I have a lot to be grateful for, and I think I will be a much happier person if I live from that place, than one of jealousy and bitterness. And that's the only gift the "whose pain is worse" game has ever given me. <br />
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Life is sweet, and so are my readers. Thank you for clicking the banner below and voting for my blog. It takes just a second and can be done every day. And thanks to you, it's gotten me back in the top 50 again. You guys are the best. Seriously.<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-39120553094844795262015-03-23T22:14:00.001-05:002015-03-23T22:14:09.697-05:00Big Little Lies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Some books I love for their ability to take me to new places, and live the lives I could never live.<br />
<br />
Some books I love for their ability to make me look at the life I'm currently living, and question everything.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Big-Little-Lies-Liane-Moriarty/dp/0399167064">Big Little Lies</a>, is the second kind of book.<br />
<br />
Sure, it's in Australia, which isn't exactly Minnesota. But people are people, and they certainly feel very familiar to me in Piriwee, where the book takes place.<br />
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It's about a group of primary school parents. It's about their school politics. And it's about the life they present to others, compared to the lives they're truly living.<br />
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It's about how secrets separate us, <i>and</i> connect us.<br />
<br />
I haven't finished it yet, but I can't stop reading. I want to know what happens to these people!<br />
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My life is largely an open book. I tell people about so much, probably much more than I should. But I know I don't tell people everything. I know I have my secrets, those little things I keep to myself for fear that if I said them out loud, people would look at me differently.<br />
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Doesn't everyone?<br />
<br />
So, someone I know is being abused by their husband. And they haven't told me.<br />
<br />
Someone is having an affair, and I don't know that either.<br />
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Someone has a history of trauma, that they're trying to hide, for fear that if I know, I'll see them as a victim, instead of the strong person they want to be.<br />
<br />
Not knowing how the book ends, I have no idea what my ultimate take-away will be. But right now, I'm stuck with the idea that we spend a lot of time being judgmental of what we think of others, when we so rarely have enough information with which to pass that judgement.<br />
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And this is <i>not </i>something I'm innocent of.<br />
<br />
I'm always hoping that each day gives me the opportunity to be a better person. I know I don't always take it. And sometimes I find myself, at the end of the day, wishing I'd done certain things totally differently. But <i>maybe </i>if I keep asking the questions, and I keep recognizing those opportunities, I can keep growing. <br />
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One day, <i>maybe </i>I'll be the person my kids think I am.<br />
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And <i>maybe </i>that should be our goal. If we're keeping secrets in order to make people <i>think </i>we're better, to make <i>ourselves </i>think that we're better, instead of actually trying to <i>be </i>better, then it's time to let those secrets go, and give up the power they have. It's time to be honest with those around us, and most importantly: ourselves.<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-143361611669032052015-03-22T20:26:00.003-05:002015-03-22T20:29:02.410-05:00Things My Kids Can't Do When I'm Sick<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't know if I'm sick.<br />
<br />
Okay, let me explain. I was having a perfectly <i>normal</i> day, when all of a sudden I felt...weird.<br />
<br />
As the day has gone on, I've progressively felt worse. Not a cold. Yet. Not the flu. Yet. But like my bones hurt, and that all the sleep in the world won't help because I'm not comfortable enough to sleep.<br />
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But I don't <i>want </i>to be sick. So, I'm trying not to say that I am.<br />
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Of course, I know I am. I'm totally sick. Hence the title of the blog.<br />
<br />
So, since I can't sleep anyway, and there's stuff that just has to be done before another school week starts tomorrow, I've been working, and trying not to be insanely annoyed by things that usually wouldn't phase me.<br />
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Here are some things I'd like my kids not to do in my presence when I feel this way:<br />
<ul>
<li><b>Come to me with vague needs.</b> Piper says Bridget isn't putting things in the right place. What things? Which places? What am I supposed to do? </li>
<li><b>Tell me different stories.</b> Piper said Bridget wasn't putting things in the right place. Bridget said that Piper wanted her to organize the toys and she doesn't know how. Dominic said they were just mindlessly arguing. When I don't know what's happening, I can't help them fix it. And I can't tell you how much I don't feel like figuring it out.</li>
<li><b>Dawdle</b>. When I say I need something done, I don't mean tomorrow. I mean now. </li>
<li><b>Forget everything I've ever asked them to do regularly.</b> This isn't the day to stop putting your dirty clothes down the laundry chute. No. This is the day to <i>start </i>doing it! </li>
<li><b>Argue</b>. I don't have enough patience to decide how I feel about what my own body is doing. I don't have the patience to work out all of your issues or disagreements and make it all work for you. </li>
<li><b>Breathe and/or cry.</b> Because I'm not rational. That's why.</li>
