Exploring how I feel about this issue: feminism

I read an article recently about how women rate their happiness "quotient" lower in recent times than they did in the 70s, and according to the obviously conservative authors, it is due to the feminist movement.
At first, I was annoyed and disagreed indignantly, thinking to myself, yes, times were so much better when women experienced discrimination and social inequalities/injustices.

I've been giving some thought to some of their points lately, and just want to lay it all out and see where I end up. Am I happier because it is now completely socially acceptable for me to work in powerful roles along side men? I'm stretched awfully thin sometimes and it doesn't always feel very happy.

The main premise of the article was based on the ideas in a book by a husband and wife team who assert that modern women are less happy than they were before any widespread feminist movement, because apparently, women were more fulfilled when they were simply wives, mothers, and/or fulfilling subservient, potentially exploitative workplace roles (think 70s flight attendants--widely rumored to be attractive and subject to weight requirements--I didn't fly for the first time till the 90s so I don't really know.) I added the editorial comments about the workplace roles. I think workplace attitudes have come a long way since the 70s, and this works to my advantage, as I am the primary provider in my family, and likely earn as much or more than most of the men in my department.
However--this is what gives me pause: I have recently been reminded that, biologically speaking, there is a lot of gender-role carryover that will never be legislated away. Pregnancy and its implications is an obvious example. Nursing a child is something that my husband simply can't participate in--aside from bottle feeding pumped breastmilk. As a result of the nursing (I think), my daughter often prefers me when she wants to be comforted. Actually, I will go as far as to say she prefers me exclusively. Often in the wee hours. When you couple this with a periodically high stress job that begins at 8am half an hour away from my home, it amounts to chronic sleep deprivation--since my last trimester of pregnancy. Then, when you add the disparate cleanliness thresholds of men/women, is it clear to me why some of the social female roles persisted well into "modern" times: it is hard to do it all. Nature has made it so that I am the nurterer and nest-featherer, and my mate is expected to be the provider. When you reverse these roles, things might not always be perfectly orchestrated-the new, female provider still has to be the nurterer and nest-featherer. Truly--I feel like I am stretched very thin much of the time, usually taking care of everything and everyone before myself. In the animal world, though, the female generally serves all of these roles as well, as there are very few species who raise young together and mate for extended periods of time.
Although, I am happier than ever--I was not surveyed for this book. I derive a sense of pride that I am able to provide for my family, and that my daughter gets to stay home with her dad every day. Most fathers from my childhood were very hands off, mine included, and I'm delighted that Elise and Danny will have as close of a relationship as she and I will surely have. What love that child will feel--I believe her home life will be enhanced because of "reversed" gender roles. Sometimes I wish it was me that got to stay home--and I hope it will be someday.

My good friend has a bumper sticker "Feminism is the radical idea that women are people." If that is what feminism really is, then I'm all for it. I don't think I'm being 'unfeminist' by acknowledging that biology really determines a lot of the interaction among humans--socially we could likely improve plenty of attitudes with regards to plenty of things, but as far as feminism goes, these attitudes about women don't always exist out of man's desire for a paternal dictatorship--as I think many feminists probably believe.
I find it only slightly ironic that women are capable of bearing so much of life's burdens without breaking--yet, we are physically weaker than men. We are emotional giants. Pillars of mental strength. I actually believe my brain chemistry changed during pregnancy, to allow me to comfort a fussy child far beyond what my patience was previously capable of, to survive sleep deprivation rivaling someone in the final stages of a dissertation--for months/years at a time. Women are amazing. I just realized I'm describing mothers exclusively in many of my examples, and I don't mean to--motherhood just illustrates my point. We are all amazing.

the untied shoelaces of my life

I love my daughter like I've never loved before. A viciously protective form of love, where I want to shield her from evil, hurt, malice, and negligence, and teach her everything I've learned the hard way in life so she can avoid some of the pain I've endured. I struggle daily with how to be a good parent, questioning my actions and reactions, and constantly reconciling how my parents were with me with how I am with Elise. I feel like I turned out pretty good, in spite of how I was raised! That isn't to say my parents didn't do a good job, but there were some pretty radical twists and turns that could have led me down a more destructive path. To my surprise, I came to the conclusion the other day that even though my dad was a little heavy handed on the discipline and my stepmom had bad chemicals in her brain, the fact that they supported my education and gave me a stable home was enough to launch my adult life in a productive way. In fact, because things weren't cushy and super-duper happy, I think my siblings and I "launched" better than most because we wanted to get the heck outta there and live our own lives on our own terms.

So, the question is, how do I recreate a similar childhood for Elise?

And the answer is, I don't. I will be me and I will do everything for her out of love. Right or wrong, permanently scarring or not, it will be because I love that child.

The hiatus may be over--Books and etc!

I can't seem to find time to blog lately! I am definitely not lacking in blog fodder. I mentally compose things as I'm driving, showering, chasing my very-nearly-walking-now-one-year-old child around. And of course, now that I have time to write, I can't remember any of the things I wanted to say!
I'll start with Elise: her birthday was September 22. She's a dream, that one. We want to have another one but I can't imagine my heart being able to hold any more love. It could likely explode (what a nice way to go, eh?)
Here's one of my favorite photos from her big day:
I actually was home sick on her birthday, nasty sinus infection. I am currently on antibiotics and feel a million times better. I'm apprehensive about the 2009 impending flu season, not sure if I should act on the H1N1 hype as a cautionary measure or just use common sense and do what I can to stay well? With Elise being in daycare, there will be more germ exposure than years past. It could be a rough winter. The almanac is predicting a very cold winter as well. I dread this--mostly in terms of utility bills. I get out so rarely these days that extreme cold will be just one more excuse to cozy up to my couch and my bookcase--so many things I want to read! I heard a book review on NPR for a book called 'Love Warps the Mind a Little" by John Dufresne. I think I'll go try to find it today. I've afforded more time for reading lately, not sure how, its just happened (maybe I've been reading in lieu of blogging!) I recently read a book called "The Shack" which is a little out of my reading element, but it sent me into a tailspin for a few days. I shall explain (spoiler alert! If you are going to read this book and want to be surprised, don't read much farther!) This book is written in a style that I hated so much that I almost couldn't make it through the book--very colloquial and "dumbed down", yet, I could tell the author was a thoughtful person who wouldn't ordinarily write like that, which is probably why I found it so distasteful and condescending. He used concepts like fractals, for crying out loud, while writing in colloquial vernacular that I found completely annoying. Additionally, the subject matter was typical of the Christian experience I had growing up: intentional breaking down of reader with emotional blackmail, then rebuild using the concept of God's love and forgiveness. I find this distasteful, but still ended up loving the book. I shall explain again: in this story, the main character's youngest daughter is kidnapped and murdered, the details of which are horrifically detailed, in terms of the emotions and suffering the family endured, and the lasting impact it had on the family. I can't imagine such a terrible fate for my own daughter, so this was particularly poignant for me. At any rate, the main character, whose name escapes me at the moment, is invited by "papa" (his wife's name for God--blech) back to the shack where his daughter was likely murdered. When he gets there, he spends a wonderful weekend with the God tri-fecta: Jesus (as himself), God (as portrayed as a large black woman who likes to cook), and the Holy Spirit (portrayed as a wispy Asian woman who collects tears.)
Sounds kitschy, right? It was. But, the philosophical ideas explored were fantastic. And the book left me with a comfort and a little bit of relief from my hellfire- and- brimstone-based religious upbringing. One of my favorite points in the book is that most of human suffering on earth is brought about by religion, economics, and politics--its so true! I do think our collective problems as a human race can boil down to those three elements. Also, it shed some light about the depth of God's understanding and forgiveness of humanity--even for someone who is "evil" enough to murder a little girl. It blew my mind to think that there could be grace for someone capable of that sort of thing. But, it all goes back to somewhere down the line, something happened to him or his father or his father's father that caused this evil, and that is the way of our imperfect planet. More profoundly, we demanded freedom from God per the story of Adam and Eve--we wanted knowledge of good and evil, so He gave it to us. Consequently, we complain and beg for deliverance from it.
I've only touched on the ideas in this blog. Even if you do not identify with the Christian faith, I would recommend this book simply from a philosophical viewpoint. Just remember I warned you that the writing was terrible!

