In need of Christmas spirits... 90 proof, please.

I swore this year that I would not set foot in any malls or department stores.  I would rather have all of my fingernails ripped from their beds one by one than to spend 10 minutes in a mall during the Christmas season.  I had visions of going off the grid; of eschewing the madness by sending donations in peoples' names to, I don't know, starving orphans? Each year I swear that the Grigg family will take a stand against gross commercialization, and each year, I end up folding like a cheap suit. Our one nod to stepping off the Christmas materialism wagon was to procure some of our daughter's gifts from Craiglist.

But, I found that my lack of planning led me to the mall not once, but twice.  I found myself being knocked into, pushed, and blocked by carts parked in the middle of aisles.  A car pulled in front of me to take a parking place for which I waited patiently.  I have seen rolled eyes, and the rudeness that can only come from stress and desperation.  Even trips to the grocery store are stressful.

Why Americans insist on engaging in high-stress Christmas behavior is beyond me.  We take a time that should be set aside for quality moments with family and friends and create a mountain of work for ourselves, spending hours sending cards to people with whom we often have long stopped interacting, spending hours battling the crowds in the mall, and slaving in the kitchen over baking goodies that many people don't even want. It is no wonder we're all a bit short and cranky.  I can only hope that one day, I'll have the strength to step off the treadmill and let people know, "We love you but we are opting out of the frenzy this year."  But, as long as I have a child at home, I don't foresee doing things that will take away the Christmas magic for her.  She's not yet jaded, nor was I when I was a child.

When I encounter rudeness while out and about, I try my best to not take it personally.  Many of us find Christmas overwhelming, and we don't all have the temperament to handle it gracefully or graciously.  Many people have committed to days on end with relatives who stress them, and are dreading the "You've gotten fat" remarks, the judgment, and the political debates foisted upon them. Many have downright dysfunctional families, and are dreading 3 nights of Uncle Joe's alcoholism, or mother's verbal abuse. Many are financially strapped, and wondering how in the world they will manage to give their children the Christmas they wish they could.  So, the only thing I can do- my only defense is to smile at strangers, wish people happy holidays (and hope they don't feel I am engaging in a War on Christmas), and not allow the crabby disposition of others to influence my own.

One side effect I've noticed with the "Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas" controversy is that folks seem reluctant to greet one another at all, and that makes me just a little bit sad.  I doubt the "War on Christmas" crowd anticipated that people would be so terrified of offending anyone that they just shut down.  A little bit of civility and warmth has been lost in the shuffle. A cashier wished me "Merry Christmas" today, not in the "I dare you to take offense" manner I've encountered recently, but in a friendly manner, and my agnostic self smiled widely and responded, "And a Merry Christmas to you, too." Anyone who takes the time to greet me warmly will get nothing back but gratitude.  I remember what it was like to work in a retail store this time of year, so I go out of my way to treat retail workers with a little extra kindness and empathy.

In any case, if we cannot find our Christmas spirit, for whatever reason, we just need to remember that this time will pass, as it always does, before we know it.  We'll clean out the gift bags and wrapping paper, pack away our ornaments, and go back to life as normal.  And the madness will recede, at least for another 365 days.

Goodbye and good riddance

As of Saturday,  I am now closer to 50 than 40.  Birthdays no longer disturb me, and I have never particularly fretted over numbers, so I am not mourning the inevitable march towards death.  I am, however, happy to see the back of 45. The past few years were very stressful and difficult, and I had to negotiate a path through a series of minefields.  The death of my beloved Aunt Sylvia was probably the most profound loss I felt last year, but there were other BIG STRESSORS that loomed over what had previously been an uneventful, reasonably calm, placid existence.   Luckily, the other difficulties are in the process of resolving themselves, and my stress level is returning to a manageable level. It was by sheer stubbornness alone that I managed to function (minimally, mind you), and I began to visualize shaking my fist at the fates and telling them to bugger the #$#$ off.

All in all, I have emerged from what I call Hell Year stronger and more resilient.  The world did not knock me down.  Strife did not defeat me.  In some ways, I am grateful that I faced multiple crises simultaneously.  I needed to know that I had the ability to overcome adversity, and I have rarely been field tested. I never thought of myself as a particularly strong person, and I am beginning to see that I can survive and thrive under adverse conditions.  However, I'm ready to have a peaceful, uneventful 46th year. 

I'm not particularly wise nor overwhelmingly clever, but I am stubborn and proud.  There are very few people on earth whom I will allow to see me weak or falter.  When everything is right as rain, I am extraordinarily uncompetitive, but when backed into a corner, I find myself hardening and sharpening my virtual knives.  Now, it's time to set down my mental weapons and to make my peace with where I have been, and to figure out where I am now going.

Try to understand... he's a magic man

In the beginning of my sophomore year of college, I encountered a man who had been hyped as a "seer" and a mystic.  He assessed me during our conversation.  He told me that I was potentially a very powerful young lady concealing a great deal of healing energy, but that I was not yet prepared to use it.  He said that I emotionally distanced myself from others by using sarcasm and dark humor, and by avoiding serious conversations.  I would have to topple this psychological wall before I could access this power. He said that, subconsiously, I was aware of my powers but was terrified to explore them.  As he didn't know me from a hole in the wall, I placed his evaluation in my mental parking lot, and chalked it up to the man trying to get into my 18 year old pants. And, sure enough, he asked me out to dinner.

I was curious enough to accept.  I will admit that I felt some combination of attraction and slight revulsion, and my curiosity and hunger for outrageous life experiences won the day.  A few days later, he picked me up from my apartment and I found myself at an incredibly expensive French restaurant.  His stare was hypnotic, and his slightly lined face, dark tan, piercing eyes, and longish black hair were appealing in a way that a naive, somewhat inexperienced 18 year old would find.  He spoke little of himself, but instead, cleverly focused on me as if he found me the most fascinating person on earth.  At one point, he asked me to hold up my hand. He placed his hand close to mine without touching it.  I felt small circular swirling sensations on my fingertips, and he asked, "Did you feel that?"  To this day, I have absolutely no clue how he did this, but I know that I did not imagine it.  "I can teach you how to do this, along with so many other things."  I have never been in the least bit New Age or Woo Woo, but I will admit that I was fascinated.  However, my sensible side kicked in.  Why in the world would a man who had to have been 40ish want to date an 18 year old?  What were his motives?  And, even if he did have powers, I suspected he used them in order to seduce young women.  I heard strains of Heart's "Magic Man" in my head, and I ended the date with a mere hug, though I know he was hoping for more.  I brought home my leftovers, and shared my escargot and buttery something-or-another with my starving roommates.  And I refused to see him again.  Part of me was tempted- the idea of taking on a 40 year old lover fascinated me- what things could he teach me? But a 40 year old man who pursues 18 year olds is somewhat oogy, and I sensed he was looking for a starry eyed protégé.

Soon, I had an age-appropriate boyfriend with whom I stayed for 2 years.  I adored him, and he adored me, but eventually, we found we had irreconcilable differences.  He wanted to move after college to a large city- New York or San Francisco, immerse himself in the art and music scene, and I knew we'd live in an apartment where a large cast of characters would enter and exit at will.  I craved a quieter, more solitary existence in a hamlet in Vermont, where I hoped to be a working writer.  With no small amount of sadness, I ended the relationship, as I could not see a compromise.  And as it turns out, my boyfriend lived his dream, and, though I chose a more practical career, I have spent my adulthood living in small college towns and quiet, woodsy places. 

