Got Cracks?

As in, spaces one might fall through?

Sometimes really suddenly, so that your life completely changes?

Do me a favor, and head on over to some websites for me:

Start by clicking on the photo of the cute baby on the upper right side of my blog.

You'll meet Ike, a 10-lb baby who is doing time in the pediatric intensive care unit at Dell Children's Hospital. He was born something like 15 weeks premature last fall. Lately, he's been making a strange wheezy sound when he breathes, and then, more recently, he caught a virus that made it almost impossible for him to breathe.

His mom is a wonderful writer who also has two other kids. Check out her blog, too, especially if you like witnessing someone who can go through a pretty horrific set of events and remain funny, tender, smart, and tough. After you check out her blog, go buy her book, Haiku Mama, from Amazon. Makes a great baby shower gift!

Ike's dad's whole department was laid off last week. Very unexpectedly. They have COBRA coverage, but it's expensive.

Everyone knows that the "current economy" is not in the best of shape. You may be hearing about people losing their jobs, homes, etc. This particular family is caught in the midst of that. Their community is stepping up in a major and very inspiring way, and I invite you to step up, too. Ike's website lists some upcoming fundraising events. Please attend, and give generously. And regardless of whether you attend, or whether you give, please keep this family in your thoughts and prayers.

Personal Renewal Group for Mothers

Do you want to feel more connected—to yourself and others?

Are you craving community with like-minded women?

Would you like to learn how to nurture your physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being--so you can be at your best for your family?

Are you interested in new ideas for self-renewal and life balance?


You are invited to join a Personal Renewal Group (PRG)—a life coaching group for women at all life stages, based on the award-winning new release The Mother’s Guide to Self-Renewal: How to Reclaim, Rejuvenate, and Re-Balance Your Life, by nationally recognized career/life balance coach Renee Trudeau.

Facilitated by good old me, Tricia Mitchell.

Topics for the 2009 Personal Renewal Group may include:
“The Transformative Power of Self-Care” (on a physical, mental, spiritual and emotional level)
“Motherhood and Identity: Reconnecting with Who You Are”
“Good Is Good Enough: A Mother’s Mantra”
“Motherhood as a Spiritual Journey”
“Outrageous Living: Reclaiming Adventure in Your Life”
“Strategies for Life Balance”
“Managing Your Energy: Setting Priorities, Saying No and Asking for Help”

Feedback from 2003-06 Personal Renewal Group Participants:
“I love the powerful, deep nature of this work, it has made a huge difference in my life.” -Susan
“I was concerned about spending $ because our budget is really tight. Wow, am I glad I decided to do PRG. This has been a truly meaningful and life-changing experience for me.” -Kristan
“The open, safe environment for sharing was amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it. I felt comfortable to say anything.” -Maria
“The exercises on saying “no” (boundaries), setting intentions and managing our energy were profound.” -Janet

For info or to register, e-mail Tricia at pigtailrecords@yahoo.com.
Cost: $200 for 12-month program (includes 12 morning workshops, e-mail support/reminders between meetings and a copy of The Mother’s Guide to Self-Renewal). Meetings will take place at my house in East Austin, on the fourth Monday of each month beginning MARCH 23rd*, from 9:30-11:30 a.m. Registration is on a first-come, first-served basis; group size is limited to ten participants.



(*this is a revised start date, as of 2/17/09)

The Amazing, Invisible Mama!

She was having a hard time. She was the mom of a 5 month old baby, and for the first time in a very long time, she wasn't sure that her work, her life, was valuable enough. This mama, who I will call Mama (actually, it is her real name!), posted on one of my favorite listservs, and I immediately knew I had to respond.

Here's part of her post:

"I have been struggling with the idea of my identity now that I am not working and letting my husband support me...I have always had female role models that worked and worked hard outside of the home. I don't really want that for myself (I think)...I know that I am working hard as a mom, but it just seems unfair for him that he has to be gone and at work so that we have the
luxury of having a family. Is this just the way it works and I need to get used to it? Seems so
domestic role-ish, which is not how I pictured my life being going into my thirties."


