Happy Thanksmoving Day

I've never been much of a morning person. Typically I awake with a sense of urgency mixed with dread. The exceptions are holidays.

Maybe it's because growing up my mother's two favorite methods for rousting her four sleeping children were: walking through the house clanging pots together and getting a big glass of cold water and threatening to dump it over your head. It only took once for that to become an extremely effective method at getting me up for the day.

Or maybe it's because I've spent most of my adult life waking up late to hurry to a job I don't like.

Whatever the reason, I hate mornings, that is, unless I've got a good reason to allow myself to stay in bed.

This morning I awoke at 8 a.m., our typical waking time.

Since it is Thanksgiving, the sense of dread and urgency isn't there. Plus, I put clean sheets on my bed yesterday along with a big fluffy pillow that I've been using in my living room, so my bed is even more comfortable than usual.

I decided to let Annika sleep, which means I can't get up. She will wake up soon as I roll out of bed most of the time. She stays pressed up against me most nights and then nurses off and on starting around daybreak.

So I read my e-mail on my iPod touch. I played a game for a while. Then I began thinking about holidays.

I generally hate holidays. They are overblown, overcommercialized, and anti-climactic. It seems like they never reflect the original intent. It also means that I have to spend time with my entire family all at once. (Need I say more?)

When I think about the first supposed Thanksgiving -- which from my vague memory of elementary learning was a story about Native Americans sharing food with the settlers -- I figure it was probably less idyllic than was taught.

Instead of the two groups coming together for a huge meal complete with a dripping turkey, corn on the cob, mashed potatos and warm steamy pies, I imagine some sweaty brown-skinned men and women crouching on their haunches while peering curiously at some half dead hungry white folks who are cursing each other for dragging them to this god forsaken land.

I imagine the brown folks handing the white folks some tough, dry meat and maybe
some roasted corn, (things that kept well and travelled easily in leather bags) to the starved settlers and whispering in wonderment as they gobbled down sustenance.

Then I think about the huge heart attack inducing meals that we feed ourselves every year and then settle in front of the TV with alcohol and call it a day.

I guess it's all about context.

Most days, average Americans aren't literally starving to death. So on days when we are thankful, we stuff our faces. Hey, nothing wrong with that. I really do enjoy a hearty meal.

My point is that what I'm really thankful for today is a cozy bed, a cuddly daughter and the big meal that I will share later on with my cranky dysfunctional family.

As I near the end of this post I realize that my headline, while catchy, shows that I did not stay on topic.

Yeah, we're also starting the move today. So, we'll spend what's left of the morning loading and unloading stuff. By the end of the weekend, I'll be completely vaulted into single motherdom.

Gobble. Gobble. Gobble.


I'm also thankful for a really strong man to move my stuff.

Becoming a single mom for real

It's finally happening.

Toyin and I are moving into separate apartments at the end of the month.

We will finally be single parents.

I have mixed feelings about it. It will be really nice to have my own space again. Nobody to complain about my knickknacks or my taste in decorating. Nobody to rationalize purchases to. Nobody to cook dinner for. Nobody to pick up after.

But there will also be nobody talk to late at night. There will be nobody to take over if I am feeling frustrated.

With this move also comes the freedom to date again. Toyin and I never made a solid rule about that. If either one of us had met someone we wanted to date, the option was there to do it. It's not like we were faking being a couple just for Annika's sake. But it would have been weird. So neither of us ever made much of an effort.

Honestly, I had no desire to go out on dates or try to form a relationship with anyone. Toyin did not feel the same way, but he wasn't nursing or holding a baby 18 hours a day either.

I think he's missed the single life more than I have. It's not that I want to be in a relationship with him, but having our unusual little family life has made it a lot easier on me. For that I will always be grateful to him.

He will still be around. He won't be a typical one-night-a-week/weekend dad. I know he will swing by to visit Annika even on nights when she isn't going to stay at his house. I will do the same. We will forge ahead in this co-parenting relationship even though we aren't going to be living together anymore.

We will still discuss parenting methods. We will communicate with each other about Annika just like parents who live together. I think we will always be friends.

In some ways, I think, this is a better way to parent.

I know the standard belief is that kids need parents who are married; who live under the same roof.

But I know lots of people who stay in dysfunctional marriages and do more harm to their children than if they had just gotten divorced.

I wrote in a previous post about parenting with the end in mind. When I think about how Toyin and I will parent Annika together even though we live apart, I try to imagine how Annika will see things. I like to imagine Annika as an adult telling her friends that she had the best of both worlds.

"Sure, my parents weren't married," she'll say. "But they were always friends. They never made me choose between them. They always talked to each other. They were great parents."

Of course, if we succeed at this co-parenting thing and Annika turns out great despite having parents who don't live as a couple, she probably won't notice anything. It will just be her normal. That's really all I can hope for.

Regretting my regrets

Before Annika was born I had regrets. I regretted staying with my ex-husband as long as I did. Hell, I regretted ever marrying him. I regretted not finishing school sooner. I regretted financial decisions. I regretted not working out more. I regretted haircuts.

Then when I got pregnant I philosophized about how all those bad choices had led me to the place I was in the world and if I hadn't done things just exactly the way I had, maybe, maybe just maybe, Annika would never have been.

Instead of regrets, those bad choices were now stepping stones that led me to give birth to this beautiful and perfect child of mine. She is something I will never regret, not even if she turns out to be a drug addict or a serial killer. She will always be my beautiful perfect child.

But now I have something new to regret. And I wonder if I even should. Ever since I started blogging regularly, I have wished many times that I had started sooner.

When Annika was growing inside my body I had such powerful emotions and as a writer, I wanted desperately to capture it all and share it with the world. I was feeling emotions that I didn't even know existed.

Yeah, I'm one of those women. I loved loved loved being pregnant. Even with the weight gain, hemorrhoids (gross I know), heartburn, achy legs, nausea, tiredness, brain fog, and swollen feet (my god they were like grapefruits), I loved it.

A powerful life force inside of me burned with a fury and I couldn't get enough of the feeling. Carrying my child was spiritual and divine. I had found the meaning of life.

I would sit down and try to write but I could never really figure out how to express what I was feeling. It always sounded so cheesy. I would expound wildly about how my emotions were like the universe and the sun and moon and stars.

Then I would read it and go, "who is this person?"

Then I realized they were just hormones. Yeah, the same ones that give me bloating and crankiness once a month. Yep, those hormones. And no one tells you that they take a few months to dissipate after the baby is born.

I thought I would continue feeling that way forever. I thought that pregnancy had made me into a new woman.

