Pretty Good Ugly

Kindergartener, COVID and Disneyland

So we did it, we took Bean to Disneyland. It was her first trip! We had planned to take her when she turned 5 but… #2020

The pandemic continues and I had my hesitations, but seeing as we all had it in February, I figured this was our window of opportunity before it mutates more.

So I did my deep breathing and reminded myself there was no point in worrying once a choice has already been made. That we’d be outside and (thankfully at that time) masks would be required on the plane.

And y’all, it was perfectly magical.

It was a surprise for Bean, and we revealed it bit by bit. Though, right out the gate when we told her we had a surprise for her she shouted “We’re going to Disneyland!!” and Rhys and I looked at each other like WHAT, and she said “What? I’ve never been before. What’s the real surprise?”

(Gotta respect a kid who reaches for the brass ring, but damn).

So we told her we were going on a vacation and we got in the car. She kept guessing, “Gogo and Grampie’s? Auntie Ro-Ro’s?” I started giving her clues– well a riddle really.

“What has a nose but isn’t a dog? A tail, but isn’t a cat? Wings but isn’t a bird?”

“A robot?”

When we got to the airport and her grandparents popped out she was really into it.

“We get to ride an airplane with Glamma and Poppa?!? Are we going to see Uncle Larry??”

No kid, we’re going to a hotel.

“A Ho-Telle? Is there a pool??!?” She’s about to burst with excitement and I’m afraid we may end up with a Kristen-Bell-sloth-meltdown situation when we finally get to the reveal.

I think so.

We get to the hotel (The Grand California… we went big, it’s been a tough 2 years)– she is starting to notice…lots of ears, lots of swag.

“This is a special Ho-Telle,” she whispers in the lobby.

And it was. It all was. I won’t continue the play by play: it was really hot, it was less hot, it was magical, and I’m so proud of us.

I’m so stinking proud. She did really well and on Saturday when we walked up towards Disneyland, she got so excited about a pretty fountain on the walk, there were other kids watching the fountain and the JOY and delight they shared was really something.

“She has no idea what’s to come,” I whispered to Rhys, as a stranger next to us chuckled.

I’m a bit of a cynic when it comes to Disney, and it was such an incredible experience to watch her live in the magic. She perked up when they called her “Princess,” and kept up her pleases (mostly) and thank yous (always).

It was hot, it was expensive, and I’m so so glad we did it. I’m grateful for the timing, for the extra hands of my in-laws, for a night at Disneyland with my husband, for the cast members at Galaxy’s Edge who played checkers with my child, for Chewbacca for growling at Bean when she told him she broke the Millennium Falcon, for Rey who told her she could be a leader.

I’m grateful for the Other Elsa and her mother and their kindnesses and grace when my Elsa belted out “Why don’t you have any hair?” I’m grateful I got to watch the two girls dance in front of the display window while Bean told her “I like your head!”

I’m grateful I remembered to slow down and enjoy it. I’m grateful for Raya and the shade, bubble wands, and the lifeguard at the hotel pool (that’s another story I’m not quite ready for).

Because there were TIMES. Oh there were times I almost lost it. When it was hot, when Bean got cranky, when I got impatient, when Rhys was walking too fast. And each time, we were able to take the lid off before we boiled over. Some shade, some water, some food, some bubbles– it didn’t take much to give us the break.

In the past, my cynicism/fear/anxiety has kept me from a lot of joy. I’m kind of blown away that we managed such an epic and magical trip. I feel like we leveled up as parents: achievement unlocked.

Letting her take her time, rather than rushing her through on my imagined schedule, has been the lesson of my LIFE.

Traveling home was hard and sad (lots of big feelings and big tears, especially since we couldn’t bring the balloon with us). We weepingly got her through security, and there was Dottie, a therapy dog, and through sticky sobs and her mask, Bean asked “May-I-puh-lease-pet-the-dog?”

And her handler said, “Well I wish you would, that what she’s here for,” and all was well again. I watched Bean completely shift. Her breathing slowed and her body relaxed. All was well because there was a dog.

