And the Bells Ring Again

I'm feeling guilty right now. I'm sitting here when I should be doing any number of other projects. Not fun projects. It's all housework and organization -- like washing a sink full of morning dishes, putting the dry goods away from this morning's shopping and also all the dry goods left out in bags still from last week's grocery shopping or cleaning out the refrigerator (Again! Why does it always need to be purged and reorganized? Ugh.) So, I'll put it off for a little bit.

Actually, I'm not really sure what to do with myself right now. I'm not sure if I should be productive and get stuff done so that our home runs more efficiently (please stop laughing now) or whether I should just sit on my fat ass and relax for a few hours. I'm torn. See, I'm child-free for the next 2.5 hours. Well, if you count the time before, I've already been child-free since 8:15 a.m.

The Bee is at tennis camp -- today is her last day. Horse Girl started high school this morning.

I have to pause a moment just to let that settle in. My. Baby. Started. High. School.

I am not sure which is more shocking -- the fact that she is high-school-aged or that she is actually attending a high school. We've been homeschooling for the last five years. The last day of second grade, when the school year ended and we walked home from the school after informing the attendance office that we wouldn't be returning, was one of the best days of my life. I can still see it clearly in my mind and feel it distinctly in my body, walking home with the little Horse Girl. I felt relieved, elated and scared. Mixed emotions.

I feel the same today. Relieved, elated and scared. Having her return back to the school system has not been easy for me. I guess the difference for me this time around is that this was a choice that she made for herself.

I began this year investing in books like The Teenage Liberation Handbook, Real Lives: Eleven Teenagers Who Don't Go to School Tell Their Own Stories, and Homeschooling: The Teen Years. I felt committed to continuing the alternative education path that we had started for Horse Girl. Because of her passion for horses and the unique opportunities that arose for her due to educating her at home, I wanted to make sure that she would be able to continue to be able to take advantage of being homeschooled. I felt charged. I felt ready to take on the challenge. 

I also felt a little worried. I won't kid you. I'd read a lot of success stories. I'd read about un-schoolers and about letting your child find their own path. But, I never felt completely comfortable with the total un-schooling life style. I am not a rigid curriculum based homeschooler either. I've been more of an eclectic homeschooler -- some subjects the girls have had to do (math, writing, reading) and others we've bumbled around and tried out different things or followed their interests.

Frankly, as far as Horse Girl, I was getting a little burned out. I felt enthusiastic about learning Spanish together and bought a language program that we could both use. She initially wanted to learn German so she could talk with her cousin; I hesitated over that. I don't speak or know a lick of German, so I would be of absolutely no help to her. She also refused to spend time with friends of ours each week who did speak German. I really did not want to invest in an costly language program that would be languishing unused on our computer desktop -- I had a pretty strong hunch that this is what would result. So, I suggested we start with Spanish, her grandmother spoke five languages, so if she was able to show a commitment to Spanish (which I wanted to re-learn anyways) then I would invest in German. Spanish was also more practical for her with her work with horses.

Well, there wasn't much commitment to the Spanish program. Horse Girl did start it, but then did not want to work on the program on the computer stating that she liked working one-on-one with people. Okay, let's sit down and work together. But getting that accomplished was difficult as well. It's not easy roping a teen in away from Facebook, or looking at herself in the mirror or from episodes of day-dreaming. And then I had to hear ad nauseum about how much she disliked the Spanish teacher she had on Fridays with some friends -- mainly because she like another former teacher who was cooler and younger, but who could no longer teach their class.

I also bought her an expensive math curriculum with a DVD component so that she could work on her own with me helping to clarify things. I really was hoping she would be a little more self-sufficient and I thought she would enjoy that, too, so I wouldn't be breathing down her neck.  Well, that ended up with me completely teaching the math in private tutorial sessions. 

You know, you read about all those brilliant homeschoolers who are self-motivated and accomplish great things. Now, I'm not saying my girls aren't great -- they are -- they just don't want to do any of the educational things that my husband and I feel are important. Math is not optional. Period. Did I mention that I'm not an un-schooler? 

Right around the time that I was reading the aforementioned books and connecting with other homeschoolers to lock in a high school level English/writing class, alternating between fits of despair and moments of determined commitment, Horse Girl drops the bomb. She wants to try high school. And not for academic reasons.

I absorbed this information. I actually listened and didn't start on a long lecture of why I hate the school system. Amazing. Because inside I felt alarmed. And scared. But, I did check out the information on school's website and made an appointment for a school tour. When I mentioned it to the Entrepeneur he freaked out a bit. We got into an argument of course (I'm a first-born and he's an only, so there is always an argument.) So, I put the whole thing off for a while.

The Entrepeneur started checking out private girls schools for high school for Horse Girl. I informed him that the application process happened in October of last year. It was too late to apply. Not to mention, how exactly would we afford that? We'd have to start robbing banks. I'm a crappy con-artist, thief and lier, so I don't think that's a good profession for me.

Near Horse Girl's fourteenth birthday, something gets triggered in me. I look at the school website to find out specific information about registering for school and when the school tours are. I am horrified to find out that the application deadline for the school has passed. I'm thinking, "What the hell? Application DEADLINE? I thought this was a public school." I freak out. A whole torrent of self-accrimination launches forth in my mind. How I'm a terrible mother. How could I do this to my kid? On and on. You know the type of thoughts. Just don the hairshirt.

Of course, I ran into another mother that whose kid was already enrolled in the school for the next year. Our girls had been in pre-school and kindergarten together. She confirmed that the deadline had passed, the school was a charter school and didn't think there was much hope for us. We'd be forced to homeschool. I double freak. But, this also gave me a I-definitely-want-to-prove-you-wrong boost.

There were three more tours left during the school year for the school. I signed us up for the next one. On the day of the school tour, I kept an open mind (which is difficult for me on a school campus.) Horse Girl was there, too. She actually had classes that morning with other homeschoolers, so I had to "take her out of 'school' " to visit the high school. Which actually just meant that I was losing money. But, it was worth it.

It was kind of weird to see my tall, willowy girl wide-eyed, luminous and enthusiastic juxtaposed against most of the other kids who were there with their parents. You could tell most of the kids weren't too excited for the most part. They were forced to go to school. They were nice kids for sure, but they didn't have the same shining eyes as my kid.

Which meant, of course, that she loved it! Horse Girl definitely wanted to go to the high school. After the school tour, the Entrepeneur was enthusiastic, too. Once he knew his girl was happy. And, anyways, the school is his alma mater. So, that was pretty cool.

Not that we didn't have reservations. School would put a definite crimp on horsing activities and opportunities. We also didn't want Horse Girl to be academically marginalized in school -- school just seems to be so much about limitation and labeling rather than truly supporting our youngsters. And we didn't look forward having our family schedule owned by the school system. A big ugh.

But, despite these compromises, we supported our girl. We took Horse Girl to every school event that would give her an idea of being a freshman and being at the high school would be like: "Seniors Speak Out Night", a meeting about Honors  and AP classes meeting students and teachers (I have no idea whether she'll be in Honors classes or not, but wanted to put all possibilities on her radar) and the "Open House and Showcase Night."

