I've moved (a few years ago...)!*
Catch me at http://leighsteele.wordpress.com.
Peace out.
*but I can't figure out how to not have this blog show up as a default when I make comments on another Blogger account. Sigh.Tuesday, May 09, 2006
New Wordpress Blog
Catch me at http://leighsteele.wordpress.com.
Peace out.
*but I can't figure out how to not have this blog show up as a default when I make comments on another Blogger account. Sigh.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Britney, Birthing Goddess?
I guess I’m behind the 8-ball. Maybe it’s because I don’t watch the news, or read the newspaper, or even enjoy television much. At the end of March, artist Daniel Edwards created a sculpture of Britney Spears birthing. Naked. On all fours. Vaginally. Naturally. Many of you may be responding similarly to how I did: “Cool, birth art”. But I think we would be in the minority. We would be considered the pond scum of the art world. Now, the fact that he chose Britney as his subject, or that she indeed birthed her son via C-section isn’t what I’m interested in right now. It’s the fact that apparently, this sculpture has created quite a controversy. People are up in arms of the fact that someone would even dare sculpt an image of a naked birthing woman in a hands and knees position. Not only do they find it offensive, but are utterly appalled at this raw, natural depiction. They are pissed off. Disgusted. Appalled. Infuriated. Just read between the lines of the actual description from the ABCnews.com article:
“The life-size pop princess is naked and pregnant, crouching face-down on a bare-toothed bear rug as the baby's head appears on the opposite end.”
As if it’s being naked while giving birth is unheard of. As if a woman birthing on all fours is ridiculous (okay, the bear skin rug is just funny). And they couldn’t even write that the baby’s head is emerging from her vagina. Yes, I typed vagina. Vagina, vagina, vagina. People, get over it. Like the word or not, it is where babies emerge from, after all. They’ve emerged from vaginas since the beginning of humankind. This, unlike the Brit statue, is not breaking news..
Perhaps I could agree that the image of Britney wasn’t the best choice to convey this idea, but then again why not? We unfortunately look to celebrities to tell us what fashion to don, teach us how to be “happy”, and give us examples of how to measure our body image and self worth. Maybe Brit, in all her pregnant glory, was the perfect choice.
I wondered if these individuals would rather have viewed a sculpture of a woman cut and bleeding after an episiotomy. Or perhaps they’d rather have laid eyes upon Britney with an IV shoved in her helpless arms as she laid vulnerable upon her back, with her legs forced into stirrups. Would they have noticed the defeat on the face of Britney, exhausted and starved from hours of pushing without food and without the ability to even feel her contractions? No, I think it would have been easier to gaze at this new Mother, abdomen and fragile uterus exposed, as she struggled to stroke her newborn’s cheek for the first time with her arms strapped to a metal table. Please, anything but a naked woman birthing vaginally on all fours with her child emerging perfectly from her uncut, intact, miraculously stretching vagina. (I know, I know, here come the “but women tear all the time” comments).
I guess I don’t know what I had expected. Our culture provides us with very little impressions of natural birth. Those we are exposed to are often “blurred” in all the “right” places. They certainly aren’t edited in a manner that would demonstrate the perfect power and ability of a birthing body, of an empowered woman. As children, we are seemingly forced to construct our own ideas and visualization of the exact details and dynamics of how and where babies emerge from their mother’s bodies. Why is it easier for our children to access images of porn, violence, war and crime than images of an incredibly intricate process that a majority of women will experience in their lifetime? This doesn’t seem like responsible journalism or education Because we aren’t given the opportunity, through news and magazines and television, to witness births many do believe that it’s gross, disgusting, or dirty. This must change. Our daughters must not endure the fear that the medical industry and culture have instilled in the minds of recent generations of women. Our sons cannot turn their heads at the beauty of their loved ones’ bodies that they, nine months prior, obviously indulged in without hesitation. Mothers should no longer be expected to silently weep in shame (or act grateful) as their bellies are sliced, their vaginas cut, their veins punctured, and their emotions numbed in the name of medicine, safety, and modesty.
Some say that birth is intimate, private and personal and it shouldn’t be “shoved in our face”. But since when has the medical institution respected the birth process as intimate and personal? I ask you if droves of strangers gloved and masked in a foreign room, with shiny steel instruments and beeping machines at the ready, portray an image of respect and intimacy?
We fear birth. We are taught it. Expose the real stories and photos of natural birth (hospital or home) that thousands of women experience each day and I wonder if we are ready to answer the question: what the hell are we afraid of anyways?
Perhaps we fear the truth.
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.” – Marianne Williamson
I know you were waiting for this…go here for the photos:
http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/wireStory?id=1777959
Go here for the image of the baby’s head crowning: http://www.blognyc.net/news/britney-spears/britney-in-the-act-of-childbirth-the-money-shot.php
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Ten Moons for Kaia
My Dear Kaia,
As of yesterday, you have experienced 10 new moons (and yesterday was the 1st quarter phase of the moon, a half moon, a wedge of cheese, a taco...) Your bright light has swirled it's way inside of our lives, your love as powerful as the lunar waves, filling us with cool renewal and gratitude. This past month, your personality blossomed in harmony with the spring’s desert landscape, and is just as diverse.
It's become apparent that you inherited your Mama's lack of patience. I am so sorry for that. Yes, I'm the one who seems to always tear the cereal bags vertically because I'm in too much of a hurry to care And Cheerios go spilling out everywhere into the cardboard box, never to pour out the same way again. Incidentally, you've actually helped to teach me to focus on patience. I'm happy to say I've become a bit better at living with (some) patience...so there's hope for you yet. Every time I gingerly guide your chubby limbs into your PJ's, or take away a "toy", or walk out of the room when you are greepy or slumpy (grumpy-sleepy combo) thou dost protest too much! Your tiny back arches, your head flings back, and your eyes clamp shut while you wail. And sometimes, dare I say it; you start to hold your breath. You may not know, dear child, that I expressed my childhood dismay by holding my breath until I passed out cold on the floor. Guess what? Your Grams did the same thing. I fear your Papa and I are doomed to witness the same fate in you. Know that our arms will be there to catch you. At the least, we will make sure there is something soft to break your fall.