Keep breathing y’all, there are dogs. And Disneyland.

xox

Eavesdropping on love

I was at the playground a month or so ago, when the family on the bench next to me started having an intense conversation. I tried to give them their privacy and kept my head down, working on my postcards, and I tuned out a lot of it (“He’s just trying to make you jealous,” “I think he was trying to drive a wedge between us…”) but as more of their conversation drifted over me I took in more and more.

And it was a different kind of wonderful.

It was beautiful and sad. The older woman was counseling the younger woman about documenting abuse. “You got to build your case, show the pattern, nobody will listen if you speak up just one time.” She was counseling her, not just on what logistical steps to take, but was also being kind “I don’t know you but I know him and I believe you.”

It’s tender and terrible and beautiful and brutal. She reassures the young woman that she’s doing the right thing, she needs to focus on her and her son, just the two of them, and here the older woman breaks my perspective– “I don’t care about sides, his, yours, I just care about (the boy) and making sure he’s taken care of and from what I can see, you are taking care of him, so I’m going to take care of you.”

Sitting on the bench, head down, I am convinced I am witnessing G-d herself at work.

And then… more pieces connect. The older woman, it turns out, is the mother to the abusive addicted father.

Now I obviously do not know their story. I only witnessed this one piece of it. But the love a mother who is losing her son to addiction, reaching through grace to care for her grandson and his mother, whom she had not previously ever met, is a fierce-ass love, and I was honored to eavesdrop on it.

We Can’t Bully Ourselves into Better

There’s no beautiful way to put this, I’ve been really, really mean to myself. I’m sure a lot of us have. We will say things to ourselves and about ourselves we would never accept or tolerate from or about another person.

I’ve told my clients over and over, “You can’t hate your way to healthy, you can’t bully yourself into wellness.” I say this, not from a book, but from my own experience.

I mean, books prove it too, there’s tons of them, but my experience is what informs my own lesson.

I’ve tried to be harsh, strict, disciplined, regimented, pick your word but you know what I mean. Then I’ll swing into sloth mode because I’m EXHAUSTED. But I’m learning, slowly, to be kinder, gentler, more gracious and understanding. Which allows me to be more consistent and present.

This year I broke one of my own traditions and made a New Years resolution. (I’m usually very anti-resolution as you may have inferred). I resolved to do less. To let time exist without filling it– to stop trying to fit in “one more thing”. I’ve simplified. Streamlined. It’s glorious, I highly recommend it.

If you need a sign to be kinder to yourself, to nurture and nourish yourself, take this one here. We can’t hate our way through healing. It doesn’t work that way. We have to rest, and stretch to work and grow.

Drink some water, close your eyes, know you are loved by me and others.

xox

Things I Do Not Understand

Things I Do Not Understand: War Edition

I know that I do not know much about international relations, world politics, or war. I am not a strategist or a scholar of authoritarian regimes. I am broadly educated in world history up to about 1946 when we ran out of time to finish the syllabus so listened to “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” while our teacher tried to explain the lyrics.

#publiceducation

So I do not understand what the best options are or all the pieces in play. I won’t pretend to, I don’t get it.

I don’t get most of it.

Like, I don’t get why folks continue to be shocked by what this killer dictator does. We know that he poisoned some dude in the UK. We know he invaded Crimea and bombed the life out of Syria. I don’t get that. He showed us who he is, and I fully believe that scholars in the future, if there is a future, will mark WWIII as having already started by now.

They’ll come up with some cool academia word for it, like “Frog Soup War” or something to indicate it transitioned gradually from a cold war to a hot one.

It’s the first to include a digital front. And I don’t understand that either.

I also don’t understand the POINT of having all of the things that we have: the alliances and the weapons and the trainings and the treaties and the multi trillion dollar military budget, if we’re just going to sit and watch this happen?

I mean, in my bones I know the point of the military industrial complex is NOT to stop war and promote peace, but instead to make as much money as possible, I know that, but it’s different to see it here. To know that we have all these things and we… are just watching this and saying “Hey, well NOW we won’t do business with you.” After Crimea. After the hits. After Syria. I’m sure there’s more we’re missing. “NOW we draw the line.”

And I also do not understand sanctions, and I know that I do not understand it, but it seems to me that if we had reacted this way when Syria happened, that would have been the moment to draw the line. I dunno. That’s from parenting books. You gotta “NOPE” it quick if you’re going with a mild approach. We didn’t. We let Vladdy keep buying candy at the market.

