Stupid animals

There are numerous troubles with pets.  They love you when you feel unlovable. They plop right down next to you, or on top of you when you'd rather just be left alone.   Somehow,  their head seems to end up under your hand, and the next thing you now, the opportunistic attention whores are getting a scalp massage, and you are starting to feel like maybe the world doesn't suck after all.  Stupid animal, ruining a perfectly fine sulk.

As if that wasn't enough, they stalk you. Oh, they'll play it off like they just want to be fed, or hey, what a coincidence that you are sitting on the exact same chair they wanted.  But its a lie.  You feed them, or give up the chair - and they STILL follow you around. Like they like you or something. When you finally do sit down, it's all "Whoops! My head is accidentally under your hand again, I guess you want to pet my head then? Okay!"  Accidental my ass.  You were head-butting my hand until I lifted it up, Cat.  I'm onto you.

Basically, these idiot pets act like you are some sort of amazing, wonderful love-being.  Then you get accustomed to them being all funny, and quirky, and follow-aroundy.  They brain wash you into LIKING IT BACK when they jump on your head, or head-butt your hand,  or groom your ear after you get home.

They save the worst for last though.  After you are fully and totally brainwashed, convinced that annoying little love-beast is necessary for continued daily routine life, accepting their misguided believe in your awesomeness...  the stupid animal goes away.  They leave life behind by getting too old to head butt you,  or too sick to stalk you,  or hit by a car that didn't see them in the street.  And they die.

Then what can you do?  Nothing.  There is no answer to this.  You miss the rotten, fluffy, stupid head butting, quiet companionship.  You pretend it's normal to sit on the couch by yourself with a book, and weep quietly because no one is poking holes in your leg. no one is dropping a soggy tennis ball in your lap, no one looking at you, then at an empty food dish with GREAT MEANING.  You cry, because you think maybe you were an amazing love-being for them after all, but you can't tell that stupid animal "Thank you for teaching me."


In memory of Dixie Diamond, a cat,  and Esther P. Moonshine, a dog.

Adulthood DOES NOT Suck

Things I've been considering lately, that I think suck about current media practices:

• Adulthood doesn't suck, and the glorification of a "carefree youth" is bullshit.  Youth is full of care, and ask any 20 something with college debt what they can get that's free.  They'll laugh their asses off at you.
• Wrinkles, gray hair, and a need for sleep are not bad. 
• Wisdom, yo. What's with the dumbing down of dads and turning them into caricatures of  wisdom? Stop that. It's demeaning, and does nothing to promote positive images of parenthood.  Want fewer single moms?  Stop showing dads as idiots. They aren't.

I know, this is a list. The ideas are not complete, and could use more details and expository text. But, that's all I have time for today, and I'd rather write something than nothing. 

Facts of Life and Death

Cast list:
- Yard bunny
- Cat 1
- Cat 2
- Puppy
- Daughter

Setting:  A suburban yard that boasts dandlions, trees, a picnic table, and a child-designed hammock swing.

Bunny:  "Hey look at that, some new dandelion leaves. Those babies are the best!"
(Bunny hops out of rabbit hole, and begins chomping on dandelion)

Cat 1: "Hey, look at that, a new bunny!  Those babies are the best!"
Cat 2: "Hey, back off! I saw that bunny first!"
(Cat 2 and Cat 1 gang up on yard bunny, preventing escape back to rabbit hole)

Bunny:  Oh SHIT! Oh SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!!!!

Puppy: Oh hey guys! Can I play? Yes! I love this game. I love this game I love this game! Chase is the best!
(Puppy starts chasing cats.)

Cats: Ugh. That puppy. She ruins everything.
(Cats stop chasing, pretend that all along, they were sitting by the picnic table, grooming themselves.  Bunny stops running from cats.)

Puppy:  CHOMP!  (muffled) Hey, cats, I got dis fing you chased. I won? Did I win?

Daughter: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! No! No puppy!! We don't chomp bunnies!!!!

Value Added Parenting

In list format (lists! The lazy way to organize the internet!) these are my assumptions, values, and approaches to parenting.  I'm sharing this, because maybe someday my children will find this blog and want to know WHY.  But probably not.

