naked blogging

If I had to sum it up I'd say we are all the same. We all have our bouts of insecurity, we all overreact, we all squeal with joy and hug strong and hard. We feel overwhelmed, we feel shy, we feel powerful and we feel courageous. BlogHer this year was all of that but in the end what has meant the most for me for two years running was seeing old friends and meeting others whose words I've read all year long. It's an extended slumber party, we stay up too late and lose our voices and popcorn gets spilled and somebody inevitably gets locked in the bathroom. Some of us even drink too much, those mojitos are stronger somehow in groups.

But the best and perhaps most sacred time this year was when Jess, Tanis and I left the conference and went to a naked bath house. We waltzed into the old Victorian and for some reason hadn't really thought through that in a few short minutes we'd actually be sitting naked in front of each other in a big tub in the middle of the day. In fact, the moment that will last with me for the rest of my life was when the woman made it clear: all your clothes come off HERE ladies and Tanis' face registered a look of fucking horror. I think I fell over laughing then but I can't quite remember. But as we sat across from each other naked inside and out in the bright light and too hot water it summed it up perfectly: At the end of the day we are all simply naked. We are women and we were naked this weekend, both in and out of our clothes. It's not always pretty and sometimes it's more beautiful than you can imagine but either way it's real. And so while the weekend was one of mixed emotions sitting here now I am so very happy I went. Meeting women I've only read and emailed with and reconnecting with women who've come to mean so much more than I'd have thought possible two years ago is part of the garden I'll plant around me this year, your words and laughter and wisdom and truth will continue to keep me company as it grows.

hard to tell who's had more fun this week

Because I wasn't the one running around getting my ass grabbed by Sleeping Beauty.

passing through

I always notice the old timers, this one can barely walk, he needs a walker and another person leading to get him where he needs to go. Rumor has it someone dropped him off last night and how folks can do that is something I will never understand. He's walking past me with another man guiding him along when I hear him say my pants pull up my pants and I glance over, his pants have fallen down around his ankles and he can't fix them without letting go of something and then he'd surely fall. The man who's helping him stops and turns around. He looks and looks around the crowded room, there is no easy way to do this but to bend over and pull up his pants. He does it and reaches around his waist to fasten them. He does this and I am glad for it and I also want to cry.

One of my long time friends is back, he was at the hospital for awhile and he's come back older. He's got a cane now and it doesn't seem right. He's come to define this world for me, this man and his smile and his back and forth, it's been a decade now and nothing has really changed. It's tragic and senseless and I will always root for him and every time I see him he asks about M. He asks me every single time because he remembers the before and the during and now he sees her grow.

I'm getting ready to leave as he's coming in. He sees me and comes running over, his hug lifts me clean off my feet and his laugh is rich and deep. I ask him how he is although he's clearly beaming. I am so good. I am so, so good. I think I've found a place to live. His smile is electric as he tells me all about it, gesturing wildly and occasionally pausing to greet others on their way inside with a slap on the back or one of those man hugs, the kind where you clasp each others hands and your chests bump. I like watching those man hugs and his happiness is infectious. You are doing it, man. You are on your way.

I walk to my car conscious I'm leaving for a few days, my mind ponders the irony of where I am heading and what I am leaving, that poverty can live alongside whimsy and somehow there is room for both and it seems wrong, a preternatural coexistence of sorts. But then again so many things seem wrong when I walk in and out these doors.

giving notice

We are bumping up against the start of BlogHer and The People's Party, which I have the pleasure of hosting alongside these five lovely and talented sisters. My "hosting" is a word I'll use loosely here, the real rockstar of the bunch is Megan , who has rounded up enough sponsors to make sure everyone gets free drinks. Jenny wanted to do a live feed for those of you who can't attend but want to watch and the good women at Kirtsy have decided to indulge her so if you can't be there you can watch it here. She might be naked, so take that as a warning from me to you. Or it's a potential photo op. Or better, blackmail material. You decide.

And on the less drinky but still kicky end of things, I'll be speaking about our Just Posts on Saturday at the Beautiful Blogging panel. This little soiree is moderated by Kyran Pittman from Notes To Self and will also include Krystyn Heide from the Hope Revolution, Alyssa Royse from Just Cause It! and Lucrecer Braxton, and her Art Slam initiative, all new writers to me with really amazing blogs. If you haven't yet discovered them you should go check them out, each blog is full of love and hope and art and goodness.

And on the still kicky and more thinky side I've got a new review up about educational resources and learning activities for little ones, a very cool thing for us parents with kids ages 4-8.

the village people

I walked into one of the programs the other day and the guy at the front says your kid was really funny yesterday. I am bewildered, my kid was here without me? How could that be? My kid? Yep, she's crazy, all that hair. Another dude chimes in. Yeah, she was tearing it UP. I am puzzled, I still can't figure out how my kid was here. Who was she with, I say and he tells me and all of a sudden it makes sense. One of M's aunties is a volunteer, she's always running around gathering things we need and she'd taken M on a playdate so they must have made a stop but I still couldn't believe neither of them mentioned the visit.

When I get home that night I ask M, so I hear you went to mama's work yesterday. No, she says firmly. I did not go to your work. That alone isn't that surprising, this project is geographically inconvenient from our house, M has only been there once or twice. I think you did, baby. Didn't you see all the beds and all of our friends? No, she says. I was with Auntie at HER work and we had oranges and bananas and bread. I am laughing now, I tell her it's my work too but she clearly isn't buying it.

No, she says. You put people to sleep. Auntie feeds them. It's NOT the same thing. Yesterday we helped people have food but we did NOT help them go sleepytime. I drop it because really, it's no use trying to convince her otherwise but between me and her Auntie, she must think we travel in odd circles sometimes or perhaps hey, it just is what it is. A little while later Auntie calls and says that she forgot to tell me they stopped in with a load of donated food, double checking perhaps because the program is a bit rough on the edges and wanted to make sure I didn't mind. I didn't and I don't as long as she keeps a close eye and I know she does but I admit it did throw me for a minute. I told her the story, both the confusion and the funny bits and she was laughing, laughing. It does take a village, doesn't it she said in reply.

the living is easy

It was perfect, this weekend. A little more than 24 hours spent cocooned in the warmth of my oldest friends, sharing both the highs and the lows, the twistings of our hearts. We spent too much time in the pool and I'm paying for it today, my sunburned face revels in the post mortem of our connection. Our yearly ritual will be thwarted by a jungle this year, I've conned them both into meeting me halfway in some sleepy little Mexican town next summer, we'll extend the 24 hours to maybe an entire 72. I will look forward to it all year long.

