Sadness in Greenville regarding Ferguson

For many that know me, my on line silence regarding Ferguson must be a surprise. I have to admit, with the chaos that has been going on in my life lately, I haven't had the time to really follow what it going on, but a mere log onto any of my social media sites has smacked it right in my face.

My only response? Sadness. I don't know all the facts, I am not sure of all the players but what I do know is that on the night before Thanksgiving our Nation still has no idea had to empathize and forgive. My social justice friends are posting articles in support of the rioting and violence, my other friends and family are posting articles and commentary on the exact opposite. All I ask is where is the love and compassion and empathy?

I can't begin to imagine the pain and mourning of a community that is so distraught it resorts to looting and vandalism. Regardless of the court case, this is a community that needs to find a voice.  I can't imagine the pain.

Where is our empathy? Where is our desire to find the good in all people and to say, "what can we do to ease your pain?" Obviously, whether or not  you feel that the verdict was justice, there is still a group of people in pain and to empathize with that group does not have to mean that you agree.

Pain is not black and white, nor right or wrong.

Why are we so set up to have to pick a side? I don't trust the media, I don't trust the internet.... I just feel sadness.

• Sadness that a community is living in fear, regardless of their ethnicity, regardless of their socio-economic class.
• Sadness at the loss of a child, someone's son.
• Sadness of the police office and his family, for enduring this trial.
• Sadness for the police forces sent in early "just in case"
• Sadness for communities of color who feel that they have no voice.
• Sadness for communities of white people who feel that they must pick a side.

"There is no higher court than courts of justice and that is the court of conscience. It supersedes all other courts." - Mahatma Gandhi

Hard day reminders

I'm usually boosting, what a great job I have. When I tell people what I do there are a few responses: "wow! good for you" or "oh, i'm sorry" or "I could never do that". My answer usually is that I have an awesome job, no two days are ever the same. I can be counseling with clients, or staff in the morning and unclogging a toilet in the afternoon. I can be on a conference call regarding effective legislation or making rice crispy treats with the children. I've been known to post some fun pictures on instagram with the hashtag #shelterlife, because as some of the staff say "you can't make this shit up".

There are days though that are hard. There is an emotional currency that is spent here and we work very hard at self care. Vicarious trauma is real. It affects advocates every day and is the number one cause for burn out.

We work very hard at empowering and creating an inclusive environment in which all choices are accepted. Although we hope to educate and support victims survivors of domestic violence, we work hard every day to ensure that they are able to make their own decisions . We pride ourselves on giving them all the information  needed to make informed choices.

We have very few rules. Those that are established have been made to ensure a safe environment for all of our clients. Apart from that, its their home, not ours.... they are free to live how they chose.

Often this is the first place that victims are able to make their own choices...things that most of us take for granted.... what to eat for dinner, when to go to bed.... how to dress or wear their hair.

• Seeing victims survivors feel that freedom are the good moments.
• Seeing victims survivors struggle with those freedoms is the beauty that I witness of their personal journey. 
• Seeing decisions being made that I am afraid will affect them in the long run is really, really hard.

Today is a hard day. I take some solace in that this is only a snap in time of their life.

I'm reminding myself that the universe is providing the opportunity for lessons to be learned, and for strength to be built. Often for victims survivors to grow they are taking two steps backwards to move three steps ahead....

I'm hoping they learn to cha-cha.

Sunday reflection

There's something about the quietness of water, of floating gently and smoothly on the surface of the water. A cool breeze and the warm sun. 

Frogs singing and birds in the trees above. 

The silence and stillness is relaxing. 

Self reflection and quieting of my mind is not always an easy task but out there in that moment, it was perfect. 

That smile

Today I was invited by a friend to go to a Memorial Day BBQ. I'm typically good with this sort of thing. I can mix and mingle, make conversation with just about anyone. It was a mixture of a crowd and I enjoyed it immensely. When the 40 plus crowd dwindled to about 15 I found myself in the back yard enjoying some cocktails and conversation. As the topic of conversation to the right of me turned to what was obviously a re-enactment of some comedian's rendition of a "retarded" person I stood quietly. 