So I don’t get this. I don’t get any of this.

I don’t get why we aren’t in there building pop-up hospitals and dropping off defensive weapons.

I’m sure there are reasons, there must be reasons, but they feel like bullshit to me.

This feels like the sickest plot twist, the dark fallout of reality television. We scroll through the war on our phones.

I do not know what to do. I feel like I know how we got here, but that’s not very pertinent right now. I want to rant but that’s pointless. To sit in my peaceful home, ridden with guilt, whom does that help? Not a damn person.

There was a peace rally in town I almost attended but chose not to, for they were against any intervention and I am not. I want us to go in and help. What’s the point of being the United States if we don’t go in and help?

(I know, such a Pollyanna moment, forgive me).

Because if Russia stops fighting, there will be no war.
If Ukraine stops fighting, there will be no Ukraine.

There’s no both-sides’ing this. I’m not against “all forms of violence,” unless there’s a carve-out for violence-against-occupiers. Which there might be, I haven’t read it all, like I said, there’s a lot I don’t know about war.

Once upon a time I was a Peace and Conflict Studies major, I took all the language requirements but the courses just broke me open. A true bleeding heart. I’d wanted to be a White Helmet but couldn’t take it.

Because I don’t understand how this one precious life that we have—the miracle of our existence at all, the conditions of the planet and atmosphere, the circumstances that lead to our ancestors meeting, all of the pieces that brought us into existence, and some men are hellbent on just destroying everything around them. They cannot handle the cosmic connection, they are insulted by their cellular proximity, they feel it diminished them. These destructive fools who waste their less-than-a-century, literal once-in-a-lifetime-life, KILLING PEOPLE. Destroying cultures. Because they can.

I just don’t understand it.

At fucking all.

Cruelty, Callousness and COVID

So, it happened. My family caught COVID last month. We had a sense it was heading our way when cases started appearing in our child’s kindergarten class. She had a bit of a sniffle so we tested her at home and it came up positive. That was a Sunday.

We cancelled plans and pulled her from school, I cancelled my clients and planned to stay home with her.

Then I got it. Then my husband got it. The reality of housing for MOST American families, is there’s no way to distance from each other. We have one bathroom.

Two years ago, when this all started, I remember talking to my dear friend Kelly. I was trying to figure out how we could isolate in the house– do we move the sick person into the shed? There’s not quite room for a twin bed in there but we could do a sleeping bag… And Kelly was like, girl, look at your house- If one of you catches it, y’all are all getting it. And she was right.

So we three huddled down. The good was also the bad.

The good was that our daughter was not very sick. She had nasal stuff and a bit of a cough, half a fever one day, good energy throughout.

That is all so good. It was also very hard.

Because I was NOT so lucky. A month later I am still recovering from COVID. My energy got hit HARD, I spent days in bed. Or I would have if I didn’t have a little one who kept insisting we COULD go to the park because she would wear a mask (nice try kid but no).

Then I made the mistake (#1) of logging onto one of the mommy groups. A few Kaylas* were talking about masks at school.

*Kaylas are millennial moms who would mock their high school teachers and think they were being clever by just being contrarian. They are usually white and often found near country clubs or on ranches.

The Kaylas were saying how masks at school are dumb. I took a deep breath and chimed in (second mistake) that I know it’s hard and we’re all looking forward to getting through this wave, but until our community rate is lower, we really need to keep it up, and as a family that had just had/has it I’d really implore everyone to keep masking for awhile. (I could have just scrolled by, but I didn’t.)

This Kayla Ha-ha’d my comment and came after me, “Well clearly masks don’t work if y’all got it, LOL. Most people are walking around in old dirty crusty masks.”

I should have logged off, but I didn’t (Mistake #3).
I could have taken a breath, but I didn’t (Mistake #4)
I replied (Mistake #5).

I told her that her callousness and cruelty was truly astounding.
This accomplished nothing.

I know there have always been assholes. But Kaylas are a special breed of mean, formed in the forge of Y2K.