Here's what I told her. Some folks said they liked my response a lot, and the truth is, I liked it! So here you go, faithful blog readers:


Dear Mama,

I can totally relate to your struggle.I have a 5 y/o son and a 2 y/o daughter. I have been working for $ since I was a teenager and I really miss bringing home a paycheck for my work. I have been a full-time working mom and a part-timer work-at-home mom, and my
feeling is that, if you have kids, you always feel like a giant piece of taffy somehow.

The one thing I wanted to tell you is to be kind to yourself. Becoming a mom is a huge journey. Those tensions will keep...they're not going anywhere and you will both have time to reflect upon them and also relax into them as time goes on. Some days you will feel like a freeloader, other days like a complete badass who makes the world turn! I have a feeling that when it's time to go back to work, you will know it, and you will know what the right next step is.

You should know about about Marilyn Waring, who in the 1970s was elected to the New Zealand Parliament at the age of 22. She went on to work on a budgetary committee, in which capacity she learned all about the ways that countries calculate metrics like GDP and GNP. She
discovered that, all across the planet Earth, women's work is invisible, in an economic sense. She wrote some books, including one called, "If Women Counted," and she's now a public policy professor.

I bring this up because sometimes I feel like my work doesn't count, like I've fallen off the map of life somehow, because I don't go to a "job," and because my "customers" ignore and/or scream at me a lot. Because my work involves being patient and often, sitting on the floor, one could imagine that I eat bon bons all day. Though in reality, I work my tail off.

If you feel this way too, you have good reasons! A woman can work hard, producing goods, i.e., children who will become productive members of society, and performing services, like taking care of family members, helping neighbors, running the PTA, etc., and yet at the end of her life, she may be seen as a drain on the system because all of that work doesn't "count." I had a friend who had to go work at her husband's store so she could rack up some $ toward her Social
Security, because "all" she had done before that was raise three kids!

It's a crazy planet, this Earth! Our society is a giant funny mirror! We're all mixed up!

I loved reading the book "Parenting for a Peaceful World," by Dr. Robin Grille. Grille argues that, throughout history, every advancement in democracy, social justice, and better treatment of the
environment has been preceded by an improvement in the treatment of children. Reading this book reassured me, beyond doubt, that the work we do as parents is the most important work of all in the grand scheme.

I recommend that you spend some time thinking and maybe journaling about what would make you feel that your days are productive enough to "count." Especially since it doesn't seem like it's your DH who is complaining. You get to decide what "enough" looks like! You are the one who gets to find a million bucks in the smile of your little cutie-booty.

"Some Rules and Hints for Students and Teachers," by John Cage

Rule 1: Find a place you trust, and then, try trusting it for awhile.

Rule 2: (General duties as a student) Pull everything out of your teacher. Pull everything out of your fellow students.

Rule 3: (General duties as a teacher) Pull everything out of your students.

Rule 4: Consider everything an experiment.

Rule 5: Be self disciplined. This means finding someone wise or smart and choosing to follow them. To be disciplined is to follow in a good way. To be self disciplined is to follow in a better way.

Rule 6: Follow the leader. Nothing is a mistake. There is no win and no fail. There is only make.

Rule 7: The only rule is work. If you work it will lead to something. It is the people who do all the work all the time who eventually catch onto things. You can fool the fans--but not the players.

Rule 8: Do not try to create and analyze at the same time. They are different processes.

Rule 9: Be happy whenever you can manage it. Enjoy yourself. It is lighter than you think.

Rule 10: We are breaking all the rules, even our own rules and how do we do that? By leaving plenty of room for "x" qualities.

Helpful Hints:

• Always be around.
• Come or go to everything.
• Always go to classes.
• Read everything you can get your hands on.
• Look at movies carefully and often.
• SAVE EVERYTHING. It may come in handy later.
  

Darius Rucker at the Frank Erwin Center

I am trying to decide which melted substance is most similar to Darius Rucker's voice. Butter is too thin (although properly yummy) and it's not deep and dark enough. Something like warmed up Hershey's syrup would come close--but not close enough. Really, don't settle for Hershey's. Make your own sauce--a dark chocolate sauce that isn't too sweet, whose flavors have taken awhile to meld together, one that is smooth and makes your taste buds want to keep hitting the "rewind" button so they can feel it all over again. That is how your ears and heart will feel while they listen to Darius Rucker sing in person.

I will write about Brad Paisley later. Today's post is all about Darius.

