Actions Speak Louder Than Words

 A birthday party was purposefully planned for my child in which I could not attend. Action.

They said it was a miscommunication. Words.

I was talked about unfavorably to my husband a few days later when I was not present.  Action.

They said later, it was another miscommunication. Words.

A lot of miscommunication going on.

I say, it goes a lot deeper than that.

Why was a birthday party planned when I could not be in attendance?
Because my presence was not seen as a necessary one. I am not valued as a member of the family. Actions spoke that loudly.

Why are they speaking negatively about me to my husband?
Because they want to be right more than they want us to be happily married.
Actions spoke that loudly.

We tried talking about it with them last year about how we are treated. But we are here again. Actions speak louder than words, so my husband went over alone to draw a very hard active boundary with them.  My husband showed them that if they were going to act in a way that could harm his marriage or hurt his wife, then he was going to choose me. We needed space from them for awhile. Neither of us wanted it to come to that, but actions speak louder than words.

Just Sad

I had a really nerve wrecking encounter this morning. I feel bad about it, but yet felt it was necessary.

This lady at Little Miss S's therapy appointments had this child in a car seat. I could tell she was over 1 years old (later learned she was almost 2). I though it was odd a child so old was strapped into a car seat like an infant, especially when not napping. The mom was playing on her phone, which had the volume up. I think she was on tiktok because it was video after video she was playing. The girl started to cry and fuss but the mom ignored her. If she did respond to her child, she was saying No! in a raised voice. This went on for more than a half hour. Everyone else in the waiting room was giving her looks, but no one said anything. I stayed off my phone and waved to the little girl each time she glanced my way, played some peek a boo, and got some smiles but the girl got bored of that after awhile. The mom was in pajamas, unkept, greasy hair, slippers instead of shoes... I thought she needed kindness and patience, but also I was growing increasingly upset watching her ignore and occasionally scold this child strapped in a car seat. I tried sparking up conversation - asked her baby's name, age, etc to see if I could get her to pay attention to her. The mom only wanted to talk about some tiktok video on her phone even as her child fussed. I am trying to make my socially anxious brain come up with anything I can do to help this child while simultaneously offering grace to this mother, but I just can't in the moment. At one point the receptionist had to walk over and tell her to put her mask up. She looks over at me and says, "Aren't you tired of this controlling bullshit?" I calmly said, "No, I'm thankful for masks. A relative of mine recently died because of Covid. I would appreciate it if you did keep your mask on." She huffed and then stopped talking to me altogether. At one point when her child was fussing, she put her foot on the handle of the car seat and shoved it to make it rock, never glancing away from her phone. At this point, I start looking around the room to see if anyone else saw this, seeing this, paying attention.... people are looking but look away when they see my glance. The receptionist walked past again, and I watched her look at the crying child, look up at the mom on her phone, and shake her head, but said nothing as she kept walking. I am struggling with feelings of helplessness at this point. Worried that if I say something, this woman will lose her temper and even take it out on her child now or later.

Meanwhile, I'm in my head. I started imagining Little Miss S in that car seat, her developmental needs neglected and ignored. Started thinking about how upset I am for my little girl who struggles to make the tiniest bit of progress even after a year of therapy services from the neglect during her important developmental stages...I flash back to my cesarean section, strapped down and crying as the nurses and doctors ignored me and laughed about a joke instead. I even thought about myself as a baby and toddler of a mentally ill mother without social supports, as I can imagine myself screaming in a crib and no one coming (actually, maybe its a memory and not my imagination).... And I am getting increasingly mad at myself for not doing anything. So finally, my mouth opened and word vomit happened.

