The Musings of a Defiant Mother

koyaanisqatsi

2009-02-05T07:49:00.000-08:00

And so it has begun. The tantrums. The complete meltdowns upon having things not go her way which leaves her lying on the floor screaming like a banshee. The hesitance to use her words the majority of the time although she sure as hell says the word "NO" clear as day. Usually over and over, like "no no no no no nooooooo". The utter disregard for my repeated attempts to stop her from what she's doing. The intense eye contact and defiant eyes as I'm saying, "Monkey, do NOT do that" while she continues on her way. The "I want what I want and I want it now" attitude commonly referred to as "the terrible twos". (sigh) I knew it was coming. But you're never really prepared are you?

I should state up front that I do not believe in strict discipline. I also do not believe in withholding love and attention. I would never feel comfortable with shutting her in a room and allowing her to cry herself to calmness. To me, that seems that it would illicit the exact opposite reaction of what I'm going for which is for her to always feel loved, secure and able to express herself - even if they aren't warm and happy emotions. I realize this acting out is just part of her development and a lot of it stems from frustration that she is unable to express any other way.

Many people, I'm sure, would think "Okay, fine, then you'll raise a brat". I do not, however, believe in "giving in" to what she wants. I will not allow her to get her way but I will grab her and hold her tightly and express that I realize she is upset at the moment but I'm not going to let her go until she calms down. And I will get down to her level and make eye contact and attempt to soothe her. And even though it doesn't always work I don't walk away from the interaction feeling guilty or feeling that I didn't truly hear her or allow her to feel that she was heard.

And as I was struggling with this over the past few weeks I began thinking back to the our travels. I remember so clearly seeing women in Southeast Asia and in Africa with babies tied onto their backs who were walking along the side of the road and working in fields and standing in crowded buses and not once did I see a toddler have a tantrum. Nor did I see a toddler squirming to get down or doing anything except being mellow and watching the world for a passenger's point of view. I even commented to Mr. Egg from time to time - how are these kids so well-behaved??

I stumbled across this interesting article which really made a lot of sense to me. It was written from a sociological viewpoint about an indigenous tribe in South America. Basically the gist is that most cultures (i.e: not Western culture) are not child-centered. Meaning, although they do keep their children is close physical contact they do not spend much time giving their children direct attention. The children are allowed to go through life as passive observers until they begin to walk and then explore the world on their own. The parents will occasionally give them attention in the form or a hug or kiss or singing songs but for the most part the parent goes about his or her business while the child is simply along for the ride.

Now, I have always subscribed to the idea of wearing Monkey. Ever since she was born. Even now although she's nearly 2 I still wear her instead of using a stroller. So I thought, what's the difference here? I've worn her when I was doing dishes or starting on dinner or hiking through the forest or wandering the aisle of the co-op. But I realized that a lot of the day - I just don't have that much to do. Sure there is some stuff to do. But unlike most people all over the world I don't have to work from dawn until dusk to simply provide the basics. I, we as a society, have it pretty damn easy. So we have more down time. Idle time. Time in which our kids are wondering what to do with themselves because we're wondering what to do with ourselves.

So we busy ourselves and take them to parks and kids museums and gymnastics and this or that and try to cram so much into a day to feel "productive". When maybe the simple answer is that we're just out of balance. We have strayed so far from what nature intended that it's spilling over into areas such as our child's behavior and development. Maybe, although our way of life is decidedly easier, we are doing more harm than good for our kids. Obviously there are many positives to a more modern world. But do those positives outweigh the negatives? I'm not sure I agree with that. Thoughts?

woman like a man

2009-01-22T20:23:00.001-08:00

The first time I met her I admit I was intimidated. Although she had a sweet and welcoming smile and a surprisingly soft voice she had short spiked hair that was tri-colored and a face full of metal. She wore the same tan colored Carhartt overalls every day, the shoulder straps covered in political and band buttons, with a various nearly threadbare t-shirt underneath. She was an outspoken dyke vegan activist who was into whisky, poker and punk rock. We worked together at a drop-in center for homeless youth and as the months slid by we became friends and hung out often. Most of our time was spent playing drinking games at her kitchen table while we flirted openly. Even in front of my girlfriend at the time. Yeah, I'm an asshole.

There was always a tangible attraction to her even though she was not my usual "type". She was also very aggressive and open about her sexuality. Since her teen years she had been heavily involved in the SMBD movement in San Francisco. Her previous lover wrote a book about, and held workshops on, fisting. And Aliah was her "model". Aliah was involved with a group up here which held monthly sex parties in random warehouses. Although I nearly went once, it fell through. My girlfriend wasn't down with the idea. Well, actually, she agreed to go but wouldn't let me go by myself. And, honestly, that would prohibited me from playing so I said we weren't going. A fight ensued but in the end it was best.

Fast forward 5 years. When I moved back to Humboldt during my pregnancy with Monkey a friend and I went out to the beach for some driftwood collecting. We strolled along the beach for half a mile or so before finding a spot to set down our blanket. As we were talking about various friends we'd known since our days at the drop-in center she kept referring to Ali this, Ali that. "He" said this or "he" did that. After the fourth or so time I stopped her and said, "Wait. dude. Who are you talking about?". "ALI!", she said. Pause. A light seemed to click on in her head. "Oh yeah! You've been gone through all of this. Well, Aliah is now Ali. And a he. Well, he wanted to be "they" but too many people had trouble with that. So. "They" is what is preferred. But "he" is okay. just not "she"." I think I stared at her with my mouth hanging open slightly as I tried to process what she just spoke. Hey, I'm one of the most open-minded person when it comes to such things but I'll admit it threw even me. It took nearly a year before I could remember to not refer to Ali as "she". I even still slip up sometimes though never in front of him, thank goodness! I have another transgendered friend out here as well, the ex of another friend from back in the day. But I've known him as a "he" so it wasn't a difficult transition for me.

I mention this because as I was lying in bed last night I started thinking about sexuality and the restrictions so many people like to place on it. I, personally, don't really understand what it would be like to feel that I'm "in the wrong body" but it doesn't mean I can't attempt to imagine what it would be like. Luckily I live in an area that is extremely accepting of transgendered people but I think of youth growing up in small towns of righter-leaning viewpoints and it's no wonder so many kids end up killing their self.

One of the things I always loved about Thailand was the acceptance and inclusion of the "lady boys". They're everywhere. In big cities and small towns alike. And they are just accepted by Thai people. It's not even an issue. It just IS.

When I see a transgendered person I wonder about them. Their lives. Their family and friends. What their experience has been like and how much courage it took to live the way they feel more comfortable. I wonder how many people look at them in disgust and shock and obvious judgment and what it does to their souls. Have they just learned to ignore it or does it still hurt? Each and every look. I wonder if the smiles or nods counter the other stuff. Do they have a family to go home to every night? A partner to love them as they are?

What do you think when you cross paths with transgendered people?

manhole of memories

2009-01-08T07:42:00.000-08:00

"There are very few human beings who receive the truth,
complete and staggering, by instant illumination.
Most of them acquire it fragment by fragment,
on a small scale, by successive developments,
cellularly, like a laborious mosaic." - Anaïs Nin

4 years. 4 years I have carried his ghost around with me. 4 years he has invaded my head, my heart, my life, reaching around every corner and lingering in shadows. Even during periods when I felt his hold over me losing its power I could still feel him weighing heavily on the part of me that usually remains hidden and guarded. My inability to release the memories have infiltrated my relationship with my partner and in some ways even my relationship with my daughter. Because as it's affected my relationship with myself on so many levels it has bled over into other areas. Not only have I carried this around with me but, by association, Mr. Egg has as well. He has seen me struggle and was more supportive than most yet imagine how devastating it must be to witness the love of your life trying to move past the love and passion she had for her previous lover. I never fully got that. I was so immersed in my own pain and grieving that I never fully understood what that was doing to him. To us. Nor did I realize how much of this was suppressing my love for him or, more specifically, my ability to allow myself to feel it.

Sometimes epiphanies occur spontaneously. They come seemingly out of nowhere to rock your world into a new direction. But sometimes they are proceeded by years of searching...questioning...actively seeking the truth. I have wrestled with those several months I spent living with D in Manhattan. I have turned every word, glance and action inside out. Flipped them upside down. Over and over and over again. Answers came slowly. My ability to see the truth came even more slowly. Piecing it all together, little by little, I finally arrived at the end. It was sudden on the one hand, releasing something that has held parts of myself hostage for so long. Something that I thought I would never, could never, move beyond. But the more I look at it from a distance I see how this was certainly a long time coming.

In the late hours of yesterday evening I arrived at the end of a trail that ended long ago. I see how I allowed myself to trip through that forest long after I lost my way. I continued to wander deeper and deeper in. But in that wandering I learned a lot about myself. The way I love. The way I hide from love. The walls I erect and smash into time and again. And, not to take away from the heartbreak I experienced, but maybe a large part of me clung onto this "lost love" for so long as a way to avoid opening to my new love. My true love. The love that exists with the man I share my bed with every night and wake to every morning and fight with and talk with and stress with and laugh with and cry with. The father of my child who has seen me through my worst moments as well as some of my best.

And when I woke this morning, and sleepily shuffled down the hall towards the light of the bathroom I heard Mr. Egg brushing his teeth and knew instantly that Monkey was on her stool trying to stick her hand under the faucet as she giggled with glee, I felt lighter. And joyous. And as I stood in the dark hallway gazing into the bathroom at my family I felt tears in my eyes. It was almost as if I was seeing them for the first time and the love in my heart was overwhelming.

I will not say that I will never again feel a twinge when I think of D. Or that the heartbreak I experienced wasn't strong and real and life-altering. But the memories no longer reside with such fullness. They are filed away with the many other lessons I have had in this life which have left me a bit more battered and bruised. They exist side by side now, the various shapes fitting together to form the bigger picture. No more and no less.

imagine all the people

2009-01-06T11:51:00.000-08:00

Steven H------ Finds the acts of anti-semitism occurring in Europe disgusting. Did the memory of the Holocaust fade?

Mr.Egg: don't confuse anti-Zionism with anti-Semitism

Steven: Mr. Egg, stop reading about the suffering of Gaza and take a look at attacks on synagogues occurring in Europe.

Random guy I don't know: Mr. Egg, when the Dutch are chanting "Jews to the gas," it has nothing to do with Israel or Zionism. It is anti-Semitism. When the Belgians are firebombing Jewish homes in Antwerp, it is anti-Semitism. When Jewish graves, synagogues, and institutions are vandalized, it is anti-Semitism, not anti-Zionism. Israel is the *excuse* for European and Islamic anti-Semitism, not the *reason*.

Me: this is a really good article. I think though, that keeping things in perspective, Muslims face much higher levels of prejudice in this day and age. And in Europe especially, the anti-Islamic vibe is much stronger - most clearly in Holland and France. And even you, Steven, have made many comments that are blatantly anti-Islamic. So it's okay for you to be anti-Islamic but not for others to be anti-Semitic?

That is just the tip of the iceberg. My Facebook has been blowing up in comment sections and responses to statuses and generally everywhere since Israel launched their offensive against Hamas. It's reached the point where I am getting angry.

I have no patience left for Jews defending Israel simply out of some sort of sense of entitlement or being "chosen".

I have no patience left for fundamentalists who consistently choose to exclude themselves from society then turn around and bitch that said society treats them as outsiders.

I have no patience left for being labeled an anti-Semite just because I disagree with Israel's policies and have issues with the exclusionary attitude of most Orthodox Jews or even the many completely secular Jews I know who will defend with their last breath their "nation".

I am tired of having the Holocaust card played time and again in conversations that have nothing to do with the Holocaust (as the guy did above). Yes, it was horrible and sickening and no we never want it to happen again. But you're going to bring it up now, 60 years later, when we're discussing a flaming car which was driven into the gate of a synagogue causing no harm to anyone? How is that logical?

I realize this sort of mentality is not exclusive to the Jewish people but people all over the world, no matter the reasons for division it is pervasive and encapsulating.

I understand being proud of your culture and your ancestors and in no way do I mean to take away from that but at what point are people going to start coming together as simply human beings? When will we finally be able to strip away religion and nationality and ethnicity and sexuality and all the ways we choose to categorize ourselves; allowing us to cling to these cloistered groups which make us feel safe and comforted while providing haven for a separatist mentality rife with hostility, partiality and elitism?

I truly believe that is the next evolution for humankind, we either evolve into harmony with one another or we will kill ourselves dropping bombs and turning this planet into a war zone. We are on the precipice here and I don't know which way we will go. For every time I am beginning to feel hopeful there is something else equally abysmal.

harm here is harm there

2008-12-30T07:50:00.000-08:00

In the spring of 2006 Mr. Egg and I flew from South Africa to Israel. We were hassled and questioned like terrorists and had our luggage searched and nearly missed our flight. Why? Who knows. Maybe because Mr. Egg could pass for an Arab. Maybe because we looked like dirty hippies. Maybe because I blinked my eyes one too many times. I had heard that El Al's security was tighter than any other airline in the world but didn't quite get it until I experienced it firsthand. It was a rather hostile introduction to our arrival in Israel.

