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Clearly being rebellious runs in the family…

 

“From how you’re talking, it’s like you’re in that place, where people just run away and you don’t hear from them for like 5 years, and they’re living in the woods somewhere. Or they have a new identity, or a new family. That’s what it sounds like.“-Boof

Yeah, that’s exactly what it sounds like. It’s what it feels like. The pressure on all sides feels like it is closing in and, like a trapped coyote, I just might chew my leg off and run. Though I clarified with Boof that I had no intention of leaving him, or Potamus, that right now they are my only tiny floating safe spot in this crazy ocean of frozen emotion (think Titanic proportion ice-burgs).

The overwhelm didn’t begin yesterday, but it was certainly heightened, as I spent the afternoon with my natural family, mostly my little sisters. They were disappointed that I didn’t bring Potamus, and my biological dad seemed annoyed at some parts. I realized that I have been in reunion for 5 years, and while the times have been mostly honeymoon phase, I am starting to grow weary of having to navigate all the shifting dynamics of reunion. When I met my little sisters they were 4 and 9, now they are 10 and 14. It’s crazy. They are young women and I am getting to know them just as they are figuring out how to navigate this young-auntie role. I am both daughter, and therefore in the ‘young one’ role, but also friend, especially to my “step-mom,” as we giggled and had inside jokes that the other girls didn’t quite understand yet. I’m in this caught-between-world of adoption that feels both wonderful, as it’s a reunion I could only have dreamed of, and awful, like an after-school-special where everything seems going great until a zombie or werewolf or chainsaw murderer shows up.

The pressure I feel to be the glue to hold all of my families together is too much. The constant second-guessing that my emotions are going to cause friction or panic-stricken martyrdom and bending-over-backwards actions to try and accommodate my shifting moods.  Normals rarely get it…they talk about families with step-parents or in-laws and I just don’t think they understand…I met my family when I was 25. And not only do I navigate my own reunion, but how do I relate to my siblings reunions, too?  I now have to navigate this ridiculous amount of families, from vast different experiences…upper middle class highly educated…middle class educated…lower middle class uneducated…working class uneducated, and the vast array of political and religious beliefs, not to mention the very different life experiences that have made up each and every individual. I feel stuck in the votex of all these families and it is drowning me.

I have this runaway fantasy, where it is just Boof, Potamus and I on a desert island. Yes, I’d even leave Scrummy the dog behind. And we’d be stranded so we wouldn’t have the guilt and pressure to perform or navigate or save people’s feelings from getting hurt. We wouldn’t have to have conversations like this:

“I know you’re cousins are having their barbecue next Sunday, but I guess my biological grandma’s sister (my great-aunt) is coming to town for the last time next Sunday and we’ve been invited. I can’t say no. Can we make the timing all work?”

As I slid down the water slides with my biological family, I had all the overwhelm of nostalgia, the face-to-face of what could have been and I both liked it and wanted to puke. I compared it to my own upbringing and wondered why I’m surrounded by bigoted and racist men. Am I karmically supposed to be learning from all of this? And, if I believe in reincarnation, or life between lives, as I think I do, I wonder…if there is a lesson in all of this…am I missing the point? Will I know what the point is? Have I known these souls before? Did we actually choose this complicated story to enact for some good-to-come reason? Or, is it a punishment for some arrogance I must have had in a previous life? Why does it have to be so damn complicated?

The emotions are frozen inside and coming out in nervous tics and insomnia. My mind will not stop chattering and I’ve played approximately 768 games of bejeweled on my phone. If I were to even allow myself 5 minutes of meditation I fear I would burst into tears and never stop. In fact, I had to come out of camel pose in my last yoga class because the heart opener was just too much…I almost did cry. I just don’t know what to do, because running away is clearly not an option.

