That Girl Is Outraged

I AM OUTRAGED! Big deal, right? I have already admitted to having too many opinions and to sharing them with and without "audience participation." But when I read about Patricia Heaton (perhaps best known as Debra in "Everybody Loves Raymond") and her tweet titled "Margaret Sanger Gets Her Wish" I was incensed and deleted my rather cute and funny, almost ready to post, post (a sign that maybe it wasn't that cute? or funny?).

Ms. Heaton is referring to an article written by Alec Torres in National Review Online titled simply "More Black Babies Aborted Than Born in New York City". Never mind why such an article was written or titled in such an explosive way. Or who in the world reads National Review Online (lots of explosive titles there!) - that would be a year's worth of blog posts! But for it to be implied that Ms. Sanger - who fought tirelessly for women to have control over their bodies - wished for abortion to be used as a means of ethnic cleansing is ridiculous. She was NOT pro-abortion, Ms. Sanger advocated for the use of birth control so women could have more control and choice. And so their families and spouses had more control and choice. Margaret Sanger was the daughter of Catholics (her father did later become an atheist) who supported women's suffrage. Her mother had 18 pregnancies, 11 of which were live births, a little over 50%, in 22 years. She died at the age of 49 and Margaret, the sixth child, became partially responsible for the care and upbringing of her siblings. It seems a little control and choice would have done wonders for Margaret and her family. W-O-N-D-E-R-S!

I digress however; anyone interested can find copious amounts of information on Ms. Sanger and all she did to help women just by entering her name into a "Google" search. I am taking umbrage at Ms. Heaton's insinuation that Ms. Sanger wanted abortion to be a solution to a woman's desire to choose when and how many children she has. I am taking umbrage at Ms. Heaton's suggestion that abortion is the problem and not a makeshift solution to the problems of poverty, poor education, a low-minimum wage, and a myriad other social issues. I am taking umbrage at Ms. Heaton propagating the idea that abortion is meant as a means to eliminate certain races or socio-economic classes.  I am taking umbrage at Ms. Heaton pointing fingers and not offering a way to solve the problem.

If you are anti-abortion, then do something to stop unplanned pregnancies - not abortions. Increase sex education and access to birth control. Or offer a REAL solution to raising a child and finishing school and having to work. Or discuss adoption and do something to make that a less traumatic experience for all involved. Why not spend the energy you do berating those who believe in choice on convincing those around you to increase the minimum wage? Why not volunteer to work with at-risk youth or speak to groups of young women so they know they can be and do anything they want? What we do not need is more vitriol slung at those who work tirelessly for equality among all races, both sexes, and for all income levels. What we need is less Patricia Heaton and more Margaret Sanger.

That Girl Stands Her Ground

We all have opinions. Each of us, even if our only opinion is that we should keep to ourselves and aim to be under the radar. I am not that person. I am absolutely an "over the radar" kind of girl. And I am an opinionated one, with a soap box, and not afraid to share my views on, well, most anything. Having an opinion doesn't make me special. Being able to effect change because of my opinion? If it happens, it is special.

For the first time in my son's 12 year career as a student with a spring break in April, I am planning a trip. A real one where we go somewhere and stay in a hotel and act like tourists and indulge in things I would normally fret about being too expensive. And we wanted to go to Florida. We could feel the sun on our faces and the sand between our toes, couldn't wait to catch up with friends we miss. We were even going to - gulp - fly which I never, ever do. Not ever (see the "But I'm FAT" post for more on that).

But then Michael Dunn was not convicted of killing Jordan Davis. Even though three of the ten shots he fired into a car of young men at a well-lit convenience store hit Jordan in the back. Even though he was convicted of attempted murder of the other three young men. Even though the catalyst for this was "thug" music deemed too loud by Michael Dunn. Evidently Mr. Dunn stood his ground as George Zimmerman did when Trayvon Martin went to buy Skittles. Evidently in Florida, Skittles and music deemed distasteful are threatening.

So I, too, am going to stand my ground and NOT go to Florida for Spring Break. I will spend my paltry Spring Break funds elsewhere. I won't be missed except, maybe, by our friends we would have visited. Though this is not a very effective response it is the only one that occurs to me. It is the only way I think I can follow my instincts even if it won't make much of a dent.

Just like I won't spend money at Chik-fil-A after the comments made by COO Dan Cathy about homosexuality. I absolutely refuse to pay for Papa John's Pizza after his support of Mitt Romney and scathing comments about how Obamacare would mean charging an extra 17 cents per pizza to implement. He is a very wealthy man. And evidently a very selfish one. Does that make a difference? Probably not. But like refusing to take a vacation in Florida, if enough people make a dent in the income of Papa John and the Florida Tourist Bureau then maybe they will consider ending the "Stand Your Ground" law. Maybe my missed vacation will be just that, a missed vacation. But my conscience won't suffer while I enjoy a different trip. And I will happily stand on my soapbox on my ground and know I did the right thing.

