I Cry

My tears may flow freely at times, yet I do not give them away for free.  You must earn them from me.  You must touch me deeply in order for my tears to stream down my face for you.  There are many types of touch both physical and emotional, both good and bad.  Just as there are many types of tears.

I have cried tears of joy through smiles and bright shining eyes, and I have cried tears of anguish through gut wrenching sobs.  Some who have known me have said that I cry too much, or that I cry for no reason at all, but I have come to believe that is not true.  I have come to believe that those people just found my tears to be disconcerting and uncomfortable and just because they couldn't explain my tears, or even that I couldn't at the time, doesn't mean they were without reason.

I have cried tears on some the happiest days of my life and that of my friends and family just as I have cried tears on some of the darkest days.  I cry tears of sympathy for those who can't, for even they touch me in ways you may never understand.  In fact, I am crying right now just thinking about them.

I cry for children I don't know who are abused and murdered, and I cry for helpless animals who meet the same fate.  You see, I feel their pain too and yes they touch me as well.  I cry when I read a sad story, and I cry when I read a story that is uplifting and full of triumph because they have found a place in me that connects and touches me.

I also cry for the pain I have endured over the years, both physical and emotional.  I cry for all the ways people have touched me in ways I never deserved.  I cry because sometimes that pain wells up so much inside me I have no choice but to release it and the tears run down my face and the sobbing wracks my body as I shake uncontrollably.  I cry because they touched me.

I cry.

Thoughts on Discipline

I know I am probably going to raise a lot of eyebrows here, but I think it's something that needs to be addressed, disciplining children.  Every parent has their own philosophies and ways that they feel is the best way for their child, and as long as they aren't raising some tyrant that won't listen or flat out beating the kid I am all for different parenting techniques.  The problem becomes everybody thinks their way is the best and the only way, and if you aren't doing it their way then you must be a "bad parent".  The truth is parenting styles have to be different because kids are all different and parents are different.

Not every kid/parent combo is going to make every parenting style work for them.  Sometimes time outs work well, and sometimes you have a slippery little bugger who's just not going to sit still in that chair for five minutes.  You've got to figure out what works for you, and it doesn't have to be set in stone.  In fact I think it works best if both the parent and the child are willing to adapt and try new things, especially as the child grows and reaches new boundaries.  Sticking their nose against the wall tends to lose something when they hit the teen years after all.  Then again, the threat of it in a public place is just enough humility to straighten up a nasty attitude ;).

This brings us to the dreaded topic of corporal punishment, and the whole reason I started this post.  Lately in the news certain professional football players have been making headlines and not for their abilities on the field.  The one player has been accused of using a switch to punish his 4-year old and drawing blood.  I think we can all agree that is going way too far.  Another one has now admitted to using "harsh" punishment on his 1-year old.  Again this is a bit much.  But what about other forms of physical discipline?  Do they have a place in your parenting style?  There seems to be a lot of heated debate over this with a very firm line drawn in the sand.  Personally, with younger children and as a last resort, I see no issue with a few quick pops on the behind.  Always with an open hand only.  It should never be done with any implement and it should never be done out of anger.  There should always be a warning to the child so that they know if the behavior is done again this is what is coming and there is a set number of spankings coming.  They should never be full force, but just enough to get their attention.  I rarely had to use these with my girls, and they were effective.

As for the argument that it only teaches kids to hit, I can promise you kids learn to hit anyway.  My girls were never excessively violent with each other or anyone else.  And now they know that you should use words to solve conflicts with your peers and adults.  They understand spankings happen from parent to child only.  Kids are amazingly intelligent that way.  I respect those parents that choose not to spank for their personal reasons, just as I respect their different parenting styles.  I think as long as the child is not being abused, and yes there is a big difference.  We all need to respect each other as parents and realize we are all trying to do the what we think is best for our children.