There is one thing that is guaranteed to make you stop crying. It's when Mama sings you the lyrics of the "Jazz Fly" book: "ZZZZ, a fly buzzed by it was late in the day, and he was lost, so he flew to the frog who was sitting on the log, and asked the frog which way to town.”Za-baza Be-zaba Zee-za RONI". Your tears cease and and you look up at me with knowing eyes. The rhythm of the words soothes you and makes you feel safe.
You finally learned to crawl and quickly mastered the skill. Your fat baby knees and tops of your feet got calloused and red from all of your scooting. Pulling up on furniture or your crib is your newest skill and you grin at me, baring your top 2 teeth, as if you are the proudest big girl around. Pulling up, combined with your lack of patience and keen ability to pitch a fit, make for an interesting drama when you are ticked off in your crib. You even throw your binky's on the floor in your room just to make a point. And to watch me pick them up.
This past month, I got a big taste of how your Cheerios must feel. Let's just say, they have my fullest sympathy. Those four chompers of yours pack a powerful punch, er, bite. Particularly when they are on my sensitive bits! You are on about a three week streak of full-on biting me while nursing. My nipples have a bone to pick with you! It doesn't faze you when I shriek and jerk away and put you down while saying "Noooo, no biting. That hurts Mama!". In fact, sometimes you look at me and smirk.
This new hobby of yours has presented a plethora of new problems. Because I can't seem to finish a nursing session with you, I am FULL of milk. Which means, I have to try and find time to pump more often. One night, I was watching TV and pumping along until I looked down to notice pink milk! Yes, I was bleeding. Fab-u-lous. I'm sore, so I cringe every time you latch on, while simultaneously trying to relaxxxxx. It's sorta like that machine at the eye doctor where they blow a puff of air into your eye. The anticipation makes you crazy. But at least that process is painless! As of late, you've become a little bit (bite?) better about at least waiting until you are done to give me the ritual sayonara bite. I'm glad you've seemed to calm down because I really, really enjoy our bonding time together. It's part of how I've learned about the beauty of patience and mindfulness. I don't wait to give it up to some little pearly whites that will eventually fall out anyways.
Need I even mention that you still don't sleep through the night?
Your babbling makes me giddy. Of course, your Daddy and I, along with your grandparents, swear you say a lot of words (hi, bye-bye, Elmo, Grams, Grandpa, Papa, Nana, Mama, Dada). Daddy told me about how you saw him roll in your Bugaboo Frog stroller and exclaimed "Bugaboo!” You make all kinds of silly noises and have found out how to blow applesauce all over the place while making some of them. You also understand the word "No"...I'm trying really hard to make sure you life isn't full of No's though...I want you to understand that Yes' are all around you! You are worth every Y, E, and S.
Food is your passion. Girl, can you EAT! You are a food scrounge and try to steal my food all of the time, particularly my PB&J sandwiches. When we place you in your highchair, you immediately stick your hand in the shallow built-in cup holder, searching for Cheerios. If I take too long chopping your carrots, or blending your sweet potatoes, or peeling your squash, the Diva Kaia (that's you) begins to take over. Yelling from her royal high chair, she tenses up her body and smacks the tray. Sometimes she even groans and roars deeply and slowly like a protective lioness! I cannot believe how you devour beans, fingerful by fingerful. Beans of any kind - kidney, white beans, black beans. Beans, beans, good for the heart...Today, Daddy noticed how there were beans in your poop. Yep. And you still love them. More of your favorites: avocado, cheese, apples, pears, peaches. Your so-so's are pineapple, green beans, mango. Daddy found out you like pickles and even onions. This, you inherited from him.
You've also developed some interesting habits. You love your binkys. Your Elmo doll has a binky and so does your $3 Wal-Mart dollie. These binky's are your best friend, next to your Puppy JP. Lately, you've wanted an additional binky to hold on to at night (which Daddy has termed your "safety binky”). Another habit is that you try to chew on the glass top of our coffee table. Ay-yi-yie, it's like fingers on a chalkboard!
You love to swing really high in your red plastic swing outside. The higher Grandpa Ritchie pushes you, the more you squeal and smile. Your fine brown hair even blows with the breeze. I hope you'll grow up hearing him chant "Rocket Ship to the Mooooooon" like I did when I was a young girl. I taught you how to clap to "Pat-a-Cake" this past week, even though you don't quite understand the motions to the "Roll 'em Up, Roll 'em Up, Throw 'Em in the Pan" part yet. I'm sure that will come with time. Another cute thing is you have a few dolls who you will usually hug and pat their backs when asked to do so. When I carry you to bed, your head nestled on my shoulders and eyelids heavy, you will pat my back when I say “Pat Mama’s back!” Already a mothering instinct!
Perhaps one of the proudest skills you've demonstrated is your keen sense of rhythm. Your Daddy beams with pride at this one ("My little musician", he says). A few weeks ago, we stopped to watch a live Jazz trio set up at the Country Club and play their first song. You stared in awe at the upright bass and was so enthralled by its deep pulsing vibe that you sat, mouth agape, and drooled. Then, you noticed the drums and starting waving your arms in perfect time. Seriously. Then you shirked in joy while they played. In your carseat, you start doing the same thing when you hear Ben Folds. Good girl! Daddy plays his congas and, again, you wave your arms to the beat and watch with intent. When I approach the congas with you in arm, you reach out and begin to beat them, creating your own music.