Every now and then, I find myself contemplating what Mystical Man told me about myself.  In some ways, he was dead on.  I have always used sarcasm and humor to create a level of emotional distance from others.  And, though I doubt I am harboring the ability to heal people, over the years, several people have told me that I have "calming energy".  I doubt I throw this out in order to be a great humanitarian.  I simply need my environment to be peaceful, and when someone around me is agitated or upset, I do experience a feeling of pushing something out of me; some kind of weird energy in order to create harmony around myself.  But, I am guessing these things are true for many of us.  Perhaps we do all have some kind of hidden power to effect change in the world around us, and it wouldn't be difficult to quickly pick up that I am a smart ass.  So, I just throw his words back into the mental parking lot, though I am still completely mystified by the circles he created on my fingertips without even touching me.  I am grateful now that I did not allow this man to seduce me.  God only knows what kind of damage might have been inflicted, and I now perceive him to be someone who had Manson-like aspirations.  I congratulate my naive 18 year old self for having some kind of sense that won over my attraction and curiosity, but there is a part of me that wonders if I would have walked away with an unusual adventure, full of physical intrigue and passion beyond what most 18 year olds usually experience.  Heretofore, I had only experienced the fumblings of teenagers.  Surely, a fling with a 40 year old would have been a Garden of Earthly Delights.

I also wonder where he is now and what kind of life he has led.  He would be well into his sixties by now!  I don't think I could possibly locate him, as he used a rather cheesy, New Age, pseudonym, and I haven't a clue as to his real first or last name is.  How many young girls were drawn in by his mystical, charismatic, New Age schtick?

How many times do we find ourselves facing choices such as this- where we have a choice between something tempting, but somewhat dangerous, versus taking the sensible, rational route of self-protection?  This time, I chose safety.  Other times, I have leapt into the abyss.  No matter my choice, I often wonder how my life would have changed if I chose differently.

Monkeys off backs and such...

I woke up recently to realize that a bad habit I have struggled with for some time had just abated. The urge to engage in this unhealthy behavior had been waning gradually, so subtly that I didn't notice until it was gone. It has been a behavior that I have stopped repeatedly, but the urge remained as a dull, aching impulse, barely beneath the surface, and I knew each time that I would be led again into unhealthy behavior that didn't represent the person I want to be. It doesn't matter what it was- whether a substance, a series of actions, or a person. What matters is that I no longer find this bad habit appealing or attractive, and it no longer suits me or my life.  The final push came from circumstances that were beyond my control, but these circumstances formed the catalyst I needed to make the final break.

Though I feel a sense of inner peace to have hurled this monkey from my back, I also feel a small sense of loss. A bad habit can be as comfortable as a warm blankie. The daily pull, the sadness that underlies an addiction becomes a trusted and familiar friend.  The need for what is toxic consumes you and informs your day to day decision making. Now that this dubious friend has flown the coop, I find myself scrambling to fill that space. I think that, as I have been pulling away, food has served that purpose. Since I don't want to substitute one bad habit for another, I am trying to fill that space with positive energy. 

I have also recently liberated myself from trying to please everyone else. I am adamantly being myself. I post what I want on FB; I say what I want to my friends and family (barring being rude or insensitive), I feel free to be sincere at times and cast off the impulse to be a perennial smartass who takes nothing seriously. I no longer worry about being mocked or heckled. I am happy with the person that I am, and people can feel free to move on if they don't find what I have to say appealing.  I no longer choose my words to impress anyone. I have an innate ability to unconsciously reinvent myself to match the tone and personality of others, and I'm done with that. I believe that the liberation from my bad habit is linked to my newly found desire to be authentic, because, the more the former has increased, so has the latter. 

Some of my new found peace stems from beginning a new job where I feel engaged and intellectually stimulated. As I throw more energy into my job, I find I have less for extraneous things that once seemed important.  And since I have 2 hours of commuting time each day, I find myself focusing more on my family and my marriage, out of necessity. I judiciously dole out what time and energy is left over.

I suppose that I could berate myself for engaging in unhealthy behavior as long as I have, but I don't see the purpose of doing so. My life experiences are part of the rich tapestry of human behavior, and I feel more alive for having experienced the highs and the lows. And I am at peace knowing that I have been accountable to those in my life to whom I need to be. 

Happy Whatever

'Tis the season where I start seeing angry FB rants about hearing "Happy Holidays", rather than "Merry Christmas".  I know there are those who are equally offended to hear "Merry Christmas", if they do not celebrate this holiday, but for some reason, I never see the complaints in my feed.  I have seen people posting that they will refuse to do business with retailers where "Happy Holidays" is used, and I have heard retail employees recount stories of being barked at and lectured.  I am scratching my head that people are so easily offended when people are truly trying to be nice and inclusive.  And I feel bad for the employees who are often overwhelmed and exhausted, and can't seem to win either way.

First of all, I actually can empathize with Christians, who may mourn what they see as "taking the Christ out of Christmas".  I am an agnostic, but I celebrate Christmas culturally.  I put up a Christmas tree, not a "holiday tree".  I like the sound of "Merry Christmas", as I grew up hearing it.  And, I'll admit, I enjoy old fashioned Christmas pageants.  I listen to both secular and sacred Christmas music, and have fond memories of sing-alongs to "The Messiah".  Christmas is part of my culture, and I can see how Christians can feel that their holiday is lost to a generic Holiday goo.  That said, I think Christmas as  a religious holiday has long jumped the shark, due to mass commercialization and materialistic shopping frenzies.  I do not recall any mention of people coming to fisticuffs over big screen TVs in Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John, and Christmas to most Americans is more about consumerism and excess than it is about Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. 

If I do not know you, I will likely greet you with "Happy Holidays", and if you are offended by this, it's your issue.  I don't know if you are Jewish, Muslim, Christian, or a non-believer, and since "Happy Holidays" celebrates all holidays, you're covered in all cases. If I know you, I will greet you with the specific holiday greeting you prefer.  And if you tell me your preference,  I have no issue with addressing you in that way.  You can feel free to greet me with whatever you find most comfortable.  I am just happy to be greeted.  In a world where people are often cruel to one another, any kind of pleasant greeting gives me warm fuzzies.

I would advise Christians who are offended by the loss of "Christ in Christmas" to direct their ire to retailers and materialism in our culture, rather than at the poor, hapless retail employees working their tails off and following, most likely, the instructions of their employers.  Try jumping off the commercial treadmill and bake or make crafts. Visit a rest home and sing Christmas carols to lonely seniors.  Give your family your time, rather than spending hours in the mall. And for God's sake, stop setting up your tents in front of Best Buy during Thanksgiving. It's tacky and gross.  We are choosing this year to minimize the focus on gift-giving.  Sadie is going to get 3 presents, one of which is coming from Craigslist, and perhaps a few books. We tend to not exchange purchased gifts with other adults, other than parents, though I may do some baking this year.  And I will not set one toe in the mall.

In any case, it might be helpful to remember that most of us are stumbling around, trying to be friendly and non-offensive, but it's a crapshoot.  I want to share holiday cheer and be kind, but I can't look at you and tell what will and will not offend you.  Give those of us who are trying to be friendly a break, please.  At least I'm not telling you to go @#$# yourself, right?  And Happy Holidays/Happy Hanukkah/Merry Christmas/Happy Whatever you observe- ok?

Stop me if you think that you've heard this one before...

There are a handful of frozen-in-time moments I can recall in my life when I was instantly transformed by unfamiliar music. This moment is the first such one that I can recall.

Many 16 year old girls skip school in order to spend the afternoon in the backseat of someone's car.  Me, I spent many a day holed up at E-8, an apartment that served as a refuge of sorts to Norfolk's young LGBT community.  There was a rotating cast of characters who lived there- to be honest, one could never provide an accurate count of the number of permanent residents of this 2 bedroom apartment, but there was always a crowd of young lads and the girls who adored them sprawled all over the Aqua Net-scented digs.  For me, this apartment was a refuge from the confusing, often off-putting world of aggressive, groping adolescent boys.  From these older boys, I learned about fashion, new music, and advice about how to deal with guys, from guys who love other guys. I lived vicariously through their Grand Sufferings- the unrequited loves, the pain of being an outsider, the constant dramas that gay young adult men perfect like no others. 