A not so Happy Birthday

I love birthdays. It doesn't matter whose it is, I love to celebrate the day the world was given the gift of each of us. I love to buy birthday gifts that I know the recipient will love, to do things that they enjoy, to spoil them in any and every way possible. There is only one birthday I do not eagerly anticipate. You could argue that this birthday is the most important one I have ever experienced. The most life changing and amazing one. But it doesn't feel that way, it feels like my heart is being shredded into little pieces.

Twenty-one years ago I was blessed to have the most perfect baby. His brown eyes were big and bright. His fingers curled around my pinky. His mouth was shaped like a cupid's bow. His birthday was the first day it snowed the winter of 1993 and I held him to the window and told him next year he would be able to play in it. I was given the gift of three days to spend with him. Three days to feed him and snuggle him and introduce him to family and friends. Three days to memorize his scent and cry and face. And after three days I no longer was his mother. After three days he was introduced to another family and set of friends. He was described as scrumptious and others cuddled and adored him. And I missed him. Viscerally. My twenty year old body had barely begun to heal from his cesarean birth, was prepared to nourish and feed him, and my heart was shredded into little pieces.

This talented, handsome, smart, amazing young man is a gift to those who know him. I know he is loved and cherished. I know he was and is wanted. But I don't know what his hands look like. Or the way his voice sounds. I wouldn't recognize his gait or be able to make his favorite dinner. Does he like blue? Green? Red? I have no idea. What kind of music does he prefer? For which sports teams does he root? I have no idea. I cannot determine his mood by the way he says "Mom." He has never called me that. And he will never. And I hate remembering. I hate that I never read him a bed time story or cheered him on while he played soccer. I never saw him in a school play or pushed him on a swing or argued with him about his homework. My list of nevers is far longer than what I was able to share with him in three days.

I love this young man who I only knew for three days. I make wishes on stars for him and hope each birthday is the start of his most wonderful year so far. And I also wish that one day I will be able to say "Happy Birthday" to him and tell him how very special he is to me.

* I was able to visit him a few times before his adoption was finalized. This photo was taken the last time I saw him, in April of 1993. I believe in adoption and what a gift it can be 51 weeks a year. But for one week in February I miss my son more than any other time.

Happy Valentine's Day

I have felt very challenged trying to write a witty and engaging post today. Not valentine blues but just a mental block. Maybe I am feeling chagrined because for all the years of complaining about Valentine's Day not being what I hoped, at least I have kept my head! History of St. Valentine Or perhaps I am out of witty bits and need to re-up before I can be amusing again. So I am cheating and posting something I wrote a few years ago. Have no fear, it is very apropos for Valentine's Day as it is about the muckety muck of relationships between men and women and the wonderful joy our female friends share. Though the below picture wasn't taken the same day the conversation took place, it was taken at Market and is my absolute favorite of Nan and me, friends for 30 years! 

So here is "Sex Confuses Things" from 2009... remarkably little has changed!

"We sat after a long morning - longer for her than I, I am sure - and mumbled at one another. It was hot and we were thirsty and dirty. The bugs were nipping at our ankles like small dogs and her little one still had more energy than the two of us combined. I know I looked worn out and worked over: the waist of my pants was sweaty and at some point the seat of them had acquired a hole. The sleeves of my shirt and bottom cuff were unfashionably rolling up reveling more of my corpulence than I cared to contemplate. The parts of my skin that weren't doughy white were freckled and pink. She, on the other hand, looked fresh. Her shoulders and cheek bones glowed with perspiration that somehow looked dewy instead of sweaty. Her legs looked long in her short(ish) shorts and the design of her top showed off her tan, muscled back. The parts of her hair that had escaped it's barrette were curling sweetly.

As so often happened, we began discussing the relationships in our life. Impatience with and awe of our sons. Frustrations with our mothers. Failings as friends (though those we we able to soothe rather quickly since we knew when all else failed we had one another. Always). The conversation then turned to our partners. Our failings which seemed to pale in the face of THEIR failings. I wondered why it was that she and I fought so little, were so capable of maintaining a healthy, long term, relationship. We were quiet a long time watching little man race around, cars meander up and down the street, birds picking at the detritus of market leftovers. Finally she says "Sex confuses things." Instantly we chortled, belly laughed, cried as it gets funnier. And when we are able to compose ourselves, I suggest we not ever have sex with one another. We shake on it as her husband arrives and the laughter fades."

Some helpful hints

I was going to wax philosophical in today's post and had written two-thirds of what I wanted to share but then I got frustrated. And irritated. And I lost a little patience. So I decided I would interject some levity into the day. Share some joviality in the hopes that it will make others laugh and, perhaps, provide a little insight into the female mind for all those guys out there that we tend to confuse and overwhelm.

