Blankies

Blankies

I have a sick little girl at home. We have spent the afternoon watching Little Bear and I now officially feel like a completely inadequate mom - who can measure up to Mother Bear? Little Bear offers so much comfort to both my kids though, and they are such cute shows. I always end up saying to myself that I must be more tolerant like Mother Bear (and then blow up at something completely random).

I took a break from watching to read my current book Yoga and the Quest for the True Self. It is written by Stephen Cope who is the Leader for Extraordinary Living at Kripalu and the author of The Great Work of Your Life which I read last year. He’s talking about the importance of having a “place” to undergo a major change in life and the ritual that goes along with that. One of the criteria for the space is that “they are organized around ‘transitional objects’ that are constant and reliable”

The classic transitional object of childhood is the favorite blanket or special stuffed animal. When I was four years old I had a soft blue-and-white checkered blanket which I slept with and cuddled. I desperately needed to cling to this tattered flannel friend - to hold it and suck it at difficult moments when I needed to feel soothed. The blanket was helping me bear the age-appropriate but terrifying discovery that I was a seperate human being, and that others in my enviornment were not just emotional extensions of me, but were seperate too. Up until that time, everyone and everything else in the world had been, emotionally speaking, “me”. The blanket partook of this magical world of emotional fusion, because it was also, at times, just an extension of me. 

The blanket became, for me, a transitional object par excellence because it sometimes could be “not me”. At times I could experiment with letting it be just a blanket, utterly seperate. It therefore occupied the intermediate realm between emotional fusion and emotional separateness. It was both “me” and “not me”. That little blanket to which I clung - and from which I eventually parted - was an integral part of my process of growing up. (29)

I see this played out with Jacob. It makes me grieve for my blankie which was gone too soon (wahhhhhh!!!) But I really see with Jacob how Blankie is both a part of him and not him at the same time. Blankie has to smell like him, but he also has his own Blankie smell. It is his safeguard an the one “person” in life who is always there for him.

I am Jenna’s blankie which is both an honor (a huge, huge one) and very overwhelming. I am nowhere as perfect as a Blankie, but all those things she does with me.

Quack, Quack, Quack, Chiropractor?

I remember when I was a teenager and I used to joke with a friend of mine that we were so hard on our bodies that we would be in wheelchairs by the time we were 30. We rode horses and had no fear, the combination often leading to some pretty intense wrecks.

I wasn't in a wheelchair by 30 (thank the good Lord), but I had my son at 30 and the combination of some hard falls in youth and a difficult delivery lead to some serious health issues. Among other things my coccyx was a wreck. I didn't sit down for 3 years. I had a stupid pillow that I took everywhere with me that helped ease the pain if I *did* have to sit anywhere, but even that was not sitting - it was more hovering over the seat with my legs taking the majority of the weight. It took away a lot of the joy of what was the best thing I ever did. I had/have the best kid ever and I often wonder how I got so lucky.

I was raised to believe that when there was a health issue that I went to the doctor and they made me better. Except the doctors could not make me better. They poked and prodded at me (usually causing a lot of pain). They medicated me with everything imaginable. Years later a lot of the medications I took turned up on ads from law firms saying that if you or a loved one had suffered serious illness or death that you could sue the drug manufacturers for compensation. Fortunately I had none of those serious side effects, but that was just by the grace of God.

My coccyx issue repaired itself enough that I had another child (healthy and by c-section) but that was more out of stubbornness than anything else. Probably for my health it was not the smartest thing, but I wanted that second child. She, along with her brother, are the brightest stars in my sky so it was again a choice I never regret. I managed to control the tailbone pain after that through yoga, exercise and keeping to a healthy weight.

A couple of years ago I got into a funk and stopped working out, gained a bit of weight and started having low back issues. Which led to an even bigger funk which led to even bigger low back issues. Throw in my husband taking a new job and us making our third major move in 6 years (along with two minor ones) and things definitely took a turn for the worse.

Last summer I went for a massage. A massage I quite enjoyed until the end when she popped all my toes. I'm not a big joint popper at the best of times - I've ended relationships because of people popping their knuckles. <barf>. But, this popping seemed to go a little over the top. Afterwards I noticed my feet were a bit sore and within a day I was in serious pain every time I put weight on my feet.

After listening to me whine for a week or so my husband arranged an appointment with the chiropractor that works for his company.

Much as I had been raised to believe that the doctor had a magic pill that would cure all that ails me, I had also been taught that chiropractors were quacks that could cause a lot more harm than good. Needless to say I was a little anxious about going to see one of these quacks, but during the years that I searched for healing for my coccyx issue the only places where I actually found some sort of relief was non-western healing methods. So I gritted my already tense jaw and went for my appointment.

I had to fill out a form describing my medical history and current and past ailments. Then they took me into the office and did xrays of my spine. Apparently my feet should have been the least of my concern. They gave me a one year plan at three times a week and thus my life started to change.

I am now 6 months into treatments and it has been a life changing experience. I honestly didn't even realize how crappy I felt until I started to feel better. I'm not where I want to be yet, but at least I'm not where I was a few months ago. And hopefully will never be again. I feel taller, I feel stronger and I feel happier. As an added bonus, I have made some really good friends at the clinic whose friendships I truly cherish.

Quack Quack? Yes please!