First of all, thank God Rucker is now making country music. As a Texan, a singer/songwriter, and a fan, I love country music. Lots of kinds of music are great, but country is where the best and most real songs are. I'm grateful that Rucker is making music at all, because it's been way too long since I've heard from him. And finally, thank God that Rucker gets to have a chance to get out from under being called "Hootie."

I was still roaming the massive Frank Erwin Center during the first song, so I missed a bit. I think he played about a 25-minute set. He has the vibe of being simply a great and very experienced entertainer, grabbing each song and jumping inside of it, sometimes giving a brief introduction that helps the audience connect with it, always using his body, face, and gestures to get his point across. I got to witness this huge presence on stage, and I wondered about what exactly that mystery element is, why he's so easy and fun to watch. I especially wondered about this during Dierks Bentley's set afterward--I liked it, and Bentley certainly works his tail off, but he didn't fascinate me the way Rucker does. And then, oh then, there is that voice--oozy, flowy, like melted chocolate. Even on the songs I hadn't heard before, I could hear every note, every word, from up in my nosebleed section seat. I thought about something my voice teacher, Liz Cass, says about how good technique enables a singer to convey much deeper levels of emotion.

I loved hearing Rucker's hit, "Don't Think I Don't Think About It," as well as "It Won't Be Like This for Long," and his rousing cover of Hank Jr.'s "Family Tradition." But the chocolate ran the thickest during his country tinged acoustic rendition of "Let Her Cry," his hit from the old days. Hearing it again made me appreciate what a great song it was and is.

So Darius, since I know you're a devoted reader of my blog, here's my recap of your show:
1. I'm happy I had the chance to hear you sing in person.
2. You inspire me to keep working on my singing.
3. I wish your set had been longer.
4. You'll be getting some iTunes royalties from me and my iPod.
5. I am really looking forward to hearing more.

Rappeling, With Children

You were calling out to me all day today
Down there, all mushy on your bed,
you invited me to join you.
A school holiday, eight or so long hours, with my creations.
I was ready with structure--
square meals, nap, fresh air, and video
--so it's not like I was unprepared.
Yet still
there were moments where they tag-teamed me,
an odd little pair of stalkers:
"Mommy, mommy,"
pecked to death by ducks,
Before I can answer one, the other comes up
If make the taco, it should have been the hard-boiled egg,
I say, "use your strong voice" when I hear
Just how betraying each failure feels,
I say, "I will, as soon as I finish this,"
I say, "I need you to listen to my words"
who knows how many times?
And on a day--like today--when I'm not on top of my game,
When my composure is cracked and certain
adult critical voices can and do intrude,
when they are no longer cute,
when all of that need wants only to gobble me up,
when I have grown shadowy and thin,
and yearn for invisibility.
And there, there, is where I find you.
You, supine and resigned, call to me with your creepy smile,
a part of me, I think they're called mirror neurons?
Rappels down
While the rest of me stays.
I begin to believe that I could or should
be doing all of this perfectly, and am not
Yet I perform the most amazing feat anyway:
I am present, responsive, full of spine.
"Be like an oak tree," a friend says,
I remember this and do my best to seem oaky
whatever that means,
I muster a smile, a nod, a comment
that at least sounds like I'm hanging on every word
knowing that
If I can suspend this lie, over time,
for my two self-absorbed yet ever-watchful nubbins,
you, your memories and worldview
unspoken, unexplored, sporadically spooging their way out
you, who feels so small and incapable
who took all the wrong things for yourself
and gave the remainder too freely
will stay down there
and perhaps die a lonely death
while we go outside to play.

From Tricia Mitchell and Terri Fann. . .

Happy Holidays!

This year, Terri Fann and I wrote and recorded a song honoring the person from our youth who represented the spirit of Christmastime. The one who untangled the lights, baked the gingerbread, shopped, swept up crumbs and pine needles, and tucked us in at night. The person who gave us the precious holiday memories we have today.

Now as we pass on the magic of Christmas to our own children, we get the magnitude of that gift!

During the occasional moments of quiet this season, we'd love you to grab a tissue and join us in reflecting on those times, to remember those we love and those who have loved us, and to celebrate the joy of creating holiday magic for today's kids.