Important anniversary and airing of grievances

So, as of last week, Danny has officially lived here longer than my ex did. This is important to me, time being the great healer that it is. Time is movement, a wise friend once advised, and so it is; these past two years have moved me forward, up and over my horrible hump, and now I'm running and skipping and dancing along.

That being said: the month of August also marks the second anniversary of the death of my stepmother. We went to Wichita this weekend to celebrate my dad's retirement, and I was shocked at how time's movement over the past two years has not impacted my father. The house was in a state that I'm ashamed to recount; but its hard to expect an immaculate home from someone who has had a wife to take care of that for the past 40 years. I hate to generalize, but his generation often sticks to their assigned gender roles, and it doesn't matter if you teach him how to operate the washing machine and the dishwasher, he just doesn't know how to maintain a household. I feel compelled to add that part of what makes it so hard for him to keep the household immaculate is the presence of knick-knacks on every surface. Sheila was a hard-core decorator; there are doilies and "collections" everywhere: teacups, bells, angels, baskets... stuff that a crusty 62-year-old man should not have to worry about dusting (not that he's a big duster.) But he won't let it go, isn't ready to close that chapter, he says.

But, I'm ready for it to close. There were reminders all over of the marginalization that occurred in that family where my brother and I are concerned. For example: photographs. On many, many surfaces were framed pictures of everyone but Jason and I, including photos of people Sheila had referred to as their "adopted" kids and grandkids. Not a single photo of Elise or Danny and I. But, plenty of photos from the photo session that occurred when we were together over Christmas in Dallas, where I was excluded from the family photo (after driving 10 hours to be there, no less.) Those photographs burn me up, and I want to let my dad know that. But, its in the past, I should probably just let it be (right?)

catching up

Warning! This blog could be completely disjointed and random, as I scramble to type as much as possible while Sweetums sleeps and I rack my brain to try to remember everything I wanted to mention!

First order of business: I felt like a big doormat loser at Starbucks the other day. I ordered my usual vanilla breve and decided to have a scone as well. The clerk forgot to give me my scone. When the barista handed me my coffee, I asked if she could please grab my scone, since the clerk was in the middle of taking an order. The barista said, "Mary Ann, what kind of scone did she have?" Mary Anne looked right at me, said "blueberry," yet no one moved an inch to actually get me my forgotten pastry. The woman right behind me had also ordered a pastry that was forgotten, but the barista knew her personally so when she said, "Mary Ann forgot my (whatever it was)" the barista took the time to go get a tissue, go to the pastry case, and grab her pastry. Meanwhile, I'm standing there, waiting for someone to acknowledge me. Meanwhile, the line grows, so both clerk and barista grow busy. There was no good opportunity to line jump and say, "Pardon me, but could you please give me the scone I ordered and paid for?" Finally, after about five minutes (which feels like an eternity when you're just standing around like a dummy), the line was gone, and I approached the clerk and said, "I never got my scone." She offered a cursory apology and handed me the stupid pastry. The other thing that irks me about this whole situation is that I've been going to this same Starbucks since they opened, and every time I go (which is more frequent than I care to admit), they have to ask me my name. I don't think my name and face match up, else I'm not particularly memorable. Danny thinks if I were more assertive, maybe I'd be more memorable. Wendy thinks I should relish being relatively invisible; at six feet tall, people always remember her, for her size she thinks, and she wishes she would fade into the background a little more.
I don't necessarily need the clerks at Starbucks to remember me or my regular order--but I do need them to not make me feel like I'm invisible when they fudge on their customer service.

Speaking of regular orders: the Sandbar celebrated their 20 year anniversary last week. I was a regular there for nearly ten years, so it made me a bit nostalgic and sad that I couldn't attend the celebration and that not a single one of my former bar friends called to see if I was going. An odd tension exists between drinkers and former drinkers; maybe we have nothing in common anymore. The Sandbar was more than a watering hole to me, though, back in those days. When my friends and I all graduated from KU, I was literally the only one who didn't go on to move to Kansas City or grad school elsewhere. I essentially was starting my professional career and post-college life from scratch in Lawrence--which was kind of weird, considering I'd already lived here for four years. A coworker of mine at US Bank knew I was kind of lonely, and he invited me to drinks one Thursday night, with a group of people called "Thursdays, Inc." at the Sandbar. Turned out to be a great bunch of people, some of whom I still associate, and it definitely opened me up to new networks within Lawrence's business community and tons of personal connections. Unfortunately, that night also was the beginning of being a regular at the Sandbar--which is where I met my first husband.
Ah, history. I look back all the time, and think "OH if only I had just not done that!" But, every single step I've taken has led me here, to this place, this wonderful place. If I hadn't married Pat, I'd still be in Florida (most likely.) If Pat had been able to earn a better living, I wouldn't have felt the need to take the job I currently hold; if Pat hadn't been such a turd about displaying his grandma's guitar, I wouldn't have had to go into a music store to purchase another stand-which is how I met Danny.
And on and on.

More updates:
Elise started daycare today. I think it went well.
I have not kept up with my fitness experiment. I'll try again in August. I've lost more weight (more muscle) so I must start exercising pronto.
I'm ready for fall. Those crisp mornings we had last week made me crave some apple cider and pumpkin pie and the smell of the first fire of the season. And Elise's first birthday! Wow, what a ride this first year has been. I can't believe she is very nearly one.

boring women have immaculate homes

When I was in elementary school, I waited for the bus at a friend's house around the block. On the refrigerator in their perpetually messy kitchen was a magnet proclaiming 'Boring women have immaculate homes!" I'm sure it was a tongue-in-cheek way for the lady of the house to laugh off her domestic chaos, and as I remember that family--I actually agree with the statement. They were a wonderfully colorful group of people, very loving and fun. The mother would drop anything to climb a tree with her kids or do a puzzle. I remember a puzzle of some ships on the ocean that sat unfinished for the better part of a year on their dining room table; we'd piece it together a few at a time.
Their house was far from immaculate! But their lives were rich, interesting, and there was a very relaxed vibe in that house--of acceptance, of the ability to LIVE there, without worrying about making a mess or damaging anything within.
Before my mom died, I feel like my home was that way. We had very casual decor, nothing fancy at all. The carpeting in the family room was a patchwork of remnants glued to the floor--I remember a game I'd play with myself, hopping from one red piece to another to move about the room.
When my stepmother moved in, things changed dramatically. She furnished and carpeted and decorated--we weren't allowed to wear our shoes in the house. In fact, we weren't allowed to be in the living room unless we were practicing piano. Every Saturday morning was spent doing chores that involved dusting, vacuuming, laundry, etc. It was an immaculate home. And... dare I say it... she as a boring person (at least to a kid. Well, her and I didn't exactly have much to say to each other in later years either. But I will say she was quite the housekeeper.)
I wrestle with this concept this morning, as my daughter sleeps and I ponder dozens of things I could be doing with the precious hour or so. I decided to clean the house... and then found myself thinking, why is it SO important that my house be immaculate? Its relatively neat, it was cleaned thoroughly last weekend, wouldn't it be much more rewarding to my soul to do something creative or stress-relieving or to just sit and BE for a moment?
So, I made myself a delicious vanilla breve latte, grabbed the Sunday paper and my doggies, and went out on the deck.
And now I'm listening to my iPod on shuffle and blogging.
And in a minute I'm going to check out craigslist and see if I can find Elise a new white dresser.
I love Sundays. And I'm glad, for just this once, that I was able to not be a boring woman with an immaculate home. It won't happen every Sunday, but its good enough for today. :-)
I do love having a clean house and it does make me crazy to live in chaos, but knowing what you need to nourish your spirit is far superior to being a slave to obligation "just because."
Salute! Happy Sunday, everyone!