And while that woman was a softer person who seemed to understand children better, was friendlier and happier, I had lost my edge. I worried that I would never be able to write the way I used to.

So the first few months after Annika was born I continued trying to write about those things that I wanted to share with the world, but they always ended up being too personal and really only things that I wanted to share with Annika.

Plus, I could never concentrate long enough to write coherently and do it consistently. I can barely manage it now.

As I analyze the past two and a half years I realize that what was most important was and is concentrating on Annika and just being a mom.

And maybe the reason I couldn't form coherent thoughts often enough to write consistently is because that my emotions being transformed onto paper were less momentous than Annika learning how to crawl or making baby noises like her first "words," 'Ab' and 'Way."

Maybe the reason that we moms become less physically desirable and lose some of previous desires, and become foggy and tired is because the universe is telling us that concentrating on our little one is the only thing that should matter right now.

Hmmm, maybe it's not just hormones after all.

Peer parenting: A classic coach tale

Last week as Annika and I flew to New York we sat next to a man and his 5-year-old son. We got to chatting and as usually happens with parents of older children, (or even sometimes people who have no children at all) he began giving me unsolicited and rehashed parenting advice.

First I want to say that he was a very nice person and his son was absolutely adorable. He shared his crayons and paper with Annika since ours was stowed. Poor planning on my part.

But as we chatted, the dad gleaned that I am a stay-at-home mom and within minutes he began telling me that even though his ex-wife stayed at home with their kids, he insisted that his children go to daycare because it would teach them socialization skills. I had a hard time not rolling my eyes at this typical misguided information.

It was apparent from the beginning that this man believed wholeheartedly in old-fashioned parenting.

The first thing his son told me was how a friend of his had hit him recently. As the boy talked, his father began shushing him and telling him that he was fine, "It didn't hurt that bad," he told him. I wondered how, considering that he wasn't even there, he could know how badly it hurt and why on earth wouldn't he validate his son's feelings, which was obvious he was looking for.

So I did.

It was really simple. All I said was: "Wow, it sounds like that really hurt."

"Yeah, it did," he responded. "And her mom didn't even make her apologize."

"She doesn't sound like a very nice friend," said I.

"Nope, she's not," he said.

Then, after that, he dropped it. I wondered how many times this kid had brought up the topic to his dad, waiting for his dad to tell him he understood only to get shot down.

Ok.

Now I know that I'm sounding super judgmental here. But my point is not to get all down on this guy. Because, really and truly, he was a nice guy. He was super sweet and friendly. He asked me about myself. He gushed over how cute Annika is. He offered to switch seats with me if I wanted to. He commiserated with me when she cried during the pressure change. He talked about how much he loves his children. He told me that he loves spending time with them. And I believed him.

Really I'm just using this guy to illustrate something I think about a lot. That is, parents should seriously consider just snatching up standard parenting advice and really think about it in the context of their own childhood and the context of their own children.

Since becoming a parent I have realized that there are so many things that people parrot as sage parenting advice that is just garbage.

Like the fairy tale that children need to be with other children to learn how to socialize. (Have these people read Lord Of The Flies?)

Or that children need to learn how to be independent by not holding them or ignoring them when they cry.

Or that tantrums are just "bad" behavior.

I spent three hours with this man and his son. In that time frame he told me that children should be in day care, co-sleeping killed his marriage (that's an exact quote) and that he picked his sons' names with the intention that the names should be cool so his boys wouldn't feel weird and so that when they grow up women will think they are cool and it will help them get laid.

I actually laughed out loud when he told me that last part. Then I realized he was serious and I had hurt his feelings. I asked him what his wife thought about that and he said she liked the idea. I have a pretty good feeling that she was lying and I wondered if she had been high while they were dating.

The point is, this guy is pretty typical in that he is rehashing a bunch of crappy parenting methods like telling his kid how to feel and trying to make him conform instead of boosting his self-esteem.

I don't understand why people don't at least attempt to improve upon their parents' parenting. I mean, I don't know anyone who thinks their parents were perfect. Matter of fact, most people I know will say they hate it when they do or say things that sound like their parents. It seems to be more normal for people to talk about having a screwy childhood and feel badly about a lot of things that happened.

I've said before here that I think my parents did plenty of stuff right, but they also did lots of stuff wrong. I don't know anyone who thinks their parents did a perfect job raising them, so why not try to figure out what stuff messed you up and then try not to make the same mistakes? That's all I'm doing.

I've picked out some of the stuff my parents did right. But when I think back on the things I hated about my childhood, I figure, I've got a duty to Annika to try and make sure I don't repeat the same mistakes. I'm not saying that I think I'm doing a perfect job. And I know that I will likely repeat some of the mistakes my parents made. But I'm going in with my eyes open.

So, yeah, back to the guy on the airplane.

As we flew along, he drew pictures for his son so he could color them in. As the boy colored, his dad nitpicked about how he wasn't staying in the lines. He bought him chips from the flight attendant as a treat, then he yelled at him for stuffing too many in his mouth. Then he told him he'd had enough and offered to let Annika finish the chips, which I declined by saying that I didn't think it was fair to take away the kid's food.

Toward the end of the flight, the captain got on the intercom and told us that we were stuck in a holding pattern and we would be in the air for an extra 30 minutes.

I thought my seat buddy was going to have a heart attack. "Oh my god!" he bitched. "That sucks," he steamed. "Now my dad is going to give me junk for having to wait."

I wondered if it was at all possible that he might see how he was repeating some of the same patterns with his own son.

I highly doubt it.

As we taxied to the gate he called his dad and apologized to him for making him wait.

MIA in NYC

We've been in New York City this week for a wedding. Here's a snapshot of us at the wedding where Annika stayed up way too late, danced her booty off and got almost as much attention as the bride and groom.

Look past the color of my skin

It's probably going to sound weird for a white woman to complain about people seeing only skin color when they look at her, but that's just what I'm going to do here.

Yesterday I was chatting with another mom who is the mother of a bi-racial child. She is Brazilian, her husband is white. She has tan skin and curly hair; her son has bouncy blond curls and blue eyes. Even so, it was obvious to me that he was spawned from her genes. His face is a tiny replica of hers.

While we were talking I asked her about their ethnicity and we got to talking about bi-racial families. She said her mother was much darker than she and when she was a baby people used to think her mother was the nanny even though they had similar features.

"They only see the color of your skin," she said.

I nodded knowingly.

I had been telling her that I have been asked numerous times if Annika is adopted. This only happens when Toyin is not with us. I wrote in a previous post about how this happened to me at a relative's funeral, even though the man could clearly tell that Annika was bi-racial, he still assumed I was not her biological mother.