<li><b>Need to eat.</b> What's with all the "Oh, if I don't eat food I'll wither away to practically nothing?" I swear I feed them <i>constantly </i>when I feel fine, and they somehow survive on nothing but air, and the tiny amount of sunshine they're exposed to in Minnesota in the winter. But <i>no</i>, once I get sick, they're <i>all </i>hungry, <i>all </i>the time. </li>
</ul>
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This is when I'm exceptionally grateful for a husband who takes care of me. An amazing Bonus Kid, and a really easy Teen. With their help, no blood has been shed. And when I say no blood, I mean mine, which would come from repeatedly beating my head against the wall in frustration. </div>
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Sometimes it's the little things that make me happy. </div>
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And bedtime. Bedtime makes me super happy.</div>
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-58250683777223150642015-03-21T23:49:00.000-05:002015-03-21T23:49:24.901-05:00Ruby The Rhino<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have mentioned before that Liam, my 3 year old, has a cartoon hate for sleep.<br />
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Sleep is the thing that robs him of valuable hours in which he could be learning new things, like how to reach the fan in the kitchen.<br />
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He loves watching that fan spin, and he's pretty sure if he could <i>just </i>figure out how to get high enough to reach it, he could make it spin <i>forever</i>.<br />
<br />
I have tried all kinds of things to make him sleep. Later bedtime, no nap, Melatonin.<br />
<br />
Ruby the Rhino is just the latest in a long line of things I've used to try to improve Liam's nights.<br />
<br />
Ruby the Rhino is a <a href="https://annebasso.scentsy.us/Buy/Category/2156">Scentsy Buddy</a>. She is ridiculously soft, ridiculously cute, and comes with a Scent Pak, which is basically a small bean bag type pack that contains scent and lasts several months.<br />
<br />
For our Ruby, I chose a French Lavender Scent Pak. I've read research that shows that when people sleep with lavender, they sleep better and longer. Which aromatherapists have known for ages.<br />
<br />
Since I didn't figure my sweet boy would sleep with a lavender bag, I never tried it. But once I started selling Scentsy, and realized I could slip it into an adorable stuffed animal that could sleep with him, I was <i>so </i>excited.<br />
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I came up for a little jingle for Ruby. When Liam goes to bed, she sings to him, "I'm Ruby the Rhino...and I love you."<br />
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He now sings it for her if I don't do it fast enough. And he loves her! <br />
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I won't say it's made him the best sleeper in the whole world. He's a three year old with a neurological condition. But I will say that we are not having so many nights where one of us is getting up to be with him, and that's so <i>unbelievably </i>nice.<br />
<br />
So, while I don't want my blog to become a giant advertisement, I will occasionally let you guys know when there is something I think you should check out. Ruby the Rhino, in one of those things. You can find her <a href="https://annebasso.scentsy.us/Buy/Category/2156">here</a>, or and of the other wonderful products Scentsy has to offer, <a href="https://annebasso.scentsy.us/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
For March, I have a party open, and it's a Mystery Hostess. Everyone who places an order before April 1st, will be entered to win the hostess credit. So if you've been wanting to try some Scentsy products, now is a good time, and be sure to tell your friends!<br />
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As for Ruby, I kind of want another one, for me.<br />
<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-65975206985474960522015-03-20T23:02:00.000-05:002015-03-21T14:00:52.128-05:00It's Ostara! And That Means What, Exactly?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ostara blessings, everyone!<br />
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Now, if you're not Pagan, you might be asking yourself, God Lord, what weird thing is she celebrating this week, and why should I care?<br />
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Well, I will explain Ostara, but really, who needs a reason to celebrate? There's always a reason for a party. And Ostara is totally a party.<br />
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I'll bet someone at some point in your day mentioned that today was the start of Spring. In fact, it's the equinox.<br />
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The equinox, in case someone hasn't heard of that, is when day and night are equal in length. It happens twice a year, and this is one of those days.<br />
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Since Paganism sees Deity in the cycles of creation, it only makes sense that our holidays often fall on times of the year that are naturally significant. Like today.<br />
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If you come from a Christian background, Ostara is sort of our Easter. In the Church people celebrate the resurrection of Christ and how his death and resurrection bring new and everlasting life to the world,<br />
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At Ostara we celebrate the resurrection of nature. She wakes from her winter sleep and brings new life to the world as it has always been.<br />
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Of course, this is Minnesota, where getting the Earth to wake up for Spring, feels a lot like this:<br />
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Anywho, in our mythos, we learn that the Great God has become a young man, and marries the Maiden Goddess, who immediately conceives (those crazy kids!). And her fertility is shown in the fertility of the land.<br />