Death Does Not Become Me

Death is my nemesis.  I despise death, I loathe death.  And yes, I fear death.  I get it, it's part of the circle of life, we all have to die sometime, we can't live forever, it's part of the natural progression of things, blah blah blahtity fucking blah.  I don't care.  Death and I are not friends.  We never really have been.

I remember my first real experience with death, I was 5.  My mom and I flew from our home in Southern Illinois to San Diego, CA.  It was exciting for me as a kid.  My first airplane ride, the first real big trip, that I remember.  But the reason sucked.  My great-great grandmother had passed away and we were going to her funeral.  I was going to see family that hadn't seen me since I was really little, so for me it was like meeting them for the first time, and for some they were meeting me for the first time.  I kind of remember mom trying to explain death to me, and I kind of remember sort of understanding it, but not really.  Then we went to the actual funeral.  Everyone was dressed in really nice clothes, but they were almost all in black.  And everyone looked so sad.  I remember a lot of talking, and music, and crying.  And then everyone got in a line to walk by this big fancy box at the front.  Being so small I couldn't really see into it from where I was.  I remember mom saying I didn't have to go up to see her if I didn't want to, but again me not totally understanding what was going on thought I was going to be meeting another relative.  So I went up.  That's when I saw her, laying there, dead.  I started crying inconsolably.  That's when I first comprehended what death really was.  The body was still there, but the person was gone.  It was a terrifying experience.  I remember having dreams about great-great grandma's face for a long while after that.

It was only a couple of years later that I experienced my next loss, this time it was my beloved dog, Andy, quickly followed by our pet snake, Thora.  Both animals had been in my life since birth, and both were a big blow to me.  And while I never saw the bodies of my cherished friends the mention of their deaths brought back the image of great-great grandma lying lifeless in her casket.  Since then through the years I have experienced losses of varying degrees, from a classmate who was struck by a car in the 5th grade to my aunt on my dad's side who died on cancer and then was closely followed by my granddad.  My mom's brother also died, and that one was rough too.  And to be honest I've never really recovered from one death before another one strikes.  That rang true more than ever a few years ago.

In the course of a year my family lost 4 people that were very close to us, including my step dad, Ron, who I lovingly call Pops.  Pops has been the hardest death of them all.  Because I was there.  I was there in the cold sterile hospital when he took his last breath and his heart stopped beating.  Granted, he was surrounded by family and friends, but it was a horrible experience.  The doctors said he was medicated enough that he was comfortable and felt no pain, but watching him struggle to breathe those last few breaths was so painful for me.  I felt helpless to do anything but stand there and hold his hand and cry.  And to this day all I can do is cry.  I almost wish I hadn't been there because I hate that I remember him like that.  I don't want those images in my head.  I want to remember him smiling and laughing, but I can't.  I can't make those images of him gasping for air go away.  I can't make the images of us watching the monitors as his heart stopped beating go away.  And I hate it, I hate death for taking him away like that.  I hate people who say death is peaceful.  It's not, I have seen it.  There was nothing peaceful about it. 

And I despise it when people tell me I am weak for not being able to grieve faster.  I will grieve at my own damn pace thank you very much and you can just live with it or go away.  There is nothing wrong with me, I am who I am.  Just because I process death differently doesn't make me wrong or weak or broken.  Everyone is different, and everyone grieves differently.  How would you like it if I said that you grieve too fast so you must be a cold hearted bastard with no feelings at all?  Sorry, slight off topic rant.

So, with all of that being said one would think I would stay as far away from death as I could right?  You want to take a wild guess at what I do for a living?  Just one little guess?  I work in death fucking benefits!  Yep that's right I work in death benefits for a pension program.  I deal with families every day that have just lost a loved one.  I talk to their spouses, their kids, their parents.  I listen to them cry and yes, even scream.  And then people wonder why I am always so close to a freaking mental breakdown.  Yeah...

Ignorance is not Bliss

I will admit that I am sort of a reality TV junky.  I love almost all of the talent shows, yes I watched the Rising Star finale last night and was pissed off that the West Coast didn't get to vote, and sometimes I even get into the human interest type shows.  I am not a fan of the dating shows like Bachelor or Bachelorette.  One of the shows I have liked for years has been 19 Kids and Counting, or however many kids they had at the time.  I have liked this family since they had just a single show special about having a large family.