cruising the wild alfalfa

Lately I've noticed some things about myself that prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am indeed growing older: 1) I prefer listening to NPR over 96.5 the Buzz, and 2) I am finding beauty and recreation in simple things, like walks, sitting on my deck and listening to cicadas, and learning more about the world I live in. Beats pop culture any day of the week. To that end, the fireflies are here! Its time! Let me explain:
Summers in Kansas can be insufferable: as humid as South Florida at times (without the scenery!), while at other times, as hot as a desert (without the nightlife!) The worst of all worlds, it seems. There are usually a couple of weeks on either side of spring or fall that are fantastically beautiful; I have to wonder if the pioneers who settled here passed through during one of those deceivingly idyllic moments.
However, there is a natural phenomenon that happens some summers, that is so magical and occasional that it warrants mention in the local newspaper and photographers wait with lenses poised. Wet springs apparently mean prolific fireflies mid-summer; which means busy firefly mating season, which means fantastic light shows once the sun goes down.
I remember the first time I ever experienced the crazed blinking of a field of fireflies; the first summer I stayed in Lawrence after classes ended, I was trying desperately to impress the guy that lived next door. I had lived in Lawrence a year longer than him, and loved introducing him to my "discoveries." One thing I shared with him was Wells Overlook, a 4-story wooden deck built on a hill that provides a stunning, panoramic view of Lawrence and surrounding farmland. For some reason, one night, late, we thought it would be fun to go to Wells Overlook and see the lights of the city. Little did we know that Wells Overlook park was gated and locked at night. Instead, we made the amazing discovery that the field across the street was alive with more fireflies than I knew could exist in a single place. The lights of the city as seen from Wells Overlook were nothing compared to a million fireflies in a single pasture trying to attract a mate! It was unlike anything I had ever seen--a million mini flashbulbs doesn't really do the description justice, but I can't think of a good "flashing" metaphor!
The wooded area across the street from my house was alight tonight. Ah, Kansas. I hope we still live here when Elise is old enough to experience it.

why can't we just look the other way?

Ah, human nature. We savor the drama, the salacious gossip. The more horrible the situation, the more we can't wait to tell our close friends. This sort of thing is so prevalent there is an entire cable channel devoted to it, and a billion dollar industry that compensates people handsomely for invading celebrity privacy. As my husband so eloquently put it, "we like watching people mess up."

I don't want to be like this anymore.

I started watching E! on a regular basis when Elise was a tiny baby, because I was up all hours nursing her and sometimes the only thing besides infomercials on at 4am was a True Hollywood Story or Entertainment News. I got sucked in. More recently, I've caught headlines about the family with 8 children who are splitting up. I keep thinking to myself, this is a real-life family we are talking about here! 8 children are now growing up in a broken home. It disgusts me that this is selling magazines and advertising slots.

I had my own share of drama recently, which has prompted me to re-evaluate whether or not I'm a disgusting person who thrives on other people's heartache and misfortune.

I don't think I am. I hear of unfortunate things, and my heart instantly goes out to that person. But, then I am first in line to tell whichever friend I happen to run into next.

Why do we(I) do this? Is it to discreetly pat ourselves on the back for managing to avoid a similar situation ourselves, because of our wise choices and clean living? I imagine I was the topic of much scandalous gossip a couple of years ago, when, within the course of a single year, I went from being desperately unhappy in a failing marriage to divorced to dating a younger man to pregnant to re-married. Juicy stuff! I grew tired of everyone knowing my business without me having the pleasure of sharing it with them myself, because after all--the juiciness of my situation were the greatest joys of my life (Elise! Danny!)

At any rate: I want to be a good friend. I want to build people up, to be someone people feel like they can trust. With a secret or anything. The fact that people think I was the source of some ugly gossip hurts me more than being the topic of ugly gossip. (It wasn't me! If you don't want people to speculate about the things you are doing, don't do visibly questionable things!) I hope this blows over without any permanent damage.

For My Dear Friend Paschal

I discovered the Shins around the time their album "Oh, Inverted World" came out. I found it because I had purchased some music on amazon.com--The Stills, I believe--and it provided me with the (genius marketing) tip "Other people who bought the Stills also bought the Shins." I gave them a listen--and was hooked right away. The primary songwriter, James Mercer, is a poet and an absolute magician with melodies. And the harmonies--oh, the harmonies!--so tight! Sometimes dissonant, always perfect. I devoured "Oh, Inverted World" and every subsequent album. They didn't tour much, and when they did, it was to small venues nowhere even close to where I lived at the time. Like Europe. I wondered if I'd ever get to see them in person.
I finally got my opportunity to see them in February 2007--at Liberty Hall, in my own city! If I remember right, the tickets were less than $20. Liberty Hall is an old theater that was restored a few years ago, it holds maybe 1200-1500 people(?) and is one of the few concert halls that still has general admission tickets, so a committed concertgoer can be in the front row without having to pay a mint. I waited in the cold rain with a group of high school kids to be the first in the hall when doors opened, and was rewarded with the pleasure of standing in the second row, center. I could see the whites of James Mercer's eyes.
They played every song I wanted to hear--and some I had been previously unenchanted by, but after hearing them live and hearing the story of the song or just being able to see it come to life, I rediscovered them. I loved the humble, shy demeanor of the band members (James, mostly.) He relayed to us that he had lived in Manhattan, KS until age 8 or so. I wanted to hang out, to have beers with them! I know we would be friends.
The played for two hours, and had 2 encores. I wished the night would never end (despite my company, as lamented in my previous blog.) I was lost in the strings and fingers and rhythms and poems of this beautiful band. The energy of the band and the crowd was magic--everyone was mesmerized. It was definitely a unifying show--me, a nearly 30-year old accountant, grooving with the hipster high school kid standing next to me.
And at the end of the show, happy fans wrapping scarves and buttoning coats, preparing to face the cold rain... and we realize with awe that the rain has turned into a down-pillow fight of snow. Several inches had already fallen, providing the city with that layer of insulation that makes a snowy night as silent as a sunrise. Few things are more beautiful than untouched, newly fallen snow, illuminated under streetlights as it continues to fall. I felt joy and love and art and thankfulness for life (music has such a profound impact on my spirits!)
I hope the Shins remember Lawrence for that fantastic night.

dancing with the Shins

Elise and I "danced" to the Shins tonight. She's really into trying to mimic what we do these days, and she loves it when I clap my hands to music--she just bounces and sways and I'm thrilled that she's responding to it. Listening to the Shins reminded me of when I had the pleasure of seeing them in concert in early 2007. They played two sold out nights in Lawrence, at Liberty Hall, and my ridiculous ex-husband insisted on accompanying me to the show, despite his indifference to this wonderful band, claiming he just "liked going to shows." I allowed him to go, thinking what a waste it was that I had this highly coveted ticket and at least 5 friends who would love to have it, and was taking someone who didn't really care. But, I felt obligated.

