Speechless

Let's see: How many days has it been? 20? Yes, 20 days since my last post. I have wanted to say something every single day since then. I have started and stopped at least five times.

On Mother's Day, or Mothering Day as they say in the UK, I spent more time than I'd like to admit feeling sorry for myself. For some inexplicable reason, I felt utterly depressed. And, trust me, I know DEPRESSION.

My dear, sweet daughter and husband fixed me breakfast in bed. She sat next to me with her very own tray of food while daddy lay at our feet, and we all enjoyed the Mother's Day special on TV.

They took me shopping, bought me shoes, fed me cake balls. In short, their behavior was above reproach.

So, what the heck was wrong with me?

Here is what was on my mind: I am not a "real" mother. Other moms have houses full of screaming children. Other moms get up at the break of day and never get a moment to themselves. The mom on TV that morning was a military wife, cancer survivor, mother of four.

I just can't compete with that.

So, I wasted a perfectly wonderful Mother's Day feeling sorry for myself.

Now, perhaps you will understand how godawfully selfish and self-centered I felt when I spoke to my friend Sara that evening, and she informed me that her 15-month old daughter had just died.

On Mother's Day, her baby died while I sat in my living room surrounded by two people who love me dearly and tried the best they could to make me feel special.

Lucy at her brother Max's birthday party last summer.

So, for 20 days, I have ruminated on what to say, waking and sleeping, morning and evening. I have racked my brain to try to come up with a proper memorial for an innocent 15-month old baby girl...

whom I held when she was only three days old...

visited in the hospital when she got sick....

threw a baby shower for her mommy before I ever even met her...

just attended her first birthday party in February where she got to stuff her chubby, little cheeks with cake for the first time, and she decided she didn't want vanilla, she wanted chocolate like a true little lady.

This evening, I saw this quote on Pinterest by Anne Lamott, 

You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should've behaved better.

and, it hit me, I need to behave better myself. I can best honor Lucy and her mom by ending my quest to say the perfect thing about her without revealing how inconsiderate I am and just say what's been on my mind -

That I am a selfish asshole.

That I am an incredibly lucky, selfish asshole.

That I am grateful to be the mother of one child, and that does make me a "real" mom.

That being a mom is more than giving birth to a biological child and raising him or her until he or she reaches the age of 18.

That being a mom isn't about how many kids you have, how much sleep you get, or how little makeup you do or do not have on. 

Being a mom is a spiritual and emotional state-of-being in which you feel the joys of laughing schoolchildren; in which you suffer the hunger of starving children in your and in other countries; in which you can simply glance at another mother's face or hear the pain in her voice and feel her grief cut to the very core of you.

Being a mother can strike you speechless.

---

If you are so inclined, you could make a donation to one of these organizations that help children like Lucy:

• Children's Cardiomyopathy Foundation
• Lucy B Farmer Endowment at Dell Children's Medical Center Foundation of Central Texas, click "In Memory Of," in the first name box, type "Lucy B Farmer Endowment"

Motherhood

Ever since Maya came along, I've had more to worry about, more emergencies, more struggles, more exhaustion. When each crisis is averted, struggle is over, good night's sleep is had, I get a false sense of security, like "Well, I'm glad that's over. Now we can return to normal."

The truth is that "normal" no longer exists and that life as a mother will never get any easier.

"Normal" for a mother is being harried, averting crises, fitting in tiny moments of respite while the kids are sleeping and finding that it's never enough to feel fully refreshed.

No quiet. No alone time. No privacy. No space. No peace and quiet. No curling up under the covers with a good book on a rainy day. No showering in private. No thriller movies on a Sunday afternoon.

What is Motherhood? 

Motherhood is reflective because you see yourself in your children's faces - they defy you, and you see all of your flaws staring back at you, and it drives you mad! Then it makes you laugh. Every dirty little secret you've ever known, every naughty thought you've ever had, and every terrible thing you ever did and nevr told a soul will be reflected in those faces.

Likewise, when your children discover something new - a ladybug on a flower petal, a turtle's head peeking up over the still surface of the lake, or the way their feet make different sounds hitting the concrete versus the center of your back. You will be there to witness those moments, and you can reflect back to the moment when it happened in your own childhood.

