Love Wins

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.

In other words:

We're All Gettin' Gay Married!

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.

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.

That said, parenting my child, is 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.

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!

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.

Then I saw what Scott Walker (Republican Governor of Wisconsin) had to say:

“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.

 “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.  

 “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.”

This is my response:

Dear Scott Walker,

While I'd like to just say that you're a gigantic tool and be done with it, I actually have more.

The truth is, your faith isn't under any threat whatsoever. The legal understanding of marriage has changed many times in the millennia you mention. Hence why my father paid no dowry, I am not my husband's property, and I am his only wife.

Your religious understanding of matrimony will not change at all. Or it least it doesn't have to. No law will force it to. Saying so is ignorant, and deceitful. It is the state, not the church, that provides legal marriage, and therefore it is a civil right that has no bearing on your religion.

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?

Mr. Walker this ruling won't change what your church will or may 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 disgust that another generation of gay kids are going to churches where they will learn that there is something wrong with them.

So, while I will fight for your right to believe what you wish, I promise 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. 

The reality of this ruling is that another person having civil rights infringes upon yours, not at all. You trying to make your religious law the law of the land, however, is definitely 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 really disturb your conservative sensibilities. And not allowing a family legal recognition and protection under the law violates the family values you claim to hold.

This ruling today was a blow for freedom, a blow against religious tyranny, and a victory for families everywhere.

Oh, and Mr. Walker, you are 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.

I can't wait.

(And a special thank you to my husband for reading and finding the typos I missed)
  *****

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Life Is Sweet

Life is hard, sometimes. In big ways, and in small.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

We've all got something to worry about, be nervous about, or be afraid of.

We've all also got something to rejoice over, be thankful for, and appreciate.

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.

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.

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.

None of us will get to escape catching it at some point.

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.

Like Natalie Merchant says, "I tell you, life is sweet, there's so much more, be grateful."

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.

*****
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Coming To (A Pagan) Faith

Beth of Manic Mumbling said:

"I always love stories of how you celebrate your faith. It seems awfully personal to ask you about how you came to it, but ... you opened this up!"

She's right! I did. And I am fine talking about my faith and how I got here. It's a little meandering, and I'm sure I'll miss pieces. But, this is a basic rough idea.

People have always been faithful. Whether throwing gifts into water in the hope of an answered prayer, lighting incense to carry their petitions to the Gods, or building cathedrals as monuments of an awesome and all powerful deity. We have, collectively, always believed in something bigger than ourselves.

I'm no different.

I was raised Episcopalian, but had a hard time connecting on a deep spiritual level. Which, to be fair, is not the fault of the church.

I was young. And I had always seen it as a show. Something you rehearsed for and put on. My dad was the choir director, after all. I can see why it was hard for me to understand the meaning behind the show, and how it was used to create a spiritual experience.

So I left, in my teens,to search for something that I felt like I could connect to. A dear friend was a practicing Pagan, and she introduced me to what she believed in. I started reading, and teaching myself.

Part of what drew me was the idea of personal power. I had experienced some trauma early on in my life, and had always felt like what happened to me, was up to other people. The ability to be in charge of my own spirituality, was empowering.

Of course, I think part of what drew me to Paganism, was also that it was just so different. And it felt a little rebellious, too.

But really, that's not a good basis for any faith choice.

Eventually I got over the need to rebel. And I went back to the Christian faith.

I tried.

I tried so hard.

I tried to be enough. I tried to do enough. I thought if I could just pray hard enough, do the right things, be devout enough, read enough scripture, I would feel connected and...good enough.

But it never came.

I also started to have issues with ideas and people within the church, and I ultimately lost my faith.

I just plain didn't believe.  

Yet, I still felt like there was a divine force in the universe. I believed in that. I just started to believe that it was bigger. More inclusive than exclusive. A force so great that all people had tried to connect to it in one way or another, and maybe none of them were wrong.

Maybe being right, wasn't the point at all. Maybe the religion wasn't the point, but was instead a set of tools to connect us to that force.

I started reading again. And was drawn back to the Pagan path. What I practice, acknowledges balance, and the divine nature found in all living things. It focuses on respect, on harming no one, not even yourself. Which seems like a simple ethical principle, but is truly quite profound.

I love that that simple idea frees me from worrying about how anyone else lives their life. My job is not to judge, but to live my life to the best of my ability. I don't have to be right. I have to do right. It no longer matters so much, what I believe. Now what matters is how what I do, and how my beliefs influence my actions.

So, Paganism, for me, lets me see the Divine through the cycles of the earth. It provides me with a rich mythology, from which I can pull lessons that help me to live my life. And it helps me connect to something bigger than myself, in a way that works for me.

The Great Spirit, as I see it, is a multifaceted jewel. And the Gods, as we choose to believe in them, are facets of that jewel, giving us a glimpse of something so much greater.

And following this path, has allowed me to feed my soul in a way that feels natural for me. I am at last, a very happy Pagan Mama.

*****
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It's A Feature, Not A Bug

I spend a lot of time with people who have strong personalities.

Personally, I'm a fan.

I like people who speak their minds and know what they think. I like people with whom I will always know where I stand. I like people who can advocate for themselves and others.

