Do Not Feed The Bears

Do not. Do not feed the bears.

This is my final post before Thanksgiving hits. My thoughts on survival today are simple. DO NOT ENGAGE.

So tomorrow, as I venture out into the cold with my made from scratch pie that I know everyone will eat and if they don't I will have an awesome breakfast tomorrow.....I say to you, every family has its issues. You are not alone.

I grew up in a family that insulted and pranked each other like we had a laugh track and audience. Every situation called for snide remarks and clever comebacks, each more biting and hurtful and more hilarious than the one before. When you were not the target of humiliation, then you were a participant. I came up from that wanting kindness and peaceful grace to be the decor of my home, oh but Lastworditis is a lifelong affliction.  It takes everything I have not to speak out the cleverness that is just at the tip of my tongue when things get going. You see, I can be part of the problem. So it is with this in mind that I tell you, all of my experience behind this wisdom, DO NOT. As the old homeschoolers at a picnic adage goes, "Simply ask for the awesome bean dip recipe. When they insist on discussion, pretend you didn't hear them and rave over the quality of the beans and the sour cream and the flavour of the cheese. Eventually they will get the hint."

When your favourite Aunt starts criticising your parenting (even though she has no children of her own or has even ever lived with a child in her entire life), change the subject. Ask her about her last vacation or her apple pancake recipe.  Do not enter the honey trap of discussing attachment parenting or cloth diapers or..... just don't. Those topics may be near and dear to you and you may have 1000 things to say about the topics but just don't. For the love of your auntie, don't.

When your mother starts making offhand comments about your hair or your clothes, even suggesting a trip to salon as a Christmas gift and her comments make you feel ugly and gross? Breathe deep. Do not engage. Change the subject. Ask her about the holiday sales, maybe even ask to see pictures of her children in past years to get holiday photo ideas. CHANGE THE SUBJECT of something is hurting you. For the love of pumpkin pie do not tell her how you feel. Not at that moment.

When your husband's cousin starts talking about gun-man-ship and he's the last person you want with a concealed carry? Lady, nothing you can say will make things turn out well. Just leave the room at let whatever is happening in there be.  Seriously. Where's my pie spoon?

When your exact opposite of you sister starts in on sleep training or food stamps or make up and it all makes you want to vomit and wonder if you are a changeling or an abandoned alien because how on earth could you be related to such a freaking clueless diva? Yeah. Your emotions are getting the better of your good sense and your sister is a person too with feelings even, maybe.  Do not tell her anything that is on your mind. The holidays bring out the worst in people. Every single person.  You are not exempt.

When another relative tells you xyz is a sign that God is punishing you for abc? Sigh deeply and ask them about their local church and what kinds of outreach they do. Change the topic to something less personal.

When your relatives stare at the home cooked from food you grew in your own worm composted garden and then processed and or fermented by hand in your own kitchen and then refuse to even come within a 5 ft radius of the dish, let alone even cut into it and your feelings are hurt because you put three months of effort into making that JUST FOR THIS DAY? Seriously. Save it. Do not take it personally. DO NOT TAKE IT PERSONALLY. Food is such a personal and intimate subject and ingesting something into your body is a big deal. Not everyone is on the same nutritional journey or likes the same things. Forget being polite. Because if any of them are polite and then later get sick from cousin Randy's beer and tatertot casserole thing? They will blame your dish. They will. So, don't sweat it and save it for later when you can share it with folks who will care. Like me. Unless it has pickles. Lily will have my share then.

Or just stop at Dairy Queen and get an ice cream cake. Even the crunchiest hippie mamas eat those, though sometimes in secret. Shhhhh.

When one of your cousins sets the house on fire? (This has happened.) Don't freak out. Put the fire out and then laugh about it. Mock them about it for the next decade. That's probably fair game. Maybe. Right?

One of the things about my mother in law that I really admire is how she can take the tension out of a conversation at a holiday meal and change the subject. Sometimes with a self mocking joke, sometimes with a passing of the dish, or a question for someone else. She is the queen of clean transitions.  She's freaking brilliant at this. In the end no one really wants a holiday gathering to end with someone storming out mad with everyone else wondering if they will ever see them again. Sometimes you won't. Not ever.

So if you are having an anxiety attack about potential drama at your holiday gathering? Don't. Instead, be the person who transitions the conversation. When someone trolls for a fight, tell them That's interesting, I'll have to think about that. Even if you won't, it leaves them feeling validated and heard and in the end that's all any person at all wants.