I spent hours -- and I mean HOURS -- preparing her for the math placement exam. This was no easy feat. Horse Girl's hormones and teenage brain had taken over and math was at the bottom of the list of important subjects. It's rather demoralizing to spend 30 - 40 minutes teaching a particular math process only to be interrupted with a dreamy request to see if we have a particular ingredient in the house which can be used for a facial. Are. You. Kidding. Me.

Horse Girl still felt enthusiastic about going to school, though, despite having to prepare for the test. Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention. How was she going to go to school if she couldn't get in? After getting all the required documentation for the school together (which involved being stuck in the bank for two hours in the safety deposit box vault because our box lock broke; I was assured by the bank manager that this was a random event that happened every few years or so. How lucky could we possibly be?) Horse Girl and I walked in to the Administration Office to register her for the 2012-1013 school year. Since we were way post-deadline, I was prepared to do battle for my baby. Sorry to say it was very uneventful with her being duly accepted to the school as we were residents of the area, except that I learned that the lady who helped us had a homebirth with a midwife during the seventies. Interesting what you can learn about people.

So, now -- today -- right at this moment, Horse Girl is at school. It's 1:03 - so she either has Integrated Science or World History -- I can't remember which. But English is next. She was up until 10:30 p.m. finishing her Summer Reading Project for English (Really?! It's summer vacation. Don't get me started...) She is wearing her cool new boots and shirt that we bought yesterday ready to take on the high school world. The world of bell ringing and lots of homework. And boys. Sigh. That's probably the part that's the hardest.

So now my time is up. Soon the Entrepeneur and I have to pick up the Bee from tennis camp and enjoy the awards ceremony. Then we pick up Horse Girl at the library. I can't wait to find out how it went. I hope she got those gym clothes. I didn't get anything productive done at all. I did sit on my fat ass (said affectionately.) It was fun. But now, I'm late, hungry and duty calls.

Breastfeeding Beyond World Breastfeeding Week

Breastfeeding's on my brain. This past week has been World Breastfeeding Week celebrated this year from August 1st to August 7th. I feel a little guilty because I feel like I should be out there in public with a sign touting breastfeeding this week, but in the mom zone sometimes I just can't add one more thing to my life to organize and get together. And I don't even have a breastfeeding baby to tote along any more for all the Latch-Ons that are being organized.

My efforts to help mothers succeed at breastfeeding come from leading monthly breastfeeding support meetings, helping and supporting moms on the phone and through my childbirth education classes. Education and correct information help pave the way to successful breastfeeding, but the most crucial element is support. Each mother that I work with I can offer support to and by doing so help to her achieve her breastfeeding goals. So, I work quietly behind the scenes helping one-on-one.

I am disheartened by the current breastfeeding rates. When I read on the World Breastfeeding Week page that according to UNICEF's State of the World's Children Report 2011 only 32.7% of 136.7 million babies are exclusively breastfed in the first six months, I felt shocked. For the United States specifically, our report card is pretty lame -- only 14.8% of our babies are breastfed exclusively for the first six months. Here in California, the rates go up to a whopping 25.7%. We're double the national rate, but still way below where we need to be for our children. Only a quarter of our CA babies still breastfeeding exclusively at six months? This actually meets the Healthy People 2020 Breastfeeding Objectives - but why is the goal so low?

I feel passionately about the importance of breastfeeding. Yes, I know that breastfeeding has incredible health benefits for both the mother and the baby. Yes, I know that breastfeeding is good for the environment. Yes, I know that breast milk is the baby's normal food and that formula is better looked upon as a medicine to be used only when its truly needed. Yes, I know that breastfed babies generally have higher IQ's. I know that breastfeeding has many benefits.

Yet, the main reason I feel passionately about breastfeeding is for a reason that can't necessarily be measured in concrete terms. For me the real power of breastfeeding lies in the strength of connection and the sense of wholeness breastfeeding gives to each new little person born into to this world. A breastfeeding baby is living his biologically correct destiny -- he is designed to breastfeed. Breastfeeding meets his needs for food, for comfort and for connection. Breastfeeding fulfills his efforts at communicating; the breastfeeding mother who responds to her baby, nurses her baby, and holds her baby in her arms enables her child to feel wholly understood. A baby (or child) who feels understood feels good about himself and at peace with the world.

This is a depth of communication between a mother and her infant that can only be found through the act of breastfeeding. Breastfeeding is an intricate dance of mutual and reciprocal communication between mother and child. I suppose that would fall under the title heading of "bonding', which I hesitate to use here because it's not specific enough; it's easy for some to minimize breastfeeding's necessity in this role; certainly there are other ways of bonding besides breastfeeding. But the breastfeeding relationship is a very specific form of communication that is different from any other.

Part of feeling deeply attached to another person lies in good communication; for babies, good communication -- which lays the foundation for the baby's sense of self -- starts with breastfeeding. Biologically and emotionally a baby needs to breastfeed. When he is in a mutually responsive breastfeeding relationship, he learns that he has the power to make things happen; his attempts at communicating with mother, the sun at the center of his universe, are fulfilled and he feels good. The world needs more children who feel understood, at peace and good.

When a mother chooses not to breastfeed or weans her baby prematurely (which I would consider six months to be) she closes a door of communication. She breaks connection. She looses a tool that cultivates sensitivity and attunement that can help her communicate best with her child. Her child's best way of communicating and getting his needs met has been unplugged. His need for her can more easily be diverted to a less satisfying object like a bottle or pacifier; a bottle or pacifier can make it easier for the mother to focus on other things rather than holding her baby in her arms and connecting to him. It can make it more likely that she will be less sensitive to his needs and helping him develop a good sense of self which is found through positive interaction with her.

Breastfeeding reminds the mother to stay in communication with her baby. When the mother is exclusively breastfeeding there is no denying that she is essential to her baby -- she is the only one who can meet her baby's needs to connect and communicate in this very specific way that is so essential to his well-being. She is the only one who can empower him fully in this way, laying the groundwork for a healthy and balanced human being.

I nursed both my daughters for many years. This breastfeeding relationship was essential in helping me to understand my daughters' needs and to respond to them; I developed a more highly-tuned sensitivity to their needs and a deep level of communicating with them. In doing so, I helped them to develop a strong sense of themselves. I am not sure why I nursed so long (it certainly wasn't a goal of mine), except that it seemed to be important to them and I trusted that if they felt they needed to nurse, then it must be essential for their development. I know without a doubt that our relationship and their sense of self would have been much different without breastfeeding.

I do not blame or look down on mothers who nurse for less time. I understand that our society is very hostile to breastfeeding and makes it difficult. I understand our birth practices in the United States make it challenging for mothers and babies right from the get go. I know that formula marketing and the formula companies' priorities of putting profits before human health undermine breastfeeding. I understand that many families lack enough support after having a child to help them succeed at breastfeeding. Don't even get me started about the lack of maternity leave for our new mothers. I understand that there are many obstacles.

Yet, this understanding this does not make me feel less sad for the babies who are not being breastfed or are breastfed for only a very short time. This is doing a disservice to our children - a disservice to our future. This is doing a disservice to mothers who also can feel a great sense of empowerment at their ability to provide for their children's needs at their breast. Not breastfeeding is a loss all around on many levels.

Our babies need the sense of peace and well-being that the act of nursing at their mother's breast provides. Our babies need this essential act of communication that can help foster a heightened level of sensitivity that is found in the breastfeeding mother. Our world needs children who feel understood and who approach the world with openness and peace; in order to understand and feel empathy, our children need to experience it first -- experience it at the breast. We need to find a way to keep the doors of this vital form of communication open for our mothers and babies.