Here's Terri's beautiful version of "Me and the Tree". The link will take you to an index page where you can 1) Click "meandthetree.mp3" to listen, or 2) Right-click "meandthetree.mp3", choose "save link as" or "save target as" (depending on your Internet browser) which will allow you to download the song to your computer (for burning your own CD or putting the song on your iPod). This is a free download, and it will be available through the end of the season.

Me and the Tree © December 2008 Tricia Mitchell, BMI, www.triciamitchell.com, Terri Fann, ASCAP, www.terrifann.com. Prod by Marvin Dykhuis, Terri Fann



Merry Christmas!



"What I don't like about office Christmas parties is looking for a job the next day." --Phyllis Diller

"The one thing women don't want to find in their stockings on Christmas morning is their husband."--Joan Rivers.

"Mail your packages early so the post office can lose them in time for Christmas."--Johnny Carson.

"I once bought my kids a set of batteries for Christmas with a note on it saying, toys not included."--Bernard Manning.

"I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was six. Mother took me to see him in a department store and he asked for my autograph."
--Shirley Temple

"Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree. In the eyes of children, they are all 30 feet tall."--Larry Wilde.


"Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful."
--Norman Vincent Peale

The Angels

From the top of a folding table at church,

we picked up two pieces of paper

shaped like angels,

with sticky note paper on the back.

By so doing,

we committed to the purchase of two gifts

for the children of an incarcerated parent.

It seemed simple enough at first.

First we drove, then shopped and chose.

Only as I tenderly folded the creases of the shiny wrapping

and tore the rectangles of tape

did I fully sense my unease.

Who on Earth did we think we were?

What right—and what power, really—did we have

To become a link in this particular chain?

Whose idea was it, to see if total strangers would (or could)

Put together what was certainly broken?

From you, the parent who can’t even guess what your child’s shoe size is,

Who writes on the little angel, “I hope I hear from you soon,”

You, without money to spend or presence to share…

To you, Young One, who has been told God knows what?

How might you make sense of this gesture?

Some hopeless part of us imagines the sneakers or the jacket:

Opened, then thrown casually aside.

I fret for way too long about whether they will see the gift receipts

And know to exchange them if the size is wrong.

I pine for the clue to shape or stature

That could make these items feel personal.

Our minds fill in the blanks with scenes from somewhere:

A mildewy apartment,

a TV that blares too loud,

a Christmas that is more punishing than peaceful.

We want to share our blessings,

To give a burst of delight,

How, without the reminder that our charity signifies a need,

Deep and stupendous,

That extends to the remaining days of the year?

We pray for forgiveness,

For our sins of omission and of commission.

We give up and just give.

What I Don't Understand About American Politics, Part 2

"Supporting the Troops"

Why have the Republicans been allowed to claim that they support the troops and Democrats don't?

Isn't the best support one could provide a rigorous level of discernment about a) when and where we put our armed forces in harm's way, b) clear objectives, and c) a plan for determining the next step, once those objectives have been met?

Are "good" Americans truly supposed to yield to the chief executive officer once Congress gives approval? For how long? How does that jive with the right we're all supposed to have, in a democracy, to demand that our leaders represent our views?

I don't mind that John McCain supported sending troops to Iraq. A lot of people did. We were all deceived about the premises for going there. I also don't mind that McCain spoke up about giving enough resources to the troops so they could do their job.

All I want to know is what the definition of "victory" is at this point, and what happens when we get there. I support the troops by applauding their efforts and also by questioning the success of the mission.

What I Don't Understand About American Politics, Part 1

What's wrong with being a community organizer?

I watched the RNC convention this week, and I heard Rudy Guiliani and Sarah Palin both mock Barack Obama's experience as a community organizer after college.

Shouldn't Republicans, who favor a smaller government, applaud a college graduate who takes on such a job in the private sector?

Here's an article that quotes Obama's boss when he held that position, who says that Obama went on to direct the program. Isn't that "executive" experience?

And if "executive" experience is what a presidential candidate needs, isn't Palin more qualified than McCain, as well?

Big Day Haiku

what a special ache
for a mom, the night before
Kindergarten starts

The Breath of God

Taking a slow, deep breath is like a cool drink of water for the mind.

