Friday, September 25, 2015


The past few weeks have been transitional ones here, with the move to homeschooling two of the kids. I've been mostly in a good place of late, but I know that that's largely because I have just been too busy to think about how I'm feeling. Not that it's a bad thing, to be honest. I tend to go down the rabbit hole when met with idle time.

The last couple of days, there has been something unsettled in my heart. A familiar, but uncomfortable feeling, one that I know well. Had I really looked at the calendar, I would have realized why.

It's been four years, today.

Four years since I received a phone call that told me she was gone.

Four years now without my friend.

If I'm being completely honest with myself, I wasn't nearly as good a friend to her as I should have been, as I needed to be, especially those last weeks and months. The last time she and I talked, really talked, she'd nudged me along the sidelines of a soccer game on an unusually cold morning and spoke with an urgency I should have recognized, that I did recognize but was refusing to see reflected in my own reality.

I was in too bad of a place myself to be the friend I should have been, and I carry that regret with me to this day. I haven't forgiven myself for it yet. She'd tell me to.

I wish I'd have reached out to her more, I wish that I'd have let her in more. I wish that I'd allowed myself to be vulnerable, I wish I'd told her that I understood things more than I'd ever let on. I wish.

Wishing doesn't bring her back.

Wishing doesn't give me that morning again.

Wishing doesn't remove that phone call from my life, from the days and weeks that followed, from the long goodbyes to someone gone too soon.

There are people out there that placate those in grief with trite words like everything happens for a reason, as though there would ever be a reason for the world to lose someone as amazing as she was.

She was a unique and beautiful force in this life.

She taught me so many things in the years that I shared on this planet with her. She taught me kindness, she taught me patience. She taught me organization, she taught me how to celebrate. She taught me to keep laughing even when it hurts and she taught me grace for all the moments when the laughter won't come.

There are still times that I will be out somewhere and I'll hear a laugh that faintly resembles hers and I'll think for a moment that maybe she's there.

She is still here in a way, in the gifts she left behind, in the lessons she taught so many of us.

It's not the same though. It never will be.

I miss you, my dear friend, and I love you.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

To The One I Never Thought I'd Meet

Dear Sweet Boy,

I started this letter to you a few weeks ago, actually, sitting on the front porch of the house, staring up as the breeze blew, the afternoon sunlight filtered by the movement of the leaves. The air filled with the sounds of those leaves just beginning to dry out and crinkle on the edges and of you, talking to yourself as you played beside me. 

It's coming, fall. The tops of the trees are turning color ever so slightly, daylight shortening with each passing evening. It was this time last year that you arrived. I knew that you'd be here soon, though I wished that I could have altered the way you came. 

I tried and I failed to change that. 

It won't be the last time that I try and I fail to do what's best for you or for me, child. I know that with more certainty than I've ever known anything in my life.

Parenthood isn't easy. It's filled with times when I've wondered if I was doing the right thing, times when I questioned my abilities. I've learned now, through having done this for so long with your siblings, that my instincts are generally good ones and that I should trust them.

It's been different with you. It's all been different with you.

I'm different.

Your father is different.

With you, I think that we've become the parents we always wanted to be. Calmer, gentler, quieter. We're more in tune with you, we pause more, we hold back more at times, give more all the rest. Maybe it is you that is so different. There is a reason I call you my sweet boy. You adore your siblings, your smile is huge when you see one of them across a room. You eagerly crawl to them, walk to them, with open arms.

You love big, with all the wild eyed open mouthed kisses to accompany it.

You are stubborn and independent. You started walking a while ago, figuring out how to stand up without help just this past weekend. 

You are inquisitive and curious in a way I haven't seen since your oldest brother was a baby. You want to open everything, see everything, try everything.

You are good natured and already have a sense of humor that tells me you belong here with us. You've been laughing at yourself since you were just 3 or 4 months old. Keep doing that throughout your life.

Your hair is as unwieldy as can be. Double crowned, you are. They say that it's associated with intelligence, which would make sense. You seem to just know things, about life, about people, about the world around you. You figure things out quickly, already.

Your eyes are truly the windows to your soul, one that I'm convinced is an old one. I think maybe you've been here before. There are times that I look at you and I see your father, times that you resemble all of your siblings together, times you are just like one of them alone, times you remind me so much of my parents, of other people in our family, and then there are all the times that you are uniquely you - a force to be reckoned with in this world all your own.

I never knew that we'd meet someday. I thought for certain we wouldn't. And then one day, one year ago, you came into the world.

You told me that though I thought I knew so much, I really knew nothing at all. I had to learn you. Then I had to learn us.