And now onward, in a few short days a whole other sort of giddyness will commence, more late nights and dearly missed friends, am counting the hours till I can sip mojitos next to you in the dark. But in between J and I will revel in another sort of loveliness, one where our child is safely swaddled at her grandparents and we will enjoy a few quiet and glorious summer nights to ourselves. Can you see my beaming face? Because it's beaming all the way from here.

Oh, and I almost forgot, I've got a new review up about environmentally friendly toothbrushes over here. Who doesn't love their teeth and our planet? Go see for yourself.

me and julio down by the schoolyard

Summer nights we walk. We sometimes get a coffee or walk around the park. Lately we've been sitting in the bleachers of neighborhood softball games. M loves it, there are usually other kids on the grass and they all run around and J and I sit and watch people we do not know hit the ball well and not so well. Tonight was perfect, a nice breeze and a rousing game. The umpire took a softball in the groin and the players and fans alike all started cracking up. What is it about grown men getting hit in the nuts that makes everyone laugh, I wonder and yet it's true, we are all 12 years old.

M and I are headed off for a girls weekend of sorts, two girls on a plane and then my baby goes to my parents and I get to spend a weekend with my two best friends, women I see just once a year. We plan this weekend all year long, the one time all three of us are in the same country. This year we've decided to sit poolside and not lift a finger all weekend long. We'll catch up on the politics in the Middle East and who has travelled where and how long our hair has grown, one friend comes from Syria and the other has amusingly turned into something of a socialite so her house is like a fancy spa. But she's good to us and she'll pretend not to notice when we use all her fancy face cream on our legs and put our dirty feet on her expensive couch just like we always do because again no matter how old we get we are all still 12 years old.

June Just Posts

Community: 1: a unified body of individuals: as a: state, commonwealth b: the people with common interests living in a particular area; broadly : the area itself c: an interacting population of various kinds of individuals (as species) in a common location d: a group of people with a common characteristic or interest living together within a larger society e: a group linked by a common policy f: a body of persons or nations having a common history or common social, economic, and political interests g: a body of persons of common and especially professional interests scattered through a larger society 2: society at large 3 a: joint ownership or participation b: common character : likeness c: social activity : fellowship d: a social state or condition. merriam-webster dictionary

In a week a number of us from our online community will gather together at BlogHer. We will connect with old friends and meet new ones for the first time. It's a collision of worlds, BlogHer. One that pulls us out from behind our keyboards and into the light. We discover things we did not know, we are perhaps taken aback by previous assumptions, we are pushed and broadened and enriched and moved. Others in our community will stay behind and continue communing with others the way we do all year round, through emails and posts, comments and groups.

The Just Posts are another form of community, one where individuals find a crowd, where issues can join us, where pain and suffering and joy and light can open our eyes. It's a place where everyone is welcome, all we need to do is write. We all see with different colored lenses, but it's the way we allow the light to shine and bend that draws others around us. We do this with words, with images, and with heart and soul. It's an ongoing joy to be a part of all three of these connected worlds, month after month it's a priviledge to gather here and it means nothing without all of you.

Just Post Writers
Andrea at Punk Rock Mommy with Planting the seeds of my own garden
Andrea with The burden of perfection
Averagebean with Freedom of speech?
Blog Antagonist with Speak English Me
Chani with Wellness Wednesday: take back your time
Christine Kane with Making Friends with Songs and Food
Defiant Muse with The mommy myth
Flutter with I am an omnivore
Girlgriot with Gotta do more than holla and We can, I mean WE can
Hel with Afternoon in an urban footgarden
Her Bad Mother with Joy, And Pain
Identity Theory with The weapon of rape
Indigenous people's issues today with Five key indigenous people's issues
Jen with Where the streets have no name, the middle way and the shattered ceiling and what it means for our children
Julie with Kids and sex?
Kaliroz with indifference to me, is the epitome of evil
KC with Wheels
Mayberry Mom with 20 lousy pairs of scissors
MOMocrats with Moms need help in California family court system
Moosh in Indy with the healthcare of stereotypes
No Caption Needed with High Noon in Sadr City
The Expatriate's Kitchen with World Refugee Day
Toddlywinks with The powerlessness of three
Tossing Pebbles in the Stream with To laugh or be outraged
Susanne with Corsets, coolness, caps, and cosmetic surgery
Suzanne Reisman on blogher with Banning the Pill Kills Women. Period. and "Third Genders" in Societies with Rigid Gender Roles
WhyMommy with Thank you, AmVets

Just Post Readers
Janet
Moosh!
Alejna
Celeste

Don't forget to stop by Mad's and Su's before you go. We are here every month collecting posts about social justice from around the blogosphere and around the world and everyone is welcome to participate either by writing or by sending posts you've read. If you'll be at BlogHer next week you can also find me talking about the Just Posts here. Make sure to say hello (and no throwing tomatoes either).

perspective

Kaliroz has a post up with a link to a diary being kept by clinic workers in Sierra Leone. I just finished reading most of it, from the man who cleans the clinic to the kids who don't have enough food to HIV to dying while giving birth. And once again I wonder why this isn't the stuff that makes headlines, the crises all around us, where kids and moms and dads are suffering every single day. And I sit here fat and content allowing trivial nonsense to corrupt my vision.

It's wrong. It's more wrong than there are words for, the suffering some people face in our world today while we sit idly by. Save the Children, a UK charity is working to help the kids in this particular slum and you can learn more by clicking here. Kroo Bay, where these beautiful people live is built on a pile of trash. Their homes are built on filthy refuse. There are no words for this. If you are compelled to donate to this cause let me know and I will do my best to match your donation. I have to believe every little bit helps somehow.

behind the scenes

M's dance class is usually during the week but she had a make up day this past weekend and since I've never gotten to see her in action I wanted to be the one to go. Little did I know it would resemble some sort of demented popularity/election/who gets the most valentines on Valentine's Day process I endured in middle school.

