You can mourn a loss while celebrating a gift -- Guest post

Okay, so I'm going to talk about something sad. You don't have to read it; I won't feel badly if you don't. But I deserve to be able to talk about it. I don't ever deserve to hear the words "why can't you take the feelings of the rest of us into consideration?" again when I am having a moment of mourning. I do take the feelings of other women - friends, family, acquaintances - into consideration. I invite them to talk and mourn with me. But I will never again sit quietly as I am told I am being selfish for hurting, for being sad, for grieving.

I came across www.donttalkaboutthebaby.com and ‪#‎aboutthebaby‬ a few mornings ago, and it got me thinking.

Late in August of 2014, my then-boyfriend Chris and I found out we were expecting. We were blown away and scared as fuck, and generally running around like chickens with our heads cut off, but we were excited. We were happy.

We spent the next weeks planning, talking about where our future should go. How we had put off a real relationship for 16 years, and how this was the sign we finally needed to move forward with that. How we would become a family with my two other children, and how this was what we had both longed for for such a great period of time. And, most importantly, how foolish we both were for thinking that we would find this happiness in others.

October 7th dawned bloody and crampy and devastating. I went home empty, when I was once a sacred vessel that housed what was supposed to go on to be a life that shared the best of both of us. The devastation was tremendous. I won't talk about how I coped --- or, rather, how I didn't cope. That's a side of myself many of you can guess at but have no confirmation of, and I'm not ready to provide it.

Chris was my rock, but his devastation was tremendous, as well. However, it is his own, and it is not mine to tell you about.

As my body recovered from the loss and my mind and heart cracked further, a sneaking suspicion overtook me. I woke up one morning and could smell the neighbor's breakfast.

Sure enough, there were two lines, there was a digital "pregnant," there was confirmation after confirmation. This was October 30th. Not a full month later. Not a period between the two. This wee bit of life was delivered on the wings of the one that left us far too soon.

Chris and I again mustered our combined faith and considered this a sign that things were truly meant to be. Our family was meant to soldier on through the hard times and the easy ones. We had finally come home to each other.

We weren't out of the woods yet. Another three weeks, another morning woken with blood and pain and heartache. Only, there was still hope. There was still a small miracle in there, fighting the entire time. Our son, born on June 24th, 2015, who we joyously named Felix, had a twin who was not meant to be. But Felix was strong enough to go on for both of them. He hung out through the thick and the thin of the perilous nine months to come.

I miss my angels, I won’t lie. I refer often to only one of them, but I never forget there are two. Someday, maybe I'll see them when this life comes to a close and a new chapter in our universal existence begins. Until then, my little loves, fly high and free for mommy. Fly on the currents of my love, and know that you will always be cherished. And for the other loss mothers out there reading my words, take heart. We will encounter them again either in this life, as they are brought back to us at a time when they are better suited for this world, or again in the next, when none of us are plagued by heartache and pain.

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Jackie Monck-Homan is a happily married mother of three beautiful children. She blogs at accidentallymommy.blogspot.com

Children and Death -- Contributor Post

Today, Jackie Monck from Accidentally Mommy pens a poignant piece about how children deal with death and how to help them.

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Loss is never an easy thing for adults. Even with our ability to comprehend the frailty and fleeting beauty that is life, our grief can overwhelm us. Not just when a fellow humanimal dies, either. Pets, and even the loss of other living organisms (See: my deceased grandmother's tangelo tree,) can cause us mourning that must be comprehended, processed, and eventually put to rest like the person/thing we're grieving over.

How does a child translate those feelings, though? How can we help our little people to be efficient in dealing with their grief, which can easily be misunderstood and misplaced?

Firstly, it all needs to be changed up depending on the age of the child. This can be difficult in multi-child households, because whilst trying to deal with one's own feelings, one must deal with the unique needs of each child. Those needs are not just age/comprehension based, either. They are also based on the personality of the child. Is your son a child who has his feet on the ground, often serious and thoughtful? Is your daughter a child who already has separation issues and grows very closely attached? Just as every child is unique and we cannot teach them all the same, we cannot expect them to all to be comforted by the same manner and technique.

It's not uncommon for a child to express their feelings in manners that are undesirable and hurtful. Small children, say, toddler age-- may skip routine activities, regress, or fret uncontrollably while older children can do the same, in addition to acting out aggressively.

I'm going to go ahead and let you in on a child psychologist's secret as the first step towards soothing the ravaged feelings of your little dude or dudette. Honesty.

Yep. That's going to be the first thing a child psychologist will try with your child if you find that you cannot improve the feelings of your teacup humanimal. Whether your child is six or sixteen, they will bring your child into a calm, serene, non-threatening environment, often with toys or art, and they will level. They will ask concise, honest questions, and they will answer return questions honestly, with examples of their own experiences.

That brings us to point two – self expression. Art, Legos, Tinker Toys, even Matchbox cars or Barbies can be the gateway to breaking apart the negativity that can often be expressed by a child who is in mourning. It redirects those feelings and gives them a manner of expression that can take on any form, instead of them feeling frustrated in non-pretend situations. Allow your child that little bit extra toy time, allow them to sing a little louder, allow more fingerpainting. These are outlets that they can use to express emotions that have very probably been building in them like steam in a pressure cooker.