I cannot remember exactly what I was doing at that moment, but if I could guess, I was probably chainsmoking Marlboro Lights while one of the boys teased my hair into submission.  Someone pushed the play button on a cassette player.  The sound of a sonic jackhammer blasted from the speakers, followed by an unearthly guitar wail that demanded I stop whatever I was doing and pay close attention.  Soon, a voice of longing- of poetry- of desperation poured out.

I am the son and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar.. I am the son and heir of nothing in particular

My head snapped upright and my mouth formed a perfectly round O.  The guitars swelled.

You shut your mouth- how can you say- I go about things the wrong way?  I am human and I need to be loved- just like everybody else does...

Up until this song, I had a long list of go-to  "music for moping"; Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Joy Division, etc, but I finally had an anthem.  For all the times I felt invisible- for all the times I experienced crushes on boys to whom I barely registered- for all the times I felt misunderstood, I had a response, a mantra.

I am human and I need to be loved- just like everybody else does...

Thus began my lifetime love affair with the Smiths.  The collaboration between Johnny Marr and Morrissey was second only to Lennon/McCartney (and, perhaps, arguably, Simon and Garfunkel), and spoke more to my Gen-X sensibilities.  Perhaps others artfully moped while listening to the Smiths, but I felt victorious, pumped, euphoric.

There's a club if you'd like to go... you could meet somebody who really loves you... so you go and you stand on your own and you leave on your own and you go home and you cry and you want to die

Two nights ago, I was fortunate enough to see Johnny Marr, The Smiths' guitarist, on his solo tour, in Carrboro. I have seen Morrissey, but it was in a large venue, he was a mere speck in the distance, and I did not feel as connected as I did at the more intimate Cat's Cradle. Morrissey is also very scant in covering the music of his seminal band, and Johnny Marr performed about 5 songs from The Smiths, including "How Soon is Now?" I stood a mere 20 feet away from Johnny, and as his guitar cranked out that unearthly, familiar sound, I stood in utter awe and jubilation.  That guitar, those chords.  I was taken back 30 years in time, still on the floor with my buddies, still tormented and racked by the grief of adolescence, still seeing my entire adult life before me, and I was frozen in the moment.  I could not believe I was seeing this before my eyes, hearing this guitar, experiencing this moment in such an intimate setting. It was a revelation.

When you say it's gonna happen "now" Well, when exactly do you mean? See I've already waited too long and all my hope is gone.

Warning: rambly body image post to follow. Skip if not interested!

In 2009, my doctor read me the riot act.  I was 255 pounds, used a C-PAP device, had high blood pressure, limped around with plantar fasciitis, and could barely climb a flight of stairs without becoming winded.  She looked at me and asked me if I wanted to live to see my then-four year old daughter off to college.  My weight had gradually drifted upwards for 15 years, and I had tried multiple diets to address the problem, to no avail.  I walked into Weight Watchers with resolve and grit.  The idea of dropping dead while my daughter was in high school was a chilling, somber prospect, and it was no longer, at this point, about looking awesome in a bikini.  Apparently, looking awesome in a bikini wasn't much of a motivator, but staying around for the most important person in my life was. 

It took a year and a half, and I'm still nowhere near done, 4 years later, but I managed to knock the bulk of the excess weight from my body.  I have retired my C-PAP, exercise regularly, take no blood pressure medication, and feel great.  I drifted upwards from a size 10 to a size 12, but appear to have stabilized here for now.  Yes, my life as a smaller person is a much healthier, vital life.  But there are aspects of my life as a smaller person that have taken some adjustment; side effects that I could not have anticipated.

When the weight first fell off, I had not a clue how to dress.  For over 10 years, I had been the Queen of Lane Bryant, and suddenly, every store in the mall was available to me.  I will fully admit that my necklines dropped and my skirt length rose.  I bought age-inappropriate tight black minidresses at Express and invested in bras that lifted the girls to Eiffel Tower heights.  No doubt my wardrobe was frowned upon at work, but, heck, after wearing a size 20, I went a little overboard because I *could*.  I felt more like a female impersonator than an actual female.  I was playacting, as I had no idea how to BE a smaller woman.

My over the top fashion sense led to the second weird adjustment, which was male attention.  Yes, there are men who prefer women of size, but I hadn't personally encountered one.  I think my body language, posture, and avoidance of body conscious clothing probably discouraged any BBW-loving men from approaching me.  But, suddenly, I was finding myself an object of "the gaze", and I had no idea what to do about that.  As a larger woman, I had that big, bawdy personality we often affect because we can, I guess.  We can joke about sex as "one of the guys", and no one thinks the worst of us.  As a smaller woman, that big, bawdy personality translated to "on the prowl", and I was very ambivalent about the effect it had on men.  Certainly, I found the attention flattering.  Who wouldn't?  But it also made me feel uncomfortable, and threatened at times.  One of the reasons some women stay larger than the cultural norm is to enjoy a certain level of invisibility.  Sometimes, this desire stems from traumatic sexual experiences, other times we're trying to inoculate ourselves against straying.   The attention pinged every insecurity and fragility I had, and I was simultaneously titillated and terrified.  I knew I was probably subconsciously throwing out vibes that contributed to the problem, but I had no idea how to NOT do that.  After years of being invisible, it was heady and exciting to be found attractive, but I also was tweaked and freaked out by the experience. I also found myself resenting the attention on some level.  I was still the same person on the inside; I was no better at a size 10 or 12 than I was at a size 20.  I had an attitude.  I still find myself throwing up frequent selfies on Facebook, an act I tend to mock when other women do it, but I still don't believe the image in the mirror before me.  I think I take those pictures because I am trying to believe that the person I see in the mirror is really me.  But, I often find myself cringing after I post these pictures.  Who am I to seek attention?  Aren't women who post selfies insecure and a bit desperate-seeming?  And how do I, as a feminist, reconcile this subconscious need for approval with my general distaste for male objectification of women?

As time passes, I am becoming increasingly more comfortable in my own skin with this new body.  I know I still have a ways to go, but I have needed this time to adjust to the size I am. I am not quite prepared to go to the next level, where I know I'll get even more attention. I am still just big enough that I can easily tone myself down and enjoy some level of invisibility.  Though women are beautiful in all shapes and sizes, men are as influenced by the cultural norms of "the ideal body" as are we. Or, perhaps my plateau comes from the knowledge that, at 45, I have aged past that phase in my life when, even at my goal weight, I'll be hit on all the time.  I still haven't unpacked my complex reactions to "the gaze".  I am beginning to feel more competent in selecting clothes that are both attractive and modest, and I am letting go of the need to be "on" all the time. On most days, my necklines are higher, and my hemlines are lowering to an acceptable level, though I still reserve the right to glam it up for appropriate occasions. I can go out without feeling the need to be glam; there is no reason I need to be full-on at Target, or while hiking.  I am a real, flesh and blood woman of substance, not some cardboard pin-up girl.  I want to be taken seriously, not treated as a good-time girl.  I am by no means slutshaming, and there is nothing wrong with being perceived as sexually attractive, but, as a 45 year old mother and wife, I can mostly restrict the va-va-voom behavior to my own bedroom.