"I have watched you for an hour play on your phone as your child has fussed and cried. You have entertainment. She needs mental stimulation, too. It hurts her to be ignored. Let her out of her seat, bounce her on your leg, look at her, smile at her, talk to her." The lady is looking at me in disbelief. At this point I am shaking and tears welling up in my eyes because I hate confrontation especially with strangers. I continue, "Look miss, do you have a toy in that diaper bag. Can she have a toy?" as my voice breaks. She mutters something about that the girl is just upset because she wants to eat and can't right now, but does search in her bag and finds a toy and hands it to her. The child is happier and I look away and start taking deep breaths to try to get ahead of the oncoming panic attack I am about to have. A few minutes go by and I get myself together. Its about time for Little Miss S to be done with therapy. I get her coat off the rack and stand near the entrance. The lady is now interacting with her child, mostly trying to get her to smile for a picture. After a few minutes the lady says to me, "You shouldn't be so quick to judge." I said to her in as gentle and calm tone as I could but my voice still shaking, my eyes still teary and red, "I wasn't judging you. I know being a mom is hard. I'm not a perfect parent. Everyone needs a break. But after the break, she needs your attention, she needs responded to when she cries. It's important. It was too hard for me to watch for an hour." My daughter came out and we left.

I doubt that lady thought I was a very kind person but I tried really hard to be kind. In hindsight, maybe I could have just offered to let her daughter watch some Alphabet video songs on my phone or something less confrontational. I just know that I couldn't live with myself if I walked away doing nothing. If she so easily acts this way in the presence of strangers, what goes on at home, I kept thinking to myself. I really wasn't trying to judge her... I was just really feeling for the girl strapped down and crying as others around her ignored her. She seemed shocked that a stranger would care enough to say something about her behavior.... so maybe she needed to know people are watching and willing to say something....

I am not angry at that mother. I am not judging that mother. I am just sad. Sad for Sarabell. Sad for that lady who by appearance seems to be having a rough time with life. Sad for my three girls. Sad for their mother, even. Sad for all the children whose parents just don't know any better or can't do better. Sad that I was once the child in a carseat being neglected. Sad for the times I have failed my own children. Just sad.

Pulled

 

Pulled

I get asked a lot about being a foster parent. What advice do I have for people considering it for their families? Parenting is hard. Parenting foster kids is harder. Parenting when you break birth order can be harder than foster parenting needs to be. My advice to families considering foster parenting with biological children still at home: Decide carefully if birth order issues is what you want to struggle with.

We love our girls; they add so much joy to our family and we don't regret bringing them into our family, but the struggle with birth order is real. Remember back to how conflicted you and your first born felt and struggled with the adjustment of an added sibling? Yea, like that, but worse and more complicated. Although we have made it work in the past and committed to making it work now, too, I am stating it here so that I can hold myself to it: this is the LAST time we are breaking birth order if we continue to foster after these girls find permanency.

When we accepted this placement, we knew their might be issues because Miss S is smack dab in the middle of Maybel and Charlie (although we didn't realize she was developmentally behind Charlie) and Miss E is only two years older than Maybel. We anticipated issues with the four youngest. We figured the 4 year age gap between Maybel and MR wouldn't be an issue at all. WRONG. The conflict between the others was present in the beginning but minimal now 9 months in. But the first borns seem to be in a constant, unfixable battle for first status, and it's affecting both their self-worth and self-esteem. Is there someone in your life that makes you green with envy every time you look at them? Now imagine being forced to live with that person in a makeshift sibling relationship competing for the attention of your parents. This is what I am dealing with with these first borns. Sooo much jealousy over every little thing.

These three girls are so attention seeking, demanding, energetic, with more needs than Maybel... the squeaky wheel gets the grease, right? Sensitive, quiet, independent Maybel is the one getting lost in the shuffle of five kids. Charlie is unaffected by this placement and the birth order-upset I think because he is the only boy and he is home with me half days while all the girls are in school so he gets plenty of one on one time with me still and gets father/son time regularly which the three girls aren't that interested in. No jealousy is directed toward Charlie at all - just Maybel.

Maybel recently told me that she feels less important than the foster children and wants more one on one time with me and her dad. Talk about a punch to the gut - we never wanted our foster parenting to be detrimental to our biological kids. So, we have made some changes to meet her emotional needs to make sure she feels seen and heard in all the chaos of these three girls. Now, MR is saying she feels unloved and unliked because we are giving Maybel what she needs (and because of underlying trauma details I wont go into here). We just can't win.