Misunderstanding is also a common feeling that the child in mourning will experience. This again comes back to honesty. Don't tell them that Nana took a trip or that Fluffy ran away. Be honest. Don't tell them more than they need to know, and don't explain over their heads, but be honest. “I'm sorry, my darling, but Nana's body was tired.” A similar statement can be used for beloved pets. The objects, though, can be more difficult. In the case of my tree, my daughter was equally as heartbroken as I was. This was a treasured family heirloom, bringing to us physical nourishment as well as the emotional nourishment it provided by holding many happy memories. When asked why a seemingly perfect tree needed to be cut down and hauled away, with tears in my own eyes, I explained that like Nanny, all life is fleeting in the grand scheme of things. We are a spiritual family, so I informed her that my hope was that since all living things have spirit in them, that Nanny would be receiving the spirit of her tree in the afterlife, there for her to sit under during perpetual blossom for the scent of the flowers she loved so much.

Punishing a child who is actively grieving is a slippery slope, so generally my recommendation is DON'T DO IT. Like the fact that they can misunderstand the loss, they can misunderstand that they're being punished for their actions, not their feelings. Instead, uit has been my experience that sitting them down and talking out the situation and why the behavior is undesirable but the feelings are allowed is the best course of action.

For our small ones who aren't yet comprehending on that level, helping them through their mourning can be ten times as difficult. I have found that there is a very simple first step – be there for them. Physically, make sure to touch and hug and cuddle frequently. Babywearing very young children, temporary co-sleeping, daily and momentary cuddling – these are all things that release the neurochemicals that are key to helping them at this stage. (Yes, processing grief even has a biological aspect, but this blog isn't long enough for that to be explained today.)

Socially, do not stop talking about said person and thing. On terms that they will understand, explain that life is temporary. Don't put photos away, rather, take the time to remember out loud. It will be good for everyone involved, as love begets love, and love begets healing.

Drunk Stew -- Contributor Post

Today I'm lucky enough to have Jackie Monck from Accidentally Mommy here to talk stew! (This is the best food post I've ever seen, btw.)

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The holiday season brings out the best in all of us. Kindness, special attention paid to creating memories and traditions. It brings out the primal, ingrained urges to stay close to one another, to cook and cuddle and generally wait out these dark, short days until the sun and the verdant spring that accompanies her return to us.

Do you know what else does this for us? Wine. And specific to me, wine also brings out the chef in me. So, as a result, the people around me have been showered in baked goods and soups and stews. Because it’s fucking cold, ya’ll. What better way to warm up than get toasted, and then cook and bake?

So, I bring you the latest in my culinary blunders that turned out surprisingly well: Beef stew with red wine demi-glace. (Like that name? Sounds classy, right? Totally changed it. My recipe card reads “Drunk New Year’s stew.”)

I would give you measurements, but to be straight with you: I…don’t remember. So I’ll give you an ingredient list instead and tell you what my grandmother told me. Don’t be a dumbass, always under-season and go from there. Use what looks right, and if you need more, add it in small amounts.

v  Stew Beef. I like fattier cuts, because this is a winter stew and it’s full of other rich ingredients. Fat is flavor, damn it. Besides, you’ll need those drippings to make your red wine demi-glace.

v  Carrots

v  Onions

v  Celery

v  Garlic (powder AND minced.)

v  Onions

v  Potatoes (I like baby reds with the skin on.)

v  More garlic

v  Salt and Pepper to taste

v  Butter (I think I used a pound and a half, total, but I also made a REALLY BIG POT.)

v  Flour (I think this was a cup and a tablespoon.)

v  Red wine (I didn’t want it too dry, because I was drinking it first and foremost. Apothic Red fit the bill nicely.)

v  1 ½ tbsp rendered bacon grease

Okay, so, there is a LITTLE bit of advanced cooking in this. Unless you’re experienced in making a roux, don’t get too drunk. Oh, yeah, the advanced cooking is making a roux.

Start out with your wine!!!

“I LOVE MAH JOB! I GET PEOPLE DRUNK! I MAKE STEW! WHEEEE!!!”

Okay. Poured your wine? Good. Now, you want to take your stew meat out and let it hit room temperature. Because cooking science. No, really. Go google why you want meat you’re only searing to be room temperature. Answer for the lazy: Because it will sear much faster on lower heat, and give you a more even sear. Season it well with salt and pepper and a little garlic powder. I like sea salt and fresh three pepper medly, but meh. Don’t work too hard. Remember, by now you should be a little tipsy.

Now is the fun part. Once your meat has seared, you’re going to transfer it to your pot to rest. Resting meat gives it a chance to suck back in some of those juices and remain tender. (Like my fancy science talk? It sucks that shit up like a straw.)

After you’ve gotten it all transferred, you’re going to turn the heat up high and whisk the fuck out of those drippings for about three minutes. It’s going to be hot and steamy, like Ninette Swann’s latest novel. (See what I did there?) Hang with it.

Once that lovely, beefy, seasoned goo has started to reduce and get darker, add your wine to deglaze the pan. I used a cup or so. Alter appropriately for the amount of drippings you have.

Turn the heat back up, and whisk some more. This time, you’re going to whisk it until it simmers down and becomes smooth and shiny. It won’t be completely smooth, because you haven’t strained the tiny pieces of meat out of it. But it won’t be goopy, either. 