But I'm getting a little tired of so often seeing others in terms of negative.

I think that a lot of time the only difference between a quality that's a feature as opposed to a bug, is how we look at it.

Granted, this doesn't work for everything. Racists, homophobes, and people who talk too loud at the movie theater are clearly bad people and should be destroyed. Or at the very least, shamed deeply.

But for the love of all things purple, sometimes we need to have a little more patience with people. It's not as if any of us are little packages of perfection, wrapped in rose petals. We're all big jumbles of issues and insecurities, and the vast majority of us are just trying to do our best.

I think we're not being the people that Mr. Rodgers knew we could be. And why not? What good can it possibly do us?

I'd like to be the person who sees certain personality traits as features, rather than bugs. In a brash and opinionated friend, I can be grateful for the loyalty and the fact that I'll never wonder where they stand. In a busy friend, I can be grateful for the responsibility that they take on so I don't have to.

We can't change people. But we can change ourselves. We don't give other people enough credit, and if we're honest, we probably don't give it to ourselves either.

We can do better.

I can do better.

*****
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Why I Think High School Still Matters

I'm almost 20 years out of High School. Which feels a little impossible.

With the advent of Facebook I actually keep in better touch with people I knew back then. In fact, I know some of them much better now.

I like some of them much more now.

I know it's fair and reasonable to say that High School was a very long time ago, and that what happened back then, well, it doesn't really matter anymore.

But I think maybe it does.

I think Middle School and Elementary School matter, too. It's not like we've forgotten it. Not really.

Now, I don't spend my days thinking about things that happened many years ago, mind you, or nurturing the slights of childhood. (That sounds so boring, and I have much better things to do, as I'm sure you do, too)

It's that I think we can get more out of where we've been. I think the kids we were, the kids we knew, and the experiences we had, can make us better people.

Bear with me.

I was bullied in school. It wasn't physical at all. Instead it was the psychological games of young girls.

And of course there was the added bonus of being told in pretty straightforward terms that the reason I wasn't liked, was that I was inherently unlikable.

That one kinda hurt.

Now, by the time High School came around I had made some great friends. Of course, by then I truly thought that I didn't deserve success or happiness. I had bought into the message of my bullies.

I didn't actually see that things could be different until I had my first child. And even then, I didn't care about making them different for me. I cared about making them different for him.

But I turned out okay. I still like people. So, why does it still matter what happened back then?

Well, because I'm still learning from it all.

See, I have chosen to let those experiences teach me who I want to be.

I want to be someone who isn't particularly judgmental. I want to be someone who encourages people. I want to be someone who makes people feel welcome, included, and good about themselves.

I want to be someone who can say that she's sorry, too. Because there were times that I was every bit as judgmental and unkind as I thought people were to me.

I want to remember what it was like when labels really defined people, and I want to continue to work to see beyond them.

Now, none of us should live in the past. Not by any means. I just don't think we have to pretend that the past never happened. Not when we can take it with us in positive ways.

And maybe those lessons we learn, we can teach our kids. So, instead of making the same mistakes we did, they can make all new mistakes that we've never seen before.

Because, you know, at least that would so much more exciting, right?

*****
This particular post has been percolating in my head for a couple of days, and I'm still not entirely sure I got it out the right way. I just know that I'm still learning lessons, and still want to. I hope it makes sense.

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High School And Second Chances

Reagan and me, on my 37th birthday. This kid, he's pretty great.

I wasn't a different person in High School, exactly. In some ways I was very similar. I was passionate, political, and I cared deeply about people.

But I was young.

Being both inexperienced and short-sighted, I often couldn't see what was right in front of me. And I definitely couldn't see what the best choices were.

I rejected my High School culture because I felt like I went to school with people who were privileged, entitled, and judgmental. Which, sometimes they were. But, hello, so was I. Clearly.

I missed out on so many things that High School kids do, because I thought I was so much better than all of it. I had things to do and a life to lead. I was so much more mature.

Really, I was kind of an idiot. Thankfully, I grew up. We all grew up.

Of course, in addition to turning from a dumb kid in to a grown-up in the last twenty years, this other amazing thing happened. The kids these days call it Facebook.

Through Facebook I have connected and reconnected with so many people I went to school with, not all of whom were my friends back then.

Now we have so much more in common, like kids and mortgages, and a strong desire for wine before 5 o'clock. We can hang.

And it turns out, a lot of them are great people. Who knew?

I didn't appreciate the people I went to school with, or the privileges that were offered to me, then. But now I do. Now I can appreciate how we were all caught in our limited experiences, and trying to grow into ourselves.

Weirdly, time circles around in a never-ending loop, and now my own child is a Senior in High School, twenty years after I was.

Much like me, he's not terribly interested in a lot of school activities. And I wonder if he will look back at High School and wish he'd done a few things differently, like I do. But I've let him make his own choices in this area, and he has picked close relationships with his core group of friends, over traditional High School things like dances and football games. Which I respect, both because I really like his core group of friends, and because this is his life, and not my second chance.

I don't get a second chance at adolescence. But, thankfully, I do get a second chance to get to know the people who come from where I come from. And with a little less insecurity and baggage attached.

