to whomever would listen.
days of mothering, cleaning, bending, laundering, rocking, nursing, caring, nurturing... where were mine? i wonder what it would take for me to begrudge my precious son the love i feel overflowing in my heart, the hopes unrealized, the chance to be just very happily him?
i wonder what they did to make them hate life so. how can a mother leave her babies at home, send them to school with no lunches and cigarette-smelling clothes, ignore their cries of help me, he hurts us, he touches the bad places? how can a father drink himself to oblivion while driving his young son into the front porch, taking vacations passed out poolside while the kids eat cheez-its for dinner and pour out the beer? how could they look away, laugh at, pretend it never was, the pain and crying of two young children, begging, please, love us? and how do they feel now, now that one has grown into an addict and perpetually jobless nobody, the other is distant and healing, protecting her young son from the ill-love, the kind that leaves a scar? where are they, who would they wish they were, are they as empty inside as i imagine they deserve to be?
do they work at karma, or is the mantra 'deny, deny, deny?' do they scream inside, the way that i did, the ways that i have, reaching and wretching over the agony of not being loved? do they ever wonder, is she ok? do they hope for my peace, the way i do for them? do they forgive, do they pray for love, do they feed their souls?
i wish i didn't know the answer to this. days spent in a dark house with her depressed and oppressive partner, or busily humming a tune of nothing hurts as he retreats to a place where no one lives... describing for themselves a life of no-worry, of no-accountability. never wondering what will happen when they are old, and no one is left to care, or, rather sadly, the only one left is the one they did not care for, the one who tries to break free day after day of their shameful disgust, of their pretending life is tv. the only one left who could help is the very one they neglected to begin with.
and the other one. the one i wished things differently for, who now hurts and takes and cons and lies and lies and lies. the one tortured so long, no one is left to torture him but him, and he takes what he couldn't get from the abusers from those willing wanting wishing to help. he takes from us, from our child, from the third ones' kids, and an aunt and uncles' kids too. about-to this and fixing-to that. gonna throw ya'll some money as soon as this next job comes through, just need a little money for gas, and hey, what's one beer, and i'm in pain is why i take the pills, and i been driving this way forever, fuck you and can i borrow your car? you don't understand, don't know what the fuck you're talking about, somebody wronged me, so i'm screwing you, can you lend me twenty dollars til next friday? i'm in your neighborhood, just thought i'd stop by, i just want to help ya'll out of the goodness of my heart, hey want to get a six pack?
and he hides under his shame, never seeking, only scamming, just a little more to get by, until one day he's stealing a roommates truck and fucking a girl who doesn't know any better because she's got a job and is too dumb to question. and i feel sick inside each time he hugs me, or reaches for my son, and i pray for the presence i need to ensure my child never becomes like his uncle.
but, if only there wasn't more of them; they operate in packs of un-reasoning and deceit. the mother of all losses, the matriarch of un-truth, the master manipulator, the enabling grandmother of fear. she spins the tales they might want to hear, honey you know where the pills are, i've got the money if you need it, i'd rather you get it here than on the street. they been drugging me, stealing my money, look at me, i love you, why don't brandi ever come see me? i love her so much, doesn't she care that i'm dying, i have no money, i can't walk, won't you come see me and bring that baby? damn jigaboos trying to steal my jewelry, the doctors won't help, don't they know i can't? i'm gone sit back and wait for it to get easy, did you notice how fat she got, you know he's sleeping with his step-mom? just can't understand how my own family could turn their backs on a crippled old woman, don't ya'll see i'm in pain?
and i continue to retreat from their lies, and i fight my way back to love, muffling my ears from the cries of doubt, from the fears of self-realization, and onward into my own self, into the marvelous unknown, my child on my hip and my love by my side.
it's my life now. regards.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
hoping he's still sleeping
this blog may have typos. maybe wont' make sense. cause i heard a noise, but i'm hoping he's still sleeping.
my lovely loverman says to me, you have time to be creative when he's sleeping, after i told him was jealowus of him for his creative time. i want' ted to strangel him. because he has no. freaking. idea.
but he's a great dad, and an even greater friend, lover, artist, supporter, teacher, etc, etc. he's awesome, weith an awlways great attitude. me, not so mucth.
iit's just different as a momma. it's relentless, and when the kid is sleeping (if you're one of the lucky few whose kid sleeps), you have anywhere from 5minutes to 2 hours to eat shower poop cry laundry dishes clean clean clean claen clean. just imagining making time to wirte or draw takes too much time.
yet here i am. i even had time to make a cup of coffee (a rare shred of my single self) before i sat down. i am focusing on blocvking out the pioles and pils of laundry screamaing my name, the fact that the dogs neesd a bath, the floor needing bvacuuming, the calls to the insureance compayn i need to make.
i read/heard that mamas have to just chalk up the first year to baby, especially thouse of yus who are nursign. i am learing to be ok with that. but yeastereday, i got to work an hour in t he backyard, and antoher almost hour at spreading some paint on a canvas. now, im' wirting, thought not very well, and am hoping if i just keep typing, ssomething magical will happen.
is it just me, or do the greatest thoughts/inspiration happen when we'er cleaning toilets or loating the dishwasher for the goddamned thouseanth time this week, and when i finally get down to typing, nothing but oatmeal semes to come out of my tired fingers?
i think i heard him again. nope, i know i heard him. thanks for the time. hope to see you next nap.
my lovely loverman says to me, you have time to be creative when he's sleeping, after i told him was jealowus of him for his creative time. i want' ted to strangel him. because he has no. freaking. idea.
but he's a great dad, and an even greater friend, lover, artist, supporter, teacher, etc, etc. he's awesome, weith an awlways great attitude. me, not so mucth.
iit's just different as a momma. it's relentless, and when the kid is sleeping (if you're one of the lucky few whose kid sleeps), you have anywhere from 5minutes to 2 hours to eat shower poop cry laundry dishes clean clean clean claen clean. just imagining making time to wirte or draw takes too much time.
yet here i am. i even had time to make a cup of coffee (a rare shred of my single self) before i sat down. i am focusing on blocvking out the pioles and pils of laundry screamaing my name, the fact that the dogs neesd a bath, the floor needing bvacuuming, the calls to the insureance compayn i need to make.
i read/heard that mamas have to just chalk up the first year to baby, especially thouse of yus who are nursign. i am learing to be ok with that. but yeastereday, i got to work an hour in t he backyard, and antoher almost hour at spreading some paint on a canvas. now, im' wirting, thought not very well, and am hoping if i just keep typing, ssomething magical will happen.
is it just me, or do the greatest thoughts/inspiration happen when we'er cleaning toilets or loating the dishwasher for the goddamned thouseanth time this week, and when i finally get down to typing, nothing but oatmeal semes to come out of my tired fingers?
i think i heard him again. nope, i know i heard him. thanks for the time. hope to see you next nap.