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New flowers bloom. New animals are born.<br />
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It's a lot of work for the animals, it seems.<br />
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Anyway, for us, nature is a reflection of the divine story.<br />
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So what do we do for Ostara?<br />
<br />
Well, I largely <i>suck </i>as ritual and party planner. Like, so much it's not even funny. But as a family we're going to do things that people do for Easter, like decorate eggs. And buy chocolate.<br />
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Nothing says it's Spring like chocolate eggs full of fondant. I only recently learned how those things came to be:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was both disturbed, and not surprised.</td></tr>
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In the evening we have time in the Sacred Circle, where we will tell stories, sing songs, and eat.<br />
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Pagans really like to eat, maybe more than they like drums and circles. And that's a lot.<br />
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Since this is a time of rebirth and growth, I will ask the kids what they would like to start over on, and work harder at. And I will ask myself, as well.<br />
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Maybe this year I'll garden!<br />
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Okay, geez, maybe not.</center>
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There goes this year's dream of being the kind of witch people understand. </center>
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Oh well. Happy Ostara anyway!</center>
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-55688623514376614702015-03-19T21:34:00.000-05:002015-03-19T21:34:03.244-05:00I'm Going To Stop Saying, "Be Quiet!"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Brennan, 5, talks.<br />
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He talks in the morning. He talks in the afternoon. He talks in the evening.<br />
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After we send him to bed at night, he talks to his brothers until sleep beats him senseless, and he <i>finally </i>gives in.<br />
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But when he wakes up in the morning, it starts again. Almost like it never stopped.<br />
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My son's incessant chatter has become the background noise of my life.<br />
<br />
We ran errands today and he showed at least 10 people his missing tooth.<br />
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I said, "Please be quiet."<br />
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He told one man that he would be old one day, and that mommy is old now.<br />
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I said, "Brennan, Baby, be quiet."<br />
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He said that one man had a beard, but he hoped he never had a beard because that wouldn't be right.<br />
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"Brennan! Be quiet!"<br />
<br />
And so forth and so on, it continued until I considered filling my ear with coffee grounds and dryer lint. You know, the stuff I have lying around the house. Because clearly, asking the child to be quiet was not doing the job.<br />
<br />
But I didn't.<br />
<br />
Instead I started to think that maybe there was a way to turn the whole thing around.<br />
<br />
Maybe the problem isn't that <i>he's </i>talking, but that <i>I'm </i>not listening.<br />
<br />
Maybe he is filling our days with words in the hopes that I'll hear at least <i>something </i>that he's trying to tell me.<br />
<br />
He's in bed now, and finally quiet.<br />
<br />
I told him that I really wanted to hear what he has to say, and would he please lie down and think about what he wants to tell me tomorrow. And you know what? He did.<br />
<br />
When he has forgotten, and started talking, I've asked if there is something he needs to tell me. I've asked if it's easy or hard to sleep while people are talking. And I've reminded him that he's going to think of all the important things he needs to tell me about. <br />
<br />
It's <i>actually </i>been much better.<br />
<br />
Maybe the problem with my pint-sized motor mouth is that it isn't <i>his </i>problem at all. I think it's mine.<br />
<br />
I have to remember that they're children for a single hot minute. But just because they're small doesn't mean that they don't have anything valuable to say. In fact, when I think most about what Brennan tells me, it's that he loves me.<br />
<br />
So my new experiment in motherhood is going to be to stop telling him to "be quiet", and instead asking him to tell me the most important thing in his mind at that moment.<br />
<br />
I'll let you know how it goes.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
Thanks for listening so I'm not just incessantly talking to myself. If you like my blog (and I really hope you do), please click the banner below and vote for me. It can be done every day and takes only seconds. You guys are the best.<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-2240634721032768102015-03-18T23:23:00.002-05:002015-03-19T08:56:29.794-05:00I Have A Few Teeny Peeves...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love blogs.<br />
<br />
I love writing mine, and I <i>love </i>reading other people's.<br />
<br />
Other people are fascinating. They live interesting lives in really cool places.<br />
<br />
Some blogs make me feel like I'm hanging out at their kitchen tables, watching the drama of their lives unfold.<br />
<br />
I <i>kinda </i>wanna ask them for some popcorn, because they are amazing, and I never want to leave.<br />
<br />
But then, there are blogs that, no matter how interesting they might be, I can't read. I have discovered a few themes.<br />
<br />
These, are my blogging pet peeves:<br />
<br />
<b>1) Music.</b><br />
<br />