Also, more wine for you. Fill that glass back up!!!

So, now that you’ve got your demi-glace, you’re going to pour that over your meat, and then set it aside completely. It will rest in the demi-glace and absorb all of that rich flavor while you sautee and chop and prep.

Now you chop and mince your veggies. Preferably not while your sister is in the kitchen making peach cobbler; because then you’re tipsy, she’s clumsy, and you end up with cinnamon-drenched celery, like so:

Scrap that celery. Start over. Chop the fuck out of those veggies.

Now you want to take a hunk of butter, and toss it in a non-stick pan. “But…if it’s non-stick, why do you need butter?” Because like I’ve said before, fat is flavor. It will absorb all those amazing, aromatic juices and emulsify into the stew later to explode in your mouth like a goddamn culinary orgasm.

So, you’ve melted the butter. Now you’re going to sweat your minced garlic. That is, you’re going to stir it around in the simmering butter until the smell is strong and sweet., and it changes color a bit.

The you add your veggies, and saute them, sweating the onions the same way you did the garlic. While garlic becomes a paler yellow when sweat, onions begin to turn translucent.

Once you’ve hit “almost clear” on the onion front (lol,) go ahead and pull that off the heat.  Cut up your taters. Layer the taters on top of the meat, and the veggies on top of the taters, like so:

Then you need to cook that bitch. Add a cup and a half to two cups of water, cover, and place over low low heat. Stir at the half hour in mark, and then turn heat to medium low. Keep covered and cook for four to six hours, or until meat and potatoes are tender. Stir regularly to combine and make sure nothing burns.

Once you’re about a half hour away from being done, you want to start your roux.

To do that, you need to melt two cups of butter (mind you, this is for a stew that included four pounds of potatoes, and two and a half pounds of meat. Don’t forget to alter to suit the size of your pot.) over medium heat, whisking gently. Once your butter is melted, incorporate your bacon fat. Whisk together until fat is melted to fully incorporate with your butter.

Now you’re going to slowly but steadily whisk in your flour. For any roux, you want equal parts fat to flour. So, in this case, it was two cups, plus 1 ½ tbsp. of flour.

Whisk gently over medium heat until the roux becomes bubbly, smooth, and starts to toast. I like mine to be a honey color, like below. It may start to smell a little nutty, even.

Okay. So you’ve got your roux that you’ve whisked the fuck out of forever. You’ve got your stew that smells amazing and has been cooking forever. WAT DO????

Simple. Whisk your roux gently into your stew. Stir with a wooden spoon a handful of times to make sure you’ve got it completely incorporated, and then you want to cover and let it cook for a little while longer. In the end, you should have a thick, dark, bubbly product that you want to take into the closet with a spoon and eat, shamefully, all by yourself.

Unfortunately, I have no pictures of the sated, slightly glazed look the faces of my co-workers had after eating this. It was delightful, and the stew was gone in literally under five minutes.

I hope you enjoy making this as much as I did, and the looks on the faces of the people you make it for bring you the same joy that they brought me.

Stay warm, stay drunk, keep cooking.

Love,

AccidentallyMommy

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And there you have it, hands down the best recipe post I've ever seen.




 

An Open Letter to a Third Grader's Teacher - Contributor Post

We all have back-to-school jitters, and things we want our children's teachers to know, so that we can give them the best start possible to every school year. Sometimes knowing what to say, and what not to, can really help. Accidentally Mommy helps me out.

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An open letter to a new teacher at the start of a new year. Since we can’t actually make our correspondence to our childrens’ educators both confessionals and on-our-knees pleas for help where we’ve failed in the past, I couldn’t actually send this. It was written, though. Here you go, Village. I wrote mine—don’t feel foolish if you’ve ever written or need to write yours. And as you save it to gather dust in the drafts folder, remember one thing: No matter your fears and concerns at the beginning of each year, sometimes just the change in and of itself is all that we need to find balance again. Dancing Queen has found her love for school again, without my tear-stained e-mail going out to her teacher after the first week.

Dear Mrs. 3rd Grade,

First off, I want to say thank you. Upon reflection, I realized when we were talking that I was pointing out many of Dancing Queen's weaknesses. You lead only with her strengths. That means a lot to me, and I wanted you to know that it didn't go unnoticed.

Dancing Queen is a very, very special person. I know every parent says that, and for every parent, it's true. I see a strength of character in Dancing Queen that I don't see in many other people, though -- adult or child. As you said, she's a very social individual and genuinely interested in being friends with just about everyone. I've had the chance in the past to observe her in a social situation that another person could have handled in a much more negative way. Instead of reacting with scorn, or suspicion, or gawking curiosity, she reacted only with a smile and an offer of friendship. While the children around her were making fun or asking hurtful questions, she was standing up to bullies and holding her new friend's hand. I have encouraged tolerance and good will in her from the beginning, but I cannot in good conscience claim to be the reason for her good nature. That would be a false humblebrag; kindness is simply a part of who she is. Don't get me wrong -- I'm not saying she's without fault. She's eight. She has the same quirks and frustrations that come with being eight and expanding her boundaries. She has a good heart, though.