Monday, August 1, 2011
six months
wow. my son is six months old. there is nothing in that sentence that isn't still surreal.
really?! six months? really?! i have a son? really?! my life is not an illusion? really?!
really. i really am a mother. i think i always have been. but this, this is profound, not just imagining, babysitting, sistering, being the shoulder my brother-mother-father cry upon. not just bossing my baby sister (a seasoned mother of 4) around. now i'm in it. night. day. forever.
i am pretty sure i spend as many hours putting the boy to sleep as i spend actually sleeping. i clean so damn much i'm dizzy, yet it's never enough. i have had, and continue to have, all forms of baby bodily fluids on my skin, in my hair, on my clothes. there's not enough coffee, never enough time, and certainly no room for whining.
mothers are the original warriors.
i have to admit, i love every moment of it. it's what i'm good at. chaos is my rhythm, and my happy baby boy gleefully giggles with me as we dance, spin, swing, laugh, cry. and he constantly surprises and inspires me.
he had a tough start. breastfeeding wasn't going well, and my precious tiny baby boy began to lose weight. i was traumatized, exhausted. we began supplementing, which turned our feeding schedule into a round-the-clock ordeal. he was so small.
and yet, he remained calm. he rarely cried, and he seemed to see into my soul when he looked at me. we finally found our stride, and he began to fill out, and we weaned off of the formula and were nursing full-time. and then, it seemed, he just blossomed.
at six months, he's a long little fella with a small body. some of his 0-3 month clothes are still fitting. but, let me tell ya, he is the strongest and most dynamic kid i have ever met. at five months he began army-crawling, and now, at six months, is pulling himself up to standing. he loves to swing upside-down, and his favorite song is "do re mi." he's an engaging and charismatic little boy, and people tell us he seems like "a very mature baby." he laughs more than he cries, he loves his cousins, his favorite foods are avocadoes and bananas, and he's very interested in art (especially daddy's!). he makes our lives so rich, so lush, and we savor every lovely moment we have to hold, hug, kiss and cuddle him.
happy birthday, baby king. you are loved more than you will ever know.
really?! six months? really?! i have a son? really?! my life is not an illusion? really?!
really. i really am a mother. i think i always have been. but this, this is profound, not just imagining, babysitting, sistering, being the shoulder my brother-mother-father cry upon. not just bossing my baby sister (a seasoned mother of 4) around. now i'm in it. night. day. forever.
i am pretty sure i spend as many hours putting the boy to sleep as i spend actually sleeping. i clean so damn much i'm dizzy, yet it's never enough. i have had, and continue to have, all forms of baby bodily fluids on my skin, in my hair, on my clothes. there's not enough coffee, never enough time, and certainly no room for whining.
mothers are the original warriors.
i have to admit, i love every moment of it. it's what i'm good at. chaos is my rhythm, and my happy baby boy gleefully giggles with me as we dance, spin, swing, laugh, cry. and he constantly surprises and inspires me.
he had a tough start. breastfeeding wasn't going well, and my precious tiny baby boy began to lose weight. i was traumatized, exhausted. we began supplementing, which turned our feeding schedule into a round-the-clock ordeal. he was so small.
and yet, he remained calm. he rarely cried, and he seemed to see into my soul when he looked at me. we finally found our stride, and he began to fill out, and we weaned off of the formula and were nursing full-time. and then, it seemed, he just blossomed.
at six months, he's a long little fella with a small body. some of his 0-3 month clothes are still fitting. but, let me tell ya, he is the strongest and most dynamic kid i have ever met. at five months he began army-crawling, and now, at six months, is pulling himself up to standing. he loves to swing upside-down, and his favorite song is "do re mi." he's an engaging and charismatic little boy, and people tell us he seems like "a very mature baby." he laughs more than he cries, he loves his cousins, his favorite foods are avocadoes and bananas, and he's very interested in art (especially daddy's!). he makes our lives so rich, so lush, and we savor every lovely moment we have to hold, hug, kiss and cuddle him.
happy birthday, baby king. you are loved more than you will ever know.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
birth story
(love is reborn.)
january 30th, 2011. i am due in two days. i awaken early on sunday morning, around 5 am. actually, i had been awake for a little while, my very pregnant body heavy and uncomfortable. i make my usual bathroom trip only to discover a pinkish fluid. did my water just break?
jump ahead 12 hours. i am home. john and i had gone to the birth center, thinking i was in labor. i wasn't. i was leaking fluid, but nothing was happening. the mild contractions i had been having that morning had stopped. i tried to rest.
