Find Jennifer Cowie King on Medium

Thank you for stopping by the Motherscribe Blog, which was active from 2007-2014. You can find my writing on the Huffington Post here, as well as my current writing on Medium here. 

	Tweet

The Motherscribe Interview Series: feminism, aging, parenting, identity and sex...

(NOTE: THIS INTERVIEW SERIES WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN 2009. There were more than 25 interviews with women.)

My first interview is with Stephanie, who lives in Washington State. She is 40 years old, married, with two children. She is a teacher. She has a blog called Bad Mom.

What does the word feminist mean to you? Has the meaning changed over time? To me, it means believing women are capable of doing whatever enters their imaginations and should be allowed to pursue their dreams. The meaning hasn’t changed to me.

Do you consider yourself a feminist? I do.

Would others consider you a feminist? I hope so.

If you are a feminist, do you feel comfortable owning that title in your everyday life? Sure.

What are some images that come to mind when you think of the women’s movement? I think of women who picketed for the vote, went to work in factories, and burned their bras.

What was the greatest gift of the women’s movement? I think it was a gift that the federal government recognized equal rights for women as a significant issue.

What was the greatest failure of the women’s movement? I consider it a failure that some women discount the opinions and choices of those who choose a domestic role.

Did your mother work outside the home? Yes.

How did that affect you growing up? I was a latchkey kid and often cared for myself & little sister until dinnertime; it made me feel capable and trustworthy and strong.

What impression did that leave with you about women working outside the home? I didn’t know anyone whose mother didn’t work outside the home, so it seemed a normal part of life. I felt like it made sense for the family’s well-being, and it required all of us to have more of a role in housekeeping.

Did your father respect your mother? Absolutely.

Did your mother respect your father? Definitely.

Who were your earliest female role models other than your mother? My maternal grandmother, teachers, older cousins.

What did you dream of being when you were a child? A teacher.

What do you yearn for? I would love to be able to travel more – around my state, the country, the world.

Was getting married/partnered a conscious goal or focus early on in your adulthood? Not early, necessarily.

Is there an event(s) that affected you in childhood/adolescence that impacted your identity in a positive or negative way? Living next door to my maternal grandparents most of my childhood positively linked my identity with that side of my family.

Have you ever dieted? In high school, briefly.

Are you happy and/or comfortable with your weight? Yes

Would you describe yourself as someone with “body issues?” If so, when do you remember this starting? What do you attribute it to? I would not describe myself as having body issues; I’ve always felt sad for people who constantly worry about their bodies.

How do you feel about the sexualizing of young women in our society? Sexualizing girls & young women is distressing to me – I feel the same about sexualizing boys & young men, too. They should enjoy innocent pleasures of childhood much longer.

What do you wish your mother had told you about marriage, life, anything…that you didn’t hear from her? I wish my mom would have talked about her first marriage, to my birth father – I have no idea how they met, what he was like, how he left.

What role did your father play in your childhood? My birth father was gone after I turned 4 – he wrote a couple of times when I was a teenager but I’ve not seen him since; the dad I grew up with married my mom just before my 6th birthday and immediately adopted me.

What was your relationship like with your father? Close – though he was strict, I knew he always had my best interests at heart and became increasingly easier to talk with as I got older.

How do you feel about aging? I got a little panicky as I approached 40, and still feel wistful about each passing year, but generally I’m cool with it; there is no sense in worrying – it happens if I want to be alive.

How do you feel about plastic surgery? Ugh. For me, I’m not interested for vanity’s sake.

Did your mother or another caretaker talk to you about sex and what to expect? Not really; I was directed to a set of books and told to ask questions if I needed to.

How was your first sexual experience? Quick and without much discussion; not horrible but not as deeply romantic as I had hoped.

Is marriage liberating or inhibiting sexually? Oh liberating.

What makes you feel sexy? Fancy underwear, listening to certain music, sumptuous food & drink, the way someone looks at me.

Do you have the energy/desire for sex at the end of the day? Usually.

What turns you on? Music, food & drink, my man working, Edward Norton/Mark Wahlberg…

What would make your sex life better? I can’t imagine.