You'll have to bear with me. I can get verbose and sometimes it takes me a little while to get to my point, which is why I wanted to email you instead of talking to you tonight. It takes far less time to skim an e-mail than it does to listen to a parent awkwardly fumble through trying to get their thoughts to come out right.

As her new teacher, you need to know that she didn't have the strongest start in school, and I feel like you need some of her history. Pre-K was marred by drama with her father and the very difficult pregnancy and subsequent birth of her brother who was very ill at the beginning. Because of this, she didn't have a parent who was the most engaged and involved. This continued into kindergarten, as I was consumed with maintaining her brother's health. We have a very strong support system in my parents and my siblings, but that can't always replace having mom directly involved. First grade found her with a teacher that was very clearly under personal strains who unfortunately took it out on her classroom. Dancing Queen is a very, very sensitive child. She's naturally averse to conflict and sensitive to what she perceives to be negative judgment. She was made to feel inadequate a handful of times, and that was enough to start the downhill slide. By the time second grade rolled around, she found that she dreaded school and everything about it. She dreaded tests. She dreaded reading. She dreaded writing. She felt like her teacher was passing constant judgment on her, and because of that often felt persecuted, even though she was reassured at home that this surely wasn't the case. Still, though, I met with her teacher early in the year to discuss these feelings she had, and I was met with a stony expression and monotone, emotionless, flat answers to my questions. Questions that I should have been asking all along, like "What are some suggestions for things I can do to enrich her at home and help her to enjoy learning again?" Questions of that nature were answered with "I don't know." Fast forward to this summer, and we have a normally bright, sassy little girl presenting herself dimmed, defeated, convinced that school sucks and she just doesn't want to go.

I don't want that for her. And I see that in your class, that won't be the expected behavior. While she will still answer when asked what she likes about school is that there's pizza and fruit-flavored water, it is my dream that she tacks on something about actually receiving her education, too.

Now that I have that said and out of the way, there are some other important things you need to know. Dancing Queen, as I said, is a worrier. She is definitely her mother's child in that she dwells on things that bother her and lets them interfere with her daily life sometimes. Her biggest school-related anxieties are centered primarily on test taking and reading/writing. Some things were said to her last year that she interpreted to mean that she wasn't good enough, wasn't smart enough, to succeed this year.

 In addition to this, Dancing Queen is also epileptic. The medication she's on can sometimes have an effect on her mood, sleeping patterns, and even her short-term memory. If she seems more forgetful, it is possibly a side effect of her meds.

(Disclaimer: I won't pull the meds card if you come to me and tell me that you truly feel she isn't paying attention. I'm not that parent. Please, please, please let me know if you feel that her behavior is questionable. I don't allow her medical condition to be a cover for lack of effort.)

She needs to play catch-up at home, particularly with her writing skills (punctuation, grammar, vocab, and sentence structure specifically,) and to discover a love for reading. I am the first to admit, though, that I don't make a very good instructor. I know I already ask a great deal of you by simply sending my child to be your student, but may I ask for a little bit more help? Can you point me in the direction of some resources  that I can employ at home that take a fun approach to these subjects so that she and I can work on them diligently without frustrating each other to the point of misery?

Thank you so much for your time, and thank you so much for your dedication to the kids. I wasn't paying lip service when I said earlier that I'm excited for this year. I'm truly  looking forward to being more involved with both her and you.

Sincerely,

Accidentally Mommy





 

Down the Rabbit Hole: On Parenting with BiPolar Disorder - Contributor Post

Today, Accidentally Mommy has graciously opened up about a challenge that faces many parents, and helps others in how they deal with it in their own lives.

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In January of 2010, I wrote a post for my blog titled “Tackling Taboo: Bipolar Parents” and it was difficult, to say the least. At the time, it had become knowledge to someone in my life that I had Bipolar Disorder, and I was being vilified for it. Suddenly, I wasn’t safe to be around her children. Suddenly, my children might not be safe anymore. Suddenly, I was the monster in the closet, poised to spring at the most vulnerable moment in a child’s -- any child, according to her -- life. In my original post, I attempted to debunk some popular myths regarding people who have Bipolar Disorder, such as the ones perpetuated in the media via movies like Mommie Dearest and Sally Fields’ recurring role on the popular television series ER, using personal observations.  Here, my goal is to go a step further. Here, I want to share with you the further intricacies of being a parent with Bipolar Disorder, such as explaining to one’s older child why mommy or daddy has to take medicine every day, frequent doctor visits, and even the issues that arise when an episode of mania or depression strikes.

My daughter is eight. She first made note of the fact that I took a lot of medicine and went to the doctor a lot when she was about four. At the time, the explanation for her questions had to be watered down to age-appropriate responses. While Bipolar Disorder is an illness, I didn’t frame it to her that I was “sick.” Instead, I explained that I was different. A copout? Too politically correct? Possibly. It was important to me, though, that my child know from a young age that this difference didn’t diminish me in the same way many illnesses can diminish many people.

Recently, though, her interest has been piqued again. I’ll start from here by warning you that if you find yourself in a similar position in the future, it won’t be easy. Hell, writing this post hasn’t been easy. It’s taken me days to articulate my thoughts and get over being self-conscious about it. That self-consciousness seems to multiply when you’re explaining it to your child. In my case, she’s old enough to understand what people stereotype “crazy” as, and that’s the last thing one wants their child to associate them with.