I swear, its the sum of these little things that made me divorce him.

He was a huge stick in the mud the whole time. I, meanwhile, was so excited and wanted to share the excitement with someone else. Like, someone who knows when my favorite song is on, or knows any of the songs and can sing along. He was a smug butt the whole night.

As we were leaving, something magical happened: the day had been cold and rainy, and while we were in the concert, it turned to snow. Not just a little snow, a thick coat of snow, and enormous flakes were falling as we exited the venue, creating the softest, quietest, most beautiful denouement to an awesomely loud, epic rock concert. It took my breath away--and he refused to share it with me. Refused to acknowledge that he had any fun at all. Refused to let me revel in what was a magical night for me. He was the definition of a turd, and my joy melted as fast as a snowflake on a hotplate.

I don't miss him. I've heard some horrible stories of how he's treated friends lately, and the consequences of said actions, and it gives me a little bit of satisfaction that people are seeing the side of him that I saw (finally.) I feel like a disgusting person for feeling this way (the satisfaction, that is) but its very hard not to, in light of *everything.*

I wish I would have shared the show with Danny. I will re-write that in my memory right now.

Experiment

My bff Wendy got me the Tracy Anderson post-pregnancy dvd for my birthday. It is KILLER, and has received rave reviews. I swear, the first time I did it, my post-baby pooch held itself in a little more.
But, I've not been consistent with it.

I am going to see what this dvd can do, if I dedicate myself to it. So, in the next few weeks, I am going to do it 4 times a week, come hell or high water, and watch my sugar intake. I am going to eat healthier, and continue breastfeeding. I want to see if Tracy is full of BS when she says the skin will ALWAYS return to the muscle if you work smart enough. Right now, even though my stomach is not terrible, the skin is definitely stretched out and saggy. I'm going to take before and after pictures, and will post at the end of July.

If anyone has any additional tips, like creams to use or anything to help the skin get its tone back, I am ALL EARS!

letting go or letting myself go?

Last night I had the distinct pleasure of going to see Stevie Wonder at Starlight. Nana came to stay with Elise, so it was a rare treat for Danny and I to go somewhere together without her. Needless to say, I wanted to look pretty/special for our date. I thought I did an ok job with this... until we arrived at Starlight and I saw everyone dressed to the nine's, and realized that my standards for "working it" have really lowered. To wit: I wore a tan a-line skirt with a green, orange, and white floral pattern. I've always thought it was a cute skirt, and I still wear it all the time even thought its like 5 years old. I wore it with a brown sleeveless v-neck t-shirt that is a very thin, drapey fabric. I used to wear this breezy summer outfit with sandals all the time, and thought it looked very nice.
Here's the rub, though: my body has changed so much since pregnancy, that I really should have worn something else that fit my "new" body better. The t-shirt was way way way too tight across my chest (didn't realize it till I saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror at Starlight) and I've lost so much muscle that I have NO shape at all in my butt/legs, so the skirt just hung all limp around me. I've cut my hair recently, and with the humidity recently, I cannot get it to smooth down and be the sleek texture that my haircut really requires to look cute. So, lately I've just been putting it into a little stubby pony tail, which looks cute if I'm wearing shorts and a t-shirt, but not for a night out (but that is how I wore it.) Make up consists of mascara and a dusting of powder, and my tired eyes really need more these days, lest I look like a corpse.
I did not feel good about myself, and wished I had given my appearance more time. I realized that whereas it is liberating to not obsess over your body and your appearance because motherhood has placed other things in higher priority, it isn't ok (at least not for me) to not have the ability or desire to look great when the situation calls for it. I don't even look good for work anymore; I really need to work on that as well. It is not professional to go to work in clothes that are ill fitting or wrinkled, with unkempt hair and no make-up. Some days I don't even blow dry my hair OR wear make-up. This is not acceptable if I want to be anything more than I currently am at work (which is up for debate as well--not sure I want or can handle more responsibility with my attention and time divided like it is now.)

I don't want to slowly let myself go. I want to always show that I value caring for myself as well as my family. I wouldn't allow Elise to not be well-rested, clean, and nicely dressed. I wouldn't not feed her healthy food and allow her to not get enough playtime/exercise--so I need to take care of myself to a similar degree. Its liberating, for sure, to not feel like I have to be as thin or pretty as possible, so I should adjust my standards--sure. But I need to make sure they are high enough for ME, so I can walk with my head held high and know that I'm doing the best I can in all areas of my life.

good news and bad

Good news first: my old dog Su, is fine. Got all her tests back, and she is healthy. Vet thinks that she is either traumatized by Elise or doesn't like her food. Maybe a bit of both. So that makes me happy.
Bad news: I am having a very strange reaction to the news of Michael Jackson's death. I LOVED him as a child. He became kind of a joke, unfortunately, as his adult life unraveled and was fraught with strange and childlike obsessions and scandal. Let us not forget what a remarkable talent he was, and how much joy he brought to the 80s with his amazing dance songs and dancing. I personally do not believe he actually molested those boys; I believe he didn't know the boundaries between adults and children because he was childlike himself. To that end, I was just remarking to my carpool buddy today that if you were robbed of your childhood, and similarly,your development arrested, and you were also fabulously wealthy, it would be very easy to fall into an existence such as Michael Jackson's, where the lines and limits of "normal" blurred. If money is no object, you don't find yourself accepting the limits that those of us non-fabulously wealthy people are subject to. His plastic surgery is an obvious outward example of this; as is his ranch, complete with circus animals and amusement park rides. The "normal" luxury seeker just doesn't put those things in their mansion. So, he is labeled eccentric and becomes tabloid fodder.
Anyway, I want to remember him for Thriller and Bad and Billie Jean and for the Jackson 5. I want to remember Wendy and I trying to learn the Beat It dance in our college apartment. I want to remember playing "don't stop till you get enough" with mirror balls blazing when I worked at the skating rink.
RIP, Michael.

A dog named Su

I had to take my ten year old hound dog, Suzy, to the vet today. In recent months, she has wasted away to nothing, despite a hearty appetite. Last week she vomited at least once a day, and lost even more weight--which prompted me to take her to the vet. It occurs to me that some tough decisions might need to be made soon; what if she has an illness that will cost thousands of dollars to treat? What if she has a terminal illness?
Not to be morbid, but the thought of her sad, trusting brown eyes as I let the vet know I agreed with the decision to do the humane thing levels me. Danny will have to be the one to take this action, if it comes to this.
She was my first baby and I admit, since Elise's birth, she has not received the same level of attention she used to. I just don't have time to walk her every day, and she can't come with Elise and I because she's too *much*. I realize this isn't fair. I hate it. I don't necessarily think I'm giving her the best life. She's comfortable and well fed, but her natural instincts are definitely thwarted.
We find out test results tomorrow, am really hoping the sound in her lungs was the echo of the music in her doggy heart...
The picture of her I'm posting really sums up the past 9 months for her: "I used to be the baby."
I hope the sound in her lungs wasn't the sound of a broken heart.

here's the thing

As of Sunday night, our house is no longer for sale.

We're staying in Lawrence--hurray!