- Humans start out as savages.  Seriously. Infants are demanding, hungry, uncivilized tyrants who need to be fed on demand, sleep whenever they feel like it, poop themselves and expect to be cleaned, and REQUIRE extreme acts of love and devotion to thrive.  And parents do this because of the cocktail of hormones our brains produce that view the tyrant as the most amazing and wondrous creature in the known universe.  As far as I can tell... it doesn't wear off. My infants are still the most amazing and wondrous creatures, ever. HOWEVER,  as a more experienced human, I also know uncivilized tyrants usually end up dead. So, I teach them general civilization because I'm the parent. Potty training, basic hygeine,  food preparation, saying please and thanks, and why hitting your sibling doesn't end well.

- Kindness, compassion, and listening are IMPORTANT LIFE SKILLS.  This seems to go against most of the cultural programming of modern American life. I don't give a shit if my kids have the highest grades, the fastest times, the newest computer games, the most dance or karate medals, play 4 sports, etc.  I care that my kids know the planet is full of humans, just like them, with hopes, dreams, skills, and abilities.  I want them to know that even if they meet a stupid jerkface, the right thing to do is listen to the opinion, evaluate it against what they know and believe, and engage kindly if possible, or walk away if not.

- Vulnerability is strength in action, not weakness.   To be vulnerable is to say, I am strong enough to share my fears. I am trusting that sharing will make it easier, not harder.  I believe that seeking help is good.

- Failures and consequences are awesome.  Trying new things is fun! Change can be hard, but fear isn't a reason to stop and give up,  fear is a signal to approach it a little differently.  We learn more from failing than we do from success.

- Do your best.  Always do your best. It matters not how another human judges your effort,  but if you have made that effort the best you were capable of - you can be proud.

- Be honest and tell the truth. When you set a precedent for honesty and truth telling combined with habits of compassionate listening - people will listen and trust what you say to them.  Even if they don't want to hear it, honest words spoken compassionately are easier to accept.

- Use your words.  Humans are such complicated beings, with so many amazing abilities, and yet, we can't read each other's minds. (Thanks, God! Appreciate that!!!)  So use words to communicate, to share your thoughts and let the people who love you know what you need.  They won't know if you don't tell.

And that's basically it.

TL; DR version:  Parenting = loving savages enough to teach them how to love.

Family Trees

There's family you grow up with,  and family you give birth to, and if you are lucky  - at some point in your life you realize you have a family that you made.

I have a huge family - related by blood and birth and marriage.  They are a mixed bag of awesome, crazy, obnoxious, and loving.  Some are narcissistic, snobby, uptight.  Some are the very epitome of red-neck trailer trash. It's a very broad spectrum.  Not surprising, I suppose, when the count of first cousins reaches higher than 50 without including in-laws.  It's a big family tree by any measure.  I'm stuck with that family.  I love them, they love me. I'm closer to some of those branches than others, and it's okay.  They are my roots and have helped me to grow strong.

All the same - I'm one of the "strange" fruits on my family tree, and they don't always know what to do with me.  I've bucked the traditions of my upbringing in a conservative church.  I don't agree with or conform to the expectations of my youth.  I choose my own path.  It causes some consternation in my close knit family. I don't rub their faces in my life choices, nor do I let their concerns impede what I know is right for me. I will love them where they are.  They try to do the same for me, as best as they are able.  I will love and support their endeavors to the best of my abilities, even when it requires a love buffer.

And then there's my other family - the dear people in the world who have.... I don't even know the verb I want here.  Helped. Held. Hugged. Loved. Waited. Stood near.  These are the people who have seen my worst and best moments. They are not blood relations, nor people I've known since birth - but they are a group of people who I can only think of as soul siblings - like the spirits that inhabit our bodies just KNOW each other, without words. They offer a sense of resonance and completion whether we are together or distant.  Their presence in the world enriches and strengthens my life.  Sometimes the connection is evident on a first meeting - like love at first site without all that romantic nonsense added by movies.

These people are also my family, and often closer than family.  They are the people who let me be as I am in the world, and they are glorious.  It's like having a forest of family trees.

A Rose by any name

Lately, I've been giving a lot of thought to names.  Specifically, surnames.  Specifically because I'm getting married later in the year.