11:45pm. an unusually early night for us. we usually head to bed after midnight, around 1:30. we were tired from all of the excitement earlier. thinking i was in labor, we had called our labor support friends. dogs were carried to a friend's house, bags packed into the car, only to find it wasn't happening. at least not yet.
shortly after removing my contacts and brushing my teeth, i have a contraction. whoa. this wasn't the mild kind from earlier that day. this one pushed me, pulled me down into a standing half-bend over my bed. i swayed my hips and moaned. i rode the sensation, and when it was over, i stood and breathed. it was happening.
john began to time each contraction. we sat up in our bedroom, him on the bed, me standing and swaying. our midwives were correct to describe them as waves. they rose gently but firmly, and i moaned softly and swayed into the intensity of the sensation. they were coming closer now, stronger. i called the midwife and she suggested i rest in a warm bath for a while. i did, and john continued to time. before we knew it, it was time to go.
i had three contractions on the way, in the backseat. it was around 3am, and the streets were empty. we arrived quickly, a gentle mist falling upon us as i had another contraction getting out of the car. i swayed, moaned. we could hear a baby crying as we walked into the birth center. someone had just given birth.
we spent some time on the monitor, listening to the baby's heart rate. he and i together remained calm, steady. with each contraction, i bent over halfway and rocked my hips. i was determined to open, not to fight it. i would not be afraid.
my dear friend melinda arrived around 3:30. she joined us in the exam room as we waited and monitored. i couldn't get enough water. i ate a little, but i really wasn't hungry. after what felt like nearly an hour, our midwife, jill, came in and took me back to the birthing room.
i squatted into each contraction, my hands in prayer at my forehead. i took a deep goddess pose, and envisioned my hips spreading wide. i moaned through the feeling, i rocked my hips. jill came back in and administered a mild sedative to help me to rest- nubain, i later found out. i lay down with john behind me, and in a moment, i was asleep.
i suspect i slept an hour or two before i awoke in the middle of a contraction. i felt immense pressure, and the urge to push was strong. still, i knew it wasn't time. i grabbed the leg of my yoga pants and lifted my leg with my arm, to allow the contraction to pass. jill heard me moaning and came in to check on my progress. she wanted me to let my leg down, to rest, but i assured her that this brought relief from the pressure. she left me alone, and left the room.
i am not sure when i awoke, only that i was on my knees draped over a yoga ball on the bed. i felt a gentle hand rubbing my lower back. i soon realized it was melinda- she had napped on a couch in the office. john was beside me, and the lights were on, low. i rocked with each contraction, i sang out my birth song. i resisted the urge to push time and again. i was opening, wide.
jill came in to check me. i was fully dilated.
melinda helped me to the bathroom. i had a contraction over a small shelf in front of the toilet. i sang, i cried. i was so tired. but i knew the work was only beginning. i asked jill if i could get into the tub now. mercifully, she said yes.
i don't remember my water breaking. i am guessing it was a slow leak. as i waited for the tub to fill, melinda helped me out of my clothes while john got into his swim trunks. he got onto the seat of the large corner tub, and melinda and jill helped me in.
the warm, bubbling water felt so soothing. i swam around, allowing the contractions to come, willing the baby to come. imke had arrived, and michelle shortly after. i could see the day breaking through the blinds. i barely opened my eyes; i was drifting in labor land, my mind fully in my body and yet somehow out of it. i could feel john's loving hands supporting me, his sweet words soothing me. there was a shift change, and nurse heidi left and nurses katie and jill came in. the labor team was fully in place.
midwife jill suggested i get positioned between john's knees and let him support me while i braced my feet against the side of the pool. i began to push. in between each contraction, i drifted away, the people and things around me becoming a dream, a blur. and then i awakened again, fully into the pushing, the pressure. jill held up a mirror, and for the first time, the reality of what was happening became firm as wood. i could see the slightest sliver of my baby's head, his hair distinctly different from my own. i wanted it, now, more than ever.
i pushed for some time. i only opened a very tiny bit. after a few more pushes, jill suggested i get out and try to empty my bladder. i tried, but only a little bit came. with melinda's help, i got back into the bed and onto the yoga ball. john changed into dry jeans. my knees on the bed, and my upper torso draped over the ball, i rocked and breathed and pushed. i was holding the hand of john on my left, melinda on my right. i had an awkward hold on her, and with the contraction squeezed her delicate hand painfully. she switched off with michelle for a bit. jill, seeing little progress, suggested a catheter. i was flipped over onto my back. she waited until the contraction was over before efficiently emptying my bladder. it was full. now, the labor began to flow.
she instructed me to push out and up. i did. john on my right, melinda on my left, each holding a leg. michelle held a mirror. and as i pushed, i watched in amazement as my son's head began to emerge.
the pressure was overwhelming, and the ring of fire burned, burned, burned. but seeing this, the lavender head of my little son, slipping from my body, erased all pain. there was no fear. as soon as i saw the first trace of his ears, he was out, his slippery purple body in the gloved hands of my midwife. i remember hearing myself crying, "my baby! my baby!"
jill cleaned him off as my friends stood back and smiled and hugged and cried happy tears. imke floated quietly among us, capturing this captivating experience in her gentle lens. john held my hand, and smiled and smiled, beaming with love and pride. i, meanwhile, was in a delirium, half high, half traumatized, fully amazed and overwhelmed. my darling boy was placed into my jelly arms, his little body crying and slimy. he felt so good. i loved him instantly, couldn't take my eyes off of him. he had my hands, long, long fingers, his head was long and cone-like from his passage into the world. he looked like a tiny alien. and he was completely beautiful, totally perfect.
monday, january 31st, 2011, at 11:16am, rex williford olenyik entered our world. he weighed 6lbs, 4oz, and was 19" long.
looking back, i don't remember the pain. i remember sensations, orgasmic and hard, challenging and fierce. i remember the calm, the feeling that i was totally supported, cared for, safe. i remember the love that kept me focused and free as i labored and allowed my son to make his way into my life. i remember me, and how i came home that day, home to my self, home to creation, to life.
i am so thankful to my midwives- margaret, for her motherly humor and calm reassurance; nancy, for guiding me through fear and into healing; and jill, for transforming my prejudices to trust, and for delivering me to my child. i am thankful to katie, who showed us around the birth center when we were just beginning to bud, and for seeing us off after seeing us through the birth of our family.
i am thankful to my teacher, kendall, for teaching me to breathe through to the other side.
my deepest gratitude to my dear, dear friends, friends who ask for nothing but the truth. michelle, for her strength and humor, and for her yummy food and caring family. imke, for her twinkling eyes and lightness of touch, her great laugh and only the best of hugs, and for giving me a gift i couldn't experience any other way. melinda, for her grace, for her love, for her hands, and for her indestructible heart that beats with the earth's rhythms.
and john, my love, my everything. words can't describe the sounds that love makes, the silent echoes from deep within my loving heart. you, my love, are always with me, always have been. thank you for seeing in me that which i cannot. you have brought me home to love.
january 30th, 2011. i am due in two days. i awaken early on sunday morning, around 5 am. actually, i had been awake for a little while, my very pregnant body heavy and uncomfortable. i make my usual bathroom trip only to discover a pinkish fluid. did my water just break?
jump ahead 12 hours. i am home. john and i had gone to the birth center, thinking i was in labor. i wasn't. i was leaking fluid, but nothing was happening. the mild contractions i had been having that morning had stopped. i tried to rest.