First thing I notice as I sit outside the room in the viewing area is that M is the only one not wearing a little dress. She's got on sweats, J had supervised the dressing, this is what she always wears, he said.

All the other little girls are in little girl dance dresses. Ribbons in their hair. I notice but since M's never once said anything about needing a dress, not having a dress, I figured it was no big deal. One of the other moms sits down next to me. Which one is yours, she says. That one, I point proudly at M, her wild and unruly hair flying everywhere. Oh, she says. No dress then?

Three little words, no big deal but somehow they are. Well, I say, I am never the one to bring her, I had no idea everyone else wore a dress. She's never mentioned it. I suppose she would, she says. That one's mine. Adorned in dress and ribbons. She's cute, her kid.

I come to every class, she says. Are you fucking kidding me, woman? I think and instead I just say I'd love to but I have to work. I want to stupidly elaborate. I work in non profit. People who have no homes. Mmmhmmm, she replies and I look at her. I tell myself I'm going to be blogging this later so bring it on, chick. I bet you drive a gas guzzling SUV.

The class starts and let's just say ballet is never going to be M's thing. But she's having a great time and that's all that matters. After a few minutes the mom says do you practice with her outside of class? As she's talking I watch her kid, she looks like she belongs in some 70's era Maoist state run school, you know, the ones where they force the kids into these camps and work them 10 hours a day? Exactly like those kids. No, I reply. We don't really practice.

We practice every day, she says. Touche, I think and say well, she's only three and a half. (Her kid is obviously even younger but what the hell, I'm starting to get annoyed). Oh, mine just turned three, smug, she is. So I say I figured she was older, seems like wanting to practice every day would be something that might come later but maybe that's just me. My kid prefers you know, to play. If there was the equivalent of a kick in the shins I've just offered it, I'm petty and besides, you've been pissing me off for 10 minutes and if I had a gold star I'd give you one, your kid is so totally better at three year old ballet than mine and she's got a dress on too. That must feel really, really good. You've just won this bullshit competition. Like I said, I'm petty like that.

We don't exchange another word for the rest of the hour and that's just fine with me. But there was one point when a teacher didn't notice immediately that her kid's shoe was off and this woman almost came unglued. She's talking to the teacher through the wall but of course there is no sound. Fix her shoe, fix her shoe, she's agitated and coincidentally within seconds the teacher happens to notice and does. I lean farther in the other direction and wonder why I'm feeling so defensive, why I'd let any of this matter to me at all.

Part of me still stings so when the class is over I say to M I noticed everyone else has on a dancing dress and she says yeah and I so I ask her if she wants one and she says no, that's ok. But when I get home I tell J about the woman and I can't help saying it's worse than a reality show in that viewing room, the competi-mommies are hardcore and he replied I'm usually the only guy there so they all just sit in a pack and leave me alone. But you should have told me about the dresses, I reply and he looks at me sideways but I can't help the urge to make sure M is mothered in all the ways she needs to be and yet at the same time I realize this is more about me or better said more about others than it is about her and I wonder again why I let it matter, even for one minute, what someone I do not know decides to think about the way I parent my kid.

rest in peace, punk rock mommy

There's a blog I read, one I found a while ago and have never commented on, it's been a one way relationship, she fed me with her strength and beauty and love and I gave nothing in return. Somehow it felt intrusive, her life was coming to an end and to inject myself seemed inappropriate and unfair so instead I sat silent, rooting for her every single day.

She lost her battle today, this brave and brillant woman who's endured so much and now her loving, amazing family is sad and suffering and again there are no words, they are strong and beautiful and broken hearted and cancer is horrible and I am so, so sorry for your loss.

Rest in peace, Andrea, I hope you are finally resting in peace.

sky rockets in flight

J and I had a rare day off together alone yesterday. We had some appointments in the morning and then again in the afternoon, some relating to our upcoming move, necessary things we need to figure out before hitting the road. In between we had a few hours alone, early afternoon delight. It's amazing how much more human, how much more prepared for ongoing mothering one is if she is afforded small bits of time for herself.

M is growing, leaps and bounds. The princess phase seems to be abating a bit, thanks to all things holy and good. I'm watching her perceive the world with more expansion, both good and bad, she's starting to take note of cruelty and injustice and also mystery and magic. Roots and wings. We can't shield her from all the confusing stuff but we can do our best to offer her roots and wings.

The Just Post mailbox is still open for business. Send me your links by Monday if you please. girlplustwo(at)yahoo(dot)com.

end of the line

I often share stories, ones that are not mine. I share them to bear witness, to etch it in stone somewhere because I believe struggles this hard have the right to be seen. But I don't always follow up, sometimes because it's awful and more often because we are only a stop on the journey and not the end of their road. But then sometimes again the dice comes up aces and the ride stops here.

Remember this guy? And this one? Both are on the verge of moving into their own places for the first time in a long, long time, a lifetime of longing and life in the streets. They are doing really well and are well on their way. I had nothing to do with this goodness aside from being lucky enough to watch others work their magic but it's the best kind of magic I know.

It's Just Post time again and that means I need you to send me the posts you've read last month that speak to you and speak of justice or mercy or goodness in the world big and small. I have the pleasure of talking about our lovely Roundtable as a panel speaker at BlogHer in a few short weeks and I plan on highlighting this month as an example of our community so I'm counting on you to help me by sending your posts or others you've read to girlplustwo(at)yahoo(dot)com. If this is new to you email me or check out the little purple and white buttons to your right. As always, the Just Post Roundtable is on the 10th.

walking on sunshine

We are both there watching the kids bounce. The inflatable house is rocking, the squeals of the kids is permeating everything, occasionally and often the parents and non parents alike look over and grin. Who can't smile at bouncing kids.

I don't know the woman next to me. She's older, in her late 50's maybe and just as I'm thinking it's time to do some bouncing myself she looks over it looks like so much fun. I ask her if she's ever been inside one of these things and she shakes her head oh no, I can't even imagine it, I'd feel silly.