The counselor has reassured us meeting Maybel's needs is what we should and need to be doing and she will do her best to help MR understand and cope with it and address the underlying trauma issue behind it, but that its also obvious this is a birth order issue that we just need to keep pushing through. But gosh, do I feel pulled in two opposite directions and stuck in a losing war of the battle of the wills of the first borns.

Where did all my good friends go?

I try not to be lonely, but I am. I was never without a friend as a child. I have always been one to seek connection. As a child, I found it in many friendships,relationships, and mentorships throughout the years. If I outgrew a friendship, it was because I was growing into another. I was never the most popular person but I always had a group of friends, usually one or two I was especially close to, and usually several casual friends I would regularly spend time with. I like to think I am a very good friend. I will bend over backwards for those I care about. However, I also hold high standards, so its definitely caused people to walk away. I have also made mistakes as a friend, because I am not a perfect person. Mistakes or not, I almost always felt, with the exception of maybe two people, that I was only their first choice when I could do something for them ( i.e. homework help). Every close friend I ever had eventually dropped me for someone they found they liked better, which I don't hold against them. Even my bestest friend dropped me for drugs. And as much as I understand and empathize with the struggle of addiction and pretend she didn't hurt me, it hurt to watch my friend choose drugs over me, twice, even if it had nothing to do with my worth as a friend. Even though it hurt, I was willing to wait for my best friend to come back. Hurt or not, I was willing to understand that friendships grow apart. But when all my friends dissipated along with my youth, and my one final bestie began using the first time or was relapsing the second time, I found myself asking over and over, “Where did all my good friends go?”, and feel quite a lot of despair over being so easily discarded.

As an adult, I never stopped seeking connection. When I met and married my husband, I really tried hard to fit in here. I tried really, really hard to make new friends. For a short while, I did. I had my village. But for mostly reasons that I am just different, I was shooed away from that village. I only belonged there while I was still pretending to be someone I was not.  But I kept seeking. I went to any mom group or activity I could attend. I tried forming my own mom group. I tried really hard to socialize at the parks. I invited people and tried scheduling play dates, time and time again. And I have met some really nice people along the way, but I have not made a friend I can hang out with, that calls me up for a walk, or that I can call when I am having a really hard day. A few times when I really started to like someone, they moved away. I do have some really awesome people, mostly on the internet, but as I have discussed with them.... its different. It's different from having a friend that can just to come over to your house and BE there. I have friends twice or more my age that I genuinely like and feel very similarly too, but the age gap is a stumbling block to creating a close friendship. Maybe its myself that gets in the way, as I just can't imagine that they really want to be good friends with someone so much younger or maybe its me and my desire to have even just one close friend my own age.

Most people go off to college and make life lasting friendships there. I spent my time in college trying to hide that I was being abused by a boyfriend. Most people start their careers and make good friends at their new jobs. My jobs post high school have been hanging out with dogs or teaching people how to better hang out with their dogs, so barely any co-worker interaction there, so not a whole lot of friend making opportunity there. Dog shows were a huge blessing and have met some wonderful people, but again, they are not local and there is a generational gap. The few people my age seem to already have their own clique that isn't accepting new members and even if it were, being a mother whereas they are childless, once again I am just different.

So here I am 30 years old without any remaining childhood best friends, without any college friends, without any close friends from my career or job, wondering if this is the way its just going to be for the rest of my life? Lonely. Because I feel like its too late. Because I feel like I missed my friend-making window of opportunity. Because I am just too shy and too different to make local friends, now. So, I start feeling pretty melancholy without any hope of getting rid of this lonely feeling.

And I feel guilty anytime I start feeling lonely, because I really do have a lot of wonderful people in my life, even if most of our interactions are through text or online or they are not from my own generation. I am also blessed to call my husband my best friend. I am so very grateful that I have such an amazing person to spend life with. I tell myself this all the time.

But I am lonely, nonetheless. Lonely when I think back to what I had with Kelli back in my life. Lonely when I see others with their best friends or friend groups. Lonely when I am reminded what I am missing.

Each and every time I see someone enjoying time with a friend, in my head I am asking the question, Where did all my good friends go? I go through each one of my friends in my head trying to analyze why we grew apart until I "get it" all over again. And when I am done distracting myself with that, I eventually wind up at this last question: Why did my best friend have to die?

