Tread Carefully, Young Man. (A love letter for my son)

My beloved eldest son,
      We've passed the decade mark now, here on the night of your eleventh (eleventh!) birthday. Using the term decade makes me feel decidely old(er). I can still recall with vivid clarity the ultrasound when I learned you would be a son. A SON. A boy. I went home and cried because how would I, a GIRL, ever be able to bond with a son? I had always intended on having a daughter first. (11 years and 5 sons later, Im beginning to have a hunch that God doesnt put much basis on OUR plans when mapping out our journey.
Then you were born, 5 weeks early, after 48 hours of back labor, you slipped out in a whisper, upside down and purple, the midwife catching you with surety and casual ease when I was sure she'd miss. I caught a glimpse of your grape bubble gum colored body (some of it blood and gook, some your lack of oxygen) and then you were whisked into an adjoining room.  I only knew later by watching the video your Daddy made, what went on behind that door. The tiny oxygn mask, the doctor tapping and prodding you, your bleating lamb-like cries silenced with the intubation.(a slender tube down your esophogas to help you breathe)
You were a million miles away. My body ached and longed for you, the way I imagine an amputee patient longs for the lost limb. You had been as much a part of me as my SELF for so long.....It was hours before they let me see you, in your plastic covered isolette, I could only reach a finger in to stroke your hand.
You were in the NICU for 9 days. I was there all day, every day. To the point the nurses bgan telling me I should go back to the Ronald McDonald House down the street and get rest. As if my own needs existed when my son was in this huge, overwhelming place strugling to prove he could eat, pee, breathe....I prayed,willed,spoke you healthy and strong.
Home then. Home and the beginning of our journey. You taught me about patience, endurance, love, faith. You taght me to be grateful instead of weary. When you struggled with breastfeeding and I woke every two hours at night to struggle to help you latch, then sit and pump for 20 miutes, then bottlefeed another 20 minutes...(You do the math), I could have broke down and quit. But I discovered the most delicious intimacy in a relationship sometimes appears in the times when all the world is asleep and it is just two of you.
You were my rough draft. And boy, did I have to go back an apply eraser or circle in red pen and make new attempts to get it "right" until I finally discovered there is no method, no secret, no grand design of perfection that can be labeled right or wrong. That in spite of my fumbles and stumbles and backpeddalling,you  are maturing into this amazing, empathetic, funny, smart, passionate young man. (And sometimes, when I catch a glimpse of the man you are being formed into, like your recent school essay on your desire for world peace, I like to think I had a hand in that)
You make me proud every single day. I hope I say that enough. Never for a moment question that your actions, your words, your beliefs, that ANYTHING would lessen the pride I have in you and the love I carry in my heart of hearts for you. Keep flying strong and straight, even when people try to pull you out  from among the stars and tell you its imposible to fly without wings and feathers. Even when those people are the ones you expect to cheer you on. Dont let others opinions discourage your fires to burn. Keep in mind how it feels in those moments when it seems its only you and God against the world and maybe even God feels a little distant. Firstly, know God is ALWAYS closer than you think. And secondly, we all feel alone at times like that, so tread carefully, young man. Tread carefully on your path through this life. Because many hearts will be passed through on your journey. And you have the power to crush or to edify. Seek to lift up, to be an encourager, a peacemaker and a peacekeeper. Jesus was a wise teacher who understood you must meet people where they are and show them grace and love. Treat people that way. Show respect. Behave with honor even when no one is looking.(Remember, God is always closer than you think) Seek wisdom. Ask God for discernment. Walk in love.
If God allows me any portion,any sliver of credit at the man you shall someday be,  I will be humbled at the honor. Ive learned a girl CAN bond with a boy, that a mother can find a FRIEND in a man-child. It is with great humility and joy I call you my son. I love you, Zane Christian. Happy Birthday.
Love,
Mommy
xxoo

Poetry Slam

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtdS-2tbUVo&feature=colike

A love note for dreads......and Happy Housewife Day! :) (who'd-a-thunk-it?!)