Silly is relative, I say. The question is, do you want to bounce? She looks at me for a long minute and smiles. Yes. So we climb in, me and this woman I do not know and we start jumping amidst the kids, the little ones tumbling all over the place from our weight. We are jumping and I see her laughing, her face is full of joy and she's going from tentative little jumps to great big ones and she throws back her head in laughter. Now this, she says, this is really fun.

And I think she's so beautiful in this moment and I'm reminded yet again how precious this life is and simple it can be if we'd all just let ourselves bounce.

the last american cowboy

Some of you have posted beautifully lately on hearing the wisdom of those you've lost after they've gone. It's moved me, so much so I can barely get through your posts without breaking down crying. It's moved me because my grandfather see, I always thought he'd come back for me too.

I loved him fiercely. In a broken extended and dysfunctional family he reigned supreme, with a quick and fiery mouth and for most of his life a ready fist for anyone who got in his way (women and children excluded of course). His family was the most important thing to him on earth and never found the words to express it, he'd show it by giving everyone a hard time in an incredibly funny sort of way. He grew up rough, 11 brothers, poor, the bluest of collars. He had my mom early, he was sixteen years old and as such she grew up inside pool halls, watching his hands gripping a pool cue and a wrench with equal acumen.

I was the oldest of a mess of grandkids and we were closer because of it. I loved him fiercely, even as he made mistakes I only saw the grandeur of his honesty, the raw authenticity of a man who grew up in the streets. As I grew older we'd made our own way, I'd spend hours with him in his old barn, sharing a beer and pawing through endless miles of acquired junk. We'd talk about how much he loved his family. There was no bullshit between us and he was indefatigable, this man who could kick everyone's ass and as he grew older mellowed a bit but never really all the way.

When he was diagnosed with cancer we were all in shock. It came violently and without mercy, stripping him of his vigor in a way none of us could have imagined. One of the last times I was alone with him in the barn we talked candidly, him giving me a hard time for not settling down and telling me that was one of the reasons he was still hanging on, to make sure I didn't settle for a piece of shit. By some divine intervention and not too long after I'd met J.


His wife called me one day and said she didn't think there was much more time. She said it would be a good idea to make the long trip back and to do it soon. By then I'd only known J for a few weeks but I invited him to come and I was honest, I don't know where this is going but it seems pretty good. I want you to come and meet the old man. So we travelled a long road trip and climbed to the top of his dusty mountain and when I introduced him to my grandfather I said the same. It's not been too long yet but it might be something and I need you to size him up. And I knew he would too, there was one guy deep in my youth who he met and actually threw out of the house, the poor guy wasn't doing anything wrong and yet my grandfather had a sense, he actually opened the door and said you can get the hell out and you need to stop seeing my granddaughter too. At the time I was pissed and a few months later I'd realized exactly what he was trying to tell me that day and he was absolutely right.

The day I brought J to meet him my grandfather did something he hadn't done in months, he pulled on his cowboy boots and hat and enormous belt buckle and took J for a long walk, they scoured the property and my grandfather showed him all the things that were most important to him from his homemade cemetery to the cross on the top of the highest hill. My grandfather as was his way made no pretense I'm seeing if you are good enough for her, because I'm going to be dead soon and no one else here will kick your ass if you aren't so I'll have to do it before I go. But when they came back several hours later my grandfather looked at me, he's alright, girl. I think you might be right about this one. He's better than all those other dumbshits you brought out here. And I remember I started crying, not because of what this might mean in terms of me and J but because I knew he'd be dying soon, one less thing to keep his stubborn body alive.

He died a few weeks later and I've never heard from him since. I always thought he'd come to me, our love was so fierce and long I had assumed it would transcend death. But I still can't hear him and I wonder if I ever will. I've got no doubt he's busy, there are probably fights to be had and darts to throw where he is but I wish he'd let me know he's still paying attention. Because every day, old man, every single day of my life I still miss you and wish we could have just one more day in the barn.

thursday afternoon

He called and asked me to show him around and I was happy to oblige. We talked and he asked good questions, curious and unfamiliar. We walked the building and he's quiet, polite to those we pass. I can't read him, I can't tell if this is horrible or painful or what the hell, maybe it's boring. When we finish we are standing in the sun. A question, he says. I turn and wait. I mean, this is....where is the dignity? Is this the best...is this the best we can do?

I know he's not talking about my work but the reason my work exists, the walking wounded lining the fence watching us right now. It's hard to wrap your head around, isn't it? I tilt my face towards the sky I mean, it's really some kind of bullshit, people having to survive like this. It's the worst kind of bullshit I know. He doesn't expect that, we don't know each other and until now I've been keeping it on the level. I can see he's been affected by his visit and yet I don't know what that means. I've just never thought of it like this, he says.

And that's the problem in general, I say and touch his arm gently and we look at each other still two strangers and yet maybe somehow not but it's too soon to tell.

It's not for everyone, this.

collecting some tokens

Even though I've been blogging for two years I've only met one blogger socially outside of last year's BlogHer frenzy. While I've fallen insanely in love with my BlogHer peeps, none of them live anywhere near me so we've not seen each other since and it's probably what I'm most looking forward to this July. (Yes, I'm talking about you so you better get ready for me to climb all over you with giddy joy). So imagine my happiness when the lovely Alejna from collecting tokens fame emailed me to say she'd be in California and hey, did I want to get together?

So we had the pleasure of having Alejna and her family over for dinner and they were kind enough to drive a rather long distance to get here. We ate and laughed and talked and got to watch our daughters play and our partners connect. The evening stretched out, two women and their mates and daughters and it was sweet and lovely and grounding and good. We had the pleasure of discovering each other face to face and she is every bit as beautiful and witty and brilliant as she is on her blog. And she makes pregancy look damn good too. My only sadness is that they live on the other side of the country because I'd love to do it again next week.