Why did you decide to be a stay-at-home mom? Before my oldest child was born, I decided to stay home until my kids were established in school because I wanted to get to know them well; I wanted to be their first teacher and expose them to as much culture as I could.

Do you consider it a job? Do you feel that you are valued? I definitely considered being a SAHM a job. I felt valued by my family & close friends; I ran into some people who thought I was “wasting” my potential.

Do you feel supported by your partner? Definitely.

Do you feel supported by other women? Most of the time.

What do you love about being a SAHM? I thoroughly loved watching my kids living & learning; I also loved creating my own schedule everyday.

Is there a dark side of being a SAHM? Sure – wanting/needing time alone in the middle of the day.

What was your career before you had children? Teacher .

Has it been hard to let go of that identity? Or you still identify with that role? It was hard to let go of my identity as a professional teacher, but I could still see myself as a teacher for my own kids.

If you had a choice to return to work, would you? I did.

What do you love about being a working mom? I love my job – I feel I do it well and make a difference in the lives of other people’s children; I think I’m a positive example to my own children in this role.

What are the challenges of being a working mom? Definitely balancing work time & family time – trying to take care of my job responsibilities and still have time to be with my husband & kids and do the things we want to do together.

If you had a choice to be at home with your children, would you? I do have a choice – I was home with them for 7 years.

Was the decision an economic one (e.g., your family requires two incomes)? No.

Do you beat yourself up for not spending enough time with your kids? I feel slightly stressed when I’m still in my classroom as my kids are getting home from school, but I don’t beat myself up.

Do you feel supported by your partner? Yes.

Do you feel supported by other women? Yes.

Do you feel valued in your workplace? Definitely.

Do you feel valued at home? Absolutely.

Do you believe a happy, fulfilled mom is a better mom whether her choice is to work outside the home or to stay at home with her children? Yes, certainly – happy & fulfilled makes for a better mom, and a better example to her children.

How old are your children? 10 & 8

What do you want to do differently with your children than what you received from your parents? I want to be more open with our conversations, and I want to let them make more choices on their own – even the consequences are painful (though not harmful).

What would you like to carry on that your parents established with you? The importance of staying in touch with family.

How has having children changed the relationship with your partner? We had not realized some key differences we had in child-rearing philosophies, but that has made us better communicators.

Do you have dates with your partner? Oh yes.

Do you have personal “ME” time scheduled every week/every day? Definitely.

How do you combat stress? Writing, reading alone in my room, taking a bath.

Do you get out regularly with girlfriends? Yes.

Has it been challenging to retain a separate sense of self from your role as mother & wife? Challenging, yes.

What do you do to facilitate that? Does your partner help make that happen? I usually need to be a mother in certain places and a wife in others – essentially, no hanky panky in places where the children are/have been/might be (hanky panky does not include PG kissing & groping). My man helps, yes.

Do you help create personal space for your partner? Yes.

Does your partner share in household tasks? Yes.

How did you think your life would be when you got married? How do you feel now? I thought our house would be neater and mealtimes would be easier and neither of those things is true, but I feel like what we have is just right.

Do you see evidence of “The Mommy Wars” in your everyday life? Not really – occasionally at my kids’ school or a PTA function, I’ll run into SAHMs who clearly think I’m foolish for working outside the home.

Are you happy and/or fulfilled with your life? Why? I am happy and feel generally fulfilled (I would like to travel more). I am surrounded by family, friends, & coworkers who are loving and supportive; I am comfortable with my lifestyle and love my job.

Can women do it all? They can, but it might make them miserable or resentful. I hope we choose to seek – and accept – help & support.

Thank you, Stephanie.

**************
Comments are closed for The Motherscribe Interviews. For more about Stephanie, please find her on Bad Mom.

	Tweet

The unfurling of spring

You sowed your seeds long ago... yet each spring they bloom again. Take pleasure in the new growth, and be open to change.

You are never given just one chance. Do not give up if what you have planted doesn't take root. Often another seed from someone else's garden will drop in and blossom for years. 

Allow yourself a season of rest, as that is the way of all living things. Recognize when something won't thrive, prune off the dead growth, and let go of the cluster. Embrace each stage, and don't try to plant too many flowers at once. 