 

Zen Pen Invitation

Last year I had the privilege of meeting in the home of Courtney Putnam, my wonderful massage therapist/reiki practitioner. Not only is she an amazing, healing, bodyworker (is that even a word?), but she is also an amazing artist and writer (and blogger!). All last summer she hosted a weekly “Zen Pen” group, where we met and wrote together. She has this amazing way of guiding, creating prompts, and giving opportunity for writers to get outside of their ‘head’ and write from their body. She says:

What’s different about ZenPen is that it is body-based. What that means is that during the writing process, we will tap into the wisdom of our bodies. Our minds can only get us so far — and sometimes our minds play tricks on us or lead us down roads of self-criticism or limitation. The body holds all the information, wisdom, and experiences we’ve had in our lives. It plays no tricks. It tells us the truth.

And this year Zen Pen is being offered as an e-course! I am excited to being (August 5th) her 6 week series, and am planning on sharing, here, some of the body writing that I create. But, since I love you all dearly, I am inviting you to participate as well! For only $59 for the 6 week Zen Pen E-Course, how could you resist? So, if you’ve been looking for some inspiration in your writing process, and want to get away from that critical voice, then join me in ushering in the fall with a little Zen Pen! Head on over to the e-course description to get a better understanding of what is being offered!!

I have to be honest, I’m both excited and nervous about the discoveries I’ll have in this 6 week course. Last summer I learned so much about myself, my hopes, dreams, and really solidified some truths that I hadn’t been able to grasp with my anxious mind. Can’t wait to start, and hopefully see a bunch of YOU all over on the secret FB group or here in blog-land 🙂

Resistance is Futile…

The waves are coming. Don’t try to fight them.

I can recall a hot day, sipping chai with my favorite Ukranian (link, in case you read Russian) in Delhi. We called ourselves “The Revolutionaries,” and were discussing the difficulties of ‘thinking a lot,’ that is, being interested in philosophy, religion, history and politics…the basics of  our ideas around trying to save the world, or at least, trying to impact our small little corner. I remember her saying, “life is difficult,” and being impressed (or baffled?) by those we saw around us who just…lived without seeming to analyze everything to death. These people seemed happy with their lot in life, though, of course, I’m leaving room for that to be an illusion, too.

I’ve noticed, lately, that the straining and analyzing I do is actually causing suffering in my life. Now I’m not advocating becoming a doormat, but I have realized that it’s taken a good 6 weeks for me to really find rhythm with this whole…play-at-home-mom-summertime gig. There’s been nights of “FUCK YOU” to Boof, where I text in anger, or grump when I have to get up YET AGAIN TO BREASTFEED, and the long, hot days where all I focus on is making my kid another damn meal.

There’s something about the straining for something to be different. The resistance to what simply is, without labeling or judging it as good or bad. When I’m sitting at home with my kid watching another episode of Jake & the Neverland Pirates, why do I strain and grouse and grump about what society thinks about stay at home moms? Why do I feel like I have to have ALL THE IDENTITIES happening at one time? Because, when I surrender to what is, this moment of being at home or this moment without Boof around, or this moment of being hot outside by the “pool” (aka a bucket of water), I am actually so much happier.

There’s been several moments this week where I’ve felt this contentment. Content is something that I really strive for, and can tell that people around me are possibly perplexed by it. I think I can read a tone of…apprehension when Boof texts, expecting me to be pissed that he’s not home NOW. I’m sure my bitchy resistance mood will return, but for now I’m just going with the flow…not fighting what is. Not trying to judge what this moment is compared to moments that could be.

Bread Dough Breathing

Today was big for me. As much as I’ve crowed about my pretty good body image, even flaunting my adorbz swimsuit in the great Pacific Ocean, I have yet to go to hot yoga in shorts and a sports bra. The room is full of hairy-backed middle aged men, gumby tanned women who have, after class, proudly proclaimed their excitement to go home and eat a salad (true story), and a wide range of others, including a diminutive blonde with amazing dreadlocks and a girl who wore a sweatshirt around her waist the entire workout (wtf?). Almost everyone is stripped down to their bare necessities, but there has been one thing I haven’t seen: pale postpartum belly flab.