So, how do you do it? You take a deep breath and you explain that everyone’s brain is wired differently. My daughter has epilepsy, so that was a perfect example to start out with. Then I went on to explain what Bipolar Disorder is. I told her that because my brain is wired the way it is, sometimes I get upset or angry for no reason. Sometimes I get really, really sad. Sometimes I get so nervous about things that I don’t want to or can’t do them. She accepted that explanation pretty readily. That led to the explanation of all the medications.

I didn’t go into what each medication is, but I explained that the mixture of meds I’m on controlled each aspect of my difference. One medicine made my sadness go away. One medicine helped me to get over being so nervous. It was at this point that she asked me if she would have to be on so many medicines someday. That was a tough pill to swallow. (See what I did there?) I answered her truthfully and said I didn’t know. I told her that I didn’t start feeling this way until I was older than her, so it was too early to know. She expressed that she was scared that she might be the same way later in life, and that she was upset because she was afraid people would call her, or me, crazy. I told her emphatically that I was not, nor would she be, crazy. I reinforced again that this difference wasn’t a bad thing, it was just a thing. Just like her epilepsy. I also reinforced that we didn’t know, and she migh not experience it at all.

From there, we went on to talk about what exactly a psychiatrist is. Again, it was a pretty easy explanation from a technical standpoint. Just like her neurologist, a psychiatrist knows all about brains. The difference is that a neurologist knows about the physical aspect of the brain, and a psychiatrist knows about the chemical aspect of it. (When I explained the medications and how they worked, I also explained that these feelings and mood changes I had were because of my brain not producing the right mix of chemicals, so that she would understand that it was a physical issue, not just something I imagined.) Obviously psychiatrists and neurologists share knowledge that is intrinsically linked, but I felt at this point she would have a better grasp if I pointed out their specialties rather than their similarities.

At the end, she was far less worried. She seemed to understand perfectly well that it wasn’t something that I could prevent or change in myself. For that alone I was extremely grateful. Like I said above, this wasn’t an easy post to write or an easy conversation to have. But I feel strongly that both had to happen. I know I’m not the only parent out there that struggles with mental illness. There are plenty of us that don’t talk about it but may need to in the future, and need the solidarity of a parent who has already gone there. That’s one of the reasons why this post exists. This is here for you to know you’re not alone. You can do it, and they will understand and think no less of you for it. And for the parents who don’t have the same hurdles to navigate, it’s here so that you can gain a little insight if you need it. To know that these are some of the things your friends or family may face, so that you can offer your support. Even if that means pointing them here.

 

Fitness Corner - Couch to 5K Highlight: "Broken, Fat, and Busy"

Today, Jackie from Accidentally Mommy throws her hat into the Couch-to-5K ring, and if you've got any trepidation about trying it, here's your reason to do it anyway.

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It was about midnight when I went off half-cocked and decided that I was going to do a C25K program. As usual, I was up too late and fiddling around on Facebook. Lo and behold, as I scrolled ever downward in what seemed like an endless feed of new items, an ad popped up that caught my eye.

It was impossible, really, for it NOT to catch my eye. Jumping off my laptop screen was a woman dressed in full running attire, soaked to the skin in bright pink paint. Intrigued, I clicked it. Then I clicked all the clicky links on the website. I was morbidly curious and totally sold. “I can do this!” I thought. “It’s not until October! I can whip myself into shape in no time!” I assured myself.

HAHAHAHAHA!!!! I’m hilarious sometimes.

See, I’m fat (duh,) broken (as in, metal plates and screws and pins in bones,) and have zero spare time. My days are spent entertaining two children, one of whom is special needs. My nights are spent at a shitty job that I detest, but pays the bills. This leaves me with exactly eight hours in which to cram in the occasional bit of side work and this new endeavor to make me a better me.

So, gritting my teeth with determination, I began my “training.”

The first night, after I lovingly tucked my children into bed, I put on a pair of denim capri pants, a tank top, my flip flops, and went outside. At a bit of a loss, I realized quickly that I was, umm....not prepared. One can’t run in flip flops, I realized. (Not for lack of trying, though.) Additionally, denim and chub rub is not a good combination. No, not at all. So, shuffling my way back down the street, I scrubbed that attempt and decided to start anew the next day.

After a run to Walmart on my way home from the kiddo’s occupational therapy block the following afternoon, I was armed with yoga pants and a pair of running shoes.  Good to go, right? Yeah!

Wrong again! Remember those pins and plates I told you about? Well, not only am I petrified they’ll fail somehow, they also make wearing shoes kind of difficult. The break changed the entire architecture of my foot, so fit is  huge problem. Additionally, the plate rests just where the top of the shoe does on the outside of the ankle. Ankle skin is very thin, and that makes for a very painful kind of rub.

Still not discouraged, though, I took my shoes off and chucked them to the side. Barefoot running! YES! I’m hardcore in many other ways, why not be all kamikaze about this whole running thing, too?

So, off I shuffled. I’d say jogged, but I’m not going to lie to you, dear readers. It was (and remains,) a shuffle. That goes back to that fear I have of the ankle failing me, or an even older injury in my opposite knee giving me grief.

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.