I don't care how amazing that song is, or how inspirational the blogger thinks it will be when I hear it. Nothing makes me shut down a blog faster than music.<br />
<br />
See, I read blogs on the down low. When my kids are sleeping. When I'm trying to get them to do their homework. When my husband and kids are watching a little evening television. I don't <i>want </i>to hear their music.<br />
<br />
It would make me so happy if people let their content speak, and shut their music up.<br />
<br />
<b>2) Denied access:</b><br />
<br />
This one I get a lot from the Top Mommy Blogs. I'll go to check out a blog that is publicly listed in order to get traffic. And when I get there, the access is denied, and the blog is only open to invited readers.<br />
<br />
Then why list the blog? Or if it's just recently gone private, how about the author unlist it. That is a waste of my precious time. Unlike all the other frivolous stuff I do on the internet.<br />
<br />
<b>3) Fonts</b><br />
<br />
It sounds like a small thing, but it isn't. There are fonts (sans serif) that are easier to read on computer screens. People should really try to use those if possible. Seriously. It's so helpful. Especially for old people like me.<br />
<br />
And, I know it's supposed to be cute to mix and match fonts, but if I'm trying to read what a blog is about, and there are no fewer than 7 different fonts<i> </i>used in the description alone, I not only <i>don't </i>want to read that blog anymore, I want to burn it with fire.<br />
<br />
That's reasonable, I think.<br />
<br />
<b>4) No Paragraph Breaks</b><br />
<br />
A wall of text serves no one. You lose your place when reading it. It's sort of like when someone starts talking and they never really take a breath.<br />
<br />
Wall of text people actually make me a little sad. I just <i>know </i>that their story is going to be crazy and amazing, and I just will never be able to read it. Because it makes my eyes explode. Which I'm told is bad.<br />
<br />
<b>5) Too Much Information Blogs</b><br />
<br />
Look, I like a good girlfriends blog. I love to feel like we just sat down and had a coffee or a glass of wine, and went over all the shit that's going down in our lives. I want to empathize, commiserate, and share.<br />
<br />
That's a good time.<br />
<br />
But if I feel like I just walked in to someones house, and have read all of their bills, looked through their trash, and found them doing naked yoga with all twelve of their cats watching....<br />
<br />
Actually, no, that's a pretty good time, too. But I just can't join in for the naked yoga. My mom reads my blog. (Hi, Mom!) And she'd know.<br />
<br />
So that's my list. Just a few teeny little peeves that drive me to distraction.<br />
<br />
What do hate to see when you read blogs, or other things on the internet?<br />
<br />
*****<br />
I hope my blog isn't currently peeving anyone off. If it is, however, feel free to drop me a line, and let me know what I'm doing wrong. If, however, you like it here (and I hope you do), please click the banner below to register a vote for me. You can do it once a day, and really, why wouldn't you? You're the best!<br />
<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-17809717057731673782015-03-17T21:57:00.001-05:002015-03-17T21:59:40.403-05:00Come On Get Happy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I keep seeing pieces on the internet about happiness. They talk about all kinds of things that could improve the current state of your joy in life.<br />
<br />
You could:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Get rid of things.</li>
<li>Buy new things.</li>
<li>Work.</li>
<li>Stop working.</li>
<li>Have another baby.</li>
<li>Change the way you parent.</li>
<li>Put down the devices.</li>
<li>Get off the internet.</li>
<li>Get thin</li>
<li>Stop dieting</li>
<li>Go on vacation</li>
<li>And So Much More!</li>
</ul>
<br />
There seems to be no end to the ways that moms want to help other moms be happy. Because we love to help.<br />
<br />
Then sometimes we joke about happiness. Like the meme above, maybe we'll be happy if we can wear high heels, have an hour to ourselves, get to wear real earrings again, or if we can have a pee in private. And I'll admit, those things make me happy. Except high heels. I'm extraordinarily clutsy. It's a problem.<br />
<br />
So, are we really that unhappy?<br />
<br />
I'm not a rich woman, by any stretch of the imagination. Some months I have to stretch our budgets beyond the limits of what should be possible, in order to make it all work.<br />
<br />
When that happens, I'm stressed and nervous, and I wish there were more to go around.<br />
<br />
But I'm not unhappy.<br />
<br />
What's kind of funny is that I've struggled with clinical depression for my entire adolescence and adult life. When I'm unhappy it's generally because of a chemical imbalance in my brain. Not because of anything I'm doing, should be doing, have done, have, or don't have. I'm just <i>not </i>happy.<br />
<br />
Why are we so unhappy? Are we stretching ourselves too thin? Focusing too much on the kids? Not doing enough? Thinking too much?<br />
<br />
I can't tell you that I have the answer to the happiness dilemma. I don't. But what I can tell you is that the one thing that <i>does </i>have an effect on how I handle my happiness, or my depression, is <i>other women. </i><br />
<br />
I <i>need </i>people. I need people to talk to, and who will listen, even if they can't help. Even if they don't totally understand.<br />
<br />
Maybe that's why I blog. Because when I talk to all 3 of you who regularly read here, I feel like someone is listening, and my struggles aren't the worst things in the world. Other women give me a sense of community and shared struggle.<br />
<br />
So, I was thinking. If you are unhappy, and what you lack most is someone to talk to, my email link is in the sidebar. Every mom should have another mom to talk to. I don't have all the answers, but sometimes I have one or two. I'm also a great listener, and sometimes I'm funny. But only sometimes.<br />
<br />