"I think she looks just like you," my new friend said smiling at Annika. I agreed, yes, Annika does look a lot like me. More and more each day.

Scattered mind, focused heart

Yesterday morning as I was cutting red globe grapes in half and de-seeding them to take with us to the park (yes, I know, that was a stupid move to buy seeded grapes, but they were on sale), I was also posting stuff to sell on eBay, in between getting Annika dressed, helping her eat breakfast, turn on a video watch while I got us ready to embark on the day, and nursing her in between bouts of "mamamamamama."

I've always thought I was a good multi-tasker until I had a toddler. I am beginning to understand my mother a little better.

My mom has a very short attention span and for years I've suspected that she probably has some sort of ADD or ADHD. She thinks so too, although she's never gotten a proper diagnosis. While she may have some sort of attention deficit, I suspect that part of my mom's scattered-ness is just the leftovers of being a stay-at-home mom for over 20 years and who didn't take consistent breaks.

What I mean to say is that yesterday I felt scattered. I feel that way a lot, but yesterday, I realized it later in the day as I was trying to write this post and I couldn't finish it. My brain was feeling like it was being ripped in several little parts and I spent the rest of the day trying to put it back together.

When you have a toddler if they want attention, it is impossible to do anything else for more than a couple of minutes. And they want attention a lot. Especially amongst people who practice attachment parenting.

Then I began thinking about a recent discussion on an online parenting group I'm part of. The topic was whether or not stay-at-home moms should be using a breast pump so they can take a break from their babes.

I am not going to rehash the discussion. But it was basically about whether or not stay-at-home moms need to have long enough breaks from their babies that they would need to pump milk.

This discussion got me thinking about balance and finding middle ground.

Some women who have chosen to be stay-at-home moms say that they never want a break from their kids. I think those women are in the minority in our society, but among my social network they are more likely to be found. I don't hang out with women who put their kids in daycare, confine their babies to playpens, or leave their infants lying the floor while they do housework.

My group of friends believes in giving lots of physical touch to their infants. We hold our babies and sling them up as many years as they want it. We gives lots and lots of hugs. We don't tell our kids to suck it up and be a big girl or big boy when they get hurt. We hold them and let them cry and we tell them how much we love them. We validate feelings. Many of us sleep with our babies and cuddle them all night long. I know Annika can't sleep without a warm body to cuddle with. She has gotten to the point where she will sleep on me if I am talking on the phone, watching TV or reading on my iPod Touch. But if I move away from her, she wakes up. She likes closeness.

I know that women who go to work and put their kids in daycare still have a taxing job being a mom. But in some ways, I think that's the easy way out. There are some days when I think if I don't get a solid chunk of time that doesn't involve Annika that I might go crazy, because my brain needs a break so I can focus on my own needs and yes, my own wants too.

It doesn't mean I don't love her or that I see her as a burden. It especially doesn't mean that I don't want to be with her most of the time. I want to be clear on that. I love being with her all day. I love knowing that I'm not missing out on anything. I love knowing that her dad and I are her primary sources of interaction.

But needing a break, to me, is part of being an aware parent and being there for her. If my brain can't ever focus on what makes me whole, what makes me, well, me, then I have a harder time focusing on her.

So, stay-at-home moms do need a break. We don't need a lot of time. But we need a break to be creative, to write, to paint or draw. Sometimes we just want to get out of the house and go to a movie or get a hair cut.

I know this isn't a topic that has been hashed to death. But here's the thing. Being a stay-at-home mom isn't anything like going to work. It's not really a job. So I think that's where the disconnect lies. You always hear people say that being a parent is the hardest job you'll ever love. But it's not a job. It's better. It's being a parent.

I am lucky in the respect that I haven't been around too many people who give me hell for being a stay-at-home mom. But I have been told a couple of times that I should, "get a job." Or, "you have it easy. I'd like a break."

Let me tell you, the problem with this attitude doesn't lie with me, or other folks' perception of me as a stay-at-home mom. The problem lies with their perceptions of their own lives.

People who aren't happy with their own lives look at stay-at-home moms and say they have it easy because they don't have to "go to work."

Then stay-at-home moms go, "But we DO work."

I don't need some internet calculator to tally up my financial worth by figuring out how many hours a week I take care of a child and do housework and walk the dog and shop and cook.

Here's how I see it. Those people who complain that we have it easy are jealous because they see how rewarding our lives are. They think we have it easy because we make this job look easy.

We LOVE our jobs, that's why it looks easy.

I don't need validation from a boss or a paycheck to tell me that I am doing a good job. All I have to do is look at my beautiful and happy child and I know that I am doing a good job.

So am I scattered? Sure. Plenty. Do I love my job? Yes. Do I need a break sometimes? Hell yeah. And when I've had a break, I come back home to my baby girl and I love her even more because I've missed being away from her. And I can recognize it because my brain is put back together again.

What happened to Halloween?

When I was a kid on Halloween we went trick-or-treating and we had candy for days. If we planned things right it would last us until Thanksgiving when we could gorge on pie and cake for a few days. Then Christmas rolled around quickly with lots of candy canes, chocolate covered cherries, cookies, pies and popcorn balls.

I mean, Halloween is supposed to mark the beginning of a holiday season and the candy is supposed to last. Right?

This weekend was Annika's first real Halloween. I mean, last year I dressed her up and took her around to some houses mostly so I could get the candy. She wasn't on solid foods yet.

But this year we got dressed up and she ran around with other kids for candy. We let her dig into it during the trick-or-treating and then brought it home with us so she could enjoy it for as long as it lasts.

But apparently this is not the standard any more. I guess now people just let their kids eat it on Halloween and that's that. No more until next Halloween.

It just seems kind of sad to me.

Don't get me wrong. I totally understand the logic behind this. You think your kids will just remember holidays where they get to binge as fun and wonderful because they get to eat all that candy for one day.

But they don't forget that they didn't get all of their candy. And I don't think most kids remember it the way their parents are hoping they will. They just remember the candy and wish they had more. And when they get more, they will eat as much of it as they can, even if they don't really want it. Because they have been denied. And because they are being controlled.

It seems so obvious to me that this attitude toward candy is just another driving force behind binging on the holidays and then denying ourselves the rest of the year. And does this really work?

Maybe it is only obvious to me because I have been reading and thinking so much about unfooding lately. You can read those posts here and here.


I also think it is sad because I have recently realized just how much control was exercised over me as a child and it continues to haunt me and define my behavior.