We spent a week in Tel Aviv with my former roommate from NYC, Liba. When we packed up and left our apartment on Manhattan's Upper East Side Mr. Egg and I took off for Hong Kong and Liba left for Israel. She had spent a year there after high school and always longed to return. The plan was for her to get there, find a job, make some contacts and then return to the US and then make aliyah. As it turns out she never officially made the move, she's still there working in a bar and making her art and going back and forth between Tel Aviv and NYC in order to keep her status there legal.

Although I was excited to be in Israel, a land I had always wanted to see, I couldn't help but feel out of place given my views concerning the Israeli and Palestinian conflict. I tried to keep my thoughts to myself, not wanting to offend anyone. And, given my personality and passion about things I believe strongly in, it was only a matter of time until I could hold it in no longer.

One day when Liba and I were having dinner at this trendy little sandwich shop on Lilenblaum St. I could no longer keep silent about it. She made some offensive comment about Palestinians which broke the dam and it all came flooding out. I tried every reason I knew to be logical to show her why Israel was in the wrong;

The HUGE fact that Israel is illegally occupying Palestine and has been since 1967. Maybe that has something to do with why so many Palestinians consistently turn to violence. They feel it is their only option to fight the oppression.

How would you react if your home was demolished right before your eyes? and you were starving because funds have been stopped to your people because you voted in a way the Israelis did not agree with? and you held your child in your arms who was bleeding to death from getting caught in the crossfire and the ambulance that was trying to reach you to save his or her life was fired at and blocked from reaching you?

The Palestinians have been made second-class citizens in their own land and are living under oppression daily.

Israelis have annexed their land, built illegal settlements, build Israeli-only roads between the settlements and even are given priority to the natural resources in the areas, i.e.: water.

I asked Liba how she would feel if she was faced with that. She claimed she was, every day, simply by being Jewish. She knew oppression, her people had been oppressed since the beginning and they persevered. And now you think it's your turn to be the oppressors?, I countered.

I seem to have these same conversations over and over with the majority of my Jewish friends. Even those who aren't religious seem to have this intense support of Israel, no matter what the state's crimes are. I cannot wrap my head around the idea that it's a good idea for the US to provide aid to a nation that is in violation of the UN's Resolution 242 but also that the we are in violation of our own laws: The US Foreign Assistance Act (FAA) and the US Arms Export Control Act (AECA) strictly forbid the government from giving military assistance to any country that violates internationally recognized human rights. Or that by giving money and arms to Israel, who then turns around and sells billions of dollars worth of arms to India to fight Pakistan, the US is essentially funding two nations on the brink (or over the edge as the case may be in Israel and Palestine) of war.

What is the answer? I'm not sure what the answer is. A second state? Quite possibly. And it's also possible that there is nothing to be done and the violence will continue to escalate until there is a complete genocide on either side. But until Israel makes that first step of discontinuing their illegal occupation nothing else matters.

Until the Palestinians have their land and their rights back they will fight to the death for it. I would like to think everything could be achieved peacefully but to be honest, I'm not a pacifist and although I think peaceful means should be tried first if they don't work I understand the desire to grab a weapon and fight for what it yours. For your basic human rights. I realize it just perpetuates the cycle but what are you other options when you have tried everything?

from the rush back to the calm

2008-12-29T07:49:00.000-08:00

The night before we were to head down to the Bay Area Mr. Egg called his sister to confirm the time of our arrival. From where I sat in the living room the call from his end sounded like this:

Yo' sis, you ready? (pause) Yeah, we're not leaving until after I get off work so don't expect us until 10-11. (pause) How's the unpacking coming? (pause) Is J already at mom's? And Auntie? (pause) -I interject and say, Dude, remind her we're bringing the dog- Yup well we'll see you tomorrow, we're bringing our dog and our baby. (pause) Oh, uh, I thought this was already talked about. (pause) Yep, well we'll figure something out, bye.

Wtf, I ask? Turns out her husband said "no fucking way" to the dog coming. I assured him I had informed her of this over a month ago. But in the midst of their moving just before the holidays it was forgotten amongst the madness. And at that late point our options were what? Nada. So we spent the rest of the night scrambling and trying to find a cheapish hotel to stay and thought we were going to have to just blow it off and stay home. Plus and minuses to both going and staying. Mainly the staying option caused guilt for Mr. Egg as his mother was so excited to have all her children and grandchildren there for Christmas. Stress levels were running high. By the next morning his sister had emailed to say they'd work it out and 2 hours before we had planned to leave his BIL called to explain his side and that it would be cool and we should come down as planned. By the end of our first evening there? He loved our dog so much he was offering money if we would leave him there.

So the week played out as most family holidays do - plenty of food and LOTS of alcohol and not enough sleep and excited children and healthy sprinklings of bickering and reminiscing and frustration and contentment and everything in between. Monkey had her moments of sheer terrible toddlerdom as well as those in which she giggled and smiled and wrapped everyone around her finger. Overall it went better than expected and although at times tensions ran high we came away feeling glad we went (I think).

We also managed to sneak in some time with friends, though not as many as we would have liked. We departed from the family festivities Saturday afternoon and drove south to spend that night with friends. Monkey and M played and we all talked and talked and talked some more and ate food and drank beer and wine and stayed up talking some more once the girls were asleep. They gave up their bed for us and slept horribly because of it and when morning came we drank some coffee and I took away a box of their things they are trying to find homes for and we all hugged and said our goodbyes and best wishes and by the time we reached the end of their road I was in tears. Because though I am happy and excited for their beginning chapter I think the reality of it hit me and there is a mixture of joy for them and sadness a bit for me because although I know we will meet again when and where are unknown and it may be longer than I would like. But as I have traveled and moved and traveled and moved again and connected with people on deep levels I have learned that we weave in and out of each others stories as the timing fits and it's never really goodbye it's just see you around the Universe in the most unexpected places.

On our way back home that Sunday morning we stopped in Berkeley to visit friends Mr. Egg has known and loved for over 20 years. We had brunch on their back deck in the beautiful sunshine while Monkey and their son ran around the yard with the 4 dogs and played in their sand pit and fort and time was short, as it always is, and the couple of hours passed by much faster than we would have liked but it was time to hit the road for our long journey home.

And as we arrived home last night as dark was setting in and we unloaded the kid and the dog and the presents and dirty clothes we were exhausted and drained. And this morning it's back to our usual day to day stuff and with that it's time to change a poopy diaper.

Living just north of Who-ville

2008-12-21T08:23:00.000-08:00

"I know we're doing Christmas this year with your mom and family since last year we were with my mom in London for Monkey's first Christmas but what do you think about not celebrating Christmas anymore after this year?"

"Uh....What? I don't want to talk about it."

"Why, though?? It makes no sense. We are not Christians, we don't even believe in God, in fact. And we both despise the consumer aspect of it. Strip that all away and what do you have?"

"DUDE. I am NOT going to talk with you about this right now."

"I don't get it. What are we supposed to tell Monkey it's all about? Little baby Jesus? It's speculated he was born in the summertime anyway. And buying shit just for the purpose of buying shit? We can celebrate a holiday, why don't we just do Solstice. It's about the winter season and family and love and giving, etc. Christmas was just Solstice co-opted by the Christians as an attempt to convert all the Pagans!"

"C, puh-leeze! I told you I'm not going to talk about this!"

"Fine, dude. Night." (I stormed off the bed)

The next morning when I woke Mr. Egg was in the kitchen pouring boiling water into our French press. When he saw me stumble into the living room, sleepy eyed in my robe, he said, "Are you over it yet, grump?". I responded I was only trying to have a conversation with him about an aspect of our family's future and don't understand why he wouldn't have a conversation with me about it. "Because, dude, it's not something you talk about just days before Christmas. It's very un-Christmas-like. It's decidedly Grinch-like. You want to talk about this, fine, but we'll do it after Christmas."

It's not as though I didn't have wonderful childhood memories of Christmas. Every year, the day after Thanksgiving my mother trekked into the attic or basement and pulled out our boxes and boxes of decorations. The stereo pumped out Christmas carols nearly 24/7. We went to midnight Mass (we only went to church on the big holidays, mainly Christmas and Easter, at times Ash Wednesday). The air was filled with the smells of my mother's yearly baking frenzy. We decorated the tree as a family, always one of the biggest trees on the lot that left barely enough room to place the angel without scraping the ceiling. I believed in Santa until I was about 8 and although it was a crushing blow when I discovered the truth I had enjoyed the years of magic and mystery. A part of me will always hold a special place in my heart for the Christmas of my childhood.

But for me now as an adult? Christmas represents so much of what I want to leave behind. And even more I've become increasingly bitter about how pervasive Christmas is, for months beforehand now it winds its way into every aspect of every day and it's unavoidable. I met my friend at the bar the other night for a couple of drinks and as we were in the middle of a discussion about Christmas and how annoyed we are that it's constantly shoved down our throats a group of carolers wound they way through the bar, complete with reindeer ears and Christmas lights wrapped around their bodies, and they were loud and obnoxious and Sprout and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes, like, SEE!! It's the assumption by the majority of Americans that everyone celebrates Christmas. I'm not hating on those who love Christmas and want to celebrate, awesome, do it. But don't push it on me or my family and don't give me those awful looks like I'm depriving my daughter. I was in the market with Monkey the other day and this woman comes up when she witnesses Monkey throwing a tantrum (because I won't let her play with the delicate glasses on the shelf) and leans down to her level and says, "You should be a good girl or Santa won't bring you any presents!". I eyed her in disbelief and said, "We don't do Santa, especially not as a fear tactic". She looked at me like I was the worst mother in the world.

And in a couple of days we're driving down to the Bay Area for the week to spend the holiday with Mr. Egg's family. He has family flying in from as far away as Montreal and it will be the first time in years that his entire immediate family will be together for Christmas. I will bite my tongue and smile and eat the food and drink the alcohol and enjoy watching Monkey play with her cousins and try to keep my political and spiritual ideology to myself. But come next year? And the years after that? We will be celebrating the winter season in a new way.....if I can just get Mr. Egg on board with it :)

We both know it was a girl back in Bethlehem

2008-12-11T22:34:00.000-08:00

I swore I wasn't having any issues at all when Mr. Egg came home yesterday and said, "Dude, you're in total freak mode" as I flitted about our home cleaning crevices and pacing nervously. And today when we drove the 20 miles to our tiny joke of a county airport I played it cool. And dudes, I drove in my minivan (which I LOVE, but that is a post for another day) to pick her up and Monkey fell asleep en route and once I pulled into short term parking my dad offered to run in and check the arrival board. I offered to do it while he waited in the car with the sleeping child. As soon as I put the van in park I knew I wanted to go into the bar and have a beer. So I offered to go in, that was my logic although it wasn't shared.

I went into the airport and headed straight to the bar. I ordered a beer and downed it in less than 5 minutes. Luckily the bar was set up with windows overlooking the runway so I could see when the plane landed, it's such a small airport there are only a few flights a day. I saw a plane land and guzzled the rest of my beer and headed downstairs to the one arrival gate. I waited as the tiny jet set up their stairs and the people began to file off. My eyes were searching for an old, short, round lady but nobody was fitting that description. It turned out this was not the flight I was looking for, the one I was waiting for was arriving a few minutes later. My first thought? Dude, I could totally be having another beer right now. Less than 10 minutes later I see my grandmother. She is not walking towards the arrival gate but being pushed in a wheelchair. My heart drops a bit. It hasn't been that long since I've seen my Gram. Over two years, to be sure, the last time was when I was in my first trimester with Monkey. But to see her in a wheelchair? A shock. She was wheeled through and we made small talk as we waited for her luggage. We all piled into the van and headed home, picking up my step-father along the way and all had lunch at my house. My dads left to return to work and I spent the afternoon with my Gram.

Monkey stole her heart and climbed all over her and I did my best to entertain the both of them and refrain from getting too intimate or political with her. As the hours passed my tongue loosened. I began cooking dinner and opened a bottle of wine and then Mr. Egg came home which broke the ice a bit more.

It's complicated with my Gram. I always felt like a disappointment. I've always been unconventional and she's very mainstream. She's very conservative and Catholic. She was a nun, dudes. For a couple of years in her late teens. We are coming from such different places. She shops at Wal-Mart on a daily basis. She lives off of pharmaceuticals, carbonated sugar water and boxed meals filled with msg. She nearly hyper-ventilated when we told her there wasn't a Wal-Mart here. And when she made the comment, "Oh you must be behind the times up here" and we responded "No, it's a choice. They wanted to build here but the community successfully fought them out", she just couldn't wrap her head around it.