These are true stories, some happened to me, some to my girl friends. I am sure they will sound familiar to you ladies and, hopefully, no man will recognize himself. I'd like to apologize ahead of time to anyone who does but, really, it is better to know now and not repeat the mistake. So here are some very small things that would make an "eh" date so very much better:

• Bathrobes are not appropriate attire for a first date. Especially if the only thing you have on under the robe is calamine lotion. I repeat NOT APPROPRIATE.
• Similarly disconcerting is removal of your teeth. Don't mention your dentures if you wear them. No matter how much chemistry there might be, taking out your teeth will dampen it. Well, will flood it.
• Keep any fetishes under your belt until a rapport is developed. Having a first kiss followed by a request for bestiality is more than a red flag. It is a whole flag corp of scarlet and crimson flags including horns and whistles.
• It is probably best not to list your famous "relatives" too early on in a relationship. Let us be comfortable with who you are and the people we see you with before spilling that you are Patti LaBelle's godson.
• Perhaps excuse yourself to the bathroom if you want to jot down our birthday or favorite flower. Note taking in excess is not a comforting quality, it is perhaps a little scary. And if you do do this, there is little chance of a second date.
• Do not serve reheated fast food. At home. Do not serve fast food at all unless you are going through a drive through after a movie. And even that is iffy. 

I am sure that men have as many if not more stories of crazy women from whom they couldn't wait to escape. Women who literally caused their skin to crawl of blood to run cold. I'd love to hear from you. And ladies - please feel free to share more of your stories - my bad mood has dissipated and I can't stop giggling!

It's Going To Be A Good Day

Yes, it is going to be a good day. No matter how tired I am when I wake, how grumpy or worried or late. No matter what, it is going to be a good day. How do I know? What superpower do I possess to see into the future and know that today will be good? How in heaven's name can I predict that no one will cut me off in traffic or ask me 1,001 questions that will try my patience?

I don't know. I have no way of predicting if I will be inundated with phone calls, will have to explain myself over and over to different people with the same question, or have a long meeting. But, I also don't know if I will have the privilege of working with someone who makes me laugh or will recommend a good book. Someone who will leave with a thank you and "job well done!"  And that is how I know it will be a good day - because I determine it will be even before I get out of bed.

On New Year's Eve 2012 I decided that I would focus on joy. I wanted to leave behind the anxious, worried me and embrace the me that laughed until she cried and could appreciate all the small gifts life provides. I wanted to change the way I viewed the world. So I did.

It wasn't always easy... some days my list of 5 things included silliness like "This is my list so I can skip #5 if I want!" It often is a proclamation of how much I like my job, my coworkers, my boss. My landlady's Boston Terrier makes appearances; the man who walks one of the homeliest dogs I have ever seen each morning by my office also makes me smile so on the list he went. And as winter became spring, the lists got easier and easier. Some days it was done by 10:00 a.m. And I felt content. Not always happy, not always without worry, but content.

After a few months I started a Facebook Group that is "Happy, Thankful, Grateful, and Blessed" and what started with 5 or 6 of us in now more than 40. We support one another. We share accomplishments - both big and small - and vent our frustrations. We feel like sisters even though only a few of us know one another in person. We are HAPPY. And THANKFUL. And GRATEFUL. And BLESSED. Very, very blessed. And we will gladly tell you why!

Validation

So many ideas run through my head about what interesting, easily related to topic I should write about and yet, when I sit down to write, nothing I ruminated upon is what I actually post.

I have spent many years in various types of therapy. Many years trying to "accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative" as my Gram would say. Many years learning, growing, submitting, fighting, aching, and even resigning myself to where I was instead of where I wanted to be. Most recently the type of therapy I learned was Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, or DBT, created by Marsha Linehan (link to more information here). Originally designed for those diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), those who self harm and/or struggle with suicidal ideation and thoughts, DBT has also begun to be used for those with other diagnoses successfully. I am someone who has made great progress using the theories of DBT. Not shot out of a cannon success or success without mishaps and stumbling blocks but success none-the-less. And the piece of DBT that resonates with me so strongly is validation.

For the first time in over 25 years of seeking help, I was told it wasn't all my fault. The hurt I felt was acknowledged. For the first time I learned that some things in life do suck but the best way to move out of those places is to admit they suck and then leave them behind. I am not a clinician, a therapist, a social worker or trained at all in the field of mental health. And I had a very hard time with some aspects of DBT. But when someone looked me in the eye and said "you are right" I was willing to listen to what came next. When I was told it was ok to be dissatisfied with a certain situation, when making sure I took a bubble bath and nurtured myself with exercise and healthy eating was no longer the only answer, I could exhale. DBT isn't a feel good program, it doesn't empower those with mental illness to continue struggling. DBT requires work. A LOT OF WORK. But knowing I am not alone, knowing that it is ok to be a mad and sad (and even how to be mad and sad), knowing there is a light at the end of the tunnel, is a great gift. And that gift is a wonderful cornerstone on which to build other DBT skills like mindfullness and wise mind.

If you are someone who suffers from depression, anxiety, BPD, or another mental illness, please get help. I am blessed to have excellent insurance and was able to get DBT therapy through Kaiser Permanente. But there are other providers and other types of therapy that may work very well for you. There are a multitude of online resources such as To Write Love On Her Arms or even PostSecret. What both these sites, as well as the multitude of others, offer is validation. They say "What you feel is real. You do hurt. There is a better way to live."

Please remember that all I shared is my personal journey and not at all a diagnosis or professional mental health solution. And remember that validating someone's feelings may be the best gift you can give them.