After a prolonged hiatus from this writing gig I am back with a vengeance. Many changes in our family this year but it seems we are finally back in our groove. Though never a moment of monotonous dreariness here! Five kids, 3 cats, 3 dogs and a husband makes sure of that! Biggest news this week? Our landlord fixed our bathroom door, which has been screwy since we moved in and refused to close properly. No more propping the magazine rack against the door and holloring "Give Mommy a MINUTE please!!!!!!!" while trying to use the toilet with chubby toddler fingers sneaking in around the crack. The first time I could CLOSE and LOCK (hear the angels singing HALLELUJAH????) the bathroom door to pee in peace was a wonderful moment and I thus dubbed it a Mommy Vacation. We Stay At Home Mums grab our moments when we can get them!
I began my dreadlock process in June. Directly after my wedding and a miscarriage. I began dreads simply because I LIKE dreads. I like how they look and they seem to vibe with my whole attire. (Long flowy skirts, a wide array of wife beater tanks) (ugh. I hate that term) What I DID NOT realize is having dreadlocks is an emulation of an entire LIFESTYLE, not a mere hairstyle!
Two things yu must know about me to understand this. 1)I, like so many of us, (all of us?) am healing. I have battle scars, wounds, heavy loads I sometimes carry. I have a past. I have labels I am working on shedding. My dread locks speak volumes in this effect. They are a very outer visual  bold proclamation t the world that I am FREE, forgiven, strong, independent. It is my personal sandwich board sign to the wrld that I refuse to accept the norm or conform to the world around me. I dont give a rip what the latest beauty product is or wether the industry touts that shiny smooth hair is BEAUTIFUL. I think dreadlocks are beautiful, not only because to me, its as natural as one gets, but because 9 times out of 10, the person who has dreadlocks has a story behind them. On a FaceBook page I am a member of (dreadlocksnattydreads) someone once asked what our personal stories were for getting dreadlocks. The responses were varied. Sme had them due to spiritual convictions, some felt more akin to nature and life with dreads, some had them as a therapuetic wa to deal with death of a loved one, a divorce, loss of a pregnancy, abuse of some form in their past. The reaccuring theme was that these dreads symbolized love, hope, healing, peace, etc.... Mine began as part of my journey through grief over my deceased fiance. His death brought manyy conflicting emotions to the surface, including a wrestling with my faith and my God. Which leads me to number 2) I tend t be a very type-A personality. Throw OCD into the mix there. I am a professional worrier. I plan things. I make lists. I research everything. And that type of living can lead to alot of stress. Its ok to be prepared but sometimes when we interrupt the natural flow, our own grwth is hindered. I worried alot about Ken dying due to his alcoholism. He did die. My worrying, nagging, praying, pleading, crying ....did NOT stop it. Suddenly, at age 31, I had to face facts that I am NOT God, that our best intentions can still fail, that people I love will die, that thinsg dont always work out as planned. Relinquishing control is a scary thing. As the Beatles put it "Let it be." A tough concept to grasp. Before Kens death, I tried desperatly to save him. In the end, it wasn't my place.
There again, in my beginning process of these dreads I tried to grasp control. I saw photos of folks with gorgeous "perfect" straight symmetrical dreads. I expected that. Then mine began to dread. And there were spots where loose hairs refused to dread and parts where my hair was a frizzy puffball and three defiant rebellious dreads in the back found partners and those three dreads turned into "congos" (as i learned they were called, when two or more seperate dreads lock together to form one fat dread) I had a few dreads with funky loops and bumps in them, one even had this kinky cool swirl at the end which albeit was pretty funky BUT not at all the even perfect rows I had expected. But in the talking to many fellow dreadhead I have learned everyne ges through this process in the beginning and that dread locks tend to be varying and unique.
Ah.
Lightbulb moment.
Coming in loud and clear, God.
dreadlocks are, as I mentioned, an outer representation of our jourenys. We all are different, quirky, unique. These dreads are mine and thus are a portrayal of ME. Sometimes I am simply strnger when I "congo" with another person, when I depend on a friend or lean on a family member. Jesus said "Where two or more are gathered, there I am." Sometimes, right smack dab in the midst of the doldrums, I burst into a silly song to ne of my kids or dance alone in my livingroom. Last week, whilst hiking in the woods with my headphones blasting, a catchy tune in my ears, I sddenlyy felt inspired to dance. And dance I did. Under a towering tree with the sun streaming down to kiss me through the branches. I waved my arms and spun and bopped and shook my hips and vibed out waves of love to the earth. Thats me. When work must get done, Im there to get it done. But living comes as priority and sometimes interrupts the work. When Christ cmes back I want to be teh one dancing beneath trees, not scrubbing dishes.Sometimes I  might get muddled  up and have to begin again. But with my head held high. I am those rebellious, fun, quirky, bumpy, swirly dreads. They are me. and I love them!
On a side note, November 11th is officially Housewife Day. La dee da! I celebrate by...doing housework. Pretty much the same as any other day. But if anyone wants to send gifts of chocolate or cash.........;) Back to the grindstone. Ta!