My 20th reunion isn't until next Summer, and it falls on Reagan's 18th birthday. When I talked to him about it, he told me I should go. Not because he doesn't want me around for his birthday, but because he thinks I spend too much time taking care of them, and that I should get more "me" time.

I think I've done something right with that one.

*****
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All The Thoughts...

I have a million thoughts all percolating in my head.

I'm a ridiculous over thinker. I may need to find a 12 step program for it.

Anyway, I'm still stuck on the spanking issue, and incredibly frustrated that there are still people who think that's the way you teach kids, or that if you don't, children can't grow up right.

I keep thinking that the people I most wanted to please as a kid, were the people who believed in me and inspired me. Not the people who scared me or made me feel small.  Boundaries, limits, and consequences, sure. But how about more carrot, and less stick.

I'm also stuck on a dream I had where I lost a baby. It's a total downer and I won't bore you with all the details, but I know it's related to a whole host of things going on, from losses in our encephalocele group, to recurring fears I have that something will happen to Liam, to even the loss of some relationships in my life that have been hard for me.

I think I'm just a big emotional pile of.....blech.  (See how I use those fancy words? That's because I'm a writer!)

But I'm also feeling some intense gratitude.

See, I'm outspoken and opinionated, and can be a giant pain in the ass. And sometimes when I express my humble opinions (Especially when I'm right and everyone should just do it my way, to make the world a better place. See? Humble!) I can be....somewhat....abrasive.  You know, a little.

I'm so grateful for this tiny little corner of the internet, where I can just let loose and tell everyone exactly what I think, or what I'm feeling, and get so much support (not to mention useful information about Obama conspiracy theories, because that was...important for me to know about).

So, thank you to all of you who read what I write. Whether I'm blathering on about what's bothering me, or telling you something funny my kids did, it's great to have such an intelligent group of people to be my sounding board, and who make me feel less like I'm just talking to myself.

Because once you start talking to yourself, you might start answering yourself, too. And then it's all over.

*****

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I Don't Love Them More

I see this quote go around every so often in my Special Needs circles.  I can see why it's popular. It feeds into the idea that our kids are great, and it's a "feel good" kind of quote.

Maybe it's just me being contrary, but...I disagree with it.

Don't get me wrong. I love my kids more than my dog loves getting her butt scratched. And that's a lot.

But I never saw that they were perfect. Nor did I ever mind that they were imperfect. I don't love them for being blonde or brunette. I don't love them for being tall or short. I don't love them for being boys or girls.

I love them for being themselves.  All they ever have to be for my love, is who they are at their core.

When I found out that Liam had an encephalocele, I didn't love him more. I might be more protective, in some ways, but he's not more special because of it. He's special because he's Liam.

This for me, goes hand and hand with the quotes about Special Needs moms getting special kids because they're stronger, or better, or more capable. That is just plain not true. We're just putting one foot in front of the other like any other mom. And we all struggle. This is the hardest job you ever do. My challenges may be different than another mother, but we all have challenges.

That may be one of the reasons I decided I didn't want this to be a Special Needs blog. It's something we deal with, but I'm a mom first. They're kids first. We're a family first. And whether you're trying to get your six year old to love reading, or stop spinning in class, we're all trying to figure something out, and we can all use a little help from our friends. Even virtual ones.

So no, I didn't love any of them more for being imperfect. I loved them all for being imperfect, right from the start. Because we're all imperfect. Perfectly so.

*****

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Rage Against the Dying: The Tragic Loss of Robin Williams

My children did adorable things today. My dog barked and drove me crazy. My husband went to work, and he came home. I dropped my cell phone, and cracked the screen. Just one more thing that will have to be fixed.

But none of these things feels important right now. None of them open a door to humor and insight about every day life as a mother of a big family.

Because today Robin Williams appears to have taken his own life. 

Today, someone I have watched and loved my whole life, forgot for a moment, how much his life mattered, and he left us.

As a Pagan, I understand life as an endless cycle of life, death and rebirth.  Every end is a beginning, every beginning an end.  It's all connected, and it continues past what we can see and understand. But the belief that Mr. Williams' end was a new beginning, doesn't lessen my sadness that he is gone and that his friends and family, and we his fans, will miss him.

So many of us have been touched by depression and suicide. I thought in this post, I'd tell my story.

By the time I was 14, I was using my lunch money, to buy drugs. Classy, right? I made a lot of poor decisions, then. I loved to check out, to let go of my overwhelming anxiety. To forget, however briefly, that the world felt too bright for me. I loved deeply, and I felt things very acutely. Living, could be wonderful, but most of the time, it just hurt.

By the time I was fifteen, I thought maybe I was a drug addict.  I started attending NA meetings.  Then I saw a therapist, and a Psychiatrist.  Medication was prescribed and a diagnosis given: cyclical depression. Not the wild ups and downs of someone with bipolar, but significant and frequent swings that left me feeling like I was on an inescapable ride, both thrilling and terrifying.

When I was sixteen, the meds weren't working. A friend had just been killed. And I, in a very dark place, attempted suicide.

I sat down and took most of a bottle of my dads blood pressure pills.