So, surnames.  Preliminary research says they are based on:

• patronymics - you are the son of John, or daughter of John, or you take the last name your father had. 
• profession - you are a Smith, or a Cooper, or Farmer, or a King
• place - Fairfield, a pretty pasture, or Harrington, the town you came from.
• personality - a trait that describes the person, Quick, Strong, Tall, Blackbeard

Surnames were created to distinguish one Mary from another Mary, one John from another John. Then they were used to demonstrate family connections.  Then make new family connections.  In English traditions, sons kept the family name. Daughters were given away by fathers, and took the name of the husband's family.  A father passed on the care and responsibility of his daughter for another man to assume.

So, names... Juliet told Romeo that a rose by any name would smell as sweet, and he should stop being a Montague so she could love him without family politics. I suspect Shakespeare was a feminist, to tell a man to give up his name.  

I didn't struggle the first time I left a name behind... I ditched my middle name. It was seldom used except in highly formal occasions.  I wanted to keep my family name, and take my husband's family name.  So I did by moving my maiden name to my middle name, and adding a new last name. And I was married. And I had children.  And time passed and crap happened. And I was divorced.  And I kept the name I married into to maintain the connection of a family name to my children, as though the connection of body and blood and birth and love were not a strong enough bond in themselves.

And now what?  Now I am looking at the reality of a name that no longer fits me. I am no longer married to the man whose name I have. I love another man, whose name I respect, but does not feel like my name.  I am come to a time and place where I want my name to be my own, to reflect my own agency and the authority of my self.  I belong to me, not to my father, not to a husband, not to my children.  And yet, I will belong to them through the ties of body and blood.   But I want my name to be mine. To be me. The song of myself, as Walt Whitman put it. 

So what is in my name?  Not a patronymic. While I love my father, I am equally my mother's daughter. And where is her name in me?   My family shaped the person I am, in ways both obvious and silent. I carry them with me everywhere, and that is enough. Perhaps a profession?  Doubtful. Which profession or task names me best? I've been too many things, have too many interests, and don't believe that my work should be the definition of whole self.   Place?  I use it as my twitter handle, @minn_finn. My places of origin, both present and ancestral.  It suffices.  Which leaves personality.

In an attempt to get a handle on my own personality, I asked friends who've known me for longer than 6 months to share a word that describes me to them.  The results were uplifting.  It's not why I asked, but the responses told me that the values I hold and hope to make evident through action are indeed visible. Loving. Gracious. Awesome. Kind. There. Caring. Beautiful. Aunt. Genuine, just to list a few.  It was a long list, but in the end - inconclusive. There was no defining theme of personality to draw a name from. 

So the question remains - what's in a name when a rose by any name would smell as sweet?   What I can say is this; I want to acknowledge my heritage, to have my name remind me of what I value, or who I am.  It may be a name like "Kindness," even if that sounds like a Hippy name.  Or it may be a name like Hauskanainen,  meaning "Funny Woman" in Finnish.  Or perhaps Sulo which means grace, or Nokella, meaning wise, smart, or sharp.  Or maybe just Nainen, woman.

I will keep considering, because I feel as though I have taken a sufficient number of names already in my life, and the next one I assume, I have no intention of giving away again. 

Stuff and Things

This is just a list. Because lists are the lazy way to make random things seem organized.

1. Confession:  I hate this winter. It's too cold, too long, and too annoying.   
2. Confession:  I can't be bothered to know the temperature.  If it's not spring, I don't care to know what the thermometer says.
3. Randomly: I'm learning there are some relationships that aren't ever really over, the feelings are still going to be there, acknowledged or not. 
4. I like my independence, and traveling solo.  Not to say I don't love trips with family and friends too... but a significant part of me needs the adventures of alone time. 
5. Re-discovery:  http://feministbecause.tumblr.com/  I used to follow this, and found it again from a random tweet.  It's good. 
6. Letter writing was hard. It's getting easier.  Am about 1/3 of the way to my goal of 63 letters. 

Kindness and words and poison

I read this post today, on Wil Wheaton's blog.
https://wilwheaton.net/2014/01/dark-days-bright-days/
It's about depression, and how it lies.  (See also http://thebloggess.com/  and http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/  for other bloggers who tell the truth about the lies of depression)

This is the line that struck me:
 I put a drop of poison into myself.

And it made me wish this poem:

I wish for a fountain,
A deep well, of the best words.
Where a soul poisoned by ugly sounds like
idiot  asshole  nigger  fag  retard  stupid 
could find healing by drinking the words
beautiful wondrous brilliant unique human spirit
You are needed. Be here.  Be at peace.  You are loved.