11:45pm. an unusually early night for us. we usually head to bed after midnight, around 1:30. we were tired from all of the excitement earlier. thinking i was in labor, we had called our labor support friends. dogs were carried to a friend's house, bags packed into the car, only to find it wasn't happening. at least not yet.
shortly after removing my contacts and brushing my teeth, i have a contraction. whoa. this wasn't the mild kind from earlier that day. this one pushed me, pulled me down into a standing half-bend over my bed. i swayed my hips and moaned. i rode the sensation, and when it was over, i stood and breathed. it was happening.
john began to time each contraction. we sat up in our bedroom, him on the bed, me standing and swaying. our midwives were correct to describe them as waves. they rose gently but firmly, and i moaned softly and swayed into the intensity of the sensation. they were coming closer now, stronger. i called the midwife and she suggested i rest in a warm bath for a while. i did, and john continued to time. before we knew it, it was time to go.
i had three contractions on the way, in the backseat. it was around 3am, and the streets were empty. we arrived quickly, a gentle mist falling upon us as i had another contraction getting out of the car. i swayed, moaned. we could hear a baby crying as we walked into the birth center. someone had just given birth.
we spent some time on the monitor, listening to the baby's heart rate. he and i together remained calm, steady. with each contraction, i bent over halfway and rocked my hips. i was determined to open, not to fight it. i would not be afraid.
my dear friend melinda arrived around 3:30. she joined us in the exam room as we waited and monitored. i couldn't get enough water. i ate a little, but i really wasn't hungry. after what felt like nearly an hour, our midwife, jill, came in and took me back to the birthing room.
i squatted into each contraction, my hands in prayer at my forehead. i took a deep goddess pose, and envisioned my hips spreading wide. i moaned through the feeling, i rocked my hips. jill came back in and administered a mild sedative to help me to rest- nubain, i later found out. i lay down with john behind me, and in a moment, i was asleep.
i suspect i slept an hour or two before i awoke in the middle of a contraction. i felt immense pressure, and the urge to push was strong. still, i knew it wasn't time. i grabbed the leg of my yoga pants and lifted my leg with my arm, to allow the contraction to pass. jill heard me moaning and came in to check on my progress. she wanted me to let my leg down, to rest, but i assured her that this brought relief from the pressure. she left me alone, and left the room.
i am not sure when i awoke, only that i was on my knees draped over a yoga ball on the bed. i felt a gentle hand rubbing my lower back. i soon realized it was melinda- she had napped on a couch in the office. john was beside me, and the lights were on, low. i rocked with each contraction, i sang out my birth song. i resisted the urge to push time and again. i was opening, wide.
jill came in to check me. i was fully dilated.
melinda helped me to the bathroom. i had a contraction over a small shelf in front of the toilet. i sang, i cried. i was so tired. but i knew the work was only beginning. i asked jill if i could get into the tub now. mercifully, she said yes.
i don't remember my water breaking. i am guessing it was a slow leak. as i waited for the tub to fill, melinda helped me out of my clothes while john got into his swim trunks. he got onto the seat of the large corner tub, and melinda and jill helped me in.
the warm, bubbling water felt so soothing. i swam around, allowing the contractions to come, willing the baby to come. imke had arrived, and michelle shortly after. i could see the day breaking through the blinds. i barely opened my eyes; i was drifting in labor land, my mind fully in my body and yet somehow out of it. i could feel john's loving hands supporting me, his sweet words soothing me. there was a shift change, and nurse heidi left and nurses katie and jill came in. the labor team was fully in place.
midwife jill suggested i get positioned between john's knees and let him support me while i braced my feet against the side of the pool. i began to push. in between each contraction, i drifted away, the people and things around me becoming a dream, a blur. and then i awakened again, fully into the pushing, the pressure. jill held up a mirror, and for the first time, the reality of what was happening became firm as wood. i could see the slightest sliver of my baby's head, his hair distinctly different from my own. i wanted it, now, more than ever.
i pushed for some time. i only opened a very tiny bit. after a few more pushes, jill suggested i get out and try to empty my bladder. i tried, but only a little bit came. with melinda's help, i got back into the bed and onto the yoga ball. john changed into dry jeans. my knees on the bed, and my upper torso draped over the ball, i rocked and breathed and pushed. i was holding the hand of john on my left, melinda on my right. i had an awkward hold on her, and with the contraction squeezed her delicate hand painfully. she switched off with michelle for a bit. jill, seeing little progress, suggested a catheter. i was flipped over onto my back. she waited until the contraction was over before efficiently emptying my bladder. it was full. now, the labor began to flow.
she instructed me to push out and up. i did. john on my right, melinda on my left, each holding a leg. michelle held a mirror. and as i pushed, i watched in amazement as my son's head began to emerge.
the pressure was overwhelming, and the ring of fire burned, burned, burned. but seeing this, the lavender head of my little son, slipping from my body, erased all pain. there was no fear. as soon as i saw the first trace of his ears, he was out, his slippery purple body in the gloved hands of my midwife. i remember hearing myself crying, "my baby! my baby!"
jill cleaned him off as my friends stood back and smiled and hugged and cried happy tears. imke floated quietly among us, capturing this captivating experience in her gentle lens. john held my hand, and smiled and smiled, beaming with love and pride. i, meanwhile, was in a delirium, half high, half traumatized, fully amazed and overwhelmed. my darling boy was placed into my jelly arms, his little body crying and slimy. he felt so good. i loved him instantly, couldn't take my eyes off of him. he had my hands, long, long fingers, his head was long and cone-like from his passage into the world. he looked like a tiny alien. and he was completely beautiful, totally perfect.
