All Anyone Wants is to be Included

Lily and Holly are in the church holiday pageant. When they found out that other three year olds are too, but not Isaac (because he isn't ready for the Sunday school preK class) they marched up to our Pastor and asked why Isaac couldn't be included. They said, "All anyone wants is to be included." The Pastor was quiet for a moment and said, "You girls are right. I will find a way and Isaac will be in the show too."

Not five minute later, Isaac was cast as a lamb. He will toddle and run around the sanctuary during the show, making lamb noises and dancing. He can be loud and go where he wants.

All anyone wants is to be included.

Inclusion is not having a kids table at the holidays. Not having special sports just for "special" kids or just for girls. Inclusion is being a family and being involved together. Inclusion is remembering how important inclusion is even when the normal of the world is exclusion and isolation.

My friend Holly says that when you get her family you get ALL of them, no one gets left behind (or at home). This is how we live and to us Isaac really is a normal kid. Even when we encounter fully verbal and active kids his age, we see Isaac as a whole and beautiful person. It is easy for us to forget the delays that others see, easy for us to forget that not everyone can read his hand signs, we just know him.

Holly and Lily though, they advocate for him in ways that even I missed. It never occurred to me to even ask for him  to be in the play. I figured I would stay in the nursery with him while they performed. I would miss out too, but better than trying to hold him while he signed frantically for "trains" and "play" and screamed loudly the whole time. He loves the church nursery so, so much.

The girls, my girls, thought better. They never even missed a beat because to them, of course he should be included. 

The response from our church family? So loving and wonderful. Just one more thing that helps me know we found the place where we can thrive. Open hearts, open minds.

*Unfortunately, a Midwestern snowstorm has cancelled the service that included the pageant. The girls have prepared a speech to present to the Pastor all the reasons why the show should still go on, even if it has to be after Christmas. The story of Jesus is IMPORTANT even after Christmas, they told me. I am so blessed by these children. Every single day, I am blessed.

Demolition- What I Can Destroy With Just a......Metaphor?

Destruction is cathartic. When we finally got rid of the strippey couches and I decided I could not ethically burn them (pollution and all, they were really, horribly gross), we stood and cheered when the garbage truck crushed them in its giant, powerful jaws and crusher. Oh happy day.

We were not just crushing fabric and wood and mouse nest, no, we were destroying what it meant to take on couches I hated because I had to leave the gorgeous, lovely ones that I picked out and paid for behind. While owning these strippey ones, I had been friends with less considerate people. My kids had vomited on them. I sat on them with Isaac (covered) upright so he would not aspirate on spit up breast milk while wrapped in a billiruben light blanket. I was sitting on these couches when the neurologist called with Isaac's diagnoses.

That era was over. Now we were able to at least buy a second hand couch, one that I picked out, and these could just go. Go, they did.

So, today, I was feeling again like I had to destroy some of the disappointment and aggravation that the farmhouse still holds for me.

Cue music of doom. Actually. This song works too.

Atom and His Package - I'm Down Right Amazed At What I Can Destroy With Just A Hammer 

 

So. This bathroom. It has/had a plastic shower that was glued on to the wall. It leaked. It got grungy. It is the downstairs bathroom that visitors use. It is HORRIBLE. When I tried to clean it, the gross stuff multiplied and fought back. Norwex? Fought and LOST. It got so bad that I refused to even let muddy kids use it. Ugh.

Bonus? The pipes all freeze. All the time. To the point that I sometimes have to stay home on pipe duty instead of leaving the farm for kid lessons and my friend time. Well played bathroom from hell, well played.

 So. Jessica and I got the crow bar out. Actually she also used the screw gun and took apart the fixtures. Let's not go too crazy here.

See all that water damage? Good thing it isn't that old. The bathroom was an addition in the last 10 years.

Here we go, down to studs!

Not really. The fake plastic shower was glued to a fake plastic wall. Good grief.

Holly helped. She got her fixer boots on and dove in.

Destruction is so cathartic. Try it. (I also threw out a lot of damaged clothing and toys this week and one particularly emotional piece of clothing (all cotton) went into the wood stove). Some things I just want out of my life for ever. I don't want them lingering in the landfill of my emotional landscape. I want them gone.

That's what purging is all about. It isn't just making room for more. I am welcoming in different energy and purpose. Making more time for creative process. Less laundry and dishes= less time working on laundry and dishes= more time for playing, creating, and writing! Win!

A new tile in the bathroom? Less time battling the cracked, deteriorating science experiment of a plastic box that pig farmers and children wash farmyard compost off themselves in.

What can you banish from your life that is fighting you back? I've got my hammer and crow bar and I am making a list. I am not even checking it twice, I am just diving in.

I will post progress as we go with this bathroom. It may take a while, we have zero budget and have to get creative.

The Spirit of the Season

This is a deep sea squid. It lives where the water pressure would kill a human being.
I am a squid.

I meant to do the 12 days of Christmas for the Holiday Spoon Club series but then our drains had a major crisis at the farm and the weather turned to freezing and then a member of our close 22q community got her angel wings. Keeping up a post a day was about all I could manage with food pictures and cute moments with my children. I was in tears so much of the time from both ends of the emotional spectrum. I don't do well in December usually, so this was past my breaking point.

Blessed I am to have friends that recognised this and were there for me. Even more, Chad recognised that I needed more from him, even though he was spending time in the mucky basement thawing the clogged pipes and doing field chores and building fences. He took the time to do dishes more than his usual turns (basically giving me a pass on dishes so far this month. Wow. He also helped me with organisation and some huge purging that we've been pretty intense with lately.