This came to me this morning in yoga class. I've been thinking about breath a lot lately, in my voice lessons and practice, in yoga, when I meditate, and in certain moments of my life when I realize that I am stressed out and not breathing much. This morning I became mindful of my breath in each posture, as if that breath was the final inner flourish that brought it to life. Sheila, my Saturday morning teacher, even said something to this effect: "When you can take a deep breath, you know you're doing the posture correctly."

No one really knows if you're taking deep breath. You can get through your whole life hanging on to your tension, and you won't go to jail or be shunned by your community. It's really your business, your secret.

After yoga, waiting in a slow moving line at the grocery store, I had another thought: whenever I find myself holding my breath, it's because I'm worrying about someone else. Someone who has standards I might not meet, or someone who is going to judge me, or someone who will get upset. With a husband, two small kiddos, and a dog, it's pretty fair to say that someone or other is getting upset with me pretty frequently! I had this thought, and then I took a deep breath. There it was, a cool drink for my mind.

Somehow, I believe that holding onto tension will be a consolation to those judging, upset people. If I can't meet their expectations, so goes my thinking, I can at least show them how hard I'm trying! In this way, just taking that deep breath felt a little rebellious. I felt like I was slacking off somehow, or not being serious about my commitments. Silly, huh? Taking a deep breath wasn't going to change how fast the cashier scanned merchandise, after all.

As I drove home, I imagined all of this invisible pressure coming at my body from the outside. This is a chronic part of motherhood, and it really feels crushing at times. But then I imagined my breath as counter-pressure, a force that pushes back and holds all of that external pressure at bay, then dissipates it. The way to not collapse is to create that space inside of myself, by breathing in that cool drink. Suddenly breath has become prayer!

I had thought earlier that it's your business if you breathe. But that's not really true. I guarantee that, if you start to become more mindful and present, other folks will notice, even if they can't articulate what's different. In fact, I find that the more calm and centered I learn to be, especially in stressful situations, the more people gravitate toward me. And the whole reason why I get so stressed is because people depend upon me! Saying "no", being very decisive about commitments, taking time for self-care, and above all, remembering to breathe are my essential survival tools for being who I want to be in my life.

God is Here, Right Now

My husband got a fancy new phone. No, it's not an iPhone, but it's still plenty cool. He was lost in it for days. He kept eating and sleeping, but his awake state was consumed by the phone. It has a cool keyboard that slides out, it can access the Internet, it takes photos, so many cool features.

The one I like the best has to do with the Internet. If you're into such gadgetry, you've probably seen this before, but I live under a mommy rock, so it's new to me. This phone is always scanning for wireless networks. We were driving home from somewhere one evening, and the husband allowed me, briefly, to hold his new phone. Suddenly words popped up on the screen: "detecting wireless network scooty1." Or whatever. Then we'd drive a little further and those words would disappear, only to be replaced with some other words about a new wireless network we were in range of.

"Can this phone tell when God is here?" I excitedly asked my husband, who looked at me quizzically. "Because I can't see a wireless network, and I can't see God. If your phone can tell you when a network is here, can it tell me when God is here?" "No wait," I said. "This phone can't do that, but maybe the gPhone could. Definitely not the iPhone." I chuckled to myself as I pondered this (to me, anyway) brilliant idea.

My desktop computer has a marquee screensaver where you can type in words that scroll across the screen when you aren't using it. I'm going to make it say, "God is here, right now." I wonder if it will make me pay attention more.

No Spanking at Sea World

I think this is a good rule. If anyone from Sea World or the Anheuser-Busch corporation reads my blog, promise me you'll do everything in your power to make this a real rule.

My friends J & R went to Sea World with their 5-yr old. On an absolutely sweltering Texas summer day. Along with about 500 million other families. As they were going in, J happened to notice a group of several families, adults and kiddos, also entering. For some reason, they caught her eye. Well, later on that day, J & R stopped at some place in the park, and the same cluster of families was nearby. By this time, one of the kids was crying, and his dad was losing patience with him. Well, before you can say "Shamu," J sees the dad pick up his kid by the arm and begin whacking him on the behind. Right there, in front of everyone.

Now my friend J is not some meek bystander type. So she courageously walks up to the guy and asks, "Do you need to take a break?" And he asks her to repeat herself, so she does. He tells her he does, in fact, not need a break. J says, "That's going to stay with him for the rest of his life." To which Bruiser replies, "I want it to stay with him for the rest of his life." And then his wife, in what J described as a sticky sweet tone, walks up to interrupt, saying, "Ma'am? This doesn't concern you. Please move on." J replied that when someone chooses to physically discipline their child in front of her child, it actually does concern her. And the wife just repeated herself until J moved on.