Those of you who know me know that I am as far from like this family as you can probably get.  I am a practicing Witch, very granola, have lived an alternative lifestyle, have questionable tastes in just about everything, and most of all am a huge supporter of the LGBTQ community.  Yet I still love this family.  I love them because even though we don't share the same beliefs, and they would probably damn me to their hell, they have a very strong conviction in their beliefs and they don't waiver from them.  I love them because they teach their children good and honest values.  I love them because even though they have this mammoth family they aren't living off the government, in fact they pay taxes for other kids to use the public schools while home schooling their own kids.  And up until now I have actually defended them to others.

But now we have a problem.  You see Michelle Duggar made a crucial mistake in my book.  She opened her mouth without doing her research, and in doing so she not only labeled an entire community but she also insulted them.  Her town of Fayetteville, AK was voting on an ordinance that would prevent discrimination of transgender people in their town.  It would allow them to file complaints if they felt they had been discriminated against during housing transactions, employment decisions, and other public accommodations.  This would include using the public restroom and changing facilities that the person identifies with and not necessarily the gender they are born with.

This is where Michelle decided she had issues.  According to a pre-recorded message that was dialed out to residents of Fayetteville Michelle said in part "males with past child predator convictions that claim they are female to have a legal right to enter private areas that are reserved for women and girls." Oh Michelle, really?  Is this really what you think of the trans community?  If so you really need to educate yourself before you open your mouth on the subject again.

The truth is trans people are just like any other people in that there are all types, and the majority of them just want the chance to live their lives as the gender they feel they should have been born with.  What about all the little boys that should have been little girls?  Or vice versa?  What about all the women who should have been men?  Do you think this is easy for them?  Because I can guarantee this sure isn't a choice.  Nobody chooses to take this hard road.  Trans people are some of the strongest and bravest people I know.  They have the courage to live life as their true selves.  How many of the rest of us can say the same thing?

Are there creep child predators out there?  Sure there are.  Do they go around masquerading as women to get to your kids?  Probably not.  There are much easier and more effective ways to get to your kids than acting like a woman.  It's not the transgendered people you have to watch out for.  It's the quiet next door neighbors you'd never suspect, or the coaches who spend just a little extra time with your child.  You want to protect your kids then talk to them about the signs of being groomed for abuse.  Talk to them about how to get away and how to talk to someone if something does happen.  Talk to the little ones about who can touch and when and why and where.  But for goodness sake don't instill a fear of somebody just because they are different than you.

Age of Innocence

I've always loved children.  In fact so much so that even when I was a child myself I can remember thinking that when I grew up I was going to have a big family and that I would have at least two daughters and one would be named Isabella and the other Annabel, both old family names.  But, as fate would have it I can't have my own biological children, and thus far have not been in a position to adopt.  Though I have, through a strange set of circumstances that we will save for another day, become mommy #2 to three beautiful girls (none of whom are named Isabella or Annabel but that's okay because I still love them with all my heart).  But even before becoming a parent I was highly involved with children in anyway I could be.  I worked in childcare for a long time, and after that I was part of the Big Brothers Big Sisters program.  On top of that I had friends who had kids that I doted on like they were my nieces and nephews.  I just plain love kids.  And as such I am huge advocate and protector of kids.  I can't stand to see a child abused, exploited, or hurt in any way.  It makes my blood boil and my heart break.

I'm also an artist.  I see the beauty in the world around me.  I look at everyday things and see them in a different light than what the average person may see.  I see the colors, the lines, the shapes, the light, the shadows, and how they all converge to create a picture.  I see concepts and how to tell a story without using words or sounds.  I especially love photography.  I like looking through the lens of my camera and finding that perfect shot to capture that one fleeting moment in time where everything lined up perfectly.  And I love photographing people and capturing that look on their face, the glint in their eye, the way they carry their body.