As teenagers, Kaylas and their millennial counterparts existed mostly in a non-digital space. In real life, side by side, breathing the same air. They’d say shitty things under their breath or aside. They’d sass the teachers and usually get away with it. They were never very academically inclined but they were not and are not stupid.

As adults, Kaylas and their millennial cohorts live huge chunks of daily life online. This allows the callousness to spike towards cruelty and avoid accountability (not that they ever faced much of it to begin with).

But I digress.

Regardless of the mistakes that I made, I think there is an important lesson in this. (Beyond: DON’T ENGAGE!!), and that would be this: There is something deeply broken in us, if we have reached the point that we laugh at a child getting sick.

Also: stay off social media when you’re sick.

Confession: the petty ugly part of me really wants these Kaylas to go through what I did. I don’t want their kids to be sick, but I want THEM to be sick while their kids stay energetic. I know that’s fucked up and I was just talking about the callousness of our society and here I am. I don’t really want that to happen, but there is a lower part of me, a petty, vindictive piece that wants to shrug and go full cheekbone with “You could have imagined sympathy, but instead you’ll need to experience empathy.”

Within my rage and reactivity is a grief, that these women were talking about coordinating a mask refusal at school “if we all send our kids without one…”

As someone who has worked in advocacy for a couple years, I am grief stricken to see these women finally mobilize over THIS, and like TWO WEEKS before it’s about to be lifted anyhow? You don’t show up for gun safety, you don’t step up for our reproductive freedom, you don’t care enough about clean air and water to say a damn word but NOW you’ll band together? Over indoor masking for children during a freaking pandemic while our community numbers are over 10%?? Are you fucking serious, Kayla??

I know I’m being judgmental, that it’s easier to tackle one concrete thing like a mask, than existential crises, but I feel just like I did in elementary school. Just as I did in high school. We are racing in the wrong direction. As a collective, we are sinking away from what we could be. Our integrity, as a whole, is atrophying.

Perhaps that is my privilege showing. Perhaps I’ve been naive in my attempted optimism and should have stayed in the cynicism of my adolescence. Perhaps there’s never been any collective integrity.

But I have witnessed the golden threads of goodness that run through people. I have encountered courageous and generous women who keep pushing the needle, who are relentless in their pursuit of a better tomorrow. I know that there have always been and there will always be folks who bend the arc toward justice.

How do we amplify those voices, and not the snickering snide asides of the comment section?

I suppose that part is up to me– to choose who I listen to, who I turn to, and breathe with them rather than stewing over the Kaylas.

At the park yesterday I noticed the early blooms on the trees. And the trash cans underneath. They were both there– the flowers and the garbage. I decided to look at the flowers.

So today, I won’t focus on the Kaylas. I will listen to the wind. As a millennial mom I can choose to log off and live in the analog world. And that’s the plan for today.

The Women Who Stepped Up

I’ve been thinking a lot about the women in my life, specifically the ones who stepped up and into a positive role without really needing to. The women who didn’t owe me anything but paid it forward anyhow. In ways great and small.

The women at the laundromat who shared with me the value of finding a freshly used and therefore already warm dryer.

The women at the office who show you the shortcuts both to the vending machine that spits out two for one chips or that you can tab over on the keyboard through that page.

The teachers I reached out to long after leaving their schools, who reached back and held on. They had every right to ignore my messages but they did not. They reached back. Thank goodness.

Thank goodness for the women.

Thank goodness for smiles and nods and quiet hellos.
For scooting over to make room.

Thank goodness for the generosity of an ear or a shoulder.

Thank goodness for the friend who will drop off peanut butter.

Thank goodness for the women who share their wisdom, who bear witness to unrecorded history.

Thank goodness for the women at the park who practice patience and remind me of the beauty of taking the time.

Thank goodness for the women of faith and science who show me that there are things I need to know, things I want to know, and things I already know.

Thank goodness for the women of Poland who are leaving strollers at the train stations for Ukrainian mothers. And grandmothers, because many mothers stayed back to fight.

Thank goodness for the women who bring other people’s children into safety.

Thank goodness for those who reach back when someone calls out.

Uff da.

It is all so heavy and I am grateful for the women who keep me rooted. This web of women around the world, I believe in us.