You are still a social baby and enjoy nothing more than playing with, and watching, other children. This is when you are truly most content. Stranger anxiety hasn't set in just yet with you and you are almost always up to giving a bit ol' toothy smile to anyone who peers your way.
My Kaia, my lovely little peanut, my heart cannot contain the pure pleasure you bring me. Surely, my heart must be bleeding onto the pages of my life! That's a good thing, really. It's not just that your innocence is so endearing, and that you are impossibly cute, that make me beam with pride. It's that I see how open you are to love, how sensitive you are to the vibration of our universe. How accepting you are to all of life's surprises and mysteries. Its how your little arms and legs cling to me when you ride on my hip, as if you've always been there, you belong there.
A few weeks ago, you were fussing in your crib and just wouldn't go to sleep. Your nose was runny, your hair wild. I brought you into bed next to me and held you on my chest. Then, you began a strange and ritualistic sort of dance with me. With your eyes closed, you crawled and rolled your body down and over mine while I gently held on to you...to the left and the right you slowly crawled and gently swayed with me, still entangled in the safely of my arms. It seemed to have soothed your tired soul, while it penetrated mine with love. It felt almost like you were snuggled within my body again, safe and warm and gentle. You needed me. We needed each other. The same feeling of oneness washed over me and I was overcome with emotion and memory of our nine intensely close months together. Thank you for this brief experience that night. So spiritual, so special.
It seemed fitting that we spent yesterday, your 10 moon anniversary, at a Day of the Midwife Rally that I had helped to organize along with our dear Marinah and other lovely birth advocates. We played in the sun, lolled in the grass with other Mamas, and shared birth poetry in a circle. You left exhausted. I left with sunburn.
While you napped today, your Daddy and I sat on the couch and reminisced about how you've grown from a helpless, tiny infant to a sweet, kind, vivacious little bean. I said "Honey, she is our contribution to the world!” Your Daddy responded with such tenderness "She is the world's contribution to us". He was so very right.
Kaia Marin, thank you for the gift of your spirit. It has pervaded our lives in ways we understand more deeply every single day. Now, please, don't grow up any faster. And let’s work on that biting thing…
I love you,
Mama
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Study: Stay-at-home moms deserve high pay
Dedicated to all the SAHM's (Stay-at-home moms) in the world, especially my personal superheroes: Sara, Kimmy, MaryBeth, Brooke, Jeanette. You are all making the world better, one multi-tasking day at a time.
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From MSNBC.com
NEW YORK - The old adage that “a mother's work is never done” remains as true now as ever. Today's stay-at-home moms are learning what their predecessors always knew — they'd be making a lot of money doing their job outside the home.
The titles — which reflected the most time-consuming parts of their day — include day-care center teacher, van driver, housekeeper, cook, chief executive officer, nurse and general maintenance worker, the survey showed.
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From MSNBC.com
NEW YORK - The old adage that “a mother's work is never done” remains as true now as ever. Today's stay-at-home moms are learning what their predecessors always knew — they'd be making a lot of money doing their job outside the home.
Just in time for Mother's Day, an informal study conducted by Web site Salary.com shows that stay-at-home moms would earn an average of $131,471 annually, including overtime, if they received a paycheck.
A sampling of the 5.4 million stay-at-home mothers were asked to come up with job titles that fit a general description of their daily routines.The titles — which reflected the most time-consuming parts of their day — include day-care center teacher, van driver, housekeeper, cook, chief executive officer, nurse and general maintenance worker, the survey showed.
Of course, a stay-at-home parent does not work typical office hours. The hypothetical median salary is based on a 100-hour work week and assumes caring for at least two children of school age.
“The importance of this calculation or this estimate is just calling attention to the fact that being a stay-at-home mom is not a cop out, it's not the woman's way out of the work force and it's not a job of no value,” said Bill Coleman, senior vice president of compensation at Salary.com. “There is a lot of value there, and some would say it's even priceless.”
Salary.com, which tracks what jobs pay, suggested that the annual base pay for a 40-hour stay-at-home mom's workweek would be $43,461. Mothers would earn an additional $88,009 a year for 60 hours of overtime each week.
“I think I should definitely make that much,” said Joanna Butti, who stays at home to care for her twin boys. “It's a hard job.”
Coleman said feedback on the figure was mixed. Some felt mothers deserved more, some less. In general, though, many were pleased to see a figure above $100,000.
“Stay-at-home moms are enthusiastic and upbeat about their jobs, they didn't seem to need external validation,” Coleman told Reuters. “They were also happy that they were getting attention, and that somebody was out there telling the world that what they do is valuable, and perhaps more valuable than one would expect.”
Mothers said you cannot attach a figure to the time spent with their kids.
“I'm giving 150 percent of myself to them many hours a day,” said Debra Miley, who stays home with two-year old daughter Olivia and four-month old son Gregory. “You cannot attach a dollar value to the time that you spend nurturing your child if you're lucky enough to be a stay-at-home mom.”
Friday, April 21, 2006
Water Words
So, the shower seems to be one of the only places that I get to be truly alone. I savor those 10, 15, and if I'm really greedy and irresponsible, 20 minutes of peace and quiet and healing water.
Our shower is one that is glass-enclosed. Through it I can see out our window and view our neighbor's bougainvillea moving in the breeze.
Yesterday, I noticed the way the steam was slowly veiling the glass. I saw my reflection. In an instant, I knew what I had to do. My fingers reached up to the steam covered glass walls of the shower and began moving, writing, dancing...