December makes me sad. It isn't just the waning daylight, the lack of fresh vegetables, that my extended family lives so farm away, that my aunt died without me ever getting to tell her how much her encouragement meant to me, or a million other things that all pile up into an emotional train wreck and leave me exhausted and on the verge of a near constant panic attack. I just want to break and smash things and sit alone in the dark with nothing but the feedback loop of self pity.

You know? Many of you do actually. That is what I am finding. So many people feel the same way, so overwhelmed and alone. What is it they say to Harry Potter? He's easier to defeat if he thinks he is alone. That.

I am not alone. I don't just mean my family or friends either. Since I began this journey back in May to reboot this blog and start writing again, (not just blogging, but to pick up poetry again too,) an amazing community of creative people have come into my life. Getting to know and having these folks cheer me on, lift my spirits, allow me to be part of their circle has been so invigorating. I feel refreshed instead of recycled. There are others who feel like small potatoes, others who are afraid to really express their inner forces, and still more who are just afraid to make the time and say this part of me is important, I am an artist. 

So this season, as we count down to Christmas and New Years, take time for your art each day. Sometimes for me that is cooking, sometimes writing, and sometimes visual arts. You know, it is also an art to just be present in the moment and that is a craft I am still working on, for the sake of my children.If I plug into the creative forces at least once a day, I feel like I can make it through the season. The writer's mind is slowly being nurtured and keeping me company through the day instead of the white noise of negative self talk.

Do go out there. Make a list of the things you meant to do- start a blog? Join Pinterest? Paint the bathroom? The dishes can wait. Create and get messy.  (Then pretty please share it here! Link in the comments!)

*The bathroom re-do starts tomorrow!

Mercy in a Ziplock

Most of us are only a heartbeat away from the kind of poverty that is harsh and cruel and inescapable. None of us believe it to be true, but in my years working with poverty level students, living in an urban neighbourhood with economic diversity that ranged from the elitist antique dealers to the homeless veterans living in tents on the banks of the Des Moines River, and my own experience as a child in a family that used food stamps....I can tell you for sure, each of us is closer to the edge than we will ever realise or admit. Those already there work fiercely to hide it and survive and others just sink.

Having a medical needs child and not qualifying for any assistance and having crappy insurance can push a family to the edge of that.

Let me tell you about my own experience though. The shame of food stamps and free lunch was so great for me that I would skip lunch instead. From that experience I struck out at others, you should be ashamed and work harder to pay for your own food! I would not back down. Then as I grew into a mother and adult and nurtured students along, I realised that even food stamps were not enough to hoist them up and out. Cycle of poverty it was called officially. One student could not afford to renew her tags, so she kept driving to the job that would give her the paycheck to do so, but got pulled over for having expired tags, and now has a $350 dollar ticket that she can't afford either. $350 was also her rent for the month. Which does she pay? Once behind, never caught up.

I thought of her the next time I saw someone at a gas station trying to pay for gas and her card was declined. Her shame was palpable and her panic real. What happens next?

Does she stand outside and beg for the money? We live in an independent society and often have no one to call that can help.

A generous stranger stepped up and paid her bill. Smiled and said she'd been there too.

I wish I had been that stranger instead of a bystander.

But so often I would be a bystander and think, I wish I could help. I don't even carry cash. One day last Spring I was having a terrible week. Terrible. Someone posted a kind word on my facebook wall and much of my woe melted away. Kindness is powerful. Kindness heals. This is where we need to direct our hearts.

I set out to not be caught helpless when someone needed 5$ for gas or food. A friend was making Mercy Bags to send overseas to a 3rd world country, why not address the poverty and suffering of our neighbours. Why not make this mercy a part of our lives. Those of us who stand on solid ground, offering a hand up to those on the edge. If all we have is words, give that. If we have extra food, find out who needs it. Extra gloves, give them to someone who has cold hands. I don't mean bagging up your unwanted and dumping them at a charity, though that is good too, I mean looking your friend in the eye and saying, "I see your need. I want to help. You are loved and valued."

You could carry a Ziplock with a water bottle and granola bars, a 5$ gas card, or grocery store gift card, some candy, a simple note inside. Even a cup of coffee delivered to a new mom and left on her doorstep with a card can make the day better for someone. Think of the kindness you are capable of, write it down, and then DO. Take these bags of mercy out into your community, then be IN your community.

Here's my list that I hit hard when I get gloomy and overwhelmed and eye twitchy (like this week):

1. Post on 10 friends' facebook or twitter feeds what is special about them to you. Maybe they have never heard you say it before, maybe you say it all the time, and maybe they need these words more than you will ever know.
2. Bring a meal and coffee to a friend for no reason.
3. Listen when someone starts to share what is on their heart.
4. Fill a bag of groceries, good food that you would eat, then bring it to your local church and ask the pastor to pass it on to someone who needs it.
5. Invite others into your home for meals. Send them home with leftovers. Especially on holidays when so many people are far from family and alone.
6. Send cards to troops. They are missing folks back home. They are.
7. Pay for the coffee of people in the drive up line in front of you. 
8. Leave a gift card for groceries at the local food bank.
9. Find out what your food bank needs that week. You may be surprised at what is on their shelves and it may break your heart.
10. Carry 1$ gloves in your car. Give them away. You may be surprised how fast they go and how many people can't even afford that simple accessory. 
11. BE KIND. When the secretary snaps at you, when the bank teller is bitchy, when your cousin says something hurtful- remember that it is probably not you. We all have battles we are fighting and most of the time hiding from others. Sometimes it bubbles over. Be the calm. Be the light. Be patient with those who need it the most. 
12. Pay attention to people around you. Start seeing their suffering. Be the person that brings calm instead of adding to the pile. Even if you are just as broken, this effort will turn others to you as well. 

What things would you add? What will you do?  Share in the comments!

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.

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!