And it made me all the more excited for BlogHer, to see old friends from last year and to get to have the chance to meet so many new ones. Three weeks to go and I can barely wait. Just barely. Dude.

sometimes it strikes me

It's not remarkable, except that it is. The places I visit, where I get to read about you trying to get pregnant or having a baby, or your second, or perhaps even as a surrogate. Then I go and hear about others celebrating birthdays or being challenged by toddlerhood or missing their own parents. I find those who are travelling, or starting a new job, or speaking out, or campaigning for something they care deeply about. And then there are those of you who are dating, finding new love, discovering new frontiers and then others who are finding the end of the love they once knew.

I have the honor and the privilege of hearing your thoughts, the things you might not say to your neighbor or even your friends. The things that seem insignificant, the moments in time that would never make it to the water cooler and yet are shared here.

And if I didn't have this place then the smallest moments, the ones that sear my heart would go unrecorded. I'd tell no one that M was having a hard time sleeping last night and that J and I kept checking in on her. That I found him in her room at one point sitting on the floor watching her fitful sleep and I sat next to him and in the soft glow of her nightlight we gazed at each other and at her and we smiled the softest smile, sitting with her sleeping beauty and once again taking stock of how lucky we are and how we cannot believe even after all this time that we've created her from us. If I didn't have you I'd never share this, instead I'd keep it to myself and while no less significant it might go unremembered at some point as so many other colors light up the view. But I do and so I do and here it is, for giving and taking and one day it will be for her too.

And that's not remarkable either, except that it is. Thank you for gathering around my fire and allowing me to sit quietly by yours. It's been over two years now and while it's just what we do it's also so much more.

mercy

it was 99 degrees inside our house yesterday. it's early, and it's already up to 80. inside.

there's not much else left to say, my keyboard will most likely have melted by the time the sun goes down.

eight

it's uncouth really, to carry on about such things. it's one of the reasons i didn't say anything 5 weeks ago when i started. i wanted to of course, i wanted to let you all know i was embarking on new frontier, one that involves counting and planning and you know, sacrificing.

that's right, i'm talking about dieting. i've been counting those bastard points and drinking water and basically being irritable for weeks now, longing for the simple joys of the local taqueria, extra guacamole and cheese has all but been torn from my flesh, those ridiculously delicious rolled tacos and an occasional beer and while passe, good lord i could go on and on.

so stealthily i've trod along, day in and day out recording each and every morsel i put into my mouth, roasting more vegetables than i actually knew were previously possible to roast and still waking up in the middle of the night hungry and yes, oh yes i am embracing my flair for dramatics and in the end i'm okay with that, i've got other priorities i can carry on about too because i'm nothing, nothing i say if not multi-dimensional.

so i sit before you today eight pounds lighter, eight is a sweet little number, round and roly poly and on it's side it's infinity and everything.

Ten more and i'm money. rolled tacos, watch your back. will that part ever go away? are there rolled tacos in the jungle?

impromptu chapel

I attended a meeting yesterday where everyone was a stranger. I'd been asked to speak on a thing or two and out of my element I was quietly sitting and waiting when a man stood up and began to address the crowd, his tone somewhat quiet and serious. Curious, I lean in. He starts talking about history in the making, about gays having the right to marry, how this means he is finally free to marry his long time love too. The room spontaneously broke out into applause when he said this even though this wasn't the reason for the meeting and had almost nothing to do with why folks were there. He spoke quite eloquently and it was beautiful. I felt tears prick my eyes and as he finished, this man I do not know.

And so I sat in a room of unfamiliar people and felt the warmth that comes from humans risking a moment to talk about what matters and allowing others there to say Amen.

I have some friends who are altar bound across the state, friends who love and give and honor and reach, friends who've only wanted the simple recognition so many others take for granted and is finally theirs for the choosing. And to that I also say Amen.

we all live in a yellow submarine

She ruined the hike, there are no two ways about it. She started complaining almost immediately, and we cajole and then talk sternly and there is nothing, not a thing that will change her mind. We are a few miles out and it's getting worse and she's been carried almost the whole way. I feel it, the shit's going to hit the fan.

J loses it first. That's it, he says. We aren't going to the show later. A plan we'd had all week for today, a hike and then later, a show. I turn to him, silent and glaring. I really wanted to have the day we planned. M starts to wail, big fat tears in the middle of nature, she's drowning out the birds and we've got nowhere to run. J puts her on his shoulders, steam rising from his ears. We start to argue. It's all my fault and it's all his fault and it's all her fault and we fall silent, the hike is ruined. I feel the tears welling up, senseless tears and yet they are there anyways. I really wanted to have the day we planned but what's done is done. I am also twelve years old.

The drive home is long and silent and when we get home we go to three corners, M plays quietly because no one feels like entertaining her. I am lying on the couch thirty minutes later when she walks up to me and holds out a tower of legos. Mama, I made you a lighthouse. I didn't even know she knew that word. We embrace and talk a bit about how frustrated I felt and how lame that hike was because of how she acted. I hear J stir in the other room, he comes around the corner. Maybe we can still go, if we talk about it maybe we can still go. He's caving now and he knows it and I know it and there are costs to the caving and yet I am happy to join him. We three sit on the floor together, we each say what we need to and we hope it sinks in. I look at J. It's this, I say. This is what a family means, it means we find our way back to center each and every time. He looks at me and smiles. M, he says, this is our first time as parents, we don't always know what we are doing and we are trying really hard to do the right thing. But it's all of us together who needs to be a team. She throws her arms around us and goes running through the house. You guys gave up! And we look at each other over her head what are you going to say to that he says and I don't know but I am laughing, because in a way she's right and in a way she's wrong and we go to the show just the same.

And later we sit in the darkened theater, the three of us in a row and I watch her face, enthralled at the screen and she looks absolutely beautiful. I look up and I see J looking at her too. Our eyes meet over her head and we smile. It's this, I say again, out loud and to myself. It's this.

fathers and daughters

To my sweet M,

Today is Father's Day and we will be extra mindful to honor your father. You are still a little girl with a small understanding of the world so you don't realize how lucky you are, how amazing your father is. You don't see it yet but you will one day. Right now he's just your daddy, the expected other half of your family. The guy who is always here. But he's so much more.

