{Originally Posted at Generation Cedar}

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” (John Lennon)

Is it possible, in this noisiest-of-ever-century, that we hardly ever hear, hardly ever see anything much?

Have you ever noticed your world when the power goes off? It’s not just that you can’t check your email… it’s a deafening silence that might drive some crazy if it lasted long enough. All the hums and quiet roars are dead, and we are left with much less–or is it more?

I think if we don’t live on purpose, we won’t live at all. If we don’t see through the daily whir, and hear through the daily buzz, we might just miss the life we were intended to live.

If you’ve lived very long, you know that life isn’t that long. Can we say as someone did,

“I don’t want to get to the end of my life and find that I have just lived the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well.”

It’s not hard, really. It’s not sky-diving and Rocky-mountain climbing…

It’s another warm hug today; choosing to cast a gentle glance in the direction of one you love, rather than a day-worn scowl.

A walk outside, closing your eyes, and raising your face to the warmth of an autumn sky. Saying out loud to your children…”Isn’t this world glorious–the one our Lord created?”

Curling up to read Dr. Seuss again, ending with a tickle. Speaking words of life into someone’s heart.

All these smallish things, woven together over a lifetime make a life well-lived.

{Originally published on Lesbian Dad}

I wake up before 6:00am, with the alarm. Dress fast, leave the house before the kids come to bed. I could count on two hands, maybe one, the number of times I’ve done that before.

Daylight savings time at least enables me to pull away from the house in the rosy-fingered dawn, and not the pitch-darkness.

I nab one of the last parking spots at the First Congregational Church, a good thing, since I don’t know where I’ll be going during the day, and there is precious little easy parking in town. Coffee and donuts arrayed on a table outside the church. A long line stretches outside for people who hadn’t attended the weekend Election Day GOTV trainings there. The rest of us go right up to the door, sign in. Name, cell phone number (to be contacted while out in the field, redeployed, what have you). Where would all this work be without the cell phone, one wants to know.

Folks of all sorts there. Young, old, men, women. All races, but mostly white. But this is Berkeley. I wonder what the other “hubs” look like. Across the room I see a man I met eighteen years ago at an LGBT youth activists’ training conference. Two thoughts: one, he’s aged well. Same mustache, even. Two: thank god he made it through the epidemic.

I’m sent off with two fresh-faced young men to a Presbyterian Church in a professorial neighborhood. It’s none of my business, but I think both of them are heterosexuals. It dawns on me: this is just a straight-up civil rights issue to the young people. Each of us has a grocery bag containing a sign, a stack of “palm cards” with No on 8 essentials on it to distribute (Opposed by: Barack Obama, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Dianne Feinstein, and on down). Included is a small spool of stickers, should anyone want any.

I position myself exactly where the poll captain directs me, and over the course of several hours distribute a handful of cards. It’s quiet at my poll, and I’m grateful. Before 10:00am it’s clear that this battle knocked the wind out of me long before election day. I am there to help – really, have to be — but I have no spirit with which to do it. Many people smile on their way in. As many studiously avoid eye contact. But it feels like we’re tired of it all. Maybe I’m projecting.

One white-bearded man sporting a hippie-batik kufi cap chats with me at length…

{Originally published on Writing My Wrongs}

“Serendipity: to make discoveries, by accident and sagacity, of things not in quest of.” - Wikipedia.org

It’s been two days, and I am still shaking. I still cannot catch my breath. I still feel dizzy and disoriented. I feel drained. Depleted of all my energy.

Ever been in a car accident and end up okay, but also end up shaking and traumatized for a few days? I feel like that.

My breathing becomes more rapid and shallow, and my eyes well with tears just recollecting the events that transpired this past Sunday.

Yes. I visited the amazing powerful Claud. Claud and I met at a diner in the same town that my daughter goes to school in. Of course I knew this. Of course I let her know. Since we have not met face-to-face and only correspond via email, I felt it terribly important to let her know this. Why? Well, I was very concerned that if, by any force of any god, we ran into each other she might think I had become some crazy stalker. I am a bit crazy but I am not a stalker.