I'm so excited to not be in "ditch this house" mindset. I get to start living here again. The first thing I did once we had decided was to start decorating Elise's room. I was pregnant when we put it on the market, and never in my wildest dreams did I think it wouldn't sell, so we just painted her room, thinking it unwise to invest in decorations that may not work in our hypothetical new house. I guess I just thought that there would always be someone, like me, who appreciated the space for the money, the large yard, large trees, neighborhood, etc. Guess not...but its cool, I was worried about how my soul would fare in Topeka anyway, because its not somewhere I've ever wanted to live. No offense to Topeka; in fact, sometimes I feel guilty that I earn my paycheck there but then run home and spend it in Lawrence. Talk about a drain on an economy! But, now that I've tried to move there unsuccessfully, that guilt is mitigated somewhat.
I was looking forward to living in Topeka for a couple of reasons, though; Topeka is a "real" city, with people just living their lives, raising their families, doing their thing. Lawrence, in my opinion, has a population skewed to the 18-22 year olds, and people who wish they were 18-22 year olds. I am definitely not saying everyone who lives here is a wannabe college kid; certainly there are people here who were born and raised here and have built businesses here not associated with KU. But I think few people would argue with me that the population and dynamic of Lawrence is not always conducive to raising a family. Me having to drive to Topeka to earn a decent living is a prime example of this, and me not being able to sell my house despite a ton of lookers is another. Homes are overpriced, but jobs to afford them are few.
But, I love downtown. I love KU. I love the hills of my neighborhood and Lawrence in general. This is my home, this is where my daughter was born and where I married the man of my dreams. Let's embrace it as home and start living in the NOW!!

a new thing to worry about

I watched a movie last night about the impact of a daughter's drug addiction on a family. It was heart-wrenching. Of course it was a work of fiction, but art imitates life, and I can't imagine that this story hasn't been lived in reality 100 times over. I have a hard time imagining my amazingly cute sweet tiny baby daughter as an addict, but who does imagine that, as they hold their sleeping child and marvel at the innocence and sweetness of someone who isn't yet faced with adult choices and consequences.

I pray nightly that God will give me the strength to be strict when I need to be, and that I am able to give her the tools she needs to make good decisions. Its an enormous responsibility--and it doesn't come with a guarantee. I think that is the hardest part for me to stomach. We can do everything "right"--but Elise is her own person. And she will make mistakes, some that will hurt her, and some that will hurt us. It occurs to me that we are in the "easy" stage of parenting right now (ye gods!)

I have my own sad story about families being torn apart by the actions of a single member, and I was reminded of it today because of the weather this morning; I stepped outside after the rain and it was very humid, yet cool. It reminded me of the summer mornings when I lived with my aunt and uncle briefly when I first moved to Florida. Every morning (before I got a job) I would wake up and, still in my pjs, walk through the screened in porch that separated my "apartment" from the rest of their house, and join my aunt for her walk around the pond and coffee/newspaper reading and discussion. I've never had a very close bond with my dad, and I wasn't close at all to my stepmother, but I was very, very close to her sister (my stepaunt) and her sister's husband. Their family meant the world to me.
When I married Danny last year, I was asked by my father to not invite them to the wedding, because of a situation with my sister that he would not elaborate on. It was heavily implied that if I invited them, that my sister wouldn't come. It was more important to me that my sister come, so I conceded to not invite them.
When I learned what happened with my sister, my blood ran cold. I no longer saw a certain member of that family in the same light, and I knew things could never be the same. It hurts me terribly. I miss them desperately. But, some things are bad enough to tear apart families, and I don't believe there is anything that can mend them.
My whole point to this overwhelmingly negative blog is that I am realizing how hugely important it is that I am a parent to my daughter, and that I teach her the best I can--because the implications and consequences of bad decisions are very far-reaching. The actions of a single person CAN ruin families and destroy lives; it is vital that we devote every bit of our strength and passion to teaching our children right from wrong, and that there are consequences in this world--and how to make good, empathetic, future-minded decisions. So many things! I can't even begin to sum them up!

On being human and strange sources of pride

My mother-in -law told me shortly after Elise was born that her generation consists of people that were largely formula-fed as infants, due to a perception by their parents that breastfeeding was something that "country-folk" did, and it was almost a status symbol to be able to afford formula for your baby. And, since formula was new, there weren't health history records to refer to, to confirm that breastmilk, thought perceive as countrified, was indeed the best thing for nourishing an infant.
To me, this is a prime example of how we, as "civilised humans" are trying desperately to escape our animal natures, to prove that our minds and technology are capable of generating mechanisms superior to our biology. I don't think its possible. For example: I think the concept of vaccines is pretty smart, although I admit being afraid of the implications of some of them. As humans, we conceived the idea of placing a dead virus in our systems, but the protection from the virus comes from our own natural defenses at that point. Our bodies are brilliantly designed.
That being said: I read an article recently about how, as humans, we are trying so hard to use technology to evaluate and analyze, and in doing so, are doing ourselves a disservice because our intuition is often at work behind the scenes, evaluating and analyzing for us, unconsciously!
We eat too much. Drink too much. We rely on things other than our own senses to tell us how to live. I find this a bit silly.
I look at my daughter, lying in the bed I made for her, sleeping and growing and developing more each day, and I'm filled with pride that I was able to create, with my humble body, this perfect little fully-functioning human person--and I'm able to give her what she needs, both with my body as milk, but also a roof over her head, a warm bed, toys to play and learn with. An engaged, attentive, and loving set of parents is probably the most important thing I am able to "give" her, however, and I thank my lucky stars and heavenly guardians every day that I am able to do this with a true partner. Elise will grow up with an ideal support system. I am proud of that fact as well.

Most beautiful day

I did something that was not very "me"-like today--I burned sage inside and outside of my house, just in case a negative energy was preventing the house from selling. I've heard that the prior owners (the ones that actually built the home) were somewhat unusual, and the ones who owned after that divorced, and then I had my own marital disaster here... it could be very likely that some negative vibes are lurking around. Although--you'd think the positive vibes of Danny and Elise and the joy of being on the right track (finallly!) would have chased off anything dark.

Speaking of being on the right track: my first anniversary is a week from today. As is my first mother's day. I don't think there is a stronger sign from the Universe that I'm where I need to be :-)

know better, do better

I can't count how many times I've heard someone discuss how their parents damaged them, and how they are damaging their kids in some other way, and before becoming a mother, I'd just laugh along and share some ridiculous story about my (damaging?) childhood.
To be candid, though, I do think there were some very damaging mistakes made by my parents(dad) in some important formative years. But I've forgiven them (him), because you just do the best you can. I don't doubt that my father loves my brother and I, and only wanted to do what was best for us in the wake of our mother's death--he certainly didn't mean for those subsequent decisions to have implications that lasted into adulthood for both of us.
So then, my thoughts turn to my baby daughter, seven months old yesterday, and wondering, if it is inevitable that I will mess her up in some way, despite all intentions, is it worse to do so because I love her too much and spoil her some, or is it worse for her to experience great sorrow and hardship and be forced to deal with it alone?
There is a concept among parenting books about "normal adversity", that basically asserts that children need the normal ups and downs of life to learn how to cope. I do want Elise to have that. But if something highly traumatic happens in her life, I'm not going to sweep it under the rug and never speak of it again--I'm going to see that she gets all the love, support, attention, and help she needs to know that she is loved and ok and will always be.
I've always thought that kids with parents that are too "cool" turn out rotten. So, by that token, I guess Elise is doomed. :-)

body whoas!

I bought Jillian Michael's "30-Day Shred" workout this week, hoping to re-start some sort of fitness routine. 30 days isn't a long commitment, and this workout promises "results."

