Reaction

In response to "The Way It Is" by William Stafford and 3 days of time alone in Seattle.


The chain is broken

by the silence
a door is left open
in the quiet
flow

I can choose.
I can pause
and I listen.

Alone
I can hear

and move toward
the sound of
purest intention

But surrounded
I must respond.
Listening to stay in the game.
Its ping pong,
who's at bat
lets connect

So is our relationship
a series of reactions
and counter-reactions?
jibber- jabber
fight-flight
you this, me that.

And then what about strangers?
What if I had really looked at
the person
who followed me
like he knew me
and wanted to buy me a record player?
I only gave a courtesy look at
this person's face
and kept walking. 

How do I slow it
all down
to discern if this is a
chain
or is it the thread
that I know holds
this life
together.

This is NOT a bucket list

Action Items: 

Clean closet, which has become a multi-layor universe of utter neglect, general ignoring, and crazed trashing.

My jewelry box has become a graveyard of pieces I can't bear to get rid of,  yet lack the skills and materials to reconstruct. So, we will add learn jewelry making  to the list. 

Baby books completed for Jack and Oliver. I did start them, but that is about it. I believe I was depleted of interest in doing anything more for my precious, wonderful boys. They need me a little bit less in that raw physical way now, so there feels like more space for things like scrapbooks. 

Write poems.

Study myself with the same energy I used for writing a papers. The basic outline will be a slow build up, a lapse of attention, and then an intense few weekends of focus and devotion. I am as least as interesting as the application of the Three Streams framework to understand the creation of  AmeriCorps. Right?

Love anyway

Do you get to cross the line
over into forgiveness?
Where it doesn't hurt anymore?
 
Forgiving the past
seems within my grasp.
Or at least a plausible numbness will suffice.

Still, a lifetime lies ahead.
You will fail to show up.
You just won't ever go away.

For the pain to stop
Either attain a Buddha unattachment
or never see you again.
Notice your absence but
Expectation is gone.

I feel inadequate to accomplish either.
Which has to be bullshit.
Fear is driving that train.

Love anyway.
Love anyway.
are the marching orders.
Love so unconditional
it defends against all attacks.

Where will that lead me?
Feels totally unknown
implausible 
and comforting.

In the News

I am trying to kick the Facebook habit. One of the hardest things is not sharing cool links. So here are a few to make us both feel better: 

• Deep Brain Stimulation Creates New Neurons, Boosts Memory. This finding "gives us hope not only of improving symptoms of Alzheimer's Disease but also of changing the natural course of the illness — slowing it down — and that's quite exciting,"
• For fans of Project Runway... check out the real deal with fun, short videos from Vogue.com documenting the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund Award competition. 
• "Obama has brought in more money from employees of banks, hedge funds and other financial service companies than all the other GOP candidates combined, according to a Washington Post analysis of contribution data." .
• Physics is Fun! Frozen Puck Hovers Over Track Using “Quantum Levitation”
•  LADIES!! The verdict is in.  Pap Smear typically only needed every 3 years. 

How I can still have hope (or Why I lean Buddhist)

Why I am a Realist (and not a Believer)

Why I am Faithful and not just Agnostic

This is a video of my grandpa. He was the finest Christian I have ever known, and a really super grandpa.


He memorized the book of Ephesians and portions of Acts and Timothy to create a reenactment of Apostle Paul writing letters from jail. The video is from 1985, and begins with him singing two gospel songs. 

Clarence died September 21, 2011 at the age of 83. He told me shortly before he died that he would love to perform this play one last time. I found this recording and put it on youtube to grant my grandpa his wish. 

My grandpa was known by everyone as a man of God, who loved the Lord. His memorization of the Word of God inspired many people. All of this is so clear to see in this video. Please share this with others!

All the rugs

My mouth is too tired to
form the words
he is gone and she is lost
and I don't know what I do now.
That place of solace is filled
with fear and doubt.

How do I begin to tell
you that all the rugs
have been pulled.
The certain is undone and
the rest unknown is left
lying.

Random Bullshit I tell myself...

I absolutely REFUSE to give in to my child's obstinate demands.

Behind her back, when she is not around, I have her all figured out.

If you don't meet people where they are, how the hell are you going to get them where you think they should go?

Queen Dream

I am running and playing some sort of game.....like paintball...but in a carnival setting. I am running and then scheming and then directing the victory.

It gets serious.