Sometimes, the greatest gift is when what flourishes is not something you planted. Trust in sunlight, and water and the miracle of every seed... all will manifest in your garden.
  
JCK

	Tweet

Words are words whether they fly, drip or graze across the page

This space has sat empty with no one to tend the store. A ghost town of words flying by but never grasped, as tumbleweeds - flashes of inspiration quickly lost to the desert wind. 

Taking pen to the crisp, blank page, or keyboard to ...white space yawning into endless possibility. One way, a thousand ways, no one more important than the other. Words are words whether they fly, drip or graze across the page. Fleet of foot, a sense memory of a time when verbiage exploded outward because it couldn't be contained.

Where do they exist now? Behind bolted door? The creak of hinges grown rusty with disuse. 

Cloaking myself in a writer's hood I grasp tightly to that elusive star in the distance, that sweet spot, the pure, unadulterated joy of pushing words out into the ether. 

Hello world. Thanks for waiting for me.

	Tweet

When the Blogger hits the road...

Tomorrow I set out for BlogHer14. One amongst over three thousand other women (and men) who have a passion for writing on a blogging platform, I will soon feel the hum and energy of creative minds at work. Having been to two BlogHer conferences in past years, it is something to experience. This year marks BlogHer's 10th anniversary. Created and launched by three women to be reckoned with: Lisa Stone, Elisa Camahort Page and Jory Des Jardins, BlogHer has become an online platform enabling women's voices to be heard around the world.

When I started blogging in 2007, I was a stay-at-home mom. Often feeling isolated and alone, blogging enabled me to unleash my words upon the page and connect with other women. Some in similar life paths, some vastly different...yet all unique. Their words, and friendships, nourished and inspired me -both as a writer and as a mother.

Today I am on a different path - working full-time, always a mother and a sometimes blogger. I'm hoping to reignite my writing mojo and immerse myself in a community who share the love of sending words out in the world, because they've found nothing like it. Hello...JCK...welcome back!  Because blogging is like riding a bicycle, you never forget...

	Tweet

from hot mama to chilled babe

JCK, do you know where your children are?! Yes, she does. JCK is full of glory. JCK is throwing all caution to the winds and letting her children watch a decadent hour of nonsensical cartoons. Now, in all fairness these cartoons are not nonsensical to JCK's children. But...then, children are children. Why are JCK's children planted in front of a large screen TV, eyes rolling around in their heads and brains on ...maintenance mode? Do, TELL JCK! Oh, what's that...a giggle and murmur from the duo? Hark! A conversation between them. This is the best they have gotten along in eons. Days. Hours. Weeks...

Meanwhile, JCK is stashed between piles of papers on her desk, a fan for her hot flashes and a heater for the recent cool temperatures descending upon S. California. JCK's not complaining. Her Modus operandi for the last 2 - 3 years has been dramatic swings of body temperature from hot mama to chilled babe. JCK can work up a sweat without running or walking or even...moving. Hot flashes, yeah! JCK will pause while you count your blessings.  ....pause, pause, pause...

And, then there are the recent conversations with mes enfants on agING.

Le Garçon : Mom, how old were you when you got married?

JCK: 34

Le Garçon : How old were you when I was born?

JCK: 42

Le Garçon : Wow! Wow! Wow! You were... OLD.

JCK smiling through her pain: Yep.

And then there was yesterday:

La Jeune Fille:There's this girl in Kindergarten. When you picked me up she asked if you were my grandmother. I said, 'No, she just has gray hair.'

JCK: So...she thought I was your grandmother? JCK has a slight COUGH...COUGH! 

La Jeune Fille nodding: Because you had gray hair.

JCK and La Jeune Fille both shaking their heads in WONDER at the naivety of a Kindergartner: tisk...tisk... 

Did JCK mention that Le Garçon spent several hours in the Principal's office last Friday? For drawing penises on figures in a copy of a friend's book...Diary of a Wimpy Kid.  There is nothing wimpy about penises, n'cest pas? Are they BORN penis focused?