I think there should be a whole website devoted to how to approach people who spank or shame their kids in public. Because although I so admire J's nerve, I can imagine being totally taken aback, and not knowing what to say, when this dad responded as he did. Someone (maybe even me!) needs to create a place where folks can find (and give) words to say in these moments. Because even if the parents are convinced that what their doing is the very best, one stranger chiming in with a different perspective could get through to that kid. And he might remember it and think back on it when he, for example, grows up and wants to understand why he has certain problems he may have.

When I heard the story, here's what I wish J had said: "Even the most hardcore proponents of spanking say that you shouldn't do it in anger, and you seem kinda angry. And you're at Sea World. And the tickets are REALLY expensive, and I doubt you worked so hard and saved up that much money so you could come here and hit your kid."

The Intelligent Edge

I am nuts about yoga.

Since the beginning of last year, I have taken a yoga class at 7:30 a.m. almost every single Saturday morning. Now, to some, once a week might not be much, but I'm a mom, I'm super busy, and I get what I get. On Saturdays, what I do is wake up before everyone else in my house and quietly run out the door to my class. This year I have added a Wednesday morning class, as well as some brief and sporadic home practice (generally the kids begin to climb on me or exhort me to try postures they make up) and some meditation before I go to sleep.

The teacher I started with on Saturday mornings, Jenny D., is a wise guru trapped in a hot blonde, surfer girl body. Her class is very challenging, and she has the most amazing things to say about how yoga can help you live your life better. She says things like, "Yoga is about breathing into uncomfortable positions, both on and off the mat." "Everyone who can do X (a handstand, an arm balance, etc.) used to not be able to do it." and "The sign of an advanced yogi is that he/she can fall and get back up, all with a smile."

In yoga they talk about finding something they call the "intelligent edge." That's the place where you are just a teensy bit beyond comfortable, but not yet causing damage to yourself. In yoga and in life, the goal is to be present and aware, and then to attempt things with an eye on playing around with our limits.

Tight hamstrings? Tension in the shoulders? There are postures for these, and more, in yoga. You start where you are, and you push into your intelligent edge, a little bit each time. You don't have to "do" it the way your neighbor in class does, you just try. And it's amazing how all of that trying adds up. One day I absolutely SHOCKED myself when I tried to do a headstand, all the while thinking to myself, "there's just no way!". Lo and behold, that was the day that all of that trying accumulated into doing. My core muscles engaged, my feet FLEW up, and before I could say, "there's just no way!" one more time, I was flipping over! After which, of course, I smiled and tried again.

But the reason why I'm crazy about yoga is not what it's done for my body but rather what it has done for my mind and my ability to cope with my life's challenges. It's all the same: try it, find the place where it starts to feel challenging, and breathe into it. Watch what happens. Breathe some more.

Difficult relatives? Smile. Try. Breathe into it.

Defiant toddler? Breathe some more. Sit down on the floor at eye level. Try.

Torrential hail storm destroy the back window on your minivan? Stay present. Breathe. Try.

For every moment that you experience as not going your way, it's all the same: Keep breathing. Try. Forgive yourself. Smile. Try again. It is lighter than you think. It all passes.

I'm Not Sleep Deprived!

How much sleep do I really need? Apparently, not so much, according to this article

Daniel Kripke, co-director of research at the Scripps Clinic Sleep Center in La Jolla, CA, compared the death rates among over 1 million American adults.

How much sleep is ideal? (drum roll, please!)...

folks who sleep between 6.5 and 7.5 hours per night live the longest. Which is good news for me, since that's about how many zzzz's I get in an average night, and since I plan to live to be 100.

All this time with my kiddos, I've been so worried about not getting enough sleep. It turns out I'm paving the way for longevity.

I Miss My Blog

I am so freakin' busy.

I got sick last week, either a GI bug or food poisoning.

I'm the costume mom for my big kid's dance performance.

My two college student part-time nannies have been too busy with school to help much.

We're thinking about remodeling our house, so we have been spending a ton of time talking to contractors and architects. Exciting, yes.