Zen Princess:Ruler Over Controlled Chaos: Primal Pregnancy

Zen Princess:Ruler Over Controlled Chaos: Primal Pregnancy: "More often than not,the first questioned posed to me by well-intentioned friends and family when they learn of my pregnancy is 'Who's your d..."

Primal Pregnancy

More often than not,the first questioned posed to me by well-intentioned friends and family when they learn of my pregnancy is "Who's your doctor?" Which I suppose to some people is a very logical question. But for me, it leaves me scratching my head in bewilderment. For I neither have a pre-existing condtion nor do I have any health isues that are a risk to myself or my unborn child that have been exacerbated by pregnancy. I am very simply just a healthy woman who is pregnant. And I am prone to ask my own question: Since when is pregnancy an illness???
Now, dont get me wrong. If you have certain risk factors then by all means, work with your doctor to ensure the well being of both yourself and your unborn child. I am highly appreciative of our modern advances in medicine when it is needed and would in no way ever encourage a woman to put her own life or that of her child's at risk. But I do not fall into that category. I have no major health issues. I am healthy. I eat a well balanced diet of mainly organic origin. I get plenty of physical activity every day. (With 5 young children to raise this is inevitable.) I stay aware of my own body. This means I notice when I am feeling tension or fear or stress, etc....I know my triggrs and I know what to do to ease said emotions. I spend quiet time everyday with myself. I communicate throughout the day with my unborn child, through thoughts, speaking aloud, and meditation. In my past pregnancies, if it was the last trimester and I was concerned about not feeling any movement from my baby inutero I would simply sit still for a moment and ask my baby to please move and every single time within a couple seconds, he would move quite deliberatly.
That vital bond and connection has always awed me. Though it cannot really come as  surprise. After all, our children grow in the same body that houses our own spirit and soul. Our babies are a piece of ourselves./ When we do not realize that, when we instead look to a doctor for each step, it removes that bond. think of it this way, when you fall in love, do you turn to a trained counselor for advice in every new development in the relationship? Do you ask saidprofessional what to do about dates, holdinghands, first kiss, etc...... Or do you follow your heart? The same works for your emotional and physical relationship with your unborn child. You and your lover were alone when you concieved. You didnt need a profssional to tell you how to create life, did you? You must learn to trust yourself enough to know how to nurture and grow that life.
This will be my 4th primal pregnancy. So, when you opt out of regular doctor viits....what does a self-care regimen look like for a primal pregnancy? Well, its actually quite obvious and simplistic. I eat when I am feeling hungry. Even if it mean small snacks eery few hours instead of three larger meals. I eat foods that are as natural in form as they get. I eat salads and boiled eggs and raw nuts and hummus on pita bread and fresh raspberries and homemade tortilla chip with homemade salsa.....I eat whatever my body needs to keep me energized and balanced. I excersise daily. I play football withmy sons. I go for 3 mile hikes in the woods with my sons. I chase the dogs around the yard.I use the weed eater and attack the unruly weeds along the fence in my yard. I build a bookshelf for my office. I mop. I plant in my garden. I don't sit on my butt. After all, impending labor is called LABOR and requires a healthy strong body! On the other hand, I sleep when I get tired. This may mean an 8:30 bedtime sometimes, or an early afternoon siesta. I dont push my limit. If my body or mind tells me it needs  break I TAKE IT. I sit and relax. I read a book. I soak in a bath. I pray. I watch a movie.
What else? Well, I take a daily multivitamin with extra folic acid and iron. I take a b-complex vitmin andcalcium supplements. I write daily lover letters to my unborn child. I prepare my mind for a primal BIRTH, by delving into such websites as Laura Shanleys Freebirth.com and the community forums at Mothering.com. I read Ina May Gaskin ad Fredrick Leboyer. I keep  copy of Immaculate Deception on my bedside table. I cut down my caffienne intake. I nurture my own soul by writing poetry, singing, praying, etc.....because if I dont know and trust my own abilities and strengths than HOW can  I possibly trust myself to birthe a child?
It is a day by day love journey. I love being pregnant more than anything. I find my intuition is hieghtened dramatically during pregnancy. I feel very mother-earth-ish, womanly, vibrant, exhalted, curvy and magical. I praise God for my bodies ability to do as He intended it. As a woman who has miscarried multiple times, I am all the more appreciative of it when my body carries a baby to term. I know many women who find the pregnancy process quite miserable but I have been lucky, never had any morning sickness, etc... An interesting factoid: in more primative cultures, such symptoms as "morning sickness" do not even exist! Is it our diet in America that causes this phenomenon? Or perhaps the ingrained belief we carry that pregnancy must come burdened with negative symptoms? Just as we are taught that birth itself mut be painful....yet I have seen numerous women give birth in calm serenity or in laughter. I myself laughed out loud upon the crowning of one of my sons, at the marvel and awesomness of that moment. And when I was in labor with my last son the nurse did not believe I even WAS inlabor until he hooked me up to the machine andsaw I was having uterine contractions every two minutes. I was just sitting there chatting and laughing. She looked at me as if I had gone mad. :)
But I will blog another day on the subject of birth. For today I focus only on my body, my mind and my unborn baby. Step by step, day by day.....this life is mine and it is my child's and we are one. No medical book or degree or profession can know as much as pure intuition and love.