Those that know me, know this is a huge feat! With  most  issues that I feel strongly about its hard for me to contain myself, especially if alcohol is involved, but this time I stood quietly. I took a few deep breaths and when the topic died down I took out my phone and showed those involved in the conversation this: 

And said, " this is my son Walker".

That's all I really needed to say. The men started apologizing and I shook my head and said, "no need, just remember that smile" and walked away.

I wasn't angry, I wasn't sad. It's life. It's what people are afraid of or have no experience with that they make light of. 

I hope that with my gentle nature and understanding that they learned something today. When your language and actions are based in hurtfulness, it is always someone's child you are talking about. 

Whether it be race, religion, class, sexuality, gender identity or able ness, it's someone's child. He/she/they are loved, cared for and worried about. 

Remember that smile! 

Simply simple

It's been a year of transition. What I sometimes forget is to get out of my own head and remember that it's been a Year of transition for my children too.

Two different houses and my oldest moving out has left our sanctuary feeling a little off. 

I've been putting serious thought into it. Meditating on it and wondering what the universe wanted me to learn. There has to be some lesson here. 

And there it was. 

Something simple. 

Something perfect. 

9 months later

Last August I finished my last graduate class at SUNY New Paltz. The class was a perfect ending to my educational program, it was Expressive Art. It was an amazing mix of theory and social justice practices combined with a safe classroom atmosphere In which art could be ceated. For me, art is a vulnerability, an insecurity of mine that was only fostered in higher learning. So to end my graduate work in this way felt fitting to the degree I was getting. 

It was bitter sweet. I was happy to be done but sad that I was not given the opportunity to wear a cap and gown and walk onto stage to shake hands and get recognition for my degree. My university only does commencement ceremonies once a year. The next opportunity to partake would be 9 months later. It just felt anti-climatic. 

To my surprise I received this picture today 

I have to admit, I felt a ping of accomplishment and pride! Although I didn't walk on stage it did make me take a moment and acknowledge to myself that I did it! I worked hard and completed my goal. No party, no cards, no cap or gown is needed to prove to myself that I did it! All in my iown! 

I am from

I am from log cabin walls and cathedral ceilings,

I am from worn out slippers and baskets hanging from railroad ties,

I am from 33 records spinning the story of Fiddler on the roof and Paul Simon lyrics.

I am from horse shoe pits and firewood.

I am from oils stains and gravel driveways shoveled in the snow.

I am from corn fields and Holsteins and black dirt tornadoes.

I am from unpaves roads and the turn around tree.

I am from Dottie and Clara Bell

Chocolate chip cookies and meatloaf

I am from family portraits hanging on a stair case.

I am from cedar trunks and shoe boxes filled with photos and memories.

I am from "foof it" and "dunk the baby"

Dancing in the rain and catching fireflies.

I am from riding motorcycles and collecting river rocks.

I am from the black cherry tree bending in the wind and the spring peepers singing ther song.

I am from everything that was, that is and that could be.

My short skirt

My short skirt is not an invitation

A provocation

An indication

That I want it

Or give it

Or that I hook.

My short skirt is not begging for it

It doesn't want you to rip it off me

Or pull it down.

My short skirt is not a reason to rape me

Even though it has been a reason before

It will not hold up in court.

My short skirt, believe it or not

Has nothing to do with you!

My short skirt is about the power

Of my lower calves

A cool autumn breeze blowing between my thighs,

It's about everything I see, or feel or live to be inside.

My short skirt is my defiance

I will not let you make me afraid!

This is who I am

Before you made me cover it up

Or tone it down. 

Get used to it.

My short skirt is happiness

I can feel myself on the ground

I am here

I am hot.

My short skirt is a liberation flag

In the women's army

I declare these streets

Any streets

My vaginas country.

My short skirt does not mean that I'm stupid

Or undecided

Or a malleable little girl.

My short skirt is a turquoise blue ocean

With swimming colored fish

A music festival 

A stary night

A bird calling

A train arriving in a foreign town

My short skirt is a full spin

A full breath

A tango dip

But mainly, my short skirt

And everything underneath it is mine

Mine

Mine

Learning to let go

It took me three days to finally go in and look. I didn't want to see the emptiness, the reality that my oldest child chose to leave and go live with his dad. My heart is breaking. 