Babies, breasts, selfishness, black and white thinking, et al

It is rare when a simple news story sticks in my head for hours or days.  And when it does, it's usually one that highlights a terrible human tragedy- a natural disaster, the untimely death of a child, a human rights injustice.  So, I am somewhat surprised that this article  detailing a simple custody case over an overnight stay has made me ponder parenthood and divorce all day.  A judge has ruled that a mother of a 10 month old baby must stop breastfeeding, so that the father can have overnight visits with his infant.  The mother filed against the father's request, stating that she cannot pump enough breast milk for an extra day or two to send along, and believes that overnight visits should not be allowed as long as she is breastfeeding her baby. 

What fascinates me about this story is not the actual case, about which I can't really hazard a strong opinion without knowing the backstory, but rather the strong, black and white reactions I am reading both on the comments section of the story, and on Facebook.  There are no details about the couple's separation or how they ended up taking this to court, rather than to work it out amongst themselves.  I believe that a mother should not be forced to stop breastfeeding, but I also believe that fathers have the right to bond with their children.  There are many creative solutions that could be employed by reasonable, civil adults who have the best interests of their baby at heart- she could offer to let her ex spend the night in a guest room, or she could drive over freshly expelled milk over the weekend.  The story doesn't even state if a doctor was able to verify whether the mother couldn't, in fact, pump enough breast milk to supply the baby during a sleepover.  Yes, people lie in custody battles, both men and women. The story doesn't mention whether the father has consistently been around, or if he pulled a disappearing act and is now making a late reappearance, demanding his "rights".  These two adults are apparently not mature enough to set aside their differences to work on a reasonable compromise.  However, the people leaving comments either slam the judge and the father as being "selfish", or slam the mother for making up the entire scenario and attempting to keep this child away from the father.  It appears to be a lightning rod for both breastfeeding rights and father's rights, when in fact, it's a typical custody battle between two adults who cannot get it together enough to civilly co-parent. It's fascinating how quickly people can make a judgment with few facts, and, in most cases, how they end up viewing the case through a lens and filter of their own life experiences.

Marriage is tough, tough stuff.  I don't want to jump to judge either one of these parents for the fact that their marriage is over.  Many marriages don't make it, and frankly, many shouldn't.  Though I am a huge fan of going every extra mile to make things work when children are involved, there are cases of abandonment, abuse, and severe dysfunction where children are probably better off with divorced parents.  But, I guess, I fail to understand how two parents cannot set their differences aside and try to be civil for the benefit of the children. I have seen too many cases where parents use their children as pawns in divorce and custody battles, and, frankly, I only sympathize with the kids in these cases.  My own marriage has not been perfect, and there was a moment of crisis that I could have never anticipated.  We were at the point of assessing the house value and looking at apartments.  But, even at our worst moment as a couple, we never fought in front of our daughter, and we were willing to peacefully cohabitate together for a year or two while we tried to get on our feet financially.  We looked at options of living in two apartments in the same community, so that we could have a civil 50/50 custody arrangement.  We discussed having occasional dinners together and went to counseling to learn how to co-parent smoothly.  And, gratefully, the moment passed and our marriage has grown stronger from dealing with this crisis.  But, as bad as things were, we managed to pull our heads from our asses and work together for the sake of our daughter. My own parents managed to pull off the most amicable divorce I have ever seen.  My father has remarried, and my mother gets along with my stepmother, and, in fact, my mother spend a weekend with my daughter at my dad's house along with my stepmother.  My father stays in the guest room at my mom's house when he comes down to visit.  So, it is possible for two people to realize that they cannot live together, but still stay kind to one another and focus on the well-being of their children.

Many people see this as a breastfeeding rights issue.  Many others see it as a father's rights issue.  I see it as a "grow the fuck up and put your kids first" issue.  Your child did not ask to be born in the middle of a nasty divorce.  And your inability to pull it together and compromise is going to heap baggage on your child later in life.  Children of divorce can grow up perfectly well-adapted, but the odds of this happening are far greater if both parents can co-parent peacefully.  Once you have a child, your life is no longer just yours to live.   Mother, grit your teeth and open your guest room to your ex a couple of nights a week.  Set up a travel crib in the guest room.  Or drive over your milk as you pump it.  Father- consider that perhaps an overnight visit might be delayed a couple of months and ask for more daytime visits.  Be a creative problem-solver; be kind. 

This all assumes that one or both of the parties is not a deadbeat parent, or abusive, or batshit crazy, or has abandoned the family. I do not have that backstory, and might take a different view if I knew everything involved.  The people who left inflammatory, strongly opinionated comments don't know the entire story either.  It's easy to assume that the mother is being manipulative, or that the father is selfish.  I'd be happy to split the difference and say that they both are being immature, but I don't know what transpired between the two.  But, geez, pull your heads out of your asses and come up with a solution that takes into account the best interests of the child. 

Churching by the unchurched?

Last night, my mother brought up the subject of exposing our 8 year old to religion.  I'm sure she meant "expose her to Christian moral values", which is funny, given that she hasn't set foot in a church in years, but I know that many parents, even those who are questioning their own beliefs, feel it's important to provide some basic religious training to their children.

My child is, as of yet, unchurched.  The only time I can recall that she's even walked into one was during a summer camp fair that just happened to be hosted there.  As an agnostic, I don't venture into churches, and am not going to be inauthentic and trot into a church to learn "Christian moral values", when I am not a believer, myself. 

That said, I do believe that it is important to expose my daughter to information about the religions of the world.  Ignorance is NOT bliss, and I want her to make an educated and informed choice as to whether or not she chooses to follow a path of faith.  I will think no less of her if she does decide to become religious, and I have no desire to push my agnosticism on her, just as I do not want anyone trying to indoctrinate her into a religion. 

A 2010 study found that atheists and agnostics actually have more religious knowledge than do evangelical Protestants.  A person with no religious knowledge whatsoever is, in my opinion, more vulnerable to being manipulated into a belief system.  Knowledge is power, and I want my child to have as much knowledge about the world around her as possible.  Knowing what other people believe can provide context as to why they behave the way they do, or support certain political causes.  I attended various and sundry churches up until junior high, and, as a result, can carry on an informed conversation with Evangelical Christians.  Knowledge about the Bible has also provided context in understanding art, music, and literature.  As an English major, I would have struggled more with Milton, Shakespeare, and other writers had I not been familiar with scripture. 

However, I am grappling with how to best convey basic background information to my child.  There are many books around that cover religion at a child's reading level, but many of these books take a stand one way or another.  I am currently looking for religion encylopedias for children, and other books that will provide her with descriptions of the world religions in an unbiased manner.  I am hoping to pick up a few books for Christmas.

I will come out and admit that I do not have the religious gene.  I could write 20 blog entries as to all the inconsistencies I believe exist in the Bible, and discuss the harm I feel religion can cause to human beings.  I am not closed; certainly, circumstances could change in my lifetime, and if the so-called "spirit" moves me, I will not fight it. But, all religions read as myths to me, as models used to explain that which humans are incapable of explaining.  And all the major world religions were constructed at a time when people did not understand what we now do about science.  I struggle to understand how modern day folk can believe that a man literally lived over 900 years, or that the world was created in 7 days, or that God isn't powerful enough to wipe out Satan, or that a man parted the red sea, or that Jesus walked on water. I cannot begin to fathom why modern Christians cherry pick the passages that suit their purposes while ignoring those that do not.  I love and accept my friends who have faith, but I do not understand it. I realize faith can give comfort during difficult times, but I just cannot go there.