We speak so many awful things to each other,  and to ourselves.  It should be even easier to say the beautiful things to each other.  That we love. That we admire. That we are grateful for the funny creative idiotic things that happen in our lives with these other humans on the planet.

I don't really have a point with this post except to say you are a bright sparkle in the world.  Be kind to yourself.

The BEST kids

I try really hard to not brag about my kids.  Not because they aren't worth bragging about, but because there's more to me than just being a mom and because I don't want them to think they are the center of the universe. But today,  I am going to brag about my kids.  Because I can and because only like 4 people read this blog and I'm one of them.

Today, my kids went to the Children's museum, because they had the day off school.  They each brought some of their own money along, so they could get candy or a toy when they were there.  They didn't spend it all on themselves.  P donated one of her two dollars to the museum fund for low-income families to attend, because "every kid should have this kind of fun, Mom"  R bought candy, but gave half of it to a homeless veteran they met on the street on the way back to the parking garage because "It's super cold today, and he probably doesn't get to have chocolate very often."   I LOVE those brilliant, generous hearts!

Tonight,  R was wondering about being a manly man. He has decided he's going to be a manly man who plays silly pranks.  Except, he's not going to do that to his kids, only when they are grown up and will know he's teasing. I don't know why that struck me as so sweet and funny, possibly because "manly" and "prankster" do not often combine with the image of a man tenderly concerned about not hurting his children's feelings.

And bedtime... I used to have a love / hate thing about bedtime.  The ages P & R are at now... I just love bedtime.  It's when we have conversation about the day, and my amazing little (BIG) children tell me that I'm the best mom in the history of mommies. I got to let them know that the reason I'm the best mommy is because I came from a long history of great mommies,  and that someday - they will get to be the best mommy and best daddy on the planet.  I try to be the best mommy for them, because that's what best kids deserve.    And they do.  And I will keep trying.

Bedtime, I hate you. Bedtime, I love you.

This is what it's like at night:
"In 5 minutes, you need to be upstairs, getting jammies and brushing your teeth."
"Okay - upstairs!"
"Hey, turn that off now. It's time for jammies and teeth."

The cajoling plea "Oh, 2 more minutes? I'm almost done with this level! Please?"
"No. Turn it off"

The feet go slowly up the stairs, and enter the bedroom.

Random bickering. Random "No!" shouted at a sibling.  Sound of toys.

"Hey, jammies or teeth brushing! No toys!"

The baffled silence of kids wondering how their mom knows they aren't getting jammies on.

They have their 5 minute window, and then I head upstairs, or the teeth brushing never happens.

Daughter is usually brushing her teeth,  not yet in jammies.  Son is usually 1/2 way in his jammies, but still gets stuck in his shirt with all the gawky awkwardness of his age.

They argue over who gets to spit in the sink first.  They laugh at spit bubbles.  They count loose or missing teeth, and ask when they first got teeth.   Delaying tactics, but also the routines of childhood, marking milestones in their lives.  This is the sign that the bickering is done, and the teasing, and the "No!"  The sign that the part of bedtime I hate is done.

They've been asking for the same stories these days - a strange milestone for me, accustomed to daughters love of chapter books when son was bored by stories that didn't have pictures.  And now they both read for fun, and they both pick the same book so they can have 2 chapters every night and find out the story faster.  One chapter on son's bed.  One chapter on daughter's.

I tuck them in.  I turn off the light.  I sing a song for both of them - usually it's a hymn, though sometimes it is just a lullabye.  Then I sing them each their own song - sometimes one they choose, sometimes one I choose,  sometimes a silly song I make up on the spot as a reward for the rare night when there is no dawdling in getting to bed.  Then... oh then - the part of bedtime I love the most. The 5 quiet minutes of any kind of questions, or talk, or worry, or love, or dream they want to share with me while I snuggle with them in the safe place where they sleep.   These moments - I would not trade them for anything else.  This time is when I truly get to know my children,  when I can offer reassurance about their fears, or answer their hardest questions,  and they feel safe enough to ask.  Bedtime, I love you.

And then... it's a last hug, and a last kiss, and a last little caress of their cheek, and I have to wish them good sleep and leave, when my heart's wish might be to just stay there, and watch them slumber, and love them as big as the universe can hold.