It very nearly worked.

Terms like "organ donation" and "maybe if we put in a pacemaker" were thrown around the ER. My mother was terrified in a way I couldn't understand until I had children of my own.

I'm so sorry I did that to her.

Even today, I tear up when I think about what she must have gone through. I'm sure it scared my father, too. But he wasn't there when those frightening words were thrown. My mother was being asked to make decisions all on her own, and I can only imagine how that day must have felt for her.

I survived, clearly, but I spent time in-patient that year. Not for a whole year, of course, but was in and out a few times.  Life in the hospital was measured and easy, and I could immerse myself in the problems of others, which was something I was good at. Life outside took skills I had not fully mastered. And so, I longed for the ease of life behind safe hospital walls.

I did get my meds adjusted, and found some stability. When the depression was controlled, I had no real desire for drugs and alcohol. I wasn't an addict who was depressed. I was a depressive, who was self-medicating with drugs and alcohol. It was a slow process to get to a healthy place. And I still struggle sometimes. Depression for me is a chronic illness. Currently I manage it with diet and exercise, but I have learned my cycles well enough to know now, when I need something more. And I am not ashamed to get it.

You have to understand, when I tried to commit suicide, I wasn't trying to be selfish. I thought my very existence was a burden on those I loved most. I thought that they would be happier and that their lives would be easier without me in it.

I know now, of course, that we are all connected, and that the loss of one of us, ripples through our fabric in ways we see, and sometimes in ways we don't even realize. But in those moments, those awful moments, in that dark place of despair, our innermost voice is profoundly dishonest.

I like to think that I'm a poster child for how early diagnosis and intervention, can make all the difference for adolescents struggling with depression. Even though I dropped out of High School, I got my GED. Aced it, too. I went on to learn a vocation. I became a nurse, and worked with the elderly and the sick. I got married and have had a family. I am happy with my life. Even when my phone screen cracks and my children are eschewing bedtime in favor of screaming fits.

Robin Williams forgot, for a moment, that his life was connected to all of ours. That his life made a difference, and touched others. And so, while I believe that he continues on, I am still sad. That anyone should face that point, of giving in to that voice that tells us the worst lies and makes them seem true, that makes us believe that we don't matter, is, for me, utterly heartbreaking.

Tonight I am thinking of his body of work, and the movie that touched me the most profoundly: Dead Poets Society.  And so I will leave you with this, as the instruction to "Rage, rage against the dying of the light" feels especially poignant to me tonight:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Do not go gentle into that good night Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953

Beauty Is More Than Skin Deep

My new haircut

I got a haircut, today.  I know what you're thinking, "My gosh, Anne!  Your life is just non-stop excitement!" and you'd be right, of course. My life is an endless supply of thrills!  And thank you for noticing.

Okay, it's possible that I might be exaggerating. Although, I don't think anyone spilled cereal on the floor today, and that's kind of exciting!

Since I started dying my hair red, I've been needing to take more of the old dyed brown stuff off of the ends, and I was really ready for something more fun.  I was going for a Sandra Bullock long bob type thing (which was apparently THE thing last fall, but I'm slow and old, so I'm behind)  but ended up with a style that can only be called, mine.  My hair never does what I think it will, but it somehow ends up working out just fine anyway.  Well, most of the time.

And I'm pleased to see that in the sunlight, it's a nice shade of red.  Under the lights in my bathroom, it's almost a little Ronald McDonaldy orange at the roots.  Sometimes it amazes me the things that make me happy.  Like, "Hey, Liam didn't pee on the floor today!" or "Check me out! I don't look like a freaky clown mom!"

But here's the serious:

I have mixed feelings about beauty.  I'm from Southern California, and grew up in a local culture that was practically obsessed with personal beauty.  I bring those standards to every photo I see of myself, as well as every glance in a mirror, and always feel that I'm lacking.  I hate that.  But I love playing with make-up and hair.  I find it fun, even if I'm not that good at it, really.

But, I'm a big believer in that beauty can't be judged on what you see in the mirror.

The people I know who are the most beautiful, are kind and generous.  Their heart, their core, their inmost being, shines through on their faces and informs my perception.  Equally, the most unattractive people I know do not have characters that I find attractive. I'm not repelled by their exterior, but by who they are inside. How I judge beauty in the people I know, is heavily influenced by who I know them to be.  But I don't do that for myself. For me, it is only the most shallow standards.

I want to communicate healthy standards of beauty to my kids, especially my daughters, who I think are hit with very unhealthy messages in a way that boys aren't.  I want them to eat good foods, I want them to move their bodies and be strong, but I don't want them spending their whole lives judging themselves by a number on a scale, or a model on a magazine page.

What trips me up in this whole jumble of what beauty is, is why don't I don't look at myself the same way I look at others? I judge myself by a completely unattainable standard.  Because of this, even at the time of my life when I was the closest I was ever going to be to my own personal perfect, I didn't appreciate it, and didn't see it.  That's sad, I think.

Tori Amos sings a song called Winter, and one of the lyrics is "When you gonna make up your mind?  When you gonna love you as much as I do?" and I think I'm there.  I'm 37 years old.  I'm fit, I'm healthy and I'm done picking myself apart.  I'm not perfect.  I'm a work in progress.  But I'm a good person who loves people.  It's time to give myself some of the same consideration I would give anyone else.