He's always, always here for us. He puts his family first every single day. And he does it with so much integrity. He always tells you the truth, even if you don't like it. He doesn't evade the hard stuff. He makes time for you, a lot of time. He takes you on little adventures and strives to teach you about the world. You know how to recycle because of him, and you can identify all sorts of insects and reptiles and birds only because he takes the time to show you. He does this because he cares so deeply about the planet and he wants you to, too.

He loves you beyond measure. When you were born he started crying, my daughter, he kept saying, holding you close and his eyes, M. I'd never seen his eyes filled with that particular brand of wonder until he laid eyes on you. He loves us, baby girl. He loves us and loves you and is such a tremendous father every single day. You picked a really good father, my precious girl.

So today we'll honor him with what he likes best. A long walk in the woods and perhaps a little baseball on TV. It's magnificent in it's purity. Sort of like your dad. I am excited to watch your relationship grow as your awareness of him grows. As you learn about his beauty and what it means in terms of how you'll see the world and the men that will one day follow.

I love you,
Mama

the middle way: or where finally i spill the beans

I know, I've been such a tease. I am finally able to talk about it.

It all started back here when we realized we'd found the next chapter for our lives but had very little idea how to get there. Then we've spent the last few years slowly chipping away, paying off debt, saving money, making connections, doing research. We've lived frugally, our stuff is all old and somewhat shameful. Our cars are on their last more than a decade old legs. But we did it. I won't say it didn't cost us because everything has a price but the pound of flesh in the end tastes sweet.


We are moving to a small village in the Belizean jungle this fall. As in This Fall. J has already left his job, we've just pulled M out of school. I am slowly extricating myself, a process that went public a little while ago. We are getting rid of all of our stuff. We are only bringing what we can carry. We've got a list of things we still need to acquire and a longer one of things still left to do.


We've found a little place to rent and nice people to rent it from. It's a simple house but perfect for us while we build our own home, the one we will construct out of sustainable materials, one that we will power with the sun. We are committed to lowering our carbon footprint as low as possible, we will no longer have a washing machine or a dishwasher or a toaster, we will catch rainwater and dig a well and we will grow our own food. Chickens. We'll have some chickens. Our feet will always be dirty.


We are going to do this and it's equal parts terror and joy. It will all be unknown and there will be only the tiniest safety net. We will learn how to more deeply trust each other and to listen to the earth. We will move slowly and with intent. We will make mistakes and I will most certainly find myself huddled on the jungle floor in disbelief. We might fail but we've promised to look at it as an adventure and we expect it to be hard before it gets easier.


We'll teach M that there is more to life than producing and consuming, heading to work to school then back home every single day and repeat. We'll travel cheaply for extended periods of time and homeschool her in between as she gets older, or if she wants and it makes sense she'll go to the local school. Either way she'll have a say. We'll see that she puts her hands and feet on as many different parts of the world as she can, her science projects will be in the first person, she'll learn which trees heal and which ones can make her sick.


There are a thousand things we do not know and only a handful of things we do but we know we want to do this. We want off the production and consumption treadmill. We want to teach M how to live sustainably while teaching ourselves too. We are uncomfortable living such a sanitary existance, something so incongruous with so much of the world. We want to spend more time as family exploring for the sake of seeing what we can find. I want to get involved in regional relief and development efforts and see if I can lend a hand.

We want to push ourselves in the best possible ways. Or as J likes to put it paint our own masterpiece. It's the end and it's the beginning. It will be harder than I can currently imagine and I hope to come out on the other side victorious because the journey will be the reward.


And we'll have an internet connection. Oh yes, my lovelies, I've made sure of that. You aren't getting rid of me that easily and besides, something tells me I'll be needing you more than ever. From care packages and bail money to your wise thoughts and kind understanding, promise me you'll stick with me and in exchange I can offer you your very own in-country host for your next tropical vacation, the one where you bring your babies and sit on my hammock and we toast cold beers under Central American skies.

and then there were two

Wexler has joined Kucinich in pushing for impeachment hearings and while it may be symbolic, I've certainly been wondering what's taken them so damn long. We can't go backwards but perhaps we can stop the madmen from going after Iran on their way out. You can read more over at MOMocrats or watch a video here. It's something. Finally, it's something.

i know. it's stupid. but help me anyway.

a few of you have mentioned my blog takes forever to load. so i've tried removing what i think is causing the problem, but i can't tell for sure. i also don't know what i am doing.

so you can see how i need your help. does it still take a long time to load? does the waiting make you want to kick my ass?

what to do, oh what to do.

May Just Posts

It's standard practice for us Just Post hosts to share our own thoughts on an issue or two each month at our roundtable, but this week my heart is over at Mad's sitting silently with her and her loss. So instead of pretending as we women are sometimes too good at doing, I'm simply dedicating this Roundtable to my beautiful Canadian Just Post Bride, realizing words can't suffice but knowing it's all I've got. I love you, Mad.

Just Post Authors
Ally with a post not fit for mother's day
Beth with growing new hope for refugees
Bipolar Lawyer Cook with don we now our gay apparel
Bon with dignity
Cecileaux with Argentina's farmers are not exactly old, that 70's oil crisis is baaack and oh those gay and lesbian sinners
Chani with we are all special just like everyone else and Wellness Wednesday: eliminating pain
Defiant Muse with balancing the scales and kicking and screaming
Emily with not into yoga?
Erin with Calling All Steel Magnolias: Come Out From Behind Your Ruffles
Grilgriot with only wild animals act like that and a little video slap
Hel with Truth recedes only to re-appear
Jen with Untitled, twenty four years two months nine days and I think it was the fourth of july
Jenn with Up from the ashes
Julie Pippert with 'Whatever' is not an actual salary and it really doesn't buy the groceries, either Kyla with doors
Magpie with hardwood in burma
Mary with broken string
MOMocrats with Dockworkers Display War Opposition Strength in Historic Ports Shut Down
Stella with impacts
Susanne with Why I mostly eat organic food
Suzanne Reisman on blogher with Genocide, Childlessness, and Female Guilt
The Dana Files with Apparently I just need more training
The little green house with happy birthday wesley
The r house with color consciousness not color blindness
Thor with more sleeps
Walk with me with what's a girl to do
Why Mommy with spring cleaning
Won't fear love with because children are our future

Just Post Readers
Moosh!
Emily
Mary
Bon
Alejna
Joanne
And thank you to Su, the other leg of our wobbly little Just Post table and to all of you, for continuing to speak your mind and being willing to share. I hope you all take the time to read these posts, they'll take your breath away with their beauty and strength. We are here every month and everyone is welcome.

everybody gets a vacation

We've had a lot of family in town over the past month, grandparents, uncle, other grandparents. M's nana is in town now and will be for a little while, she hasn't seen M in a long time so the reunion was sweet. And quickly taken advantage of by M. Namely with a pouty face and a no one's buying me anything which causes grandparents to salivate and leap to attention and parents to have a heart attack that their child is actually acting that spoiled. All I know is someone is in for a big let down once everyone finally clears out.