I know I must enter the stadium and it is filled with my enemies. Somehow this is both a fun game and deadly serious...plans are made and I enter the stadium down an aisle created by my soldiers. They have created a path for me through the crowd. I go up onto a high stage and have won the game.

I am now magic and when I blow air through my lips, the crowd bends and sways like grass in a windstorm. I know I have shown all of my power. I turn to someone next to me and say "someone will want to kill me now". 

It now gets silly.
I decide I need to lighten the mood and start dancing. A fools dance. I think I am trying to get a party started and the doors of the stadium are opened. Some stay but most leave.

I realize I have lost their respect. I try the blowing trick, but people are still leaving.

I woke up at this point and then tried to go back to sleep. I wanted to return to the point I decided to dance. I couldn't.... instead I ended up in a dream that Shania Twain had arrived to stay at my (tiny and messy) house. Talk about a demotion!

If I ever get the chance to repeat the dream, I would still dance. Not a fools dance, but one of intensity, power, and freedom.

My boys shine

Oliver is a talker. He collects new words and likes to show them off. Here are a few of his latest additions:
mimic
exceptional
impressed
extraordinary

Writing this list, I realize it describes Oliver. My boy shines! Here is just one example: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kKculA3wvuQ

Jack is like your cool, drunk uncle. Kinda distant and then busts out hilarious observations or fantasies.
He prefers sweatpants for daily attire, which he calls "easy pants".

And he has infuriating accidents. Tonight, he managed to get to the toilet, take off his pants and underwear, but pooped right next to the toilet. The sequence of events that occurred to lead to this outcome is a mystery to me. My best guess is that he became absorbed in some tactile or visual entertainment, and actually forgot to get on the toilet.

I managed to stay calm, and was cleaning up the mess. Jack says to me "when you are a baby and you poop in pants, I'd buy you diapers, and toys that look dumb, and junk cereal". This is verbatim quote- I wrote it down right after I realized this was a compliment...sort of?These are all things he wants but doesn't get.

A slice of Jack's fantastical worlds:
Saturday at the park, "I am a bounty hunter!My name is Zelda and I hunt with my boomerang (a twig). I hunt for meat! Deer meet!" . Tuesday he was a cat, purring and meowing all over the house. Thursday I come home to a unicorn.

My boys make me laugh every day. Here is a taste: Jack is playing a zither with a ping pong ball and Oliver is setting up a "scene" for his movie.

The Edge

On the soles
hard earth presses.
Rocks sharp corners push
in tenderfoot.
We take our toes
over the edge.
Tongues wagging
with destruction.
We breathe heavy.
We breathe hard.
Towers fall.
Cities drown.
Earth gobbles earth.
And we gasp.
Suck in air through our teeth.
Empty still.
Rivers rage.
Sky splinters and takes
it all a part.
Our hearts bleed.
our hearts break.
Empty still of
any intention of returning
foot to earth.
Dreaming of flight
we trade substance for air.

My boys are hilarious

Jack wants me to talk to the bee. Jack says we are in the bumblebee world and I need to talk to him to ask if we can pass. So, I try and say "what's buzzin?" but Jack is not satisfied. "no, mama, talk to him!". I try a few more times (all while sorting and putting away laundry), but fail to complete Jack's vision, which frustrates us both.
Then I stop and say, "Jack, the bee told me you needed to put these toys back in your room". "OK!" he immediately obliges. Hee, hee.

Oliver is going the bathroom and says "I wish I had a...what's it called, mom?..I have penis and you have...a china?
Vagina, I say.
Oliver says, "I wish I had penis and a china. And another butt. Then I could poop and pee in all directions at the same time."
This was only the beginning of this particular train of thought. I would have mostly ignored it, but each time he would say "china" instead of vagina and I could not stop laughing.

Better still, I now have a running joke of "your China" with friends. China is very powerful. China has population concerns. China is vast and mysterious. Her china is only brought out for special occasions...

When the spirit moves you....

This is a chain of events, that continues to blow my mind.
It started 2 weeks ago, after I realized I love my MPA program and I am good at it. It occurred to me that I could DO this. I could get a Ph.D.

Thursday, Aug 26: Talk to professor who encourages me and recommends doing an independent research project over the summer.

Friday, Aug 27 afternoon: Look at a few Public Policy Ph.D. programs. Freak out. 4 years! Start thinking about what I would want to research. Evening: Remember I still really want to live in another country with the family. Research Fulbright Program. Realize I am mostly qualified to go to German speaking areas. Positions do not typically offer enough stipend for a family.