Because I can't possibly truly teach my daughters what I want them to know about real beauty, if I can't model those healthy ideas.  Right?

Ordinary Pagan Mom?

Courtesy of Magical Graphics

Finding a new blog theme was hard.  Like I explained yesterday, it was pull my hair out, cry, and yell at inanimate objects hard.  But it made me think about what I want my blog to be about, and what I want it to mean.

I started this blog as a homeschooling mom.  It's complete focus was on our schooling and what we were doing.  I wanted people to see how much was involved in homeschooling.  We were doing so much!

Then the blog morphed.  It became a mommy blog, and specifically one with a Christian focus, as I was quite devoted to my faith.

I have tried to explain to people why I chose to leave the faith.  I wish I could point to one thing, like what happened when Sarah died, but really Sarah's death started me down a path I didn't even see at the time.  There were so many things, and so many reasons.  But make no mistake, it was a choice.  I found myself becoming more angry, resentful, and bitter.  I wanted to love the faith, and I had to leave before I stopped.  I see Christianity as a path I neededto walk. I had to explore it.  I had to learn things about myself that I would not have learned otherwise.  When I left, I was unsure of where I would end up.  I read a lot, and found myself drawn to Paganism, but not for the same reasons as I had when I was younger.  I wasn't choosing Paganism to rebel, but because I wanted a faith that I felt honored the Divine that moved through all living things, that allowed me a path to participate without the need for anything or anyone else, and provided me with the freedom to express my faith as best as I understood it and without having to judge the rightness of what anyone else believed. (How's that for a run-on sentence?)

I have fought with myself over how the blog should progress from there, and subsequently, I've found myself writing less, as I'm not sure of my own direction.  Do I this to be a Mom Blog?  Maybe, but I want to acknowledge that I'm more than that.  Do I want this to be a Special Needs Mom blog?  Maybe, but I'm more than that, too.  And I'm of the opinion that my kids need me to be the person who helps teach them to navigate their world more easily.  Which is what my regular needs kids require as well.  Is it humor, drama, serious, deep?  I think it's all of those things.  It's life.

The biggest question was, did I want to sort of re-brand myself as a Pagan Mom Blog?  Well, first of all, there are others out there who are doing that far better than I could, and who are far more knowledgeable. They also tend to be geared toward other Pagans.  I hope other Pagans read me, but I hope non-Pagans do, too.  I have been concerned about talking about faith and religion too much.  First of all, I don't want to be overbearing.  I've seen it, I've done it, I never want to beat anyone over the head with my religion ever again.  Second of all, I didn't want to alienate anyone.

So, that second-of-all thing I wrote, is kind of a big deal for me.  I've been sitting with it a while, and it's only finally working itself through to some conclusion.  And here's what I've finally decided: I hope that anyone who has questions about what I believe, would ask me.  I'd even be happy to do a post answering questions about what I believe.  I'd like people to get to understand that Pagans are everywhere, and we volunteer for the PTO, we're your nurses, mechanics, teachers, therapists, and more.  I want people to see that we're not to be feared, and we're not a bunch of crazy weirdos.  At the same time, it's not my job to make everyone comfortable all the time.  Some people won't like it, some people won't like me, and that's okay.  I can live with it.

After all that, I still am not entirely sure where this blog is going.  I'm just hoping you'll come along for the ride.  Again, feel free to ask me anything.  I'm largely an open book.  I'm also playing with my tagline.  Tagline writing is hard.

My Masterpiece

I don't think of myself as the greatest thing since buttered popcorn.  You're shocked, right?  Of course you're not.

I ruthlessly compare myself to others.  I have neither the body of a model, nor the brain of a PhD.  I can't tell you about the ins and outs of the comic book industry.  I haven't created art that I'd be willing to share with others.   I haven't really accomplished anything.  I don't have an identity.

Let me explain.  I met a guy at the convention I went to, for literally, the fourth time.  He didn't remember me.  He never does. And he wasn't the only one.  I'm...kind of forgettable.  Lots of people have, things.  Things that identify them.  Things that they're good at.  The writer, the therapist, the musician, the Doctor Who expert, the RPG expert, whatever.  Everyone seems to have something.

Okay, moment to be reasonable, because I can.  I do understand that there were seven thousand people at this convention and the vast majority were like me, without that identifiable thing that makes them stand out.  I also understand that there's a cumulative effect going on in my brain that is making all of the people who have one thing they're good at, meld together into a group of people who are good at everything.  In other words, in this reasonable moment, I will admit to being a bit unreasonable.

Moment over.

I guess that my problem is that my accomplishments aren't easily rolled into a title or identity that is easily communicated to others in a way that makes me at least memorable before someone has met me for the fourth time.

Hi, my name is Anne, and I'm a Supermom.  No.  That doesn't work.  You know, because I'm pretty sure someone has smeared toothpaste on the bathroom wall again, and I think I've stopped caring.

Hi, my name is Anne and I am quite mediocre at many things?  Well, that's...not helpful.