With tears suddenly in my eyes, breath deep down within me, and without thought, a poem arose... an open poem to my C-section. Yes, it made so much sense to scrawl it, furiously, in the steam...knowing the words would soon dissapate and I'd not be able to recall them exactly. It was freeing, liberating. Like the healing process of the Tibetan mandala...a work of art whose grains of sands are finally swept up and poured into flowing water...my words were to exist briefly, literally, within water. And then, they would be gone.
I wrote with a torrid pace on each wall of glass, from the top to the bottom, twice. Forming letters and words with just my fingers felt magical, powerful, wicked, and blessed. My hands moved without a thought and words flowed continuously.
And to cry in the shower is just as magical, powerful, wicked, and blessed. The tears were carried away, like my words, to never exist again. Indeed, I felt healed.
When my poem was complete, I stood back, like an artist studying her painting, and watched my words. Have you ever watched your words?... Slowly they melted, changed, dripped, and eventually faded. Like my pain, my scar. But two lines of my poem remained visible even after I stepped out of the shower, warm and clean, refreshed and renewed...
"...but in the end, you made me strong".
Our shower is one that is glass-enclosed. Through it I can see out our window and view our neighbor's bougainvillea moving in the breeze.
Yesterday, I noticed the way the steam was slowly veiling the glass. I saw my reflection. In an instant, I knew what I had to do. My fingers reached up to the steam covered glass walls of the shower and began moving, writing, dancing...
With tears suddenly in my eyes, breath deep down within me, and without thought, a poem arose... an open poem to my C-section. Yes, it made so much sense to scrawl it, furiously, in the steam...knowing the words would soon dissapate and I'd not be able to recall them exactly. It was freeing, liberating. Like the healing process of the Tibetan mandala...a work of art whose grains of sands are finally swept up and poured into flowing water...my words were to exist briefly, literally, within water. And then, they would be gone.
I wrote with a torrid pace on each wall of glass, from the top to the bottom, twice. Forming letters and words with just my fingers felt magical, powerful, wicked, and blessed. My hands moved without a thought and words flowed continuously.
And to cry in the shower is just as magical, powerful, wicked, and blessed. The tears were carried away, like my words, to never exist again. Indeed, I felt healed.
When my poem was complete, I stood back, like an artist studying her painting, and watched my words. Have you ever watched your words?... Slowly they melted, changed, dripped, and eventually faded. Like my pain, my scar. But two lines of my poem remained visible even after I stepped out of the shower, warm and clean, refreshed and renewed...
"...but in the end, you made me strong".
Monday, April 17, 2006
The Best of the Worst
The Best of the Worst
List-a-mania, as they call it, has set in for me. I blame it on laziness and an exhausted mental state. Here are some of my latest personal favs in the “Best of the Worst” department.
Best of the Worst…Fast Foods
- In-n-Out Burgers
- Wetzel’s Pretzels
- Sonic’s French Toast Sticks (with syrup!)
- Krispy Kreme warm, chocolate iced donuts (Folks, you get ½ dozen free donuts on your birthday. Plus a mug filled with your choice of beverage. Yep. I drove through three different KK locations last year. That equals 1.5 dozen free, gratis, greasy, warm, sugary lumps of heavenly treat. Guilt-free, of course, on your birthday)
Best of the Worst…Indulgent Foods
- Choc-o-diles (always priced at like .39 cents or something at the gas stations)
- Milky Way Midnight candy bars
- Thin Mint Girl Scout Cookies (duh!)
- E.L. Fudge Cookies (dipped in milk)
- Golden Oreos (very addictive)
- My own concoction called “Preggo Delight”: Rainbow sherbet w/gummi bears and peanut butter cups
Best of the Worst…Shopping
- Fashion Q/Xi (so cheap, so trendy. full of strippers!)
- Ross Dress for Less (designer purses and shoes for a steal. Great maternity too)
- Last Chance (Nordstrom bargain designer clothes – ya gotta hunt-n-peck. Don’t go on Saturdays unless you want to battle or arm wrestle)
- Ann Taylor Loft (classy, simple)
- Old Navy (fun, so much variety, comfy maternity. Plus, baby clothes!)
Best of the Worst…Bad Habits
- Chewing fingernails (stress reliever)
- Not refilling the toilet paper roll (sometimes, it just feels good to half-ass things)
- Consistently underestimating arrival/departure times (a.k.a being late)
- Stashing unfolded laundry (dirty or clean) away in my closet, in a basket (a big “F-you” to household chores)
- Removing my shoes in random spots…and leaving them there (pure laziness)
Best of the Worst…Reality TV Shows
- American Inventor (laugh your butt off)
- American Idol (particularly the early auditions)
- OK, I just realized I actually don’t watch enough TV to really be able to elaborate on this topic
Best of the Worst…Excuses to Blog Instead of: Go to Bed, Pay Bills, Clean the Kitchen, Change a Dirty Diaper, Go #1, Got #2, Eat for the First Time All Day
- It’s therapeutic
- I can wallow in other people’s problems
- I can live vicariously through other people (gotta check in on my girly girls)
- “It helps me to sharpen my saw”
- Too lazy to call everyone who I’d like to update on my boring, crazy, lovely, wouldn’t-trade-it life
- I might garner a compliment…or not
- “I’m documenting Kaia’s life!”
Best of the Worst…Things I’ve Said Out of Frustration and Impatience Lately to My Dear Husband (all of which I immediately apologized for…or soon thereafter)
- YOU try working from home AND taking care of a baby twice a week! (pity party)
- At some point you really need to decide to stop working and spend time with your family on Easter! (which he did)
- Sometimes I feel like a single Mom! (ohhh, that was uncalled for)
- …Sure, just like you try and put the dishes away in the dishwasher when you are done with them. (When he kindly asked if I could try to put my shoes up when I take them off)
- Shhhhh, don’t wake the baby! (repeated Every. Single. Morning. while I’m still in bed. He has never complained)
Best of the Worst…Excuses for Being a Homebody
- “I’m an introvert”
@#$%^&@!!!!!