My daughter made it clear when we first reunited that she did not want to meet YET. I have not pushed. I have developed the relationship slowly, followed her lead and let things flow as they may. That being said, I won’t deny that I am anxious to meet her. Anxious to sit with her and share coffee, talk books, look at her beautiful face, hear the sound of her voice, listen to her laugh. To touch her again. To be back in the same room with a piece of my soul that left me 20 years ago.

I told her of my visit via email. She did not respond. That was okay. I felt I had done my duty of “warning” her.

Saturday morning I happen to check her away message on AIM. It says “parents”. This confuses me. Was she home for the weekend? Was she sick? Did something happen? On a whim, I check her school academic calendar. I learn that the weekend I will be in town is parents weekend. Her aparents will be there the same time I will. We will all be breathing the same air.

I get nervous. I rethink my plans with Claud. I decide against canceling. I realize I am being foolish. I cannot plan my life around where she is at any given time. I cannot avoid that part of the state simply because she is there.

So, I go. I drive 70 miles to visit Claud. As I enter the town we are meeting in, I cross over a street named Michael Avenue (name changed for privacy). I gasp for air. Its like a tidal wave hits me. I shake. For the past year I have been mailing letters and packages to my daughter’s school on Michael Avenue. I felt like crossing that street was like going over a threshold, opening a gate, passing into some sacred space. Her space.

{Originally published on SUSIEJ}

At my annual check-up this week, my doctor pulled out that little stick, drew the blood like a vampire and certified that I am low in iron levels; a major contributor for my exhaustion. So, together, we worked out a plan of foods, herbs and supplements she approved of, to help me feel energized and happy.

So far, I’ve emailed portions of this list to many friends, other tired women who say the same thing, “I’ll do anything to feel better.” And they mean it.

We’re sick and tired of walking around exhausted, while our kids are running circles around us. So here, is the list, hammered out with the help of my doctor, to bring my energy levels back up to normal. My favorite? The greens… instant energy in a powder. Another benefit — it makes me feel full, so I end up eating less. Enjoy!

1. Herbal Teas: Anemia (low-iron levels in the blood) is common among women, with side affects of fatigue. Your doctor can preform a blood test to find out if you have this or not. If you learn that you are low in iron, one safe way to restore your iron levels — and energy — is through teas made from the following roots; now widely available at whole foods. These herbs are the roots of yellow dock, burdock, dandelion, and Chinese wild yam. Gather a teaspoon of any or all of these dried herbs, and pour boiling water on top, cover and let steep overnight. Strain and drink.
2. Greens: Sometimes, the last thing we need is another supplement; what we really need is healthy nutrition. None of us eat enough greens, yet their full of vital minerals and vitamins. Greens Plus, is a powder that you mix with water or juice, and it provides you with the benefits of greens in one drink. Don’t even bother with the chocolate-flavored powder- it’s horrible. Berry is a much better alternative; but don’t get me wrong, the stuff is not going to be one of your most favorite-tasting beverages; but like most Moms I’ve talked to have said, “I’ll drink anything to feel better.”
3. Carrots: Carrot juice also assimilates iron quickly in your blood stream. Carrot soup, or a vegetable-based soup of carrot and beets, will increase your iron levels naturally.
4. Watch the Tea: Black tea, my favorite bevereage, unfortunately does slow down the absorption of iron. So monitor your intake. So, instead of making yourself another cup of tea in the afternoon, make your self a drink of greens plus.

{Originally published on Foolery.}

The ability to put a child down to sleep for the night is one of the most important skills one can attain as a parent or babysitter. It is also the most elusive one.

Let’s start with bathroom stuff. First up: go to the bathroom. No, not you, though with the amount of time this operation will take, you may want to consider it first.

Get the child to go potty. Plan to run water in the sink for the child to spur her imagination — at least enough water to wash a Suburban with. Don’t be at all surprised if child announces a secondary plan, for which more time and toilet paper will be necessary.

After the toilet is flushed, the child will attempt to escape, but you must INSIST that the child first wash her hands. This usually involves at least as much water as you ran to make her tinkle, and about a quarter of that will end up on the counter and floor.