Crap, what do I have?  Well, apparently, I have a midlife crisis.  I'm nearly 36 and I don't know who I am outside of being a wife and a mother.  I have interests, friends, I'm sure a talent in there somewhere.  I love almost without limit, I'm an incredible cheerleader to the people I care about and am genuinely enthused by their talents and accomplishments.  I'm someone who can be called at two in the morning when something has gone wrong.  I'm not particularly judgmental, nor am I competitive.  I believe in people,.  But how do I fit that on a business card, or into an introduction?

I don't have the answer to this or the myriad of other questions rattling around in my ridiculous brain. But I know that while I may not have written the Great American Novel, composed an Opera, or Painted...ever,  somehow, my family is my Great Masterpiece.  They are the thing of which I am most proud.  Maybe that will make me a bit boring at dinner parties, but I wouldn't change it for anything.

A Mother's Worth

I've mentioned before that I have blog envy. It's not just the pages that look so well put together and kind of adorable (I mean, have you seen The Secret Life Of The American Working Witch?), it's also the ability to pull off a level of creativity and wit.  Once in a while I read an old post of mine and think I almost had it, but it was likely driven away by pregnancy brain or the state of chronic sleep deprivation I've been in for the last decade (Thanks, Kids!).

So, what do I write about that is valuable enough that I will want to read it again, even if no one else does?  Should I write about how Brennan has apparently flushed his Little People Superman down the toilet and I have no idea about how to retrieve it?  Should I write about how Liam has decided I'm his patty-cake monkey and I must dance for him (or play patty-cake in this instance) on demand?  Oh, and demand is frequent.  Should I write about me?  And do I exist apart from this crazy family I've made?

Sometimes it seems like the other women I know are leading these incredible lives.  They're selling products that they're passionate about, starting companies, writing blogs and books and the world is taking notice.  They're interesting people.  But me, I'm just here, in the house, making sure my daily list of chores are done and everyone has clean clothes.  Don't get me wrong, I know there's a specialness in that.  I know that to my kids, I'm really important.  But if I can't find what makes me special and important aside from them, what will I do when they grow up?  Who will I be without them?

There have got to be some things that I'm good at apart from being their mom.  Especially since, some days, I'm not even sure how successful I am at that.

Huh.  I had thought this blog post was going somewhere more positive than this.  I must need more coffee.

The Truest Beauty

This is Balpreet Kaur.  A practicing Seik, she was minding her own business when her picture was taken by a passerby, and posted on Reddit.  This has become a major deal on the internet.

Balpreet caught wind of the Reddit post questioning her faith, her gender, and her femininity.  The cruelty of the internet strikes again, right?  Well, apparently not!  After a  friend of Balpreet saw the photo, she joined in the conversation:

Yes, I realize that my gender is often confused and I look different than most women. However, baptized Sikhs believe in the sacredness of this body - it is a gift that has been given to us by the Divine Being [which is genderless, actually] and, must keep it intact as a submission to the divine will. Just as a child doesn't reject the gift of his/her parents, Sikhs do not reject the body that has been given to us. By crying 'mine, mine' and changing this body-tool, we are essentially living in ego and creating a seperateness between ourselves and the divinity within us. By transcending societal views of beauty, I believe that I can focus more on my actions. My attitude and thoughts and actions have more value in them than my body because I recognize that this body is just going to become ash in the end, so why fuss about it? When I die, no one is going to remember what I looked like, heck, my kids will forget my voice, and slowly, all physical memory will fade away. However, my impact and legacy will remain: and, by not focusing on the physical beauty, I have time to cultivate those inner virtues and hopefully, focus my life on creating change and progress for this world in any way I can.
Source  

I am in shock.  People were unkind, and attacked her beauty, which is something that has largely set the value of women in my culture for centuries.  And instead of reacting out of hurt and anger, she took the time to gently explain what turn out to be incredible views and beliefs about herself and the Divine.  What's even more incredible is that the guy who posted it, apologized to her.

So, really, in the times of Kim Kardashians and Real Housewives, when we're being told that our value is directly associated with how much we weigh, how we wear our hair, how well our makeup is done, or the clarity of our skin, who is really beautiful?  I think it's women like Balpreet, whose kindness and gentleness allowed her to instruct us all.

Of course, I'm deeply insecure and (in my opinion) overly vain, and I don't expect that to go away after reading Ms. Kour's inspiring words.  But, at the very least, it is a reminder to me that what I should cultivate within myself is that which will last: a quality character and a life of virtue.  Thank you, Balpreet.



For more information about the Seik faith, read here

A New Year, A New Focus

2011 was not my year. I got pregnant, unexpectedly, at the end of 2010.  Between the changes in my immune system, made to protect my baby, and having a bunch of kids in public school for the first time, I got sick.  And because my work had changed their policies, giving me fewer sick days, I ended up in trouble.  The last straw was in March when I contracted gastroenteritis and was in the ER.  They actually told me not to come in to work, but considered it an "involuntary absence", and since no absence was excused under their policies, they fired me.  I've never been fired from a job.  Ever.  And I was a good nurse.  The only thing they had in my file was the attendance issue.  Which, a year before, wouldn't have even been an issue.