Saturday, Aug 28: Start thinking about Germany.....and in two clicks find http://www.jobsabroad.com/
Search by "Public Administration" and viola...

The Robert Bosch Foundation Fellowship Program in Germany

1. For recent masters level graduates. I will graduate in December 2011.
   
2. Paid 9month fellowship structured around your interests; to include meetings with VIP's and internship, and seminars throughout Europe!!!!!!
   
3. Pay is good! And more if you have a family.
4. Age range is 23-34. I will be two months shy of 34 when I apply.
5. HOLY CRAP! I CAN APPLY FOR THIS!
6. Amazing feeling of possibility.
   
7. Crazy excitement talking with Tom about it.
   

Sunday, Aug 29: Still mulling over research area, wasting time on Fb, I see most recent Ted. com post Jeremy Rifkin on "the empathic civilization". Wow!!! The dots connect! So, I google "service learning and Germany" and find that University of Mannheim has a Service-Learning Program! So excited!!! Exhausted, sleep.

Monday, Aug 30: A student comes to my office to turn in scholarship paperwork. She is German. I ask her where she is from. She says , "Mannheim". She is super nice and agrees to meet with me for lunch. She mentions that all of her friends have moved from Mannheim, but her mom still lives there and she has places to rent.
FLABBERGASTED!!

Tuesday, August 31: talk to a student who works for me and she tells me she wants to study civic engagement for her honors thesis. Hello, assistant researcher!

Wednesday Sept 1: Worked out calendar of applications and summer research and International Service-Learning Conference. Perfect.

Thursday, Sept 2: A picture of my German friend, Silke, is tagged in Facebook. I am in the picture! It is our high school French class. The girl I am hugging is Silke, who set me up to go to Germany as an aupair for her sister. It was posted by Herve the exchange student from Brazil. Spoke to him hardly then and never since. AND IT SHOWS UP four days from me finding a way to return !!!!

Sept 2- today: In love with life!
Even if I don't get the fellowship to Germany, I was reminded that this is my life and I can make things happen! So blessed, so grateful.

PS- I will need an entirely new post to tell you all the ways my husband is amazing. I am not trying to make you jealous, but you probably should be.

Silk Shirts

Somewhere
Someone’s finger is
In it.
Somewhere she
Listens in.
She does not
Take a peak.
She peers.
She finds a
Sweet spot.
She leans
She bears.
Careens into
Your crazy town
Running down
Steep hills and
Stealing silk shirts.

How I plan to stop beating myself bloody

I do not live with bombshells or blowouts.
I do not have a violent home.I am not in immediate danger.
But I do see a gun at my head
with every misstep.
Because it could really matter.
Everything is connected and I am imperfect.
And I see you, too. More imperfection.

How can I stop being so goddamn disappointed?
And I am not hung up on "my socks need to all line up, matched in my drawer" perfection.
My house is a mess.
I am talking about defects in character, integrity, honesty. Failure.

The Christian says we are all fallen sinners from birth to resurrection.
The Buddhist says no perfection, no imperfection. You are at birth.

Compassion is the antidote for suffering.
The warmth and acceptance of what is
slides right over the disappointment
sometimes like water, sometimes like flame.

As this life
pounds
pulses
first slow,
second fast
Dreams big
then cowers.
I contract
I expand
in moments of
meeting.
In night visions
brutal and free.
This life breaks.
This life
breathes
this life born.

A few thoughts on parenting after a rough week.

There is too much, it is never done. I am never enough.
It does not suit my personality to work hard at something, and not feel like an "A" student. I am not a bad parent, but I am not great.
I feel terribly alone and desperate for my self. My fantasy day right now is not getting out of bed, all day all night.
No parent is ever enough for their child. No parent ever gets is just right.
I feel myself being broken, just ever so slightly. Like at work when I hit my head with the same bureaucratic baloney brick. Eventually you will break, you will bend. The brick does not.
My eldest has an exceptional memory. This concerns me- does he have to remember my temper tantrum and hypocrisy?
I have very little room to criticize any parent. Moral high ground is rare real estate.
How they can want even more of me?!!!!! Why are they complaining, again?!! whhhiiiiiiiiiiinng sucks!
So loud. SO LOUD! SHHHHHHHHH!! I am screaming "shush", what the hell is wrong with me?
Please please please let this get easier.
Is it this hard for everyone? Am I being a big goddamn baby?
Sometimes feel as if I am walking uphill endlessly. Oh- I think I am whining. Damn, am I to blame for that to? Wanna understand karma? Have kids. Instant mirror of your worst behaviors. Awesome.
To the kids it must appear as if I just suddenly blow up or break down. To me it is a container bursting, a knife's pressure that finally breaks through skin. Too much of this, not enough of that until there is no more. No buffer, no patience, no bend. Just break.