Right when JCK was answering the call from the Principal... JCK's boss was emailing her multiple messages because she could not remember what her password was for the conference call. JCK is truly talented at multi-tasking. And, drinking caffeine. Whoosh...there goes another HOT FLASH. Just thinking about the last week has JCK flashing on and off like a traffic light in front of a ...liquor store. Hello, Jack Daniels...

On Monday, JCK's children didn't have school. That evening while JCK's brother and nieces stopped by for a visit, La Jeune Fille made a dramatic exit after dinner and emerged from her room bearing a pan of perfectly baked pumpkin bread that she and Le Garçon had baked ...themselves. In fact, while JCK's Mancake was out trimming a massive olive tree in the front yard, La Jeune Fille and Le Garçon had craftilly followed the directions on a boxed mix of pumpkin bread and baked a perfectly moist, delectable Pièce de résistance...even throwing in a few chocolate chips for inspiration.

Ooh la la...JCK is counting her blessings. She may be called to task on drawings of penises and blunt questions on aging, but JCK... she's a lucky gal. She's got children who question the world, bake on their own, and a MANcake that's calorie free. Red light. GREEN light. All night long...YO! YO! YO!

	Tweet

I didn't imagine this as me...

I'm not sure how I arrived at this juncture in my work life. I find myself dining alone in my hotel reflecting upon a day of work, and how much my life has changed over the last 3 months. I am digesting more, much more, than my dinner. I didn't imagine this as me...

I have entered the world of business travelers -not something I am familiar with. It is odd to dine alone after so many years of marriage and a decade of children. I wonder if I appear as furtive as the other two solo diners here, checking their cell phones, faces illuminated in blue light, assuaged by their electronic dinner partners.

As I savor my glass of wine and dig into my steak, I am conscious of the table across the room. Two men with rounded bellies and loud guffaws, arms casually flung across the back of the booth, leaning in toward two women plump with laughter in girly, exaggerated pitch. Some things change, and some things remain the same. This scene has played out before.

It is pleasurable to sink back into my leather booth, watching the drama unfold outside, as the winter storm whips the trees and flings raindrops at the windows above the bar. It's been a long day and my brain is done. I will go back upstairs, dive into the comforts of a good mattress, and give myself the gift of sleep. Tomorrow I need sharpness and agility of mind to decipher this new job and all that it entails...

	Tweet

to declare one's love... and to receive that love

I sit by myself on this Valentine's night sipping on a glass of wine and eating a dinner of buttered toast with raspberry jam, a full moon bathing the trees in wondrous light out my home office window. I am content, more than content, bordering rapturous...to have this time to myself to write and contemplate the bounty that is my life in the here and now.

Tonight, my husband is engaged in a gift of volunteerism, partaking in a scripted play of Where the Wild Things Are for our church's Parish Camp. I can imagine him fully engaged to the awe and amusement of both children and parents, as he helps in a capacity for love and giving that he excels at. I'm not sure he knows the gift he has given me... to allow me the space to be here at home, alone, thinking of him and rejoicing in who he is after these 18+ years of marriage. If there is anything I have no doubt of, it is that he loves me deeply.

This morning my son, Slade, rushed into our bedroom urging me to come to the dining room post haste. A bit bleary eyed, and with gray hair sticking up in all directions, I made my way there to see a vision of boxes of chocolates and cards at each of our places at the table. My son declared that life is good, and I agreed. What better way to awaken than to find chocolates and a card at my place at the table. My daughter, Eleanor, awakened by the sounds of joy, made her way out into the fray taking in the surprise at her place, reveling in her Daddy...the Bestower of Chocolate.

Valentine's Day has become a Hallmark card, but perhaps it is good to stop and mark a day to declare one's love... and to receive that love. In this time of life when my body is moving to the side of aged over young, I am incredibly blessed to have a husband who takes aging in stride and believes it is a natural passage. It feels especially good on mornings when I look in the mirror and can't see past the shock of my own ripening senescence.

My age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kind —William Shakespeare

I have known many kinds of love in my life. Certainly the love I feel for my children is all consuming and constant, stretching me to depths I couldn't have imagined.  Yet, there is something to be said for the love between long term partners. Love ebbs and flows and grows stagnant, but if you're fortunate, a fresh snowfall can bring a rush of clean water to feed your soul...