I was nervous in the locker room. I had brought a safety tank-top that I could throw on if I needed, but I decided to be tittsey and just GO FOR IT. So, there I was, sweating alongside Sasquatch (seriously) and ashram-goddess-reincarnate. I could see my bare belly in the mirror, but from the distance it looked different than I’ve seen it before. My stretch marks swayed side to side, back and forth, in ardha chandrasana and sweat rolled down.

And, as we were lying in shavasana, the teacher instructed us to belly breathe. And I noticed this image in my mind, of my soft, white, doughy belly rising and falling…like bread dough. In the heat, dough rises, you punch it down, and it rises again. Takes the whole ‘bun-in-the-oven’ metaphor in a different direction. Rising, falling, baking in the warm room. Bread-dough belly breathing.

Sittin’ with Anxiety

sniff. the last picture of my baby with his teeth not jacked up.

Years of lifeguard training has taught me how to ACT in emergencies. I’ve been there to save drowning children (while on duty), rescue stranded children in a rubber boat (off duty), stop for several motorcycle accidents, coordinate calling 911 and directing firefighters when MIL dislocates her hip, and even staying calm and directing medics to attend to ME in my several car accidents. I feel the best when I can channel my anxiety adrenaline into ACTION, staying calm, collected, and gettin’ stuff done.

So, the experience of having to sit with the anxiety, the adrenaline, the I-wish-I-could-do-something-feeling, is foreign, unsettling and is teaching me about myself. It makes me think that, in a lot of ways, I run from anxiety and turn it into action, rather than just settling for it and experiencing it, which is what I had to do, last night…

Potamus and I were solo last night, and we had an eventful evening splashing in the toy pool (aka, storage bin) outside. He was happily squirting the squirt guns and dunking the toy dinosaurs I had bought at Target earlier in the day. It started to get chilly, and his little naked bum was covered in goosebumps, so we headed inside to continue the water fun in the shower, where it’s warm! Potamus has been having mixed emotions about the shower, since he slipped and bumped his head a few weeks ago. And he was seemingly excited, so I was happy and feeling relaxed and just trying to enjoy his sweet disposition.

When it came to drying off, I got out, grabbed the towel and he started to cry. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to get out or stay in longer! He stood up, took a step toward me holding the towel, and then BAM! Face first slipped onto the edge of the shower and burst into tears. All that adrenaline was coursing through me. I was trying to remember to say “you fell in the shower and hit your face” rather than “oh I’m so sorry that probably hurts so much” (I might have a perfectionist streak, and want to try new parenting things right NOW). He calmed down after 10ish minutes, and I was able to call Boof while he was at the Mariner’s game to see what we should do. My gut said the Emergency room was going to be a waste of time and $, and so, I had to wait…sit in the anxiety and guilt of being there with him, in pain, and not being able to do anything.

The anxiety was worth it, because the dentist was FANTASTIC! I loved the office so much that we’re going to go there as a whole family. Potamus is fine, healed up nicely (never any blood), and overall I am glad I sat with the anxiety and didn’t try to do anything too soon. I had been meaning to get a dentist appointment anyway…

Any experience of sitting in anxiety through emergencies like this? How do you handle it when your kid bumps/bruises/scraped knees/broken arms?

Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves (Part 2): Control, Autonomy, Respect

brushing teeth, because HE wanted to

I’d like to think that I have a lot of respect for Potamus, even though he is a tiny little human. I give him a lot of space to roam and come back to me. I genuinely look at him as a very small person with needs, feelings, and wishes of his own. But, in Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves, I was challenged by this notion of control, and how it might manifest in the way of cooperation. Naomi Aldort’s premise is that children need unconditional love, and because they crave it, they might give in to areas that their parent are trying to control so that they feel like they’re loved…even though she asserts that “giving up their will is the cause of most of the difficulties with children.”

So, it made me wonder…do you sometimes think:

How can I get her to do chores, be quiet, stop the tantrum, eat her food, etc., reflect a wish to control the child. IT is about ‘making’ the child do what the parent wants; the child has to give up what she wants, which is giving up on herself.