I feel obligated here to reassure you that I love my children and I am not in need of an intervention. Although, I would be lying if I told you I hadn't considered medication.

PS- today has been a good day or wouldn't have even been able to complete this online whine.

I think I might be stuck

Do we force a fire to feel flame?
Do we only let go
in order to embrace?
Since when do I write in
Carrie Bradshaw
clever, quirky questions?

Why do I not want
that which is so easily before me?

Why do I sit and mourn
the things I did and
the ways I'll never be?

Why am I given dreams
but not (enough?) ambition?

Where is my statement?!
Why the hell can't I write
anything
in that damn book!?

Why do I narrate my life in my head like a facebook status update?
And sometimes I'll stumble upon a phrase for the perfect start to a book,
or just one word that would be the perfect title, but never too I write it down
because I can't think of a second sentence or what the book would be about.

What do I think I am doing?

I know that most people working in non-profits are wonderful, hardworking, passionate folks with the best of intentions. Of late, however, I have started to question non-profits as a sector, as a professional route, and as a social institution. Sitting at a conference, I started to wonder why there was so much (decent paying) work for "us" to do for "them". Couldn't we just give them the money and go home? How do I get flown to conferences and there are hungry children? How does this make any sense?

BIG money and effort goes into non-profit/charitable organizations:

• In 2004, public charities reported nearly $1.1 trillion in total revenues and just over $1.0 trillion in total expenses. (Source: The Urban Institute, National Center for Charitable Statistics, Core Files 2004)
• Public charities reported $1.9 trillion in total assets in 2004. (Source: The Urban Institute, National Center for Charitable Statistics, Core Files 2004)
• Charitable contributions by individuals, foundations and corporations reached $248.52 billion in 2004, an increase of 2.3 percent from 2003 after adjusting for inflation. (Source: Giving USA 2005

If we invested this kind of money in excellent education, community safety nets, and public health--- how much work would we still have left to do? How much of the work that we do is a band-aid for a greater social problem that could be either prevented or changed with a shift in consciousness and resources? Some of these band-aids might be complicit in keeping a problem at arms length. We can give out money and not have to change how we live. But can a giant social problem truly die from a thousand tiny cuts? Can't we do it better? Smarter?

For example, how much money is spent by non-profits meeting the needs of people who are homeless? (I tried to find this, but couldn't with a decent google search). I know that these organizations work with dedication and passion on shoe-sting budgets that rarely meet demand. However, what if their collective efforts are not greater than the sum of their parts? Turns out they aren't!!

This is from an article "Cutting The Cost Of Homelessness In U.S." on Forbes.com from 2006 ---

There are approximately 3 million homeless people in the United States at any one time. Of these, some 150,000-300,000, or 5% to 10%, are "chronically homeless." ...who account for the vast majority of shelter space and bulk of the health costs. The 150,000 chronically homeless people in the United States cost $10.95 billion per year in public funds. If these individuals were all permanently housed, the expense would be expected to fall to $7.88 billion.

ARGGG!!! WHY DON'T WE DO THIS??!!!

This makes me want to pack up and go home. I could make a cozy little career in the non-profit sector or higher education out of my experience and education.Working in non-profits and service learning has given me direction and purpose for about10 years. When the weight of the world of troubles and oppression sent me into a fetal-position (literally), it was the only thing that brought me out. But I have this growing feeling that it is not enough anymore. Or maybe I am just tired, and this is a phase, and maybe I just need to readjust my own attitude and get back to work. We'll see...

I want to be a social entrepreneur when I grow up!

I am researching non-profit related items for my class, and I have decided to use my blog to keep track of my internet adventures and findings. My goal has been to use my class assignments for my MPA classes to help me figure out this "green cemetery" concept that just won't leave me alone. It was not until I was tagged for a "25 random things about me" on Facebook that I connected it to my other longstanding dream of a off the grid cooperative housing unit that has both private space and common space, with shared major appliances, etc...