Which makes me realize that I am probably the problem. I don't really want to make new friends. I am still holding the space for the friends I have loved and lost, especially for the one that never  really meant to discard or leave me at all.

Where I Belong

 

Dog shows are where I belong.

Honestly, I have been unmotivated and reluctant to go back to dog shows this year. After Kelli's death, I really struggled with guilt and anxiety and doubt.

I have struggled with guilt because I spent so much time at dog shows instead of with my friend when she was still alive. Since starting the Poodle breeder journey, being back in the dog world has done wonderful things for my mental health. In the background, I was really struggling with my friendship. Watching your loved one struggle with addiction is a special kind of hell. When she passed away, the guilt of spending so much time at dog shows really consumed me for awhile, as if I could have done anything that would have changed the outcome. If you thought the guilt stopped at Kelli, you would be wrong. When I lost Kelli, it made me realize she was not the only person to get left behind while I was off at dog shows chasing my self-care. Over this past year, I have come to understand the guilt is not fair to myself. I was doing my best, even if I wished I could have done better in hindsight. I have come a long way in forgiving myself this year but I will never stop wishing I had spent more time with her and losing her has made me fear losing anyone else.

I have struggled with anxiety because I have fixated on this thought, “If God would take her just a few short years after I got her back in my life, whats stopping him from taking someone else?” I find myself worrying all the time that I will get another phone call, another text that will shatter me all over again, so I dread leaving my family to do anything fun for myself. I have avoided dog shows. I have avoided and skipped dog training classes. It was a big reason behind leaving my dog training position. I went to one dog show in the summer, and ended up leaving it early, relieved to be on my way back to my family. So where before I was focused on dog shows and self-care, I reversed direction this year to put my family first. I have really enjoyed all this time this year with my family and believe it was exactly what I needed. However, I also know at this rate, I will burn out and feel like running away to dog shows again. I hope next year is the year I finally find balance between the two. Ultimately, I never want to feel like I did not spend enough time with someone important to me while they were alive ever again while still taking care of me, too.

This entire year I have struggled with doubt, not knowing if I was going to continue my journey as a dog breeder and showing dogs. Because of the guilt but also because of the feeling of not belonging. The first time I opened up to someone about the guilt of dog shows, about my regrets, that person misunderstood my words and said certain things, and our relationship never repaired, which made me feel like I wouldn't really have a future or a place in the Poodle breeding community. That person's reaction made me doubly struggle with my guilt. I worked so hard and spent so much time earning those wins and titles on my dogs to impress people and to belong just to see it all come crashing down around me – atleast that is the way it felt at the time – when I could have been spending time with people I cared about. I didn't quit like I wanted to, but I definitely took a step back this year and doubted my journey, doubted my decisions, and doubted my future in Poodles. The year of Covid gave me a great cover as I waded through it and processed all of it. Over this past year I have had to readjust my vision and work towards being okay with it if all my hard work ends up going to waste.

This weekend, as we sat together watching the Best of Show and my kids were blurting out names of the breeds they met and learned about this weekend, I thought about how I was raised at dog shows and all that it taught and gave to me. Although it gave me endless knowledge of dog breeds, it gave me so much more. As I volunteered to steward the dog show, watching my kids interact with club members and exhibitors, and develop a work ethic and new skills, and show dogs, I felt like I was giving them a piece of me. As I watched my family help tear down and clean up after the dog show with the club, I thought about all those dog show teardowns with my childhood dog training club and all the people I was blessed to grow up knowing and the friendships I formed, because of that club, including meeting my best friend Kelli.

Even if my kids only enjoy dog shows with me for a little while and decide to do something entirely different with their futures, I hope my kids find meaningful relationships and form friendships at dog shows. I hope my kids can take something from these experiences and take those lessons with them wherever they go. Just as I did.

I needed this weekend more than I knew. I needed to get back to a show, and I needed to get there with my family. I needed to watch my kids grow at a dog show. This weekend I was reminded dog shows are where I belong, and my family belongs there with me.

Good Riddance ?

TL;DR : We are raising our kids to be non-racists, and they are mad.