It has been two weeks, and I’m still shuffling around the neighborhood barefoot. I’ll be biting the bullet and getting all spendy on a pair of Vibram FiveFingers, but for the moment, it’s just me and my calluses. Maybe just getting some supplements in preparation for this big event will help? I find mine here.

Will I actually be jogging or running the Color Vibe 5K in October? Not a clue. The journey has begun, though. In spite of being broken, fat, and busy, I’m really damn stubborn. IT’S ON, YO.



 

Happy Earth Day

Earth Day was always a big deal to me growing up. I would grab my brother and sister and trot down our seldom-used road and pick up any bits of trash we saw on the way. It was fun and frivolous at the time, but it was enough so that I started to become conscious about the world around me, and to this day, when I do something green or something that would favor Earth over my convenience, I'm reminded of those Earth Days of years' past.

But picking up garbage is just one of the tiny and multiple ways you can get the message across to your kids.

Joella over at Fine and Fair has easy ways to live a greener life without it being a battle! Check them out, and while you are over there, make note that her post is actually a blog carnival in itself and there are tons more green goodie posts at the bottom!

(And if you want to start submitting, check out her monthly carnival.)


Meanwhile, Alex at Alex Nguyen's Portraits has a stunning craft making bracelets out of bicycle tires. I know, when I say it, it doesn't sound cool. But check this out:

Way cooler now, right?


And a lot of us feel pressured to go hard or go home when it comes to going green. Jackie over at Accidentally Mommy realizes that's just not possible for all of us. Even the small steps we take are appreciated and should be recognized.


 

This Feminist's Box

Look, feminism is a squidgy topic these days. Now that we can vote and own property and work and stuff, what's the problem, amirite? Do we really need to keep "making people aware" of the stereotypes perpetuated and marginalization of women in modern society? Doesn't everyone already know? And if they do know, doesn't that make it individual choice? And if women are choosing to live in certain ways and enjoy certain things, isn't that what the main push of first and second wave feminism was about anyway? Haven't we won?

Yes and no.

I mean, we really do have a bigger box, and it is a lot cozier in here now that we've been allowed to decorate (see what I did there?), and it would be kind of nice to just stretch out in here and bask in how far we've come. We deserve a break from all this struggling and fighting, and gosh darn it, we just aren't even likable anymore. Why isn't anyone ever grateful?

Because how far we've come isn't far enough. Because not only are things still incredibly weighted toward men (white men in particular), but the general population believes that they are not. Which, really, makes the problem worse than it was before because you cannot fight a problem people who should be on your side (I mean, all people really, but it's worse when you're like, but, guys, come on! This is you we're talking about / fighting for here!) refuse to acknowledge exists.

And just to clear some things up, it's not about wanting things made easier for us. It's about wanting the structural set in our society made equal. We don't want special programs and rights and passages and treatment. We don't want an equal ending point, meaning, we don't expect that being a woman should make it easier for us to succeed as we go through like. We want an equal starting point. Meaning we'd simply like not to have to claw and fight and spend years just getting to the point where men are born. That is what privilege is. It's not a bad thing, you needn't feel personally bad about it if you were born into it. But is is what it is, and we're not trying to drag anyone down so much as we're trying to climb up the patriarchy. Don't be scared, seriously. Us gaining equality does not diminish your life, I promise.

Anyway,  I could write pages on this and bore you to tears, so instead, I'm just going to point out a few specific ways in which women do not start (or end, but remember, the important piece here is start) on the same footing as men. As a group. Not talking individuals. But as a sector of society. In these ways, women are not equal to men, do not have the same opportunities as men, must work harder than men to achieve recognition or rights. Here we go, then.

Here is my feminist's box (get it?). I'm just going to go through each wall of it point by point. In this world and society where "feminism has basically already won guys, come on" we still deal with:

- Unequal pay: Women get paid 77 cents to every dollar a man makes. The equal pay legislation was shot down by our government this year. Awesome. Thanks, guys.

- Corporate absence: Women only account for 12 CEO positions in the Fortune 500 companies. Women make up 2.6 percent of corporal officers in these companies.

- Violence: one in three women will experience some form of violence, including rape and assault, and women are 10 times more likely to be victimized by intimate partners than men.

- Grooming requirements: Hair, makeup and style are considered mandatory to rise in the workforce or in society. When women don't 'groom' properly, their lack of care is blamed for their lack of success.

- Political absence: Only 20 percent of the U.S. senate is made up of women and only 12 percent of governors in the United States.

- Absence in the arts: Only 3 percent of artists highlighted in the MET's modern art section are women.

- Failure language: Failure is consistently feminized. People whining are bitches, or c*nts...if you are afraid you are a pussy...people are douches or twats...all of these represent weakness and something to be ridiculed, failure. And all of them refer to women.

- Property ownership: Worldwide, women own only 10 percent of all property (I cannot find a U.S. statistic. Sorry about that. Understand that this guy is apples and oranges with the rest of the examples.)

- Literature: Novelist Elizabeth Jane Howard says "instead of allowing women to succeed on their own merits the world of male critics and editors scratch each other's backs." Do you know who Elizabeth Jane Howard is? Point.

- Reproductive control: the people in charge of this country (which shown above are men) have control over whether or not women have rights to choice and birth control.