I have been considering that a green burial site could be a source of income for a conservation, environmental non-profit, and wondered if that could even work. I struggled to term search on google for what I was looking for. My starting point was to follow up on an article I read somewhere, some years ago about a non-profit that escaped the trap of grants by producing a commodity that funded their operations. (The article stuck with me because I have experienced the time and mission sucking effects of grants.) I did find a reference to the trend of " nonprofits being more businesslike and for-profits doing a lot of corporate social responsibility" at Stanford Social Innovation Review, but it wasn't very revealing. This is an area I will need to explore more later.

I did find some interesting financial resources of information and networking for non-profits...

- National Council of Nonprofits
- The Chronicle of Philanthropy
- Idaho Nonprofit Center
- National Center for Charitable Statistics

I finally stumbled upon "social entrepreneurship" and it was a revelation.

"Social entrepreneurship is the work of a social entrepreneur. A social entrepreneur is someone who recognizes a social problem and uses entrepreneurial principles to organize, create, and manage a venture to make social change. "

I felt like a lost sheep that had found its flock. Then of course, I found my flock's online home, Changemakers, which in their own words is

"... building the world's first global online "open source" community that competes to surface the best social solutions, and then collaborates to refine, enrich, and implement those solutions. Changemakers begins by providing an overarching intellectual framework for collaborative competitions that bring together individual social change initiatives into a more powerful whole".

Open source, collaborative, competition to fix things that are broken in our world. Yes! Sign me up! So I did.

I am not sure where this all will take me, but I feel as if I have the wind at my back.

Expanding SCHIP

I stumbled upon some news of SCHIP expanding on the federal level. Providing kids with health insurance just seems like the best thing to do, but there are some finer points and complications that I had not considered. What do you think?
SCHIP Expansion Underway
US House Votes To Expand,Enlarge SCHIP Through FY13
SCHIP: For The Big Hospitals, Not The Children?

Life According to Oliver

Favorite bon mots from Oli for the week....

~~Our laptop broke yesterday. I told Oliver about it when he asked me if he could play a computer game. "That's terrible!" Oliver replied in full sincerity and concern.
I told him that his dad was going to try to fix it. He said, "I can fix it!" (This was incidentally the first sentence he spoke around age 2). I explained that it would probably not be a good idea for him to fix the computer.
"I know how to fix the computer!" he insisted. I asked him how he would do it.
"Well, the first thing you have to do is screw it up. You screw it up with your screwdriver. And then you just fix it!"

~~"Jack is a pooper stinky poop pants! Poop!! Poop and fart and poop!!! (Oli's older boy cousins are all great vocab sources for him.)

~~"Mom, look! That is a little man!" (Man is sitting about 6 ft from us). "He is a man with little head!". Both were true and not knowing what to say, I told Oliver to eat a carrot.

My babies are special

I think this will be a straight up mommy blog about the cute things my two babies do.

Jack is starting to talk. He said "night- night" for the first time last night. I swear he said "apple" in the store today. Jack loves sounds and music. He is keen on anything that makes a good noise. He meows like a kitty- it is awesome. He has the most ridiculoulsy cute curls, is a good eater, and loves to cuddle; all paricularly endearing qualities.

Last week, he was going through something and just would not let us put him down. This is tedious enough -particularly for me since he is big fella- but even worse, it triggers jealous fits of attention getting behavior in Oliver. In case you are not clear on the math...
1 clingy, cranky, crying 35lb toddler + 1 crazy jealous attention fiend 3 year old = HELL or a creepy level of surreal surrender that feels almost zen.

Oliver does not stop talking. There is no ignoring him. He will demand you reply to every precious thing he says, or he will say it over. and over. and over. and over. and over.
He will ask "why"5 times in a row to a simple statement . Or better- he will disagree with my answer.

(reading a book together) Oliver asks, "what's that?" I say "headphones". He asks, "whose headphones are those?" I say "Dizzy's headphones". He says "no, those aren't' Dizzy's headphones". I say, "yes, it says write here in the book, right here.. see?" He says "no" .....(repeat a few times). To move him along, I say "well if you want to be wrong, you can believe that." He'll usually agree to that.

He is so freaking funny! He will ask "do you want to see my moves?" and proceed to truly bust moves- the robot, the breakdance, the spin, the running from one end of the house to the other super super fast, the Spiderman, hanging from the clothes bar in the closet and climbing up the wall with his feet. He can sommersault and hop on one foot. My little Oli-bear is a natural athlete and a championship talker.