My baby girl went to school last week, for three hours!

I wrote a new song that I love.

I had an AWESOME Mother's Day! I got a new ring

That's all for today. Stay tuned, devoted readers!

The Bear Suit

Oh sure, sometimes it was fun at birthday parties and family gatherings. Inevitably, someone would nudge Nella on the arm, and say, "Hey, why don't you go put on the bear suit!" This had been going on for as long as Nella could remember, and before that, even. After several promptings, she would go and dig into the dark corner of the hall closet, behind the coats and the grey suitcases, until her hand felt the familiar dark brown fur. First she'd push her feet into the bottom paws, then she'd slip her arms into the sleeves and pull the shoulders up over her own before reaching down for the long zipper. The head piece was always a little tricky, and when she was very young, she'd need help hoisting it up, but after awhile she became inured and it was quite automatic.

Nella would walk out into the living room, or out onto the back porch--wherever the family was gathered. She'd raise up her arms inside the furry claws, and she'd raise her knees to make her steps larger. Then the game would begin. Nella would say something quite ordinary, like, for example, "I'd like a cup of lemonade," or "Could I trouble you to pick me up today after school?" and her entire family would do their best imitation of horror. They'd open their mouths wide, gasping, and either run or make a mock screaming sound. After a minute or two, they'd all break out into laughter, after which they'd ask her to do it again.

Nella could not even remember where the bear suit came from. She vaguely recalled that it had belonged to someone in her father's family. She couldn't even say why it was she who was always asked to put it on. That's just the way it had always been, and Nella knew that her being a good sport was part of the game. One day, as her family once again prepared for a celebration, while the food was cooking and Nella set the table, just as the excited murmurs that always preceded such gatherings began to mount, Nella felt the strangest sensation in her chest. It was a tightness, accompanied by the cold, dry feeling she got in her trachea when she sucked on a Wintergreen Life Saver. The step of her heartbeat felt a little stronger. She felt just a twinge of nausea.

For several moments, she just busied herself with preparations and tuned out these feelings, until the tightness also moved behind her neck and into the tops of her shoulders. After she finished placing all of the flatware, Nella went to get a drink of cold water and sat down. She began to think, with dread, about the bear suit: it never truly fit. It was hot. Without even having it on, she remembered the sweaty rivulets she always felt tickling down her back, even on a cool day. She would always have to juggle the bear's head atop her own, tilting one way and then another so the bear's eye holes and her own would align and she could see where she was walking. Her sight was so obscured that even when she could hear the muffled peals of her family's laughter, she couldn't really understand what all the fun was about. And the zipper stuck, so when she was ready to remove the suit and rejoin the festivities, there were always several minutes of struggle.

Right there, Nella decided: she would not put on the bear suit today. Her voice echoed inside her head, as her breath quickened.

For the Love of God

I just got an e-mail from Eli Pariser, of MoveOn.org. I had to go and eat a cupcake afterward because it made me feel so confused and cranky. Here's what Eli asked of me:

"Right-wing pastor John Hagee says Katrina was New Orleans' fault. John McCain sought out, and embraces, Hagee's support. MoveOn members are trying to deliver a petition to McCain in New Orleans just a few hours from now: will you sign?"

No Eli, I won't sign. I don't know about you, but I am getting so sick of all of this business about presidential candidates' pastors and preachers. Who cares?

For the record:

1. I do not care that Barak Obama's pastor said a bunch of inflammatory things about being black in America, nor that Michelle Obama said that she has only very recently been proud to be an American.
2. I do not care that John McCain's pastor said that the people of New Orleans were being punished by God.

Could we please get back to talking about the economy, the crappy public schools, health care, and how we're going to straighten out the mess we've made in Iraq? Please?

I thought that you had to be a U.S. citizen over the age of 35 to be a presidential candidate. I never knew that the following were also required:

1. You must never, ever have made a judgment about someone or used a stereotype.
2. You must not know or associate with anyone who has judged or used a stereotype.
3. You must never have said something stupid, nor known anyone who has said something stupid.
4. You can't go to a church if people there believe or say stupid things or even just things that some other people disagree with.

Hello! We are human beings, and we live on the planet Earth. If we have to find someone who meets these criteria, we will never have qualified candidates for the job. And it's already a hard enough job as it is.