I know that I don't want to do this to Annika.

Some parents will probably say I am a horrible mother for allowing my child eat all of her Halloween stash.

I'm sure that plenty of mothers would be mortified to know that when Annika asked for candy this morning after breakfast I gave it to her.

But here's the thing. After trick-or-treating the other night, she only ate a couple of pieces of candy. Then we went home and went to bed. She ate a few more pieces the next day. And a few more pieces the next day.

She'll probably eat a few more pieces tomorrow. But will she have eaten any more than kids who get to binge on Halloween? Probably not much more. And it will have been spread out over several days.

So to me, that seems better. It seems more logical. And it seems much nicer to her.

Evilness all ablaze with sweet berry flavor

Last night in my car, I switched on NPR. They were running a story about an Iranian blogger who got arrested a year ago in Iran for being a blogger or something.

I'm not really sure. You know why? I switched stations to listen to music.

There was a time in my life when I would have gotten all irate and
when I got home I would have gotten online and read more about it, then sent off a message to some of friends about it, then signed a petition to have him freed.

Not anymore. My head is way too filled with other things like schooling and healthy meals for toddlers and autism and vaccines and avoiding the swine flu and potty training and playdates.......

Are you tired yet?

So, after I switched stations, I thought, "WTF. I used to DO this for a living." Report the news I mean. Not be an Iranian blogger.

So I switched back, determined to get my panties in a wad over the injustice in the world. By then they were talking about some wine being ablaze with the flavor of blackberry currant.

I clicked off.

A year ago, I was still an avid newshound. Even when Annika was latched onto my breast 24/7, I still couldn't wait to get my news fix first thing in the morning along with my coffee.

Two and a half years ago I worked for a newspaper. I was so on top of what was going on in the world I could have told you how often W took a shit.

And now that we have a president in office whom I voted for and whom I like, (not to digress, but I was actually a Hillary supporter initially).

I don't follow the news.

Can someone please tell me what it is about becoming a parent that makes you stop caring what is going in the world? Can someone please tell me why I have absolutely no interest in the news anymore? I mean, okay I do have an interest. But I have lost touch. I don't even know where to begin anymore. I miss it. And I miss the old me.

But I like the new stuff too. And I also like the new me.

Ironically, the new me is a lot like that NPR broadcast. First there is the old me who gets all fired up about politics and war and evil oppressive dictators. Toyin used to have to monitor the television so that Fox news didn't stay on too long. He was afraid my blood pressure would shoot up so high that I might have to be hospitalized.

Then there's the new me. All saturated and drippy sweet with mommy life.

Somehow I've got to find a way to fuse the evilness of the world with blackberry currant. I think this post is a good start. Now for the news.....

Unfooding myself

A couple of posts ago I wrote about choices. I've been thinking a lot about my choices lately. And with choices comes letting go of limits I've put on myself.

For years I've wanted to lose 10 pounds. I'm not counting pregnancy and post pregnancy weight here, just the basic weight that I am.

I hover around 140. I'm 5 foot 6 inches. I think that I would look and feel better if I could hover around 130. 125 would be even better, but I'd be happy if I could get that damn 10 pounds off as it seems like they are all right in the middle of body.

Overall I'm pretty happy with my body shape. I'm probably rare in that my goals are actually attainable, but for some reason, I simply can't get there. It's so close and yet, for the past 10-ish years, I've never managed to get down there.

I've gotten close. Sometimes I'm really good about eating right and exercising for a couple of weeks and I get down to 135. I'm not going to sit here and say that I've tried really really hard, counted calories, jogged, lifted weights, yoga-ed, spinned, boxed, tai chi-ed, you-name-it-ed. No, the truth is, I haven't tried that hard. The truth is, if I had tried that hard, I could probably lose that little bit of weight.

So why haven't I?

I really and truly don't know, but my brain keeps coming to this. Maybe I simply don't want to.

Maybe I'm happy with myself the way I am, gut and all.

Wait, I better check my birth certificate. Am I really an American woman?

It simply can't be! What? I'm not supermodel skinny! Can I be happy with my body even though it isn't perfect? Yes. I can. Because I choose to.

So, yeah.

The headline. Unfooding myself. Let me get to that before I start telling you how wonderful I think the rest of my imperfections are. (Tongue firmly planted in cheek.)

I'm a member on Sandra Dodd's Yahoo group called Always Learning. It's an unschooling listserv. I joined it a while back when I had heard about unschooling and was curious.

I wrote to the group last week and asked them about unfooding. I got some killer advice. One woman said she likes to keep a bowl of Dove chocolates in her kitchen so she can have it any time she wants it. I'm totally going to start doing that.

Another woman said she doesn't think of desserts as separate. They go on the plate along with the rest of the meal. I made brownies over the weekend and when I served Annika dinner the other night, I gave her the brownie along with her meal. She ate that first, but she ate the rest of her dinner too.

The point is, I have choices. And I'm going to stop putting ridiculous limits on myself. It's stupid to constantly tell yourself that that you can't have chocolate because you want to lose 10 pounds. But then after you have limited yourself for several weeks you buy a box of chocolate cookies and eat the whole box on the way home from the store and blame it on PMS.

Yeah, I've done that.

More than once.

Last week when I went shopping. I bought a box of cookies. I didn't eat it on the way home. But over the course of the next three days, Annika and I (mostly I) ate them all. I didn't feel guilty about it. I ate them whenever I wanted to. I did not save any for Toyin and I'm not even sure he knew they were in the pantry. (Sorry Toyin).

Then when they were gone. I made brownies. We ate them all over the weekend. And you know what? I don't want any more chocolate.

I can have it whenever I want it. I can. And I will.

Oh, and I weighed myself this morning.

135.

Parenting the Chris Rock way

One of mine and Toyin's favorite inside jokes is a line from Chris Rock's bit, "How to Maintain a Relationship." (Warning, this video is not for people who are easily offended. It's pretty typical Chris Rock stuff).

Our joke stems from the part where he is talking about how men don't actually need to talk back when women are talking.

"You gotta just act like you're talking. 'Get out of here. Go on! l don't believe it. You don't say! Really? Get out of here! Go on. l don't believe it. I told you that bitch crazy.

"You gotta throw in, I told you that bitch crazy, you know why? 'Cause every woman's got another woman at her job that she can't stand."

When Toyin and I watched that bit, we cracked up because we had a pretty typical couple issue in that when I was venting, he wanted to fix fix fix. Toyin is the master solution maker. But when I was upset, that's not what I wanted. I just wanted someone to listen. More importantly, I wanted someone to understand.