Let's be happy <i>now</i>. Because we deserve it.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
You know what makes me happy? When you guys click the banner below to register a vote for my blog. You can do it every day, and it means a lot to me to have your support. You're the best!<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-72427760698272471622015-03-16T22:01:00.001-05:002015-03-16T22:01:39.985-05:00For Zachary<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo from http://www.dearzachary.com/</td></tr>
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A friend of mine once showed me a Book of the Dead. And, well it <i>might </i>not be what you're thinking.<br />
<br />
Years ago, photographs were not an easy thing to come by. Sometimes, the only picture a family might have of a loved one, would be taken after death. Some of these pictures ended up in collections. Books of the Dead.<br />
<br />
Her book was almost exclusively children. Loved children. And these photos were cherished by their families, as one of the few things they had to remember them by.<br />
<br />
These pictures were an echo in time, a shadow of a life shortly lived. I took the time to look at each photograph and think of that life. It seemed precious, and like something that should be acknowledged.<br />
<br />
I watch a lot about True Crime, specifically murders. Not because I'm fascinated by crime. I'm really more bewildered by it. Life is a precious thing, and I have no comprehension as to how anyone thinks they have to right to take someone else's, just because they can.<br />
<br />
But I watch, nonetheless. I think for the same reason that I looked at each of those photos when they were shared with me.<br />
<br />
These were people, whose lives were ended prematurely. I can't give them justice. I can't give them peace. But I <i>can </i>hear their story.<br />
<br />
And so, today, I found myself watching the documentary <a href="http://www.dearzachary.com/">For Zachary</a>, on Netflix. It's a film made by a man whose best friend was murdered. He wanted to document all the people who loved and knew Andrew Bagby, for Andrew's son, Zachary.<br />
<br />
I won't give away too much, as I think it's a valuable story to see without knowing what can't be unknown. But I will say that it's a powerful thing to see how a life lived, however long or short it may be, can change people. And Andrew Bagby, it seems, was an incredible man, raised by two amazing people.<br />
<br />
I will likely never meet Mr. & Mrs. Bagby, but I wish I could tell them that, now that I know their story, I will carry it with me. That their loss will not be forgotten. That I'm so grateful that they shared their family with me.<br />
<br />
I hope they know that sometimes, the light of kindness and love is bright enough that even strangers can carry it forward. I hope I do. For Andrew. For Zachary. And for the many whose names I don't know. I can, at the very least, remember.<br />
<br />
<br />
*****<br />
If you like my blog, please click the banner below to register a vote for me. You can do it once a day and it takes only seconds. Thanks, you're the best!<br />
<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-17040426703098909792015-03-15T20:49:00.003-05:002015-03-15T20:51:07.380-05:00What I'm Really Thinking While I Exercise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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All the endorphins are apparently being released when I work out, these days. Because I couldn't wait to go to the gym today.<br />
<br />
But as good as my body feels, I'm having to work on my mind.<br />
<br />
Going to the gym is really forcing me to face some of the body image issues I have.<br />
<br />
Even before I started on the elliptical this afternoon, the inner monologue started in my head.<br />
<br />
<i>I'll pick this one. There's no one on either side of me, so I won't compare what I'm doing to anyone else. This is about getting healthy. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I'm going to be strong and amazing, today. Not like last week when I fell off the treadmill when I looked at my phone. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Oh, and graceful! Today I'm going to be totally graceful. With enough exercise, I will not only have a great body, but I think I might have read somewhere on the internet that exercise will make you less clutsy. And if it was on the internet, then it must be true. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Is it too much to hope for? Probably, but we're going with positive thinking today, damn it.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>My legs hurt. Are they going to hurt this whole time? I don't know if I'm going to want to do half an hour if my legs hurt.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Stop trying to sing along with your music. You can't sing out loud here, and you'll look like a crazy person just mouthing the words. Stop it!</i><br />
<br />
Then a tall, gorgeous blonde takes the machine next to mine. And when she starts to work out, she doesn't smell like sweat and desperation, like I do. No, she smells like fresh flowers and shampoo. How does that even happen?<br />
<br />
Now instead of feeling badass, I feel like I'm only pretending to workout. Like this:<br />
<br />
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<br />
But the talking in my head continues...<br />
<br />
<i>Keep going. It doesn't matter what she's doing. If I want to get this body into the shape I want it to be in, I have to keep moving. And hey, my legs don't hurt anymore, so bonus! </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>How fast is my heartrate? Should I kick it up a notch? Maybe I should take it down a notch instead, because I think my heart exploding on the elliptical would be a bad thing.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Yeah, totally bad. Stop trying to match her pace. I don't think she's human, and it's not a competition.</i><br />
<br />
And so on it goes. I <i>love </i>those few minutes when I feel strong, and hate the many more minutes when I'm wondering if I'm too slow, or what it would take to get a figure that was never mine to begin with, and doesn't ever really need to <i>be </i>mine.<br />