Whoa, right? Guilty as charged. Though when I read that I thought to myself, “big whoop, we all have to do things we don’t want to do.” But do you remember that feeling? When you’re doing XYZ and then you havetostoprightthisminute because someone arbitrarily (in your mind) tells you to? Or, if you had a family member who only expressed love to you when you behaved in a certain way, or got good grades, did you wonder, deep down, whether they really loved the real you? I certainly have!

I think this is the one that I’m going to have to mull over the longest. The book suggests offering chances for children, even young toddlers, to engage with, even asking for help…but with the freedom for the child to choose yes to help or no to not, just like we’d do with adults. The part of me that listens to Mother Culture says “no no no, adults are in charge, they are big and can ask for requests and to expect it to be done.” The still, quiet part of me, knows that even when I was small I had opinions and wanted to do things myself and not be asked or badgered into doing them. Or, if Boof came home, and because he is physically bigger than me, asked me to do something where I felt I would be harmed or unloved if I said no. That’s not really cooperation, that is control. If I notice that Boof is folding laundry and I want to join him, then I am freely entering into that experience. If he asks, and I say no, and it is just as loving, then I am truly free. So, why should a different set of rules apply to children?

In what ways do I try to control others, namely Potamus? When I say things like “lets go outside” and then pick him up without his choice to freely follow me, I guess, would be one way. Or putting food on his plate and expecting him to eat it (though this is something I try not to do). In fact, in a way, lately, we’ve been trying to help Potamus communicate his needs/desires about food, by picking him up and walking him around the kitchen to point to what he wants. While this won’t be something we can do forever, and I certainly am not excited about the prospect of making different meals each night or catering to my kid’s every whim. Of course, that takes it to an extreme, but I notice, the story in my head, about being controlled BY my child…and that in order to combat that I need to control HIM. Whoa, that’s a little tidbit of insight from my brain!

Thoughts on control/autonomy/respect?

Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves (Part 1): Validation & Word Choice

Last week Offbeat Families recommended a book called, Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves: Transforming parent-child relationships from reaction and struggle to freedom, power, and joy, by Naomi Aldort. I didn’t read up on Naomi or the book before ordering it on Kindle, so that I could have an open mind. I wasn’t really looking for advice, I am feeling really good about my mothering in the past few weeks, even relaxing around the edges of weaning. I actually feel that we’re closer to weaning, though I’m actually nursing more often.

At any rate, the whole premise of this book is to encourage attachment and intuitive type parenting to increase children’s belief/understanding that they are unconditionally loved and respected. Though, I will say, I am glad to report that nowhere does she say “let your kid do just whatever they want, whenever they want.” While autonomy, respect, not controlling, and unconditional love are explored, it felt right, for me, and something I’m already doing a pretty good job of, but want to explore now (and in further posts) some of the nuggets that I will be taking away with me.

First, I really resonated with the quote:

Talking about feeling sad, upset, or disappointed may or may not be grasped by a younger child. Instead, young children feel most validated when facts are acknowledged.

Whoa! Revolutionary! Whenever Potamus cries, or gets upset, I tend to “forecast” what he’s feeling. “Oh buddy, I’m sorry you’re sad,” rather than focusing on the facts “I asked you to stop playing with that toy,” or “I wanted you to go to bed, but you probably didn’t want to.” I’ve even noticed, that when I’ve just stated the facts, without TELLING him what he feels (or guessing), that he’s been a lot calmer. Revolutionary, because I thought that acknowledging what I thought he was feeling, giving voice to it, that I was helping. While I haven’t actually read any of her research, I am going to just try an experiment and give voice to the facts of why he might be upset, and see how it goes.

Like, today, instead of the usual storyline I tell Potamus in the car, “we’re going to school, and you might be sad, but mama will be back this afternoon.” While this might be true, he might get sad, am I putting on him a storyline that he should be sad when I leave? I don’t tell him that story at any other place and he adjusts really easily. So, today, I said “I am going to leave, and it might be before you want me to.” I noticed that I was more relaxed in daycare drop off, stayed with him a bit, and then he did cry…we’ll see how he does the rest of the day.