Hello! Religious leaders aren't politicians! Their job is to deal with issues concerning life, death, and morality. And so they make statements about how people should live, about "right" and "wrong," about how our behavior relates to God. That's what people look to them for. They're not trying to make friends, they're trying to make determinations about how to live. Inevitably, such determinations will upset people. If you don't like what they say, if it's stupid, if you disagree, that's OK. You can leave their church, or not invite them to dinner, or not. Their stupidity doesn't make you stupid, too.

One of the things I like about John McCain is that he can work with people with whom he does not agree. That's something the American people should encourage and demand from their leaders.

One of the things I like about Barak Obama is that he can stand with a foot on each side of the vast chasm that is Race in America.

One of the things I like about America is that we can handle the tension of complexity when it comes to living amidst people who are not like us. We're the Melting Pot--we do it better than anyone in the world. That ability is our greatest asset, and it needs to be our chief export. We need leaders with demonstrated proficiency in this trait.

I Hate Cats

Well, just one cat, really. He belongs to my neighbor. I met him last week, on my big kid's birthday, just as I was frosting cupcakes. I heard a big scuffle out on the porch, where our mailbox is, inside of which was a nest full of baby birds. For the past three years, the birds (at least I assume they're the same birds) have built a nest in our box.

The first year, we put up a big sign on the mailbox, warning folks that there was a nest inside. We also put a big box on the porch so the mail carrier could use it instead of our mailbox for awhile. All of this was very exciting, as well as educational, for my big kid. The problem that first year was that the sign on the mailbox was too exciting. People would read the sign and the next thing we knew, they'd feel compelled to look inside the box. A few people almost got whapped in the face by the startled bird as she flew out. But after the babies came, the peeking in was too much for the mama. She abandoned her babies and they all died. That was not exciting, yet it was educational for Big Kid, when we had to bury the nest and babies.

The second year was our most successful yet. The second sign said "STOP!" at the top, followed by some warning language. This sign was more effective than the first, as was my story of woe about what happened the previous year. The babies hatched and we got to enjoy their little chirps and watch the big birds care for them until they learned to fly. One day, imperceptibly, one of the babies flew into our house! He/she was so tiny I probably would never have noticed, only I heard the "cheep! cheep!" and it was louder than normal, so I followed it until I discovered it was coming from under a desk in the living room. Big Kid and I carefully opened the door, and away the bird went.

This year, at the first sign of construction, we put up the sign and put out the box. Over the next month, the birds came and went. For awhile I wouldn't see or hear them, and I wondered if this was one of several potential nests--like a construction contractor who takes on a new job and then doesn't come back for several weeks because he has other projects to work on. But lo! The other day we heard the "cheep! cheep!" in the box, and we saw the big birds coming and going.


So anyway, on Big Kid's birthday, I heard a ton of noise out there, and it took awhile to register because I was so distracted with the festivities. When I finally went out to look, I saw a scrawny orange cat, wearing a collar, who was involved in an altercation with the birds. Two big birds flew around screaming at him. A squirrel on a nearby tree joined in the hollering. As I looked out my front window, the cat darted back toward the house, picked up a bird in his mouth, and skulked away. I ran for the broom, thinking I could scare the cat and free the bird, but I was too slow.

So then I put a post on my street's listserv, asking if any of the neighbors owned the cat and could possibly do something to help keep him away from the babies. A day or so later, after a couple of other sympathetic responses, the cat's owner posted. He gave me a condescending lecture about how cat kill birds, but that he didn't blame the cat. He told me that I should not let birds set up a nest in my mailbox, for the sake of both the birds and the mailman. (He didn't even say "mail carrier," he said "mailman," despite the fact that sometimes the "mailman" is a woman." grrrrr...).

I wanted to write back so many things to my neighbor, but I didn't. I thought of everyone else on the list who just didn't need to be involved in my ire. Instead, I said, "I will give that some thought." This is my standard response when someone is saying something to me which a) I think is completely retarded, b) I intend to ignore, and/or c) I would be wasting my breath to give an honest answer to.

So now the birds are gone. My friend Cynthia thinks the big birds came and moved the babies away, and my husband thinks they learned to fly well enough to get to safety. In any case, I have Empty Nest Syndrome. Happy Trails, birdies!