*********
Photo credit: Illustration by Maurice Sendak, from his book "Where the Wild Things Are".

	Tweet

...because sometimes this is enough

There are days when I yearn for a bigger house, for more money, for more stuff... for just more. And, there are days like this one, where I am content to be in my tiny corner of our sun porch in which I've carved out my own space - sharpened pencil next to my lap top, the bank of windows to my right where I look out and watch the clouds scuttling across the sky, hinting of much needed rain.

It is that yearning for more that sits like a slavering dog on one shoulder and duels with the other side, the lovely, contented plump Buddha. The viral discontent roils with fierce dissatisfaction, while the blissful contentedness of loving and being loved lies so quietly it can be overlooked.

It is on days such as this, when I hear of the death of the immensely talented Phillip Seymour Hoffman, that I question how I could ever be dissatisfied...because, I am a living, breathing soul still walking the earth, tackled by my son, adored by my daughter and loved by my husband.

But, I am fallible and weak, hungry for what I don't have, battling with an ego and a wanting that rages through me. Someday I hope to have more moments of knowing a peace in my being, taking time to breathe in the gifts that I do have and to let go of the putrid breath of fear that stalks me in the light of day. For today I will step outside the door, tilt my face up to the wind and breathe...because sometimes this is enough.

	Tweet

Now YOU are part of the magic of Santa

"Mommy, tell me the truth...do you fill the stockings and leave out presents?"

I had anticipated its arrival, had managed to skirt around it over Christmas. But, this time, the flight of my ten year old's question flew through still air, in the quiet room, landing... a direct hit... eye to eye, child to mother.

"Do you really want to know?" I asked. My son nodded, eyes pinning mine for a second then looking away. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. And, so I told him, as my mother told me all those years ago, when I asked her. "Yes, sweetie, it IS us."

Emotions washed across his face in quick succession...relief, surprise, and something that looked like...regret.

" Does that make you sad?" I asked softy.

"Maybe...a little. But, I STILL believe in Santa," said my son, King of Magical Thinking.

"We all believe in the magic of Santa," I said.  "Did kids tell you at school?"

He nodded. 

"I remember when a kid told me at school and I came home and asked Ma'Mai if it was true. She told me and I cried." He nodded in sympathy, his big blue eyes round as marbles.

"You mean you bought that keyboard?" he asked.

"Dad did."

"Are we BROKE?! he exclaimed. "Because, that cost A LOT of money!"

Then... not quite ready to acknowledge the inevitability, he said "But, what about the hand print on the letter that Santa left?"

 I whispered... "It's the magic. Think about all of the people for generations who have believed in Santa. Now you are part of the magic of Santa. You are entrusted with this spirit of Santa and must not reveal the magic to other children." A tall order for a child with impulse control, yet I think he is ready.

"Did you know that when Daddy was a little boy, he came downstairs on Christmas morning and there were foot prints coming out of the fireplace?" I asked.

Reflecting aloud he said, "Well, they probably stepped in there and stomped around."

I smiled and raised my eyebrows.

"I STILL believe in Santa. There really IS a Santa," he said with earnestness. And we moved on...

	Tweet

Having a better life is not necessarily... an easier life

On the evening of the 30th, as I was out walking with my daughter and looked up, I saw a shooting star streak across the night sky. It was my first experience, and it was breathtaking. It was an invitation to be present.  It happened so fast, if I hadn't been looking up in that moment...I would have missed it. The New Year has brought hope with it - for a more creatively productive year, prioritizing quality time with family, and a desire to be healthy in mind, body and spirit.

I started walking a few months ago. Inspired by my sister-n-law, who has been walking for a few years, it has become time carved out for me. Whether listening to NPR's The Ted Radio Hour or The Story or This American Life, the stories inspire and energize me, and I traverse for greater distances than I first imagined. With my headphones on, I am in my own insular, intellectually stimulating bubble...without interruptions. For a mother, this IS sacred space. What started as a "should do," has evolved into a "have to do" for my own personal sanity. It has become much more than a routine, but a way of being that is necessary and natural. I love the feel of my muscles connecting- the rhythm and cadence of moving my own body forward ...heel to toe, heel to toe.