Anybody want to join me in this experiment? Validating our kids by stating facts, and not just putting our storyline onto their emotions? If you do it, lemme know the results! Any changes? Differences? Differences in YOU?

 

Wearing heels makes for quite a workout on Seattle hills…

Boof’s father retired, which meant we got to go to a swanky shindig in downtown Seattle. His sister got married at the Columbia Tower, and so we had a sort-of-repeat event, with lovely appetizers and wine. The best part, was so many of our friends were invited, so we had plenty of young parents (or young friends) to mingle with! I was feeling particularly good about myself, since I squeezed into a pre-baby dress!

Potamus and grammy…

My parents came over for the weekend, so that they could take Potamus home from the party early, freeing up us young ones to go on our merry way and have some good-old-fashioned fun-times. It was like being in college…except our drinks of choice were fancy wine and beer over Miller lites…

Since I haven’t done a lot of drinking in downtown Seattle, I learned a few lessons about how to navigate…

Hills and heels are HARD on the body. My toes felt like they were going to fall off. But the next day…WOW…that’s when my legs felt like I had done a hard workout. My shins were bruised and on fire, my ankles felt creaky, and my glutes…whoa. Maybe I need to go on the drinking-walking-in-heels-on-hills diet…though the calories from beer will probably add up to more weight than less…

the fellas.

Speaking of heels…boys have no idea what it’s like to walk in them. They picked a bar, originally, like 6 blocks downhill that we stopped in at. The service sucked, despite the swanky reputation, so we skipped out after having a glass of water. We headed on down to Fado, an irish pub, which was MORE walking. Thanks fellas. But, another thing I learned…it is FUN to drink with a former frat boy. Whoo boy, the middle dude is HILARIOUS when lit…we’re gonna have to do a repeat sometime soon, because, for some reason, breastfeeding moms think him shouting TITTIES, is the funniest thing ever. Yes. We are awesome.

my mom friends

Drinking with moms is different than drinking with non-moms. Because we started to get nervous about 9pm. Of course, my kid was the only one still awake (didn’t go to sleep until 11:30pm, after we got home). Our hubby’s were fine to stay out, but we started to get nervous, texting our babysitters, ordering our last round of drinks, planning for our escape…before the rest of the city had begun their pre-funking for a night out. Although, we didn’t go home too soon…we had to get in a round (or two…shh…don’t tell Boof) of irish car bombs. While I had never done them before, I rocked it like a champ. There’s probably video of it somewhere…

was this after we peed in an alley? wha??? thanks post-partum bladder muscles…

Moms can hold their liquor…but not their pee. We risked a fine while going in an alley. And by alley I mean a doorway on the side of the viaduct. Yep. We were banking on our sob story (but officer, our pelvic muscles just don’t work anymore, we pushed kids out of our vaginas!), but the rest of our party could not understand why we didn’t just go back into the bar instead of peeing on the side of its building. Because we’re awesome, that’s why.

Also, Boof tried out SideCar, the alternative to a taxi, since he just wanted to go a few blocks, and taxis around here are ridiculous. He said it was totally worth the few bucks, and that he’d do it again the next time we were downtown. Cool!

all the girls!

We had fun, my legs are sore, and thankfully I know enough in my old age to drink a SHIT TON of water when I get home. So I’m tired, but not hungover, despite my foray into binge-drinking-as-a-mom. It was fun to relax as a group, spend time together laughing, eating good food, making some memories!

Insomnia Reframe

apparently my chubby chin is very comforting…

Was it the 5 cups of coffee I drank at noon while out to lunch with a friend? The 3 beers or spicy pasta while out to dinner with my mom friends? The ab pain from all the workouts I’ve been doing lately? The lifetime of anxiety that flares up at the WORST POSSIBLE TIMES (like days I know I’ll be home with Potamus for 15-16 hours solo). A husband who can’t stop coughing at night so I’m unable to even drift to sleep. Maybe it’s a combination of all of those, but man, the other night…yeah…I fell asleep at 5am. Whoa. That meant I got a whopping 1.5 hours total, half of which was spent spooning a sweaty toddler.