Is there ever a time to step up and have your say? Sure. If there is a knife fight, someone is disorderly drunk, or if someone is violent with anyone's children or pets (including their own), or if your wheelchair bound grandmother lunges and crawls through the gravy bowl just to assault you and call you names. Then by all means, get in there, sleeves rolled up and have at it. Don't expect pie to still be served though. Though unless children and/or animals are involved, I would still just quietly get my keys and leave, maybe grabbing a pie for the road before anyone can dramatically storm after me.

And if it is all too much for you? Stay home. Seriously. This is just a Thursday. It doesn't have to be something that you are up all night the night before worrying about. Hello 2am! It takes two to drama. If one decides to eat pie instead, then drama goes elsewhere or just plain looks nuts. That's ok too.  Seriously, grown women do not have "enemies" no matter how important they think they are, they just don't. Unless, maybe, yeah, no. If you walk away from a cat fight and only one person is left there meowing and screeching while you eat pie? Meowser wins right? I don't care. Pie.

My southern friends say, "Bless your heart," when things get catty and heated on our support group board. Even though I know that this actually means, "Gah! What a stupid b!#@*!" it seems to soothe people and calm things down. Why? Because words actually are powerful, the words spoken are sweet and they can mean anything you like. Saying, "Bless her heart," is so comforting that it simmers down tempers. It also signals that someone is refusing to engage in the argument, that they are done, and done in a graceful way. That is so powerful.

Do not feed the bears. Do not engage in arguments that have no ending. Do not comment on strange political and possibly drunk ramblings of extended family. Do not get drawn in. Do gather recipes, laugh at genuinely funny things, dote on your favourite people, and be the one who brings peach, I mean peace, to the table. Be neutral, be happy, be sweet. Then eat all the pie and leave.

So that said, what is your favourite could have been a Griswold moment family memory? (See how I set the comments to anonymous? Have at it!

Name Five Things That Make You Awesome and Why I Couldn't

So on a local Facebook support group for natural health mothers that are also nice to each other the question was posed: Name five things about you that make you AWESOME.

I couldn't. It irritated me all day long. I thought maybe tomorrow I will be able to, maybe today I am just being a grumpus. 

Nope. The next day was not any better and not being able to do this was bringing me down. The narrative in my head went something like this:

You are a writer, you could say that! No. Writers don't just self publish on a vanity blog.

You are a farmer, how about that? Are you kidding? Bah. I run the market booth and the emails and Chad does all the heavy lifting. No. You chased the run away calf on foot for two miles and caught her AND when all the pigs got out you tracked them and helped round them up! Whatever.

You are a mother of a special needs child. Isaac's needs barely count. He's a sweet and easy and healthy child. How could I even think to use that as something that makes ME awesome?

What about your cooking? Fluke. The ingredients are what make that good and just knowing when to let it be.
The conversation went on like this in my head for days. Usually when I come across something online that annoys me or I don't like, I move on and don't give it anymore thought. But this? How can I be a feminist AND have this inner dialogue? Was it just a phase that would pass with the full moon?

Then a friend confided that she couldn't do this list either. My friend who is an amazing mother, a gentle heart, and offers words of comfort and insight when others are in pain. How could she be in this same place? That got me thinking about this.

Owl skeleton after being crushed by a deer dancing in the woods.

I asked my kids, What about Mama is amazing? 

Holly: You make the bestest pancakes! And I love you! And you have long hair and are queen of the elves and can talk to unicorns!

Lily: You are a good artist and you make awesome food. You hug me when I'm scared. You have secret super powers. You are strong and smart and you are the only person in the whole world that Dada is afraid of! (Not true, I think....)

Isaac: (signs) MILK!



So to my kids I am awesome. I am clever. I am caring. I am a milk machine. You know? I'll take that.

But the narrative in my head always counters that, You yelled and made them feel little. You set a bad example of friend making because you don't have a BFF. You would rather be writing your stupid book than reading bedtime stories. You've been leaving the laundry to pile up.
Good grief. So I thought, what if I was talking to two people fighting? How would I mediate between them?

Thus, a third narrative was born.

Both stories are valid. See how this works?

You are a writer, you could say that! No. Writers don't just self publish on a vanity blog.  All writers start somewhere. Progress measured by inches is still progress. Nearly 10,000 pages were read on that vanity blog, if people didn't want to read it, they wouldn't. Lot's of writers have "vanity" blogs- even Neil Gaiman. Writing everyday is good for you even if no one reads it.

You are a farmer, how about that? Are you kidding? Bah. I run the market booth and the emails and Chad does all the heavy lifting. No. You chased the run away calf on foot for two miles and caught her AND when all the pigs got out you tracked them and helped round them up! Whatever. 80% of farming is driving and you do most of that for the farm. You can do animal first aid and have seen more than a lot of "farmers" in just four years. The market booth keeps the farm alive.