I made a beautiful, fresh meal made with mostly organic and local ingredients (four cheese polenta with a salad of red leaf lettuce with walnuts, feta, apples, dried cranberries and apple gouda sausage) and as I set the plate before her she said, "I'm definitely trying something new tonight". She enjoyed it and I loved that she expanded her palate and maybe it expanded her world a bit.

Mr. Egg bounced to bed early and we stayed up talking about family stuff and secrets and motherhood and birthing and varying lifestyles and religion and anything else you can think of. I listen quietly as she tells me of my cousins back home on the Gulf Coast and instead of the usual disdain I feel over things like a cousin who shot off the leg of his mother's fiance or the cousin and his wife who were both arrested for domestic violence while their daughter is dealing with neuroblastoma or my favorite aunt who was so traumatized by Katrina that she can't leave her home and is on more than a dozen medications which still leave her unable to function properly. All I thought in these moments of her relaying details, although most of the time I write them off with barely a shrug of my shoulders, is that regardless of how much I find their lives disdainful they are my family and I love them and a part of me will always miss the connection we all had in childhood.

I come from a large family. My father was one of 9 and my mother was one of 7. I have 26 first cousins. All of whom lived near me whilst growing up. We had large family gatherings during holidays and although I have no siblings a couple of my cousins fill that role. But since I branched out on my own and left Louisiana I rarely have much contact with any of my family left behind. To be honest, I often feel better than the majority of them. And when I have returned home to visit I know they have felt that although I have tried my best to hide my feelings of superiority. It's not just because they live in trailers. It's not just because they live off of food stamps. It has to do with that fact they most of them continually act in ways that bring to mind Jerry Springer guests. The white trash lifestyle has absolutely nothing to do with money. People who have all the money in the world can still act in ways that place them in the decidedly shallow end of the gene pool which seems to render them unable to function in a rational and evolved manner.

I actually managed to get my Gram to admit these faults, for the first time in my life. And as we spoke about mothering and the various aspects of how much it affects one's self and life I felt, for the first time in my life, a real connection with her. One that ventured far beyond anything I had felt for her before. The older I get the more I find our relationship deepening.

She spoke at length about her more-than-poor Cajun upbringing in the Louisiana swamp with 11 siblings and a drunken father who died when she was 5. She told me about sharing a bed with four of her sisters and how cold it was in the winter, that if they left a glass of water by their bed it would be frozen by the time they woke up because there was only one heater in the house and it was the stove on which they cooked in the kitchen. She persevered through days where there just wasn't enough food to eat and when she married my grandfather they had 9 kids and managed to do well for themselves. She lacked patience and wasn't the best mother, she admits that, but she did the best she could with the tools she had at the time. She also wasn't always the best grandmother, she's been harsh with me plenty of times and never hid her dislike for my mother.

But, through all of the bullshit and the family drama? She is the only grandmother I've known from my dad's side and she has a good heart. She loves us all and would do anything for us. If I ever turned up on her doorstep she would take me in without a second thought and hug me hard before cooking me up some food. She is here for the next week and I'm absorbing every moment I can. She is 77 and having some serious health problems. She recently got out of the hospital and is basically living with congestive heart failure. I realize this may be the last time I see her. And I know this is most likely the only time Monkey will meet her great-grandmother. So I will soak up this next week and make the most of every moment.

Since I've become a mother the idea of family seems to resonate on such a deeper level than before. And I want to honor that. Regardless of how much our politics differ, I am able to be honest with her, completely, and even if she doesn't agree she listens. And what more can I ask for?

Behind the voice of command

2008-12-03T08:50:00.000-08:00

Yesterday afternoon Monkey scaled the bookshelf to retrieve a large jar of lavender buds which she proceeded to carry to the couch and dump over her head. She didn't stop there but spread it around with her little hands, in every crevice and nook. Where was I? I was doing dishes and oblivious to her stealth-like ability to climb and carry in absolute silence. As I rounded the corner around the bar which separates our kitchen from our living room I stopped. I stood there, mouth hanging open, for a good 15 seconds as she sat up straight and barely moved a muscle as she stared at me with wide eyes. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1....I screamed, "MONKEY!!! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING, DUDE??" as I stormed over and lifted her from the couch and sat her in her chair on the floor. I began cleaning up the mess, hands shaking and she walked over and tried to watch what I was doing. I yelled at her again saying NO NO NO over and over. I didn't even know what to say other than that and eventually I said, "Not cool, dude, not cool!". I was very conscious not to use the word "bad" because it really disturbs me. Like when people say, "No! Bad girl!" - it reminds me of something you say to your dog or something, not your kid. Just because she does something I don't like doesn't make her, or even the action, "bad". It's just not a word I want to incorporate into my disciplining repertoire. She sat back in her chair quietly and waited until I was finished cleaning up to run over and dive into the sofa head first. She sat there and started giggling. I thought to myself, does she even get that I wasn't happy with what she just did? Or did she already accept it and move on and I should take a cue from that?

Thing is, as of late, I've really been examining my reactions to situations. I am a yeller. It's what I do. It's what I've always done. Whenever I lose it over whatever Monkey has done in that moment to warrant an explosion from me, it brings back memories of my childhood and my mother's tendency to yell and I realize I learned it from my parents but that's no excuse, really. I've been in therapy enough years in my life to know all about breaking cycles and choosing how you react to things. I've just become lazy over time and it doesn't help that I always feel rather high-strung and my temper is always simmering near boiling point. So when Monkey does things like the lavender incident or pours her milk all over Mr. Egg's rug he brought home from Turkey years ago and then lays on her belly and tries to suck it out of the carpet (I guess it tastes better that way??) or climbs onto the table to get the pen which she then tries to write on the wall with or she gets up from her training potty in the bathroom and runs into the bedroom and pees all over the bed - I lose my shit.

There is this nagging voice in my head that tells me there are some people with infinite patience who spend all their time baking muffins with their kids and never raise their voice or lock themselves in the bathroom for a few minutes to collect their thoughts. Or at least I'm led to believe, in this society of SuperMoms, that these individuals exist though I'm not sure where they are as I haven't met any. And if they claim to be I think they are liars. I know everyone loses their patience at one point or another and I'm not the only mother out there who yells at their child.

But I've begun to worry about how much yelling is too much yelling. Maybe it's any yelling at all? I don't want to continue this cycle which began with grandparents who knows how many generations ago. Or is it simply the natural human condition, to get angry and yell? I know I balance it with plenty of snuggles and kisses and assuring words and airplane rides and lots and lots of tickles. But in those moments? The ones where I lose control and yell at her and she looks up at me with those sad eyes and quivering lip I feel like the worst mother ever.

What are your thoughts about yelling and how do you cope with it?

wider lens

2008-11-30T12:36:00.000-08:00

After nearly 10 months and over a dozen persistent and nagging pleas I managed to convince her it was the right thing to do. She, along with J & M, finally made the journey nearly 300 miles up Highway 101 to visit us in our cozy little house tucked away behind the redwood curtain. They arrived Friday afternoon, complete with a big tub of toys/books/games for Monkey that M had outgrown, a pumpkin pie and a 10 gallon fish tank containing two fish. One of which has a penchant for not only swimming upside down but simply hanging out at the bottom of the tank belly up. Er. But they swear it isn't dying. At least anytime soon. It will obviously die eventually though. And hopefully it won't be tomorrow.

Overall, the couple of days they were here were filled with good food, lots of laughter, exchanging of thoughts and ideas, some beers and two adorable little girls who forged an equal adoration for one another and went nearly everywhere together. They ran up and down the hall, splashed each other in the bath, wandered the property, took turns throwing the dog his ball and hung all over each other. Photographic evidence of their extreme cuteness? :

Jen and I had a few stolen moments without children hanging on our limbs. In the other moments we connected with each other's girls and just sort of basked in the glow that is children playing and laughing. M is a sheer force of nature, those big wide eyes of hers and crazy thick golden hair. She laughs with her whole body and is the sweetest when being super snuggly and scrunching up her nose while making funny faces. She seemed attached to my hip at times until her affections switched to Mr. Egg who she had wrapped around her little finger. Monkey learned, for the first time, what it was like to share her parents and she was not too pleased about it. Mr. Egg and J hit it off, as they have before, talking about everything under the sun. I am always amazed at how similar they are in so many ways personality-wise. Though I suppose they have both traveled extensively to most of the same places and those experiences have shaped who they are today which could explain a lot of it. They also seem to retain every piece of information they have ever read and are both natural born teachers in the way they pass that information on to other people. It's very interesting listening to their conversations.

Saturday was such a beautiful day and we took advantage of the sunshine and 65 degree weather. We wandered old-growth redwoods forests, crisscrossed a frigid creek bed several times over at the bottom of a canyon covered in ferns which felt entirely prehistoric, came across a herd of elk and ended up at the beach during sunset as the fog rolled in, creating an ethereal and almost alien atmosphere.

As the darkness of night began to set in Jen and J offered to take us to eat at a mexican spot near our house before they got on the road for their long trek home. Once we were back in the car J asked M, "What was your favorite part today? The forest, crossing over the creek, the elk or the beach?" (pause) "The restaurant!", she yelled with a wide grin and equally wide eyes. We all laughed and continued driving across the bay towards the glittering lights of Eureka.

butterfly on her shoulder

2008-11-25T07:14:00.000-08:00

We met at a coffee shop in the French Quarter on a Sunday afternoon. She had found my (at the time) boyfriend's photography portfolio online and contacted him about her desire to enter the modeling world. She wanted to meet him in a public place to discuss ideas and feel him out. I think she felt better when he mentioned he'd bring his girlfriend along. From the instant I met her I felt a strong connection, we discussed travel and shaved heads in our respective pasts. She felt like someone I innately knew, there was a definite soul recognition.

When The Boy went to the bathroom she asked how I felt about him photographing nude women. I shrugged and said it was what it was. I mentioned that he had recently developed a thing for one of his models, which made it harder for me, but at the end of the day I tried to accept it was his art and at least he was home in bed with me every night. She didn't look too convinced. We all parted ways and she said she would call. And call she did. They set up a time for a shoot a couple of weeks later, I went along for the ride into the city although The Boy didn't want me with them because he said I would be a distraction. So I wandered the streets of the Quarter, waiting for them to finish. Then we drove down to City Park where they went off again in the Louisiana summertime heat and I sat on a bench writing in my journal. I began to get the feeling that something was off but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

When The Boy picked up his photos from that shoot we were both in awe. She, May, had something. Those photos were the best ones The Boy had ever taken. I saw it in his eyes, I knew immediately, he was falling for her. They set up another shoot, one at this old junk yard up near The Boy's father's land about 2-3 hours north of where we lived, on the Louisiana/Mississippi border. I asked if I could go along as well, I would take my camera and wander the yard and shoot my own photos of rusted old cars and overgrown grass. The Boy said no. We fought. He went. I cried.

And for the next year or more there were late nights when he came home after I was already in bed, hushed phone calls that ended abruptly when I entered the room, secretive emails that, when I found them, left me throwing my clothes into a bag as I threatened to walk out the door. Even when May left New Orleans and moved to NYC his obsession with her did not lessen. He went to visit her a few months later and while he was gone I decided it was over. There was much more to it, lie after lie on his part, but I channeled so much of it into hatred for May. I blamed her, compared myself to her and believed that I truly hated her with a passion. And yet I would have dreams of her, intense dreams, where we were lying in bed and exchanging whispered secrets. I dreamt that I pulled back a curtain to find her curled on red sheets, crying silently, unable to speak. There were dreams of flowery fields and us as small children, holding hands and laughing. Tire swings and summery afternoons. Confrontational dreams where I screamed that she was ruining my relationship and my life. I would awake from each dream startled yet feeling a draw and a closeness to her that defied the emotions I professed to have towards her, all of which I stated was negative.

She was everywhere I went in the modeling world. Every photographer I worked with, she had worked with. Every model I met, she knew too. We tripped along this same path, connections intertwining, yet never happening to be in the same place at the same time. I always seemed to be just a few steps behind her.

When I finally left The Boy and moved to NYC I had just missed May, she had moved on to Los Angeles. I emailed her one night, emboldened by a few too many beers, and let loose a torrent of emotion. I apologized for all the negative energy I'd directed her way and explained that maybe what hurt me most was that when I first met her I thought there was something between us. She almost immediately emailed me back and spoke at length about how much she had wanted to contact me during my time with The Boy and apologize for anything she did that would make me think she in any way encouraged The Boy's affection for her. I knew that nothing had ever happened between them physically but it did not lessen his feelings for her. I knew she had turned him down and broken his heart. Not that any of that helped me to feel any better at the time as I watched my boyfriend heartbroken over another woman who did not want him while I sat, night after night, in our bedroom attempting to will him to love me like he loved her. We found it interesting that he had kept us apart, kept us from becoming the friends we were destined to become. I think he simply wanted May to himself and knew that if she and I became close and I was always around it would be that much harder for him to play out whatever fantasy was going on in that fucked up head of his when they worked together.