<br />
I did my elliptical, weights, and a mile on the treadmill (<i>without </i>falling off). Then later I walked 3 miles with the dog. So, as far as exercise goes, I did fantastic today. And I feel <i>so </i>good about it. Now, the real trick is going to be changing that inner dialog that goes while I'm at it.<br />
<br />
I don't need to be better than anyone but myself. I don't need to look like anyone but myself. And I am not exercising for anyone but myself.<br />
<br />
Strong and healthy has to be my new mantra. Fantastic butt can just be a happy side effect.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
You know what is the easiest exercise you can do today? Stretch that mouse over here to the banner below and give it a click. It registers a vote for my blog, which you can do once a day, and I really appreciate it. You're the best!<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-34848043694074150852015-03-14T22:47:00.002-05:002015-03-14T22:47:43.344-05:00What Witches Do: Prayer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My friend Jennifer posted on my <a href="http://www.motherbymoonlight.com/2015/02/ask-me-anything.html">Ask Me Anything post</a> about how I practice my faith.<br />
<br />
See, Jennifer is an Orthodox Christian. Her faith influences almost every aspect of her life. From what she eats, to how she prays, her faith is a living part of her day. So, it makes sense to me that she would wonder, knowing me as she does (we've been friends for decades), how my faith affects how I live.<br />
<br />
But I decided that instead of answering with just one post, I'd make it a series. What Witches Do. Clever, right?<br />
<br />
Just keep in mind that how I do it, may not be how someone else does it. I don't speak for all Witches. No one does. And don't believe anyone who tells you otherwise.<br />
<br />
So, do Witches pray? Well, I do. A lot of us do. It's a sanity tool. And I need all the sanity tools I can get.<br />
<br />
Some of my prayer is conversation with the Gods, calling on certain Deities the way a Catholic might call upon different saints. I do this often, when I need to talk through something. When I need to hear it out loud. Or when I'm not sure about what the outcome should be. I'm well aware that I don't always know what the right thing to do is. I trust that the Gods do, however, and I put it in their hands.<br />
<br />
Some of my prayer is meditative. For example, this is a Witches Ladder:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo and product from <a href="http://magickalstore.com/jewelry/jewelry/prayer-and-ritual-beads-witches-ladder/hematite-witchs-ladder-9225?sort=p.price&order=ASC&limit=25">The Magikal Store</a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
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This isn't exactly what mine looks like, but you can see, it's a little like a Rosary. I pick a mantra or prayer and face each of the four directions, repeating it. It centers and soothes me, and prepares me for the day. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
These can also be used for spellwork and about a hundred other things. But I use mine for prayer and meditation. I can explain in another post how I might make a Witches Ladder during spellwork. But that's for another day.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I actually pray often. When my friends request it, when I need to hold on to patience, when there's a situation that is uncertain, when I need comfort, and when I just plain feel like it. The thing is, I can't tell you if it actually changes things, or if it just changes me. This is faith, not science, and I'm careful not to confuse the two. In the end, it doesn't matter to me if "prayer works", because it works for me, and that's all it really needs to do. Sometimes in this world, we are so powerless, and the ability to pray is the ability to do <i>something</i>. And we need that. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I do pray. Witches pray. The Craft is a practice, to be sure, but more than that, it is a faith. For me it is a faith in a Divine Presence that flows through all of us, and through the planet and all living things. And prayer reminds me of that connection, and brings me a great deal of peace. Which, clearly I need.</div>
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<br />
*****<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-58283288310436478932015-03-13T22:35:00.001-05:002015-03-13T22:35:29.959-05:00Do You Think My Head Will Actually Explode?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm somewhat immune to meltdowns.<br />
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After being Ciaran's mom for 9 years, with his Autism leading to puddle on the floor tantrums, and then Liam, with his neurological issues providing much of the same, I've learned to largely take a tantrum in stride.<br />
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It's not those crazy, fall-on-the-floor-and-freakout meltdowns that phase me anymore. I just stay calm and power through it.<br />
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No, what gets me is average kid illogic and over-reaction.<br />
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Take, for example, my sweet Brennan (5). He walked into my room freaking the fuck out this afternoon. I mean, screaming, tears running down his face, and inconsolable.<br />
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Clearly he'd been bitten by a rattlesnake, Or endured some other world-ending torture. So of course I let him calmly lay there scream-crying until he required enough breath that I could ask him which of these things had occurred.<br />
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So, what happened? "I pushed a button on the Nintendo Wii, and it didn't work!"<br />
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Um, seriously? This is what freaked you out so much? This is what led to you screaming on my bed for what felt like 2 weeks?<br />