I don't remember a time in recent past where I've been so ready to shed the previous year and all the baggage it contained. I still struggle with the concept that life is challenging, that this is normal, and that it will continue to be so for the rest of my life. I have spent much of my life longing for some kind of end to witnessing and feeling pain. The rigors and whip lash effects of daily life have made me yearn for  life to go down a little easier, like butter on toast- often looking ahead or back with a repetitive WHAT IF???...That if my life was more together, it would morph into a steady happiness. But, that kind of life would be mind numbing and ruinous. Wouldn't it?

Having a better life is not necessarily an easier life. More choices, more unknowns - more knowns and more expectations. To use walking as an analogy, I debate within myself whether having a destination is essential to our being. As I learn and grow on this path called life, I believe it is vital to have a destination that leads to another and another. The act of walking has opened me up in ways I had not imagined. And, with it has come the realization that the end goal can be to circle back home...

	Tweet

Thanksgiving, indeed...

When the rain moves into Southern California... the world quiets down. It feels different - slower, meditative, allowing us to bathe in the soft sounds of raindrops. Water as salvation. An opportunity for renewal. When it is over, there will be a covering of celadon and emerald, jade and artichoke...  Shooting sprouts of new grass bursting from seed, and succulents flush with plump leaves.

The sky outside is gray, with the rain pattering on the roof, but I love sitting here at my desk awash in the warm glow from my lamp, a cup of hot tea, and Snowy curled up on the pillow behind my chair. I am taking the time to feel gratitude and see the grace in simple things.

The last few months have been personally challenging. A journey of faith, often shaky, that my period of unemployment will end and the job that I have been waiting for will...present itself. My search for the right job has been a full-time job, and the energy I've expended has been emotionally exhausting, humbling, exhilarating, and now...rewarding.

Last week I accepted a job offer. One that excites me and that will be a wonderful fit for myself and my family. I am grateful going into the holidays knowing that I will have work that offers me both worth and challenge - working for an organization that makes a difference in the world. It feels especially good to be valued, and I am grateful for the days left that I can devote to my home and family, while preparing for work outside my home again.

So, I shall sit here for a few more moments...listening to the patter of the rain overhead, and then I will take on the overwhelming piles... that I've neglected at home. Thanksgiving, indeed...

	Tweet

the early bird gets the...voice change?

My daughter adores, is obsessed, is in love... with The Brady Bunch - the original TV series. We get the DVDs from Netflix and she watches the same episodes over and over. The BOY enjoys them as well. One of their favorite episodes is when Peter's voice is changing. It adds great comic relief to the Brady family, especially fun opportunities for jibes from the siblings.

On Saturday, BOY woke up with a sore throat. Yesterday, his voice started screeching in a higher register. He worked the situation, purposefully sending his voice into orbit mid-sentence. Again and again. The GIRL almost decked him...the screech being similar to nails on a chalk board.

GIRL: Will you STOP THAT!!!!!

BOY: What? 

GIRL: You KNOW "what!!" Your VOICE. You are DOING IT ON PURPOSE!!

BOY: No, GIRL, my voice is changing.

GIRL: NO, IT ISN'T!! You are just copying the BRADY BUNCH!!!

JCK: BOY, honey, you are a little young yet for your voice to be changing.

BOY: Nope, Mom. It's changing all right.

GIRL: Your voice won't change until you are 13 or 14, BOY.

JCK: GIRL is right, BOY. You probably have a few years yet.

BOY: Mom...I'm an early riser.

***********
Photo credit: IMDb.

	Tweet

We can only look deep if we share with another human being our most vulnerable self

I received a birthday note last month from a friend who lives far away. On my birthday, another friend sent her daughter over with a lovely bouquet of wild flowers from her garden. They were such "a happening!" that it's made me realize how rare it is now to receive contact other than through texts, Facebook and emails. Receiving a letter from someone who thought of you and took the time to write to you or having an in-person delivery of flowers... those very acts have become unusual and celebratory.