I told Tom's mom yesterday that I had a lover and a fighter. I don't want a label to keep me from truly seeing my kids, but it is perfect for who they are now. I can't believe we are just getting started with them! I try to imagine them as teens or men and it just blows my mind. I don't want this time to be just a blur, so I am going to have to make a real effort to write more down.

It is precious, after all.

Where is my cup?

I love this poem from our new Poet Laureate, Kay Allen-

How can
you tell
at the start
what you
can give away
and what
you must hold
to your heart.
What is
the well
and what is
a cup. Some
people get
drunk up.

("The Well or the Cup" from “The Niagara River,” 2005.)

The best boss ever!

Icelandic skipper kills shark with bare hands ( October 23, 2003)

An Icelandic fishing captain, known as "the Iceman" for his tough character, grabbed a 300 kg shark with his bare hands as it swam in shallow water towards his crew, a witness said today.

The skipper of the trawler "Erik the Red" was on a beach in Kuummiit, east Greenland, watching his crew processing a catch when he saw the shark swimming towards the fish blood and guts - and his men.

Captain Sigurdur Petursson, known to locals as "the Iceman", ran into the shallow water and grabbed the shark by its tail. He dragged it off to dry land and killed it with his knife.

"He caught it just with his hands. There was a lot of blood in the sea and the shark came in and he thought it was dangerous," Frede Kilime, a hunter and fisherman who watched from the beach, told Reuters by phone from Greenland.

Icelandic author and journalist Reynir Traustason, who knows the trawler captain, said the act was typical of the man.

"He's called 'the Iceman' because he isn't scared of anything," he said. "I know the people in that part of the world. They are really tough."

My Pomegranate Life is Juicy and Delicious

Last month I got my first tattoo. A big, blooming and ripe pomegranate. It is an illustration from Anna Maria Sibylla Merian (minus the butterfly tranformations). She was ahead of her time,a German woman traveling in Africa in the 1600's to study and make paintings of plants and insects. Her detailed observations and documentation of the metamorphosis of the butterfly make her a significant, albeit not well known, contributor to entomology.

Also... A few things about the pomegranate that inspire me(totally clipped from wikipedia):

Jewish tradition teaches that the pomegranate is a symbol for righteousness, because it is said to have 613 seeds which corresponds with the 613 mitzvot or commandments of the Torah. However, the actual number of seeds varies with individual fruits. For this reason and others, many Jews eat pomegranates on Rosh Hashanah. It is also a symbol of fruitfulness. Some Jewish scholars believe that it was the pomegranate, not the apple, that was the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden.

Pomegranates are a motif found in Christian religious decoration. The fruit, broken or bursting open, is a symbol of the fullness of his suffering and resurrection.^[34] In the Eastern Orthodox Church, pomegranate seeds may be used in kolyva, a dish prepared for memorial services, as a symbol of the sweetness of the heavenly kingdom

According to the Qur'an, pomegranates grow in the gardens of paradise (55:068). According to Islamic tradition, every seed of a pomegranate must be eaten, because one can't be sure which aril came from paradise. The Prophet Mohammed is said to have encouraged his followers to eat pomegranates to ward off envy and hatred.^[34] The Qur'an also mentions (6:99, 6:141) pomegranates twice as examples of good things God creates.

The myth of Persephone, the chthonic goddess of the Underworld, also prominently features the pomegranate.

A Fellow Faithful Agnostic

I think I've found a spokesperson! Check out A.J. Jacobs: My year of living biblically .

Salad Anyone?

What does it mean when someone says "those were the salad days"? I honestly don't know, but I imagine it means poor, but happy. Simple, but satisfied. Let's do a quick wiki look, shall we...

"Salad days" is an idiomatic expression, referring to a youthful time, accompanied by the inexperience, enthusiasm, idealism, innocence, or indiscretion that one associates with a young person. More modern use, especially in the United States, refers to a person's heyday when somebody was at the peak of his/her abilities—not necessarily in that person's youth.

The phrase was coined in Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra in 1606. In the speech at the end of Act One in which Cleopatra is regretting her youthful dalliances with Julius Caesar she says:

"...My salad days, / When I was green in judgment, cold in blood..."

Okay, not exactly what I had in mind. I'm not feeling particularly "green" anymore. I would opt more for "ripe". Although I can imagine in 10 years I will laugh my head off at that.