Lessons (Re) Learned

Recently I’ve been reminded of the importance of boundaries. I’ve never been great at healthy boundaries, I either lock people out completely and provide a curated character to interact with the world, or I fire hydrant blast all my thoughts everywhere.

Over the past few years I’ve gotten better at being less performative, I’ve integrated more my hard learned lessons into my daily life, and I’m learning to trust more.

Unfortunately, old habits hold on tight, and I trusted someone who hadn’t earned it. I was so hopeful, so excited, that I over-served grace and over-shared my experiences, which were then weaponized against me.

And now I have to check myself– I pause to verify my intention.

What I learned (again), and what I’d like to share with you, is the importance of trusting ourselves and the power of a pause.

How many times have we over-ridden our own instincts because we thought we were being silly? I’ve certainly talked myself out of my Knowing, doubting my own read on things, convincing myself that I’m being dramatic or judgmental or over-protective.

What I forget, in these moments, is my cellular wisdom. I forget that my bones know things my brain will deny. I forget that sometimes what I want (a thing, a person, a connection), is not always wise, and is not always what I need.

And, in case you’ve forgotten too, it’s okay to NEED THINGS. It’s also okay to want things, even if we should not HAVE those things. It doesn’t mean you’re broken, it means you’re human. We all want things that it would not be wise to actually have– jet packs, pet tigers, a motorcycle, sequined pants (they’re fabulous but they are NOT practical, trust me).

Knowing that something isn’t wise or healthy doesn’t necessarily remove the want, and this is where the power of a pause can come into play.

Often, I charge through my wants into denial, refusing to even acknowledge what I want. Other times, I blast from a want to a get, following that impulse before verifying that it’s true. Sometimes this is a harmless, silly purchase. But sometimes it’s more than that.

I can be in such a hurry to reach “OKAY” that I don’t allow time for healing. If someone has hurt me, I can quickly say “it’s fine,” without taking the time to MAKE it fine, and then it gets worse, and I’m responsible for my role in that.

So whether it’s getting bangs, or reconnecting with someone who has hurt you, take that pause. “Is this really what I want? Or am I trying to prove something?” “Is this smart or is this easy?” And it’s okay to not have the answer. Sit in that wondering for a bit. Because once something is shared, once something is cut, it’s… done. The toothpaste doesn’t go back into the tube. Your hair will grow back but that will take some time.

In our comment-happy culture, it’s easy to get caught up in the reactionary loop. I certainly do and it’s gotten me into some trouble. I’m learning (again), the importance of taking a breath, of not responding right away, of not feeding into the whirlpool of nonsense swirling around us all.

And if forgiveness is divine, then it’s also sacred. Rushing through the process cheapens the whole thing. Healing, like growth, happens on its own schedule and cannot be hurried. Regardless of my wants, life will unfold on its own schedule and if we try to expedite it, we run the risk of being the child who “helps” the butterfly out of the cocoon, dooming it to a flightless life.

Parenting in End Times

I’m learning that I’m rarely alone in my feelings or my thoughts, however isolating they may feel.

So I’m wondering if there are others out there who struggle with raising a child amid the climate crisis.

Within ten years the world may change so much we are in unending catastrophe. My girl will have just gotten her license, if cars are still a thing, which I imagine will be true.

I picture her as an adult, grilling me as I remind her that once there was clean water and she took a bath every day, sometimes twice! Showing her videos of Planet Earth and what used to be.

The urge to sign her out of everything and travel to Alaska and see glaciers while we can, is tempered by the reality that we are currently living in a pandemic and travel is likely out of the running and beyond our tax bracket.

One day, I assume, she will approach me with the same fury I brought to my parents. “How could you let this happen!?”

And maybe I’ll tell her about my time with Environmental Action and show her pictures of us at the Climate Now rally. Maybe I’ll remind her that we did what we could, reducing our plastic at the refill station, riding our bikes in town, composting and picking up trash. Or maybe I’ll just stroke her hair and apologize.

I have memories of sitting in the station wagon with my mom in the front seat, driving to EcoSLO to drop off our separated recycling. It was a lot more work then and she did it. With three kids and a job, she still separated the paper and the glass and the aluminum cans and drove them over to be weighed and received. I remember that. Perhaps my child will remember something too.