Since I sent that email 4 years ago May has become one of my closest friends. We rarely see each other but it's not necessary. Even if we don't speak for months at a time we pick up right where we left off. There is a comfort and a familiarity that doesn't need assurance. She visited Mr. Egg and me in Louisiana after our RTW travels. We took the boat out on the Tchefuncte and swam in alligator infested waters and later that night Mr. Egg was cool enough not to mind our night long spooning session. There are not many of my friends that Mr. Egg has much affinity for. But May? He loves her.

It's interesting to see where her life has led her. We started out in the same spot just a few short years ago and have had so many similar life experiences it was shocking. It's as though we were both wandering identical paths until they converged for a while and then abruptly split again and sent us shooting off in completely different directions. I shifted my energy to focus on motherhood and my family. She got signed to a major modeling agency and is traveling the world. I get a kick out of it when I'm flipping the channels and see her in some music video on VH1 or as the face for a cosmetic company when I'm flipping through Cosmo at the doctor's office because I'm bored out of my mind and forgot to bring a book and it's either that or some Hunting/Fishing mag.

After spending the last few months in Greece she is back on US soil. She is packing up her place in L.A. and looking for a spot to land. She is coming up here to visit us at some point in the next couple of months but we're trying to talk her into making it a longer stay. She needs some place to call home in between shoots in Milan, Tokyo, Australia and South Africa. But I realize she is a gypsy by nature, rarely landing in one spot for longer than the blink of an eye. She also falls in and out of love suddenly with equal fierceness. She was a large inspiration for a short story I wrote a while back. But it's difficult to tell which parts are her and which are me as we have such similar qualities.

I remember sitting on a dock a couple of years ago overlooking the bayou as sweat dripped down our faces and the beer bottles in our hands. I told her I would never allow myself to fall in love with somebody like her. Like me. Our hearts are too wild. Ever-shifting. It is one of the biggest issues Mr. Egg has had with loving me over the years. I have a difficult time seeing it in myself but when I look at May? I see it and it scares the shit out of me. I watch her move from this place to that, fall in love and exclaim this is THE ONE and then move on just as surely and as quickly, daydream and change plans so often it leaves one's head spinning. I feel that although motherhood has grounded me in some regard those elements remain a part of me, no matter how much I hide them. But no matter how appealing her life may seem to me at times it also reassures me that I'm exactly where I want to be.

subdivision

2008-11-20T19:17:00.000-08:00

We have been searching far and wide for a second vehicle. It has been a definite struggle, for the past 18 months, to share one car. As it works out most days Monkey and I are home without transportation. It's not as if Mr. Egg and I haven't tried to procure another car, we have and we did. We drove up to Oregon about a year ago and purchased an '90 Jetta which took me back to my first car, Rhodey. She was a white 1988 sporty little Jetta and she was a tricky one. I bought her from an older guy at a used car dealership outside of Providence, RI. I was barely 19, working two jobs and attempting to scrape by.

On my birthday I came into some money which was a settlement from my childhood involving a dog attacking my face. It's cool, you can barely see the scars now. So I received my payout on my 19th year and I was tired of walking the 2 miles to each job day after day in the snow plus my cousin and I were planning a roadtrip home to New Orleans for Mardi Gras - I needed a car.

I set out on my search all the while my ex-girlfriend (who, for some reason, wasn't quite getting out of the picture) yelled at me to take someone who knew something about cars with me. I ignored her, of course. I approached it with one thing in mind: did the car look good? I don't mean "good" as in fancy and fully loaded. I mean good as in no dents, no rust, no tears in the seats, etc. I didn't want or need fancy. Just something that worked and didn't look like a piece of shit. I checked out a couple of cars and then found her. She was a manual. She had power nothing. A crappy stereo with not even a tape deck and speakers that crackled. But she looked good to me and I was sold. I did wonder about reliability but was hooked when the old salesman guy who reminded me of my Gramps looked me straight in the eye and said, "This is a good car, right here. I would buy it for my own granddaughter". Yeah, I know. But I was young and naive and blah blah blah. I drove her home.

The next evening, on my way home from work, she stalled at a red light. In the turning lane. Of a busy intersection. In the sleety winter rain. A nice guy helped me push her to the side of the road and she started up fine about 20 minutes later. And so it went, for the next 3 years she was an on again off again vehicle that I sunk thousands into without ever managing to fix that initial problem. She started sometimes, but not always. But she got me cross country a few times and helped me during times of my life when I never got myself into situations that 24 hours and a car couldn't get me out of. She finally gave out and is sitting to this day in my ex's yard in Louisiana, amongst a graveyard of other vehicles, growing moss. It's the South, folks. In the country, no less. Auto body part graveyards are a common occurrence in people's yards.

You would think that after having had such an experience with a Jetta, such an experience that every mechanic I went to told me that VW's were just temperamental cars that tended to have electrical issues, I would have steered clear? Well, you would think. But I did not. We drove 7 hours straight, round trip, to buy this Jetta and the second day - I kid you not - it wouldn't start. The battle began and we tried for a few months and backed off. We have tried intermittently to get the car running again but gave up when it became clear it was nothing more than a money pit. The car has been sitting on the top of our hill for the better part of the last several months.

And a couple of weeks ago we found a great car. A great one. Again, up in Oregon. We left Monkey with my dad for the day and drove the 4 hours to Medford to pick up the RAV4 we'd been coveting for months. It had popped up on craigslist for the right price and we jumped on it. Needless to say it didn't work out, I won't get into the details because I'm still pissed off and bitter. I will say that the owner of that car has some bad fucking karma coming her way.

And now, with Mr. Egg's new work schedule, it's become near impossible to share the car. He's working in two different towns, half day in each, and it would not make any sense for me to drive him around all day, just so I could have the car. So we've been searching. Every day. The problem is the lack of vehicles up here and what they do have tends to be extremely overpriced, there just isn't the competition to keep things low. I will say that we only are looking to buy from private parties, dealerships make no sense to me. We're not looking for anything less than 10 years old and personally I think spending more than a few thousand dollars on a car is insane. I'm not knocking those who want newer, more reliable vehicles, it's just a different mindset.

Mr. Egg had his mom and step-father checking out cars down in the Bay Area, we discussed driving down for a weekend if the right vehicle presented itself. Mr. Egg's mom emailed him yesterday morning with this news: her neighbor was going to give us, yes give as in completely free, their '97 minivan with just over 100,000 miles. He tells me this over IM. I freeze. I reply, "ur joking?" He says he's not. My mind is racing. Oh. My. God. Is this happening? Seriously? A minivan? A minivan?! But it's a free vehicle! With not too many miles! Everything sort of slowed for a second as my head was spinning. I realize we need a second car and it's free and it's just a vehicle. But....I am not a minivan kind of person. Maybe that sounds ridiculous and stupid but it's true. It basically represents everything that I despise about the American way of life.

The gas mileage kinda sucks, granted it is not better on our current car - a 16 year old Volvo wagon. But beyond that there is a certain stigma that comes along with driving a minivan, the typical ride for a suburbanite shuttling kids to and from this activity or that. That is not who I am. I feel that I struggle enough with motherhood, in so far as how it changes me and consumes certain aspects of my existence, and to have to drive a minivan just compounds it in this tangible way for the world to see. As though it says, "Here I am, a MOM."

I fully understand I'm not being very rational about this, it's simply my emotion ~~screaming~~ speaking. I asked Mr. Egg if he would mind driving the van, if it's just about having a reliable vehicle to get him to and from work and he doesn't have any sort of issues with it, why not? I can drive the Volvo and everyone is happy. He hasn't given any sort of definitive answer yet. First he agreed then changed his mind and now I'm leaving it alone. I think part of him wants me to drive it because he wants me to push past these issues I'm having, which to him seem "shallow". And on the surface, I get that. I realize how spoiled it is of me to even have the option of caring about the vehicle I drive. A car is a car, after all, and I should be happy to have one, period. Right?

So I'm attempting to pull my head out of my ass and just be freaking grateful that there is some kind soul who wants to give us a vehicle out of the goodness of their heart (which definitely threw me, how many people do things like that? not enough, that's for sure). And if it plays out that I do end up driving it I should be grateful that I have a safe and reliable car to drive my daughter around in so we can get out of the house and go run around the beach or the forest. It is just a car, after all. Right? Right.

To Friends, Family and the World

2008-11-19T07:20:00.000-08:00

My step-father wrote this a few days after the election. I found it moving and wanted to share it with all of you.

To My Friends, Family, and the World:

I am writing because, as a gay citizen in this time and place, I have no other choice. I have to do something to dispose of this feeling of tightness and loss that has been pressing down on my heart for these past few days. And I would like to harness the rawness of my feelings right now and shine a light on them for you so that, perhaps, you may come to understand me better and what it is that I stand for. To all of you who read this, I apologize in advance if my tone sometimes drifts into anger and sarcasm, but I have been hurt badly. I ask for your patience and your compassion.

First of all, I want to express my deepest gratitude to the electorate of Humboldt County, my home county, as well as to the 16 other counties (Santa Barbara, Monterey, Santa Cruz, Santa Clara, San Mateo, San Francisco, Alameda, Contra Costa, Marin, Sonoma, Napa, Yolo, Sonoma, Mendocino, Mono, and Alpine) that voted NO on Proposition 8. If you look at the election results on the Secretary of State’s website, you will see that 60.1% of the voters in Humboldt said no when they were asked to try and take away my so-called “inalienable” right to marry the person of my choice. And many, many people also voted no in the 41 other counties that have approved the measure. To all of you who took a stand for me and Steve and voted to block the passage of this most pernicious and destructive of all ballot initiatives, thank you so very much.

To the rest of the electorate, I suggest that while you feel that you may have won a victory, you have only been victorious in abusing your majority power at the expense of your fellow citizens, your friends, and your families. Your perceived victory is merely an illusion, hollow and morally bankrupt, and it will never endure as my love, which is pure and bright and wholly human, will endure. My human heart is too far beyond your reach; you will never succeed and are, in the end, powerless over me.

Of course, your actions are hurtful, and I would be a liar if I said that I was unaffected by your invidious arrogance. You have made it constantly and abundantly clear what you think of me throughout my life, and your most recent public attack is merely that same old hatred and contempt taken to a new, and breathtakingly unacceptable, level. When I realized that the electorate was willing to try to vote away my fundamental constitutional rights, I felt crushed and rejected as I have not felt since I was seventeen when I recoiled from the rejection of my own “loving” mother and father. They had been co-opted by the Catholic Church, which delights in irrationally labeling gay people as gravely immoral, and they had no tools with which to love their gay son; they had only the tools of rejection, sharpened by their love of a cruel god, which pierced me through again and again and again. Dead now, they never knew me, and, therefore, never accepted me. And in spite of them, I learned to love myself, since they would not, and possibly could not. But on election night, feeling suddenly sick, I ran into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. Somewhere in there I saw the eyes of my father, and I began to weep for the sadness of it all. I am fifty-two years old.

All I ever wanted from my family and the world was to feel that I was wanted and loved, only to be emphatically shown over and over and over that I was neither. I have this metaphor in my head in which the country is a family; the passage of Proposition 8 was a rejection by my family of fellow citizens. All I have ever asked from civil society is that my humanness, that my status as a full and equal member of our civil society, be acknowledged. And it seems that most people are willing to pay the proposition that gay people are equal members of society lip service, because that’s what good Americans are supposed to stand for. But their actions constantly betray their true feelings, because what they really mean is that gay people are to be merely, and barely, tolerated, tolerated not cherished, and that gay people are completely undeserving of the dignity afforded to the families of our heterosexual counterparts. The truth of this is naked for all to see in the passage of Proposition 8. In fact, if you look into the rhetoric used in the campaign by its supporters, their disdain and disgust, and their monstrous callousness, arrogance, and ignorance are well displayed.

First, I must reassert my belief that the vote on Proposition 8 was illegal because it was unconstitutional on its face, and it is, therefore, invalid. I fully believe that the Supreme Court of this State will come down forcefully on the side of justice and equality as the Constitution requires it to do.

It has been suggested by supporters of Proposition 8 that, if gay people are upset about the election results, they should just put their own initiative before the people. This whole idea is arrogant and condescending, not to mention just plain wrong. You do NOT have to ask anyone for your constitutional rights; you are BORN with them. For all you Catholics and Mormons and other religious people who seem to be challenged by trying to understand constitutional rights, this means that our constitutional rights are kind of like Original Sin in the Catholic tradition: you are all born with it. However, unlike the fiction of original sin, you can’t just take a little holy water and wash other people’s inalienable constitutional rights away, no matter how badly you may want to try. The suggestion that we need to beg the electorate for our constitutional rights is offensive and un-American.