Girls *should* ask

- because asking for what you want is okay.
- because asking for a date is about as terrifying as asking for a raise
- because asking means speaking up.
- because using your voice is the best.
- because waiting for something to come to you is not the way to get what you want
- because sometimes, the hero doesn't have a horse

I've been done with that whole "wait for what you want, it will come to you" crap for a very long time.  I hate that cultural programming for girls, who then turn into women who expect that if they are good enough, or nice enough, everything they ever dreamed of will be theirs.

Nope. Sorry nice girls, sorry nice women.  If you know the dreams you have - it's totally fine to go out adventuring on your own to seek it.  The more you stay, waiting - the easier it is to stay waiting.
Go find your dream. Chase it. You can be nice on your adventures, but you have my permission to kick people in the shins if they get in your way.

A mom's perogative

I'm going to brag on my kids.  You've been warned, and can stop reading now if parental love-fests are not your thing. I love the ages of my kids right now. I'm in a sweet spot of parenting, and I am going to reflect and savor this time as long as possible.  I'm learning it will pass far to quickly.

Darling is 9, and just started 4th grade.  She has a wickedly sophisticated sense of humor, with sarcasm and wordplay taking center stage.  I've had to start asking her if she's joking me, because it SEEMS like a joke, but I'm still not used to such mature humor coming from this child of my body.  She is my gardening buddy, exclaiming with excitement every time she finds another vegetable ripening on the plant or vine. The enthusiasm she has for growing our own food makes me enjoy the work too.  That's a remarkable skill, given how much I hate weeding.  She loves jamming to pop music, some of which I adore right along with her, and some of which leaves me cringing. (1D, really?)  I hope that I never forget the joy singing "Royals" by Lorde and "Brave" by Sara Bareilles at the top of our lungs together.  She's more aware of boys, and I try to not laugh at some of the crushes she'll admit to me.  I'd rather have open discussions about what she's interested in - even if it's boys.  It's a true thing that parenting teenagers starts with parenting 9 year olds.   She is my thinker, who needs time to herself in order to process events. My prayer for her is that she continues to practice speaking up for her needs, even if what she needs means someone else might be sad.  Darling, you can't always please everyone, but you will always please me, just by being in the world.

Hugbug will be 7 in a matter of days now.  He routinely surprises me with his vocabulary, and I don't know why I'm surprised because his sister did (and does) the same. Recent gems include taunting a kid at the camp playground with "Can you even say antidisestablismentarianism?",  schooling me on the meaning of "frenemy," explaining that "buffoon" is an insult, and telling me what's happening in the "epic novel" that he's reading.   He believes in Santa, even though I don't do Santa as a parent, and have told him it's just a story.  He's still firmly convinced I'm mistaken and Santa is REAL.  He opens doors for ladies. He has an entourage of guys that he has to hug in order to fall asleep. He wants to be a prince when he grows up.  Which means he'll have to marry a princess, but isn't sure she'll be willing to travel so very far to meet him because long trips are boring.    This boy... he is the best boy.   My prayer for him is that he can ignore the stupid cultural programming that says boys aren't sensitive, or loving, or demonstrative,  and will still be the sweet, kind, funny, imaginative guy he is now. Hugbug, keep your loving heart just the way it is. 

That is an imperfect description of my babies - who are no longer babies, but turning into interesting, charming, wonderful people.  I'm so lucky to be their mom. 

The cultural poison of fear

In his inaugural address, FDR famously said "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."  Who hasn't heard that quote before?  Any student of history should be familiar with it.  It is familiar, it is welcome, it feels full of bravery and courage.  FDR - I miss you and your wife Eleanor.  You had a way of making Americans feel competent and capable of overcoming the challenges looming in front of them.
Where are you now?  Or other public leaders capable of inspiring that kind of tenacity, perseverance, and discipline?  I don't know.

What I know is that the people doing the talking on media these days are all shouting at each other. They blame terrorists.  They blame immigrants.  They blame Muslims. They blame blacks. They blame the Republicans, the Democrats, the conservatives, the liberals.  Everyone is an enemy with a hidden agenda that Americans should be afraid of.  It creates drama, attention, ratings, money.  It creates a culture of fear and victimization in a country with a history of resilience.   We are told to fear the rich who can buy votes, and control the flow of money.  We are told the fear the government, because they are always watching us, even without our knowledge.  Be afraid! Be very afraid! Lock yourselves in your homes where you will always be safe and cared for!