I'm not exactly sure what "results" I'm expecting or even desire. I've lost everything I gained whilst pregnant--and then some because of breastfeeding. Despite weighing less than I did pre-preg, my body is nothing (nothing!) like it was. I recently told a friend that I like myself now much better than the person I was in my 20's. But I must admit--I miss that 20-something body. I miss being firm and proportioned and strong--breastfeeding and lack of exercise has dissolved any muscle I used to have. I helped Danny pull up carpet in the basement last night and I was sore enough today to require ibuprofen. EVERYTHING hurt--I'm very obviously not as strong as I used to be, even a year ago. I want to get my strong body back so I can do the work my body was made to do. This is a milestone in body image and acceptance for me. My former twisted logic, sadly, intertwined what my body looked like and how lovable I was. That is the mentality of my 20's that, thankfully, has gone away (along with the body of my 20's!) Thought--are we harder on ourselves when we are closer to "perfection" because we can't quite get there? My body now is so different than what it was ten years ago--but I have stopped criticizing it for having cellulite or a waist that isn't as small as I would like. It works exactly as it was designed to work--it grew and protected my precious daughter, and now I am nourishing her with the mechanisms nature intended. Every time someone comments on her growth or her "chubbums" (our name for her rolly polly parts), I am so proud--because my milk gave her the nutrients and energy to grow. I also think I've gained some perspective: I have better things to do with my time than to obsess about what my butt looks like and spend hours a week at the gym to STILL not be happy with my butt!

this and that

Yesterday wasn't a very good day for me. I received an unexpected reminder of how bitter and immature my ex-husband is, and it sent me reeling into some very negative territory. Here's where I'm at: I accept responsibility for my part of what went wrong in that relationship, because it takes two people, after all. The part of this that still has the power to inflame my emotions--to the extent that I felt ill!--is that he does not accept responsibility for the role he played. He plays me out to be this evil infidel zombie, and he an innocent victim. It is my feeling that people believe him, and even if they don't, they enjoy the Mandy-bashing and drama of this whole situation.
I was fair. I was kind. Yes, I was the one who left, but there was no other option for me once it got to a certain point (aside: is leaving in itself unkind? Not in this situation, maybe in some.) Yet, I am not given any credit at all for those things, so in retrospect, I should have been unfair and unkind.
Except, that's not me. And herein lies my problem. He is playing me out to be something I'm not--for a laugh, for sympathy--and I am reasonably certain it is because he doesn't want to be face to face with the fact that I am a good, decent, loving person--and I couldn't be with him anymore because he has some things about him by which I cannot abide. I wish we could level with each other HONESTLY. Here's what I'd say, "I'm sorry things went the way they did, but you know I was fair, and you know what you did to drive me away. You can say whatever you want to whomever you want, but at the end of the day, you know." And he would look me in the eye and say "Yes, I understand why you left. Thank you for being fair in all aspects, but with all due respect, I need to be able to spin my tale for the sake of my dignity, because this is a humiliating place to be." I believe that if this dialogue could take place, I might be able to have a little more peace in my soul where this is concerned.

Its hard to be face to face with our imperfect selves--but that is the only way we can fully embrace who we are! What is so beautiful about Danny is, from the start, we stood before each other, warts and all, here I am, here are my flaws, and I am asking you to love me anyway.

There are many other beautiful things about Danny. I could write a whole separate blog about how wonderful he is and how great our life together is. Maybe I will.

One thing that not everyone knows about my husband is that he plays the violin. He doesn't play often; but when he does, its like I'm seeing him for the first time, and I cannot describe the feelings invoked by this revelation. He is so amazing to me--the love I feel for him is so complete, so true. I remember always feeling like I had to make excuses for my ex when we were married--not so with Danny. He's so very... normal. And I appreciate that to such a great degree--because I've lived with someone with some very unusual behaviors. Yet, he's also extraordinary! Danny is such a focused person--when he decides he wants to do something, he does what it takes to do it well. He does not cut corners, and he goes for his goal with a tenacity that I simply do not possess. He is like this with music, cooking, sports, yard work, child-rearing--you name it! I respect this so much. He inspires me to be better at my endeavors.

I hear Elise stirring so I can't go on, even though I've got many thoughts today. Hopefully they will stick around until later!

interesting viewpoint

I read a column recently that has me all up in arms. The main premise of the piece was to claim that Bernard Madoff, one of the biggest con artists of our time, is just like "us." We, as a people, have such disdain for him because we see ourselves in him.

REALLY, Cal Thomas? Can you possibly be serious??

Mr. Thomas claims that we are so disgusted by Bernie Madoff because he "mirrors the flaw in each of us."

I am far from a perfect person. But I (and all of the other imperfect people I know) have somehow managed to never run a billion dollar Ponzi scheme. Perhaps I am just a pillar of exceptional strength and restraint when it comes to controlling my dark, evil, greedy side.

Except, I just don't think so! It is possible to be fundamentally honest, rather than fundamentally evil, with "evil management" skills. I remember years ago I was in charge of managing the snack fund at one of my jobs--I took my role of managing that $50 a month fund seriously, I always left the receipts in the contribution jar so that people knew I wasn't pocketing any of the money, and was in fact using it all to buy snacks. That was $50 lousy dollars; I take personal offense that Cal Thomas thinks I am disgusted by Bernie Madoff because I see what he was able to do with his dark, evil, greedy side and identify with it (maybe he thinks I'm jealous because I am evil enough, just not clever enough, to pull off such a scheme.)

There was another disgusting side to this article: Mr. Thomas mentioned some comments from Jewish leaders that all but said (you could cut the implication with a knife!) that Mr. Madoff's behavior was even more despicable because he did it to fellow Jews. As a non-Jewish person, I take huge offense--this is a crime against all people who trusted someone who claimed to be an investment professional. This isn't a Jew/Gentile issue at all, and to imply that the offense would somehow be lessened were none of the victims Jews makes me sick.

I hold a firm belief that adult humans, who are essentially the top of the "food chain" in our civilised society, have a higher burden of care and responsibility to creatures lower on whatever food chain you are using for comparison, who rely on us in our exceptional capacities. As an investment professional, Bernie Madoff had a fiduciary duty to take care of his clients funds better than he would his own investments. In my opinion, it is a more egregious offense to screw over people who trust you than to rob someone at knife-point. At least a robber with a knife is honest with you about his intentions!

birdsong

I took a rare spontaneous day off today, to enjoy the weather and the parade downtown with Elise, and also so Danny could spend some time with his brother who is visiting from Fargo. As Elise and I walked through the grand old downtown neighborhoods, I felt such pure happiness and joy as the sun warmed us (78 degrees today!) and a southerly breeze blew our hair around. Birds were singing all over the place. I marveled at Lawrence's beauty, with all the hills and the gorgeous buildings of the University looming high above on said hills.

It's a beautiful, special city. Its been my home now for nearly 14 years, and I just realized, literally a minute ago, that whereas I thought I was mentally ready to move because I had divested myself of my previous community here in Lawrence, I've already started building a new community, and Lawrence is my home. The old community doesn't fit into my life anymore anyway, so I probably would have drifted away from those people eventually. I don't want to start over again. At least I know a lot of people in Topeka already, by virtue of working there.

I hear Elise waking up, so I should wrap this up. Nutshell: I'm not ready to leave, and am having trouble reconciling these feelings.

omg

i have to document this:
i just re-read a post from earlier this week, the one where I mention that my mom has been gone for 22 years. In September of 2009, it will be 23.
I started noticing around the time that Elise was born that I kept seeing certain sequences of numbers all the time. I thought it weird, and passed it off as one of those things that, once its entered your consciousness, you notice it more--surely it meant nothing beyond that. However, seeing 2's happens to me ALL the time--I'll glance at a clock at 2:22 or 12:22(nearly every day this happens at least once, usually twice.) I'll just happen to look up at a street number as I'm driving by and its full of 2's. As a result of this, I've started choosing 22 as my lucky number.
What is startling is I just noticed this:
Elise was born on the 22nd day of the month, nearly 22 years to the day after my mom died. She wasn't due until October 10th. Coincidence...???

just begin to write!