The Catholics and Mormons and other religious people shrieked that passage of Proposition 8 would require, oh the HORROR, that children be taught about homosexual love at school, and this scandalized the electorate.

They irrationally equate our love with the mechanics of sex in order to appeal to peoples’ basest instincts and their tendency to fear, distrust, and separate from themselves that which is different. But, I have to point out how highly offensive this line of “protect the children” reasoning is to me as a gay citizen. I’m sorry, but I know for a fact that there is nothing wrong with or even really very different about being gay, so why would it ever be a problem to teach in any school? What, exactly, is wrong about learning that gay people exist and form families just like all other human beings? How is that scandalous? Doesn’t it bother you at all when your children learn to call gay children faggots at school? Or is that something that you’ve been teaching them at home? It’s very clear that lots of kids are learning how to denigrate and revile their gay classmates, and they’re using highly colorful language to do so. They’re learning it somewhere. So, by your book, it’s okay to learn to call others hurtful names on school playgrounds, but to teach the truth in the classroom about the members of your family who happen to be gay is something that cannot possibly be permitted. I remind you that some of those children sitting in those classrooms will emerge as gay individuals. Do they not deserve the same amount of respect and dignity as any other child in any other classroom? Your statements and your actions seem to suggest that you also condone treating gay children as separate and unequal, just as you treat your adult gay peers.

The Catholics and the Mormons and the other religious communities rallied the devout to their cause using the absolute lie that if Proposition 8 was defeated that churches would be required to perform same-sex marriages, even if it violated their teachings. This could not be further from the truth. In fact, because of the First Amendment, an exception to the equal protection clause of the Federal Constitution has been carved out for churches. In other words, where liturgical issues are concerned, churches are free to discriminate against anyone and anything with absolute legal immunity. In fact, the passage of Proposition 8 has cut exactly the opposite way and prevented churches that consecrate same-sex marriages from doing so; you see, there is no agreement among the faithful when it comes to the issue of gay marriage, and Proposition 8 has effectively cut off religious freedom to a certain degree. But of course, you don’t need to worry about that, do you, because it doesn’t affect you big, mainstream churches that don’t see gay people as complete human beings, does it? And church people lying through their teeth to win a political campaign designed to strip a basic right away from gay people is just so brilliant; their flocks never bothered to question what they were told- why should they- church people don’t lie. Nevertheless, your words and deeds betray you.

Next, I have to express my shock over the refusal of African-Americans to acknowledge that my right to marry is a civil rights issue. Can their memory be that short that they do not remember a time when they were not allowed to marry the person of their choice? In case they forgot, it wasn’t all that long ago. And at the time, they were pretty much out there rioting and tearing apart the fabric of our civil society to such a degree that whites were genuinely afraid. And why? Because THEIR CIVIL RIGHTS were being violated. I still, however, believe in the equality of all humans, in spite of this disgusting display of prejudice. To my African-American friends, I would ask: How does it feel to wear the hat of the oppressor? Does it make you feel powerful to kick the gay boy out of your exclusive whites-only, uh sorry, heterosexuals-only marriage club?

But they only did it for Jesus. Praise the Lord!

So lastly, I rail against the religious community in general for its unprecedented role in attempting to strip away my inalienable rights. And here I suppose I should apologize to some of you who may read this and feel that I am attacking you unjustly: surely, not all religious people or denominations are bad. That is undoubtedly true. If you voted no on Proposition 8 against the urgings of your deacons, priests, ministers, and bishops, I applaud you and thank you from the bottom of my heart. And as I said above, I know of churches that celebrate gay marriages and that have been “blessing” same-sex unions here in California for many, many years, since well before gays were finally permitted to exercise their innate right to marry the person of their choice. I’m sorry if what I am about to say will offend you. But here I will not apologize for my tone, nor can I permit you to stand between me and them. I can’t let you keep giving them cover. I must stress that I used to be quite content to look the other way when it came to the irrationally religious, but no longer. When such irrationality attempts to hijack the political system and VOTE AWAY my inalienable rights, the threat is simply far too great to ignore. I must also stress that I have never been a religious man; I believe in science, and I do not believe in any gods or God. I do not confound my beliefs with faith: It is irrational to believe in any proposition without proof.

The Mormons gave Yes on 8 legs, and the Catholics provided them a face and mouth.

It is safe to say that if these two gangs of god’s henchmen had behaved in a moral fashion and stressed from their pulpits the American ideal of equality for all and the human ideal of compassion for all that Proposition 8 would never have had a chance in hell, if you’ll pardon the expression, of passing. But the Mormons and the Catholics did no such thing. Instead, they invidiously thrust themselves into the forefront of the fray. They thrust themselves into the home of every gay Californian in order to strip those couples and individuals, and only them, of their right to form a family and have their family accorded the same dignity and respect as the divinely perfect families of the divinely perfect Mormons and Catholics, and all the other and various sects and persuasions, all divinely sanctioned and perfect no matter how much they contradict each other, and each and every one of them, even the (heterosexual) child molesters and other sexual predators and criminals among them, all of them so good and so much better and so much more deserving than gay people to be called married. And these divinely inspired cultural warriors participated in a political campaign to strip citizens of inalienable constitutional rights that was built on lies and falsehoods.

Their essential argument is that some deity, a figure of biblical proportions to be sure, has written a perfect book in which the aforementioned perfect being has pronounced a death sentence upon homosexuals with a complimentary and eternal afterlife burning in the fires of hell thrown in for good measure. Alternatively, they argue, even if their god no longer wants homosexuals stoned to death on sight as he has been previously quoted as saying, he now demands, at the very minimum, that those militant homosexuals be kept away from the heterosexuals-only institution of marriage for all eternity.

The Christian sects and the Jews cannot even among themselves agree what their book means, so it means many different things to many different people; it’s riddled with contradictions, errors, revenge killings, straight sex, gay sex, and tales of witchcraft. It‘s so-called teachings are implemented in haphazard and contradictory ways by the various competing sects. And woe is more: there are other holy books, too, from places far from Israel, and at least one from the great State of New York (secret Mormon decoder rock included). There are SO many holy books, many of which make no mention whatsoever about a man called the Christ or the god of Abraham. And there is certainty that they cannot all be right. Based on the evidence that I’ve seen so far, my belief is that none of them are right. But that does not stop any of these followers of religion from passing judgment on their fellow human beings; and the one thing they say they all agree on in the public square is that gay people are unworthy of the dignity of marriage. But asked for proof, they run for cover and thump whichever version of the bible their sect authorizes them to read.

The truth is that the supporters of Proposition 8 could not look to science for reasons to validate their arguments, so they appealed to the irrational religious beliefs of the electorate and resorted to falsehoods and innuendo. They reinforced those appeals with misinformation and lies, and used their well-oiled networks for delivering marching orders to the faithful; and the faithful onward marched in lockstep, trampling my rights and the Constitution in the process.

Our Constitutional framework was crafted specifically to tame the tendency of the majority to trample upon the rights of minorities. At the time of the Founding, it was believed that the sheer geographical expanse of the union would serve to deter the “mischief of factions” because no group could coordinate and influence political action across the length and breadth of this nation, the country was simply too large. The technological revolutions of the past several decades, however, have severely eroded this important check on the pernicious power of factions to act in a unified manner across huge swaths of, and even across the entire, country. Californians opposed Proposition 8 by significant margins until the Utah Mormons began pumping in money and people, influencing the electorate to adopt a Utah-endorsed proposition to strip away the rights of Californians.

Proposition 8 is a perfect example of how certain religious factions are being used to subvert federalist safeguards against the tyranny of the majority. Here we have the huge and powerful Mormon faction of the State of Utah, some 60% of the state’s population, acting in unison to control the outcome of a California election. All based on their highly irrational religious dogma. This tactic is dangerous and does not bode well for the future of our cherished democratic principle of equality for all under the law. Besides, I don’t think the Mormons should be the go-to source for authority on marriage: their history with the institution of marriage, while colorful, is hardly exemplary, unless you’re into polygamy and marrying off child brides, according to some current events. I’m sure we Californians can find our own way without the wisdom of their elders; in fact, we were doing just fine without them.

You and I though, we must acknowledge that, although there are many religious traditions in the world, they simply can not all be right. Take Islam and Christianity as just one really obvious example: both cannot be correct. Nor can Hinduism or Buddhism be reconciled with Christianity. The only available proof regarding the accuracy of anyone’s religious beliefs includes the necessity of dying. That is simply not good enough. We should not be basing our public acts on the myth of scripture; we should be focused on science and on what is in the best interests of our citizens, all of us.

I am angry that churches have acted in an overt political campaign to take away my rights. Under the Bush administration, churches have been encouraged and emboldened to enter the public and political arenas in unprecedented and possibly illegal ways. This is all to our risk. They are challenging the very notion that there is or should be any separation at all between church and state. I have no problem with churches becoming political creatures to exercise their political muscle. But I believe that if churches want to act like persons and meddle in the political arena, their incomes should be taxed just like any other person’s income is, mine included. Then let them talk until they are blue in the face. I will be advocating for the rescission of tax-exemptions for churches from now on. I encourage you all to join Americans United for Separation of Church and State. The Mormon Church and the Catholic Church have really crossed the line this year in California. Paying taxes will free churches to be AS POLITICALLY ACTIVE AS THEY WANT without worry and will generate income for tax professionals, many of whom are gay! It’s good for us, and it’s good for them.

I also demand equal protection under the law, as guaranteed by the California Constitution. If I am unworthy to call my relationship with Steve a marriage, when it so very obviously is a marriage in every single aspect, complete with nearly fourteen years of history, well, if we’re not worthy to call ourselves married, no one is. And the law is on my side on this. In taking the name of marriage away from gay persons, you are not extending to us the equal protection of the law.

You may have actually succeeded in amending the definition of marriage in an illegal way, which could end in an unimagined result. You see, the equal protection clause of the Constitution is still there and has not, to my knowledge, EVER been revised. It requires all citizens likely situated to be treated equally under the law. You have been unable to articulate any rational basis for denying the institution of marriage to me. Therefore, if I can’t marry the person of my choice, no one else should be able to either; that’s the way our laws have always worked. It’s considered a check on the power of the majority, because whatever laws they enact, they must also obey.

What I’m saying is this: Be careful what you wish for! In deciding what to do now, the Court may very well reach the conclusion that the easiest solution to bring the Constitution back into balance and full effect, which must be done, is not to overturn Proposition 8, but simply to command that the state stop issuing marriage licenses and to issue only applications for registered domestic partnerships to all citizens regardless of race, religion, etc., etc., etc. That sounds like a fair outcome to me, and I would support it. Perhaps I should petition the court myself for just that outcome. How would you all feel about that?

P.S.

You know, now that I have been relieved of that pesky and troublesome burden of the right to be married, I want my money back. Yep, that marriage license and all set us back nearly a hundred bucks. But also, since I am no longer afforded my full set of constitutional rights for no other reason than because more of you say so than not, I think I’m entitled to a refund and reassessment of my state income taxes. Why should I be expected to pay the same as heterosexuals when I do not enjoy the same rights as heterosexuals? This strikes me as inherently unfair. I therefore propose to calculate the value of my marriage. I am prepared to testify in Court today and demonstrate that my marriage is priceless; therefore I owe NO TAXES.

Very Sincerely Yours,

Paul

Eureka, California

brotherly love

2008-11-17T21:43:00.000-08:00

It had been just over two years. The last time I saw him we sucked down martinis at some overly-trendy bar near his apartment in Hell's Kitchen. I had just come home from our round-the-world adventures and Mr. Egg was off at the U.S. Open. I'd spent the day with my girlfriend, wandering the Park and drinking out of a flask. I had no idea, of course, that at the time I was pregnant with Monkey. That news came a couple of weeks later once back home in Louisiana. I emailed him with the news and his reaction was a bit beyond shock, considering what I'd said that night bellying up to the bar.

He had seen me through one of the most intense and challenging points in my life, my time in NYC. He was one of my roommates after I moved out of D's place. He was also my friend. And my brother. My family. His parents welcomed me into their home Shabbos after Shabbos. His mother slipped me money to help me out with rent and his dad offered advice on schooling opportunities for me. They were older folks; they had my friend, Steven (who was not even 20), later in life. They were Hungarian/Czech and his father had experienced the Holocaust firsthand.

At a point in my life where I was seeking acceptance, they resonated to the core and buoyed my spirits. I sort of ignored the fact that his mother probably was so enamored with me because a) I was in the process of converting to Orthodox Judaism (which she was extremely devoted to) and b) she may have had some sort of fantasy that I would sway her son from his man-love. I also ignored his father's somewhat lecherous eye twinkles and suggestive comments. They felt like family, after all, and we all know family is weird, if anything.