- Childcare inequality: Women are still held to be the main ones responsible for children. They are not, in this country, given automatic paid maternity leave.

- Healthcare access: Women's privacy is in danger when it comes to who can access their healthcare records and why, particularly pertaining to the aforementioned reproductive choices.

...

And yet, all of these things are not where the main problem lies. The main problem is that you (and if not you, then someone you know) read through this list not nodding along, but shaking your head. If they only worked harder, or asked for more money, or loved their children, or shaved their legs, this wouldn't happen to them, you think.

That's the problem. That's why we can never be content in a box.


For more amazing stories on what feminism means to these incredible individuals, check these out:

Feminism: Nobody told me how, by Smibbo:  "I saw boys who were teased for being “like a girl”

I saw girls who were shunned for being “too bossy”. I saw the way the rest of the world, outside of my happy-hippy sheltered life really thought. So even though I was brought up to BE a feminist and feminism runs through me effortlessly and without thought, I came to understand why there was a need for such thought, such effort, such …push."

Equal, by Pollychromatic:  "Feminism is a statement that women are equal to men, and to correct inequality where it exists. Both my daughter and my son deserve such a future."

I Was Born a Feminist, by Elizabeth Hawksworth: "Feminism is about equality. I was born a feminist.

Children are born not knowing the difference between women and men, black and white, straight and gay. Children are born knowing that their neighbour is their neighbour, that everyone can be a friend, and that everyone deserves a cookie when the plate is passed around. Children are taught the differences in society. Children are given cues to follow. But when they are born – all children know is that the people around them are people."

A Bit About Feminism, by Corndog Mama: "In this moment, I have a partner who recognizes that I'm bearing a heavy load, and he's looked for a way to make it lighter. In this moment, I am conscious that I don't have to be everything for everyone: I only need to be me, calm and reflective for my sake and that of my unborn child's."

Feminism in my Life, by Accidentally Mommy: "As a rebellious teenager, I defined feminism as being able to run around and do what I wished, date however many men I wanted, and have my world on a plate with no social repercussions. I bought myself birth control, and I worked a job where my co-workers were predominantly male. The misogynists I knew called me an undisciplined slut. I disagreed. I still disagree."

Feminism Defined: The Lowest Common Denominator, by Fine and Fair:  "Alright then. So what's the lowest common denominator? Do all feminists hate men? No. Are all feminists lesbians? No. Are all feminists hairy legged, makeup abstaining loudmouths? No. (But some really cool ones are!) Do all feminists believe that every woman should work and that stay-at-home moms are setting the movement back? Certainly not. Do all feminists believe that women share equal status as human beings and should have the same rights and opportunities as men?"

Each of these pieces is as amazing as the woman who wrote it.




Sources for this (my) piece:

http://www.nsf.gov/statistics/infbrief/nsf08308/

http://www.urbanministry.org/sexism-and-gender-discrimination-statistics

http://math.berkeley.edu/~kirby/sexism.html

http://www.vidaweb.org/the-count-2010

http://library.thinkquest.org/C006274/fem/stats.html

 

Farmers Markets and the Locavore Movement - Contributor Post

Today, Jackie over at Accidentally Mommy has a post about how and why she turned to local food and farmers markets. While I'm still a Publix girl myself, the post definitely gave me some ideas...and a yearning for some of the delicious can't-find-it-anywhere grapefruit juice they sell at the market here in town.

...
Feeding our Families, Souls and Communities:

Before I go on, I'd like to let you all know that I'm not preaching.  Quite frankly, there are very few things that I'm passionate about enough to personally preach.  I simply want to share my experiences.

I became a locavore quite by accident.  I had known about the locavore movement, but didn't put much thought into it.  I shopped at a grocery chain that made it a point to use as much semi-local produce as possible, where I checked origins and made it a point to skip over anything non-US grown and avoided anything that deviated from the Southeastern area.  For a time, that was enough. Then I discovered the gems that are my local Farmer's Markets.  THAT'S when I was converted.  A sunny, summer afternoon spent people-watching, chatting up vendors, and buying some of the most beautiful tomatoes and Muscadine grapes I had ever laid my eyes on, all the while snacking on beautifully made artisan bread still warm from a vendor that gave it to us for free, in exchange for a smile and a hug from my outgoing and bubbly toddler.

Kinder Major after we got home from our first market adventure, circa July 2006!

That afternoon got me hooked on the soul-food that is interacting with the community in a small yet impacting manner, as well.  As my daughter played at my feet and I watched the busy goings-on of the downtown market, I saw many beautiful things.  Families still smudged with dirt, vending from the tailgates of beat-up 20 year old pickups laughed and played together between customers.  Mothers brought their children and fed them directly from the stands they just purchased their foods from.  Indigent residents came and bartered and haggled to afford vital fresh veggies and fruits that otherwise wouldn't be available to them, that provided them with the nourishment necessary to keep them going just that much longer.  Students, professionals, young, old, fashionable, scene, hippy... you name the demographic, it was represented.  It was and is a breathtakingly beautiful melding of our community, all gathered together to laugh and play.  Smiles are abundant between strangers, which we all know is a rarity in today's society.

These markets are so much more than food markets.  Locally made crafts, clothes and gift items, vocal advocacy for political and social issues, musicians, dancers, artists... they all gather to ply their wares, stances and performances.  There's something that appeals to every sense.