I've started reading more of other people's blogs lately, wanting to find out what other people are writing about, and was surprised that there are lots (LOTS!) of people "out there" who use their blog as an exclusive platform for their interests or even to promote their business. For example--a person with a certain political bent opining on various charged topics. Or, an attorney presenting a common legal problem central to their particular practice (complete with contact information at the bottom of the page, conveniently!)
I'm not sure what I'm using my blog for. Definitely not for any pointed purpose, I just like to get my thoughts out sometimes. I've always liked journaling, and this seems like a journal for modern times. Although, I do miss going to the bookstore and finding the *perfect* blank book, and starting a new journal, vowing to write as neat as possible this time, and to not abandon it before its full, like I have with so many others.
I view everything through the lens of my child these days, and I think of Elise when I write, wondering if she'll ever read it. The problem I have with blogs is that I want her to have something tangible of me for the day when I'm gone, for her to show her own daughter--my mom wrote this! I do have a few journals laying around still, and I want her to read my 13 year old words when she is 13, to know that I had the same crazy thoughts and hormones that she will have. Aside: my snoopy stepmother really robbed me of the joy of journaling when I realised she was reading everything I wrote--even when I was in college that first year, when I still lived with my parents. And she would use it as ammo against me during arguments--my most personal thoughts and sincere, unabridged feelings, which was really quite brutal (its one thing to snoop, quite another to use what you found snooping against me.) I started writing in Spanish when I realized I couldn't escape her invasiveness, and do you know what she did? She manually copied passages from my journal and tried to translate them herself. I remember the day I discovered this; that was the day I vowed to do whatever it took to get out of their house. I couldn't believe the lengths to which that woman went to spy on me--me! a GOOD kid! A good 19 year-old woman-child with perfect grades and a beautiful heart. I discovered it one day when I was looking for stamps--she hid them from us kids in her top dresser drawer (but we all knew where they were) and as I was thumbing through her various other papers looking for stamps, I saw Spanish words. When you speak another language, it just jumps out at you from anywhere, and I remember being very confused, because Sheila knew not a word of Spanish. Then, with horror, I realized they were MY Spanish words. In Sheila's handwriting. With a kidnergarten-esque attempt at translation below. How COULD she? Is it so necessary to know what I was writing, that you would go to such a length? I will never do that to my daughter. I hope we have a relationship where if something is going on in her life that I need to know about, she will tell me. Invasions of privacy only further erode the trust and estrange the relationship.
So, I am writing this blog now (in English this time!), still from the city I chose as my new home after I'd had enough of Sheila's persecution. I've only told a few people in my life what prompted me to leave so abruptly; my dad still doesn't know. He thinks I came to Lawrence to follow my boyfriend at the time. Certainly, Andy was an influence, but mostly I needed out from under the oppression that was that household. To this day that when I go "home" I still feel uncomfortable, even though we are approaching the two-year anniversary of Sheila's death. I never want my daughter to feel, even for a second, that I am not in her corner; in my youth and adolescence, home was not a place of sanctuary for me because of my stepmother. I made Danny promise me that no matter what happened, that he would always be Elise's ally. I know it would hurt my father to know that I think he abandoned me, in terms of support, during a critical time in my emotional development. But he did, indirectly, by his willful blindness to what his wife was doing to me. Its no wonder I ended up married young to the wrong guy.
But that is all in the past, and it is my turn to be the mom that I lost.

thoughts on motherhood, music, real estate, and love

So many thoughts today! I guess that is what happens when you drive around for an hour because you needed to leave your premises for a real estate agent who couldn't bother to show up or take 30 seconds to call and say she wasn't going to show up. And we are the ones to receive complaints because the Lawrence Board of Realtors doesn't approve of the FSBO signs we have in our yard (because we are also listed on the MLS because we purchased a flat-fee MLS package, and apparently that is "confusing"--maybe so, if you are not up to speed on new methods of FSBO marketing, and you'd think someone in the industry would be.) Very interesting, their politics. They will be hearing from me about this.
While I was driving around, I heard the song "Pride in the Name of Love" by U2, and, as always, got chills during the line "Early morning, April 4. Shot rings out in the Memphis sky. Free at last, they took your life, but they could not take your pride." What a wonderful thought, that MLK was fighting for black rights out of love. I have such a micro view of love--love as it affects me and the individuals I love. But what about love for those that I don't even know, as a humanity? I know I've got it, because empathy is one of my greatest attributes. I can't stand to hear of suffering--human, animal, or otherwise, or general hurt/malaise. I wish I could help everyone. Delivering MOW once a month and rescuing the occasional shelter dog is all I do. I vow to do more.
Speaking of love: Danny and I watched a show on the anatomy of love on Discovery channel last night, and I had a nice reverie wondering and affirming what aspects of biology drove me to choose him for my mate. According to the show, evolution cause women to prefer partners with strong upper bodies and a certain size/shape of genitalia because of the size/shape of our own evolved reproductive organs (stay with me here--its just biology, I promise.) And likewise, our partners choose us because of our innate need/desire to replicate our DNA, so they choose women who appear to be fertile. Large breasts, wide hips, enough fat to get through lean times...what occurred to me rather profoundly was the implications of all this for my ex, who had no desire to procreate. Let me very diplomatically say that biology and evolution support this conclusion as far as he is concerned. :-) And the fact that Danny and I got pregnant so very easily support the evolutionary conclusions that brought us together in the first place.
On the topic of motherhood: I wish I remembered more of my own mother. She's been gone for 22 years. As I hold Elise while she's nursing or sleeping, I think to myself, cherish this time, because she won't always want to be so close to me. I wish I remember being that close to my mother, because I know I was (she nursed me as well.) But, I don't remember, and neither will Elise. But, on this side of the coin, I will always remember.

Reservations

We have talked about it ad nauseum; its virtually a done deal, this whole moving to a new city thing (I feel compelled to not name said city, even though anyone reading this who knows me will know exactly what city to which I am referring.) But, I am starting to dread it like grim death. My house hasn't sold (yet! it hasn't sold yet!) and the move isn't really imminent, but I'm already starting to mourn leaving my beloved Lawrence. This town made me who I am today--I've lived here almost as long as I lived in my hometown, save for my two year Floridian hiatus. I acknowledge it is time to move on, that there are more reasons for me to leave here than there are to stay.
All I see when I am in that city is people unlike myself. I see unhealthy people everywhere--I would venture a guess that this city has the highest smoking rate in the state. EVERYONE smokes. And, I would guess that this city has the highest obesity rate as well. Crime is high. Urban sprawl is rampant. Fast food and chain restaurants abound. Aack.
But homes are inexpensive. I wouldn't have to commute anymore. I will not have to scan the parking lot of the grocery store for my ex's car every time I want to pick up a gallon of milk. I can get on with my life like an adult who is making the best decision for her family.
One's environment can have a profound impact on mood, though. When I was in Florida, even though my job was thankless and dull, it was in Palm Beach, on Royal Palm Way, a beautiful road lined with huge royal palm trees. You could see the blue of the ocean from where I parked my car. I would walk to the beach and eat my lunch and feel amazed that this, THIS was MY life! Little old Mandy from Pumpkin Truck, Kansas was eating lunch on Palm Beach. My former marriage was no good back then either, but surrounded by the perpetual vacation that was West Palm Beach, we were constantly distracted and enchanted by our surroundings and therefore happy with our situation, despite our personal mismatch.
Its like walking into a Whole Foods market; you feel healthier just walking in the door and inhaling a whiff of that earthiness that is the smell of Whole Foods.
I think I will feel less healthy and vibrant and satisfied when we move. I hope I am wrong; I'm really trying to be upbeat and optimistic about this, because its possible my negative energy and my inability to let go of Lawrence is causing the house to go unsold. I am hereby letting the Universe know that I am letting go of Lawrence, and embracing this new place for what it is: the new, better home... the place where my family will thrive, where my husband's career will bloom, and where I can be a part of making a community better--because I want it to be better for me, for my daughter, and for the citizens there who are my coworkers and friends.