But at the end of the day it’s bigger than what my child thinks of me (although it’s hard to imagine anything bigger than that at the moment).

Sometimes I cave to the impulse to spoil her now to make up for the dystopian future ahead. Yesterday she had hot chocolate with breakfast. Right now, as I type, she is watching Kung Fu Panda.

What did Roman mothers do just before the fall? They probably were making lunch and playing make believe.

I call my representatives all the time, we need to green the grid, we need to get serious about this, blah blah blah. I don’t know that it will make a difference, but I know that for me, giving up altogether would be the ultimate defeat.

I understand, or am trying to, that there is SO MUCH beyond my control. I am not responsible for that, how could I be? But the things that I CAN do. I am absolutely responsible for that. And I never want my girl to see me refuse to do the things I can. Fueled by courage, rather than ego. I know I am not Captain Planet. But I will do what I can.

I may be playing “I Spy” as the Titanic sinks, but the kid needs to be entertained.

So maybe we’ll stay in our pajamas all morning and have chocolate milk with breakfast. Then this afternoon we’ll go sit in the sunshine and listen to the birds and stare at the clouds and enjoy this beautiful, amazing planet. Short and fleeting like a beautiful, amazing childhood.

Take good care and be gentle with yourself. You are loved by me and others.

Baked Potato and Progress

I read a note I wrote on Facebook in 2009, and I was so proud of myself because I had baked a potato all by myself.

I share this vulnerable moment with you, so that you know there is nothing too small to celebrate.

I didn’t have much in my adulting/self-care/survival skills toolbox. That potato was one more tool, and in the however many years it has been since (carry the one or new math, brain glitch, 13?) years, wait a sec, THIRTEEN YEARS?

Okay. Yeah. I’ve made a lot of progress in thirteen years, although could someone check my math, is that right?

I have been gathering tools and learning skills and training myself to remember to take care of myself. (Yeah, that sounds kinda sad when I lay it out like that but there it is). I am still learning that I am worthy of care. That I deserve rest. That rest does not require exhaustion, and I don’t need to earn my shower or my meal. I can just GET those.

I’m still learning. I like to take my time with lessons, make sure they really stick.

This old note was a happy reminder of where I’ve been and how far I’ve come and how proud 2009-me would be of 2022-me. And how proud I am of 2009-me. And that is growth.

I can look back on myself with kindness. I can be gentle, I can offer grace. It feels wonderful to be free from the weight of self-judgment. To take a moment to celebrate where I was and where I am and all the work and humanity in between.

So, take heart! There are potatoes.

Lessons in Unlearning

My child is six. She has lived a short period of time and yet has learned so much.

She tells me that the sun is a star and that blood is made in our bones. She also asks a LOT of questions, like are mosquitoes REAL, and what about dragons?

Her world is full of wonder, and a lot of it I understand. After all, I’m the one who read her the Magic School Bus books about the solar system and the human body. I know she’s interested in vampires and knows that they aren’t real, I understand that she is baffled that there exists a flying animal that DRINKS OUR BLOOD, and I tell her that I’ve never seen a dragon myself.

She is learning a lot, all the time.
She is also revealing a lot, showing me truths of our culture, all the time.

The other night at dinner it happened again, she lifted her shirt and got really upset that her tummy “was big.”

“Oh honey, your tummy is just the right size, it’s you size. And everyone’s tummy gets bigger after we eat, the food is traveling through our intestines so our body can get the nutrients, see~” I lift my shirt and try to hide my heartbreak, “that’s what bodies do.”

She’s six and once again I’m ready to burn down the world. But soon we’re on to other topics. She tells me about Lunar New Year and how cool tigers are and shows me the dragon that she drew at school.

And the thing about dragons is they’re good. The dragon isn’t going to hurt my child but our culture will. The toxic air that she breathes in every day may. The poison that she inhales out in the world that tells her, at six, that smaller is better and less is more.

I know I cannot defeat diet culture. I know I cannot “slay this dragon,” because the dragon isn’t the danger, the dragon just needs to be free. Scales on dragons? Good. Scales in my bathroom? Dangerous.