Before the child can run away, grab her by the waist and say, “Time to brush your teeth!” as brightly yet firmly as you are able with a squirmy, uncooperative and toothbrush-hating child in your grasp. You must let go long enough to uncap the toothpaste. After you’ve experienced once or twice chasing your child through the house while forgetting you have uncapped toothpaste in hand, you’ll be smarter and have the toothbrush loaded and ready to go while she’s washing her hands. This works even better once she has become territorial about the toothpaste, insisting upon doing the squeezing herself. (Don’t sweat the mess; you have to mop up after the hand-washing anyway.)

I like to allow the child to brush her own teeth, emphasizing “Don’t swallow the toothpaste — spit it!” about every five seconds. Plan to be spat upon. It also helps to pick a funny little tune to la-la while you brush her teeth: a personal favorite is the theme music to the old Benny Hill show, Yakkety Sax. This will not be your child’s favorite, however.

{Originally Published on Recovering Straight Girl}

The smell of fall is in the air here in the Pacific Northwest. I’m not really ready to let summer go but fall is my favorite time of the year. More than January 1st, fall feels like the time to begin again–a new year–a new time of possibilities.

We’ve had a fun summer and I’m beginning to be ready to dive in to the world again. I’ve been cleaning things up in my office, my home, and in my head. Taking stock of what I have, what I need, and what to do next. It’s a little exhausting at times, but I know it will all pay off in the end.

I was having some apprehension about starting school again. HG and I decided that changing schools would be a good idea and I applied to the school I want to attend last spring but did not follow up on my admittance until just last week. I think I was having anxiety about it and figured if I put it off too long I could just take some online classes at the community college I attended last term. But I did decide to follow up and did send them the info they needed and did register for classes as a non-admitted student until everything is processed. Yesterday I filled out all of the financial aid info that I know they will need as soon as everything is processed, cleaned out all of my files, recycled an entire garbage can of paper, and got ready to mail two important items that will (yes, Universe, WILL) bring me some money.

I’m making room for great things to come my way.

In a few hours I will pick up my father from the airport for his visit here with us. I don’t think that I realized just how anxious I am about this visit until I woke up this morning at 2:30 a.m. and couldn’t go back to sleep. Usually when something is coming up that I’m not sure about I just put it aside and deny it awhile. It works out for me actually, because I think while I have it set aside in my denial I somehow process through it a little bit.

This visit brings up a lot of things for me. Obvious things like Why Now? Why Now, after all this time, does my father want to come and visit? I’m glad he does and I’m very much looking forward to it but I still hear that voice in my head that says, “What’s wrong with me that he didn’t want to come before?”

{Originally published on Surely You Nest}

Well, my friends. It’s that time of year again. Time to snap those wallets shut and think about the true meaning of the holidays (even if you are not religious). I really love tradition, and celebrating with my family and friends. And usually, making the green choice involves having forethought and carefully planning how to tackle an event. So here are a few successful strategies I’ve found for limiting the giving-and-getting beast over the upcoming holiday season. Consider this a to-do-list for myself for the fall.

Halloween

• Make our costumes; the more I can upcycle the better (signed up for a basic sewing class!)
• Buy pre-packaged treats to offer kids at the door (I just ordered fair trade chocolates from Global Exchange) including non-food options like stickers and pencils, but make (more alluring) homemade stuff for the kids we know — like caramel apples or silly looking cookies
• Get my kids to collect for Unicef
• Order kit to educate adults about fair-trade chocolate issues (from Global Exchange - deadline is Oct. 1 for groups and Oct. 13 for individuals)
• Make our decorations (ghosts out of tissues or handkerchiefs, paper-and-paint old-school decor)
• Head out to the country for apple picking, hay rides, and selecting the perfect jack o’lantern from the pumpkin patch
• Have a blast carving pumpkins and eating roasted pumpkin seeds

pregnant woman: Hey! I’m pregnant!

friend/relative/co-worker/near-stranger: Congratulations! When are you due?

pregnant woman: On [insert super-specific and official-sounding date here]. We’re really excited!

friend/relative/co-worker/near-stranger: Wow; that’s great. Do you know what you’re having yet?

pregnant woman (according to personality and sarcasm level): We don’t know yet. OR A little boy! OR A little girl! OR Gee, I don’t know; a human baby, we hope.