Shortly after we saw that Chris Rock bit, Toyin and I were walking into a Lowes one afternoon. Walking in front of us was a couple in their mid-forties. She was talking and talking, clearly irate about something, although not at him. She was venting. They walked closely, indicating an intimate relationship. He held his hand on her shoulder in a loving manner. As she talked and waved her arms about, he nodded and said in a nurturing way, "mmmm, hmmm."

Toyin and I laughed and looked at each other and he said, "I told you that bitch was crazy."

What we saw that day was a man who was simply listening to and understanding his woman. He wasn't trying to fix anything.

Well, kids need that too.

I recently wrote a post about how I started reading Tears and Tantrums by Aletha Solter.

I'm just about done and it is eye-opening!

Solter points that when children cry or tantrum, parents are in one of two camps. They either punish, or they soothe/attempt to find a fix.

I have been in the soothing/fixing camp.

But Solter says that neither one of these is a good idea and soothing away the tears is just as detrimental to the child as punishment.

Why? Because they don't feel understood.

Additionally, if you try to fix it, or you ignore, or punish, you are not letting your child release her/his stress.

And just like adults, they need to release stress.

Since reading T&T, I am actually encouraging Annika to cry when it seems like she needs it. Solter gives some recommendations to parents in the book, which I'm not going to write down because this is one of those books that you should read yourself as this is one of those ideas that really doesn't translate well through retelling.

But if you don't read it, a simple solution here is: next time your kid is having a tantrum, just remember, "I told you that bitch crazy."

Choosing to parent with the end in mind

I have choices.

That has been my mantra all week.

I have choices about what I eat, what I wear, when I sleep, where I go, what I spend my money on, who I hang out with, what I read, how I live my life.

The first several are no big deal, but that last one, well, that's the doozy.

Since becoming a parent I have realized sooooo sooooo much about why I think the way I do and why I live the way I do has so very much to do with the way I was parented.

This is not a parent-bashing post. My parents did lots of things wrong but they did lots of stuff right too.

They are not/were not perfect. My siblings and I have spent a lot of years being mad at them for all the stuff they did wrong. I think that is pretty common, although, we always thought we were the weird ones.

One thing my parents did wrong was not give enough choices. I think that is also very common. I don't blame them for it. My mom and I have had lots of talks about our childhood and her early days of parenting. As she puts it, "By the time you (me) came along, I was just trying to get through the day."

I have one kid and I feel that way a lot. There were/are four of us.

Mainstream parenting says that children should do what their parents say. I know plenty of people who think their children should just obey them. I know people who teach their kids not to touch their stuff, to eat what is put in front of them, to go to bed because "I say so," to hurry up, get to school, do your homework, eat your dinner, go to sleep. They punish, give rewards, spank, yell, blame, time-out, control, force, and just generally reckon with. And the next day it starts all over again.

It's how most people think parenting is supposed to go.

I was telling Toyin the other day that I hoped by the time Annika is a teenager I hope and pray (and I ain't a religious woman) that we do enough stuff right so that we are close. I hope she doesn't hate us and rebel in ways that would do long-term damage.

I don't think that's "normal."

Imagine a world where you start it out as an infant, and your cries go unanswered a lot of the time. Then you begin to explore the world and you are constantly told no. Don't do this. Don't do that. Don't touch this. Don't touch that.

Then the punishments start.

Your life is structured for you. You have very few choices about what you do on a day-to-day basis.

Then you finally hit an age where you begin to have a little independence.

No wonder teens are rebellious and angry!

I think it's a sad state of affairs in this world where "normal" means that teenagers spend all their time with their friends, feel alienated from their parents and avoid talking to them.

The teen years are a time when kids should be looking to their parents for guidance on a lot of things that are going to affect the beginnings of their adult life. That's a time when I hope and pray that Annika will feel close enough to me to discuss with me and Toyin things like sex and drugs and college and career.

So, anyway, I have choices. Yeah, I digressed the hell out of this post. But that kind of stuff has been on my mind lately and it all ties together. Watch me now.

I have choices.

I spent the first part of my life being told what to do all the time. Then I spent the first part of my adulthood parroting back what I thought I was supposed to do.

It would have worked if I had liked it.

I got married. I got a job. I bought a house.

I have none of those things anymore.

I hated it. It sucked. I remember thinking, "Is this it? Is this what life is supposed to be?"

I got rid of all that stuff and now I am not married. I have a kid. I don't have a job (that pays). I don't own a house.

I like my life so much better.

But I am still working on making choices to make my life better. I still struggle daily with the idea that I *should* be doing things a certain way. I struggle with the idea that I should eat a certain way, dress a certain way and behave a certain way. My inner voices fight all the time. It's fucking exhausting.

My point, and I do have one, or do I? Is this.

Giving a child choices teaches them how to live and how to ensure they are living the way they want to. I recently saw this quote somewhere online. It's from Stephen Covey's book The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People: "Start with the end in mind." I haven't read this book, but now I'm thinking about reading it.

I like the idea of parenting with the end in mind. When I was pregnant I used to imagine Annika as an adult. I imagined her to be tall and beautiful. I imagined her to be strong, independent, happy, courageous, curious, friendly, intelligent, and loving.

I imagine her this way because this is the way I hope she turns out. I am curious about the semantics. What will her humor be like? What will her fashion (or lack of) sense be? What kind of work will she want to do? What kind of music will she like? Will she travel? What hobbies will she take up?

These are the kind of things I will leave up to her. But I think the other stuff is up to me and Toyin.

So, I parent with the end in mind. I want Annika to know that her choices will define her life.

Somehow, I got through a lot of life before I figured that out. I thought my life was being controlled by some outside force. Then one day I woke up and realized that my life had turned out exactly the way it had because of all the choices I made. I made a lot of good choices. But I made a lot of bad choices too.

So, I have choices.

I have choices.

As the mother of a bi-racial child, this makes me furious and scared

I am white. My daughter is half black. And when I read this story this morning my heart raced with rage and fear.

Wait... what year is this?

A judge in Louisiana denied a mixed race couple the opportunity to get married in his court because of fear for any children they might have.

"He came to the conclusion that most of black society does not readily accept offspring of such relationships, and neither does white society, he said.

"'There is a problem with both groups accepting a child from such a marriage," Bardwell said. "I think those children suffer and I won't help put them through it.'"

That is utter BULLSHIT!

My family and Toyin's family love Annika dearly and neither one of them has ever once expressed concern for her race.

What really gets me is that another part of justice of the peace in Tangipahoa Parish Keith Bardwell's, reasoning is that interracial marriages don't last long.