An entire post, lost with one fell keystroke! It's too late for this! I'm too tired to try again. So, here's my post instead.
@#$%^&@!!!!!
@#$%^&@!!!!!
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Switching Blog Sites!
UPDATE ON NEW BLOG
Ok, so apparently my new blog site at Wordpress.com is freezing up eeryone's computers. Oops! Not sure what's going on, but I'm contacting Wordpress.com to find out. In the meantime...stick here!
---------------------------------------------
So, based on boredom, inspiration from Jeanette's newly designed site, and the desire to keep everyone crazy, I've switched to a new blog website.
Visit me at My New Blog. Let me know what you think. Bookmark it if you please. I promise I won't switch on you again any time soon.
Until I get bored again. Or inspired.
Ok, so apparently my new blog site at Wordpress.com is freezing up eeryone's computers. Oops! Not sure what's going on, but I'm contacting Wordpress.com to find out. In the meantime...stick here!
---------------------------------------------
So, based on boredom, inspiration from Jeanette's newly designed site, and the desire to keep everyone crazy, I've switched to a new blog website.
Visit me at My New Blog. Let me know what you think. Bookmark it if you please. I promise I won't switch on you again any time soon.
Until I get bored again. Or inspired.
Monday, April 10, 2006
for jason, twenty-eight
upon pulling back
the edges of my heart
the revelation was that
you were always there
deep down
tunneled and safe
knocking, knocking
i knew this
when I was in high school
with stringy hair
and combat boots
and so many poems
i could drink them
for days
when she asked me
“who would you marry”
and I answered
immediately
unremarkably
without hesitation
you
like the worry stone
whose edges are smooth
from rhythmic touch
from ages, from love
so, too, my heart now
smooth, from love
from 120 moons
i get it now
it’s not that you complete me
as much as you
make me remember
who I am
when I’m alone
with the dark moon
so bare, so tiny
intense
like a child
destined to birth
like her
destined to be ours
on this day
yours
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Blogs Shmlogs
Holy Cow, don't ever go checkin' other other peeps' blogs at 11:30 at night. Not only do you realize that the blog world is truly a web, but that web grabs ya and reallllly doesn't want to let you go. Nope. It wants you to sit and read, read, read until you get too tired and BAM - down comes the spider. Eats you alive with incredible words. Hilarious, sarcastic, honest, edgy, wailing words.
A few nights ago I became engrossed in a few blogs and finally had to go to sleep. I left my computer screen feeling like an utter amateur...like a fifth grader writing a 3 paragraph essay on the disappearance of dinosaurs.
Ya know the saying "Well, there's always someone worse off than you". Well, in the blog world, there's always someone "much better at writing than you"! Much, much, much better. Start to read blogs and you'll be amazed at the talent out there. True talent. Word-smiths. Analogy queens. Masterful picture painters (with words). Insightful story tellers. And people who have an awful lot to say about poop.
A few nights ago I became engrossed in a few blogs and finally had to go to sleep. I left my computer screen feeling like an utter amateur...like a fifth grader writing a 3 paragraph essay on the disappearance of dinosaurs.
Ya know the saying "Well, there's always someone worse off than you". Well, in the blog world, there's always someone "much better at writing than you"! Much, much, much better. Start to read blogs and you'll be amazed at the talent out there. True talent. Word-smiths. Analogy queens. Masterful picture painters (with words). Insightful story tellers. And people who have an awful lot to say about poop.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Our Kai-Kai at 9 Moons
- Finally crawls
- Has 2 top teeth and 2 bottom teeth. Teething has recently been a bear. Knows the sound of dispensing teething tablets.
- Is a chatterbox. Grams swears she said "March Madness" and Jason heard her repeat it a few hours later. What the...?
- Accepts that her binky really is her best friend
- Shows off and smiles for other babies and kids
- Clap, clap, claps her hands
- Devours black beans, Grams' yogurt parfait mix, and Cheerios
- Threw a real, true blue, diva fit because I wouldn't let her grab the glasses off my face. She's a pistol.
- Favorite toys include: teething tablet bottle, diaper creme bottle, IKEA froggy sippy cup, wipes, banging two binkys together, cell phone
- Favorite TOY toys include: links, Oscar the Grouch puppet, stacking rings, Binky Elmo (what have we done??!!)
- Sits up in her crib and plays...or holds on to the crib rails like a monkey and cries to be released
- Still doesn't sleep through the night (how long will this be on my list???)
- Still nurses
- Is tickleish on her back and neck and chubby little thighs
- Has crazy bed head hair when she wakes up
- Wants to eat whatever we eat
- Adores her puppy and kitty and recognizes the sound of their jingling collars
- Jabbers on about "Da da da da" and "mom mom mom" and "guh guh" and "buh buh"
- Discovered the lip puckering, raspberry blowin', spit flingin' thing with her mouth (what do you call this? Sorry, it's almost midnight!). Loves to do it with her mouth full of food.