My mother is worried that, without a religious background, our daughter will not be exposed to morals and ethics.  And yet, there are so many ways we can teach our children what we consider right from wrong without pointing to one single text.  It can be more challenging to provide reasons for having certain values, of course. I have referred to using the Bible to deliver moral training as similar to using a company policy manual to point out rules and regulations to employees.  "Policy 38b states that you cannot take more than 2 weeks vacation at one time."  "The 8th commandment states "Thou shalt not steal".  I think stealing is wrong as well, but I cannot just point to a verse in a book to support my reasoning. I have to come up with a secular underpinning for my ethics.  But anyone who thinks that atheists and agnostics do not teach their children morals and ethics is sorely mistaken.  And my daughter frequently makes statements that show that she does know right from wrong.  Somehow, we're getting the message across; just without a verse attached. 

Additionally, let's examine a few values the Bible can teach my daughter.  She can learn about the acceptability of stoning non-virgin women on their wedding night, how to keep slaves, and that eating shellfish and having a rounded haircut are strictly forbidden.  If one is to take the Bible as the Word of God, then one must take the entire body of work literally.  I think I'll pass, thanks.

When Sadie has read her encyclopedia, I will ask her if she is interested in attending any services for any particular faith that is of interest, within reason.  In my immediately surrounding metropolitan area, I doubt we have a community for every single world religion. But I am willing to accompany her, and keep my views to myself, unless the church advocates violating what I consider basic human rights or advocates violence or discrimination.  I have my limits.  And, after some initial visits, she is welcome to connect with others at these places, and when she's old enough, I will drop her off there, or allow her to ride with a friend's family.  But, I have to be true to my own values and beliefs, and attending a church regularly when I do not believe would send the wrong message to her, I think.   But she will grow into the person she is meant to be, and if that means she will be a person of faith, then I hope she does so after much study and thought, and not from willful ignorance, or as a result of manipulation.

Would you like a side of hatred with those collards?

While indulging in a little lunchtime thrifting, I struck up a conversation with an elderly couple in the checkout line.  The wife chatted away, as we talked about green bean casserole with french onions, cooking with fatback, and the great deals we found this afternoon.  The couple was very old-school Southern, friendly as could be to me, and I felt that instant affection I feel for anyone who reminds me of my older relatives from Bladen County. They were hospitable like my grandmother, chatty with strangers like my aunts and uncles, and I would not have been surprised if they had invited me to their home to feast on collard greens.  Their kindness made me feel warm and nostalgic for those childhood weekends I spent in Bladenboro, sitting on a sliding bench swing, eating boiled peanuts, and listening to the grownups' folksy chatter.

Then, they checked out.  The cashier was clearly Indian, and spoke English with a heavy Indian accent.  I watched as their demeanor turned on a dime.  Their friendly, open faces turned hard, they scowled, and they did not respond to the cashier's "Have a nice day".  Then, they turned back to me, smiled effusively, and the woman said, "It was nice chatting with you!  I hope you enjoy the rest of your day!"

It was at this moment that I could see how the dichotomy of a family-centered, but Xenophobic culture becomes schizoid and split.  It was at this moment that it finally sunk in how African Americans could consider white Southerners unfriendly and hostile, while I defended how generous my relatives were to me and tell them that they didn't know my family the way I did.  And it was at this moment that I speculated that the more hospitable a culture is to their own, the more hostile and suspicious it is to outsiders.

I have no idea how this couple votes, though I can speculate. I have no idea if this couple identifies as "Tea Party".  But, the exchange made me think about the whole Tea Party phenomenon.

I read an article about a study about Tea Party membership and common demographics.  There was some diversity in income level, though members were generally more affluent than those who identified as Democrats. I was somewhat surprised by this, based on the lack of basic grammar and communication skills I have observed in some of the louder members, and based on the fact that many of the Tea Party members I have met in real life have less education and seemingly less money than the people in my liberal, professional bubble.  But the one characteristic that seemed to be universal was pessimism of the future, and a suspicion of those who are different.

I have spent a good amount of time around people who probably identify as Tea Party supportive, and this bears out in my own experiences.  The conversations I hear seem to focus on what is wrong with America and how we are all going to hell in a handbasket.  Soon after, the topics of illegal aliens and welfare mamas are beaten to death.  And with so many of these folks, I would think that topics like jobs, home ownership, and economics would be more meaningful.  When I see someone who is uninsured and out of work spending their time fussing about Adam and Steve getting married, and exhibiting general cultural pessimism, I wonder why he or she isn't more concerned about finding a job, or pulling him or herself "up by the bootstraps".  Adam and Steve are not going to keep them from hanging on to their homes, whether married or not, and Republicans often claim they are all about economics. I wonder what it feels like to feel bitter and negative most of the time, and to stare into peoples' grocery carts so that they can complain if these people pull out food stamps.

And yet, the topic of corporate welfare never seems to come up.  It's all a general principle for them, the idea that someone is getting a free ride, even if the average American making $50,000 is only parting with 10 cents per day into the food stamp program .  The idea that corporations are getting something for nothing doesn't stick in their craw, even if they, themselves, are poor.  It's that general rejection of "the others" at play.  Every person I know who is a "good, hard-working, Christian" has a few rotten branches on the family tree, but it is easy for them to overlook their own relatives' flaws while focusing on the "brown" people out there who are "trying to get something for nothing".

Another common characteristic of Tea Party members, according to the study, is the acceptance of inequality of opportunity.  I believe most mainstream Americans accept that we have a duty to provide the disadvantaged the opportunities to succeed, but not necessarily to continue to support those who have been given opportunities and frittered them away.  Tea Party members don't seem to think there is anything wrong with a good portion of the population starting out in life with poor nutrition, no parental support, and abject poverty, and the fact that these people, without tutoring, school breakfasts and lunches, and educational opportunities will be extremely unlikely to have a chance to succeed.  Don't let these people fool you.  They know that the "American Dream" is more the exception than the rule, and they seem content with that knowledge.  They will pretend that they believe the poor have an equal shot at success, but they know, like the rest of us, that this idea is ridiculous.  They just don't care.  They know that a child born in the ghetto with a drug-addicted absentee parent, a child who is poorly fed, a child who is not made to attend school, a child who is abused by the parent's lovers who parade in and out of the house, a child whose prevalent daily goal is to not be shot on the street, a child who is likely to be inducted into ganghood, has an extremely low chance at success.  But, hey, that's how the cookie crumbles.  Better them than me and my children.  And, these people are proud to have these values. 

One would think that, with the amount of money spent on guns and other self-defense items, that they would prefer to invest the money up front in helping the poor have a shot at self-improvement.  After all, a child who emerges from the ghetto and attends college is far less likely to rob people at gunpoint. I am ignoring the fact that Tea Party types far overestimate the likelihood of their home being invaded by dark-skinned criminals.  Truth be told, those of us who do not live in the inner city are far more likely to die in a car accident than we are to be gunned down by minorities. But, since they have a disproportionate amount of fear of crazed criminals, one would think that some investment in the future of the disadvantaged would seem like a practical investment. 

I often hear disinterest in supporting the children of irresponsible parents framed as "The kids aren't my problem.  We are just giving the parents a sense of entitlement."  Fine. I will admit that there are irresponsible parents who aren't fit for their role.  But, morally, ethically, as a society, I believe that we have a responsibility to our most vulnerable members; children, the elderly, animals.  These children did not ask to be born into poverty, and for every child that is "left behind", there is a potentially angry as hell adult that will emerge down the line. 

As for this couple, I left with sadness that the hospitality they showed me was a veneer of civilization plastered over a mass of hatred, distrust, and fear.  I don't want their collards, I don't want their folksiness, I don't want their green bean casserole recipe.  If they cannot display the slightest common courtesy to the cashier, who probably makes barely over minimum wage, who probably came to this country and works her ass off to make a better life for herself and her family, then I don't want the friendliness only showed to me because I have white skin and a slight Southern accent.