Some people care enough about you to have the difficult conversations to work through hard feelings and differences; some people just block you. It is hard to find out which one people are, but I think it can be beneficial to learn which one people are. After all, I am an INFJ and prefer to have relationships that are real and deep in my life as opposed to fake and superficial. I prefer to know where I stand with people so I can manage my expectations. I prefer to know, even if its hard to know.

This year, I have unfriended people that I felt no connection or a bad connection with, who made it known they were not enjoying my points of view, or who wouldn't respect my boundaries on the facebook platform. Those I unfriended that I wished to keep in my life, I messaged immediately to make them aware that I meant to maintain a relationship – just one off facebook. I have blocked, and thus removed from my life, some people who showed really bad behavior. But mostly, I had just carefully and silently restricted people's access to my facebook profile; if I did so, it was because I did find value in them being in our lives. It is because I cared enough about our relationship to censor what they saw that they could not understand. I failed at my censorship recently, and have apologized for that failure. So, for a relative to be unwilling to forgive that, skip the unfriending part and jump right to the unnecessary action of blocking without warrant, warning or explanation, really feels like a shunning to me.

Earlier this year, my husband and I made a decision we would not be attending any more extended paternal side family functions while we have our children of color in our home, maybe indefinitely. At my husband's request, I did a lot of friend removing and blocking of people on that side of his family as well because it seemed like any time I made the choice to express myself it became a problem with them. We thought, at least we still have the family connection we feel good enough about on his maternal side so our children could still enjoy a big family and know some of their relatives.

It is important to me, because I grew up without extended family, as they were in another state. My grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles were strangers to me, and it pained me. It was hard to see my friends have these relationships I did not have in my life but wanted desperately. I never wanted to be the cause of that pain for my own children which is why we have stayed in my husband's hometown so distance would not be an obstacle for those relationships to form. When I met and married my husband, I had hoped my children would experience a childhood more like my husbands than my own. Now as an adult, knowing my husband grew up with a big, involved family that met for every holiday, which he still felt disconnected from, I am not sure that not having those relationships were really as big as a loss to me as I once thought. It is hard to say because most of my extended family are still strangers to me even now. But I have seen that knowing extended family, growing up with them around is not some magical loneliness cure that I once thought it was.

So, one of the people who had always felt the most welcoming toward me on my husband's maternal side has blocked me because she misunderstood and/or could not accept something I said.  I am not taking it personal, but it does hurt. For the past decade I have gone to every extended family holiday and gathering, sat mostly alone or mostly quiet until the one of the few people who usually speak to me finally do. I went even though I was so out of place. Ten years I pushed aside my social anxiety, sweated in my shirt, feeling lonely in a crowd of people, and I did it knowing that at least one or two people may talk to me to make me feel included, and that was good enough. And now one of those few people has blocked me.

 I am not taking it personal because although it was a mistake that she saw the feelings I wrote about, I know I didn't say anything wrong. Hearing honest feelings can be hard. I understand her grievance that I made a family issue public. I completely understand that previous generations hold the cultural norm to keep their secrets, sweep it under the rug, and suppress feelings that could rock the boat. I empathize for them as I imagine how hard it is for them to see a younger generation breaking from that tradition. I give that understanding, but I am not going to succumb to the shame she wanted to impose on me for being willing to speak my mind. Afterall, although it is her family's norm, it is not the norm for me. I was raised by a strong woman who spoke her mind, and the older and wiser I grow the more and more thankful I am of it.

So tonight, my husband and I will be sitting down to discuss again our involvement in extended family gatherings on his maternal side with the topic being led by this question: How much do we want to be somewhere where we feel we are not truly wanted or welcome – assuming we get invited at all? Whatever decision we come to, I know my children will have a blessed life filled with fun memories and meaningful relationships with the people that do love us and welcome us. Although we learned one person in particular found us discardable, my husband's mother sat down face to face with us to work it out, proving that she thinks our relationship is worth the work. I hope she continues to do so. My children have the blessings of their Nana and Papa and on my side, Grandma, Aunt and Uncle and their three cousins. Even without extended family holidays, my children already have so much more than I did growing up. I think I turned out okay with a lot less, so I know my kids will turn out even better.