Today, World Breastfeeding Week ends, but each and every day it is our responsibility to help our sisters, our daughters, our neighbors and yes, even our enemies, to achieve breastfeeding success. This is the one of surest ways we can bring a balanced sense of self to our children -- helping them become persons with a strong and healthy sense of self balanced with empathy and understanding. Persons who can work on healing and restoring balance to our world. Persons who understand the value of life.

So today or tomorrow, whenever you next have the to blessing to witness a mother nursing her baby, give her an encouraging smile, a wink or even two thumbs up. Let's let mothers know we support and value their efforts.

Bird Days Part I: Something to Crow About

It's been a week for the birds. Really.

On late Monday afternoon, on my way to quench the thirst of our parched vegetables growing in the front yard, I was hailed by my neighbor across the street. The problem: Bird troubles.

I walked over to their house to find out the problem only to see a young, black crow smashed up against the bottom stone step, not moving. This did not look good. It kind of looked like it had flown into the step almost like a cartoon character smashes up against a wall.

Just to preface this situation, I think we're known as the animal folks in our neighborhood. We fostered a baby crow nine years ago that fell out of its nest and was injured. No rescue place would take it (believe me, we tried to find a way to foist that responsibility off on someone else.) Nurturing the little crow was an incredible amount of work, but it turned out to be an amazing experience. I still respond internally to the sounds of a baby crow's call -- kind of like once you're a mom, you instinctively respond to the cries of other infants.

In our shared neighborhood history, my husband has also shown the neighborhood kids a variety of snakes, lizards, rats and mice that he has caught. Flashback to the time we accidentally killed two parent mice (actually I think we relocated one prior to our knowledge about the young 'uns and the other was accidentally done away with when my husband took out the drawer to try to catch it and then unfortunately squished it when he put the drawer outside.) Subsequently, we found out that they had babies after the fact. One at a time. We would be sitting in the living room and then see a streak go buy in the kitchen. So, we ended up catching each baby in the humane trap over a course of a week.

They seemed way too young to be able to survive on their own in the wild. They were wee little things (actually, really cute and silly.) Usually, if we encounter any kind of rodent problem, we catch the rodents in a live trap and then move them out to the hills where there are no human residents close by -- this way they have a shot a life or end up being someone's dinner rather then us having to distasteful do away with them in a snap trap or some other killing device.

So, we ended up caring for these little mice babies in a special aquarium box until we deemed them old enough to be let go in the big, bad world out there. It was kind of fun. An educational experience. Did I mention that we home-school?

Okay, we're suckers. Bleeding-hearts. Animal crazy. Whatever you want to call us.

Back to Monday: So, after observing the crow for a moment, I could see he was a fledgling by his feathers -- meaning he was just learning how to fly.  He wasn't a wee one (I felt secretly relieved because, now that I think of it, these same neighbors were the ones we inherited the other crow from. While that was a wonderful learning experience, I really didn't want to try to add another animal rehabilitation endeavor to my overburdened schedule right now.)

The young crow had beautiful, dark mature feathers growing in.  But, his neck was jammed up against the step and he wasn't moving at all. "Please, don't let it be broken,"  I prayed.

I had several warring emotions going on. One was worry for this crow's physical health; I find an injured animal upsetting, especially when its injuries are mortal. Another was worry for me -- hell, I did not want to have take on another animal injury case; I am way overloaded in my life right now. At the same time, I felt in awe of the moment and excited by the opportunity to be in close contact with a wild animal. Such a moment seems sacred to me -- rare and special.

I gently picked him up by scooping him under his breast and under his feet, carefully moving him and cradling him in my hands against my body. I could feel his feet grip around my fingers.  As I moved him away from the step, his head seemed normal -- it didn't tilt in an odd way - which looked good to me. His wings didn't appear broken. I moved my hand down a bit to check out his feet and make sure he wasn't lame.

I noticed blood on my finger. His blood, not mine. I got a little worried, but when I really inspected his feet they seemed to be gripping my fingers just fine. No toes curled up in lameness. Looking more closely, there was a scrape on the top of one leg going onto his foot that was bleeding a little. Didn't look like worse case scenario. Phew.

His mouth opened slightly. My neighbors were concerned about giving him food - so I suggested some dog food soaked in water - but he wasn't interested in eating. Really, he seemed in shock. Of the flight, fight or freeze reactions, he seemed to be in freeze. Poor guy, probably thought he was going to be lunch.

I can't tell you how wonderful it felt to hold him in my hands. It brought back so many memories about our other experience with our foster crow, Henke. To have the chance to hold a magnificent wild animal in your hands is just so cool. I felt a warm feeling in my heart. I loved looking at his blue-grey eyes, feeling his shiny, silky feathers and feeling the weight of him in my hands. I felt really blessed to get the chance to hold him.

He seemed fine enough that we just needed to find a safe place to put him where his parents could find him and he wouldn't get attacked by a cat. First thought was my neighbor's roof. But, once we got up on the balcony and my neighbor got on the roof, it seemed decidedly too slanted and unsafe - we could imagine the poor thing rolling to his death if his foot wasn't really sturdy.

Back to the drawing board. I didn't like the idea of the plants or the ground. Too many cats. The ash trees were really tall -- we would need a ladder and still we had the problem of not knowing the exact damage to his foot and if he would be able to stay in the tree safely. In the end, we ended up putting him on top of their car on a towel with some wet dog food. That way his parents could find him.

My husband later suggested to our neighbors that they might want to put him on their balcony during the night so he would be safer. I didn't know about this suggestion until the morning and I woke up in the middle of the night totally freaked out with alarm because I realized that on the car he was a sitting duck (or crow!) for owls.

My neighbors got busy and forgot to move the fledgling crow. I found this out in the morning from my neighbor when I woke up really early to go check on him. He wasn't there.  We didn't see the young bird anywhere.

There was, however, a big crow poop that looked pretty fresh on the top their car (I am very familiar with crow poop). And no feathers left over from an attack. So, I was hopeful that the little guy wasn't an owl dinner, but reunited with his parents.

As it turned out, the fledgling did survive the night. We discovered this when our neighbor told us that the crow was on their porch hiding behind the large, blue planters. Sure enough, as the Bee and I observed through our window looking at our neighbor's porch, every now and then the little guy would peep out or start strutting around back and forth in front of their door.

He looked good. Neck fine. Wings fine. Legs and feet in darn good shape. Everything appeared to be working. And he survived the night!

That morning we could hear several mature crows calling out and saw them flying around our neighborhood. His parents had to be out there.

The Bee loved observing him and asked lots of questions. Eventually I needed to go grocery shopping and move on with my day -- the Bee was decidedly unhappy about this. Did I mention that our children are animal crazy, too? Apparently, there is a genetic component to this strange madness.

Later, when I our saw our neighbor's teenage son, I asked about the bird and he said that he wasn't there anymore. I felt both happy and sad. Happy, because I do believe he fully recovered and managed to fly off to be with his family again once he figured out what to do.  Sad, because that moment of interaction with a beautiful, wild creature was gone.

And yet, it stays with me -- the moment where two different species interact and affect one another. One gives the gift of caring and help. The other gives the gift of appreciation for the magnificence of life. Something to crow about.