The thing is, though, that the ‘due date,’ or Estimated Date of Delivery (EDD), or EDC (Estimated Date of Confinement), is an incredibly problematic little piece of information. For most people, it’s a
flat-out guess at the date that would be 38 weeks (266 days) after the date of conception, or (even less reliably) 40 weeks after the first day of the pregnant woman’s last menstrual period. The little
wheel-of-due-dates is based on Naegele’s Rule, which was developed in the 1830s; some studies have suggested that other methods of dating (including Nichols’ Rule and the much more nuanced Mittendorf-Williams Rule) are more accurate.

If you don’t keep track of your ovulation and sexual encounters and can’t remember exactly when you started your last period because you are freakin’ busy or not good with dates, or if you have an unusual or irregular menstrual cycle that means you don’t ovulate when Textbook Female Body ovulates, the due date is more fantasy than reality.

{originally published on Because I’m The MOM}

When I started this blog I wanted it to be about my family, one of whom has special needs. What I didn’t want was a Special Needs Blog. I realized though, that to ignore Thomas’s story altogether means that there are things I can’t say because they wouldn’t make sense. So here you go.

When I got pregnant with Thomas I was considered high-risk because I was 36. My ob-gyn suggested that I have the 11-week Nuchal Translucency Test. No problem, I thought, this just goes along with being a little older. I have to say though, that every time someone said “advanced maternal age” within earshot I wanted to smack them sideways and shout “I’m not FIFTY for God’s sake. I’m 36! I’m YOUNG.”

About 2 minutes into the test I saw the sonographer’s face go still and she got very quiet. Not a good thing. She summoned the doctor, a very kind man with a very serious face, and he told me that there was a 50% chance there was something genetically wrong with my baby. Probably something like Down’s Syndrome. My husband and I were devastated, of course, and thus began my running of a veritable gauntlet of tests for the next 24 weeks. The thing is, EVERY SINGLE TEST came back normal. Chorionic Villus Sample? Normal. Multiple in-utero echocardiograms of Thomas’s heart? Normal. Ultrasound after ultrasound? Normal. The doctors were elated, but deep inside I knew there was still something wrong.

{Originally published on Baby On Bored}

Let me just start by saying if you have an ultrasound picture of your baby stuck on your refrigerator with a magnet, you’re not someone I want to be friends with. And if you have someone else’s baby’s ultrasound picture up there, well, that’s just a cry for help. I’m never sure what I’m supposed to say when confronted with this. “Wow, that’s one sexy fetus?” I got pictures from my ultrasound too but I didn’t wallpaper the house with them. Isn’t it bad enough that we have to see a million pictures of your baby after it’s born? Now we have to see what it kinda sorta looks like before it even comes out?

I knew early on in my pregnancy I wasn’t like other pregnant women. When my husband and I went for my ultrasound, (yes, he came with me: there was like a 95% percent chance he was the dad we figured he should tag along), the first thing the nurse asked me was if I’d brought a video tape. A video tape? I must’ve looked confused because she explained to me “most people want to take home a souvenir of this magic event.” I nodded and said “Yeah, I definitely won’t need that. I’m barely on board with the whole pregnancy thing as it is.” To which the nurse replied that she was reporting me to social services. Okay, she didn’t say it out loud but I could see it in her stare.

Clearly there are many many people who do opt for the ultrasound video. If you are one of them, just know - I don’t want to see it. Oh, and that goes double for your skydiving video. About the only way I’d ever be interested in watching footage of your big jump …is if you don’t make it. It’s like the world is chock full of people with no clue of their capacity to be irritating. And pregnancy just magnifies it.

Pregnant women seem to take one of two paths when they get knocked up, although — being annoying– they’d probably refer to it as a “journey.”

First there’s the woman who loooooves being pregnant. You know her. She’s so excited to join the Cult of Mommy that she’s taking pregnancy yoga before the before the stick turns blue. Anyone who revels this much in being pregnant is suspect in my book…