- Holds her breath when really upset (like I did and my Mother before me did when we were tykes)
- Protests a dirty diaper
- Has a great memory/remembers things you show her after the first time (like sticking her finger inside Pop-Beads, knowing how to get her toys to make noise, etc)
- Smiles when she first sees her babysitter Kimmy
- Is mastering the cute lil' pincser grasp
- Splashes in the bath
- Grams says she has "chubby insteps"
- Sometimes sweetly pats my back (like I do to hers) when she lays her head on my shoulder to go nitey nite
- Loves to hear her voice echo loudly
- Digs peek-a-boo
- Loves to stand on her tippy-toes
- Figured out how to get her arm out of her sleeve
- Has started to understand the concept of putting things in my mouth after I put something in hers (like her binky)
- Has pooped in the bathtub
- Never fails to make me overflow with gratitude and love and helps me remember what my real priorities are
Lessons from Strangers
So on this overcast afternoon in Anthem, while at Wal-Mart (Jeanette says that I really shouldn't say that "W" word around crunchy folk), I found myself in the checkout line with Kaia perched on my hip. She had become a wee bit grumpy from my usual lack of focus in such a huge store. So, on my hip she sat while I sorted through my cart and, one by one, bent over and tossed the items on the checkout conveyer belt...diapers, mangos, laundry detergent, pomegranate juice, a new bra, some donuts (ooops, you didn't see that), peaches, yogurt...I heard a mama in line behind me mumbling quietly to her son, but kept my head down in the cart while I concentrated on the task at hand. And then, the boy with the little round glasses and sandy blond hair stepped closer to me and gently asked "Can I help you with anything?”
My heart instantly leapt in pride for this Mama's son. I grinned, looked him in the eye, and said "Oh, no thank you, but that was very sweet of you!” He stepped back as I continued unloading the cart and clutching my girl.
And, as only a parent would do, I immediately began to second guess my response. Perhaps I should have said "Yes, please, that would be very helpful" so that he could have learned the brief, but important, life lesson his Mother was urging him towards. Or, I should have responded with "Oh, no thank you, but that was very kind of you!” Yes, kindness is what I believe is so important to instill in our children. Not sweetness...kindness.
Of course, in the scheme of things it doesn't matter what my response. The fact that he confidently offered to help a stranger (at his mother's beckoning) was indeed...kind. And kinda sweet.
P.S. Oh please, please for the love of Pete, someone beam a Trader Joe's or Whole Foods or Sprout's into Anthem!!!
My heart instantly leapt in pride for this Mama's son. I grinned, looked him in the eye, and said "Oh, no thank you, but that was very sweet of you!” He stepped back as I continued unloading the cart and clutching my girl.
And, as only a parent would do, I immediately began to second guess my response. Perhaps I should have said "Yes, please, that would be very helpful" so that he could have learned the brief, but important, life lesson his Mother was urging him towards. Or, I should have responded with "Oh, no thank you, but that was very kind of you!” Yes, kindness is what I believe is so important to instill in our children. Not sweetness...kindness.
Of course, in the scheme of things it doesn't matter what my response. The fact that he confidently offered to help a stranger (at his mother's beckoning) was indeed...kind. And kinda sweet.
P.S. Oh please, please for the love of Pete, someone beam a Trader Joe's or Whole Foods or Sprout's into Anthem!!!
Sunday, April 02, 2006
On Pain
"Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape." - Charles Dickens
As of late, my journey of pain and healing surrounding Kaia's birth has been challenged by others. "Why are you STILL in so much pain 9 months after her birth? Shouldn't you be over it?”
I'm not sure why I am so shocked at this sentiment, seeing as through our society views emotional pain as shameful or a weakness that must be quickly conquered. And it seems as though the emotional pain from a birth experience is one in which our culture has the shortest amount of patience for. To utter this phrase to someone who has lost a loved one, been victimized through violence or rape, or has simply has fallen on tough times would be seen as rude and unsympathetic. But to say "just over it" to a Mother, violated during a fragile and vulnerable time in her life...to say it to a Mother who, while being violated, could only think of the safety and well-being of her tiny child...to say it to a woman who was asked to quickly concede with a decision that would impact her future births, her health, and potentially her life...to say it...seems unforgivable.
To say "get over" or "you shouldn't still be in so much pain" is similar to reducing a major life experience to the bad luck on a lottery scratcher ticket. It is to assume no soul searching has occurred, no surrendering realized, and that no gratitude has surfaced. Simply, it is to assume no process has taken place. Just as one doesn't "get over" a mountain by simply walking, the challenge of pain is that it indeed becomes a journey: complete with rocky paths, stumbling, moments of rest and rehydration, stops to assure direction, strength, agility. And in the end, a feeling of achievement, renewed appreciation, and a priceless new view of the world. Like the mountain climb, the process of pain isn't easy. But, go through it time and time again with intention and you will become better at it, notice more, learn, and reveal and understanding that the process is what made it so worthwhile.
It's why we celebrate icons such as Lance Armstrong and Erik Weihenmeyer (first blind man to
On a physical level, we understand that pain is necessary. Without it, we would not survive. It is our body's reaction to a problem which requires immediate attention. So, too, is emotional pain a necessity for our body and hearts and mind. Glossing over it, not giving it the attention it deserves is like trying to cover a gaping wound with a flimsy band aid.
We must learn to honor pain for the lessons it reveals. When we choose to be open to pain, we become more connected to ourselves and to those around us. We find we are resilient and that we are capable of even greater love than we thought possible. Pain opens us up. Let me clarify that pain and suffering, while related, are different and I do not propose that our world must suffer. However, I have often used the terms interchangeably since they are related. Sylvia Boorstein explains that "...Suffering is what happens when we struggle with whatever our life experience is rather than accepting and opening to our experience with wise and compassionate response. From this point of view, there's a big difference between pain and suffering. Pain is inevitable".
Talk to people who lived years, lifetimes, without honoring their pain. They will tell you how it almost destroyed them, how they felt so alone, and how they never realized their true inner strength until one day, the pain exploded within and they were forced to either drown in it or paddle hard to stay afloat. Eventually, if they paddled, they found stable ground.