The Perch

It's been lonely. No warm legs or cool feet against my body; no arms flung across my face. No warm, soft body of one of my children next to me. Sometimes, I find it just a relief. Not being cramped up -- pushed against the the veritable edge of a shared mattress. Or having the covers kicked off leaving me cold, vulnerable and irritable. Actually, I am amazed I am able to haul my 40+ year old body up there -- there's no ladder. For the last month or two (who can keep track of time? -- it's a blur), I have been relegated to the "Perch."

In our house, it's musical beds and always has been. We bought a California King bed when I was pregnant with our second child, the Bee. And for a while we had a futon on the floor that Horse Girl slept on early in the evenings before she migrated to our bed for the rest of the night. I was happy to have Horse Girl sleep in our bed and having her sleep on the futon wasn't a goal; she simply noticed that her neighbors and friends had their "own" beds, so she wanted one, too -- just in the same room as us. Whatever, works.

For many years it was the "family bed" -- with all of us in the California King. As the girls grew bigger, my husband would sometimes complain about the conditions being cramped. I didn't have much sympathy. When we were looking to purchase a new bed before the Bee was born, many friends who had been through the sharing sleep routine had earnestly recommended that we purchase the Eastern King rather than the California King (the Eastern King is wider than the California King, which has more length). Did my dear husband, the Entrepeneur, listen? Oh, no. He listened to the sales pitch of the mattress guy about how a tall man like my husband needed the extra room for his long legs found on a California King. Mmm-hmmm. Whenever he would be irritated and complain at the cramped quarters, I would laugh and say, "Sure, it's a little tight, but your feet must sure be comfortable!" Remember, guys, the little woman really does have some valuable information occasionally inside that pretty little head of hers -- if only you would listen.

About three years ago, my husband surprised the girls with a bunk bed for their room, a room they had never slept in. We had all been sleeping for months squashed together in bed because the futon had been disposed of when we put our house on the market to sell (this was right when the housing market crashed so you can imagine how that went.) For months we lived in a pared-down, staged house desperate to sell it with the one bed in the bedroom because it would have been "too weird" to have the futon in there, too, along with the bed. And, now that I am remembering, it wasn't even the King we were sleeping on -- it was the old Queen bed because the King was in the back bedroom to create a "Master Suite" which I didn't want dirtied up. It was definitely tight quarters.

Anyways, toward the end of this drama of trying to sell the house, the Entrepeneur arrived home with and secretly put together the bunk bed for the girls. They were so excited. My husband was so excited - he had always wanted a bunk bed. It took another 4 months for me to get together the bedding for the beds, so during that time we were still in one bed, but by this point we had put the King back in our regular bedroom. The girls and I had gone down to the Fabric/Garment District in Downtown L.A. to buy material for the duvet covers - a really beautiful and fresh Hawaiian print with a light green background with orange and yellow flowers. When the beds were finally ready, the girls were so excited to sleep in them. Horse Girl claimed the top bunk. The Bee preferred the bottom. Each girl felt content.

For several months I lay next to the Bee to help her fall asleep and often slept next to her on the narrow twin mattress. Wasn't the best night's sleep, but a mom's got to do what a mom's got to do. Horse Girl appreciated me being there with them in the room, but felt excited to have her own sleeping space. Several months later the Bee completely weaned herself and told me that she could sleep by herself. I sat next to her while she fell asleep.

In my own bed with the Entrepeneur the first night that the Bee wanted to sleep by herself, I felt electrified with anxiety - sleeping without a child beside me feel absolutely bizarre. It did not feel right. I had slept the last eleven years with a baby or child right beside me (most often one on each side of me) -- watching over each child -- aware of her presence, her breath, her needs. I felt at one with each of my daughters. One bedroom away felt like so very far a distance. I felt sadness and loss.

I felt this way for several nights until I was able to adjust to the new normal. I eventually appreciated that I had more room. That I could snuggle next to the Entrepeneur -- we could touch feet while we slept. I realized that the covers weren't being suddenly and rudely kicked off exposing my poor, tired body to the cool elements of the night air. My arm didn't fall asleep and turn in to ginger ale from being stuck in one position without any ability to find an alternative due to a complete lack of room in the bed. I can't remember exactly how long this went on, but, boy, did it get comfortable.

And then, as parenting goes, it changed again. I think the Bee saw a something that scared her on a show or film (I think it was the Entrepeneur's fault) and she has been back in our bed ever since. Matters are further complicated by the fact that the duvet for her bed has been soiled for some time and I need to get it to the laundry mat to have it cleaned (where to find the time?), so there are no covers for her bed; but, she doesn't seem likely to go back for a while. She seems quite content to have her parents on either side of her while she sleeps.

And then, it changed again. Horse Girl, every once in a great while, decides she wants to sleep with everyone. Now, Horse Girl is taller than I (she just celebrated her fourteenth birthday) so she is a whole other adult sized body in our not-as-wide-California King bed. Usually this is when she is working through some developmental milestone be it physical, emotional or mental (see, it's not just babies or toddlers!) While my husband and I groan (only because we know it will be cramped and we will get a dubious night's sleep), we feel comfortable granting her request because we have always had an open-bed policy -- emotional wholeness and security come first.

Sometimes this makes the Bee very upset. When she had covers on her bed, if her older sister decided she wanted to share the night's sleep, the Bee would get angry, stomp to her own bed and sleep there riddled with resentment. I still am not sure if it was the cramped quarters that bugged her or sharing us. The jury is still out.

Horse Girl has been going through big changes. She has been wanting to sleep in the Big Bed for a while now; I am not sure what it is exactly. She has decided that she wants to attend the local High School next year -- that may be part of it. I think that she needs this physical and emotional connection before she embarks on this new journey by herself. I think it may also be the need to be close. She confided in me that she prefers to sleep with all of us and felt chagrined because at her age wanting to do so was "so lame." Since the Bee migrated back to the Big Bed, Horse Girl has been all alone, while the rest of the family is all snuggling together.

Sleeping together with other family members has been the norm for thousands of years. Sleeping in separate beds, in separate rooms is such a relatively new phenomenon for human beings. We are meant to cuddle together in a tangle of limbs like puppies. We are mammals. We seek the comfort of each other. I let her know that her feelings were totally normal and that being apart was simply a cultural ideal that had no relation to biology or, for throughout history, practicality -- who could afford all those beds unless they were enormously wealthy? Sometimes we are happy apart, but most often, we want to be together.

So, that's how I ended up in the Perch - the top bunk. The Big Bed is so squished that, if I share the sleeping space with everyone, I stumble through the next day wondering what is wrong with me until I remember -- oh yeah, that was a terrible night's sleep. The Entrepeneur has no intention of sleeping in the Perch - not enough room for his long legs. So it's the girls and their father.

The Bee felt mad for a bit with me in a separate room, but she has been complaining that her teenage sister doesn't pay enough attention to her, so it's a nice chance for them to bond. I cherish seeing the girls sleep side by side. When I check on everyone, before I make my assent onto the Perch, I see the girls sleeping right next to each other, their bodies aligned together. Sisters, sharing their dream world together. Protected and watched over by the Entrepeneur, their father.

So, for the time being, it is I alone in the Perch Don't know how long this will last. I don't worry about it, because I know that this part of parenting is always changing. I know that my girls are growing so fast and that time moves on so relentlessly that it will be only a short, short time before they are really going out into the world on their own. This time period shall pass and become the source of cherished memories.