Uh, last time I checked lots of marriage's don't last long, whether they be white, black or whatever else.

What really gets me is that this asshole thinks he has the right to deny the Civil Rights movement and flout the law against discrimination.

Why is this jackass still an employee of the UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT?!

Oh wait, it's ok. He's really not a racist. He still lets Black folks use his bathroom.

HOW NICE OF HIM!

Babies on drugs flinging poop

This was my Facebook status tonight:

today Annika kicked @Lorien's baby gate several times. Hugged Rafi. Didn't want to hug Rafi when parents were looking. Came home, ran around saying nononononono. Wanted to nurse. Wanted to read. Nursereadnursereadnurseread. Now's she asleep. Toddler life.

After I read this, I thought, "Man, it's like being on drugs."

This is why I believe wholeheartedly in Attachment Parenting. That right there.

Can you imagine being that confused and disoriented all the time, only to be yelled at, spanked, shamed, and then be put to bed and left crying yourself to sleep?

I think that most parents look at their kids like little adults. But they aren't.

Yes, they are little tiny human beings. But they don't have the cognitive skills that (hopefully most) adults have.

It's like those science monkeys who can practically have a conversation with people using sign language, but after you finish playing backgammon with them, they get pissed off and throw poop at your face.

I mean, if I let her, Annika would probably throw poop at me and laugh. It's not because she's mean. It's because she doesn't understand that poop is filled with bacteria that could make you sick. And it's gross.

Annika likes to say poop. She thinks its funny. She also likes to say shoes. She also likes to say food, then when I give it to her she says nonono and throws it on the floor.

It just seems like it must be sort of wacky in their heads. That's all I'm sayin'.

Rant over.

Enter Tantrum

Annika's has been such a sweet and happy-go-lucky kid for the most part that there was this little part of my brain that has been continuously whispering soothing thoughts in the back of my head when I see other children throw tantrums.

"Nooo, not our Annika," a Gollum-like voice hisses into my brain when our playgroup friends demand toys and yell at other children.

"Annika is a gooood gurl. She will never act like thaaaat."

Well Gollum voice, go to hell, because damnit, my kid is normal and today the fit hit the shan, so to speak....

Annika threw a full-on tantrum on the living room floor that lasted a good three hours.

Ok, ok, it was really only about two or three minutes, but geez, did it feel like a long time.

I just started reading Tears and Tantrums: What to Do When Babies and Children Cryby Aletha Solter, because, quite frankly, I did see this coming. I just hoped I was wrong, or that the little mini-fits she was having were the worst it was going to get.

Before I started reading T & T, I thought that allowing tantrums was a bad thing. And honestly, I think that sometimes there are fits that are really and truly manipulative. I know that makes me sound very non-AP, but I'm starting to realize that there are no hard and fast rules for anything and when it comes to children there are subtleties that only the parents will pick up on.

But this book defies all laws of nature and everything our parents told us (and we all know that they are right about everything) that tantrums are actually a good thing.

Whaaaaaa??

Yeah, it's like a sneeze, says Solter. Because see, toddlers are still learning how to control their emotions and when they are upset, confused, frustrated, angry, in pain, tired, cranky, irritated with you, bored, anxious, impatient, you-name-it, they don't have the words or the power to fix the situation.

So what do they do?

They lie on the floor and flail their arms about and roll around and cry and scream and look at you like you're the devil. Then rush into your arms for a hug. Then push you away.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

So yeah, the above is pretty much the scene today when Annika awoke from her nap and I abruptly got up to answer the phone while she was still lounging at the breast.

Normally, I would do one of two things. I would either hold her close and say, "There there, it's okay. What's wrong? How can I help you? What do you need?"

OR, I might, depending on the situation or my mood say something like, "Oh no. There's no need for that behavior."

But today, since I started this book and I was curious about the advice, which is to simply let it happen and stay with your child while it happens.

I did just that.

For one, she raged longer than normal.

And two, when she was done. She hopped up off the floor happily. Patted Baltar, while cooing at him. Then she came over to me and gave me a really long hug and kissed me.

It really seemed to make her feel better.

In addition to letting the child clear out her feelings, the theory behind this methodology is that if you punish or soothe the tantrum away, you are not validating your child's feelings. This could potentially be the beginning of a life of unexpressed emotions. Distrust is another problem too. If you don't validate or allow expression of the feelings, the child will not trust you to really hear her/him.

I'm not totally sure how I feel about this idea. I like it. I hope it's correct. But I'm not completely convinced yet. I'll have to wait and see if this method continues to work so well.

I also plan on reading more about this subject. I'd love to hear suggestions for more material.

And now, for the best part.


Because I'd rather leave you with an image of Annika dancing, not throwing a tantrum. Plus, it's cute as hell.

Monkeying around with food

Today I was visiting with my friend Sonya and, as women do, we got around to discussing our eating habits and weight loss. Naturally, since we are also parents, this discussion morphed into our theories on how to teach our kids about food.

We both have a fondness for starchy and cheese laden foods, as well as sugar. Knowing that too much of these kinds of foods are not good for us, we have already begun to come up with ideas on how to thwart bad eating habits in our children.

It seems like with food, everyone knows what they don't want. For instance, Sonya and I agree that we don't want our children to attach emotional rewards to certain foods, as we do.

We know that we don't want our children to overeat or to eat things that will give them long-lasting health problems like high blood pressure or heart disease.

But the conversation got me to thinking.

What do I WANT for Annika. Not just what do I not want, but how to I want her to view food?

And just what is the best way to go about helping her learn the best way to view food?

Personally, I seesaw between being puritanical about food and binging. I don't like cooking and I lack the creative sense for making it look good. Therefore, I will eat whatever is put in front of me as long as I can stomach it and I am hungry.

My ex-husband, who was in the Air Force, used to tease me about my laziness in the kitchen. He once told some friends that if I was stranded and I had all the makings for a three-course meal, but I had to cook it, and my other option was an MRE (acronym stands for meal-ready-to-eat, those freeze dried camping thingies, also used for military) that I would choose the MRE. He was right. At the time anyway. I think now I'd take a stab at the cooking.

BUT, I also have certain go-to foods when I am depressed, anxious, bored, lazy, lethargic.... You get the point.

Food can be emotional for me. It seems that it is for a lot of people. Maybe everyone? I don't know about that. But I'd like to think that food doesn't have to be overly emotional. I guess that is what I want for Annika.