Motherhood is reflexive, a knee-jerk reaction when you see them do something so awful or so out of the norm, you instantly reprimand them, the words tumbling past your lips, spilling on the floor in front of them amidst the jumble of their toys until they look up at you as if to say, "Mom, I'm three. I know what I'm doing. Who are you to tell me what to do? Now be a good mommy and fetch me my cookies."

Motherhood is exhausting. Because we care so much, we take great pains to ensure that we make the right decisions for our children. We spend hours researching hair care products, bubble bath, bug spray, fabric weaves for their clothing, where their food is coming from and what it contains or how it is contained. We no longer watch the news hour and think, "How will this impact me?" Now we watch the news, cringing all the while, to find out what events are happening in the world that could  affect our children. We watch the news and wonder how to prepare them for the reality of the world we live in. And we are terrified.

Motherhood is a long goodbye. A prolonged adieu.

My goal as a parent is to teach my child to be self-sufficient and self-confident so the day she leaves my home to find her place in the world, I will trust her and she will trust herself to be successful and happy. If she finds fault with the way I have raised her, as I have so often found fault with my own mother, I pray that we can both accept that this is all a part of her growing up.

God willing, we will not say goodbye for a very long time. If god is willing, we will not say goodbye at the same time. I will die first and she will die last, and her own children or legacy will be left behind when she goes.

Motherhood is selfless and, also, selfish. The job that we do as parents will affect the future of humanity, our planet, and our universe. It's a huge responsibility. It's also pretty darn cool.

Because you never know what will happen next. And, when you think you do, it won't. And, once you figure out how to make sure she doesn't melt down every time you have to wash her hair, she'll decide that's no longer much fun and find another way to drive you mad.

Because it's wonderful to be pushed and pulled at the same time. It reminds you that you're alive and that your life has meaning. It reminds you that you are important.

Homestead Goddess

Here are my top 3 go-to resources that satisfy my desire to be an earth-loving, frugal homestead goddess.

Please note: I do not work for nor am I not paid by any of the organizations below. I rely on and am confident in the validity of the information they provide, which is why I want to share them with you.

Environmental Working Group - I use nearly all the EWG Consumer Guides to make more informed decisions about what I buy. They've researched everything from sunscreen to fruit, meat to cleaning products, and water to cosmetics.

• SkinDeep(R) Cosmetics Database is the most user-friendly in my opinion because you can just search for the products you use or would like to use by name and the products is ranked on a scale of 0-10, zero being the least hazardous to your health and 10 being the most hazardous. 
• The pesticide in produce guide and the sunscreen guide are also offered as apps, so they're pretty user-friendly, too.

Freecycle - What's cooler than finding a treasure for dirt cheap at a garage sale? Getting it for FREE! There are tons of Freecycle groups across the nation. You can join the one in your area to help reuse/repurpose items that other people no longer need or want. I've been a member of the Austin Freecycle Network for several years now, and I've seen offers for everything from fabric scraps to patio furniture, mattresses to maternity clothes, and doors to dryers. You can ask for stuff, too. I've seen requests from teen moms, nursing home caregivers, college students, teachers, and more.

The Library - Yes, I said it. I LOVE the library. Maya loves to read. She especially loves to read books over and over and over again. She consumes books like you consume air. And mommy eventually tires of reading these books. I appreciate having a due date, and Maya's happy because she gets to choose new books. We've also attended a puppet show at the Library, we use the educational computers every time we visit, and we've picked up free resources and materials to take home for arts and crafts projects.

I have plenty more resources, but these are by far my favorite. I hope you get some use out of them, too.

With love,
dawn marie

How NOT to Achieve Work-Life Balance

Let's talk about work-life balance. I am the person who knows the dictionary definition of work-life balance, who has taken professional development classes about it, read books about it, and tried to incorporate all the tricks into her daily life to achieve a perfectly harmonious existence.

When I worked for pay, I took my work home with me. I didn't know how not to.

• As an English teacher, I took home papers and journals to grade while I sat in front of the TV.
• When I worked as a marketing assistant, I went in to the office on Saturday mornings to complete reports. Reports! 
• As a public speaker, I spent hours in bed thinking about what I was going to say the next day. I couldn't even escape these thoughts in sleep because I dreamt about how it would all play out.

Now, I'm a stay-at-home mom. My life is my work. My work is my life. Right?

Work-Life Balance? Unfortunately, I cannot offer you a solution to this problem, but I can tell you what not to do.