I have been turning that salad phrase (or dare I say tossing it) around in my head, because I can only see my life getting more complicated, rich and chaotic from here. Right now there is a simplicity in having small children with small problems and needs, an entry level career, a 2 bedroom home and little money to spare. My marriage is strong, my kids healthy, and we just planted our first garden. Life is good. Salad is good. Now I am sorta itching to add a bit of sauce....

Mother of a Morning

Third Mother's Day and I am looking forward to cute, handmade cards instead of being peed on in the middle of the night. Really.

My almost 3 year old is mostly potty trained; the nighttime is the final battlefront. Peeing in his own bed, thereby summoning me out of sleep to do clean up on Aisle Oli, is for any ol' night. To make it special for Mother's Day, he went the extra mile and got in my bed and peed on me and my bed, as well.

I was wearing my new pj's , a gift from my mom for Mother's Day. I think I was too stunned to react much, but my ever steady husband almost lost it. Repeat: clean up, console, return to bed. Sleep…one....two...three......WAKE UP! It's 6:15 am and Oli is on a roll!

My ever thoughtful husband, who came home from work at 12:30am with beautiful roses for me, meant to get up. But he was in the coma stage of sleep, so it was down to me.

I did not handle this with grace or style. More like anger and desperation. Oli asked for food he then wouldn't eat and demanded to hear Daft Punk "faster stronger". Jack was screeching because he realized his arm was trapped inside his sleeve. He managed to pull his arm out of the sleeve, towards his body and then was furious that his arm was caught in his shirt. Repeat after several rescues from mom. More screeching.

Mercifully, I was relieved of duty around 8 and slept like a stone till almost 11. That kind of sleep is great re-set button (smart husband) and it has been a nice, relaxing day after-all.

Sucking on Bisphenol A

Below is my letter to the National Toxicology Program concerning its draft brief on Bisphenol A.
Just another petro-chemical leaking into our body, but this time it is in my baby's bottle. I have known about this for a few days, from an email I get from MomsRising.org urging action, but I couldn't open it right away because I knew how sickened and enraged I would become. Please sign this petition to CEOs of the leading manufacturers of baby bottles to stop the use of the toxic chemical bisphenol A (BPA) in our baby bottles and other children’s products.

*****

To NTP experts,

I appreciate that the board is investigating this issue. I am once again dismayed that the FDA, EPA and the NIH are not able to protect the consumer from dangerous products. Lead in the toys, poison in pet food, and estrogen-mimicking chemicals in a baby’s bottle. I have to say as a mother and a voter; I have had enough and demand that my tax money be used to care for public health and well-being rather than war and all its weapons. It is painfully clear that our technology and science has outpaced our capacity to regulate and even understand the potential harm of lab created substances.

Please, take the greatest care possible in deciding on your levels of concern for BPA. We all know the song and dance surrounding issues of causality, but it is a losing perspective that puts the chance of profit above the chance of cancer. It is time for the US to become leaders in safe, green products. Our economy is ready to be revived by a real commitment to technologies and science that increase our chance of health as a planet and a people. BPA certainly isn’t the worst thing in the world, but it feels like the last straw to me as a stare at the baby bottle I have used to feed my son for the last year. I am outraged.

Thank you for your consideration of my concerns

.

Holy Crap... This could change my life

The Kazdin Method: How to Parent a Defiant Child.
This works. Oh my good mother of god and baby Jesus. We are only through Ch. 2 and on day 5, and it has changed my son's behavior remarkably. It has stopped the yelling. Oliver still yells sometimes (naturally) and he behaves (mostly, naturally). We do not yell hardly at all with the goal being never. Yelling does not work, but heaven help me, it gets to a point where I don't know what to do. This technique offers an alternative based on solid research instead of tired opinions of some righteous doctor, celebrity, or plucky do it all mom.

Never would I imagine myself to be a yelling, red faced mother. I knew that once angry, I tend towards the white hot, head exploding kind of anger. But I can be quite patient and calm, I thought I had learned. I did not know how thin my little Oli would wear my last thread of dignified control over my anger. Nothing had prepared me for the solar flare, the block of steel, the raging ego of wanting everything and heeding nothing that is my Oliver. Bless his perfect, golden spun hair covered little head. He is quite possibly brilliant, but most definitely defiant.