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This is the kind of thing that might make my head explode.<br />
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Tonight he came to me super angry, because Quinn (7) told him that he was being rude.<br />
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I kind of wanted to give Quinn a medal. He said exactly what was wrong, without name-calling. I was so proud.<br />
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Brennan was less than thrilled with my advice. I told him to stop being rude.<br />
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No, it's not the big fits that will kill me. Those are my children who don't yet have the capability to cope, falling apart. They're having a hard time, and they need my calm love and support to get to the other side.<br />
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It will be my other kids and their completely over the top fits over little things. It will be the unwillingness to accept logical consequences for their actions. It will be the unwillingness to admit error. It will be their ability to forget that I know them deep into their souls, and can tell when they're full of crap.<br />
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It will be the everyday, average frustrations of parenting that ultimately drive me straight to crazy town.<br />
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The bonus is that, it's largely populated by other parents, and I hear there are amazing margaritas.<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-52568509254348077852015-03-12T22:19:00.001-05:002015-03-12T22:19:18.626-05:00No Room For Mean<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"I said, 'Mom apparently has no humor.'" Bridget answered my question, arms crossed, eyes looking up at me from a mildly scowling face.<br />
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Color me surprised! Me? No humor? Hey, my name's Mom, and I <i>live </i>to make you laugh. Have we not met before?<br />
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Okay, so I'm not having the best evening. It might be allergies, or I might be coming down with a cold. But either way, I'm not feeling quite myself. So, I was listening to my book while folding laundry. A great example of mommy-multitasking. And I hadn't heard what they were saying, and then, even when they repeated it for me, I didn't get their joke.<br />
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See, my daughters are 12 and 11, and their jokes are often based on inside jokes and information that they share with each other. Sometimes, outside of their sisterly dyad, they don't make a lot of sense. Of course, they think they're a laugh riot.<br />
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So, clearly this sarcastic and sassy mom just has no sense of humor.<br />
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I <i>know</i> it's not true. But it still stung. It was clearly meant as an insult. It said, "The problem, Mom, is not that our joke blows, but that there's something wrong with <i>you</i>."<br />
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Thanks, kid.<br />
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One of my kids likes to deflect real feelings. Usually this is done through humor. But when things get hard, it can fall to meanness instead.<br />
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Not the kind of mean that I am as their mom. You know, the kind of mean that is <i>any </i>parent who insists on consequences for actions. Seriously, if your kids never ever think you're mean, you might be doing it wrong.<br />
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The kind of mean that this particular child is indulging in is the kind that hurts feelings, and isn't funny for anyone. I happen to be a parent who places a premium on funny, and has no patience for mean. So, this isn't working for me.<br />
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There are some great ideas for explaining to kids the damage that words can do. Like, you can have them hammer nails into an orange, and then pull them out. You can take the nails out, but the damage is still done. It's a great visual.<br />
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But I've found that the most important thing is a no-tolerance policy. Feelings are okay. I won't <i>ever</i> tell anyone how to feel. But you have to communicate what you're <i>actually </i>feeling, and ask for what you <i>actually </i>want and/or need.<br />
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<b>There's no room for mean.</b></div>
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It's not a lesson that's taught in one session, or one day. It's a lesson taught over and over again, not only when I stop said child and explain it, giving other tools and words that express their feelings better. It's also a lesson that's taught when I do the same. When I don't go to the first thing I want to say, that might be biting or sarcastic. And <a href="http://www.motherbymoonlight.com/2015/02/sarcasm-is-my-second-language.html">sarcasm is my second language.</a><br />
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I actually think the <i>best </i>way I can teach this, is through example. I must continue to do my best to <b>never </b>say things to my children that are intentionally hurtful or insulting. The easy thing to lash out with, is almost never the right thing to say.<br />
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I've learned to take a time out if I need it. Tonight I might even have some wine. But I will not insult or demean my children.<br />
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I will, however have a talk about how Mom has feelings too, and how I'm sorry if not getting the joke was hurtful. But it's not okay to talk to me that way. I'm a person, and I deserve to be treated with respect. The way I treat them.<br />