DO NOT take coffee breaks, smoke breaks, potty breaks, or lunch breaks. If you do take a "break," be sure to take your work with you so you can continue to research whatever topic you were working on when you got up from your desk, table, chair, exercise ball, or whatever.

Sitting on the toilet? Use your phone or tablet to research new activities, discussion topics, breaking news, etc. Send emails from your laptop or mobile device.

Drinking coffee? It only takes one hand! Use the other to run a report, type an email, read an article, build something useful, etc.

Eating? Eat at your desk! Eat in your car! Eat while walking, talking, running, driving, etc. If you're sitting at a table, schedule a working meeting and order sandwiches! For crying out loud, DO NOT waste precious seconds when you could be doing something!


DO NOT take sick days. If you are ill and can still stand up, go to work. Your coworkers will not mind if you're spreading germs as long as you use tissues, signal that you don't want to talk with a cough, and spray your area with Lysol periodically.

If you are too sick to stand, but can sit upright, carpool. If necessary, stay home, but continue to work remotely. If you are too sick to stand or sit, continue to answer emails while lying in bed for as long as you are conscious.

DO NOT send your coworkers or employees emails during business hours. If a response is needed immediately, and, if they are in yelling distance, then yell. Otherwise, wait as late as you can in the evening (bonus points if it's after midnight) to send your email, and be sure to cc your boss. This will ensure that everyone knows how dedicated you are and may also improve your chances of being promoted, so you can do more work.


DO NOT succumb to chit chat unless the conversation pertains to your work in some way. Relevant discussion topics include: Your boss, your coworkers, your working conditions, news stories that relate to your work, stuff you have in common that might be beneficial to your work, the person you met at a networking event that might help you do your work better, the idea you had while laying in bed trying to sleep last night, etc.

DO NOT waste time on recreation. If you like social media, join groups that support and/or discuss your line of work. Pin pictures, links, ideas, etc. that relate to your job. Friend people on Facebook that you met at work. Add your coworkers and colleagues to your circle. Most importantly, always, always, ALWAYS, link back to your company's website and provide your email contact information.

If you get an hour of alone time in the evening, read a book/article/story/blog that can potentially increase your knowledge of your field. Better yet, blog about your work and get your friends to read it. Be sure your blog links back to your company's website.

If you are mingling at a party, be sure to say, "So, what do you do?" Immediately follow this with a discussion of how your jobs relate. If they do not relate, hand them your business card and MOVE ON!

I hope that these tips help you as much as they have helped me in my career(s). For further terrible career advice, email me, friend me on Facebook, follow me on Pinterest, connect with me on LinkedIn, etc.

Staying Home

What is it like to be a stay-at-home mom? A SAHM with an expensive degree who could be working and making a substantial financial contribution to the household?

It's a luxury. An exercise of the mind, body, and spirit. A daily challenge. A guilt complex. A joy. Fulfillment. Real, unadulterated happiness.

Being there when she discovers butterflies, fine art, and recycling. Being there when she shoves a friend and lies about it. Being there when she writes her own name at the age of three and tells me she wants to learn to write mommy's and daddy's names, too. Being there when she teaches the other girls in her dance class how to bunny hop.

Being there when she picks her boogers and eats them. (Blech!)

Being THERE.

It is also frightening and worrisome. I worry that she'll miss out on opportunities I can't provide. I worry that I'm being selfish; that I'm putting my desires ahead of the economic stability of my family and home.

I am proud to be a part of a movement that really doesn't have a name, yet. A movement of educated women who choose to stay at home with their children when they could be working and bringing home a paycheck. I'm confident that I made the right decision for my family.

The purpose of the women's rights movement, as I see it, was to gain equality. To be allowed the freedom to choose. To be free.

Just as I do not believe that women are inferior to men by nature, nor do I believe that they are their natural superiors either. Simone de Beauvoir, 1976
When one enslaves a woman, one also enslaves a man. I cannot recall who said this or to whom this quote is attributed to, I have made it my own. I believe it in my core.

True equality means that my daughter will have the chance to be or do anything she puts her mind to.

Being a SAHM means that I have the opportunity to show her all the possibilities of her life and allow her to explore them. I can encourage her, support her, guide and love her through her triumphs and her failures, big and small.

I can do the same myself. Perhaps, one day, I can do the same for a son should he ever choose to be mine.