I sense a bit of push back from folks who think I am exaggerating Oli's behavior and really "he is just two". But trust me, this is no "phase" for my son. It is his personality from the moment he had one to be strong willed, intense, and demanding. He is very high energy, extremely smart and articulate, and wildly particular about how things are done. I love these things about him, but had not a skill in my pocket to parent this child.

This is what I learned doesn't work to get Oli to do something not on his agenda or to his liking:

• making it a game
• repetition
  
• reasoning
• explaining
• punishing
  
• yelling
• warning
• time-outs
  
• time-ins
• naughty chairs...worked for a while and then didn't anymore.
  
• taking away toys
• more yelling
• spanking....really not proud of that one.

Praising like a drunk cheerleader (loud, touchy, and often) with points for everything he does "good" and mostly ignoring the "bad" does work.

Sweet, sweet boy is to me returned and I to him. He hugs me more, tighter, and longer. He says to me "hey mama, you are soooo sweet! Come here and give me a hug."

Fabulous

In this, my 30th year, I have made a commitment to be more fabulous.

If I do not, I worry I will be sucked down a spiral of boring, blah, and comfort that can only end in Mom Jeans and scuffed tennies. That is scarier than my very old fear of being too bold, too weird, to "look at me"! My feeling now is "I please me!" because I currently dance to the piper of children and a mortgage every other given moment.

My bossed dubbed my hair "parrot purple and pink". I love it. Love my boss even more for not firing me. I work with students, so I try to sell it as giving me "street cred".
Sometimes I realize a person is staring at me and I wonder why. Then I remember, right-- I have purple hair. But most folks seem to really like it. Not that I care too much... not that I would admit it if I did.

Also on my quest to being more fab: I am getting rid of all my clothes that do not fall into these two categories: It is fabulous and It fits. Why shouldn't I feel great in my clothes everyday?

Hopefully, a side benefit is to prepare me to embarrass my boys properly. Not as a MILF (a full discussion of how stupid that term is requires a separate post) but as the slightly nutty mom who sings and laughs too loud, is not sufficiently invisible in public, and makes some other parents a little nervous -- but always has cool music, good food, and excellent conversation to offer up in exchange.

Maternity leave--- it's the least you can do

Everyone contributes to society's bounty and everyone takes from it. We pour and we dip.

Is maternity leave (12 weeks paid minimum) too much to take?

Is it too much to ask parents to produce children who are well nourished, socialized, ready and willing to learn, compassionate, morally upright but not uptight, non-aggressive but assertive, compliant but not apathetic, height to weight proportionate, psychologically balanced with a healthy body image and self esteem, able to develop and sustain friendships and caring family relationships,properly groomed and suitably dressed, confident but not arrogant, self-reliant but not loners,...am I forgetting anything? Surely!

If you have any hopes for the environment, the national debt, or your social security, you can add ingenious and tenacious problem solvers, capable of global consciousness and forgiveness, and willing to take care of your old, broken ass to the list.

A blank book

I have a beautifully hand bound blank book given to me by a dear and old friend for my 30th birthday. I put it in my sock drawer on a pretty tray. But I haven't written in it. I might think of something clever, quick, or insightful and consider writing on that first page of thick many. But I don't. I am too scared of writing the wrong thing. The first page could determine everything, I assume. I don't want to ruin the book.

Mother Hood of Confessions

Some days, I just do not want to be bothered. At all.

I want to...
Sleep in, then QUIET breakfast with a slow cup of coffee and an uninterrupted crossword. A lazy bath and time with the hubby. A day without anybody needing or wanting something from me. And a night at a posh restaurant and then dancing and drinks.

I love my life. But some days I feel so chipped away. The house is not remotely clean, the baby's not satisfied, the toddler is a drunk monkey with a default, repeating vocab of "no" and "mine". And I just want to sit and eat my egg hot, for chrissakesssssssss.

THEY GET UP AT 5:58 am, 6:07 IF YOU ARE LUCKY. (after waking up at 2:30 and 4:30) and then they want things from you. All day long!!!

I am in the "this too shall pass" zone right now. Trying so so hard (but still not hard enough) not to loose my temper, my manners, or my mind.

I thought I was a nice, peaceful person. I think I was just trained well.
But these buttons found/created by my children are fresh and raw. Worn out. Worn thin.
I have noticed I am a better mom when other people are around. So there must be hope that I can remain a civilized person in the face of great tyranny. Just need to feel someone is watching. Maybe I'll get a nanny cam.