monday, january 31st, 2011, at 11:16am, rex williford olenyik entered our world. he weighed 6lbs, 4oz, and was 19" long.
looking back, i don't remember the pain. i remember sensations, orgasmic and hard, challenging and fierce. i remember the calm, the feeling that i was totally supported, cared for, safe. i remember the love that kept me focused and free as i labored and allowed my son to make his way into my life. i remember me, and how i came home that day, home to my self, home to creation, to life.
i am so thankful to my midwives- margaret, for her motherly humor and calm reassurance; nancy, for guiding me through fear and into healing; and jill, for transforming my prejudices to trust, and for delivering me to my child. i am thankful to katie, who showed us around the birth center when we were just beginning to bud, and for seeing us off after seeing us through the birth of our family.
i am thankful to my teacher, kendall, for teaching me to breathe through to the other side.
my deepest gratitude to my dear, dear friends, friends who ask for nothing but the truth. michelle, for her strength and humor, and for her yummy food and caring family. imke, for her twinkling eyes and lightness of touch, her great laugh and only the best of hugs, and for giving me a gift i couldn't experience any other way. melinda, for her grace, for her love, for her hands, and for her indestructible heart that beats with the earth's rhythms.
and john, my love, my everything. words can't describe the sounds that love makes, the silent echoes from deep within my loving heart. you, my love, are always with me, always have been. thank you for seeing in me that which i cannot. you have brought me home to love.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
on change, rather, adaptation
i remain unchanged. my son sleeps on his mattress on the floor, draped in diffuse cloudy light. he is my sober dream, my ever-changing reality.
now, things are different. yet really only revealed, a motherhood uncovered from under the rubble of past and piles of remembering a childhood gone bitter. where were the good times? now is the great time, the evolution of love.
he sleeps so sweetly, yet i sleep none. a few meager and fortuitous moments here and there, some while walking or doing. still somehow, they are enough to fortify me. his breath nurtures my soul.
now, things are different. yet really only revealed, a motherhood uncovered from under the rubble of past and piles of remembering a childhood gone bitter. where were the good times? now is the great time, the evolution of love.
he sleeps so sweetly, yet i sleep none. a few meager and fortuitous moments here and there, some while walking or doing. still somehow, they are enough to fortify me. his breath nurtures my soul.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
the gift of presence
(thanks to my friend and teacher, kendall, for inspiring this post)
the holidays are upon us. now's the time when the stores and the radio are filling your head with the pop sounds of christmas tunes, the scarves and scullies are coming out of the closets, and those of us with tight budgets begin to feel a creeping sense of dread. whatever happened to that holiday magic? it's only in our adulthood that we realize that someone had to have a tenuous relationship with a bank and/or credit card company to make those magical wish lists manifest on christmas morning.
it's also time for thanksgiving, and alternately, my birthday. thanksgiving is the only holiday i truly look forward to. not only was i born on that delicious fall day, but it remains the only holiday (to my knowledge) that is all about the gathering. no ideologies, no presents, just food, friends and family. and hopefully, fun.
this is my last year as a single woman. after february, i will be a mother, and though i am already what i consider to be a wife and partner, it is with the birth of my son that i will be a truly committed and fully immersed new individual. with the birth of my new self, and my husband's, we are learning quite a lot about quality over quantity. we are both fortunate to have flexible schedules, some of which is conducive to working at home. we hope to be spending a lot of artful, quality time with our little boy, loving every moment of watching him grow.
and, with the birth of a first baby, there is the customary baby shower, and mounds of free (and often excessive) advice. we took on the dubious task of planning our own event, and so far, no one has judged us for it- at least not to our faces. basically, with john's family a minimum of 10 hours north of us, and my own family and myself as different as we could possibly be, we decided, with a little help from some lovely friends, to open our home up to any and all who would be sharing their energies with us now and into the future. many of our friends are artists and yogis, and all share our core values of quality time, never wasting an ounce of precious energy on any pursuit that isn't conducive to loving. we thought that since we wanted to celebrate our love, our transforming home, and our budding family with so many different kinds of people, that it would be a good idea to host a party, and should anyone want to shower us with gifts, we would gladly and gratefully accept.
but what we want more than presents is presence. there hasn't been a time in the last 3 years, that i have regretted spending time with the people that i love. i've missed concerts, parties, one-of-a-kind events, and even meals just talking with people who enrich and inspire me. it is this gift, this kind of sharing, that i want our son to know more than any thing he can touch with his hands or buy with his money. to know that kindness and understanding are the norm, that listening is crucial and nourishing, and that he can do anything he wants with his body and mind, as long as he consciously and judiciously feeds his soul.
we're looking forward to celebrating our new adventure with our friends and family. we sincerely hope everyone will bring with them the most thoughtful of gifts- presence.
love to all.
the holidays are upon us. now's the time when the stores and the radio are filling your head with the pop sounds of christmas tunes, the scarves and scullies are coming out of the closets, and those of us with tight budgets begin to feel a creeping sense of dread. whatever happened to that holiday magic? it's only in our adulthood that we realize that someone had to have a tenuous relationship with a bank and/or credit card company to make those magical wish lists manifest on christmas morning.
it's also time for thanksgiving, and alternately, my birthday. thanksgiving is the only holiday i truly look forward to. not only was i born on that delicious fall day, but it remains the only holiday (to my knowledge) that is all about the gathering. no ideologies, no presents, just food, friends and family. and hopefully, fun.
this is my last year as a single woman. after february, i will be a mother, and though i am already what i consider to be a wife and partner, it is with the birth of my son that i will be a truly committed and fully immersed new individual. with the birth of my new self, and my husband's, we are learning quite a lot about quality over quantity. we are both fortunate to have flexible schedules, some of which is conducive to working at home. we hope to be spending a lot of artful, quality time with our little boy, loving every moment of watching him grow.