I left town a few months later and my path never did lead me back there. My brother from another mother finally made his way out West to visit me last week, along with his new love. They stayed for a few days and we roamed the beaches and explored the redwoods. They played with my daughter and threw her laughing into the air. Monkey took a particular liking to Steven's boyfriend. She flirted unabashedly and sought him out first thing upon each waking. They made us a beautiful dinner on their last night here and we all ate too much, drank too much wine and were high on the sort of emotion that comes from lasting friendships that you know will endure.

Equality For All

2008-11-16T16:01:00.000-08:00

The immense relief and hope that washed over me the night of Nov.4th as I heard the words, "President-elect Barack Obama" was severely dampened by one thing: the passing of Proposition 8 here in California. I've prided myself on living here in the Golden State, proud to tell my Southern family members of our progressive ways and ideology. We are, after all, one of the greenest states and usually a pioneer in the way of progressive politics. The stereotypical image of the laid-back crunchy Californian who eats organically and talks about chi and chakras is not without substance. But my idealistic, that-would-never-pass-here-in-my-hippie-paradise-California world came crumbling around me after the election. The fact that here in Humboldt, my county of residence rejected Prop 8 by 60%? Not bad. Though not good. The fact that California as a whole embraced it by the majority? Not fucking cool. At all.

The opposition poured money into their campaign (most of which was from out-of-state) that was based on lies. Fear mongering of the worst sort, praying on people's worries of their children being taught gay marriage in school. Which, even if it was the case (which it is not), so what? Is it that horrible? To teach of love, compassion and tolerance? To teach that there are different way to live and love? That the gender of who you grow to love should matter? I seriously doubt that general acceptance of homosexuality would sway children one way or another. If the tendencies are already there, sure, they may feel more comfortable exploring that avenue, but again, sooo what?

But no, the majority of Californians chose to continue living in a state where children are taught from a young age what is and what it not accepted by our society. Which means all those children who know from a young age that they are "different", that they don't fit into the boxes of what society deems is "normal", they will continue to suffer and be ostracized. They will feel tormented and question daily why they can't just feel differently from the way they do. They will turn themselves inside out to fit in and in the most dire of situations they may even commit suicide. All because we, as a people, can't get past our judgment and religious dogma and own internal issues.

There are few things that piss me off more than when people compare allowing same-sex marriage to the obvious next step which is to allow people to marry animals. Um. Seriously, people? Seriously? The sort of ignorance that comes along with such outrageous logic is beyond my level of comprehension. All I can do it hope that they aren't breeding and spreading their hate to the next generation. But, of course, they probably are considering that ultra-religious people tend to have less concern over the effects on our planet of having 7, 8, 9, 10 kids and continue to multiply their ranks to raise up some sort of Army of God.

My father and his husband came of age during the late 60s/early 70s. When I hear them speak of their upbringings I hear such very different stories yet there are so many elements which overlap, mostly on an emotional level. My father grew up in New Orleans and, though he acknowledged his attraction to men, rejected the idea of living a homosexual life. He knew he wanted a family and could not fathom that goal was achievable by living a gay life. Not in that day and time. He met my mother and felt such a strong connection that he was convinced they were soul mates. He thought he could put aside the feelings he had known since he was a small child. With time it became clear he could not.

My step-father, on the other hand, knew about his sexuality and had no problem expressing who he was. He was shunned by his religious parents and at some point in this late 20s gave into society's pressures and married a woman. There were no children that came of that union and the marriage dissolved amicably and they remain good friends to this day.

It was more complicated with my mother and father, I was nearly 12 when they decided to split. I had difficulty with their divorce and my dad's coming out. My whole world was turned upside down and although somewhere deep down I must have known this about my father I was completely shocked by it on the surface. But by the time I was 15 I was in the midst of exploring my own attraction to girls and perhaps my father coming out gave me the confidence and ability to explore that without fear of judgment and retribution. I never really felt that I had to "come out", it was just a part of who I was. I have never made it an issue and, with a few exceptions, it has never been an issue.

I am extremely lucky to come from a family that even though they may not always agree with the choices I make in my life I always have their support and love. I feel it is unconditional. Even my bigoted uncles kept their comments to a minimum during the 6 years I stated I was strictly into women (though maybe not as much as I would have liked). They met my girlfriends over the years and were not just cordial but warm and welcoming. I'm sure they breathed a sigh of relief the day I began dating men at 21 and even more when I settled down with Mr. Egg and gave birth to Monkey. But even though I made that choice to be with a man it does not take away that part of who I am.

When I feel personally offended by the passing of Prop 8 it is not just because it's an affront to my father and step-father. It's not just because it's a complete violation of basic human rights. It's because it's also an attack on me. Although I am in a committed relationship with a man I could just as easily be involved with a woman. And I would deserve the right to marry whoever I choose to build a life and a family with. My rights should be no less than anyone else. When we start discriminating against people based upon their sexual orientation by taking away their basic civil rights what is next? Will we begin taking away rights based on race? Gender? Religion? The lines become extremely blurry and it's a slippery slope. Is that somewhere we really want to go?

My hope for you

2008-11-03T09:16:00.000-08:00

My dearest Monkey,

We, as a nation, stand at the threshold of what could be the most formative election in recent history. You won't remember this but you will hear us speak of it for years to come. I had been jaded and cynical and gave up on our country long ago. I had never allowed myself to believe that change is possible.

When Obama first popped onto my radar I railed against him, saying he is more of the same. He is, after all, a politician and part of a corrupt system. But as I have listened to him speak for the past couple of years I have chosen to go against every fiber of my body that has been steeped in disillusionment. I have, for the first time in my adult life, dared to hope that change is possible.

We are no longer a Christian nation. Not any more than we are a Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu, Wiccan or even Atheist nation. We are neither a white nation, our citizens make up every color of the human spectrum. This is no longer about ethnicity or religion or even class. This is about people. Human beings. And what is best not only for us now but for future generations.

I have been moved to tears by a grassroots movement that is unlike one I have ever seen in my lifetime. So many people have opened their eyes and their hearts and connected over real issues and for the very first time in my life I am choosing to exercise my vote and my voice and put my faith in the possibilities. I have seen what is possible when people leave their self-imposed bubbles of seclusion and reach out to their neighbors. People who choose to work towards the greater good for all of us as a society opposed to the narrow mentality of "every one for their self". Those of us who are actively pursuing tangible ways to evolve, not only as a society more aware of our place on the world stage but as a people who have lost their way.

I admit that a part of me is uncomfortable putting so much faith in a "leader". I have witnessed nothing good that comes from having such trust in a political figure. But the time has come when there is no other option. If there is not a massive shift in the direction of this country tomorrow I do not believe change will come peacefully, and that is not the environment in which I want you to grow and discover the world around you.

All I can do is wait with baited breath and hope.

I hope for you to grow up in a society where our citizens realize the lightness with which they must tread on our Earth. That everything and everyone is connected.

I hope you will be surrounded by love and compassion and that hatred and intolerance will no longer be touted on the nightly news by people who feel their religion abdicates them from acting like decent human beings.

I hope for you to never remember the time when it was illegal for your Opa and Opa Due to marry. Or when hundreds of thousands of innocent men, women and children lost their lives over oil. Or when people, in the face of such astounding evidence, chose to ignore all the signs of climate change and continued to take, take, take until there was nearly nothing left to give.

Most of all I hope for you to see the greatness that is possible in this country and be an active part in the next generation that will continue to lead us forward, never backwards.

Recently I have been marinating so much in this quote from Arundhati Roy, "Either way, change will come. It could be bloody, or it could be beautiful. It depends on us."

That much is true. It is up to us. And you. And every one who comes after. Each generation choosing to do the right thing.

One of the beautiful things about this country is the power of American civil society. Our history books are filled with the struggles of individuals and the stories of how they rose up to change the situations they found to be intolerable. It is not up to others to save us or change our direction. It is up to us. 'We are the ones we've been waiting for'.

So on this election eve, as I sit watching you attempt to stack your blocks on your train set, I find myself with tears in my eyes and an overwhelming wave of hope that you will be proud to be an American. That is something I have struggled with for as long as I can remember. But I hope for you, baby girl, to grow up knowing the power of the people and how we were able to save this country from those who wish to further segregate us from the world. I hope you are not only proud of the country from which you come but consider yourself to be a citizen of the world and are able to grasp that though our borders may define who we are culturally they do not define us in terms of our humanity.

Love,
Mama

twilight at the pumpkin patch

2008-11-01T08:05:00.001-07:00

We went to the pumpkin patch the other evening with my friends from childbirth class. As the kids ran around it was hard to believe how quickly they're growing up. On my way home yesterday I passed a dreadlocked hippie guy dressed as Jesus holding a huge No on 8 sign on the corner in front of a church. It made my Halloween. Best thing I saw all day, hands down.

Reprieve

2008-10-26T08:56:00.000-07:00

-this post is worded quite carefully as to hopefully avoid the trolls since it is a very personal and sensitive subject-

The summer before I began 7th grade we moved from Richmond, VA to Los Angeles, CA. My parents’ thought was, given the dangers of the Los Angeles public school system the best option was for me to go to a Catholic K-8 school. I was not entirely stoked, being the 10 year old atheist that I was. I had a difficult time adjusting to that school, mostly on a social level. But the religious aspect reared its head often and with the exception of one friend I was ostracized often for having different views. The teacher and I butted heads as well. I remember so clearly the day our class assignment was to write to Congress, pleading with them to end a woman’s right to choose. I refused. My teacher asked why I would have a problem doing such a righteous thing. I said I was pro-choice and wanted the option to choose what happened inside my own body, thankyouverymuch. She reminded me, in front of the entire class, that I would receive a zero for the day if I chose to not do my assignment. I retaliated and shouted that she was close-minded and there was no way she could make me write that letter. It ended with me sulking in a corner while receiving the stank eye from the majority of my classmates.

Later that year when the elections rolled around I spent the entire night glued to the television set. I remember sitting at the kitchen table, in tears, because I was so afraid that Bush, Sr. would be re-elected. In my young mind the train of thought was: I wanted to be a doctor at the time (and yes, I realize those of you who know me and my feelings towards the medical establishment are having a good chuckle) and if I found myself pregnant at an inopportune time and Bush reversed Roe V. Wade my life and dreams would be over. Looking back I really question why those thoughts were in my head at such a young age. Of course, at the time, I had absolutely no idea the implications of what ending a pregnancy would be. There was no way I could have grasped that during that point of my life. Actually I don’t know that one is capable of grasping it until they make the decision and are forced to deal with the aftermath of guilt and questioning.

For the past week I have avoided dealing with the loss of this pregnancy (i.e.: baby) because then I would have to think of, and deal with, two previous pregnancy losses of my own choosing. Because the only way I got through those decisions was by thinking of it as simply a tiny piece of tissue. There was no emotional connection or thoughts of little wiggling toes. I would not allow myself to go there. And so now, for me to admit this was a baby, it would bring up so much other emotion that I just sweep it under the rug and forge ahead.

I have written of one of my decisions here before. The second happened right around the time I began blogging but I could not discuss it at the time. It is something I have never really dealt with because the guilt is so strong. In fact, in so many ways I feel this pregnancy loss is a direct result from that decision. As if the Universe is trying to teach me a lesson. I have found myself pregnant 4 times, none of them planned. So many women struggle with fertility issues and I feel the decisions I have made are a slap in the face to them. As if I so glibly discard what they work so hard to achieve.

I do not regret the decision I made in NYC with D. I have guilt but when I look at the situation I feel I really did make the right decision. And then I found myself pregnant with Monkey. And I was scared and she wasn’t planned but within minutes of seeing those two pink lines on the stick I felt excitement and threw out the crazy idea to Mr. Egg that “We should just do it. We should have this baby.” And we did and it was a beautiful thing and I could not imagine my life without her. Then, when she was 7 months old and we were in Rome on vacation I completely forgot that antibiotics rendered the pill useless and a month later I found myself crying in the bathroom as I tried to wrap my head around the idea of another baby. I had just, and I mean just, come out of post-partum depression and was finally beginning to embrace motherhood. I was terrified of what having another child so soon would do not only to Monkey but to my own fragile mental state. I was completely miserable with the idea of being pregnant and having another child but had the intense guilt of feeling that I had to go through with the pregnancy, no matter my issues, because Mr. Egg and I were together and already had a child and it was our mistake with birth control, etc.

Mr. Egg is pro-life, personally, but he is also pro-choice. As in, he doesn’t believe it is the best thing to do in most cases but would never deem that it’s anyone right or decision to choose what a woman does with her body. So in dealing with our situation, he was very vocal that he would support whatever decision I made but I knew his feelings on the matter and the decision was completely mine to make. This made it harder in many ways. I struggled and I was conflicted and spent the majority of a week crying. I had a lapse in the parking lot of the clinic and sat in the car unable to move. I called Mr. Egg with tears streaming down my face and said I just wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing. He tried to talk me into coming home. He said I could always make another appointment if I changed my mind again. I hardened myself and brushed away the tears and walked through the doors of the clinic anyway. I did not shed another tear over it. The guilt and anger I directed my way remained and continues to this day.