I sometimes enjoy being by myself, but most often I miss being next to everybody. There is something so lovely in sleeping all together. On the to-do is list is getting that duvet cleaned up so the bunk beds are ready for the girls when the girls are ready. And maybe a shopping trip for that Eastern King.

Just kidding.

What a Difference a Dog Makes...

Snowy and Luna meeting for the first time

In the delicate balance of relationships, I find it amazing how one soul, one individual being, can make such a difference. Immersed in a the daily struggle for survival and trying to get through the endless web of daily interactions and needs, I failed to fully understand the true impact that an unstable, hostile and aggressive being could affect on our family and our quality of life. Maybe it's easier to see now that we are removed from the situation. But it really makes me aware of how important the quality of our relationships is and how a single living being can completely warp the delicate emotional and physical health of the family as a whole and also for each member individually. That being can be a person or, in our case, an animal.

The story of our late dog, Udo, can be found here. All in all, our experience with Udo was rather traumatizing. The entire dynamic of our family was turned upside-down - Udo's personality and behavior negatively affecting the emotional state of our home (in a constant state of high alert and fear), stressing our interactions with each other and negatively impacting our physical and mental well-being. The real irony to that whole set up was that I initially hoped that getting the dog would have a healing and positive influence for my husband who has to endure a lot of stress with his work. Well, that sure didn't turn out so well.

I guess what's so amazing to me is this was "just a dog" and the negative impact was so profound for us. Seriously, we are still recovering from it. It makes me wonder just how terrible it must be to live with a person in one's household that emotionally takes everyone hostage. I really feel empathy for anyone in that situation - and I don't think it's necessarily uncommon here in the U.S. as there seems to be quite an abundance of emotional instability. I think the constant trying to improve the situation and hoping that things will get better is truly draining. And the altering of oneself to try to appease the other leaves one feeling like a shell of oneself. But, that's material for another post.

On the other end of the spectrum, a different relationship can bring forth a whole other dynamic - a positive one which ripples out like the waves from a stone thrown in water. Sometimes relationships can surprise you. We were sure surprised when we unintentionally adopted a dog named Snowy. Filled with trepidation and fear, unsure and wary, yet reluctantly willing to take the leap to give an older dog a new lease on life - well, boy did that end up bringing a ray of sunshine into our life. Totally unexpected.

This strange little white dog with her small narrow head, spotted inverting ears, curly tail exposing her undignified butt-hole, legs too short, body too long and a disproportionately big rib cage - such a funny and odd arrangement of features, but put all together make such a comical and endearing little character. Who knew that this old gal would bring laughter into our home? Who know that she would bring warm feelings of anticipation at the thought of  bringing her on errands and adventures? Who knew we could actually pet her and she would like it? Who knew that she would be the catalyst for healing?

I sure didn't. I thought she was just going to be a burden. That we were doing a good deed. Instead, she ended up doing the good deed. I feel so thankful to this sweet little soul - to have her in our lives. Now that she is here, it's like when you have a child - we couldn't imagine our lives without her.

Not that it's all perfect. Naaaaaaaw. But her idiosyncrasies pale in comparison to our late dog. I can deal with Snowy shredding kleenex boxes and paper goods and peeing on the floor when we leave her at home because she is quite literally pissed she couldn't go with us. We end up trying to bring her with us whenever we can as a result, to the point that my husband will even bring her to his office on the mornings we have school activities. She has us well-trained already.

So as a tribute to Snowy  (a.k.a."Granny") here are some things we find endearing about her:

• The Bump: For a while Snowy wouldn't eat her dog food. Now she'll eat it, but she'll often wait for an "upgrade" - that is for some of our food to be added to it. Why fly coach? At the table or while I am cooking, any one of us will feel this sudden bump of her needle nose into our legs - usually it's a "bump, bump"; that means, "Give me some." Well, it works. It's so cute we usually do "give her some."

• The Shadow: Snowy has been following me around every second of the day for the last few months. We should have called her Tinkerbell. If I leave the room she'll follow me. If she's asleep, she'll wake up and follow me. The poor thing feels so honor-bound to be by my side that she'll often be standing next to me, her eyes blinking and drooping with exhaustion, but still she's there. Maybe this will mellow out as time goes on and she feels more secure. We'll see. In any event, I feel like a have a personal body guard, a guardian angel or a groupie at all times. She even attends my childbirth education classes and manages to snore during relaxation. 

• The Lookout: Snowy loves car rides. Our late dog used to growl at the kids and not let them in the car and also throw up at least one time on any family car event. Snowy, conversely, loves the whole pack arrangement - all together in the car? Awesome! She positions herself propped up on the armrest between the driver and front passenger seat so she has the best view. She's on the Lookout. It's a serious job. Looking for...other dogs. Here's where her alter-ego steps in. She is very sweet and well behaved on walks and meeting with other dogs on the street. The car is another story. This is Granny's moment to let it rip. And her bark is so bizarre. It starts as a grumbly, gurgling type of sound and then escalates into the strangest sound I have ever heard. We usually end up laughing. It's a little embarrassing, too. She goes bonkers and sounds absolutely bizarre - people on the street turn their heads in astonishment. Some have even laughed. Hopefully, she doesn't take this to heart. Best of all, she doesn't barf in the car. 

• The Shredder: We love to take Snowy with us when we can. Sometimes she has to stay home for a short while by herself. Well, she clearly doesn't like this. We've come home to shredded board games (that she took out of the closet herself!), kleenex boxes, yoga mats. Sometimes she'll pee on the floor even though we've taken her out before we left on a walk to make sure her bladder is empty - somehow she manages to save something up. Now we'll "accidentally" leave an old box near the door when we leave; the shredded remains go into recycling. Have to figure out some kind of way to deal with the pissing problem. Sigh. 

• The Scratch: So speaking of pee, each time she takes care of her business (which is quite often as she like to leave her personal business cards for every dog to know she's been there) on her walks she scratches the ground afterwards like nobody's business. She puts chickens to shame. Rivets of dirt and grass go flying - I do not exaggerate. I wish I was. It's almost embarrassing. I have to walk with her on the curb side of the sidewalk so she doesn't destroy everyone's lawns. I also have to move fast when she poops, otherwise she becomes Stinkfoot. 

• The Trot: Snowy has a darling little walk - it's like a trot. She picks up her feet in the most endearing way with her tail and head held high (well, the head is variable as she also likes to smell all the good smells that are out there.) When another dog approaches she puffs up her body and prances even more. Show off!

• The Curl: She sleeps curled up with her nose tucked under her tail like a fox or a cat. I didn't know dogs slept like that - a tight little circle. Very cute. I bought a nice bed for her from L.L. Bean that is for small dogs and has padding around the sides. She loves it, but only at night - remember she is following me around all day catching cat naps here and there.

• The Snooze: Snowy will often be the last to arise in the morning. A dog that sleeps in. Amazing.

• The What?: Actually I think she sleeps in because she can't hear much. Initially we thought she didn't respond to "Snowy" when we called her because that might not have been her name. We've pretty much figured out she probably can't hear a damn thing. I think that is why she is often the last one up - she doesn't hear any of us getting up in the morning. When we arrive to pick her up at my husband's office, if she is asleep - she snoozes on as we open the door and step inches from her. I think this contributes to her following me around all the time and keeping me in sight, too, since she can't tell what's going on by sound. A little obstacle, but we still love her.