I've known since his was a toddler that this day would come. I thought i was prepared. But there's really no way to prepare when your child breaks your heart. 

I know I need to let go and as a parent this is just my first lesson in that. I know that it's not about me, that it's about him finding who his his, learning his path in this life and becoming a man. 

I can only be here to support him, love him and today..... Miss him. 

Mr. Mr update

In the first few years of his life, I spent a lot of time blogging about Mr. Mr. I was a stay at home mom and trying to manage the complexities of life with a child with special needs. Being on line, saved me in some many ways. When people question the integrity of relationships built on line, I can only use the examples of so many of my closest friends whom I met via on line during this time. Blogging and chatting virtually saved me from going into a deep dark depression.


Life has moved on, and we have settled into a routine with Mr. Mr, and I returned back to work.


Days are still challenging... as a family we struggle to include him but also give attention to his siblings who are often set aside due to his constant care. Our own needs are set aside. Simple tasks like going grocery shopping are exhausting and there is no putting him in the child care at the Y while mommy runs on the treadmill.


Recently we have been on a roller coaster of sorts.... although Mr. Mr. is a very involved child, (non-ambulatory, non-verbal and a pureed diet)  for the most part he is healthy. He has never needed medication and is usually in a happy mood as long as his belly is full and pants are clean. But the last two weeks we have been experiencing him having seizures. At first I didn't believe that was what was happening, but as the week progressed the activity became more and more obvious. He was having these "episodes" 6 - 10 times a day. The validation for me was when his school also confirmed that they were seeing the same thing.




Today we went for an EEG...he hated it. He hates his head touched, he hates laying on his back and most importantly he hates me in his face holding down his arms. The technician said to sleep deprive him.... yeah right! This kid is the king of cat naps and never sleeps longer than 4 hours at a clip to begin with.  We managed to make it through with minimal melt downs for both of us!


the neurologist snuck us in after and confirmed that what we were seeing were in fact seizures. He acted like this was just another thing, prescribed some meds and sent us on our way. I realize that for him this is common... children with special needs often develop a seizure disorder. What was most upsetting for me are the side affects of the med which can cause anger. I can't have my little man pissed off all the time!  What I find solace in is that even though his life is limited in his reality life is great, silly noises are hilarious and bright lights are pretty cool to check out. If he becomes grumpy, angry or just irate that will be a hard pill to swallow!


so we will wait... wait to see if the seizures stop or slow down... wait to see if he has any behavior changes and wait.......


if my children are my lessons in life this kid is teaching me plenty!! 

What's in a name?

If you got to choose your name what would you pick?




I've been thinking a lot about my name lately. Not just my first name but all of it. Its no secret I've been married twice and hence I feel that I have never really felt ownership of my last name either. There hasn't been any real connection to the names I've had.


My maiden name was only mine for a short 23 years. Throughout school I hated it because it put me at the end of the alphabet. As well as having to spell it out loud and explain that there was no "F" in it anywhere.


When getting married for the first time, I only knew that a women was expected to take on her new husbands name. There was no conversation 'if" I would take it. It was just assumed. It was a nice name, had a nice ring but honestly there wasn't much else about it except being at the front of the alphabet and thinking my children would appreciate that.


There was a short time between my official divorce and my second marriage. At that point, I knew I didn't want to keep my first husband's name and it seemed silly to revert to my maiden name. So the natural course was to take on his name as well.


Shortly after however, I begun my college studies and found my way to the Gender Studies department. There I had intense conversations about all names, and what they meant and who gave them to us and for what purpose. I met women and men alike, who strongly identified with their name and who were passionate about explaining why. For me, I had no real story to tell for any of it. No real conviction either way.


And here I am, contemplating keeping my name or changing it. But what would I change it to? Its been just as long that I haven't had my maiden name as when I had it. What could I come up with as an entirely new name that wouldn't sound pretentious or in fact made up? I think about some strong connection that I have with my family names. My offspring have all been given their father's names so there isn't concern about passing something down. So whatever I pick can be just for me. Just for my happiness and connection.