It's markets like these that truly feed us as a society.  Not just by providing nourishment for our bodies, but economic nourishment, social nourishment, and soul nourishment in the form of hope.  In today's society where so many are isolated by choice and by chance, these markets provide us with the opportunity to come together for a common purpose.  It provides the necessary soul-ular (get it?  Soul-ular instead of cellular?  I'm punny =P) vitamins of smiles, kindness, laughs and camaraderie.  It helps to rebuild our faith in our fellow man, if only for a few hours each week.

I didn't become a locavore to spit in the face of Big Agriculture, nor to perpetuate a socio-political movement or simply because my friends were doing it and it was trendy.  I became a locavore because I realized that by feeding my family the (literal) fruits of my neighbors' labor, I was feeding their families as well as my soul and our communities. 

This year I plan to take my locavore-ism to the next step, with a garden that should produce enough to feed my family comfortably, as well as allow me to reach out individually to someone who is in need, since there will undoubtedly be more than enough to share.  I've said in jest that even in the worst-case scenario, I would have enough extra to set up my own vendor's stall at the market, but that goes against what it feels right in my heart to do.  The profit I'm looking for isn't monetary - I want to give back the good feeling I've been blessed to receive that comes with knowing that someone cares about me and my family, and is willing to share their good fortunes with me.  That, in my opinion, is the key motivator behind home-base locavoreism.

So that you gain more than just my rhetoric from this post, I'm going to leave you with links to finding out how to become locavores in your own communities and a recipe.  Happy Nurturing!

http://www.localharvest.org
http://www.eatwellguide.org
http://www.eatwild.com/

Vegetable Squish
***Please note:  All measurements are approximate.  I'm a firm believer that cooking is based more on feeling and heart than measurements and calculations, but I acknowledge that not everyone cooks that way, which is why I provided the estimates.  :)

• 5 large tomatoes (two cans of diced tomatoes can be substituted, or you can mix fresh and canned.  I often make this substitution, simply because tomatoes get eaten like apples in my house and I never have enough left.)
• 4 mid-size crookneck/yellow squash
• 4 mid-size zucchini
• 2 large onions
• 1 TBSP minced garlic
•  Fresh ground pepper, to taste
•  Fresh ground sea salt or kosher salt, to taste

The layers in which you add your veggies is important, so take heed.  In a large pot, add garlic.  Dice tomatoes, making sure to reserve all liquids.  Add to pot.  Coarsely chop onions, add to pot, stir to combine with tomatoes and garlic.  Chop squash and zucchini, making sure to discard ends. Layer on top of the onion/tomato/garlic mixture on the bottom. 

At this point, cover your pot and simmer on low.  The idea is to cook the tomatoes well along with cooking the onions to translucency, while steaming the squash and zucchini.  

After ten minutes of simmering, mix to combine the squash and zucchini with the tomato-onion-garlic mixture.  Cover and simmer until squash and zucchini are tender to taste.  (We like them very mushy, so it's usually another 20 minutes or so for us.  YMMV.)  

When veggies are fork-done to taste, add ground pepper and the salt of your choice, mixing to incorporate.  Cover for another five minutes to let flavors mingle.  Remove from heat and serve over white or brown rice, or egg noodles.

I generally serve this over white rice with stew beef marinaded in a honey-sesame teriyaki sauce.  It's a very flexible dish, though, so experiment and enjoy!




 

Easter Crafts, Foods and Fun - Blog Share

Doing Easter last minute? We've got some ideas for you!


First of all, invite over friends! Yes, this is Jackie and her family from Accidentally Mommy!

Now, we're just dyeing eggs because that's all some of us can handle, for real. But there are other crafts you can tackle, perhaps, one could say, of a higher calibre...

Samantha Williams shows us plebs how to make string eggs over on Heart Shaped Leaves.

A complete, step-by-step how-to, made easy for people even just slightly craftier than I am!









Of course, we're busy concentrating on just getting some color on the real eggs.














But that's not the only fun to be had! After the eggs get colored, you get to go on Easter Egg hunts. And sometimes, if you're really freaking cool, you get to do it in the dark...with flashlights, like Tracey from Inside the Mommyvan. Check it out.

Some of us, though...we're still just chugging away. Work, work work.














And the whole time, we're striving not to break those darn eggs. But what would happen if you let your kids stand on the eggs? Literally walking on eggshells. Alex Nguyen over at Alex Nguyen Portraits found out. And you won't believe your eyes!

Not even a joke, guys, not even a joke.

Of course...we aren't so lucky.

Good thing I'm hungry! (And super duper attractive!)

Now, you might not be into hard-boiled-egg-that-just-fell-on-on-the-floor (though I'd question your taste, because obviously delicious).






If you're looking for something a little more impressive, JJ on Low So Paleo has got a brunch idea that's not only appetizing, but also Paleo friendly!

Okay, now that we've eaten...back to work!

Looking good (if blurry. Way to go, photographer.)





So, we're just about ready for Easter Day!

But when the Easter Bunny comes, maybe he feels like filling those plastic jobbies with something other than candy or money this year...if so Joella at Fine and Fair has some great alternatives to put in the Easter basket.









So, there you have it. Easter in an eggshell.