So what do these two things have to do with each other?  Well there is a photographer out there who has created quite a bit of controversy over a series of photos he did involving his two year old daughter.  His name is Wyatt Neumann, and you can see his work here.  These photos, to me, clearly depict the innocence of a young child.  She can be seen in her princess dress in some, and in some with nothing on at all, and there are various stages in between.  But let's be honest parents, what two year old keeps their clothes on all the time?  None of the photos depict poses that could be construed as sexual in nature.  They are all carefree and very child like.  From an artistic standpoint they are amazing! 

That being said, the parent and child advocate in me has some concerns.  While I find no sexual interest in these photos I know there are some seriously disturbed individuals out there who will.  By releasing these photos on into the wilds of the internet so to speak Mr. Neumann is potentially setting his daughter up for victimization even if they never realize it.  As parents we probably all have pictures of our kids in the bathtub or some other such adorable naked pictures reserved for blackmail and embarrassment on first dates, but are those really the pictures we want to make public?  I know I have a fabulous shot of my youngest standing at a railing looking at a mountain and a gust of wind had blown up her dress revealing that her underwear had given her a wedgie when she was about 3.  It is probably one of my favorite pictures because it is just too darn precious, but it will never leave the confines of the family. 

I get that he is an artist, and this is his craft.  I also get that the intention behind these photos are pure innocence, and I can see the innocence there.  I'm just not sure that these pictures are appropriate to be posting online.  Perhaps in an art gallery or something of that nature where they are less accessible to the world.  I'm not saying what he did is 100% wrong, but I'm not saying it's 100% right either.  I'm thinking that his intentions were really good, and perhaps it could have been handled better.  But I will say this, after his original posting of the photos the amount of hate mail this man received was phenomenal, and I think totally undeserved.  The things people said to him and about him were horrible, rude, and nasty.  And honestly, if your first thought when you look at those images of that little girl is pornography then you are the one with the sick mind.  And I think he handled the feedback brilliantly.

If you are interested in seeing it all please check out the link above.  Also, the Huffington Post did an article about the whole fiasco which is here.

I Have Spots

I have spots.  There I said it.  But not just any spots, no these aren't like chicken pox, or mumps, or the measles.  They are caused by illness yes, but they aren't going to go away with chicken noodle soup and an oatmeal bath.  I have big spots and little spots.  Some look like craters on my body, while others are simply little scabs.  I also have scars.  Scars where previous spots have been.  Not because I let them heal, but because my body finally said enough is enough and healed them for me.  Sometimes it's weeks, and sometimes it's months.

I have spots.  They are all over my body.  Some in places everyone can see every day like my face and my arms.  And some in places nobody sees except my fiancé, and even those I don't like him to see.  And even though I am ashamed of my spots it isn't enough to deter me from making more and keeping the old ones alive.  Sometimes people ask me questions about my spots.  It makes me uncomfortable because I never really know what to say.  Sometimes I say it's from stress.  Sometimes I say it's bug bites or acne.  But I know it's not, at least not really.  Sometimes people say mean things about my spots.  Things like, "You look like a meth addict" or "You would be so pretty without all those sores".  That makes me sad.

I have spots.  And as much as I wish I didn't I can't seem to stop myself.  You see I make these spots.  When I am stressed, or angry, or anxious, or sad, or any other strong emotion that makes me feel bad I pick at my spots without even thinking.  It's a compulsion that I try hard to stop, but most of the time I just can't.  Sometimes, I even pick at my spots in my sleep.  Usually after I do it I feel really bad about myself, especially if I make myself bleed.  And even more especially if someone else notices I am bleeding.  I really dislike it if someone sees me picking at my spots and commands that I stop or treats me like a child who was caught picking their nose.  I am not a child, and it's not the same thing.