But alas, my thoughts come back to the bigger picture. I can't help but to feel some sadness about how easily others will discard people who think, feel, or believe differently. My husband and I had no other choice to grow up our entire lives in an environment where we were different, a political minority, so we were always bombarded with opinions different than ours, grew use to hearing the feelings and beliefs of others that would hurt our feelings or our hearts, and we just had to learn to bite our tongues, accept those differences and get along. And we have gotten along for so long, but we primarily did it by hiding our authentic selves.

So it is interesting to watch these people who hold beliefs that we never liked but we tolerated for so long, now shun us at the first mention of our own feelings and beliefs that they don't like. Okay, wait a minute, lets back up. We all now I have been sharing my feelings and beliefs publicly and loudly for quite awhile. But the first declamation we gave saying that my husband does and has always agreed with me and that we are raising our children to believe like-wise, is apparently the straw that broke the camel's back. We liberal minded corn folk grew up in  red homes, red communities, and churches hearing that our beliefs make us sinners that will send us to Damnation but we can't grow up to tell them without the consequence of shunning that we are uncomfortable with the way they voted against the very Christian principles taught to us by them?

I cannot make someone understand me that wishes to misunderstand. Nor can I live a happy, healthy happy life feeling stifled and mute about my feelings, beliefs, and principles. My husband can, but we are not the same in that way. I apologized to my husband last night, for being the way I am, and not enough like him to create more harmony with his family.  My husband looked me in the eye and he told me, "I knew this before I married you and I still chose you." Now, normally, I would be thinking in my head, "He is stuck with me and just trying not to rock the boat like he was raised to; he is only saying that to calm me down." But now I know different. Because he is who he says he is. He was who he was before he met me. Because even if he has quietly hid who he really was to his family, he has always been real with me. Yes, my husband chose me. Yes, my husband loves me, all of me, even the parts his family of origin don't. Yes, my husband is happy with me. And I, with him.

If we are to be shunned or discarded for our honest feelings, for believing differently,  and for having the audacity to speak our minds, if we cannot be accepted and loved as we are, my husband says, “Good riddance.” Good riddance sounds harsh. I don't know if we really feel this is a welcomed loss or not. But if it a loss, it is one that happens as a result of being ourselves. So maybe won't welcome the loss of the people, but rather we would be welcoming the permission we will give ourselves to be our authentic selves all the time without fear of their criticism.

If it is good riddance as a result of being ourselves and speaking our minds, I cannot help but to point out the irony of it, seeing as they voted for a man that Republicans praise lavishly for speaking his mind.

Love Wins

 

Trump losing the election is something I feel relief about, but I also worry that that relief is fleeting because when all the excitement or relief fades away and we are left with a “nothing will fundamentally change” president, something even more disturbing will still remain. I saw the phrase “The rot runs deep” the other day and it resonated. As I tucked my daughter into bed last night - comforting her as she cry because her grandparents made the mistake of announcing to my kids that they voted Trump while they were babysitting during our recent date night - that phrase bounced around my head. Trump will be leaving office by the will of Democracy, but the rot runs deep and the rot remains.

When my daughter was three, she saw me crying while looking at the photo of Alan Kurdi, the three year old Syrian boy whose image on the beach went viral after his drowning during the refugee crisis. I did my best to explain the what and why as delicately and child appropriate as I could, but seeing that picture stayed with her, because to this day, she still talks about Alan unprompted and out of the blue. I can still hear her say in her little toddler voice say, “3 like me?”. She cares deeply for his memory.

As she's gotten older over the last four years and asked more questions about Alan and why he died, I have tried to explain the complicated politics, specifically the policies of the Trump presidency regarding refugees and immigration, in terms she could understand. She has gotten it in her head that Trump killed that boy, a boy she cares deeply about (and although each time she says it, I explain to her he did not literally kill him, I can't argue with her that he isn't at fault). She cares about people of color. She cares about Black Lives Matter. She cares about the brown kids in cages. In our house, love is not only a feeling, it is a verb, and we tell our kids we use our right to vote the way we love. So, she wanted to know why- “Why doesn't Nana love dark skinned people?” i.e. why didn't Nana vote to help people of color. I did not have an answer for her that wouldn't further damage her relationship with her Nana that the vote for Trump disclosure already caused. But I did tell my child, even if the people around us don't love as they should, love as Jesus tells us to, WE always can. And if we believe in God, we can choose to have faith that Love Always Wins at the end. When I told my children that Biden officially and finally won today, she jumped up and down with glee, and shouted, “Love wins!”