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In our house, there's always room for humor. But there's just no room for mean.<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-75189677773420619072015-03-11T21:35:00.000-05:002015-03-11T21:35:02.083-05:00I'm Giving Up The Guilt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Mom guilt. It's a phenomenon that starts early.<br />
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Oh, did you not have a perfectly natural birth in a stream, with a wild deer in attendance, and a bodhran player providing the life rhythm that would guide your baby out into the world? What a shame.<br />
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Did you not breastfeed for the first seven years? That's too bad.<br />
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Did you not make your own organic food from the vegetables you grew in your organic hydroponic garden? That's really the best you know.<br />
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Did you cloth diaper? Only provide wooden toys, blessed by a shaman in the himalayas? Did you work? Did you stay home? Did you shout? Did you never shout? Did you use time out? Did you never do anything?<br />
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No matter what choices you've made as a mother, there is someone to judge them, and sometimes, the harshest judge we have, is ourselves.<br />
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We judge ourselves over the big things, sure. But the guilt that really slows us down is over the little things. Did we say the right thing? Did we handle things the right way?<br />
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Of course we want to do the best job possible. We wouldn't have this guilt if we didn't deeply feel the need to get this job done right.<br />
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But it's not doing me any good. Sure, it's fair to evaluate whether or not my methods are working for my kids. But instead of feeling guilty, which I know leads me to go far in the other direction and makes me feel bad, it's time for me to give up the guilt.<br />
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I've done things I'm proud of as a mom (breastfeeding, babywearing, communication). And I've done things that I'd do differently if I had the chance again (spanking, and yelling). But I know how to say I'm sorry from my mistakes, and I know how to learn from them. That's most I could ask for from my kids. I don't see why I'd expect more from myself.<br />
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So, from now on, when I start to feel guilty, I'm going to ask myself two things:<br />
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How would I handle that differently in the future?<br />
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and<br />
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What did I learn?<br />
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They didn't come with instructions, and really, the best any of us can hope for is that we keep trying our best.<br />
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Mom guilt is not our friend. It's a waste of our time, it's a waste of our energy, and we don't deserve it.<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15667772171360379262noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2395340910679031218.post-63336759935239585072015-03-10T22:43:00.001-05:002015-03-10T22:47:13.883-05:00Sleep Is A Thing We're Supposed To Have<a href="http://i242.photobucket.com/albums/ff240/Krystine210/2013-01-22_14-12-29-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i242.photobucket.com/albums/ff240/Krystine210/2013-01-22_14-12-29-1.jpg" height="223" width="320" /></a><br />
I was listening to the radio the other day, to a nutrition and wellness show. They were saying that, for weight loss, you need 9 hours of sleep a night. I laughed out loud. Is that even possible for mothers?<br />
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It was a long day, today. Two parent teacher conferences, As a PTO representative, I set up a teacher luncheon at school (since they're there all day for conferences), then there was a trip to the book fair, a staff meeting, and back to clean up at the school.<br />
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I've been moving, pretty much all day long.<br />
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All I want now, is to fall into a coma like sleep. But I can't. Because <i>Liam </i>won't sleep.<br />
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It's don't have the sleep deprivation of the new mother. But it's still pretty awful, and I'm not a fan.<br />
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Most nights, Liam lets us know that he's up by banging his head against the wall, and crying. But when I lay down with him, he mostly just wants to stick his finger up my nose.<br />
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Really kid? You need to stay awake for this?<br />
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Tonight we sang his goodnight song repeatedly, and he ran me through the tricks he's trained me to do. And at the end of it, my eyelids were drooping, and he was still awake and ready for more.<br />
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So now, I'm out here, typing up this blog post, though the screen is blurry through my tired eyes. And, of course, I can hear him again, banging again in his room, which requires my return.<br />
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Someday, when he's a teenager, I'm going to wake him repeatedly, all night long, stick my finger in his nose and make him sing songs to me.<br />
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He has it coming.<br />
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*****<br />
If you're going to sleep, could you sleep a little for me? But before you do, please, click the banner below to register a vote for me. It takes just a second, and you can vote every day! Thanks, you're the best.<br />
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