An Anology

This semester I have been teaching at a local college, teaching history. I LOVE the class material. I get excited prepping lectures, finding extra resources, grading papers even.

Then I get to class and it all falls apart.

Tuesday I was so frustrated I couldn't speak for an hour, I had to hole up in my office and stew on it. Let's just say that the class crossed a line beyond bad to worse as far as student participation went and the written response from students slammed that baby home.

I prepped the lecture, created the slideshow of images last night, but without the usual excitement.

The question nagging....what am I doing wrong? I know this material. I love it. When I prep at the Pizza Hut on weekends two of the waitresses sit down with me to find out what subjects I am teaching and THEY get excited about my class material. Why am I not engaging the students?

In a last minute effort, I put out a request on FB for suggestions. Quizzes. More quizzes. Small groups......my immediate response in my head was that small groups were impossible with the set up of the classroom......

It was then that it hit me. I am falling prey to the architecture of the classroom. Let me explain.

In my own graduate thesis I discussed how architecture, how the buildings themselves not only reflected the social history of the time but also dictated it. The classroom for my class is a theatre lecture hall with me at the podium. I was trying to fill that space. Even though that is not how I best teach, not how I feel comfortable, and not how I usually communicate. It becomes a theatrical performance, easily derailed by an unresponsive audience. *(Why I quickly left the theatre track I was on as a teenager....)

I wasn't being true to myself and therefore not connecting the students to the material.

I got to the classroom today an hour early, as I usually do, but instead of unpacking notes, drawing a timeline on the chalkboard, and setting up the projector, I stood at the back of the class. How do the students see me? The podium itself blocks their view of me. If I step aside, I block the chalked up notes. The screen looks faded by the sunlight and they can't possibly even see the images I put up.

As they started to fill the seats I reorganized the class structure in my head. By the time I shut the door, I was ready.

And class was awesome.

I divided them into groups and gave them 20 minutes to prepare their group to speak on the suffrage movement in the Western US, assigning Utah, Wyoming, Colorado, and California. They were given prompt questions, and a task. I circulated and helped guide them towards specific things.

The presentations were lovely. Every single student participated.

I pulled a few aside after class and asked them what they thought of today's class. Overwhelming was the positive response, but also more timid feedback about how the lectures had been going from their perspective.

Change is good.  It takes 10,000 hours to get good at something. I am 85 hours in. I remind myself that every hour isn't going to be great, that I will fail before I get my footing, to just keep trying.

Marriage/Family/Partnership

Taking a break from telling our medical story to focus a bit on something that is just as much a part of this journey as all the labs and tests. This was later in the planned series, but it has come up 3 times in the last 24 hours in the support groups, so I decided  to publish early.

Marriage. One of the things I have learned a lot about about second hand is how the stress of medical needs can break a marriage and a family into jagged little bits.

There was a sci-fi story I once read where the mom's wish was to make her special needs child less hideous, the wish granter gave her a task, she had to disappear for a month, no contact. When she came out of this hermitage, she changed her wish. Her wish was for her own heart to change, for her to love her child just the way she was.

Though this was sci-fi, and there were other plot points going on, this particular story element stuck out. Another short story I read was called Only a Mother, about radiation mutations and the mother was writing about her baby as though nothing was wrong, though the baby was in critical needs state, born missing major systems.

Two totally opposite ends of the spectrum. One mother in collapse from not being able to love her child with needs, the resentment overtaking everything, and the other in total denial.

Both stories were mothers essentially operating in a bubble with no support, at least that was shown.

It reminds me of something I read recently, "Under pressure, when we get squeezed, what is already inside comes out." This. This is what I am saying about special needs parenting. You don't get transformed into a super hero, what is already there comes out. The same goes for a marriage.

Support is absolutely critical. At least it is for me. Chad and I married young. Really young even for our peers. We just knew. When you have something so wonderful and fun and full of love, you don't wait. We did wait to have children though, nearly 7 years. A lot of that was due to infertility, but when we became parents it was so sweet and perfect and at just the right time. Each time love surprised us again with a new blessing, it just made our love grow.We've been married 15 years almost, together since 1996. That's a long time, half my life almost!