This time around? My 4th pregnancy. We had just begun discussing a second child. We were planning to start trying in the spring, around Monkey’s second birthday. But somehow I completely miscounted and thought I was well away from ovulation and, as it turned out, I wasn’t. It was a surprise but a very happy surprise and we were excited and ready. And when the spotting first began I sat on the toilet and cried so hard I could barely breathe. I was so scared something was wrong. As it turned out, it was, but it would be another 3 weeks until I discovered that for certain. So each day I lived in fear of losing the baby and often thought that this was a lesson for me. To never again take my ability to procreate for granted.

And now? I’m beginning to allow myself to feel the loss. Not only this time but from before. I’m attempting to integrate the sorrow and the guilt. I can never change the decisions I have made in the past but I am beginning to view them in a different light.

This is our America

2008-10-23T07:43:00.000-07:00

To look on the bright side there is one good thing about me no longer being pregnant: I am going to need a drink (or two) on November 4th and now I can consume without guilt and fear of popping out a large-headed slow kid.

I am already having anxiety about this election and we still have 12 days until the voice of the American people is heard. I keep hearing people say, Ohhh Obama will TOTALLY win! Um. Uh huh. I recall saying the same thing about Gore and then Kerry. Because, really, who would have thought Bush would be elected even one time, much less twice (although I'm in the camp that he won neither time, I think "stole" is the right word).

To be completely honest, I have conflicting feelings about Obama. I want to believe in him. I want to feel that the goosebumps that cover my arms when I hear him speak are because I am listening to a great man who will change the face of American politics. I want change and I want to know that my vote will help elect the next President of the United States.

But I've been burned. I have sat back and watched as our government has participated in (even driven) atrocity after atrocity. I see our prisons overflowing and our schools in shambles. I have seen the number of people eating out of garbage cans and sleeping on the streets grow as the number of million dollar homes in gated subdivisions triples. I see, day after day, the average American living their completely unsustainable lifestyle with no thought or care for what it is doing not only to the environment but to people all over the world. I have lost hope and I have lost pride in this country. I've become jaded and cynical and no longer trust in the establishment as a whole. I would like to believe Barack's message of change. I would like to believe he is the man he claims to be. But I wonder how one can join a corrupt institution without becoming corrupt their self? And can one person really make much of a difference in such a tainted system?

So I wait with baited breath, letting this all unfold as it will. I feel America is at a crossroads and this election will determine if we finally choose humanity, compassion and evolution or war, greed and the ultimate path to destruction. The choice is up to us. And for the first time in my life I'm exercising that choice.

I am an American and I am voting for Barack Obama.

that one in the hat, that's me

2008-10-21T11:48:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure at what point in my life this began. Did I suddenly wake up one morning with this new coping method or maybe it was more along the lines of learned behavior? Although I am a bit hazy on the specifics I am crystal clear on the outcome. Because for as long as I can remember I have had trouble feeling my emotions. I should be more specific though. I'm great at feeling anger and rage. But anything else? I will ignore it until I'm dead inside. Numb, I know that one well.

I rarely allow myself to cry and when I do cry you better believe it's over something big. And chances are that crying will happen behind closed doors when I am alone. I allow Mr. Egg to see my cry on occasion but even with him I have major walls. To me, crying has always seemed a weakness. I am extremely uncomfortable when others cry around me and I keep that in mind when I feel the tears beginning to form. I will not allow myself the freedom to cry as I need to if anyone else is near. I pull back into myself until a later point. And usually there I remain. Locked away in some wasteland of half-felt emotion that, if I'm being honest, is probably one of the contributing factors to my occasional struggle with drug and alcohol use.

Even now, with everything that has happened in the past few days, I have yet to cry. There were a couple of minutes after I wrote my last post when Mr. Egg sat behind me on the couch and put his arms around me. I shook for a second and a few tears slipped from my eyes. I swallowed what was building inside and brushed it away. That is the closest I have come to feeling any grief. There have been moments, here and there, where I've felt it rising. The lump in my throat and burning wetness in my eyes but I push it back every single time. I am strictly dealing with the physical aspects of my current situation and consciously avoiding the emotional.

My stunted emotional capacity reaches beyond hardening myself against tremendous sorrow. I also stop myself from expressing things such as appreciation and heartfelt thanks. As I chilled on the couch last night, beginning to bounce back from the coma-like state I had been in for 48 hours due to the horribly toxic shot I received Saturday afternoon, I realized how much Mr. Egg had taken on over the weekend. Not only had he taken over everything I usually do but he still kept up with what he normally did AND he remained strong to take care of me and make sure I was comfortable. He even went out and as a surprise picked up a new book by one of my favorite authors that I wasn't even aware was on the shelves. So I sat on the couch, with the book in my lap, and thought I need to tell him thank you. I need to express how much I appreciate what he's taken on in the past few days and that I see it and realize it and am grateful. My mouth opened a couple of times but nothing came out. I literally could not get the words out. It felt uncomfortable to me. Hokey and touchy-feely. I closed my mouth and ignored my better instincts.

Two hours later we're both on the couch watching TV. He's exhausted and drained. I make an effort to show affection, another thing I'm horrible with. As I laid my head on his chest I finally sucked it up and ignored everything in my body that was screaming NO and said You know, I do know how much you've done in the past few days and I want you to know I appreciate it. I know this has been hard on you too and you have a lot on your plate. . I breathed a sigh of relief and should have stopped there. But I sat up quickly and said Did you know how difficult that was for me to say? I'm so fucked up, dude. I don't know how you can deal with me. That felt so unnatural, saying what I said. I had to literally fight with myself to get the words out. It felt too gooey. He said, Yeah and the funny thing is it wasn't. So. Chill.

I have been in therapy for the majority of my life. You would think I would have learned some better coping methods. I suppose I have learned them. I just don't implement them. And there were moments of tremendous breakthroughs and patterns seemed to be changing. But in times of distress it's always easier to slip back into what we know best. So I put on a brave front and act like everything is all good. And maybe if I say it enough I'll even begin to believe it. I'll just file this intensity away with all the others that I've bypassed over the years. One huge lump of anguish that will continue to fester and feed the flames of rage that lurk just beneath my surface. Or maybe this time I will actually allow myself to feel and will take one small step towards being a healthier person. I could go either way. But I'm pulling for the latter.

btw, thanks so much for all the comments on my last post. I really appreciate all the good thoughts and positive energy. It really was helpful.

those angels can't ever take my place

2008-10-18T03:55:00.000-07:00

Her accent was thick. Of Eastern European or Russian origins, I could not tell. I laid on the examining table with Monkey resting on the top of my thighs, wanting to check out everything that was going on. I felt the warmed ultrasound gel on my abdomen as Mr. Egg reached for my hand. I was feeling equal parts hope and dread. The spotting I had had off and on for the past 3 weeks had been worrisome to me. It was mostly brown but there were a few times I saw bright red. I was in and out of the clinic, sent away each time saying that it was "normal" for some women. My hCG levels were tested and everything looked okay. I kept telling myself not to worry. Yet...I never feel that I truly embraced the pregnancy. Mr. Egg would say Well, do you feel pregnant? I don't know, I'd say. I can't tell. With Monkey I had awful morning sickness, this time none. In previous pregnancies I had known immediately because my breasts were so tender, this time not so much. I felt tired and exhausted but I also have a very active toddler who seems to abhor sleeping past 6am. It was difficult to tell.

I stare at the monitor anxiously, my eyes searching out anything that resembles a tiny baby with a heartbeat. The technician is silent. Completely. She's typing letters onto the screen that mean nothing to me and I keep waiting for her to say, There's your baby. There is the heartbeat. After a few minutes she stops and says I need to do this vaginally. Could you step into the restroom and put on the gown that is in there please? I shot Mr. Egg a look and stepped into the attached bathroom. My hands were shaking as I took off my clothes. I came back into the room and laid down again. Monkey started fussing as Mr. Egg paced the room with her. The technician slid a pillow underneath me to raise my pelvis a bit. She asked me to insert the wand and began searching on the screen again. Monkey began to cry and wouldn't stop. Her arms kept reaching out to me so Mr. Egg brought her over to my left side where she laid her head on my chest and was quiet. I was straining to turn my head to the right to see over her curly head and to the screen that was showing no signs of anything. The technician asked, How was your pregnancy confirmed? Urine? Fuck. What kind of question is that?? Yes and blood test too, I said weakly. She removed the wand and said Okay I am going to show these results to somebody but I would like for you to get dressed and remain in the room please. Someone will be in shortly to speak with you. But do not leave the room, okay? Um, okay. Way to scare someone, dude. I knew something was wrong. Obviously. I got dressed and in a few minutes she was back and said You have an ectopic pregnancy- Mr. Egg interrupted her, A what? Ectopic, I answered. It means the embryo is gestating outside of my uterus, most likely in my fallopian tube. We have a call in to your OB, she continued. Do you know where the waiting room of the radiology department is in the old building? (I shook my head) I'll take you there.

A couple hours later I was back home after a stop at the clinic to meet with a doctor who was assigned to my case whom I had never met before. He had explained that luckily it was caught before anything ruptured and hopefully the damage to my tube would be minimal. Because I had not complained of any sharp pains or cramping he felt that a medical, as opposed to surgical, procedure was the option he would recommend at this point. He said I would be given a shot of methotrexate which would stop the growth of the embryo which should be absorbed back into my body. He went on to say that sometimes it caused women to bleed out or ruptured the fallopian tube anyway and surgery was still required. I would need to be monitored for 2 weeks and he wanted to make sure I lived close to a hospital and had a reliable car. I answered yes to both. I asked for numbers of whether or not I would end up requiring surgery anyway and he said my chances of everything being okay with just the shot would be 75/25. Okay, I can live with that. What is my other option? Being sliced open? yeah, I'll go with the shot.

Last night I was in a daze. Monkey stayed up later than usual and was in my arms most of the evening. I felt numb. It's my preferred coping method. I kept wondering why this had happened. From what I had researched it seemed that ectopic pregnancy is often caused by scarring in the tubes from PIDs associated with STDs or endometrioisis, neither of which I have ever had. I kept thinking, but this doesn't. just. happen. Does it? Apparently it does. Of course my mind wandered to the thought that this is some sort of karmic retribution for choosing to end a previous pregnancy. Thoughts like these are not helpful, I know, but they are there nonetheless. I suppose my silver lining in all of this was my concern for Monkey coping with the addition of a sibling at such a young age. Now we can wait longer, like we had originally planned, so that she's closer to 3 instead of 2 when the next one comes along. But thinking about getting pregnant again is not something I want to do right now. I need time. My body needs time to heal. As does my heart. I try not to think of the child that would have been. My son or daughter that I will never know. I keep telling myself those thoughts aren't helpful but I'm sure at some point I will need to face those feelings if I truly want to process this.

I woke up at 3am this morning. My first thought was This is real. Yesterday it felt like a dream. But now it feels real. I could not go back to sleep and now, here I sit at 4am, typing this. I'm exhausted, physically and emotionally. It's going to be another long day. The doctor is supposed to call around 9 this morning so we can arrange a place to meet so he can administer the shot. He was worried about me waiting out the weekend, seeing as how most tubal pregnancies rupture around the 8-9 week mark which is where I am now. So the house is quiet and dark. And Mr. Egg is standing in the kitchen, unable to sleep because he's worried about me being up on my own and alone. I will probably crawl back into bed soon and wrap my arms around my child. And be thankful that I have her because if this had been my first pregnancy I can only imagine what I would be feeling right now. At least I have her. No matter what else happens now or in the future.

the post in which I likely offend someone

2008-10-10T07:49:00.000-07:00

I had one of those moments. The kind where you step outside of yourself and are actually able to view yourself and your actions objectively. I was watching as my child melted down because she wanted to pull on the dog's tail and, in response, I was squeezing where her hand meets her wrist, attempting to loosen her grip on Kody's tail even though it didn't seem to bother him any. I saw Monkey's eyes meet mine and the defiance and fire behind them. I dropped her wrist and let her go. Mr. Egg said Don't let her do that, dude. I shrugged and said it had deteriorated into a power struggle and it was no longer about her desire to pull the dog's tail she just wanted to challenge me and see what I would do. And I backed down.

I didn't back down because I didn't want to cause waves or deal with her tantrum. I backed down because, at the end of the day, does it really matter if she pulls on the dog's tail? She sits on his head and climbs on his back and he lays there happily soaking up the attention. True, he could snap one day. It's unlikely but if it happens, it happens. I don't mean that to sound as though I don't care about her safety but that's a risk you take whenever you have animals around children, or anyone for that matter. They are fairly unpredictable creatures. I'm not going to hover and worry about all the things that could happen. He will let her know when she crosses the line and she'll learn much better from getting a nip on the hand that she will from me constantly telling her NO which she only hears as me attempting to control her. I try to keep her out of harm's way but I'm more of a "let her learn her own lessons" kind of mother.