Sure, I'd like her to enjoy her food. I want her to be able to find enjoyment in all areas of life. But I don't want her to attach certain emotions to certain foods, like for me, when I get depressed I need chips and salsa. (When I went through my divorce, I practically lived on them. I am NOT kidding.)

But, back to my conversation with Sonya. I found that our goal is essentially the same -- to have children who make healthy choices and don't have weight problems or other health issues caused by eating habits -- our approach differs somewhat.

I tend toward the idea that with food, less is more. And more is less. In other words, little to no regulation of food is a good idea. This idea is otherwise known as unfooding.

Sonya's approach is to make healthy food attractive to her son.

I've realized that these are both good ideas and I want to find ways of making healthy food more attractive to Annika so that she doesn't struggle with making choices based simply on what tastes good, but what is the best choice for her health and how it makes her feel physically.

In order to learn how to make choices, one must HAVE choices. And food should be something to enjoy just like anything else.

This is what I struggle with. How to balance the enjoyment of food without overeating?

Annika doesn't seem all that interested in real food. She'll still nurse any day over eating regular food.

Lately I've been thinking about ways to give variety and make food attractive, like making monkey platters (the name is from unschooling/unfooding mama, Sandra Dodd) and using Bento boxes. From what I've heard, variety is key with little kids and also it helps give them extra choices.

So for now, I'm looking for ideas on how to put some variety into Annika's diet while also giving her healthy food choices.




A sad and pathetic first attempt at a monkey platter. She seemed to like it anyway.

Putting the human pacifier to rest and oh, I'M the mom

It's been about five weeks since the start of weaning Annika from the human pacifier (me) and I figured I should make a final update and then let the topic go about it's merry business.

In the past two weeks or so, it's come to my attention that Annika is finally getting used to the idea that I am no longer going to accommodate her wishes that I lie in bed with her for every sleep session allowing the suckling to continue indefinitely.

Tonight, she actually popped herself off after falling asleep, within a minute or two. I was very happy about that.

She's still waking up after about an hour or two once I put her to sleep, but she's sleeping longer and longer during the night. I was discussing this with a friend today, that I might not really need to night wean her.

So sure, the process took longer than it could have. And I won't lie. There were a couple of rough nights where she cried much longer than I was comfortable with. However, I am sure that nothing I've done has damaged our attachment and I don't think she ever felt scared or unsure that I wasn't going to be there for her. She was angry, sure, maybe a bit uneasy with the new situation, but not scared.

In addition to me finally getting some evening time back, I've noticed some other positive results. She's sleeping more deeply and her vocabulary has increased like crazy in the last few weeks.

That could be a coincidence, but I don't think so.

She's now saying lots of words: cat, hat, Mama, water, shoes, up, food (well, she says foof, but we know what she means).

Yeah, Mama. She says it, but she doesn't seem to be referring to me. Until today. She looked up at me and said, "mom?" It was surreal. I went, like, "Oh, shit, I'm the MOM!"

Yeah, 9 months of pregnancy, 19 1/2 hours of labor and 16 months later, and I still can't get over it. I'm the mom. Wow.

Funny baby video of the week

Toyin loves Beyonce, and now, he loves babies. Here's his funny baby video of the week.

Backflash, pre-parenthood days and picking a natural labor doc

I'm writing a brief story, for another publication, on how to find a doctor who is pro natural childbirth. I thought I should share my story of switching doctors mid-pregnancy, since that is what spurred me on to write this list for my readers.

I wrote this sometime after Annika was born in 2008.

It was January when I began giving some thought to a natural childbirth. I was due in May and it took me about a month to fully commit to the idea.

By the time I decided to discuss it with my doctor, I had already taken many steps toward embracing natural childbirth.

While at work, I had spent more time reading on-line about natural childbirth than I spent working.

I borrowed a copy of Hypnobirthing: The Mongan Method, read it, and had called to request a chance to audit a local class.

I had written my birth plan.

I had begun convincing Toyin that this was a good idea. (He needed lots of convincing.)

And then, I decided to discuss it with my doctor.

It had never occurred to me that she would not be supportive.

How naïve I was.

She laughed at me!

She didn’t even try to hide her amusement.

“Well, okay, you can do that,” she said gleefully smirking. “But you wouldn’t get a root canal without any pain medication would you?”

She clearly thought I was insane.

After she read my birth plan she told me that she thought I would be more comfortable at the birthing center.

I got no respect from this woman. She practically kicked me out of her office after insisting that a copy of my birth plan be put in my chart.

As I slunk out of her office, I imagined that while I had waited in the examination room, she had passed my birth plan around to her staff and they were all laughing at me.

Even so, on my walk of shame out of her office, I felt good about my decision to have a natural birth. This was not the doctor for me, but I knew that there had to be a doctor out there who would be supportive.

Maybe I was being foolish, but I wanted the best of both worlds. I wanted to do it my way, but with an emergency crew waiting in the wings just in case anything went wrong.

I did not want a midwife, I wanted a doctor, who had an MD behind her name.

I am a firm believer in modern technology and medicine.

I had already considered the birthing center and had decided that I would be more comfortable in a hospital.

I have nothing against the birthing center or midwives. In fact, I’ve heard great things about them and think it sounds wonderful, as long as everything goes right.

But even if I had wanted to use the birthing center, I couldn’t.

I had high blood pressure while I was pregnant and considered high risk, which made me an ineligible candidate for the birthing center.

Even without that consideration, I wanted to be surrounded by every possible machine that could make a difference just in case my baby had any problems. It was simply my own preference.

I was definitely birthing in a hospital.

Before I decided to completely cut myself loose from that doctor I just so happened to make a visit to Round Rock Medical Center, the hospital where I would birth if I stayed with her.

One morning at work, I had one of those new mommy panics where I thought the baby wasn’t moving enough and called my doctor’s office who told me I should get to a hospital immediately.

Once there she was fine, jumping around like a firecracker, but since I was there anyway I asked for a quick tour.

After a few minutes with the nurse, I knew that this was definitely not where I wanted to birth.

As she showed me the labor room, we began chatting. She had read my birth plan and told me that “quite frankly,” she thought it was a bit “wacky.”

She also told me that while many women who came through their hospital did natural birth, that for the most part, the doctors there were strictly “by the book” and followed the policy of “cya.”

“Cover your ass,” she explained in response to my confused look.

Did I want a doctor who was going to force me into a rigid “by the book” labor, forcing interventions on me at the first hint of inconvenience or potential problems? Or did I want a doctor who was going to do what was best for me and my child?

On my way back to work, I called up Rhonda, my soon-to-be hypnobirthing instructor and left her a message asking her if she knew any doctors who would be supportive.

