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!)

Spoon Club Affirmations

Whoa baby. The holidays are here. Even those who don't believe in religion or celebrate the traditions can't seem to escape the stress and the pressure and the chaos of the next six weeks. The upcoming events affect all of us in a negative way- traffic patterns are disrupted, shopping for everyday items are complicated, the weather here in the Midwest can also get treacherous, and people seem to be more bah humbug than joy to the world.

If you do partake in the holiday events and traditions? Oh my. That's just asking for it.

Asking for what?

Well, that depends on you. No. Really.

I'm not saying this because I am one of those chipper elves that dons the jingle bells and wears ugly sweaters all year long. I am. That's beside the point. The holidays have always been a horrible time for me. I love giving gifts. I love decorating. I love and I mean LOVE the food traditions. I love Santa and elves and snow and everything Christmas.

Except I don't. 

I hate how people get so stressed out. I hate how the food makes people sad instead of full. I hate how giving gifts means the next year is spent trying to catch up on the credit card bill. I hate how choosing whose house to go to is like the Mason Dixon Line of family feuds. I hate the mall. I hate the traffic. I hate the holiday station that I want to love but they play the same 8 Christmas songs over and over again and two of them are the same song just different versions/eras and I have at least 200 good ones on my iPod I left at home to choose from. I hate the look of disappointment when I give a handmade gift. I hate the look even more when it is something my child has made special. I hate that everyone is super ramped up and they all take it out on strangers, especially on the Internet.

So, friends, I am going to get on here everyday and write out a special message. Any of you who are right here with me on this holiday edge can play along. Anyone who isn't? Find someone who is and give them a pie or a hug or a pie hug, ok? Let's do our best to bring peace into each others lives, shine a light to those who are battling the darkness and the dragons, and make folks who have no family or no family who wants them feel loved, and then let's keep this generosity going long after the holidays. It isn't just a soup kitchen on Thanksgiving gesture- this needs to be for real and for always. Let;s just start with today though. Who's with me? I am going to call it the Holiday Chaos Spoon Club (and I'll share with you why tomorrow....)

Today I will remember that no matter how I live my life, friends and family and strangers will think I am weird. I will live my life for me instead. I will dye my hair purple and live in an RV if that brings me happiness. I will shave my head and hula hoop on the beach if that brings me happiness. I will blog like no one is reading. I will do what I love. 

I will remember this as I attend family and social events where the things I love are criticised. I will love myself and my life anyway.

It isn't a perfect start, but it what was in my head after I spoke with my friend Ashley this afternoon. I remember thinking these same things as I was making the decision to go to college to study poetry, then when I decided to get married, when I decided to have children, buy an old run down house, and then move to a farm. Every decision I made was ridiculed, critiqued, and I was made to feel incapable. Clearly, I am capable. What if I had listened.

Oh. I have listened actually. I stopped blogging after months of a friend making snide remarks about it. I gave that piece of myself away and I can't get it back. I allowed it to be stolen from my children, a record of their lives. How stupid is that? Why did I care so much what other people thought? So what if my pictures are messy, if my content is varied and unfocused, and you know who cares about my thoughts? Me! So again, I blog like no one is reading and that means it is messy and varied and pictures of food and crayons and piles of laundry and pigs and piles of crayons and more pigs and sometimes sheep too. I make mistakes. I love pie.

I wanted to perform street poetry in San Francisco. I didn't go. I was scared and let the critics feed those fears. I wanted to travel but listened to my friends tell me that it would be hard to do with Lily when she was two, even though our first two trips were wonderful, I had this nagging sense that they were right. I just worry about you. Those were the subtle underminings that were all it took. I let it. I let it crash my self esteem. Why?

I. Me. I let it. I can't even say never again. Why? Because I am human.

So, hold you head high and your spoons higher. Let's have some pie!