I was so frustrated, hurt, and worried for our family.  Then it got worse.

It was one week to the day when I was fired that we got Liam's diagnosis of encephalocele.  In one week I'd lost a job I'd had for seven years, and been told that my baby might die.  March sucked ass.

I had four months of worrying, waiting, and fear.  Then a premature birth, a c-section, Liam's brain surgery, Liam's shunt surgery, and several financial setbacks due to lack of employment.

I will not miss 2011.  Not even a teeny tiny bit.

I spent 2011 afraid.

2012 is a New Year.  And while, sure I want to lose the baby weight and feel better about myself in the new year, I mostly just don't want to be afraid anymore.  Not for my child, not for our family, and not for myself either.

This year a lot of bloggers have chosen a word as the focus for their writing.  While I'd hardly lump myself in with some of the amazing writers who have done this, I have chosen one too.  Mine is Courage.  My goal this year is to find the Courage to do the things that scare me, to step out from the postpartum depression, and the fear that has pulled at my soul.  I want to be brave enough not only to continue to work on myself, but to share it without fear.

Wish me luck.

Cultivating Gratitude

My step-daughter Karina arrived from California on Tuesday. She was supposed to come on Monday with my dad. But they were flying stand-by and didn't make any of the flights. So, they tried again on Tuesday. Only she made it. I'm wildly pregnant and I miss my dad (my mom too, really, but my dad hasn't even seen our house yet) and I really wanted him to make it out. When I found out he hadn't been able to get a seat on the flight, I was really sad.

I spent the morning indulging in my bad mood when I heard a song sung by the band Barlow Girl. A hymn really. One I used to sing often in church, with my dad, who was our Choir Director. It's called "For the Beauty of the Earth". This stood out to me:

"For the joy of human love,
Brother, sister, parent, child;
Friends on Earth and friends above,
For all gentle thoughts and mild;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This, our hymn of grateful praise."

I stopped my sulking and remembered how much I had to be grateful for. A step-daughter whom I adore and was on her way to see us. Children who are healthy and happy. A baby on the way. A home to live in. An amazing husband. A father willing to be at the airport at 5 in the morning two days in a row to try to come and see us. Two parents who I can call and talk to.

Just like my children, I can't have everything I want all the time. And in those moments where I am sad or disappointed, I have to take time to cultivate gratitude for the many things I have been given. Life is too short to waste it pining for the things I don't have. I don't want to miss out on all that I do.

Motivate Me Monday: Redeeming The Time

You may notice I'm going with Motivate Me Monday, this week. I've decided to go back and forth between this and Not Me! Monday. Partly because I just don't want to say what I'm not doing all the time. Like, today, I'm not totally daydreaming about a place that would take back incredibly frustrating daughters, you know, like the place where we adopted our cat. Nope! Not me. That would indicate a level of frustration I would never get to, and it's a little mean. Hey, wait! I'm slipping into the wrong meme!

Back on track, now, really. The other reason I want to do the Motivate Me Monday meme is because I just plain think it's a good idea. I love the idea of being able to share thoughts or ideas that help motivate other wives and moms out there. After all, this is not the easiest job you'll ever have. In fact, my parents tell me the best part of parenthood, is getting grandkids. And I don't know about you, but I'm kinda hoping I'm a long way away from that particular joy.

The theme this week is about time. And it's a really hard question. I'd love to know what I'd do if I only had another week on this earth. But it would really depend on a lot of things. For example, if I knew I was going to die, leaving those I love behind, I'd want to make sure that they all knew just how much they meant to me, and I'd just want to be with them. Friends, family, husband, kids, everyone. And I'd probably cry a lot. I'm just not done. I think I have work still to do. But if I knew Jesus was coming back in a week, I'd feel very differently. I'd be rejoicing, without fear, because I know my family would be with me forever.

What I do think I'd change regardless of the circumstances, is that I'd trade the mundane for the spectacular. Extravagant worship, ceaseless praise, love, joy and togetherness. And I wouldn't worry about the dirty kitchen floor that's calling me right now. That idea really helps put things in perspective a bit. The dirty floor might not be the nicest thing a visitor would notice at the moment, but I hope that what I'm missing in housekeeping I'm making up for with a welcoming spirit and a loving heart.

Recently I had an exchange on the blog of an Atheist homeschooling mom. It's interesting since I've been shown more graciousness and respect there, by people who think my faith is as real as the Flying Spaghetti Monster, than I have been on some sites run by fellow Christians. But I digress. On this blog I pointed out that I believe my duty as a Christian is to show others the love of the God that I worship, and that I believe I should be doing that through how I treat them, more than trying to make them believe as I do. If we are the body of Christ, that's how we will reach others, by our actions as much, if not more, than our words.

So, whether I have 7 days, 7 years, or 70 more, I want to be an example, however imperfect, of the grace and mercy I've been shown, by extending it to others wherever I can. And doing my best to remain humble. My kids are really good for helping with that.