I can be THERE.

My Greatest Fear

What does it mean to be bipolar?

 You look so normal.

 I never would have known.

 To be bipolar is to be in constant battle
Torn between two foes
Who rage a war and
Never lift a finger.
No one wins.
No one gains the upper hand.

 The enemy is not Someone or Something.
It is invisible.
It touches everything you see,
Taints all your memories,
Actions,
Interactions.

 Everything you think you know is
Called into question, thus
You question everything.

 To endlessly question.
Incapable of making a satisfactory decision.
 You are not so much caught in the middle as
Broken
 With bits and pieces of yourself on either side
Of the trenches.

 A tactical error merely means
 One or the other faction is more
Convincing At any given time.
Your mind will change and
Change again, and
You are powerless to stop it.

 The war is never over.
It only changes forms.
Weapons evolve, and
When you reach out to grasp hold
Of something solid and permanent
It either dissolves between your fingers or
Explodes and tears them off.

 At times you keep going and
Others, you sit still.

Either way, you are not moving.

You are utterly alone with all your questions.
 To look back at the years of your life,
It all seems a dream
Someone else's life.

 Bipolar is a break inside you
A crevasse you cannot fill
With earth, air, water, or fire.
Nobody else can see it.
 It's as if it did not exist.
Only the tragedy you leave behind;
The devastation of your life.

 It's an inconstant feeling of remorse,
Embarrassment,
Apologies,
Making every, "I'll never do that again" a lie.

Only you never believe it
Even when you want to.
 No one sees it till it blindsides them, so
They wash their hands and leave.

Only you can't leave
Because bipolar is you, and
You are bipolar.

You are broken
Whether or not you want to be.
Others have a choice whether or not
To allow your disease to break them.
 You do not have that luxury.

Then someone comes along and loves you, and
Someone else with a degree knows you better
Than you know yourself.
Together you make a tactical decision
To stop fighting and
Build a truce
To wave the white flag and
Take the white pills.
A few blue ones, too.
Pills that bridge the gap, and
You can finally stand up and
 Feel a little less embarrassed.
A little less apologetic.

My greatest fear is that the little
Nuggets of modern medicine
Will one day be denied to me,
My bridge will collapse, and
I will find that, in all that time,
The rift grew deeper, and
It will swallow me
Along with everyone I love.

Separate Sleep, or Insomnia

I wrap my right hand around my left thumb
Curled under the pillow.
My right foot seeks the cooler spot
On the opposite side of the bed.

I count from 1 to 100, then back again.
Then again.
And again.
As many times as it takes.

My earplugs squish and mute the noise
Beyond the midnight shelter of my bed.

My child sleeps sprawled
Next to my curled up cat.
One is only 3
The other, 13.
Neither is aware of the efforts I am making
To join them.

Sleep is the refuge of a war-torn mind and
The birthright a calm mind naturally claims.

I struggle to end the skirmish of thoughts that
Skitter around the landscape
Of my psyche.

Even in sleep, I am unconsciously conscious.
My brain continues to process
Information in slow snippets.
Images burst and fade,
Feelings contend with facts
Bombards me with potential solutions, and
Races to the start
Of a new day.

This prostrate activity is called dreaming.

My father once studied the scientific 
Nature of the sleeping, dreaming brain.
I have the sleepy, dreamy blanket as proof.
It attempts a subliminal message
With the repetition of a single word:
"Sleep,"
But I can't read with my eyes shut.
 
I remember every night of sleep
Tainted by the percussive rhythms of this 
Sequence of imaginative thoughts. 
I do not recall a time before 
My dreams.

This child, this feline -
Do they dream?
My cat snores.
My daughter kicks and starts.
Their muffled speech
Slips into
My ever-conscious mind.

Their murmuring eyes do not imitate peace;
They beckon, compel me to join
In this communal slumber.
Bodies colliding with that gentle,
Rhythmic breathing
That barely flutters the covers.

On this side of the bed, I count
Hope to miss a beat
Eager to press my head into 
This tete-a-tete
Of joyous silence.

I try not to study my surroundings
In the sunlight of my mind, but
My eyes strain in darkness, 

I know the battle is won when
I falter in my count;
My slack-jawed, jerk-and-start body
Finally folds into silence;
Slips separately upon A long and understated breath.

The images burst and fade behind closed doors -

I dream and thus
I sleep.