Picking up the phone and talking for an hour or having face time with someone you love to be with is a gift. You are connecting with each other, you are actively listening, and if you are lucky...you are able to be vulnerable with each other. Social media is different. It's fast, it's funny and yes... there are those touching videos.  There are commonalities, there are a lot of high fives, but vulnerability, eye contact...not so much.

One of the blessings of my being unemployed has been that I have made a conscious effort to connect with friends again. Whether taking a long walk, going to a museum exhibit, sitting over tea, or having dinner together- all of these underscore true connection and the intimacy of friendship. The connections are powerful and fill me up.

It's easy to show off our good side on social media -our funny side, our pretty side, the...HELLO WORLD! ...Here we ARE the PERFECT family at Disneyland!... Those glimpses are a very narrow view of our lives. It is what we choose to show the world. Because, revealing what could really be going on behind those facades can be something quite different. Maybe our marriage is falling apart, we are drinking too much, stuffing down feelings with food, terrified that we are damaging our children with our bad parenting, or feeling alone because no one invites our child over to play because they are deemed "too difficult." Or, if that check doesn't come in soon... we'll lose our house.

We dance as fast as we can in a world that moves faster than we do.  

We can only look deep if we share with another human being our most vulnerable self. It is more intimate, more courageous and can be... absolutely terrifying. Sometimes it is messy and ugly, and we live in fear that we will be rejected. But, there is great beauty in taking that risk and sharing of ourselves. When we share our fears and are vulnerable to another person, we are united - because we are all flawed, we are all fearful and we are all human. Our wounds run deep even if you can't see them. It is not until we sit down, looking into the eyes of another human being, and feel their arms around us, that we know we will get through the challenging times, and that we are not alone.


*******************
Photo Credit: "Between Darkness and Wonder" painting by artist Chuck Gumpert.

	Tweet

What happens when you say good-bye to your breast?

I have no idea what I put in my children's lunch boxes today. I am in a fog, distracted beyond measure. My dearest childhood friend, who has been battling breast cancer for almost two years, will lose a breast today. She will no longer have a piece of her body that belongs to her. What happens when you say good-bye to your breast? I do not know, I have mine.

I called Nina yesterday. I wanted to hear her voice, and for her to feel my love. I wanted to offer strength for this journey that she is on; one that I have no experience with. She started the conversation with how busy she was. What keeps you busy the day before your breast is cut off? Paper work. Paper work for the insurance,  prepping meals for herself that will be easy to warm up. Fear?

Don't worry about me, she said. I'll be all right. You don't need to reassure me, I said. You don't have to be strong for me. The absurdity of her natural impulse to placate me...

Draw strength from us - so many who love you, I said. I wanted to say more...how much she is treasured, that she is a warrior woman beyond reason. But, I didn't. I wish I had. What do you say to someone who is going to have her breast sliced off? That it will be all right? After a few minutes she broke down...I'm just trying to keep it all together, she said. I can imagine...I said. But, I can't...

Every day I sling my two breasts into a bra and go on about my business. Occasionally I admire my breasts. I like them. I always have. I remember the wonder when they began to grow, the first time they were touched by another person, and breast feeding my daughter with them. When my children hug me, they like to linger there...faces tucked into the softness they can feel through my clothes.

What's it like to have huge breasts? my son asked the other day. Everything is relative to a 9 year old boy...
I don't know. It feels nice, I guess, I said...skirting the issue.
But, what's it feel like? he asked again. With them just...sticking out?
They're just part of me, I said. I've had them for a long time.

My friend has resisted having her breast removed. She's fought hard to save it. Pure foods, supplements, chemo, radiation, and additional treatment in the Bahamas. Everywhere she goes she makes friends, and embraces adventure. Because, she is who she is - fun loving and lively, small, with a quick smile and rollicking laugh. A huge heart. I see her in my mind with braids - then and now, because she can get away with it. She's still cute at 51. Adorable. Lovable. The first one to reach out when a friend has fallen on hard times. Or hiding. That makes me smile. She's gifted at that, our Nina, knowing when a friend needs to be found and brought back into the circle of friendships formed in childhood.

She has fought it, until she can't. The pain is so unbearable that she is doped up on pain killers -yet, clearly sober with the realization that she will wake up this afternoon with one breast short. A blessing to be rid of a breast so riddled with cancer tumors that they had started emerging from her breast tissue, a malicious, bloody ooze saying FUCK YOU, I've got you!