and, with the birth of a first baby, there is the customary baby shower, and mounds of free (and often excessive) advice. we took on the dubious task of planning our own event, and so far, no one has judged us for it- at least not to our faces. basically, with john's family a minimum of 10 hours north of us, and my own family and myself as different as we could possibly be, we decided, with a little help from some lovely friends, to open our home up to any and all who would be sharing their energies with us now and into the future. many of our friends are artists and yogis, and all share our core values of quality time, never wasting an ounce of precious energy on any pursuit that isn't conducive to loving. we thought that since we wanted to celebrate our love, our transforming home, and our budding family with so many different kinds of people, that it would be a good idea to host a party, and should anyone want to shower us with gifts, we would gladly and gratefully accept.
but what we want more than presents is presence. there hasn't been a time in the last 3 years, that i have regretted spending time with the people that i love. i've missed concerts, parties, one-of-a-kind events, and even meals just talking with people who enrich and inspire me. it is this gift, this kind of sharing, that i want our son to know more than any thing he can touch with his hands or buy with his money. to know that kindness and understanding are the norm, that listening is crucial and nourishing, and that he can do anything he wants with his body and mind, as long as he consciously and judiciously feeds his soul.
we're looking forward to celebrating our new adventure with our friends and family. we sincerely hope everyone will bring with them the most thoughtful of gifts- presence.
love to all.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
letting go
(be mindful what you wish for)
tomorrow, i have to say goodbye. our old family dog is leaving our home, and going back to a place where she belongs. i'm sad to admit the number of times that i wished this very situation would present itself. having had two dogs of my own, with their own routines and personalities suited very nicely with mine, the untimely and inconvenient addition of this old hound became a burden very quickly. yes, i loved her. it's just that, well, she wasn't mine, she was someone else's responsibility, and she had been dropped unceremoniously into my lap, with what i felt to be half-hearted gratitude from the humans who had left her there. needless to say, i've enjoyed quite a bit of smugness as i moaned and yelled about who did what to me, and how irresponsible said parties were, how they only cared about themselves. and now i am left with a regretful sadness.
she was a scared old thing when i brought her into my home last year. not unlike the first night i met her, 13 years ago. she was just a tiny pup then, all paws and ears. my brother had insisted he would take care of her, and my dad suspected that he would be the one to end up taking care of her. as they both lay sleeping in their respective rooms, in their warm beds, with their doors shut, i slept on my bed, the cold living room couch. my clothes were piled up in bags and boxes in the kitchen, not too far from the cardboard box housing this crying little pup. perhaps she had been taken from her mother too early, or perhaps she was just scared to be in a new place with no one near her. she cried for hours. i got up many times to pet her, and this seemed to calm her. but as soon as i'd walk away, back into that chilly living room, she'd start again. the sound was heartbreaking. finally, not knowing what else to do, i went in and got her out of her box, and brought her to sleep with me, on my chest, right over my heart. i like to think it was the feeling of my heart beating and the warmth of my body that soothed her to instant rest. i'll never forget that night.
months passed, and just as he'd suspected, dad became the pup's primary caregiver. my brother was fully 17, and had no time or interest in the patient pursuit of training a puppy. my dad built her a pen outdoors; he was very adamant that she was to be an outside dog. he trained her, and we gave her a name- tangia. we'd met a dog with that name years ago, and we'd always liked it. she was well-suited to it, and soon became very happy in her new home.
i'll never forget her little bunny hops. she was twice as long as she was tall, and her ears came dangerously and adorably close to dragging the ground. her big puppy paws where as white as her chest, like snow, and she fell fully into them as she pounced. once i remember bringing her in on my lap on a cold night, my body covered with an oversized quilt, and she hopped over the folds and played right there on the landscape of my outstretched legs. i remember the night dad was working out of town, and i got to sleep in his bed; i brought her in to sleep with me, and awoke to find her stretched out over the top of my head, keeping us both warm.
and then there was the day we heard a strange thumping on the side of the house. it was spring, and tangia was growing into nearly her full-grown size. the grass was green outside, and as we peeked out to where the sound was coming from, we got quite a funny sight: tangia was backing as far up against the back of her pen- it was attached to the house- raising her rear end high up into the blue air, and romping as fast as she could toward the house, where she would bounce her front body up and off of the wall. she continued this for nearly half an hour, all by herself.
of course, life's paths has it's twists and turns. i moved out that summer, and within a year, my dad had a live-in girlfriend. they got married another year later, and within a few years, they were also moving. they took tangia with them. she began to travel a lot with my dad when he would go on long trips. she loved it. she breathed mountain air, sniffed new places and people, and got to be with my dad one-on-one, full time. she was happy.
unfortunately, things began to unravel within a few more years. my grandfather passed, and dad and his wife and tangia moved in with my grandmother. by this time, dad had softened a bit, and not only was tangia allowed into the house, but she was even sleeping in the bed. all of that changed when they moved to grandma's; she did not care for dogs, especially shedding ones. so tangia stayed outside. but even then, she seemed happy. there was plenty of grass to roll in, and a perfect balance of sunny spots and shady spots. she didn't seem to mind being outside by herself, and my dad spent a lot of time with her. when winter came, she slept in the shed, and dad rigged up a few spot lights on her so that she would stay nice and warm.
still, the unraveling continued. the demands of caring for a stubborn and grieving old woman began to strain dad's marriage. both mother and wife became manipulative, and began to pull the man in the middle in opposite directions. before any of us knew what was happening, dad was drinking and popping pills again, and was on a downward spiral. a divorce ensued, and dad took off to texas to join my brother and to begin a new life, and tangia went with him. a year later, dad had still not found regular work, and was drinking himself to death. my brother left to clear his head and get some much needed relief, and dad dropped farther down the rabbit hole. not even able to care for himself, his loyal companion suffered. they both lost weight, and by the time my brother and i could drive to texas to help, they were both filthy and scared.
it was a long, sad, but relieving weekend. we made a whirlwind round trip, and had almost no sleep for 4 days. tangia was a trooper; she has been so happy to see us, and she traveled beautifully. i guess she'd been used to it. we finally made it back home, and dad had to check himself into a treatment facility for an undetermined amount of time. my brother claimed to have no way to care for the dog. so she was left with me.