Show me, O LORD, my life's end
and the number of my days;
let me know how fleeting is my life.
You have made my days a mere handbreadth;
the span of my years is as nothing before you.
Each man's life is but a breath.
Psalm 39:4-5

Personality, Service, And Homeschooling

I was listening to a Thatmom podcast this evening and was so proud of myself for "getting" one of the points before it was even made. She was talking about what it means to be meek. I remember when I was younger the kinds of characters I loved in books. They were always the women I most wished I was like. Melanie Wilkes, loved by all for her kindness and quiet wisdom, is a good example. My best friend, however, loved Scarlett O'Hara for her ability to speak her mind. I, really, already had the speaking my mind thing covered. I wanted to be something I didn't see in myself.

It was actually while listening to the podcast, with the total ability to note immediately that God has not made us all in that particular image and that Karen should embrace being the woman that God created her to be, that I realized that has remained my goal. I have struggled to become someone I am not instead of embracing the woman God made me to be. Not that I can't be better. Just that I can't be someone else. Being a Godly woman does not lie in having a certain personality type.

As a parent, I have long believed that my job is not to break my child's spirit, or even bend their will toward mine, but to gently guide their passions and strengths toward good things. Toward Godly things. I do not have mild children. I have children with strong ideas and thoughts (I can't imagine where they get that). Bending and guiding them is a careful process, lest I break their tender branches and wound them. Whatever they are called to do they will do with vigor, I have no doubt.

Which brings me to my last thought. A question I am not entirely sure I have answered, or even if I can answer it. How do I put the hearts of servants into my children in a way that speaks to their different personalities? I think homeschooling has been a good start. They have to learn daily about what it means to work together, how to be a team, how to put their own desires aside for the best of someone else, and the joy that comes from serving one another.

Whether or not one homeschools for religious reasons, I think most of us want to teach our children about service, and what it means to give to a community. I think we all want to teach our children about doing good, and being good to others. We all want to raise good citizens. So, is the real challenge in making sure that they volunteer? Or is it in the every day chances they have to serve each other? Is it a combination of the two? Is it seeing their parents serve each other, the community, and them? Is it the little spoken lessons, or the longer ones as they get older? Is it in their religious education? And which things are best for which personalities?

Perhaps it is in all of these, woven carefully together in an intricate pattern of daily life and learning as a family. I pray that it is so, and that my children will grow up knowing how to serve one another and the community to which they belong in a way that honors the unique talents and gifts that God has given them.

How To Homeschool While Irritable

For me, the answer to this question has been, don't.

I haven't been feeling well the last few days. Add to that some pregnancy hormones and generalized irritability and I'm a bit cranky. I actually haven't been doing schoolwork with Piper because I don't think I have the patience for it.

This could be a moment for me to drop into my usual guilt, thinking that I'm inadequate as a mother and a teacher for my children. Or it could be a chance to withdraw and do nothing while I feel sorry for myself.

This time, however, I've decided to do something different. I am aware that I can't control the feelings. I can, however, control my actions. So, I've decided to take this time and use it to reflect on where I am and where God wants me to be. I have decided to focus some time on His Word and in prayer in the hopes that this may be one of those times that He tames my stubborn spirit and uses my foul mood to bring about some necessary change in me. Instead of self-pity, I will attempt introspection and do my best to be silent and listen to God.

Please keep me in prayer.

Personal Growth

I got a comment earlier today that really made me think.  When I started blogging I begain making connections with other bloggers.  Some of those connections were severed when we lost Sarah.  Over the past two and a half years I've toyed with the idea of rebuilding some, but I don't think it can be.  Some will always believe that what we did was wrong, and I never will.  That colors their perception of me and mine of them.  I know that one day in heaven we will truly see each other as sisters in Christ and these issues will no longer separate us, but for now, sadly, they do.

The poster's comment said that she didn't believe that in the past two years she had seen any personal growth on my part.  While one part of me wonders how a random person on the internet is capable of making such an observation, the rational side of me understands that this slice of life is all that some people know of me, and that we all see things from our own perspective.  I know that's certainly true on my part.  

I understand that some who read my blog before Sarah's death saw me differently than they did after her death.  Some no longer saw me as a good Catholic.  Some no longer saw me as being truly pro-life.  After two years of personal reflection and study, I no longer really care if someone who has never even met me thinks such things.  I'm a human being, and I won't say that I'm thrilled that someone who doesn't really know me from Eve has made such strong judgments about me, but I'm not going to lose sleep over it either.  

Growth is so personal.  It's unique from individual to individual.  Before Sarah died I was a Catholic homeschooling mom keeping a blog and sharing her family.  In that respect, not much has changed.  But my daughter changed me in ways that I have trouble communicated verbally or through the written word.  She has given me a greater hope for heaven, she has given me more compassion for others, and she has given me an understanding that people are more easily reached with love than judgment.  More than that I've learned that I do not always know the will of God and have to trust His mercy if I am wrong.  I am suspicious of those who think that they know the mind of God in all things as I think they either lack experience, humility, understanding, or some combination thereof.  I also believe that it is easier to judge right from wrong when we understand why something is right or wrong than it is to make the judgment based on incomplete understanding of the facts.  

That's my personal growth.  And for anyone interested in seeing where this family goes from here, stick around and I'll keep posting.  For those who are not, there's a little x in the corner of your browser.  You know what to do.