I'm not saying we don't fight. We do. We yell and get mad and slam doors and get cranky just like everyone else, I get mad when he steals my dish soap, he gets mad when I leave wet towels on his side of the bed, but we recover.

How does this relate to our special needs journey?

At first I was really overwhelmed with going to all the specialists alone with Isaac, or with girls in tow. It was so stressful and my sweet girls, when they get stressed they amp up the vibrant, colourful, cheeriness that is their play. Like tornadoes of girl. Not exactly a good thing tagging along to doctors appointments.

I struggled with this alone. I fumed. I resented. I worried that I was taking everything the wrong way. I was angry all the time on the inside. It took nearly everything I had in me, leaving nothing, to just seem cheery to the medical professionals (because crankiness gets written in your file and you can get a reputation for being one of "those" mums....) all while standing by our lifestyle and beliefs, seeming optimistic to family members, loving to my girls, and at the very least present for my friends. I being drained like a glass pitcher with the bottom shattered out. I would cry in my car. I felt so alone.The unknown looming like a storm front, the warning sirens going off, everyone running for shelter, winds picking up, but still no rain. Not yet. When will it pour down? Will it drown us, tear our house down in a splintering explosion, steal our sweet baby forever?

Why was I doing it all alone? 

One day Chad came into the kitchen and I was crying at the sink. He hugged me. I doubt he even remembers it. But I do. He just hugged me and being in his arms was safe and perfect, just like it had always been. Nothing had changed. We talked.

So I asked for help. I was so worried about asking for help. I don't trust anyone with my kids, not even 80% of my own family. Basically I had to ask Chad to take off work and ask Grampa to sometimes take the girls.

Chad made it clear that taking off work was not something that could happen.

There were some I NEEDED him there for. Like Isaac's CAT scan, or the meeting with the ENT that we would discuss surgery.

And the trips to Minnesota needed coordination.

We worked all of that out. Sometimes he also has to be the one to take the phone calls or do the talking. When I need to I hand it over to him. Not because I can't handle it, but because I need him to. And he does.

The biggest thing Chad has done through this entire journey is listen to me, just listen to me spout my fears and my worries and my hopes when they overwhelm me. He takes me seriously. This is very important. He remembers to tell me that he loves me. He's there. Simple things that really make a difference.

Except....that was a lie. He was cheating on me and slowly draining our retirement and savings. 

But what about our relationship? That part is not anyone's business. Yet, it constantly gets asked. In italics so we know they don't mean how we are friends. I blush every time. Still, you know what. My business. Our business. Not random strangers'. Not our family's. Not our good intentioned friends.

A marriage is more that that, always. If one part fails all others crumble. Chad has done a shitty job making me feel loved and valuable and when he is a crappy neglectful father, when he's gently holding a sleeping baby, or marching through pasture with a girl on his shoulders, or quietly demonstrating to a bunch of excited kids how to hook a worm, or handle a wild caught snake/turtle/giant frog? Yeah, only when other people were watching it. It was all an act.

If everything else is working, the rest will come. Chad still harasses and tries to control me, and I still try and do the things I did before we were married.

Facebook has actually helped us with being closer, even though he works all day with a long commute. He LOVES that I post every detail about our days, pictures, funny thing that get said or done. He comments and shares and posts too. We are both very involved in groups we love. Doing things together virtually does help. We both have open public pages, all posts are public. We have nothing to hide from each other or others.

He was holding my time accountable and at the end of the day accused me of being lazy. 

 I have rules I try to follow, given our relationship and family is so public. You can't possibly have a good strong relationship with someone if they are constantly posting that they are lazy or drunk or worthless or making unpleasant comments about their weight. For some reason it is pretty common for women to do this to their husbands, though I am pretty sure it is a double standard and if their husbands did this to them friends and family would be paying for the lawyers. So my rule is simple, I try really hard not to share conflict of any sort online. I have missed a step in the past year and was pretty public in two whole posts about my little sister hurting my feelings. Making that public was a huge mistake and was game changing for the relationship. I am really glad I have never done that to Chad. There are private, closed places to ask for help, facebook is not the forum for that. Our journey is about relationship, to each other and to God. Calling out our spouse's flaws does not make either stronger. So our second rule is that if either of us posts something that upsets the other, either it gets taken down or an apology is posted and it is the person who is upset's choice which one happens (sometimes taking it down makes it worse).