My wish list is simple and three pronged:
1. Recognize and accept that pain is a normal, healthy, and necessary life process that provides insights (i.e. Pain doesn't always mean one is depressed, downtrodden, faithless, or ungrateful)
2. Allow others (and one's self) their own path, journey, and timeline to healing
3. Talk about it!
Philosophers and scholars of all backgrounds and faiths have discussed pain and suffering and many have accepted its importance in our quest for love, spirituality, acceptance, and healing:
- "Whatever you do, don’t shut off your pain; accept your pain and remain vulnerable. However desperate you become, accept your pain as it is, because it is in fact trying to hand you a priceless gift: the chance of discovering, through spiritual practice, what lies behind sorrow. Grief, Rumi wrote, can be the garden of compassion. If you keep your heart open through everything, your pain can become your greatest ally in your life’s search for love and wisdom. " - Sogyal Rimpoche, renowned Tibetan teacher
- "I suggest to you that it is because God loves us that he makes us the gift of suffering. To put it another way, pain is God’s megaphone to rouse a deaf world. You see, we are like blocks of stone out of which the Sculptor carves the forms of men. The blows of his chisel, which hurt us so much are what make us…perfect." - C.S. Lewis, Christian author
- "Everything dear to us causes pain." - Buddha
- "Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys." -- Alphonse de Lamartine, poet
- "The capacity to give one's attention to a sufferer is a very rare and difficult thing; it is almost a miracle; it is a miracle." -- Simone Weil, moral and political philosopher
- "Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved." - Helen Keller
- "Deep unspeakable suffering may well be called a baptism, a regeneration, the initiation into a new state." - George Eliot (a.k.a. Mary Ann Evans), poet
- "The deeper that sorrow carves into your being the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?" -Kahlil Gibran, author and poet
I hope for my Kaia that she will understand that honoring the pain I experienced along with her birth was because I loved her too much to shrug it off. Through Kaia, through her birth, through my pain, I have been able to see the world even in the moon's dark light! What a wonderful, wonderful world.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
On My Mind Today
A few things that have been lolling around in my mind today (that's me with a lolling mind. whatever. it's me after I got my haircut a few weeks ago.)...
The memory of my brother in law's ex-girlfriend, Liz, when she birthed her baby at 17 young years of age. This was almost 2 years ago, before my Kaia was even a sparkle in my eye. Liz is a tall, sweetly naive, partly mystic Romanian-American young womam who is proud and resourceful and has a fierce fashion sense (complete with BCBG, D&G taste). I recall that on her 9 month pregnant belly, she painted a bright, yellow sun at her swim birthday party. She always carries herself with such grace and ease...almost makes you forget her young age.
We arrived at the hospital moments after her sweet Emma Elizabeth was born. There was Liz, a brand new Mama, smiling brightly with wide doe eyes, and holding her babe close. The room was quiet, the air bitterseet. Liz laughed, shrugged, and told us what a breeze labor and childbirth was. In the middle of the night, sharing her hospital bed with my brother-in-law Jeremy, she told me how she breathed through her contractions by counting in Romanian and clenching Jeremy's hand. It was her way of relaxing and maintaining focus. She would sleep in between contractions and awaken to continue the counting. Then, "Leigh, ust a few pushes and she slid out, no big deal at all. No pain". Liz had refused an epidural and other medical interventions and birthed her baby girl the way her body intended. I will never forget the look in her eyes when she told us this: strong, centered, proud, bare, primal yet serene. At 17, she suddenly had the look of a "mother", a sage. She was still in "birth world" - not quite yet connected to this Earthly place and still reeling from the intimate connection and experience. I could almost taste the birth high in the room, and in a sense, seemed I was imposing on sacred ground. At this point, I had just began my research into natural birth and was so touched by Liz' calm demeanor. After the birth, I asked her to recount her experience a few times, just so I could hear it. Just so I could confirm what I had always known deep withing: birth is normal, birth is natural, women are capable. At a mere 17 years of age, Liz taught me so much and was my first inspiration for natural birth.
I'm thinking about spaces. Spaces = life force. We met with our landscape architect today and I'm reeling. Two and a half hours later, I left his 600 sq. foot bungalow, built in 1935, and felt a renewed sense of excitement for our project. Our ideas meshed, he presented new options and creatively challenged our thoughts and plans. He totally "got" my passion for native planting and understood my desire for outdoor spaces that engage exploration and imagination while providing simplicity and serenity. I know this home in our minds will become a place of healing and cleansing for me. I await with great anticipation the first moment in which my bare feet sink unto the desert ground, smell the wet plants, and gaze at the outline of the trees through the moon's shadow. I am ready for new spaces. I welcome new life force.
I'm thinking about familiy. My Mama leaves Phoenix to head back home to Indiana after 10 sumptuous days here. My heart is breaking. How I wish she could be here every night when I came home from work. I'd give anything to be able to eat dinner with my Mama whenever I wished. Much like me, my Mama is a homebody at heart. She cleaned my house, washed and sorted my laundry, organized Kaia's room, got stains out of the carpet, made baby food, mopped the floors, and helped amuse and nurture our baby every single day. She watched TV with me and we made fun of commercials and people and topics. We shopped a little, ate a ton, and generally tried to solve all the world's problems. My Mama is a "doer", full of energy, but knows the value of a great nap. She raised 4 kids by herself and infused our childhoods with boundless fun. It's nice to know that I don't ever have to worry about my Mama skills, because she instilled the best in me. I want to sit on her lap and feel safe, the way only Mama's can make you feel. At times, I hold my dear, teething, sobbing Kaia and feel my Mama's love in my bones, my blood, my very cells. I feel reassured. Waking up the morning after my Mom leaves is always the roughest. I can still smell her clothes, her hairspray, her cooking, the smells of my childhood. I notice the way she put things away, folded clothes, and I try hard not to disturb them. She spent 10 days spoiling Kaia with love, love, love...and funny lullabies. I will miss her gentle, carefree spirit. I'll even miss her worrying...