• The Jump: Somehow I have become her main bonding person (I think it's because I spend a lot of time in the kitchen.) When I go out and arrive home, boy is she excited. She jumps up about two to three feet in the air right beside me as she is beside herself with joy. It's astonishing. Never seen anything like it. Boing, boing. Go, Granny!

• The Mystery: So, speaking of jumping, Granny's pretty darn agile. She can leap into our cars including the truck which is pretty high. She leaps in the air. She can stand on her hind legs begging for treats. She can walk long hikes head of the pack, tail wagging, head held high. I can hardly keep up with her on walks - I come back sweaty. This seems mysterious for a dog whose paperwork we received from L.A. Love and Leashes identifies her birthday as the day before my first born meaning that she will supposedly be 14 years old at the end of this month. If Granny is really 14 and is this peppy and able, um, I want some of whatever she's been having all this time before she met us. Really, I don't know if I'll be in that good shape (if even alive) at age 98. Is Granny really a granny? We don't know - it's a mystery to be sure. 

The only thing we are sure of is that we made the right decision by taking a chance on her. This little Basenji, Jack Russell Terrier and What-Have-You mutt is our little snowy white angel, Heaven-sent to bring some laughter, love and light into our lives. Thank you, Snowy! What a difference a dog makes...

The Sacred Mother in Every Mother

I love these beautiful statues found in a little grotto at Solstice Canyon, Malibu. I was bummed that some malcontent had wacked-off Mary's head since the last time I visited. Who would do that? Geez. 

But still, Mary symbolizes for me the sacred beauty of the Divine Feminine and the sacredness of all mothers, the givers and sustainers of life. And this poor injured Mary is still lovely. Mothers don't need to be perfect, do they? 

You're going to think I am going all Catholic on you today - I'm about to quote a Pope - but I've been too busy to write a longer post (gasping for a breath around here!), and I've been wanting to post this photo for a while and found this quote from a book my husband bought me from the Metropolitan Museum of Art The Art of Motherhood. 

The mother - let us kneel! - the mysterious source of human life, in whom, nature once again receives the breath of God, creator of the immortal soul.                        

Pope Paul VI 

Ah, the beautiful, sacred mother. That's all of us mothers. So, while you are nourishing your family (read: making yet another meal), folding laundry, washing dishes, playing chauffeur, wiping bottoms and snotty noses, or wishing for just a moment of peace, take some time to stand tall and proud and fully realize the momentousness of your bringing forth life.

Early humans used to think this was pretty damn important - the ability of women to birth the next generation. Early statues were of female forms often with big breasts and bellies. Really. I was reminded of this little fact at the Page Museum and the La Brea Tar Pits today as I went through the historical timeline of extinction.  Guess the reverence for moms went extinct, too. Sad.

But, listen Sister, I'm here to remind you that you are simply incredible - you goddess, you! I kneel to you...

Living A Life Without Regret

Most of the time I'm focused on birth and breastfeeding - the giving and sustaining of life. Birth and breastfeeding are my passions and the work that I do. But sometimes the Shadow Sister steps in. Her name is Death. I've been wanting to write about death for a while. It's also something that my mind sometimes focuses on. Probably because it's no stranger to me.

My husband and I spent ten years together before we got married. Sometimes people think that's strange. It just, well...happened. In our first years together we were young and finishing college. Post-college family members started dying all around us. First, my dad. Then, the next year my husband's mom. Then two years later his dad. My great aunt. Another great aunt. My grandfather. By the time my husband's uncle died - I started laughing uncontrollably - which I know sounds weird, but I just couldn't believe it. This was all during a span of around 5 years.

The loss of three of our four parents was pretty traumatic. I think for a long time we just got through. I feel like I've incorporated my father's death into my life pretty well now. I don't know if my husband has completely resolved his feelings over his parents' deaths - he was an only child and losing both of them was pretty devastating; they both died of cancer (different types) and the specter of cancer somehow constantly seems to rear its ugly head either consciously or unconsciously.

It came up again recently with the death of my aunt in January. I learned in December that my aunt's cancer was terminal (she had been fighting it for a couple of years) and that she had anywhere from several months to several weeks to live. On January 26th I received the call from my mom that Mary Jo only had a few hours to live - and she did pass on to the next world that evening surrounded by her family, beautiful flowers and much love.That seems like a good way to die - surrounded by love.

When death arrives in my life now, it makes me contemplate what makes life one that is well-lived. I think that in my twenties I didn't contemplate it that much - I just survived. Although, maybe I contemplated that question and just came up with different answers. I am sure that is part of it, because once I became a mother death took on a whole new perspective. The stakes were much, much higher once I had my daughters.

For starters, my husband and I suddenly were responsible for and  in charge of maintaining the lives of these two precious bundles - that's pretty damn scary. Who put us in charge?! Were we really equipped for this job? For another, I became highly aware of the vulnerability of both my daughters and myself should anything happen to my husband - the mere thought of which can send me right into shallow chest breathing. And finally, the possibility of my own untimely demise became hauntingly clear as potential for ruining the lives of my daughters and my husband. Once I had kids, driving alone in the car by myself became the impetus for special prayers and invocations for protection. I don't know if all mothers have these thoughts and fears - maybe it's worse for those of us who have experienced death so that its reality can no longer be denied.

That's not to say that I go around worrying about death all the time. I really don't have that much time to be overly anxious and self-indulgent. It wouldn't be that healthy for me anyways. But I can't deny that it's there. The Shadow is always there - sometimes big, sometimes small. But maybe sometimes that is a good thing. To be aware. To be mindful of the preciousness of life. To put certain aspects of our life into perspective.

As I work in the kitchen creating yet another meal for my family or wash dishes - can I really be in that moment and savor the mundaneness of that moment? I bet my aunt would love to have another day to make a meal for her family, to scold her daughter for leaving dishes in the sink rather than putting them in the dishwasher, to pick up clothing from the floor that contains the smell and energy of her beloved family.

It's easy to get busy or overwhelmed and forget about the preciousness of our lives. It's easy to feel irritated by our family members' human imperfections (which somehow become fodder for cherished memories once they are gone). It's easy to feel overwhelmed and to get on the hamster-wheel of constantly running in a circle that may feel unsatisfying to us. We are busy and doing stuff, going round and round, but does it have meaning?

I think that our culture puts a lot of emphasis on achievement and proving our worth in material ways -  a cool career, lots of money in the bank, a summer house, etc. A lot of time the outward signs of success are not really those that bring happiness. Sometimes, going after those achievements and accolades may actually take us farther from those things that have the most importance - our relationships and living a life with purpose.

That's not to say that we shouldn't have ambition or accumulate material wealth - those things in themselves are not bad. I just think relationships and a sense of purpose in one's life has to come first. When I die, I will be left with how I've affected other's lives, how I have built my relationships with my daughters, my husband, my family, my friends - the quality of these relationships I take with my soul. Have I lived a life with purpose? Has my life made a difference? Do I feel at peace with the decisions and actions I have taken in my life?