But somehow I was able to grasp this thought, I can be a good mom, even though I didn’t get any sleep.

Revolutionary.

Sure, I’ve managed to limp along while being tired, but there is this storyline that I have been saying in my head since…before time (certainly before I had kids) that a good night’s sleep = me being happy/adjusted/able to do xyz. Sleep is very important to me. While I’ve managed to dial back me “I need 10 hours asleep a night” storyline, I still had this going on and was believing it. A good night sleep with Potamus meant a good mama the next day. And a bad night sleep meant CERTAIN grumpypants mama.

So there I was, with 16 hours stretching ahead of me, solo, with a toddler who hates naps. I didn’t have the energy to go out and do fun things, so we stayed home, doing quiet activities, and even rested together a little bit in the afternoon. I managed to hold myself together, even finding the energy to have a conversation with a good friend, do some gardening, and read. I’m not sure where the insomnia-anxiety came from, but I didn’t let it get the best of me. And, it felt really good.

Now, wouldn’t it be fabulous if I was able to remember this all the time? Now THAT would be revolutionary! Or, a good night’s sleep would be pretty revolutionary, too. Ammiright?

 

Of Pirates and Mermaids

I have begun the dabble in children’s television shows. To be honest, the criteria isn’t that much: the show must not annoy me (no spongebob, GAWD). I get annoyed pretty easily, so the only shows that have made it through my filter are Mickey Mouse Clubhouse (though, after a few months of that, I am getting annoyed), Sofia the First, and Jake & the Neverland Pirates. The last one is actually my favorite show ever, and I would have LOVED it as a kid. Here are a few reasons that I love this show so much, and am happy that my son enjoys it, too:

There are pirates. And mermaids. Two of my favorite things! In fact, if it had been around as a kid I would have been obsessed. Actually, the 7 year old girl inside me IS obsessed. Because, hello, mermaids. And mermaids who don’t just make a feature appearance ala the original Peter Pan (I waited the WHOLE DARN MOVIE for that little mermaid snippet). They show up in at least every other episode. And they are female and strong and I like that, too.

The show also features a girl cast member who is strong and smart without sacrificing being a girl. While sometimes her power of “pixie dust” from fairies makes me cringe, because it’s not as strong or realistic of a power as, say, Cubby’s map or Jake’s sword, it does give her the pretty awesome ability to help people FLY when there are no other options. Which makes me think how awesome women are, coming up with some pretty sweet maneuvers at the last dang minute. Think pulling a full course meal together from top ramen and peanut butter for last minute guests. Or something like that.

The show features Captain Hook in a more revised and, in my opinion, more believable role. While Boof is annoyed with Hook’s somewhat blundering antics, I like that his representation is as Jake & Crew’s ‘enemy,’ who also-sometimes-is-a-friend. Hook seems to be both good and bad at the same time, which, describes all of us at some point…neither truly good, nor truly evil, either. I like that. While I have no idea if it’s intentional, I like it very much. I think, someday, it might spark a conversation about the light/dark parts of all of ourselves, and how we work against and for people in various capacities.

I also love that music is involved, because Potamus is OBSESSED with dancing and he loves the different songs that they sing. He gets so excited that he looks like he’s almost going to jump out of his skin. It’s adorable, I promise. I like that there is singing, but not too much singing…you know what I mean. Those shows where it’s just too…gleeful? Yeah, not into that.

So, if you have little ones at home, I suggest checking out this show. Or if you like pirates…or mermaids…or nostalgia for Peter Pan from our own youth… This is one show that I think will stick around in our house. Unlike the other shows, it’s one that I can watch an episode repeatedly and not want to chop my ears off.

Anyone agree with me? Disagree? Thoughts on this or any other Disney Junior show or TV habits of children in general?