Overheard this morning:
Nana: M, why are you dragging your baby around by it's neck?
M: It's not my BABY, it's my KITTY!
Nana: oh, but it's not a kitty it's your baby.
M: PRETEND! Nana!
Nana: oh, ok, why are you dragging your kitty around by it's neck?
M: It's DEAD, Nana.

(crickets)

close encounters

As I walk in he says I've been waiting for you for at least an hour and looks at his wrist at a watch that isn't there. I don't know this guy so I say is that so, what for? He smiles. I've got dinner ready, anything you want. Anything? He nods. I stop for a minute playing along. Fried chicken, I say. I want some fried chicken. He says Popeye's or KFC? I laugh. You mean you aren't cooking it yourself? Let me in that kitchen girl, I'll cook you some right now. I'm late but I'm grinning. It feels good here tonight.

My meeting runs over and it's getting dark. I'm not usually here this late and I leave the room and find five or ten dudes crashed out in the hall. It's busy tonight and we've run out of beds so now all we've got is the floor. I step gingerly over a sleeping man and look at another, staring off into space, he's wearing a robe, a red one and it looks soft. A guy comes around the corner, an old timer, he's grizzly and he says I'm home. I've had a long day and I missed dinner. I'm hungry. Can I get dinner? And I don't want a sandwich neither. I'm not sure of the drill so I ask around and figure out where to find the plates we hold back for folks who show up late. I track one down and hand it to him. Heat it up a little more for me, will you? Hot as you can. I trek back to the microwave and find him sitting pretty on a chair. I hand him his plate and he smiles. Thanks little lady, this is all an old man needs at the end of day, food and a place to rest my legs.

It's even later now and I need to go home. I'm heading to my car and I see one of the original joes, a guy I've known on and off for 10 years and haven't seen in awhile. Where the hell have you been I say smiling and grab his arm. He gives me a look and the look says jail. Ah, and now you are back and starting over again. He smiles. Yeah, but this time it's gonna be different.

I've been busy this week and not visiting as much as I like. I miss you guys. And it's not too late to send me your Just Posts, you have until Saturday to email me at girlplustwo(at)yahoo(dot)com. The roundtable will be alive and kicking come Tuesday.

the shattered ceiling and what it means for our children

We all know the Democratic primary is historic, watching the first woman and the first African American compete for President. This isn't news. But this morning I was reminded exactly how much it means for my child. My nearly four year old has been putting up with us for months, the back and forth on Hillary and Barack, the debates and the speeches, she's watched and learned and will tell anyone who asks that she wants Barack to win, based mostly on the Will.i.am video and the fact her mama cheers whenever he speaks. She doesn't know what winning means or what the prize is, but she knows it's between a man who is a different color than she is and yet the same color as some of her friends, and Hillary well, she's a girl after all. A girl like her. And for the record, she likes her too.

So if things go our way she'll be 12 years old before Obama is out of office. She'll live the next eight years of her life seeing pictures of him, listening to him speak, watching him lead. Seeing his girls grow up just as she's growing herself. And when it's time for the next President, she'll know a lot more about what that title means. She'll know more about how much it matters. And she'll remember last time a woman tried to win, and perhaps a woman will try and win again. And perhaps a Mexican-American or an Asian-American will run against her. And it won't be historic, it'll just be how things are done. And then she, of mixed ethnicity and female gender will grow up believing that one day too, that might be her. Because it's possible now because they were courageous enough to risk it for all of us.

And for that I will be eternally thankful to both Senators Clinton and Obama. Because you've shattered that glass and you've given our children a new dream, one that includes all of them no matter their gender or color.

Cross posted at MOMocrats.

where the streets have no name

Sometimes it catches me off guard. I walk in and it's loud, someone's screaming and I can't quite figure out why. A woman, she's in the corner and she's rocking back and forth. There's a guy over there in a wheelchair, he's nodding off and I think he might fall over, his cap says something about being a vet on it. The line for the clinic is long, folks are coughing and no one is smiling. My eyes, they meet hers and her pain is so palpable I look away, I look away and I keep walking and I feel the sting. Everyone looks so tired. I see an old timer and his eyes light up. We momentarily embrace probably harder than necessary but in that moment I am hugging all of it, the pain and the sorrow and the fucking desperation that wraps around my head like a thick winter fog. Words are futile, sometimes this shit just sucks.

As much as I try and spin it the erosion is clear. The warehousing of human beings is wrong at best and things aren't getting better and really it's worse. Folks are sicker and older and sometimes the weight of the endless suffering and bags of belongings and the limping and the crying kids and the vacant stares and the weathered fingers and the old shoes and I could go on and on and it's simply too much. The beauty is there, it always is if you look hard enough but the suffering has it's own flavor, strong like a red chile or a head of raw garlic, it's there and you taste it and no amount of water can soften it's bite.

It's time to send us your May Just Posts. The Just Post Roundtable is coming up on June 10th so between now and the 7th we invite you to send us links to posts on social issues and justice, ones you've written or ones you've read. You can send them to me at girlplustwo(at)yahoo(dot)com and everyone is welcome and it's free and we don't rely on animal testing or kill any trees in the process so there are no more excuses. Join us.

the best day

We had the whole day. Our friends have been gone for a year, living abroad. We've missed them so. They were coming into town and we met in a little dive bar, a place we'd arranged a month ago without reconfirming just like the time we met them in Thailand and that other time in Guatemala. It's just what we do.