You rearranged my priorities in a way I wasn't prepared for, wrapping us all around your tiny fingers from the moment you arrived.

You taught me to slow down, to soak up everything you are, and then you forced me to do it.

You still insist that I give you all of my attention every time you are nursing, demanding to hold my free hand with yours.

You forced me to accept my powerlessness to so many aspects of parenthood in a way I'd never confronted before. You forced me to accept a lot of things, and that acceptance has brought calm with it.

You healed me and heal me every day with your presence.

You've given me wisdom and peace.

I never knew I'd meet you someday, but now I know for sure that you've always been meant to be here.

We just had to wait.

I love you, sweet boy.

Happy birthday, baby.


Monday, September 14, 2015

Boldly Going Where Others Have Already Gone

I haven't been around here much lately, and if I'm being entirely honest, I don't know how much time I'll have to write in the near-ish future.

This weekend, the baby figured out how to stand up without hanging on to anything, so now he'll be walking and running more than sitting and crawling. He actually did it for the first time when all of us, including his grandparents, were watching, which was pretty cool.

He's not the only reason, though.

Last week, I pulled Mini Me and Little Boy out of public school. I'll be homeschooling them primarily with a supplemental program through the district that they will attend once a week. At this point, I'm largely constructing my own curriculum for each of them since they're both unconventional learners.

First day of school, round two.
That whole unconventional learner thing is why we're here, by the way.

Public school isn't designed to deal with the kids who don't fit into the boxes they demand. These kids don't fit easily or well. They ooze out the sides and jump out of the top, push their feet through the bottom.

I've been a bit overwhelmed with this initial transition. We talked about this for a long time before we did it, involved the kids in the decision. This isn't a snap judgment or a quick reaction, nothing specific happened that precipitated the move. If I'm being honest, it's been a long time coming. A very long time.

The first day at the supplemental program, I pulled into the parking lot, a little unsure of what to expect. I was surrounded almost immediately by families that told me I'd made the right call. Quirky kids. Babywearing moms. Beat up minivans with 3, 4, 5 kids jumping out of them. There was even a dog that escaped from a car running around the parking lot.

It felt like home. A home I hadn't even realized I was missing.

This wasn't a decision rooted in religion. We aren't trying to shield or protect the kids from anything. I have a background in education. They'll be socialized sufficiently.

We aren't giving in to them or letting them manipulate us. We know that they have challenges that other kids don't have, we know that they need to learn coping mechanisms as they grow up to deal with a world that doesn't know how to deal with them.

And that's part of what they will be learning here at home.

(I'm trying to think of all the things people have brought up in the wake of this decision...)

Basically, I trust my abilities to teach them. My husband trusts my abilities to teach them. That's really all that matters right now.

It just means that I won't be writing as much for a while, at least not in this capacity.

I have a feeling that you all will understand. xo

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Things That Piss Me Off Tuesday - the it's September so everyone needs money edition

Salutations, September.

August was pretty much 31 days of suck. Expensive suck. For whatever reason a whole lot of stuff went wrong last month and it's costing us a damn fortune, so now that August is over, things should get better, right?

Well. No. Because it's September, and September predictably means one thing every single year - everyone needs money. My pants are too short, my shoes are too small. I need a ton of sweaters of varying colors and weights to wear over my other shirts because the school has an ass backward Puritanical dress code that says upper arms are somehow the gateway to sex and god forbid the boys be distracted by my upper arms. School supplies, school fees, trips, sports expenses, sports gear, and the fundraisers. Sweet baby Jesus the fundraisers. Go ahead, squeeze every last drop out of me. I know it's only $18 for this and $30 for that and that you only need to get this many magazine subscriptions and orders and popcorn packages. I know. I know that you only need one sweatshirt and one t-shirt and one of this and one of that.

Oh and you need red pens and another 5 subject notebook even though every store in town is sold out of them and we need 4 soccer jerseys except the store is sold out of them too and Mom can I have a lunchable????

Parents, are you with me right now?

Anyhow, there is other stuff to rant about too.

Like Kentucky
Oh, Kim Davis,'ve had your 15 minutes of fame. I know that you think you're all super religious and strong in your convictions, the great defender of the sanctity of marriage and that...but we know you're on your 4th marriage yourself. You know that saying about throwing stones and glass houses? Maybe pay attention to that one.

The Supreme Court refused to intervene on your behalf here, basically said that the state can force you to do your job. Your job is issuing marriage licenses. The funny thing is that the couple you've been denying a license to, the people you just can't stomach marrying one another....they actually are sticking up for you. How crazy is that? They don't want you thrown in jail for contempt of court.