this responsibility proved to be more than i'd bargained for. barely affording to feed my own dogs, i now had to feed a third. not to mention, my roommate- also my landlord- was not happy with this situation, especially after tangia began having accidents inside and nearly bit him when he scolded her. the stress was weighing on me. i tried taking her for walks, but after 12 years of going when and where she wanted, this task proved nearly impossible.
within 6 months, i was in a committed relationship and co-habitating with my boyfriend. he kindly took in all 3 dogs, though he had a declawed cat who had never even seen a dog. it wasn't an ideal situation. tangia was 12 now, and had been through a lot in the last year. she constantly got into trouble at our new home, having an accident almost nightly, and getting up onto the table and eating whole loaves of bread when no one was looking. she was making us crazy. my sweet and giving partner built first a gate on the back porch for the dogs, and then put up an 8-foot fence along the back yard so that they could run around all they wanted. we brought them all in at night, but still, tangia couldn't hold it. a friend suggested we kennel her. we did, and for 3 weeks it worked. then one night, just as we were falling asleep, she began to bark. and bark. and bark. finally, so mad i could scream, i put her outside. and outside she stayed.
she's been outside full-time for months now. she gives me the big brown sad eyes everytime i bring in the other dogs (they'll bark all night if i don't), and it breaks my heart a little each time. we've been working on plans for cleaning up the backyard, so that tangia can roll in grass instead of dirt. but, it seems that today, our prayers have been bittersweetly answered: my grandmother would like to take her, so that she has a guard dog; she is in her 80's and living alone.
for the last year, i've cursed my dad and brother for not helping in any way with this stubborn dog. i've yelled at her, punished her, and neglected her, all because she had become my unwilling burden. we'd be so much happier, i'd think, if we just found her a better home. and now, a better home is presenting itself, and i feel a deep sense of regret for not taking better care of her, for letting my impatience get the best of me, for not taking more time with her. all of these thoughts are, of course, futile. my wish has been granted, and this move will benefit all involved. but i will miss her terribly, and do wish i had been a better guardian to her.
i often think that our pets come into our lives not only to teach us the patience we know we need but don't want to earn, but also to be sort of practice wards for when we have our own kids. it hurts to know that i didn't always do my best when caring for this special needs animal, and that i may one day find myself in a position to care for a special needs human. and i hope i remember what it's like to look into the eyes of a needy creature and want it to go away, and to remember what the regret of not loving a little more feels like. from this pain, i will grow, a little higher and perhaps ground down a little deeper. i will move on, but i won't forget. i'm grateful for the forgiving nature of a dog.
sad update
tangia escaped twice while living with my grandmother, and nearly blind, she managed to cross 2 highways both times unscathed, and wander 2 miles from home. we brought her back to our home after the 2nd time, and she continued to give us trouble. finally, at the end of my rope (more with my father and brother than the dog), i took her up to my fathers work, and handed her over as unceremoniously as she'd been handed to me. it hurt, especially since my father treated me with such disgust, and john with such disrespect. but we walked away relieved, feeling we had done the correct thing for our family.
my brother later called up and told me dad had found her a home. just gave her to a guy he barely knew in his AA group. a month later, my brother told me she had been put to sleep, after discovering she had heartworms. i suppose the fella wasn't interested in rehabilitating a sad old dog.
my heart is still breaking. she should've died with us. she should've been home. this never should have happened. after 13 years of loyalty, she got the needle from a stranger.
my anger towards my family, and the unending hurt, burns deep. but that is for another post, on another day.
rest in peace, tangia'rine. i miss you, and i am so, so sorry.
tomorrow, i have to say goodbye. our old family dog is leaving our home, and going back to a place where she belongs. i'm sad to admit the number of times that i wished this very situation would present itself. having had two dogs of my own, with their own routines and personalities suited very nicely with mine, the untimely and inconvenient addition of this old hound became a burden very quickly. yes, i loved her. it's just that, well, she wasn't mine, she was someone else's responsibility, and she had been dropped unceremoniously into my lap, with what i felt to be half-hearted gratitude from the humans who had left her there. needless to say, i've enjoyed quite a bit of smugness as i moaned and yelled about who did what to me, and how irresponsible said parties were, how they only cared about themselves. and now i am left with a regretful sadness.
she was a scared old thing when i brought her into my home last year. not unlike the first night i met her, 13 years ago. she was just a tiny pup then, all paws and ears. my brother had insisted he would take care of her, and my dad suspected that he would be the one to end up taking care of her. as they both lay sleeping in their respective rooms, in their warm beds, with their doors shut, i slept on my bed, the cold living room couch. my clothes were piled up in bags and boxes in the kitchen, not too far from the cardboard box housing this crying little pup. perhaps she had been taken from her mother too early, or perhaps she was just scared to be in a new place with no one near her. she cried for hours. i got up many times to pet her, and this seemed to calm her. but as soon as i'd walk away, back into that chilly living room, she'd start again. the sound was heartbreaking. finally, not knowing what else to do, i went in and got her out of her box, and brought her to sleep with me, on my chest, right over my heart. i like to think it was the feeling of my heart beating and the warmth of my body that soothed her to instant rest. i'll never forget that night.
months passed, and just as he'd suspected, dad became the pup's primary caregiver. my brother was fully 17, and had no time or interest in the patient pursuit of training a puppy. my dad built her a pen outdoors; he was very adamant that she was to be an outside dog. he trained her, and we gave her a name- tangia. we'd met a dog with that name years ago, and we'd always liked it. she was well-suited to it, and soon became very happy in her new home.
i'll never forget her little bunny hops. she was twice as long as she was tall, and her ears came dangerously and adorably close to dragging the ground. her big puppy paws where as white as her chest, like snow, and she fell fully into them as she pounced. once i remember bringing her in on my lap on a cold night, my body covered with an oversized quilt, and she hopped over the folds and played right there on the landscape of my outstretched legs. i remember the night dad was working out of town, and i got to sleep in his bed; i brought her in to sleep with me, and awoke to find her stretched out over the top of my head, keeping us both warm.