I love that my children will grow up the next four years knowing love won this time. But I will never forget who the people in my children's lives are that decided to vote for such a man. I will never trust them fully; I will never respect them fully; I will never feel fully safe to bring my children of color around them; I will never feel fully confident in their influence on my children's moral development.

The first election, I gave a lot of understanding to people duped by the man. This election, no where in my understanding, root for the underdog, devil's advocate, don't be a sheeple, walk a mile in someone else's shoes part of my brain could I find any excusable reason to vote for a man such as him after watching him the last four years. Vote for a Libertarian? I can understand and even respect that during the Trump era. Vote for Biden, of course I get that. Vote another third party, write someone ineligible in, leave the top of the ticket blank, sit out the election entirely.... again, I can understand all these people. Maybe its a failing on my part that no matter how hard I try, I fail to understand a second term Trump voter, or maybe there really is no goodness or logic to understand in it.

Whichever it is, I am left with a deep regrettable feeling that people my children know and love have rot somewhere inside them. My family will know that some part of their heart was willing to vote for such a man so unlike Christ and filled with hate for others. The rot runs deep, and I am nowhere near done forgetting where that rot had laid hidden until a Trump presidency brought it out in the open.

Sometimes, people act in ways that make relationships never the same again. I really wish my daughter had remained ignorant to how her Nana voted. I am sad for my child, who loves so deeply, and now knows the hurt of watching a person very important to her make a choice that breaks her heart. Trump will be leaving office by the will of Democracy, but I will know the rot remains, and I sit here and wonder, will the knowledge of the rot that exists in the people she loves stay with my child, just as Alan has stayed with her? As much I know it will stay with me, I hope the only thing that stays with her, is the knowledge that Love Wins.

Happy Together

Something significant happened last night. I had an emotional breakthrough. And it didn't cost hundreds in counseling fees – just a $25 date night (oh, and a decade of unnecessary struggle). Apparently, 30 is the year I'm supposed to get all my shit together. ha

Most of my lifelong struggle with depression stems from my feelings of loneliness, which of course is a result of being so different from the people where I live. Feeling lonely and depressed over being different has just been my normal all my life. One of my first memories of feeling different was during a 5^th grade mock presidential election. I was one of the very, very few people who voted Al Gore. Anytime I wonder how I turned out to be so politically different than the community I grew up in, I always think back to that 5^th grade election – how badly I wanted to save Earth and how alone I felt when I learned I was the minority. It has always been a significant memory for me.

Anyone that understands the struggle with depression knows about intrusive thoughts. Unfortunately, I have an intrusive thought that has always led me to struggle in my marriage and mental health. That intrusive thought is that I feel that my husband would be happier with someone else. This intrusive thought started early in the relationship when he told me that his parents told him that they thought I was changing him into someone he wasn't. He was upset because he felt like his parents really didn't know him at all. I was upset because he told me he left without saying anything to defend me or himself, which made me believe that he agreed with his parents because I cannot fathom not telling someone they are wrong about me when they are wrong about me. I remember this clearly because it was one of our first big fights, of which there are so few, and I nearly broke up with him because of it. Ever since, the idea that I changed him into someone his family doesn't like, and therefore he would have been happier and better off marrying someone else, has been an intrusive thought I struggle with. Anytime I start thinking suicidal thoughts, its always been around this intrusive thought. My insecurity about this has come up time and time again in our marriage; he has told me probably a million times its not true but I have always needed repeated reassurance and still never fully believed him. I cannot imagine how frustrating that is to him, to not be believed, for years!, yet he patiently reminds me each time that he is who he says he is, he has always been the same and he didn't change for me, and he is happy with me.