This next part? It was all lies. 

And we are still deeply in love. I have said before, being a special needs parent changes you, but really what it does is intensify what was already inside of you. For us, it has made our relationship more intense, more loving, more creative, wonderful, and fun. Our everyday lives reflect that joy.

We would have a harder time of it without the family support we have, but I know we'd still make it no matter what.

In 2015 Chad left the kids and I homeless and penniless while he moved in with his girlfriend who was a Burlesque dancer, 28 years old, and unemployed. He took all out money and bought her a house, didn't pay child support until the courts ordered him to, and bought her a 3000 square foot Victorian Mansion while I paid the entire court and lawyer cost. The kids are in therapy, public school, and I have primary custody. He's very happy. 

Red Chicken in a French Pot

Roasted Red Chicken in a Red Pot with Red Fire Peppers and Red Onions

That's what we call this recipe that I make in my red French Braiser oven. My husband got it for me for Valentine's Day/Birthday/ILoveYouAlwaysEveryDay.  We have a few, a very few poulet rouge chickens left in our freezer (translates Chicken Red Chicken). I love red onions best for cooking, had red potatoes and red bell peppers in the fridge, and nothing is complete without red cayenne and red/pink sea salt.  I also brine the chicken. I brine all poultry, always in sugar and salt water. Actually, this is how I thaw the frozen bird.

Put the chicken in and tuck quartered onions, potatoes, red bell pepper, and some butter all around. I also put in a few slices of citrus, this time it was clementine but lemon and blood orange work well too.  I put melted butter all over the bird and then sprinkled with salt and cayenne and white pepper. Sometimes I use our Swamp Fire mix, but your favourite seasoned salt will work. I have used the North African Berber seasoning from Pensey's and that is good too.

350 degrees until it is done. Usually 75 minutes, but this one was done in 45. Check. I start to check with the meat thermometer when it starts to smell good and brown on top. Always use a good meat thermometer. Always.

I cooked the chicken upside down. Not on purpose. I could not remember which way it was supposed to go.  We carve it up, leave the onions in the pot, put the bones back in, add carrots, celery, and vinegar. Fill pot with water and put back in the oven over night= 3-4 quarts of good bone broth.

The kids fight over the drum sticks and both girls eat all the meat off to the bone. Isaac gets a mini drum from the thigh. He eats it to bone too. The breast meat is tender and juicy and very deep in chicken flavour- that's the breed of chicken though, not the cooking method. Breed and feed matter, this hertiage bird is raised outside at our farm and fed goat milk whey. It takes a fabulous breed and makes it that much better. When we raise these to sell, we post on facebook and sell out 80 chickens in 20 minutes, with a waiting list. They are that good. They average 4-5 lbs each.

I had to hide my last 10 to keep them for our family. ;)

We do chicken at our house every 3 weeks or so. Each chicken will provide 4 meals. We don't waste any of it.

 

 

1 Whole Chicken, brined
8 small red potatoes or 4 large yellow potatoes quartered
1 red onion quartered
1 stick of butter
1-2 red bell peppers chopped into 2 inch chunks
salt, pepper, cayenne to taste (or seasoned salt)
1 orange or lemon (citrus)

350 degrees until done

Self Portrait Challenge and the Superhero Ideal

My days go by so fast they are a blur.

Random thoughts, written out. A self portrait challenge.

I don't like to ask for help and I don't like people to offer. I like the satisfaction of painting a room and finishing it and basking in the hard work of it all. I like that. It isn't always possible and I end up with help most of the time anyway.

 On one hand I have a great support group, those who have encouraged us and me to take on this lifestyle cold turkey and jump in feet first. It's been hard work, a steep learning curve, and a lot of heartbreak. Then out of the blue someone will say something like, "I was afraid you'd learn that lesson...." and do so in a way that very clearly communicates their patronizing pity. The kind of attitude that pulls the rug out of under your feet, just when you are wobbly standing anyway. The kind that says, "I was expecting you to fail and you did, ha."

The reason is that I hear that all the time...still. From the fellow pig farmer at the vet (my peer, that's right, I am a pig farmer too.), from other farm wives in town, from family members. I don't seem to have the strength or know how to them.