I have spots.  The mental health community calls my spots dermatillomania, and it is a form of OCD.  I am seeking treatment for my spots because I don't want to be like this.  But treatment takes time.  Part of it requires getting to the root of all those pent up feelings, and then working on what triggers my behaviors.  Then I need to work on redirecting myself.  Right now silly putty is my friend at work.  I try to play with that instead of picking at my skin, but it is hard to always remember.  And for some reason playing with silly putty isn't always as satisfying as pulling off a scab.  I know that may sound weird and gross to those who don't have this disorder, but for those who do you will know what I mean.  Part of the disorder is an obsession with "fixing" the skin and while it may not make sense to anyone else in my head when I am picking off a scab I am making it better.  I know logically a new scab is going to came back, but in that moment it is better.

I have spots.  Don't judge me on my spots.  You don't know my journey, and you haven't walked in my shoes.  You don't know the courage it takes to open up and tell you all of this here today.  And if you see someone with spots please don't assume the worst.  Be kind to them because you never know, it may be me.

Boob Juice

Breastfeeding is one of the most natural and wonderful things a mother can do for her child.  Lately,  it has become a huge topic of conversation and debate.  The rights of the breastfeeding mother and baby vs the rights of everyone else.  Ah yes, "rights", we throw that word around a lot in this country.  I have a "right" to this, you have a "right" to that, we have a "rights", you have no "right".  But what are we really saying here?

 

The dictionary defines rights in this context as "a moral or legal entitlement to have or obtain something or to act in a certain way".  So let's look at this piece by piece shall we? 

 

Morally, a mother has the right and the responsibility to feed her child.  Now whether she chooses to bottle or breast feed her child is a personal choice based on many factors that can only be made by that woman and should NEVER be dictated by someone else.  Morally, a breast was evolved for feeding a child.  That's it.  It's society, and men in particular, that have sexualized the female breast and made it a taboo part of the female anatomy.  You enjoy seeing scantily clad lingerie ads, and women in skimpy bikinis on the beach, but if a woman exposes the same amount of flesh while using her breast for what it was intended suddenly you become uncomfortable and offended.  For some reason this puzzles me.  Also, American society in particular is one of the most sexually repressed and hypocritical societies out there.  We are such prudes yet we are one of the largest consumers of pornographic materials.  And we have issues with a woman's breast tissue as she feeds her baby?

 

Ok now legally, 29 states (plus the District of Columbia and the Virgin Islands) have laws that exempt breastfeeding mothers from public indecency laws.  46 states (plus the District of Columbia and the Virgin Islands) have laws that specifically allow women to breastfeed in any public or private location.  I know, I know the rest of you are jumping up and down screaming what about your rights not to see it!  Well you fine people have the right to look away.  Really, it's that simple.  I have seen when a mother is getting ready to breastfeed, there are tell tale signs, and you too can watch for them.  If you see them then simply look the other way.  If a mother has a fussy baby and starts to shift her clothing, look away.  If a mother starts to hold the baby close to her breast and lifting her shirt or unbuttoning her blouse, look away.  It's that easy.  If you have kids with you who are curious don't make a big deal out of it.  Simply say something like the baby is hungry and that's how they eat and change the conversation.  Kids are easily distracted like that.  Because legally, in most states and places, the mother's legal right trumps your moral one.

 

So now you want to whine about why can't the mom just throw a blanket over the baby so they are all covered up and you can feel better about the whole thing?  I tell you what, just for fun how about we play a little game.  I am going to give you a glass of warm milk and then I am going to cover you with a warm blanket and put you up against a heating pad and leave you there for about fifteen minutes while you slowly sip your warm milk and see how comfortable you are.  Because if you think about it that's what you are doing to that baby.  Sure, some can tolerate it, but not all can.  You have to remember there is body heat generated between the mother and the baby and then you trap that heat by a blanket, and then you add in the body temperature breast milk.  Right there you have a recipe for a baby who won't eat at best, and an upset tummy at worst.

 

So let's leave the mom's alone.  Let them do their job of raising strong, healthy babies.  They have enough on their plates without strangers giving them a hard time for doing what comes naturally.