No.  The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.

Stop being afraid.  Stop listening to the lies about the "Others" - the people who aren't like you.  Confront the FEAR,  not the purported cause of the fear.   Don't say to yourself  "That black man is scary!"  Ask yourself instead  "Why am I scared of a black man?"    Maybe he's just as scared of you.

Fear controls us.  Fear makes it difficult to believe that good things can help to change the world we are in.  Fear makes us act like selfish assholes.

Here is my challenge to you... be brave in facing fear. Practice the true courage of kindness.  Start encouraging each other to reach out with a hand, instead of fist.   Do this in your home first.  Then your town, then your state, then your world. The effect you have may surprise you, and is even more powerful than that lying bastard fear.

Story telling

I've been getting back into the habit of writing. What I am learning about myself is that it's easiest for me to write short little vignettes,  and poetry, and essays.  Story arcs? Character development?
EEP! Freaks me out.  

So that's what I will be trying next - to see if I can develop these vignettes I've been writing slowly into something that meshes as a cohesive whole.  Or at least an entertaining collection of oddities.

After that- I'll start considering how to publish.  Depending on the stories... maybe I'll borrow someone  else's name.  

Regardless, I'll keep you posted.

Writers write.   I need to make a sign for that and post it in my bedroom.

The importance of daddies - part 2

Another fact of my life in the recent past is that I'm a divorced parent.  My ex and I co-parent much better than we ever did while married.   Part of the reason for that is the Bill of Rights for Children in a Divorce that a friend who is a trained marriage and family therapist shared with me, and I am sharing again here:

Bill of Rights for Children of Divorce

• I have the right to love and be loved by both of my parents, without guilt, pressure, disapproval or rejection.
  
• I have the right to be protected from my parents' anger.
  
• I have the right to be kept out of the middle of my parents' conflict, including the right not to pick sides, carry messages, or hear complaints about the other parent.
  
• I have the right to have a regular daily and weekly routine, one that is not filled with unpredictable disruptions, chaos, or unpleasant surprises.
  
• I have the right to not have to choose between my parents. It is my right to not be expected to choose with whom I will live. Having to make this kind of choice will always hurt someone, and therefore, me. I have this right even when I am a teenager. I CAN NEVER CHOOSE BETWEEN MY PARENTS.
  
• I have the right not to be responsible for the emotional needs of my parents.
  
• I have the right to know well in advance about any major changes that will affect my life.
  
• I have the right to reasonable financial support from my parents.
  
• I have the right to appropriately express my feelings to my parents and expect that they will listen to me.
  
• I have the right to not be expected to make adult decisions. I have the right to remain a child and not replace a parent in my duties, or to act as an adult companion, personal friend or comforter to my parents.
  
• I have the right to like and love as many people (such as stepparents and relatives) as I want to without guilt and without being made to feel disloyal.
  
• I have the right to a life as close as possible to what I would have had if my parents had stayed married to each other.

The hard realization I had when saying goodbye to my own dad is that can't give my own children that example of a life long love between parents.  It hurts my heart knowing I could not fix my marriage.  Their father wasn't willing to work on it.  He is not a bad man.  He loves his children dearly.  He and I both agreed that our children have to come first, and our disputes with each other have no bearing on the relationship our children have with us as individuals.

It's a compromise where the only people who win are the two kids we brought into the world.  They get equal time with both of us.  I have to miss them. He has to miss them.  But they know we will always be available, we are both capable of caring for them, and we will do our best to keep life on an even keel for them.   

So, no my children won't hear their dad saying he loves me, nor me saying I love him.  They won't know what a lifelong marriage between their parents looks like or how that relationship changes over time.  What I can give them is a chance to have a strong relationship with their own dad, to come to know him as an imperfect human who will always try to do his best for them.   They need that in the world.   As much as I miss them when they aren't with me, I also know they need to have that time.   Daddies are important. I am glad that the circumstances of my divorce didn't mean my kids lost their dad.