My Mom

The tentative, perilous, fiercly devoted bond betwixt a mother an daughter.....one you can only grasp if you play a part in that type of relationship. The cords that tie, the fabrics thatweave together this tapestry.....
As a very young girl,I adored my mom. She was a young single mom and  I found her beautiful.The very earth revolved around only the two of us. That was all there was. Shewas my queen.
But then those temptous teen years swept over us like a sea of whirlng waters an crashing waves. Suddenly it struck me how much a clueless fool this woman really was.What could she possibly understand about broken hearts, embarassing acne, tainted frienships??? I blamed her for 75 percent of the bad stuff and refused to discuss the other 25 percent with her on mere pinciple that she "just wouldn't GET IT."
Then it happened. IT. The thing that made me see how MUCH she truly GOT.I became a mother. And that very first time I held my son's tiny body, a mass of wires attaching him to itimidating machines in an intmidating NICU.....and that rush of hushed whispers of whatever it is we hear the first time we hold our child (angels?god?love?) "lifelifeliflifeloveloveloveloveoh.my.god." and from that very moment on I have come to see my mom as not only life giver....but a  friend, a sister on this journey, a fellow mother.....
When I lost a baby at 4 months gestation, my mother gathered together all of the condolence cards and emails and leters.....many from other women who had lost a baby, and she compiled the into a book for me.I read it in the silent nights when itseemed God had ceased to listen or respond. It was my comfort.When I went into labor with my second son, my mom had JUST micarried 7 days earlier. With her heart-wound still throbbingly fresh,she came to support me through hours and hours of labor.As a woman who has also lost babies,I understnd the strength that took.How hard, thepull between grieving for a child you lost and supporting one still here. When I went through my divorce, when my husband and father of our 3 boys left me for an18 year old stripper who was carrying his child at the same time I was pregnant with our fourth, it was my mother who encouraged me and believed in me. When I miscarried a child the year earlier her kind and simple card said perfectly what was needed to be said.
Those late night calls when the baby had colic. The frustrated letters about Aidans attitude. The concerned emails regrding Zanes struggles with reading. My venting,crying,fears, worries as a single mom.That woman who used to seem clueless now was my beacon since she had already journeyed this path.
And when I had the D&C operation after losing my 2nd baby......I lay in that huge,cold,gray operating room filled with masked faces,feeling so very small and scared and alone.....and all I could think was I wanted my mom. And when I lost too much blood and passed out outside of the hospital she charged inside and yelled for a dr before the useless candy striper could even blink.
And when the cops showed up at my door to say "We have some bad news".....(because it turns out they really DO say that,just like in the movies) and they told me my fiance, my very best friend in the whole wide world, Daddy to my boys, had died......I couldnt think right to dial her number, but I needed my mom.Ifinaly dialed it right. And she drove a fifteen minute drive in five. And she was running with arms wide open to comfort me like I was 5 again before I think the car had even stopped rolling. And when I had to say goodbye to him, (my first dead body ever and it was my best friend.That quite the kick in the gut), I did what I had to,then went outside....I was halfway across the country, sorrounded by strangers....and I lit a cigarette with a shaky hand and called my mom. And told her Iwished she was there with me.
At 31, I realize now how much Itruly NEED my mom.I used to say I couldnt wait to be 18 and AWAY......but I am never AWAY. She is a part of me. A beautifully intricate tapstry of ebb and flow.
THANK YOU MOM> I LOVE YOU~