"Any society, any nation, is judged on the basis of how it treats its weakest members -- the last, the least, the littlest." 
~Cardinal Roger Mahony,

One and done

A very interesting article is circulating around FB right now, mostly being posted by folks who have made the decision to opt out of parenthood. Apparently, child free adults are being, basically, interrogated by parents who are absolutely flummoxed and disturbed that there are those who prefer to live a full, rich life without taking on the role of parenthood.

I absolutely cannot understand why all adults are expected to procreate, and am even more baffled as to why people think it's okay to question these adults' decision.  Not everyone feels they are cut out for parenthood, for a variety of reasons, and wouldn't we rather these people who do not want children to not have children?  Do we want people who have no interest in parenting to raise children they don't want?  And, how can we tell them that once the baby arrives, they'll be grateful they had a child? Are we fortune tellers?

When raising children was considered mandatory, and before birth control was widely available, there were a lot of horrifically lousy parents.  I have heard horror stories from adults my parents' (or grandparents, when they were alive) age about children running around who were unsupervised, unloved, and abused by parents who were not really good candidates for reproduction.  And, in fact, children are abused today by parents who should not have had kids, period.  This is not to say that adults who make the conscious choice to not become parents would, in fact, abuse any children they might have had, but it's merely to state that people who don't want to have children shouldn't be encouraged to do so.  Sometimes, the choice to be child-free is the most unselfish choice an adult can make.

Some adults, in fact, are able to make a huge difference in the lives of children, because they do not have to invest the time in raising their own.  My beloved Aunt Sylvia knew from an early age that she didn't want to be a mother.  She had tubal ligation in her twenties, and had a difficult time finding a doctor who would perform the procedure.  They assumed that she would change her mind and later regret it.  She never did.  But, my Aunt Sylvia played an important role as a mentor to hundreds of kids she taught in high school over the years, and she was almost a second mother to me.  Had she had a household of kids, she probably would not have had the energy or time to be a trusted adult that so many of us ran to with our problems.  Many teenagers who had a rough time at home knew that Aunt Sylvia was a trusted ear and many kept up with her for years after high school.  Anyone who says that she missed an opportunity to make a difference in the lives of children because she had none of her own will get an ear boxing from me.  One of the arguments made by people who harangue child-free adults is "who is going to take care of you in your old age?"  When my Aunt Sylvia lay dying in hospice, she was overrun by her nieces and nephews and former students.  She was not alone for a moment. 

What I want to say to child-free adults who are interrogated is that this is not limited to non-parents.  Redmond and I have been questioned repeatedly as to our decision to only have one child.  Our decision did not come lightly. I was almost 38 when Sadie was born, and I had a difficult pregnancy.  Not only was I concerned how a future pregnancy would affect my health, I also knew that, given Sadie's temperament, we had all we could handle.  Additionally, we had the financial resources for one.  Had we had more children, we would struggle to raise them in the way that we thought we wanted to raise kids.  But, just making the choice to be parents is not enough for some.  We heard all kinds of arguments to convince us to have more. "Aren't you worried she'll be lonely?"  "Don't you feel bad that you are putting the entire burden of taking care of you in your old age on her alone?"  "You can afford more than one; you just need to adjust your lifestyle."  "Two are actually easier than one."   My responses are "No, I was an only child and wasn't lonely. I had friends." "There is no guarantee that even with siblings, you won't get stuck doing all the elder care."  "Have you looked at our finances?  And what is the problem with wanting to be able to send our daughter to camps, give her music lessons, take family trips?" "No, two are NOT necessarily easier than one.  That doesn't even make logical sense."

In some cases, I truly believe that parents engage in this probing behavior because they are trying to justify their decision to become parents.  Parenthood is hard, and we are often frustrated, overwhelmed, and it is not uncommon to have moments when you wonder "Did I make the right decision?"  We are not ever allowed to share these thoughts; we are raised in this country to believe that parenthood is sacred and that we must be deliriously happy to be parents at all times, so we often have to convince ourselves that we made the right decision by assuming that adults without children are somehow empty inside.  We see our child free friends engaging in multiple hobbies, taking expensive vacations, and enjoying an abundance of autonomous time while we are packing school lunches, attending soccer meets and kids' birthday parties, and struggling to save the money for a cheap camping trip because day care and extracurricular activites are draining our bank accounts.  Know that I wouldn't have it any other way, but I will admit to having moments of envy. 

In any case, the decision as to whether or not to become a parent, or to choose the number of kids you wish to have, is extremely personal and is every adult's right to make. Our planet is not lacking for human beings. 

And sometimes they just hurt...

Last night, my daughter broke my heart.  As we walked upstairs to bed, she said, "Mommy, I wish I were normal like all the other kids. I don't want to have ADHD. I am the only kid in my class that has to leave to take a pill in the afternoon.  I want to be like everyone else. I don't want to have a disorder."  I stifled my urge to cry, and explained to her that she IS normal, she just has ADHD.  Some kids have diabetes, some have allergies, and there are probably other kids in her class that have ADHD as well, but perhaps only take a pill in the morning.  She then said, "But you're normal, Mommy.  You don't have anything."  I told her about a few of my health conditions, as well as my Bipolar 2 disorder.  I most likely also have adult ADHD.  Though I have never been diagnosed, I have all the symptoms, and had the same issues that she had when I was a child.  It was near impossible for me to concentrate in class, I was hyperactive, and I was labeled as a "classic underachiever".  I cannot recall how many times my parents were told that I wasn't living up to my potential.  We just didn't have Ritalin or Concerta.  Luckily, she does.

By the time our daughter was diagnosed, it was merely a formality.  I knew she was different from infancy.  She cried louder, was more restless than most babies, and, when she was around other children as a toddler, the differences seemed profound.  We could not turn our backs for one moment, and, though I have philosophical issues with "helicoptering", the few times I decided to relax and give her some space, she ended up in Urgent Care, even the ER.  She tested for ADHD when she was 6, and pretty much scored at the top of the charts.  Though we were nervous about medicating her, we knew it was the right thing to do, as she was struggling in school and was not happy that she couldn't focus and was getting in trouble.  One day, Redmond forgot to give her morning pill, and ran back home to pick it up.  When he arrived back at school, she was on the floor tearing little strips of paper and acting out.  The teacher said, "I know that sometimes kids are medicated who don't really need it, but your daughter is not one of those kids."  She has to take a pill in the morning, and one in the afternoon, which means she is called out to see the nurse while still at school.  This is humiliating to her, as she doesn't like calling attention to her differences.

I tried to explain to her that one day, she will relish being unique, and that children with ADHD are often extremely creative, as she is.  I believe that for every disadvantage we have, there is a gift that comes with it.  I struggle with depression and hypomania, but I believe my struggles make me more intuitive and compassionate with others, and I believe my ability to write poetry and to create music is somehow tied up with my disorder.  I am also grateful that I am largely controlled by medication and can live a reasonably stable life.  I know many bipolar folks who are deeply ashamed of their condition, but I am almost proud of mine.  I wouldn't be the person I am if I hadn't struggled with bipolar; nor would be I be the person I am if I hadn't experienced bullying as a child.  I don't see the need in looking back with bitterness or regrets.  In fact, if I was offered the opportunity to be "cured" of my BPD, I would turn it down, as I have no idea what gifts I would lose in the process.

Still, an 8 year old is not going to see the silver lining in a diagnosis that ends with the word "Disorder". I like to think of ADHD as a certain kind of temperament, albeit one that presents problems in our modern world, but perhaps a temperament that might have served humans well at some point in history. I would much prefer ADHD to be called something different- to jettison the word "disorder", but that's probably too much to ask our psychiatric community.  Fact is, because of our lifestyles, our educational system, and the way our society is structured, it is difficult to manage the world around us with ADHD.  I often lament that homeschooling isn't really an option for us, but, then again, she will have to live in a world I cannot control or manage for her, so perhaps it's best for her to learn how to live in the same kind of environment in which she will ultimately be living and working. 