--------
Follow on thoughts:
I didn't share this to make me sound all awesome.  I am not.  It is really hard to co-parent effectively when you are hurting and sad and outraged about the way life turned out.   Where I am now is completely different then where I was when I started out co-parenting.   

I am an imperfect human,  but I am trying to do my best at being a grown-up for my children, and giving them the time they need to just be kids.   I wish the Bill of Rights for Children in a Divorce was required reading for all parents who are separating.  I wish there were more stories of successful co-parenting out there in the world.  I will just do my best to live one of those stories.

Cat, the idiot asshole

So, I have this cat I adopted, because she needed a home.  I do that, because I can't help it.  This particular cat has an actual name, but in my head, I always call her "The Idiot Asshole"

This poem is dedicated to her.

You are so pretty,  so fluffy, so nice from afar.
You purr very nicely. You sound like a car.
You get by on looks, and not on your soul.
for Fluffy White Kitty - you are an asshole.

You are stupid, you often miss when you pee.
You ask for more food when the food's plain to see.
You hiss at anything that walks by
Oh Fluffy White Kitty, you're an asshole. Why?

Why do you hiss when being ignored?
Why do you bite when you're being adored?
Why are you such a bitch of a cat?
Fluffy White Kitty, an asshole. You're that.

The importance of daddies

I mentioned earlier this month that my father had passed away.  I have accepted this fact, and I continue to grieve his absence in the world. I try to do it quietly for the reasons that loss of a loved one is personal, I'm usually private about my own feelings, and I am not good at accepting sympathy.  It's just going to be hard and strange and weird. I know this. I don't want to inflict it on other people.    It just takes time to adapt to the reality that your daddy isn't available any more.

My dad was 65. In this era of modern medicine, that is not very old.  People have said "Oh, that's so young!" and it is. And too soon.  And not fair.  What they don't know is all of the history that I know about my dad.  That he had to help support his younger siblings because his own father was an abusive alcoholic.  That he spent some critical developmental years with poor nutrition.  That he served as an artillery gunner in Vietnam, exposed to war, death, chemicals and fear at an age when most young people are considering colleges and careers. He smoked to stay calm.  He worked as a welder when he came back.  He used his body entirely up in order to provide for the family he made with my mom.  

He was sometimes cranky, short tempered, easily annoyed when he thought his kids should already know how to do something,  prone to seeing what WASN'T finished instead of seeing the things already complete. He was not quick to praise.  He was gruff.  But he always loved us, and we always knew it.  He had a ridiculously soft spot for animals, fast cars, and songs from the 50's & 60's - especially Buddy Holly, Elvis, and the Everly Brothers.  He always sang along, off key, and loudly,  and he didn't care.  I loved that. I miss that.

So I am missing my dad.  But I would not wish him back.  He retired from mining and welding after 30 years.  He had heart disease, high blood pressure, kidney failure, intestinal polyps and ulcers,  and COPD.  He'd had 3 heart attacks, 5 stents, a triple bypass, a valve replacement, and a ridiculous number of blood transfusions.  He was tired all the time.  He did everything he was able to do to keep his home running, until the only things he could do were go to get the mail, and wash the breakfast dishes, and that was enough in day.  He was too young to die,  but his body was too old to keep living.

My dad's death certificate says that he died of respiratory failure, which is true.  He just got too weak to keep breathing on his own.  What it doesn't say is that he fought for a month to get better, to stay alive, to keep trying to be there for my mom.  He loved her and didn't want her to have to miss him.  "I love you, Sarah. I'm so sorry."  was the last thing he could say to her.   It is a wonderful, heartbreaking thing to see that kind of love between parents - and feels like a rare and precious thing to me that I could witness that moment.

I had to say goodbye to my daddy this year. It is hard. It is horrible. It was time.   I don't want him to come back, because I love him.  I don't want to ever forget all of the things I learned from him about life, and what love looks like when you never learned how to show love as a dad.   I think the most important one was this - love is an action verb, and if you use up your whole life in that action - it was a damn good life.

Ladies don't cuss

I didn't know this about myself until recently, but I'm a pretty vehement feminist.   The surest way to piss me off is to tell me I can't do something because I'm a girl, or to try to limit my actions because of being "too pretty to _____."

It's hard to admit to being a feminist, there seems to be some backlash against the word,  like wanting to be treated as an important contributor to a healthy society is somehow equal to being a man-hating lunatic.  Nope. I'm a feminist because, guess what? I like men.