Perhaps we can take some hints from people who have been there. One book I love is Tuesdays with Morrie. My copy is in storage (long story of why all my books are currently in the garage), so I can't offer any great quotes here, but this is a book that I found very powerful and I recommend reading it. My husband shared with me this link, Regrets of the Dying, by a nurse that worked in palliative care. I really love the points this author shares with us - I think that by truly contemplating our mortality and the mortality of our loved ones it can bring us more in focus about what is truly important to us.

So, that's been on my mind - am I living fully? Am I living a life without regret? What makes a life well-lived? I am pondering and asking these questions because how horrible it would be to reach my time of passing and realize that I had profound and heart-breaking regrets.

For me, I want to be fully present in my life - to be in my body, to be aware of living and breathing. I definitely need and want to add more physical activity to my life which sadly is lacking. Being physically active helps me feel better, stronger and more alive. I really miss dancing and hope to incorporate this more in my life - even if I am only gyrating to the sounds of Top 40 in my kitchen. And I would love to do yoga - there has got to be a way!

I feel a strong need to care for others and to make a difference in others' lives. Who knew? When I first contemplated volunteering to help moms with breastfeeding I almost held back - it sounded like a lot of responsibility and I never volunteered for anything. I was completely self-absorbed in my own deal. Women calling my house with questions, I thought - ugh! But you know what - I ended up loving it! There really is truth that helping others and volunteering gives one great satisfaction. I also love that my work as a birth educator can have a profound influence for expecting parents and help them have a positive experience. Knowing that I can support and help others gives meaning to my life and enhances my other relationships. So, I will keep on with this part - and I am able to incorporate it in a way that I can still meet the needs of my family, which is also very important to me.

For me, in my life, I would deeply regret it if my relationships with my family members were somehow severed or damaged. Destroying relationships is easy - those threads that connect us are fragile; building relationships is hard - it takes awareness, effort and work. I think of my relationship with my husband and all that we have been through as a couple - wow! Sometimes I amazed that we made it through. There have been times when we have really treated each other badly simply due to a lack of awareness or knowledge at the time. We have really grown a lot. Our daughters have taught us a lot. Sometimes we make mistakes - if you make a mistake, you've got to own up to it and repair it. Maybe it's best to approach our relationships with openness, vulnerability and humility. And forgiveness. This is hard sometimes. Really hard. But to not make the effort, to not put yourself on the line may have the greatest cost in the end. I hope that I have to strength and awareness to continue building these relationships with my loved ones.

And since I am on the subject of vulnerability - I think the first and third points in "Regrets of the Dying" are some that I am working on now:

• I wish I'd had the courage to live life true to myself, not the life others expected of me
• I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings

Some of this started with the birth of my babies - because that was the beginning of transforming my life. Some of this is manifesting now in writing this blog. I am hoping that here I will be willing to be open, to share, to be honest, to be vulnerable with you. Will I play it safe? Or am I willing to fully express myself and take chances? This will be the challenge, the risk. Sharing my feelings is hard for me - oh my god. For many years I wasn't even aware of my feelings (this had to be part of impetus for pursuing the theatre, if even unconsciously, as an avenue for getting in touch with my even having feelings.) I am a pleaser by nature (that's why I am pretty good at the helping others part) but that needs to be balanced by self-expression and being true to myself. So, can I live a life without regret in this department? Only time will tell. 

What about you? Do you feel you are living a life without regret? What do you think makes a life well-lived? Think about it. This moment that you are living right now, right here is precious and amazing. Breathe in deep, feel the air in your lungs, and give a grateful exhale. Then go hug someone you love. If you've only got yourself right now -- hug yourself...you are precious and amazing!

People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Everyday we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child -- our own two eyes. All is a miracle.                    - Thich Nhat Hanh 

Our Lady of Perpetual Squalor

When I was in eighth grade I had a friend named Susie Bradshaw. We took drama class together. She was a lanky red-head with curly hair and freckles. A really sweet girl - I liked her a lot. Sometimes I would go over to her house to hang out. She had a brother I didn't really like much - he listened to the Beatles all the time; so I ended up not really ever digging the Beatles (sacrilege, I know.)

The thing I remember most about Susie's house was the mess. My mom's house was very orderly and organized (my mom's still is). I remember looking into her parent's kitchen and simply being shocked at the state - dishes piles up, crumbs and scraps on the counter, general messiness. A kind of disorganized shabbiness pervaded all over the entire household. I don't remember her parents at all, but I do remember the state of the house. This didn't affect the way I felt about Susie - I just remember being surprised that people lived that way.

Fast forward a couple of decades and I have to hang my head in shame and tell you that I'm truly not my mother's child. I must have secretly been descended from the Bradshaw line because that sure as heck is what my house looks like now. In a perpetual state of squalor.

Upon surveying my kitchen, my sister said she didn't know if I didn't have
enough space or if I simply wasn't using what I had to it's best advantage;
probably it's both and more.

I wasn't much of a housekeeper before I had kids. Boring. But I wasn't outnumbered then either, so it wasn't so bad. Now I just can't keep up. There are just piles everywhere. Of everything. Piles of clean laundry. Piles of dirty laundry. Piles of dishes. Piles of groceries needing to be put away. Piles of bills, papers and notices. Piles of books, workbooks, and school papers. Piles of art projects and momentos. The list goes on and on.

There is also just lots of stuff. Stuffed into all sorts of places. Closets. Drawers. Boxes. Shelves. God - the stuff. What is and where does it come from?

Then there's the dirt. The dust. The splatters of toothpaste on the mirror. The mold that invariable grows on the shower walls. The dog hair. The people hair. Ugh.

I know that there are books and sites by organization and housekeeping experts that can help with this problem. I've read some of them. They make good sense and I've even tried some of the ideas: Do things on certain days. Set up a routine. Don't let anything get in the way of that routine. But unfortunately real life gets in the way. Like holidays and birthdays. The whole family getting sick. Special home projects that end up taking the whole weekend (like getting rid of vermin under the house or fixing the vacuum cleaner) Or some other crises or event that just blows everything.

Maybe that's just an excuse. Maybe the truth is that really there is just too much damn stuff to do. Really, the workload in inhumane. Never ending. Certainly the results are not  permanent. No sooner has something like the laundry or dishes been completed than it has to be done again. Disheartening.

For me, the best solution is an event at my house that kicks my butt into gear. Like a guest or my mother coming over. This past week it was the bank appraiser as we are in the process of re-financing our house. This coincided with finally getting our carpet cleaned in the back of the house.

Part of the squalor that needs to be packed up moved to the bathroom

Now getting the carpet cleaned required moving everything out of the back room. There was a lot of ... stuff. Most of it fit into the back bathroom. That took most of a day to pack all the piles of books, papers and crap into boxes and then transport it to the bathroom. Of course, no one could use that bathroom any more - thank god we have two.

The bank appraiser appointment was the morning after the carpet cleaning. This was not a really good idea in retrospect. Our house was in such an overriding state of messiness and squalor that there was really no extra time for this carpet cleaning business and moving all the stuff in addition to needing to get the house into a reputable state. By messiness, I don't mean a few dishes in the sink or papers on the dining room table. I mean a serious level of squalor in every square inch of the house.

I remember listening to the news on the radio one time about some shocking situation regarding a family in trouble or some bad situation happening to some kids; and in the report, of course, it was mentioned with great emphasis about the shocking state of squalor witnessed in the house the kids were living in, etc, etc. You know what I'm talking about. Such a state of emotional and family dysfunction is proved by the state of the household. Sure hope no news reporter comes by my house unannounced and unexpected - I'd hate to hear what would be reported on the evening news.