You are a mother of a special needs child. Isaac's needs barely count. He's a sweet and easy and healthy child. How could I even think to use that as something that makes ME awesome?  Isaac does have needs and keeping him healthy is complicated and you have to have a lot of mindfulness and juggle a lot of information all at once to make informed decisions and prepare for the things that are still ahead. Enjoy this downtime, but do not dismiss it.

What about your cooking? Fluke. The ingredients are what make that good and just knowing when to let it be. Actually, this is a fair statement. Ha! As Sylvina Rowe said though, home cooked food is precious, magical, and soothing. This is the magic you are learning.

Each narrative has value. Each side has a point. Recognising this was so very hard, but it quieted me for a bit. Forget the list. I am just wonderful in the moment. Tonight I am missing bedtime stories and writing instead, I need this and it makes me a better person to give in to this art and create. I am WRITING bedtime stories. I only miss 3 or 4 in a two week span usually. The fact that I get as many as a do with my beautiful children is a blessing to them and to me. A magical childhood, sparkling with love and laughter- that is my gift to them.

So, I am not going to ask you to list out five things that make you awesome. You ARE awesome. We are all on different journeys and different mile markers and when we encounter fellow travellers, the kind thing to do is be that third voice lifting them up, as my own children and friends did for me.

Take a moment to be kind to yourself. Breathe in the air for a moment. At night, look at the stars or the clouds or the moon or just the darkness of a house without any lights on. Find a moment and just be kind to yourself. In the daylight, find a bit of light or beauty in the small space around you. It takes practise, just like any art, but if you do it enough and often you will polish this skill. You will, friend.

Holiday Spoon Club, The Story Behind the Name

Holidays growing up were always vibrant. My family has a strange sense of humour and a lot of emotional baggage bumping about. Like many families, once people were rosy and cheerful from food and spirits, emotions could get going. Old hurts bubble up or are remembered or haven't healed from the year before. Later in my life my family would invite people without family near to our home to share our meal- sounds generous, but the main benefit was that it made family drama near impossible because one does not dysfunction in front of strangers. Well, not usually.

So I never really knew what to expect. That is one of my main anxieties about the holidays, really, is that when people get emotional and then in close quarters things can get complicated quickly.

My senior year we had family in town and someone decided to make the stuffing a bit "greener" than usual, or that's how the story has evolved. It is possible that alcohol reacted to my 90 something year old Nebraskan grandmother's medication, but that makes a less dramatic story I suppose. Whatever it was, I would neither eat something cooked in a Turkey's butt cavity (still won't, I know that my real food friends are laughing at me right now....) nor did I drink. At some point in our lovely meal my grandmother launched out of her seat and crawled over the table, grabbed me by my collar and called me a lesbian liberal slut.

Of course there were no words I could offer. Lack of oxygen was the main reason. Once she let go and I realized everyone was laughing hysterically, I slipped out the door, got in my car, and headed for coffee.

Yay Thanksgiving.

Some years after that I attended Thanksgiving again at my families home, but this time I was newly wed, still childless. My mother and I were not on good terms, probably because of her dislike of my husband. My siblings were still in high school and the house was full of strangers. That meant the drama was more of the mock each other cruelly variety.

At some point I could not take it. I couldn't leave either. I couldn't eat either, not trusting what could be in the main meal food ingredients. I grabbed a pie from the buffet, a pecan cream cheese pie with lard and butter crust. I took the whole pie to the front parlour of their Victorian home and seated myself as hidden as I could from the main walkways and I started eating it with my fingers and crying.

The chaos continued to run through the house, folks laughing and children running and playing and laughing and the holiday tension building. Pie. Pie was making it better. Pie was making me forget infertility and the pull between in-laws and my family, the jealousies, the financial struggles of being a college student and buying a house and being newly wed and having my family not like my husband and at the same time pressuring us to have kids and mocking us for not being able to and everything else.

My mom's friend Mel came in the room and stood there silent for a moment and then left.

Busted. Oh no. I tried to compose myself, wipe tears off my face, the smears of cream cheese too.

But no. She brought spoons. Not one, but two. Together we sat there and ate the pie, quietly. When it was done she made the plate disappear and she gave me a hug. There was no mention again of the pie, when it was noticed missing, she helped cover up my crime. Unlike family, she did not mock me or hold it against me later.

And that year for Christmas? She gifted me a single spoon. So like a space traveller, who should never be without a towel, do not go into the holidays without your spoon.

Raise your spoons higher my friends and eat that pie. If you see someone in need of a spoon? Get the spoon for them. This is how someone brought peace to my holiday.

So the affirmation for today? We've all been there. You are not alone. I am not alone. Our stories are all different, they all have value. Dysfunctional families are everywhere, but so is pie. 

Simple but powerful words.

Holly's Art (aka ADORABLE!)