They just want to get married.

It's time to do your job or move out of the way.

Or you know, keep clinging to some belief that straight people can make a mockery of marriage but gay people marrying offends your interpretation of the Bible and go to jail. There's always that option.

Those who write the books decide which history we teach
If I were to tell you that some slave owners were super nice to their slaves, that the slaves shared their knowledge so that plantation owners could prosper and that slavery really wasn't all that bad because they had their faith to lean on (and their families unless the families had been "split up" by sales)...what would be your first reaction?

If your first reaction isn't that all that is complete revisionist whitewashed bullshit, I'm not sure we can be friends.

It's how students in Texas (and consequently the nation in general) will be taught, though, according to the new history textbooks written to downplay the role of slavery in the South. 

The books are a result of lobbying by conservative groups to shape what students are taught, and the books sold in Texas tend to spread across the country because the publishers print what Texas will buy because they have enormous districts.

Just because we don't happen to like the things that happened in the past in this country doesn't mean we can pretend they didn't happen or minimize what occurred. Teaching students this romanticized version won't do a damn thing except further the illusion that we live in a post-racial society - which is exactly the goal of those demanding these edits.

Stand up against this shit and refuse to let your children be misled about the history of this country. For fucks sake.

Finally someone is keeping track of this stuff.....but it's not anyone here....
The Guardian has launched a site compiling information about all deaths occurring in police custody here in the United States. The data they are collecting includes information about states, race, age, charges and whether the person killed was armed or unarmed.

The fact that someone is finally compiling this data is huge. The fact that it's being done by a British newspaper, not one here...well, should be a bit disturbing.

Here's the link if you'd like to follow it. As of this morning, the number is 776.

Victim Blaming
Chrissie Hynde is best known as the lead singer of The Pretenders, has long been an example of a strong woman in an industry dominated by men.

She's also famous (or more correctly, infamous) now for what she recently said about rape victims.

Hynde, a victim of rape herself at the age of 21, decided to tell the world that she takes responsibility for what happened to her, and that rape victims in general need to own their share of blame. 

Wait. What????



If you feel like there might have been choices you made that may have had something to do with your personal assault and you need to work through that, more power to ya. (I still think you're wrong, btw...those who rape others are 100% on the hook for that, regardless of anything else.) But do not for one second believe that it's okay to blame victims for what happens to them. Nope.

It's Denali again. Thanks, Obama.
President Obama renamed Mt. McKinley its original name, Denali, this week. The name, and the mountain itself, are sacred to the indigenous population in Alaska. 

This of course has resulted in a few people completely losing their shit. Trump and a few Ohio representatives in particular are quite vocal about it, not seeming to understand that he restored the original name, that it should have never been renamed in the first place, and that it was not named after McKinley's assassination but years prior.

But whatever. Facts, schmacts. OUTRAGE!!!

Hard eyeroll.

Big Strong Brave Hunters.....
A homeowner here in a mountain town shot and killed two bear cubs this morning.

A mother bear and her two cubs were going through his trash. He claims he fired two warning shots (with rubber bullets) in an attempt to scare them off. It didn't work. His dog got out, then he fired a live round, hitting both the cubs with one shot.

Jesus. If you live in the mountains, you have to confront the reality that you are the one intruding on the animals, not the other way around. If the bears have become problematic in or around your home, you are supposed to call it in, not shoot them.

The mother bear ran off and climbed a tree across the street. Wildlife officials hope she'll come down on her own.

Without her babies.


Sometimes I really hate humans.

The VMA drama
Seems like any time I write about anything pop culture related, I get people telling me that it's stupid and meaningless and insignificant except that what is transpiring between Taylor Swift, Nicki Minaj and Miley Cyrus (and all the media) right now is symptomatic of a much bigger issue.

A much bigger issue.

White women appropriate culture, use the word "mammy", make entire videos calling out someone else - world applauds. Hell, they get to host the show, win the awards.

Black woman points that out, she is deemed "angry black woman", told she needs to behave and be quiet.

Nicki Minaj has every right to be pissed. If you don't understand why...please read this.

The ADHD and anxiety are so thick in the air you can taste them
We're having some real adjustment issues with the kids going back to school this year. It has been hard. Harder than usual.

Like so bad that I have a couple of them asking me to homeschool them bad.

The beginning of the year is always full of changes and new expectations, feeling out new teachers and getting to know the kids in the classes...but something just feels off this time. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I'm hoping that we get past this initial phase quickly.

Either that or I'm going to need to be talked down on a daily basis.

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