What I Believe In

Being a no-hitting, respecting-your-children, gentle-parenting, natural-consequences-allowing, mother is not always an easy path to journey on. Especially when one lives in a small rural mountain hillbilly southern town. In this community the majority of parents believe that what didnt kill them as children will work just fine for their own children. So, I too often am witness to children being verbally threatened to be phyically punished. And not just hit, but beat with a paddle, a stick or a leather belt. Which always confuses me because WHY must ou insist on using a weapon to hit somone who is alread vulnerable and smaller and weaker than you??? If I went up to a neighbor or co worker or adult family member and hit them with a belt or wodden paddle (on a part of their body we teach children is their "privates" by the way..which I find even MORE disturbing that that is where we hit them) I would be in jail for assault and battery. Wh are children not protected under the same laws??? What right have we to  administer pain to them???? Physical punishment creates fear, pain, shame andfrustration in a child. Something they carry into their adult hood. I personally was the victim of an abusive man who was abused as a child. Statitics show that violent offenders in prison are far more likely to have been victims of corporal punishment as children. (Ie: spankings)
Many peopleuse he bible as reason to hit their children. the good ol "Spare the rod, spoil the child" verse. But the Hebrew word for rod can also mean writing utensil (an instrument of education) or Shebet which was the stick with a hook the sheperds used to keep straying sheep in the flock. (gentle guidance and authority) Thewo discipline is derived from the word disciple. Our job as parents is to TEACH. Every disciplinary ction is an opportunity to educate our children. Sure, we can hit a child if they throw a toy or repeat a bad word they hear on tv. But frankly, though you may claim it works because it stops the behavior, all it does is give you an immediate response with no lasting impression. All you teach a children then is to not do the offending behavior in front of you. If you take the time to explain WHY (in a clear, authoritive way) the behavior is not acceptable, then the child can understand the reason why. Kids are far more capable of grasping such concepts than we give them credit for!
I am in no way saying let children have their way and be pussy footed in front of them. You are still head over them and they need to respect you. But to spank a child is simply an immature reaction, an impatient action, an adult temper tantrum so to speak. Allow natural consequences when posible. If they are irsponsible with a new toy andlose it at school after you tell them not to bring it to school, DONT buy them a new one. If they refuse to eat dinner, they dont get a snack later. If the refuse shoes on their feet, let them feel the hot pavment for a second and I promise you those shoes will go on without you having to yell or raise your blood pressure. If they dont cleantheir room, they dont get to go out an play with their sisters. etc....
Also, communication is key. Explain our reason for rules and boundaries so your kids can respect them. As an adult, would you honestly be ok with following instructions that made NO SENSE from your boss at work? If you go to work tomorrw and your boss says " I want you to do______, and if you dont I will hit you with this leather belt" how would YOU react????  We need to show our kids the same respect that we expect others to give to us.
So many people arguethe point with me "Spanking works." Ok then, so if itworks sooooo well, I am assuming you only ever had to hit your child ONCE, right? If its such a fool proof trick, WHY do you have to repeatedly hit your child????? I also have had people tell me "My parents hit me when I was a kid and I turned out fine." Okay, firstly, there are always exceptions to every rule. The human spirit can make us capable of defying any odds.And FINE is not good enough for me. I wat my kids to grow up to be fine, respectful gntleman, not simply survivors. Fine is survival. Its not good enough IMO. But if youwere hit often as a child, it is more than likely you have been in physical confrontations as an adult and/or you have difficulties handling anger, or communication or conflict resolution.It also means you are fafr more likely to continue this cycle of abuse with your own children. Because no one ever taught you other options. Spanking teaches nothing other than fear, intimidation and the lesson that its totally acceptable for the big guy to hit the little guy just to get his point cross.
Our children need to be shown love, information, education, respect.....if we as adults expect it,shouldnt we raise our children to expect the same???