NaNoWriMo

It's November 1st, which means it's the first day of NaNoWriMo or National Novel Writing Month. The idea is to write an entire novel in one month with an emphasis on quantity over quality. Which, for someone like me is a great idea. I often get hung up on the quality to the point where the quantity gets completely pushed to the wayside. I am looking forward to blocking my need for perfection and just getting it done.
But, this year there is no excuse for me not to write and write and write. I finally have the time, energy and desire to do it. So, do it I shall!
Enjoy NaNoWriMo. Here's hoping for a productive month for all participating!

Buzz Off Pinkalicious!

The kids and I saw this musical on Friday night. This is not the exact one we saw (different city) - but the song Buzz off has been stuck in my head ever since. As my son says, "it's stuck in my head and I have no where to put it so I'm going to try and give it to you!"

It was the funniest song I have seen adults sing ever. I laughed until my guts hurt!

Are You Good Enough?

What if you were? Good enough, that is. Just you. Every day, all the time. Good enough. Not  only good enough at writing, good enough at fixing your car, good enough at teaching, good enough at splitting atoms. But just good enough. As being  you.

And what I would like to know is why are there so many people who tell us that we in fact are not good enough? Just being ourselves. People who tell us that what we want to do and what we want to be is not good enough? Why do those people get to be the boss of us? What gives them the right to dictate these beliefs for us?

Because believe you me, we listen to them. To those people who want to see us fail. To those people who are afraid of seeing us soar.

What if.... instead of hearing them say 'you are fat', 'you are stupid', 'you are not good enough' and believing them - letting those words of hurt seep into our souls where it becomes a part of us.... what if instead we said back to them (in the words of my children) "I'm rubber and you're glue. Whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you." And carried on as if those words had never been spoken.

Would we then believe we are good enough? I don't believe we are born believing we are not good enough. All the proof I need for that is watching my children.

I few years ago I went to a workshop where we were working on "opening our hearts".  I really got a lot out of it - I actually wish I could do it again, I'm in a better place now to open my heart than I've been in a long time - but there was one part of this workshop that left me a little upset. There were people having meltdowns all over the place. I went there thinking I had emotional issues (don't we all!) that I wanted to work out -but some of these people were having the kinds of meltdowns I've only ever had in my head.

At one point we were taking turns lying in the center of our small groups and then saying out loud something that we wanted to have, make or be better in our lives. When it got to my turn I said that I wanted to be "good enough". The leader pressured me to come up with a something to be good enough at. I was trying to explain to him (while lying on the ground surrounded by people touching me - not exactly my comfort zone) that that was all I wanted. Just to be accepted as "good enough". That who/what I was and am is "good enough". He kept at me, and I kept on giving the same response. Finally he gave a sigh, they did their little thing and we moved onto the next person.

I felt kind of cheated. Like he had implied that even my desire to be "good enough" wasn't good enough. Although I wished I had made a bigger stink about it to really make my point, it kind of drove home to me the idiocy of my trying to convince someone else to assure me that my good enough was indeed good enough. Who was he to judge that after all?

I am slowly coming to the realization that who I am is good enough. Just as is. Not that I can't use some tweaking, but at the core of who I am - that I am ok. I am a firm believer in personal accountability, but one day on facebook some joke page put up the quote "Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes."

Sometimes I think I have spent too much of my life surrounded by assholes. Thank goodness I"m in not afraid of a good cleanse :-)

I need it, I love it, I MUST do it.....

How do you follow your dharma?

I am awesome at procrastination. Actually, if they ever gave out awards I may be the frontrunner, but I would be so busy putting off getting a dress for the awards ceremony I would never in fact get to celebrate in that great night. Later on, someone would call me and tell me they have my procrastination award at their house, but I would never get around to picking it up. So, I would never really be awarded as the greatest procrastinator to ever exist.

Ever.

I'm actually not lazy. It may appear that way if you don't know me, I mean really  know me. But I'm not. My biggest problem is a fear of completing something poorly. I hate half-assed finished projects. Apparently I'm totally fine with full-assed uncompleted projects, but that's a story for another day (because I don't have the time to tell it properly... thereby making it a half assed story - you see my problem?)

Anyhoo... the point of this long winded confession is a wonderful first hand experience I had this morning of someone living their dharma.

I am reading a book titled The Great Work of Your Life and it's fantastic. It is about how to follow your dharma.

What is dharma you ask? It's not just that fun character from the tv show Dharma and Greg.

It's that little thing that makes you uniquely you. The thing that brings out your passion and makes you share that passion with the world. The thing that you can only access if you are truly and completely authentically yourself.

Sounds easy enough right?

Would be much easier if we didn't spend a lifetime with other people telling us what they think our dharma should be. Or that our dharma isn't good enough. How can the thing that makes you uniquely you, the thing you were put on the planet to share and let shine not be good enough? How could that be wrong?

This morning we were doing our daily morning rush. Get up, get dressed, get breakfasts and lunches ready. Feed children. Make sure lunches and homework gets in backpacks. Sign forms that magically appear from nowhere. Yell at dog who is going crazy hoping it's bus time and she can go for a walk. In the middle of this chaos, Jenna sits down at the table where her watercolour paint still sits from the night before. She looks at her paints and her paper and smiles and says "I need to paint, I love to paint, I MUST PAINT." And sits down, grabs her brush and starts painting furiously. It does not matter that I was shoving her breakfast in her face about to bark at her that she needed to be getting ready for school. She needed to paint. And she did. And it brought great joy to my morning. We had time plus some to get all our things done. Yet we also had time to stop and let Jenna paint. Because it was something she must do. Something that makes Jenna Jenna. Uniquely her.