and then there was the day we heard a strange thumping on the side of the house. it was spring, and tangia was growing into nearly her full-grown size. the grass was green outside, and as we peeked out to where the sound was coming from, we got quite a funny sight: tangia was backing as far up against the back of her pen- it was attached to the house- raising her rear end high up into the blue air, and romping as fast as she could toward the house, where she would bounce her front body up and off of the wall. she continued this for nearly half an hour, all by herself.
of course, life's paths has it's twists and turns. i moved out that summer, and within a year, my dad had a live-in girlfriend. they got married another year later, and within a few years, they were also moving. they took tangia with them. she began to travel a lot with my dad when he would go on long trips. she loved it. she breathed mountain air, sniffed new places and people, and got to be with my dad one-on-one, full time. she was happy.
unfortunately, things began to unravel within a few more years. my grandfather passed, and dad and his wife and tangia moved in with my grandmother. by this time, dad had softened a bit, and not only was tangia allowed into the house, but she was even sleeping in the bed. all of that changed when they moved to grandma's; she did not care for dogs, especially shedding ones. so tangia stayed outside. but even then, she seemed happy. there was plenty of grass to roll in, and a perfect balance of sunny spots and shady spots. she didn't seem to mind being outside by herself, and my dad spent a lot of time with her. when winter came, she slept in the shed, and dad rigged up a few spot lights on her so that she would stay nice and warm.
still, the unraveling continued. the demands of caring for a stubborn and grieving old woman began to strain dad's marriage. both mother and wife became manipulative, and began to pull the man in the middle in opposite directions. before any of us knew what was happening, dad was drinking and popping pills again, and was on a downward spiral. a divorce ensued, and dad took off to texas to join my brother and to begin a new life, and tangia went with him. a year later, dad had still not found regular work, and was drinking himself to death. my brother left to clear his head and get some much needed relief, and dad dropped farther down the rabbit hole. not even able to care for himself, his loyal companion suffered. they both lost weight, and by the time my brother and i could drive to texas to help, they were both filthy and scared.
it was a long, sad, but relieving weekend. we made a whirlwind round trip, and had almost no sleep for 4 days. tangia was a trooper; she has been so happy to see us, and she traveled beautifully. i guess she'd been used to it. we finally made it back home, and dad had to check himself into a treatment facility for an undetermined amount of time. my brother claimed to have no way to care for the dog. so she was left with me.
this responsibility proved to be more than i'd bargained for. barely affording to feed my own dogs, i now had to feed a third. not to mention, my roommate- also my landlord- was not happy with this situation, especially after tangia began having accidents inside and nearly bit him when he scolded her. the stress was weighing on me. i tried taking her for walks, but after 12 years of going when and where she wanted, this task proved nearly impossible.
within 6 months, i was in a committed relationship and co-habitating with my boyfriend. he kindly took in all 3 dogs, though he had a declawed cat who had never even seen a dog. it wasn't an ideal situation. tangia was 12 now, and had been through a lot in the last year. she constantly got into trouble at our new home, having an accident almost nightly, and getting up onto the table and eating whole loaves of bread when no one was looking. she was making us crazy. my sweet and giving partner built first a gate on the back porch for the dogs, and then put up an 8-foot fence along the back yard so that they could run around all they wanted. we brought them all in at night, but still, tangia couldn't hold it. a friend suggested we kennel her. we did, and for 3 weeks it worked. then one night, just as we were falling asleep, she began to bark. and bark. and bark. finally, so mad i could scream, i put her outside. and outside she stayed.
she's been outside full-time for months now. she gives me the big brown sad eyes everytime i bring in the other dogs (they'll bark all night if i don't), and it breaks my heart a little each time. we've been working on plans for cleaning up the backyard, so that tangia can roll in grass instead of dirt. but, it seems that today, our prayers have been bittersweetly answered: my grandmother would like to take her, so that she has a guard dog; she is in her 80's and living alone.
for the last year, i've cursed my dad and brother for not helping in any way with this stubborn dog. i've yelled at her, punished her, and neglected her, all because she had become my unwilling burden. we'd be so much happier, i'd think, if we just found her a better home. and now, a better home is presenting itself, and i feel a deep sense of regret for not taking better care of her, for letting my impatience get the best of me, for not taking more time with her. all of these thoughts are, of course, futile. my wish has been granted, and this move will benefit all involved. but i will miss her terribly, and do wish i had been a better guardian to her.
i often think that our pets come into our lives not only to teach us the patience we know we need but don't want to earn, but also to be sort of practice wards for when we have our own kids. it hurts to know that i didn't always do my best when caring for this special needs animal, and that i may one day find myself in a position to care for a special needs human. and i hope i remember what it's like to look into the eyes of a needy creature and want it to go away, and to remember what the regret of not loving a little more feels like. from this pain, i will grow, a little higher and perhaps ground down a little deeper. i will move on, but i won't forget. i'm grateful for the forgiving nature of a dog.
sad update
tangia escaped twice while living with my grandmother, and nearly blind, she managed to cross 2 highways both times unscathed, and wander 2 miles from home. we brought her back to our home after the 2nd time, and she continued to give us trouble. finally, at the end of my rope (more with my father and brother than the dog), i took her up to my fathers work, and handed her over as unceremoniously as she'd been handed to me. it hurt, especially since my father treated me with such disgust, and john with such disrespect. but we walked away relieved, feeling we had done the correct thing for our family.
my brother later called up and told me dad had found her a home. just gave her to a guy he barely knew in his AA group. a month later, my brother told me she had been put to sleep, after discovering she had heartworms. i suppose the fella wasn't interested in rehabilitating a sad old dog.
my heart is still breaking. she should've died with us. she should've been home. this never should have happened. after 13 years of loyalty, she got the needle from a stranger.
my anger towards my family, and the unending hurt, burns deep. but that is for another post, on another day.
rest in peace, tangia'rine. i miss you, and i am so, so sorry.
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