I think of a good friend who has been slowly changing her name to something she feels more connected to. Its been part of her story, part of her legacy. I want something to explain to my children and mostly my daughter, that makes sense, that can become my story. Its my story of evolving into the woman that I am today because of these experiences, because of these names.

Lessons for 2014

As the new year began, I took on the task of posting a picture of myself for all 365 days of 2014 in an effort to show off my fully human, not always perfect feminist self. They are all hash tagged #365feministselfie.









Its actually quite difficult, I've discovered a few things:

• my arms are not nearly long enough
• paying attention to what is in the back ground is important
• my children are pretty stinking cute, and take the pressure off of me.
• I have anonymous followers that I didn't know about (not sure if I like that or not) LOL
• I'm my toughest critic.

Its been really trying for me. At first I took pictures throughout the day of myself then would look through them at the end of the day and select the one I thought I looked best in.... then I digressed to taking several pictures at one time and finding the best shot.... to now at day 35 just taking a picture and posting it.   I wonder if on day 360 I'll even care if I've showered! 


I'm still not comfortable with the image that is staring back at me often, and it makes me think why. Where and who taught me not to love my own image? Why am I so critical... I look at my laugh lines and see age and not laughter, or my double chin and see obesity and not bountifulness of life. I look at my grey hairs and see stress and not maturity and value......


I believe that you get back from the universe what you put out there. I want depth, and love and light... and it must start from within.


I thought I would end my little experiement at the end of the month, but I'm not giving in to that critic and figure I have a lot to teach myself.

On children and dating......them not me!

At some point I have grown a teenager, not quite sure when that happened, or even why. I am not ready quite frankly.

Being divorced means for me, very little co-parenting. It means that we never had a discussion as to rules or ground work conversations when it comes to dating. Having my oldest be a boy, I thought I had some time. Last year however, to my dismay, my ex-husband allowed my son to start spending time on the weekends with his "girl-friend" at her house, properly supervised.

I wasn't thrilled.

To me, 14 is still to young to be dating, and allowing time on the weekends for them to spend time together seemed to be encouraging this behavior. But I don't get asked questions, or how I feel about things that go on at "dad's house".

So fast forward a year, and my son has a new "girl-friend" and he wanted her to spend time at my house with her. I reluctantly agreed, but felt that at least at my house I could be confident regarding the amount of supervision that would be going on.

We set up the date and time, and I made sure he was clear that they would NOT be hanging out in his room. He was not happy but I was clear that it was NOT appropriate for them to be hanging out in his room on his bed. I also made sure that all of his younger brothers and sister and would be home to help out as well.(insert evil grin here)

The day went well, youngest sister was well behaved and monopolized said girl friend's attention with puzzles and bracelet making as only a super cute 4 year old can do. And luckily there was no inappropriate touching or kissing as I had feared.

How do parents teach their children appropriate public intimacy without getting freaked out themselves?

I just hope that all that chaos and extra supervision curbs this as a routine.....

#365FeministSelfie

So my near and dear friend proposed this blogging challenge for me for 2014. The idea came from another fellow blogger ...this is how it works in the virtual world I am learning...

The idea is simple, post 365 selfie pictures that are what a "feminist looks like". Yes, folks, that would be me...

I'm not 100% comfortable with the idea of selfie pics, I'm not very happy with my appearance these days, my hair is growing out, I'm 15pounds over my ideal weight, I'm seeing aging lines on my face... but then I thought, this is exactly the point! 

We as a society are obsessed with the "ideal" image of a woman. So obsessed that it turns inward and we find ourselves critiquing everything about what we look like and it in turns changes how we feel about ourselves.

This may be just what I need.

To learn to love who I am... every day.
To expose that women over 35,a size 10, and a mother of 4 should be paid attention to.
To be silly,
To be serious
To be thoughtful.
Because this is what a feminist looks like.... at least this one anyways.

Welcome 2014

2013 has passed and I can't say I'm terribly sad about it. Not my worst year ever but certainly a challenging one. I remind myself that there are lessons from the universe hidden within these challenges. I do feel myself much more grounded at the end of this year then where I started it, so that's a good thing. I've recently moved into a new space which feels more comfortable, and in just a few days I begin a new position at my job. In 2013 I kept saying "something has got to give" - here's to hoping it's the New Year!