I'm a feminist because I'm female.  It means I don't believe either gender is superior. I don't want to have more because historically women have been treated as less.  Equality might feel like "less" if you are used to having more than your share - but accepting less also means you open the door to MORE.

What if you could just be yourself?  What if boys could wear sparkly nailpolish because they thought it was fun, and not get teased because of it.  What if men could say "I'm tired and I just feel a little sad" to their guy friends and get hugged instead of shut down?  What if women could say "I need more money because the skills and talents I bring to my job are worth more" without being labelled a greedy bitch?

I believe men and women should have the chance to be individuals who offer their strengths, talents, and weaknesses to make our world better.   Clearly, a tall person will be better suited to getting things off the top of the refrigerator than a short person. The person who isn't freaked out by spiders should be the one to escort said spiders out of the house.

I want autonomy. I want this for myself.  I want this for my daughter.  I want this for my son.  Equality to be an authentic, honest, SELF.   I want to move away from the unspoken expectations and labels of what "being a good man" or "being a good woman" is,  and make and live in a world that places more emphasis on  being a good human.

---
All of these thoughts came about from a recent conversation I had with a friend about  ladies and gentlemen vs. woman and men  vs. guys and girls

The summary of that discussion:
Ladies and gentlemen dress up and have very formal, polite manners.
Women and men are less dressy, and less formal and might be louder
Guys and girls are younger. Guys could apply to a mixed gender crowd. When asked how they behave - the description used was "Rowdy boys in college."  Boys.  Not girls.
The point being - ladies, women, and girls are not rowdy or loud.  Ladies don't cuss.  Women are not formal.  Girls are not loud.   Those were the unspoken, ingrained cultural expectations.

So fuck that.  I am a feminist. I will cuss.  I will still be a lady when the situation calls for it, but I reserve the right to speak up, to be loud.  To be noisy.  To be called names because I refuse to stick to some ridiculous cultural "norm" that makes no sense and in fact limits the contributions I can make and the recognition that should come with it.

Ladies can cuss. They don't have to, but let silence be your CHOICE, not your default.

Good Sunday

Today, my hashtag for Twitter was #GoodSunday.  Why?  Because I have been feeling poor lately.  I am trying to save money for an addition to my house, as well as decrease my debt load, and start saving for a replacement vehicle.   There is no extra money in the budget, and yet - things still break, the kids needs shoes, etc, ad nauseum.   Also known as - wow, I'd love to win the lottery even if I don't ever play.

I know when I feel broken financially, counting my blessings is the one thing that gets me to re-focus from the stress of money.   Counting things like children who express love for each other,  a visit from my niece and her friend, raised bed garden planters being built by someone who loves me,  pumpkin pie, sunshine, knitting.   They are simple things.  They are worthwhile ways of spending the time I have been given.  Time it turns out, is an even more precious commodity than money.

 I may never be wealthy according to my bank account,  but I know that my life is rich with love and shared experiences. I value and treasure that.  And so - Good Sunday.

There once was a man named Michael Finnegan....

The title references a song that can repeat forever,  thanks to that handy little rhyming phrase "Begin again"
So, beginning again with this blog that should lead to a helpful habit of writing, even when it is hard. Welcome back whoever has missed me.

To bring you up to speed on the big things that have happened since last year:

• My daughter is attending a charter Montessori school.  She loves it. She loves learning. She's a whole new kid in terms of confidence and ability in being able to discuss and address a problem on her own. Changing schools - totally the RIGHT MOVE.
• Son is in kindergarten. He is a natural at school, and I have very few academic concerns for him.  He's reading at a second grade level, started karate this fall, and my only real worry is that he's ridiculously outgoing and affectionate.  Dude doesn't understand the concept of stranger danger.
• Still dating the great guy, probably will do that forever.
• My dad passed away in early April of this year.  That's a post (or more than one) all on it's own.
• I'm working on a novel.  It's in very rough form right now, and needs a lot of attention that I haven't given it lately.

Things I want to write more about here:

• Vegetable gardens, dirt, and worms.
• Cats. (One of mine is an idiot)
• Schools and standardized testing (which is dumb, IMO)
• Bragging about my kids (and sometimes complaining, because parenting is both)
• Other stuff that I think about.
• Dancing.