I can try to soothe her hurt and pain as best I can, to try to help her understand that she is a special and worthy human being just as she is, but an 8 year old is only going to see that she is Different with a capital D, and it will probably take years before she can embrace her differences.  I only hope she'll carry my words with her, even if she can't accept them now.

Fat-postivity and such

So, I tackled my current conflicted feelings on "sex-positivity" a few entries ago, and, in the same spirit as all the other "You are WAY overthinking these things" meanderings that pass through my convoluted brain, I have been pondering body and fat-positivity.

First of all, anyone who has known me for a long time knows that I was obese for many years. Not fat, not "curvy", not "thick", not "chubby".  Obese.  I learned to stuff my feelings and anxiety down with food, and over a period of 15 years, the weight piled on bit by bit, until I topped out at 255.  Though I mainly blame overconsumption for my weight gain, I cannot help but wonder if I messed up my body chemistry to some extent with the eating disorder with which I struggled as a college student. After several years of living with binge-starve cycles, I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, and, to this day, I wonder if this was in reaction to the way I treated my body.

I developed a score of health problems related to my weight, including high blood pressure, sleep apnea, and plantar fasciitis.  I felt like crap, could barely get up a flight of stairs, and was, frankly, deeply unhappy with the weight I was.  When my primary care physician asked me, seriously, if I wanted to live to see my kid off to college, I took a deep breath and made the decision to make my health a priority.  I lost a total of 90 pounds, put back about 20, and am in the process of reversing those pesky 20 pounds.  In total, I have a little over 30 left to lose, and though I am still overweight, I can hike 10 miles in a day, have retired my C-PAP machine, and went off my BP medication a couple of years ago.  I feel great, am no longer consigned to shopping at Lane Bryant, and have a shot at keeping my knees. And, face it, to be perfectly petty, I like the way I look now, even with the extra weight I still carry. I no longer avoid photo ops, and I enjoy the way I look when I fix myself up.  Sorry, but true. At 255 pounds, I do not look my best. 

That said, I have always been fat-positive.  Beauty comes in all shapes and sizes, and I do not base attractiveness on a number on a scale.  Larger people have every right to wear fashionable clothing, if they choose, and self-esteem should not be based on a number.  People should not harass fat people or discriminate against them.  I loathe the fact that some people are personally riled up by and offended by overweight people.  Fat people are some of the last people to whom we are allowed to express open derision. And that derision speaks more to the issuer's general meanness and spitefulness than it does to fat people.  Far preferable to focus that energy on improving YOURSELF.  Surely, you have not reached perfection.  Until you have, spend your mental energy on making yourself the best human being you can be.  When you need a scapegoat, I sense insecurity on your part. 

I am, however, a bit troubled by some aspects of fat-positivity.  I am middle-aged, and, as such, I am beginning to see the effects of a lifetime of extra weight on my peers.  I am seeing people 10 years older, heck, even 5 years than myself walking with canes and needing knee replacements. I am aware that obesity-caused health problems can lead to a shorter lifespan.  So, if I tell a dear friend, whom I care about deeply, that he or she should feel good just the way they are and stay fat, I am encouraging them to participate in behavior that could kill them.  Fat-positive activists point to fat people who have a normal BP and exercise, and say that a. Not all fat people are unhealthy, and b. Plenty of thin people have health problems. However, realistically, a healthy fat person can eventually develop high blood pressure, diabetes, problems with their bones and joints, etc.  They may be healthy NOW, but in 10 years?  Who knows? The fact is that you are more likely to have health problems when you are fat. I can attest to the fact that most of my health problems cleared up when I lost weight.

So, while I believe that fat people should be free of discrimination, and should have the right to feel self-esteem, I also would advocate beginning to develop healthier habits.  I just didn't feel very good, physically, when I was obese, and it's rather difficult to feel self-esteem when your body doesn't feel its best. I will not judge anyone on the basis of their weight, but I am also not going to encourage people to continue down a path that will ultimately hurt them.  For me, I abused food the way alcoholics abuse alcohol.  Anyone who truly cared about me encouraged me to find my way to health. I am not going to be so obsessed with being politically correct that I am going to give people I care about bad advice, when asked. 

So, I am trying to balance my commitment to non-discrimination and fat-positivity with both my knowledge of the medical dangers of obesity, and my realization that I physically feel 100% better with less weight on my body.

I have watched my husband as he has struggled with his weight, even more so than have I.  He had gastric bypass surgery, lost a ton of weight, and has watched it creep back up the scale.  He is trying to reverse this now, but I admit that I worry about him.  He also has health problems, and I am terrified of losing him at an early age.  He is an amazing father, and I need him to be here to father our daughter.  I don't know what I would do without him, and I care deeply about his health.  It is hard for me to tell him that he is perfect just the way he is when I can tell he doesn't feel well.  His size does not affect the way I see him as a man, but it worries me from a health perspective.

For those who have never had weight problems, it is never as easy as "put the fork down". I daresay that every one of us has some bad habit with which we struggle.  We KNOW that what we are doing is going to kill us, but, for various and sundry reasons, we often lose the battle with our cravings. Most people who are fat don't want to be fat.  If it was as easy as "putting the fork down", none of us would have become fat in the first place.  And, the reasons why we struggle with our weight deserve a blog entry of their own.

I will say that I tend to focus my body-positivity on healthy body image, and I continue to maintain that the ideal American body size is unattainable by many women, and not particularly aesthetically pleasing to me, unless the woman is naturally built that way. I abhor that young women are wasting valuable time and energy on starving themselves, when they could use that same energy growing intellectually. But I am also not a fan of typical American eating habits, or the fact that many of us are physically inactive.  My idea of body-positivity is that we all work with what we have, take positive steps to maintain healthy habits, and stop fixating on our weight. If we are practicing healthy lifestyle habits, we are likely to land at a reasonble maintenance weight anyway. Don't hyperfocus on having a "perfect" body. Just be healthy and live.

Plus.. a plus?

This is a plus sized model- Lexi Placourakis.

Here is another- Teer Wayde

 

Teer is a curvy woman, perhaps outside what most Westerners would consider an "ideal" size, while Lexi?  I cannot see how on earth this woman was classified as a "plus sized" model.

In any case, these two women are absolutely gorgeous, normal, healthy looking women.  Though I would not want to return to the misogynistic world of the 1950's, the aesthetic of female beauty of that decade appeals to me far more than any decade that follows.  When did curves become unattractive things to eradicate? How can anyone not recognize the lush beauty of these two women?

*scratches head*  Carry on...

In, not of?

So, I have a FB friend with whom I attended high school who is a very conservative, Fundamentalist Christian who appears to be very gradually questioning the bill of goods she has been sold.  I have watched her posts change over the past year, as she questions the role of a mother and a woman in the Christian world. She is raising a very large family, and has had to give up homeschooling and enter the workforce.  Apparently, she's receiving some serious backlash from her homeschooling family friends, who are judging her for, I don't know, exposing her children to the wicked world of diverse viewpoints. 

I tend to be very open-minded, and though I lean extremely far to the left and identify as agnostic, I count amongst my friends a good number of people of faith, and a sprinkling of conservatives.  I believe I fare better when I step outside my insular Carrboro bubble from time to time.  And that is exactly what my point of contention is with these protecto-parents.