poems from 2007

Some context for the below: 2007 was a dark year for me. Cancer was taking my stepmother while I was coming to the sad realization that my marriage was never going to be a thing of joy or satisfaction. Divorce is a horrible thing; making such a permanent decision about something that started with such optimism was complete agony, especially since, at that time, I hadn't come to regard him with the disdain that I currently feel. The poems below are about my beloved Daniel, of course, and the conflict within my heart that came from realizing I was fettered to a dead marriage whilst in love with someone else. I'm only mildly ashamed to say that falling in love with Daniel took place before I was divorced; the marriage had been over for several years. I'm not one to take a vow like marriage lightly, so I plodded on, thinking someday things would be better. Someday he would sleep in our marital bed. Someday he would want to have a family with me. Someday he would be able to resolve conflict with me without ignoring me as if I weren't there. Someday...

One especially joyous revelation about this spring: it makes 2 years together with Danny. The two year mark with my ex-husband was full of desperate moves, trying to keep things from unraveling further. I conceded to move back to Kansas--surely we will be happy there!--and in hindsight, I knew in my gut we were headed towards ruin. But if I hadn't came back to Kansas, I wouldn't have met Danny. I don't discount it at all, and even the pain of upheaving my life, of falling into financial ruin at the hand of my ex, have given me so much appreciation for him and the love we have. Maybe its like "without the bitter, the sweet isn't as sweet" sort of thing. Without the stewed tomatoes, the chili isn't as delicious. (Aside: that little tidbit will only mean something to a select few readers. I think I'm *almost* to the point where I can laugh at the absurdity of that now...)

Without further ado...

amidst acceptance and regret, i hide

let this be subject upon only me

to ensure that no one else will reside

in this odd space, no, within this wrong deed

to love you, is to love and shelter you

from me, but not this me, the other one

the one, both senseless and good, but not true

but more than the sum of what i have done

and so i forget from the day before

that which does not appeal or so reflect

the light i wish to cast, for whom i adore

familiar mask, my comforting affect

the two things, relate not to each other

not meant to wound, not content to smother

************************************

your velvet glance has graced many a dream

even before my soul delighted

with recognition, a reunion sweet

deep breaths to scatter apprehensions

my heart stills, now that my lips have found yours

hopeful, delicious, and singing;

to be savored only in sleeping hours

or a fleeting shadow

********************************

The world we live in--and life in general

I wish I knew more about economics. I'm tired of adopting every economists opinion I hear that sounds rational--I want to form my own opinion about what is happening right now, but I am not sure what media sources I can trust--everything seems sensationalized, even though it might actually not be.
My gut reaction to everything going on in the world right now is that I'm scared of these huge dollar amounts, and find it hard to believe that we are going to solve this problem by cutting taxes and instituting a few programs that have a very finite life span. Yet, I don't want to pay any more taxes, and I agree that *something* needs to happen to turn this horrible trainwreck around before our economy grinds to a halt. Although, what kills me about a democratic agenda is the "programs" and my perception of the taxes I pay is that I am basically writing a check to people who have made unwise decisions in life (or at least less wise than the ones I made.) I hate it that I feel this way, shouldn't those of us who are well and educated and were fortunate enough to find (and retain) jobs give a leg up to those who are sick or started out in life from a different place than I did?
I guess my views on entitlement and taxes lean a little to the right. There is more to politics than these two issues but I can't see anything else right now.
At the same time, I don't think the government should do nothing. What I think is, the initial bail out of the financial institutions was a little hasty. I work at a financial institution and we are well capitalized and conservative in every way. Our loan portfolio is suffering right now, but not nearly to the extent of many other lenders. The thing that is going to suck most in the months/years ahead is that my bank and other smaller, wiser banks are going to be penalized for the sins of the huge banking giants who couldn't honor their deposits; our FDIC premium is skyrocketing right now. And there aren't any caveats or credits attached--now WE are bailing them out because we did the right thing. When does anyone get their due here? Its a tough call, because the consumers are the ones who ultimately pay for this mess if someone doesn't step in. And generally conservative consumers put their money in banks to protect it. But damn, Sam. Doesn't seem like anyone gets a break in this economy except the bad guys.
Which brings me to my next woe: our house. It won't sell. The real estate agents make me feel like its a piece of crap shack and how dare we try to sell among all the other castles in our price range. I've got news for all of you buyers out there who have looked at my house and turned up your nose: suck it. This house is 32 years old, and has been reasonably well maintained, but it has been LIVED in by children and dogs and people who have tried to improve it with limited skills... it is far from perfect. It is far from immaculate. But its pretty. Its NICE. Its big. The flaws are not fatal, they are largely cosmetic and largely fixable in a relatively short time frame. So, why, you ask, am I not fixing them myself? Because we've done just about everything we have the time, money, and energy for. Accomplishing a project with a 5 month old child is nothing short of a miracle. And the weekend is only 2 days long. We felt our price took into account all those little things that aren't perfect; but apparently that isn't the case. Do me a favor, friends: take a look at www.3308tomahawk.com and tell me your HONEST opinion--should we just let these bullying buyers have it their way? I feel like I'm already leaning over with my pants around my ankles...waiting...

It took me forever to try to name this blog

Seriously. As if the name of the blog was really important or something. I just realized its not as easy to sum myself up in some pithy little phrase as it used to be.
I've digressed before I've even began. Folks, welcome to my blog. I realized that the only reason I was keeping myspace around was for the blog; now I can close that silly, albeit fun for a time, thing.
Besides. I began that blog a whole other life ago; and it seems absurd to let it continue to exist out in cyberspace (in the information superhighway!) does it not? Or, is it like keeping around pictures of deceased loved ones? Except, I don't love the person I used to be anymore. I used to drink too much, understandably though, in the absence of anything meaningful to NOT drink for. I used to be this strange chameleonesque lady who changed her opinions and standards based on her company.
I have lots to be thankful for now. Namely that I pulled my head out of my ass and decided to start living my life right--and by "right" I don't mean particularly moral or whatever, I mean according to what I know is right for ME, and the desires of my heart. According to the truth that my gut is telling me.
I hate the word "truth" though, because I really don't believe in the absolute-ness that the word implies. Every single thing is relative and subject to the twists and turns of imperfect recollections.
Except for this: I have a fantastic life. I've got this incredible man who loves me who married me last spring, an amazing, beautiful, funny little girl who I gave birth to last fall, a mostly sunny outlook on life despite an inability to move on to our next chapter (DAMNIT, house, WHY WON'T YOU SELL?????), and a heart full of gratitude for the opportunity to make my life GREAT despite a rocky start (in several different ways.)
Now:
I want to be the best me I can and be true to myself, above all. If I achieve that, then I will naturally become the best mom, the best wife, the best friend, the best employee, the best daughter, etc. That is the most important thing to me right now.