She recommended Dr. Christina Sebestyen, who I did use and I loved her, although she did not actually attend Annika's birth. During my labor she checked on me numerous times, but told me she'd been at the hospital for three days and she was exhausted. I labored for several more hours after she had gone home. It didn't matter. I had a fantastic nurse who I will always be grateful to for being so supportive.

The fact is, if I knew then what I know now, things would be MUCH different. Since Annika's birth I have met a large and supportive community of women who are pro natural labor. Hearing stories about home births and the birth center have made me wish I knew them all along.

Overall, Annika's birth went very well, considering it was my first time and I was actually pretty uneducated, even though I thought I had done lots of research. I got lucky. More to come later.

Fate took a big crap on my head last week

I haven't been able to write this week because my head has not been in a good space for writing about parenting, which is, I guess, essentially what this is supposed to be about.

I'm about to go off on several tangents, but stay with me because it all ends up in the same head space.

I met up with parenting coach Sandra Blackard for an interview a couple of weeks ago. What I wrote about her in that story was the basics. But what she talked to me about was so much more.

Blackard's technique of "Say what you see" for kids works great.

To boil it down, you literally always just say what you see.

For instance, you want your kid to eat his vegetables. "But I don't LIKE vegetables. I don't want to eat them!" he says. So instead of engaging in a power struggle over the vegetables you go, "You really don't like vegetables. You don't want to eat them."

Then, using SWYS, hopefully, the kid will go something like, "Well, maybe I like green beans. I'll eat green beans, but I won't eat cauliflower!" So, there. Problem solved.

Blackard says with SWYS if you allow the child to be heard, they will always come up with a solution to the problem.

(I totally just made up that example, so Sandy, if you are reading this and you want to comment further, please do so. I should say at this point that I do not profess to be an expert on SWYS.)

Moving on.

Okay, interesting enough for the kids, although her idea isn't really new to AP literature. Haim Ginott's ideas have been around for a while and are ingrained in AP readings by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish, (the "How to talk..." ladies).

What intrigued me most about Blackard is that she encourages you to use SWYS on yourself too.

Ever since I met with Blackard, I have found myself really listening to MYself. And actually saying what I see, or really, HEARing what I am SAYing inside my head.

For instance, when Toyin says he is going to be home by 5 p.m. and then he doesn't show up until 5:30, in the past I would have found myself going, "YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO BE HOME BY 5!" Then storming angrily around the house muttering and/or shouting about how he NEVER shows up on time and how pissed off I am and now my evening is RUINED!

Instead, now, I say to myself, "I don't like that. I really don't like it when Toyin doesn't do what he says he's going to."

Then I can say calmly to him, "I don't like that you didn't show up when you said you were going to. I really don't like it when you don't show up on time."

This confronts the problem without being accusatory or judgmental and states the OH-SO-OBVIOUS, well, at least it was to me. Right ladies?

As I write this I realize that using Toyin is a bad example because if he reads this then he's going to be like, "Yeah, you still yell at me all the time."

But anyway, the point is, I have been hearing myself. I'm finally listening to myself. And it's helping me solve problems for myself better than I have in the past.

This leads me to my next tangent.

Last week I got an e-mail from a woman I've seen only a handful of times. She came to my house once for a playgroup and we've seen each other at a couple of AP functions.

She responded to a post I made on our online forum when I posted a link to a story I had written about Austin Attachment Parenting.

I swear to the gods, I have always toyed with the idea that I believe in fate, but I was never sure. I am now cuz Fate bitch-slapped me and said, "Hey, WTF Martha! How can you not believe in me? I'm right fucking here!"

Ok, a little over the top I know. But that's how I felt.

Like, ok, back to SWYS for a minute, Blackard uses the metaphor of talking to kids like you're on a map. Like, you can't tell them to turn left at the Stop sign if they are on the playground and there's no Stop sign. So, you have to be where they are when you are guiding them and that's how they will know where to go next. That's how SWYS works. If you can't see it, then don't say it. Right? Right. Get on the map. Then you can move forward. If you're not on the map, then how can you find direction? Metaphorically speaking of course.

So, like, I'm on the fucking map and this chick Michelle e-mails me with an idea that she wants me to write about: UNjobbing.

That's not a typo, dudes. I am not making this up. There's unschooling and now, I have finally heard it all. Unjobbing. It's basically being self employed. But it's being self employed because you really don't want to have a J.O.B.

That's totally what I'm trying to do.

Do you see how there I was on the map and then out of the blue someone came along to inspire me? How can I ignore that? I mean, it's like a fucking Lifetime movie of the week starring Melissa Gilbert.

See, I don't want to work away from my home for several hours a day and have to stick Annika in daycare. The reasons why are many, but Annika is the supremo number one reason.

Michelle's idea for an article was to talk about how she and her husband, Joel, are able to work from home and stay with their daughter, Siena. She loves it so much that she wants to inspire other people to do the same thing.

So I went over to Michelle's house and we talked about self employment and unjobbing and unschooling. She's really cool. And when I left her house I felt so motivated and positive about my life that I realized something. And for the first time I heard myself say it. Out loud. In my own head.

I don't like having a job. I want to work for myself. I want to be self employed. I want to be my own boss. It's scary. But there it is. Right there in my brain. And it's been there all of my adult life.

So this morning as Annika and I were lying in bed performing our mandatory, morning nursing session, I was thinking about how I haven't written a post in almost a week. And I was thinking about Sandy Blackard. Then I was thinking about all the random and various ways I plan to go about making money. Then I thought about Michelle e-mailing me and our visit at her house and I realized it all tied together. And voila! I knew I had to write about it.

As our morning wore on, I boiled and churned this blog post in my head, I came up with the headline because I knew that this all stuff -- Say what you see, listening to myself, unjobbing, being a mom -- all of this stuff is part of my journey of being mindful.

Then in my head popped my headline, "Wherever you go, that's where you are." I know it's nothing new, but it totally fits with the mindfulness and the map analogy.

And now for the best part, I know, I know you thought I was done being all zen and shit. But here goes.

This morning, on a total whim I decided to take Annika to Ruta Maya for the morning kid's show. The act was Sarah Dinan, a Celtic singer, who also does kids songs. She's a mom too.

And she's singing kids music and we're clapping hands and singing and having a grand old time. Then she says she's going to do one, just ONE mind you, of her Gaelic tunes. She tells us, "Okay, you probably won't understand the words because it's in another language, but the name of the song is -- get this shit -- "Wherever you go, that's where you are."

I shit you not. Okay Fate, c'mon over here and give me a big hug.