And I realized how many other mothers would judge me for that. And that was my moment, where I saw myself through the eyes of other women. Even my father has commented that he believes Monkey needs some more boundaries and rules set for her. And although I can understand his point I often find rules unnecessary.

For example, I will definitely stop Monkey from climbing up onto the kitchen table where she can fall and crack her head open. I will stop her if I ever saw her being mean or bullying another child (which I have never even seen a glimmer of in her as she plays very well with others and has no problem sharing her toys, etc). I will stop her from playing with fire, knives, sharp sticks and other such objects. I will correct her behavior around other people's dog as I did at my friend's house recently when her dog did not take it as kindly as Kody when Monkey tried to sit on her head (and the dog subsequently snapped at Monkey).

But will I stop her from climbing onto the couch and up into the windowsill where she can get a better view of the trees? No. Will I stop her from running in circles around the room shrieking like a wild child and discovering the power of her voice? No. Will I stop her from running on our deck and through our garden barefoot even if she gets a splinter or two? No. Will I stop her from eating the raisin she found on the floor from who knows when? No.

Germs are good for her. They help build her immune system. And allowing her the space to explore her world without instilling fear of her surroundings will build her desire to learn more. And stepping back and letting her learn things for herself will build her confidence.

I feel that my role as her mother is to be here for her, to help guide her on the path she chooses for herself but not to take over the reigns and direct her this way or that just because I'm the adult and she's the child and it's just what you do. Of course there are times when I will direct her away from something if it's dangerous but in general I take a much more hands off approach.

Even at a young age I feel that children should be allowed much more freedom than they often are. Children who are made to sit quietly in a corner and do as they are told are, to me, children who have had their spirit broken. Maybe Monkey seems "unruly" to others but when I look at her I see a strong-willed free spirit who charges at the world with no fear. And I want to do everything in my power to encourage that.

Even Mr. Egg and I disagree on these matters, he tends to view children as malleable beings that we sculpt to our will. I see her as her own individual with her own desires and intentions and we need to mold to each other. Just because she is a child does not make her any less deserving of consideration in such things as when she wants to sleep and when she wants to eat. I have never had her on any sort of set schedule, I've trusted her to let me know what she needs when she needs it and she does. She's been fairly consistent in scheduling herself and I feel it has worked out well for us by allowing her to dictate these things instead of forcing my agenda upon her.

I've been growing increasingly uncomfortable with the way many people parent in that children are seen as objects that can be shifted this way or that, constantly having their curiosity squashed by parents unwilling to bend, denied the right to be taken seriously or are forced to fit themselves into their parent's world instead of the other way around.

I suppose this has been weighing heavily on my mind lately as I look at our society as a whole and attempt to get to the root of things. Why people are the way they are and how much of the manner in which our parents viewed us affected the way in which we view not only our own children but people in general.

I wonder if the way our government views people as commodities or expendable objects is in any way related to the way we as people have been raised to see each other. It's that balance of power and control that is out of whack from the time we enter this world until the day we leave it. We are controlled in so many ways and, in turn, too often turn around and try to control others or unnecessary things in an attempt to feel as though we have power over something. All that does is create a society in which freedom becomes nothing more than an abstract idea which is used as the selling point for everything and anything our government decides to push at us.

How many people really know the true sense of freedom? When they are tied down to mortgage payments and car payments and credit card debt that is constantly keeping them under the thumb of good ol' American greed and consumerism. They allow themselves to be brainwashed by the media and politicians to believe they have no choice. That they must mold themselves to fit into the unsustainable lifestyle of the American Dream. And the folks who reject the soul-crushing 9-5's that barely bring in enough money to allow the average American that big car and big house filled with expensive objects? The ones who just want a simple life and some land to grow their food and tread lightly? Well they are seen as "provincial" and "radical" and "Anti-American". When in reality we are the ones who truly know what freedom means.

But it all goes back to childhood. And the way we are initially raised to see the world and the dynamics we learn from our parents and our immediate environment. I'm growing increasingly aware of the need to understand exactly how important everything is in the bigger picture. For even when I don't think Monkey is watching, she is. And every move I make and word I speak is filed away somewhere in her memory bank and will continue to affect her for years to come. I know I make many mistakes and will continue to. It's part of mothering. But at least I'm striving towards more awareness. Even if I slip up time and again. We are all human, after all.

monochrome

2008-09-10T12:56:00.000-07:00

There is really nothing to say that hasn't already been said. In a state of limbo I remain. Patterns and cycles undulate all around me. I often find myself contained in a prison that is quite possibly my own creation.

I struggle on, attempting to find the beauty in the simplicity. The smallest and organic of moments. I try to balance the moments where I literally feel something clawing at my insides, striving to break free, with the rare and stolen minutes where I allow myself to feel the sun on my face or actually embrace the joy of my daughter wrapping her arms around my neck as she hugs me with all her might.

And so the days slip by and I continue endeavoring to not simply get through the days but to consciously revel in each one. The moments that lift me up as well as the moments that tear me down. I'm finding that I've reached a place where it's absolutely necessary to feel each and every emotion without fear.

I not only want to be a better mother, a better partner and a better friend but just simply a better person, as a whole.

And as this weighs more heavily on me with each breath I take I find the need for my energy to be harnessed and redirected in tangible ways, in the here and now and in the flesh.

I'm sharing these things with you all as my presence here will not be what it has been (or what it may be again in the future). But now I need to unplug for a while and give myself and my family more of my time. I know I expressed some of these things before and quite honestly I came back to this blogging world before I was quite ready. Although blogging in and of itself in relation to the act of writing has been helpful for me but the energy I have been putting into many of the high school aspects of sections of this community has been draining and unnecessary. If I was in a better place in general I might not so easily fall into some of these traps. But until that time comes I need to take a few steps back and focus on what is condusive to my personal growth.

I promise to check in with you now and again and I will continue to read your blogs when I can. I will continue to write and will most likely share some of these writings at some point in the future. I will also continue with my photography and will be posting to Flickr (although my account is set to private so if you want to view them send me an email and I'll add you as a friend).

Thank all of you for the support and words of encouragement. Regardless of some of the things which have turned me off concerning blogging as of late I'm trying to see the good in it all. And one of those things is that I've met some of you who have really enriched my life in so many ways.

matched souls

2008-09-07T23:30:00.000-07:00

written by my best friend in the world. This woman means more to me than words could possibly express. I spoke of her before here.

As usual time gets away from me and I get caught up in the goings on of my life here in Massachusetts, I am to write a blog post about my oldest kin-friend and soul sister, C. I found it funny how through the course of the days dealing I realized that I don't have the time I want for my friends. This is true when it comes to my dearest friend, C.

This assignment has proven this to me and was a little unsettling at times. You see, C is much like a sister to me in the ways sisters are. We have an unspoken language that is carried as far as the winds blow. Whether it be a hundred or a thousand miles away. We are living our separate lives and dipping down in to the pool here and there to share what we are doing or what we are feeling...or have felt..... We process there. As wonderful as a thing this is, to be able to "pick up" at any time, it seems quite strange and almost sad that we don't have every day to experience things together. The subtle details. We were two peas in a pod in high school. Exploring ourselves and the people around us.....looking for footholds. Searching for truths in the bloom of our adolescence. Funny now, looking back at it all....and the people we thought friends. C has been the one that has shined through...and stayed true to herself.

She is always expressive. I have always admired her "eye" for things. What she captures through her lense externally and internally. Her words are alive and fierce. A wild woman, who runs with the wolves. Since 1998 we haven't seen much of each other.... ten years have gone by now. There are some similarities to our stories. Some strange parallels and winks. We weave in and out of each other's stories so naturally. So simple and so complicated. I have most recently felt a loss, while thinking of how much time has gone by.....

We were always unstoppable when we got together. We balanced each other nicely. We have continued this through our distance. C is my rock. She is someone I can tell anything to......she is poetic and understanding.....she is fire. She'll tell you how she feels about something, whether you'd like to hear it or not. She is a woman of confident opinion and insight. She holds nothing back. She could move mountains with the power that she has inside. She is a volcano that is always at the brink of eruption. She has an intimate relationship with Pele. She is unpredictable and precious.

I miss her spirit.

I am missing her motherhood.....

It is time to extinguish the distance and cross this bridge of time gone by.
Now things seem to be shifting and I am being pulled to the West coast. Maybe our time has finally come, to be in the same place....to commune...to root down....to map out our dreams and support each other, as we do.

There is this song I've been hearing and it makes me think of C......
An amazing Californian folksinger (since passed away), Kate Wolf:

I've been walkin' in my sleep
Countin' troubles 'stead of countin' sheep
Where the years went I can't say
I just turned around and they've gone away

I've been siftin' through the layers
Of dusty books and faded papers
They tell a story I used to know
And it was one that happened so long ago

It's gone away in yesterday
Now I find myself on the mountainside
Where the rivers change direction
Across the Great Divide

Now, I heard the owl a-callin'
Softly as the night was fallin'
With a question and I replied
But he's gone across the borderline

The finest hour that I have seen
Is the one that comes between
The edge of night and the break of day
It's when the darkness rolls away

mothers and daughters

2008-09-05T00:10:00.000-07:00

Guest post by my mother who many of you have seen comment here as ExPatSW. Steph and I have been trying to coax her into the blogging world but to no avail. Maybe this will entice her more??

My mother (C's grandmother) was born in 1928 Alabama. Her family moved to New Orleans in 1929 and she lived there until her retirement in 1992. She passed away in 2005. Just think of the significant events the occurred during her lifetime! The Great Depression, World War II, the Korean Conflict, the Kennedy years, Civil Rights, the Vietnam Conflict, Roe v Wade, the moon landing, Women's Rights, Watergate, the Reagan years, the First Gulf War, the birth of the age of computers and the internet, the discovery of DNA and the birth of AIDS, the terrorist attacks of 9/11 and the invasion of Iraq, as well as the birth of a new century, to name just a few. She was married for thirty years and raised seven children. She divorced at the age of 52 and at the age of 70 buried her eldest son, just before his 48th birthday. She saw all seven of her children married (a few of them more than once!) and had the joy of knowing 10 of her 11 grandchildren. She held her first great-grandchild before she died and spent her last few years living near her beloved North Carolina mountains.

She was an amazing woman, in many ways, but she was also one of the most unfulfilled women I have ever met. She spent her childhood trying to be the son her father wanted (not the one he got!) and married a man she was totally incompatible with because, in 1947, that's what women did; they got married and had babies. She was forced to work out of the home when her youngest was only 2 years old because our family couldn't survive on my father's earnings, a significant amount of which supported his drinking habit. She suffered from chronic depression throughout my childhood and adolescence that severely impacted her ability to emotionally engage with her children.

Towards the end of her life, the last decade or so, Mother entered her 'Happy Time'. She began to enjoy her children and grandchildren, take up hobbies that interested her, enjoy life, and for the first time in my life each day brought more smiles to her face than frowns. I wouldn't say that she was fulfilled but she was at least finding some happiness, no matter how short-lived it was.

I was born in 1956 in New Orleans. There have also been significant changes in the world in my lifetime, not the least of which is that women have many more choices than they did. However, growing up in the home that I did, in the time that I did, and in the culture that I did, my only goal in early life was to marry, have children, and provide them with the most loving, secure family life I possibly could. So, at age 21 I married a man who expressed the same desires and we started down the Yellow Brick Road to Emerald City. I made a couple of attempts at college but didn't stick with it because all I really wanted was to be a wife and mother. We were blessed with a wonderful daughter (when I was 24) and, although no other children came along, we were happy. Or thought we were, which is almost as good. Or convinced ourselves we were, which is not so good. Then, at the age of 37 I found myself divorced; no college degree, a limited ability to support myself, and a teenage daughter who was even more screwed up from the divorce than I was!

The next 7 years were a blur! Trying to cope with my feelings about the divorce, cope with C's problems, work, going to school to get a degree, and trying to figure out, in the midst of all of the insanity, what exactly I wanted out of life! Graduating, starting my social work career, fighting with C, letting C venture out into the world to start her own journey, caring for and losing both of my parents as well as my much loved oldest brother accounted for the next 5 years. I woke up one morning and realised that for the first time in my life I was not responsible for, or to, another living soul! I was 48 years old and the only thing that I had ever done soley for me was to get my degree! Within 6 months I sold off most of my belongings, found a job in London, borrowed some money, and moved! I've been here since February 2006 and don't plan to return to the States to live.

It took my mother almost 60 years before she started to find herself; it took me 48 years. It gratifies me immensely that C has found the courage to start down this path at a much younger age than either her mother or grandmother did. I love her and am very proud of her.