I am thinking about friendship and how my concept of it has morphed over the years. And just recently. I marvel at how one can feel connected to faceless strangers and yet so distant from close-held friends. It isn't the years or the physical proximity that matter...there is so much more. Too much to write about at this moment. A topic I must ponder and explore. One that I always thought would truly be painless...
Lastly, I'm thinking about dreams. I had a recent one in which I was hangin' with my buds Gwenyth and Angelie (Paltrow and Jolie, that is). They were pregnant. Angelina began sharing some of her concerns and worries with me about her pregnancy and birth. She was quiet, almost meek, which shocked me. But the energy surrounding her was pure and loving. To ease some of her concerns, I suggested she take a look at her growing baby. With some "dream magic", I helped her gingerly pull her tiny, growing baby from her body, still connected to the cord. With tears on her face, she held the baby in the palm of her hands and looked up in sheer wonder and relief. "I can't believe how perfect she is...fully formed and alive. She is healthy." She brought the baby close to her cheeks and held it there for a few moments. I smiled and gently suggested we return the baby back to her protective womb to let her grow. Slowly, carefully, Angelina did just that and hugged me with intense gratitude. I told her "what a cool gal" she was and how I was so glad to know her. I awoke from the dream glowing. I still recall seeing that little baby in her hands...the skin was almost translucent and every body part was miniature and pefect. On one hand, I was scared to see this seemingly fragile being outside of it's world. On the other hand, it felt like we were given the chance to peek inside a secret world and experience a miracle. Dreams. Strange and wonderful, exausting and exhilirating. Why Angelina? Why this little baby? What could I possibly have to teach Angelina?
On my mind...sleep...
Friday, March 31, 2006
Top Ten + 1
So, I'm stealing this list idea from MaryBeth. I just got such a kick out of her list that I felt compelled to try one of my own. As I closed my eyes and brainstormed those things I have come to love, I suddenly became embarrassed. They pale in comparison to MB's earthy, environmentally friendly, organic, easy-going list. I mean, dang, her list makes you really feel like she has her priorities straight. She's "centered"!
I scanned my preliminary list and felt like I had to take a red pen to it for editing. But then, I sat back in my chair, shushed the critics in my head, and breathed deep (probably not as deep as MB can breathe)...
This is MY list. It's me. The good, the bad, and the chocoholic. At my core, I'm a wannabe: vegetarian/stay at home mama/yogi who recycles, craves a healthy snack over In-n-Out Burger and can bust out in a graceful, balanced Tree pose in the middle of high-stress day. Folks, seriously, I have a ways to go...
In the meantime, read my list. Go ahead. It’s the best I could do and well, reflects me at the moment:
1. Lansinoh nursing pads. These soft little circles of wonder have never let me down, never leaked, and never shown through my clothes. I go through them like crazy.
2. “O Organics” orange juice (Safeway’s line of organic products). Like fresh-squeezed OJ for us lazy people. Just OJ and nothing else. No water, no additives. Savor the yumminess. I’m addicted.
3. If you know me, you know I’m a dark chocolate freak. I didn’t stumble upon this realization until I was about 10 years old. During Christmas, my step-mom always placed a bowl of those miniature Hershey’s chocolates on the coffee table. I would pick through and eat the Krackle’s and plain chocolates and leave the strange looking ones marked “Dark”. One day, the only one left were the dark chocolate and, in a pinch, I tried it. I was hooked. I now don’t go a single day without my intake of dark chocolate. I was terribly thrilled when reports of the health benefits of dark chocolate began to emerge a few years ago. I felt like a pioneer. My absolute favorite is a Milky Way Midnight candy bar. Goes down like butta’ and satisfies every craving. Jason buys one for me for every birthday and V-day and anytime I’m feeling down. It was one of the very first things I craved before I found out I was a teensy bit pregnant. I’m always so shocked that dark chocolate lover’s haven’t ever tried Milky Way Midnight bars…they don’t taste at all like regular Milky Way’s.
4. Max Factor pancake makeup. I discovered this makeup a few years ago and it’s become one of the few products I am loyal to. Applied with a wet sponge, you gotta work fast with it. But, the finish is matte and flawless and lasts all day (and night).
5. CD’s: Wicked, the Broadway musical an Jennifer Berezean's "Returning" album. The music of Wicked is powerful and raw. The story is stunning and sad. I pump up the volume and belt out the songs on my way to work.
Jennifer Berezean’s “Returning” is an album that my midwife recommended while I was pregnant. I listened to it religiously every day to and from work while Kaia grew inside me. I knew I would have it playing during my labor, so I wanted Kaia to get used to the soothing, mystical, meditative chant. While driving, it would set a peaceful tone of hope and gratitude that lasted the entire day. Indeed, it was on “repeat” during my entire labor process. To this day, listening to the album puts me right back into those moments of pure love and creates a sacred space for me to focus and relax.
6. Whole Wheat flour. My excuse for baking chocolate chip cookies and calling them “healthy”!
7. Naartjie baby apparel. Made of natural fabrics, these are comfy, garment dyed clothes that are fashionable and affordable. Plus, the name is fun to say and the store isn’t full of just pink stuff for girls. And the outlet store is here in Anthem!
8.
9. Books: my David Whyte and Billy Collins poetry collection. "The VBAC Experience" by Lynn Baptisti Richards. My friend Jeanette loaned me this autographed copy of