We had the whole day. Mojitos and beer, we talked and laughed and talked and laughed. They are pregnant, a blindingly new and delicious discovery. We walked and walked through the worst parts of the city that are also the best, the smell and the graffiti, the alleys and the noise. We ate pub food and later we ate again high up on a roof with the ocean and the wind and the sun, we talked and we laughed and we talked and laughed.

We parted ways after the sun set, we could have talked for hours more. They'll head back to their home abroad, we won't see them till long after the baby is born which is a long time from now. I miss them already. But it was perfect.

i love me some kindle

I don't often covet things, especially electronics. But I've had my eye on something for months and decided my recent birthday was as good a time as any to make the splurge so I went for it, clickety click and bought myself a Kindle from Amazon. I justified this in a few ways. 1. We'll be travelling a lot soon and carrying a ton of books around is completely impractical and 2. It seems much more earth friendly to read books this way rather than the usual way I devour them and then allow them to pile up, one sad dead tree after another.

Let me state for the record that I was not asked, paid or coerced to talk about my Kindle in any way, in fact no one outside of J even knows I have one until today. But let me be clear: I freaking love my new baby pretty pet Kindle.

My pretty pet Kindle is amazing. It will download a book in less than a minute and bam, it pops up on my screen. In fact, I just finished reading Metro Mama's post about a new book she loved so I pushed a couple buttons and bam, I've got that book in my Kindle. (take that, Canada!)

It's easy to use, it remembers the page you left off on even if you fall asleep while reading it and lets you make notes in the margins if you are a reader who does such things. There are a good amount of "books" you can purchase and so far I've been able to find just about every book I want to read in a Kindle version. It's small, and I cannot wait to load 10 books into it and toss it into my backpack, thus lightening my load by 7 pounds. God how i love my little baby pet Kindle. You can even buy new books through the Kindle itself, in this case those crafty marketers suit me perfectly, I'm on a long road trip and think hey I'd love to read that book and in seconds, dude. I'm reading that book. Manipulate me all you want clever marketers, but I love, love, love my new baby pet Kindle. It's a traveller's dream.

If there is a con and there always is, I might miss the feel and smell of books and occasionally I hit the wrong button and annoy myself and most importantly books are about $10 a download, which can add up if you go nuts but I still contest I'll be saving money and certainly trees and a ton of space. If you are a voracious reader and aren't always able to find the books you want or are planning to go live a long life in a jungle somewhere far away from bookstores, my baby pet pretty Kindle can change your life.

she walks in sunlight

she moves me in unspeakable ways and it always, always makes me catch my breath. she is a garden fairy princess warrior girl baby love sweet mango syrup child of my heart and soul and skin and blood. there are moments, these quiet moments when her concentration is elsewhere and i stare drunk on her innocence and guile and candy and rainbows and i stand still, i stand so still and sear her preciousness into my soul but no matter how hot the flame i can't find the wound, her shapeshifting metamorphosis dances away leaving flowers and glitter and paperdolls in her wake.

the cheese stands alone

I don't know why I always do this. I subscribe my faith in navigating a situation or problem to another, viewing their capacity as superior to my own. Thank god you were here, I'll say or if it wasn't for you.....and in the doing I relegate my own superpowers to the background while basking in my awe of another. It was all you. It's penultimate, my certainty of you.

I do not know why I am so assuredly assured of your strength, or why I know that without you it could not have been done. There's a certain camraderie in this, a feeling of Go Team and the somehow belief that if only you'd do it with me then we'd surely succeed. It makes everything simpler; I'd eat better and learn kundalini and climb that mountain if only if only if only you'd do it with me do you want to do it with me not because I am afraid or because I don't want to be alone but rather because I am not so sure of my staying power, I get confused and I don't always have the answers, I don't know how to get the truck out of the mud and I can never remember what poison oak looks like and I give up easy and all of that makes me dangerous.

Besides, you are the better writer better painter you take better pictures you read more books you know how to code you kick ass you are a strategic thinker nothing scares you and so instead I crave a strength in numbers that is most likely false and yet still something I will cleave to, choosing to solve this together but it's you, it's really you that cements the deal.

home on the range

I've had the occasion this week to venture into several homes of acquaintances. Each one has been fairly good sized, decorated beautifully in a way I could never fathom and which makes me want to ask who cleans all this shit but of course I don't. I gape in somewhat stuttered awe and each time think we can never invite anyone over who doesn't already know how we live, we don't have a couch, table, chair, dining room insert just about anything else and add dirty carpet to it and that'll sum it up. And yet I know it's just stuff and I know it's silly and it really isn't envy because I know we are focusing on a different sort of goal but it's odd to see people in my age group with homes like this or better said perhaps I will never be able to act my age and this fact needs to stop surprising me.

So because I have no tact it slipped out because while I know the woman I don't really know her husband, when I crossed the landing and took in the gigantic two story with leather couches and an island in the kitchen I said damn, K, you are such a freaking grown up and she laughed but her husband looked at me curiously, probably and safely noting to himself let's never go to that chick's house. ever.

walk with me

People have no idea, how could they really. They don't see the seething humanity that resides here every single day, our work so efficient sometimes you don't see it so how would you know but what if what if we weren't here. Every single day people are too sick too poor too ill too unable to walk too scared too unable for the streets and yet it's all they've got, the hot pavement and a windy afternoon, bundles of clothes and unwashed skin. And a few ports in the storm.

I told her I'd meet her there, if you have power to make decisions about allocating resources for my stuff I do all I can to get you there, you come perhaps reluctantly or with morbid curiousity or really you are just very lovely but no matter I practically insist and we walk, we walk and we walk and you see and you see and I watch your face, I watch you turn your eyes away but you are held hostage and I walk slower because it's a one way walk kind of like that cool furniture store and we are in the depths now and I hold on and hope you'll start to see it, the beautiful humanity amidst the desolation it always always shines through and then you do and I watch you slowly climb on the bandwagon, the face of this suffering is simply too much to ignore if you are standing right in the middle of it, I haven't met a person yet who can and yet still it's never quite enough.