Yes, I've got rage against the cancer machine. I haven't heard her rage, but I've got mine...Bloody, fucking cancer. Why her? Why anyone? Why...are you here? I feel so helpless.

For years she has held music concerts in her home - welcoming anyone with an instrument or a voice who wants to help fill a room with melody. Music that is so much a part of her being that she has written a song about having a mastectomy.  Perhaps it can help other women who have to go through this, she said... Oh, my warrior woman friend. I stand in awe of your grace.

I am reminded by the clock that she is now out of surgery. My friend who chose a mastectomy, because there was no other choice. Except to die. Of course it was the right choice. The only one. Yet, that doesn't make it easy. Our breasts are not just body parts. They don't "make us women", but...they do define us in a way that sets us apart. Our breasts hold memories within the tissue: our first buds, our first bras, our first... We love them, take them for granted, curse them, and carelessly examine them, not believing that cancer will slither its way through our tissue, cell by cell. Until it does...

What happens when you say good-bye to your breast? I don't know...I have mine.


************
Photo courtesy of Getty Images.

	Tweet

BOY's interesting... take on the new school

Best Quote of the week:

BOY: The new school rocks! But, kids don't have civil rights for their hair!!!

	Tweet

It's the "here" that I cannot yet see.

It is a time of transition for our family. For my children...a new school. I am incredibly proud of them opening up their hearts and themselves to this change, and being in a very different environment than what they are used to. The school community has welcomed them and I see a shift in maturity and growth that was not there before.

For me...my job has ended and I am in the midst of interviews and applications and hardest of all, keeping faith that this time is meant to be and that I will find my place in the working world again. I am making conscious, deliberate choices - turning down a job that wasn't right, because I need to be excited about going to work, and I need to feel that I am making a difference in the world. I want to believe that I will look back on this time and recognize that the growth and discomfort was necessary to arrive ...here. It's the "here" that I cannot yet see.

	Tweet

the shedding of old skin...

I sit with a view from every window of great oaks bending toward earth and sky, the bright green moss dangling from thick, sturdy branches. Vacation...finally. I dreamed of spending time writing, yet all I wish to do is move my body and curl up with a book. Sometimes my thoughts are ethereal, ideas coming to me in bursts of color, then slipping away, dissipating before I can pull them back. I am trying to listen to what I truly need and not what I should be doing.

Tomorrow we go on a six hour hike up mountain peaks and ending at the ocean in Big Sur. It will challenge me in ways I haven't been challenged before. It is a good time to test myself.

My work life is in transition - leaving one job and another path not yet discovered or defined. I feel sure it is out there. I can sense it just out of reach...will-o'-the-wisp moving toward me in the dark. I am looking forward to going into an office and not telecommuting, where the line between work and home gets so muddled. I miss being with co-workers and the camaraderie of common goals and shared achievements. I am a social creature despite my penchant for silent, uninterrupted space when I write.

There are new tests ahead. It is a time for growth and change - the shedding of old skin... and the renewal and discovery of another aspect of myself. I am ready...

	Tweet

No more homeless

While driving around town last week... Mom, I've got an idea. Just popped into my head... I want to gather up all the homeless people in the state. All of them. And we're going to have a protest march and gather in the streets and friends will come and we will protest. Until there are no more homeless people on the street. ....That's my Boy with the big ideas

	Tweet

So, things change and so things remain the same...

The summer light is different. Sunsets full of vermillion and bold streaks of pink clouds. Sunrises following with muted colors that burst into a yellow blaze. My children seem to grow exponentially faster with the longer days of summer, their brown limbs stretching upwards like plants seeking light. Even their toes leave a larger imprint on the earth.

Yet some things do not change. They still sport milk mustaches after every sip, slam doors in their haste to go out, come in, back out...again, and blessedly continue to plunk down in my lap for a cuddle, and to tell me their stories.

I know that not many years from now I will look back on this time and think how small my children were. But, for now, what I see...are my children growing bigger by the day.

So, things change and so things remain the same...

	Tweet