Both Redmond and I would be thrilled to see our daughter grow up to be a champion of progressive causes, an LGBT ally, a believer in equal rights for all human beings.  But I do not want her to be brainwashed into following our belief system, and frankly, no amount of brainwashing will guarantee that your children can be shoehorned into following your footsteps. I know many lefty atheists who grew up "churched."  I want my daughter to carefully consider the world of ideas, to exercise her intellectual muscles, and develop her own belief system based on her life experiences, on reading many texts, on her exposure to a wide variety of diverse human beings.  I would love to see her affirm my own belief system, but if she only had those beliefs because I locked her up in a cage, then the beliefs are not really her own, reached by careful consideration and conviction.

I have known people who have tried to lock their children away from a world they find repugnant.  They will not allow their kids to interact with any kids who do not come from their background, who attend school, who are not fundamentalists.  They force their children to attend a local college and live at home, or perhaps attend a school such as Liberty University.  They strongly restrict the books their children can read and the ideas to which their children may be exposed.  So... their kids finish college- if they are even allowed to attend college... and then what?  Unless their kids live at home permanently, or start their own Christian business, what then?  How do these young adults live in the world after being trapped in an insular bubble?  I'll tell you what often happens.  They either are terrified and retreat, or they greet the world at large as their own personal Rumspringa. I remember meeting a few young adults who had escaped their bubbles, and they were flirting with substance abuse and promiscuity.  They were sucking in all the experiences they felt they were denied.  Granted, some grow up seamlessly and handle the secular world with grace and dignity, but parents, wouldn't you rather your kids exert some kind of will of their own?

I find a small amount of beauty in Sadie's defiance at times.  From her first "No!" in toddlerhood, to her refusal to do things exactly as we wish she would, she is showing signs of strength and autonomy, and though she can be hugely challenging, I find it fascinating to see her finding her way as her own distinct human being. I have no desire to keep her in a box, to force my views of the world on her, or to create a little clone of myself.  I am amazed by how little trust these overly controlling parents have in their own children...  God forbid, they should carry on a conversation with a progressive Christian who actually attends school, or even a non-Christian.  It's much like those homophobic parents who are afraid that any exposure to gay people will cause their kids to "catch teh gay".

What must it be like to wander through the world, terrified of everyone and everything who is even slightly different?  What must it be like to see the world as a cauldron of festering evil from which you must shield your child from birth to grave? What must it be like to have so little faith in the innate goodness of your own children that you have to control their every interaction, every thought? What must it be like to fear that the rest of us heathens out there are so convincing that we will snatch your children away and convert them to a godless orgy of homosexuality and worldly desires? I truly pity these people, as I cannot see a life with this worldview as being particularly content.

I know there are homeschoolers who will read this and think I am judging homeschooling.  I am not.  For some children, homeschooling is the best fit, and the issue of homeschooling really deserves its own entry. My own daughter might benefit from some kind of alternative schooling, though we are not in a position financially to attempt the kinds of alternative schooling that I feel might be a good match for her at this time. I do, however, take issue with parents who so fear the world and so fear differing viewpoints that they attempt to hide their children away from the world in which they will eventually be forced to live as adults.  Eventually, whether you like it or not, they will become the people they are meant to be- one hopes, anyway.

It's a Tupperware Party, or Why I Geocache...

I have always followed weird obsessions and pursued hobbies with a vengeance.  People who know me well are not at all shocked when I order 20 books via InterLibrary Loan on Mormon Fundamentalism/Polygamy, or serial killers, or dissertations on slash fiction. Nobody blinks when I take up rollerskating or off the wall fandoms.  But a few people raised their eyebrows when I told them I was using my GPS unit to crawl around in the woods to search for tupperware containers.

Geocaching is basically high-tech treasure hunting.  One only has to set up an account at http://www.geocaching.com in order to play the game.  People hide containers of various sizes, and finders use their GPS units or smart phone apps in order to locate the containers.  The containers can range in size from very large ammo cans to tiny button-sized "nanos" only large enough to fit in a small slip of paper. People have turned sticks, tree stumps, PVC pipes and fake sprinkler heads into cache containers.  If it can fit a sheet of paper inside, someone has invariably turned it into a cache.  If the container is large enough to contain objects, or swag, it's ok to take something, but it is expected that you will leave something of equal or higher quality. When you find the cache, you must sign the physical log, and then you log it online.

When I have taken non-cachers, or "muggles" out and about, they are always surprised at the sheer number of containers they drive or walk past every single day, unaware.  Within 50 miles of my home, there are 7550 caches, and the number increases all the time. Muggles are often amazed by the number of caches I have found, which is upwards of 2,000. However, I know many cachers who have passed the 10,000 mark.  It's rather addictive.

So, what is so compelling about this seemingly odd-ball hobby?

It can be a very inexpensive hobby. Once you have invested in a phone app or a handheld GPS unit, you only have to pay for the gas required to drive around and find caches. Some hobbies, such as golfing, require a huge investment in equipment. While I know cachers who constantly upgrade their GPS units, it is not really necessary to do so, if you invest in a decent unit up front.

 

It can help with physical fitness. Those who are goal-oriented may find merely hiking or running tedious, but when one hikes 5 miles and has plenty of caches along the trail, one can focus on the hunt and not on the exercise itself. Granted, there are many cachers who focus on caches that are close to their cars (Park and Grabs), but it is possible to take long hikes, kayak, ride bikes, or climb trees while caching. It is also possible to climb around storm drain systems underground, which, though not for everyone, certainly burns calories. I have spent the day in the swamps wearing chest waders, and I have walked across rope bridges, climbed towers, and done other semi-dangerous activities for the sake of a find, or a "smilie".

 

Caching allows one to find the most interesting spots in any locale while traveling. Whenever I visit a new city, I use a nifty feature. I sort my searches by "favorite points" and go for the ones that have been favorited the most. Local cachers often hide caches near what they consider the "best of the city". Sometimes, these caches will lead out-of-towners to hidden gardens, interesting architecture, cool historic sites, old cemeteries, and other areas that may be left out of the mainstream travel guides.

 

Puzzle and multi-caches engage the brain, as well as the body. Many caches have elaborate and tricky puzzles that must be solved in order to calculate the latitude and longitude. Some involve math, some involve finding dates on gravestones, some are encryptions. I have translated Elvish, solved a cryptic crossword puzzle, researched items held in the Smithsonian Museums, and recalled old algebra concepts. Multi-caches have several stages, and each stage leads you to the next stage. Other interesting cache types are night caches, which usually require spotting fire tacks or reflective tape, earth caches, which teach short geology lessons, and web cams, where you have to stand in front of a web cam somewhere and take a screenshot.

Finding other cachers gives this hobby a fun social component.  At first, I was a solitary cacher. My family enjoyed it from time to time, but I was really the one who was the most obsessed.  Over time, I gradually began meeting other people as wacky as myself, and I found that caching with other people was far more fun that caching alone.  There are regular caching events where we all get together, usually over food and beer, and shenanigans usually follow.  The North Carolina Geocaching Organization sponsors an annual, state-wide event called "Fall Fling", where NC cachers gather and celebrate.

Caching is always an adventure.  You never know what you are going to find, or how the cache will be hidden.  Whether you are doing a "power run", where you find a string of caches laid out about every .1 mile, or you are spending your entire day looking for one complicated cache, you can expect the unexpected.  Sometimes, you are approached by the police. Sometimes, you bump into unsavory characters in the woods.  Sometimes, you end up covered with mud, ticks, poison ivy, and find your keys are locked in the car.  Sometimes, you go out for a cache run, and end up stopping short and spending your afternoon in a microbrewery with your buddies.

 

So, though, like all my passions, at some point I tend to leave them behind and move on to the next, this one shows no sign of abating any time soon.  If you are interested in getting started, contact me, and I am happy to give tips and suggestions.