I do. I surprise myself everyday. I am strong enough. I might in fact, know more than the average farmhand that's been doing this for more years. I can hold a dying 200 lb animal in my very capable arms and bottle feed him water when we have no idea what's killing him. I can rock my daughter to sleep when she has nightmares about giant bugs eating her or roosters attacking the house. I can round up loose pigs with a smile and a whistle while grown men are swearing and stomping their tempers up (not that anyone here does that....). I can manage an emergency with a level head. I can put out fires. I can start fires. I CAN and I do, near daily, what needs to be done.

I cook on this. It isn't easy.

Why do people feel the need to treat others this way, especially others who aspire to be part of the "club"?   I find myself more and more walking away from people like this and tending to the branches and flowers that are supportive and nurturing friends.

And I have plenty of those.

And that is the kind of friend I want to be.

Just last week I dared say that farm life is hard. Out loud. In public. You know what? It is.

It is not all romance and daisies. Sometimes it stinks. Sometimes I get stuck in the mud and wish I had my cozy urban garden back or that I was just homesteading for our family needs instead of raising food for 60 other families too. (How cool is it that we have 60 families that buy meat from us! Very.) There are days that I want my husband to come in and read to the kids or play with them or help them with anything at all so I can make dinner or tidy up- but he's still outside moving feed, or hauling water, or chopping wood. We can't go into Des Moines together for dinner as a family because then we'd either be out too late or we'd miss locking up the sheep and coyotes would hurt and or kill them. That limits what we can do at the holidays when family cannot come to us.

There are days when the only thing that grounds me is heading outside alone at night just to stand under the open star filled sky and pray my gratitude to the heavens....in silence. In stillness. Under a universe so big that my problems and worries and aches are so small that statistically they don't even exist.

And those days are the days that I especially don't need deflating, pretentious, condescending comments about how if God wanted me to be successful on the farm he would bless me with an easy time. I don't need comments that farming is a natural extension of home keeping (because that's a load of naive crap). And I don't need anyone saying they, "know so and so who does twice as much and sleeps soundly at night happy to work hard, you should too and would if you had a grateful heart."

What I need is a nice cup of tea and a hot bath to wash the "mud" out of my hair and friends who do not emotionally sabotage me. All of which I have, thank you very much.

What does any of this have to do with being a super hero? Super heroes all have their weakness, their secret thing that can hurt them. I do too. I put my heart out there. I sometimes say what is on my mind without considering if it is kind first. I have only a few friends that take me for who I am, but know a whole lot of people who I have to walk barefoot on eggshells with.

I'm not saying this to get pity. What I am saying is that I aspire to be the mentor that others have been to me. I am saying that if you find yourself making passive aggressive subtle comments on a fb thread or in conversation, stop a minute and think about the hurt you might be causing someone. Do you really want to be the person who cause that kind of hurt? I don't. I caught myself typing a very clever response with some very subtle mean things very much directed at someone and stopped myself. I shut my computer and walked away. That's not me. That's not who I am. What you think shapes your actions, it is too easy to type it all out and feel clever only to to do the kind of harm that haunts you later.

So I thought I might list out the things I want to aspire to be, as a friend:

I want honesty, so I am honest.
I want kindness, so I will look for the kind way to do things or say things.
If I am doing something harmful to myself, I want my friends to tell me what they think.
I want friends who can accept me for who I am even when I am having a bad day.
I don't want to drop someone, just because they are struggling.
When things get broken or lost, I will not get angry and throw blame. I will pick up the pieces and be the one who scoops up the lost and weary.
I will encourage the gifts of others. I will smile at their success.
I will listen.
I will not try and solve problems. I will listen. I will help when needed.
I will not be passive aggressive.

I will shine. I will farm. I will love with all my broken heart. I will write. I will play. I will love.

I will fail. I will forgive myself and move on.

I will remember this every time I stand under that great big star filled sky, the heaven that has not changed in my lifetime, and I will be thankful for every sore muscle, every pain, every smile, kind word, blessing, and heart ache. For every milestone that we have earned and for those that just plopped in the road for us to get around.

I will not be afraid of what I see in the mirror. I will take pictures of myself, with my kids, of my kids, I will document our human experience.

That is my self portrait.