Back to preparing for the appraiser. I spent over twenty straight hours of serious, intensive cleaning. A good portion of that was just clearing out the backlogged laundry and storage area which had wall to wall crap in there so I couldn't even get to the door. There was still the bag from the deceased dog's food in there. And a layer of dust at least a half inch thick. I had to wear a dust mask so I wouldn't get asthma. It looked awesome after I was done. If only it would stay that way.

I'll say though, that during this cleaning process I truly understood why my house doesn't look all sparkly all the time. That took so much energy and time. Um, I really don't have that type of energy or time to devote to cleaning like that each week so my home looks like those in the magazines. I was seriously depleted after that effort. Little bits of cleaning here and there - okay, we can manage that as a family. Superpower cleaning? Not worth it unless there's a major event.

The appraiser took all sorts of photos so I felt doubly happy that I put in the effort (that could have been rather embarrassing.) Of course, I didn't get all the boxes and stuff put away in that one bathroom because I simply ran out of time before he knocked on our door (the carpet needed to dry overnight) so the photo the guy took of that bathroom has all that crap in it. I saw it online. A little embarrassing but could have been a whole lot worse.

I would like to have a cleaner, more orderly house. I would love to live in a place like that - clean and orderly with matching furniture and actual curtains on the windows (right now there are still sheets on the bedroom windows - haven't had time time to find a solution to that yet.) An oasis of calm. A place of peace. Our little respite from the crazy, insane world out there.

Instead, it's more like we live in a barn. My husband used to really get my goat by telling me that we lived like drug addicts (we're not by the way, he just used to be a rock 'n' roller and knew some in his former life pre-me). He prefers a more zen-like environment and doesn't have much tolerance for the mess. I can deal with mess (I've never claimed to be Miss Clean) but this constant onslaught is a little overwhelming.

It be great if we could get a housekeeper to come once a week to help clean. That's my dream. Although, I think that even I were able to hire someone to help, they would either run as fast as their feet could take them away from our house, laugh in my face at the absurdity of such a proposition or just charge triple their rate. Probably not doable right now. Keeping a clean house takes either time or money (maybe both). And I guess that then prompts me to ask what are our family priorities?

We could spend money on a housekeeper but then not be able to give our girls the activities that they enjoy and that help them foster a strong sense of their selves. I could be running around scrubbing and cleaning every second - but I would probably be a very unpleasant person to live with. That would also put a crimp in the educating-the-girls-at-home plan;  I spend a lot of time with my daughters. Working together on their education takes time, energy and it's rather messy. I also spend a lot of time cooking - good, healthy food is important to me. Time for myself is also important - to exercise, to blog, to read, to teach. And we want to enjoy time together as a family. People before things.

So, I guess for the time being I will have to live as Our Lady of Perpetual Squalor.

A Butter New Year!

 So, this year I am going to take a fresh approach. I don't do New Year's Resolutions - there's so much to put on that list that I've failed before I've even begun. However, I do like to have a theme for the New Year - a lens or a perspective through which I try to see events throughout the year. This year for me it's... butter. 


Let me explain.

One morning, I was going to make the family Puffy Cake for breakfast - this is our family favorite; it's a puffed-up oven-baked pancake and you need lots of butter for the skillet. I got everyone's hopes up only to find - you guessed it - no butter. Not a lick, nor a stick. Well, this really pissed me off, for not only was I now to dash my families hopes for a delicious breakfast, but this lack of butter represented something bigger. You know, when something acts as symbol for all that ails you at the moment - which for me was the utter futility and hopelessness of trying to maintain a household. Trying to maintain a household for me is akin to Sisyphus and his eternally falling rock.  So, menu changed - now it was hard-boiled eggs or oatmeal. Can't remember which, only that there wasn't any butter for the damn toast either. 

As I am stomping around the kitchen in a foul mood, I hardly noticed Daughter 2 busy with a whisk and bowl. She'd found a carton of cream in the refrigerator and was busy whipping it up - no, she was not making whipped cream. She was making - yup - butter! The girls sometimes like to make fresh butter out of whipping cream but we'd always made it with an air-tight jar (which takes a long time and a lot of literal elbow grease; I usually hate making it because I end up shaking the jar - for an annoyingly long time.) I have no idea what possessed my little one to try to make it with a whisk (she probably didn't want to ask me for a jar since I was not in the best of moods.) The whisk worked great and was actually faster than the jar method. Voila - butter! So we actually did get to have butter on our toast (too late for the Puffy Cake, sorry to say.) And now, whenever we make butter (which isn't often - don't want to give you the impression that I am Super-Susie-Homemaker or anything) we now use the whisk only - it's definitely faster and makes a wonderful butter.

So, here's what I would like to take from the butter incident into this New Year 2012: 

• My children are my teachers: Sometimes life feels like one big to-do list and the kids are right there on it. This can make me down right grumpy. When I really contemplate my life, though, and what I have learned, my girls have been my greatest teachers. All I know now, I would not have learned without them. And they continue to bring new aspects of life into my orbit - like Daughter 1's love of horses and Daughter 2's love of tennis. Relationships in general are our great teachers. So this year, I am putting on my listening cap and being open to what I can learn from my children and from others around me.

• Get creative and try something different: At the moment, I just went with the obvious - no butter, no Puffy cake. I wonder how often I do this in life - miss out because I just couldn't see another way or didn't even bother to try. Sometimes others show us a different way; sometimes we can find it ourselves. I have many things I need to find solutions for this year - I need to get creative and try a different approach. Maybe with a tool I'd never thought of before.

• Mix it up and get physical: Hey, put in a little elbow grease and there is a total transformation; what started out as weak cream became fluffy whipped cream and then firm butter. Hey, if that can happen with a whisk, then maybe a little physical action on my part will lead to a leaner and firmer me. Don't need fancy tools either - just a whisk, or maybe a whip, or really just some walking shoes. 

• It'll all come together:  When I know what I want to do and have an intention and then commit, somehow it all comes together. A good, clear goal benefits everyone - there'll be butter and buttermilk. A little something for everyone. Trust the process.

• Take some time to rinse off and rest: I need to remember to take care of myself this year (this is my single biggest challenge.) A shower or relaxing bath can do wonders to restore my mental balance (you may be wondering what the heck this has to do with butter; indeed, you do need to rinse off all the buttermilk and drain the liquids off the butter before packing it into a container.) And I need to pack myself into bed in a timely manner before I melt (gee, this kind of fun!)

• Savor the sweet moments: Fresh, homemade butter tastes so sweet and good. I feel so grateful for its simple goodness and for the abundance that it represents. Each day I want to express gratitude for those sweet moments, situations and relationships that exist in my life. If my daughter's homemade butter can transform my attitude of grumpiness to sheer delight, then finding the good in each day can surely transform the everyday doldrums to an attitude of gratitude for that which I have in my life.

I am hoping that you can bring some of the sweetness and goodness of our butter moment into your life this year. Or maybe, you have your own butter moment that will lend its own unique perspective to your year. Feel free to share.

However it dishes out, I wish you a sweet New Year full of wonderful delights! Happy New Year...

Warmly, Susan