Tonight we had a date night. We were discussing the election, talking about where we might dream of moving to where we may better fit in, when I asked him what was the very first election he remembered. Although my husband is a sensitive, feeling man, he rarely likes to discuss or dwell on the past, and besides sharing that he never felt like he belonged or that he was generally not liked by others, there was never anything traumatic, nothing so particularly significant from his point of view that needed discussed about his past, so it wasn't unless I thought to ask a pinpointed question about his past that his past was discussed. So, back to the question I asked him- what was the first election he remembered, and he said, “When I was in middle school. I voted Democrat.” He couldn't even remember the name of the guy, but he explained that he remembered because when his friend found out, he teased him relentlessly. When he asked about it at family holiday that year, he remembered an aunt telling him that if he was a Christian then he should vote Republican, a significant memory for him in feeling shamed for being different. Then, he told me that in his first presidential election, he voted Obama. I asked him, “How did I not know that?” He reminded me that he had told me once before. I sat and thought about it for a moment, and then the memory came back suddenly and clearly. It was on our second date. It was significant because I was prepared to not continue dating him or vice versa when I decided to tell him that I was a Democrat. Although I remembered the conversation, remembered that was the first time he shared with me how different he felt from his family, and how he told me it absolutely was not a deal breaker for him that I was a Democrat … I forgot his disclosure that he voted Obama. Strange how the brain forgets. So as I have been sitting here typing this I am asking myself, how? how in the world could I forget that? And the answer is trauma.

For those that need catching up – when I met my husband, I had just gotten out of a very abusive relationship. The interesting thing about that relationship is that the boy I was with was not the only person to abuse me. His parents were as equally emotionally abusive to me as he was, if not more so in the beginning of our relationship. His parents, especially his mother, constantly accused me of not truly loving her son and of trying to make their son be someone he was not not only behind my back but to my face. There was a reason for this – I was a vegetarian and told him I wasn't willing to date a meat-eater when he asked me out, mostly because I wanted an easy “out” or way to say “No” to him. I was in no shape to be in a relationship as I had just had my heart broken by someone I had loved for years. I never expected him to offer to adopt a whole new lifestyle but he told me he would become a vegetarian, and so we began dating. Very stupid on my part, I know. So, although his parents' abuse was inexcusable, nor did I force him into that decision, it was based in reality that our relationship started terribly and it certainly could seem to an outsider that I was forcing him to be someone he was not. So I had it thrown at me quite frequently, first by his parents, then by him, and even by his friends. So, his mother cursed at me and insulted me quite regularly. As the abuse worsened over the course of our relationship, when my ex would begin gaslighting me and insulting me, his parents would join in. His mom even stood by as he locked me in a dark closet without a light once as they both shouted insults at me through the door. Just to give you a very clear picture that it was way more than just a parent that didn't like me.

So, I had a significant amount of trauma wrapped around a boyfriends' parent having this false idea that I forced or manipulated their son into changing who he was in order to be with me. So when my now-husband told me in our very new relationship that his parents said the same thing my ex'es parents said, my trauma brain reacted in a the way trauma brains react. So, I understand that my previous trauma explains why I have lingered on my intrusive thought: “He would be happier with someone who didn't made him to be different” for so long, forget that important second date memory, fixate on the memory of the fight my husband and I had about what his parents said, secretly doubt who my husband really is, and convince myself that I cannot trust my husband's word. But now, I do.

After discussing this all with my husband last night, he asked, why does him voting for Al Gore in middle school or Obama before he met me make such a difference, when he has been telling me our entire relationship who he is. Quite simply... its proof for my logical brain. Concreteness. It is more than him just saying it, which could be a lie, but rather, it's an action – two actions – that validate what he is saying. No, I don't have the actual votes he cast in my hand as physical proof, but he gave me very detailed recollections of these memories that tell me they are the truth. When you spent as much time being emotionally abused and gaslighted as I did, you don't fully trust others and you don't trust yourself. There is always that little voice in the back of my head saying, “Too good to be true. That's not the truth. This isn't real.” I am just waiting for the tables to turn, for my husband to stop pretending to be nice and loving, waiting for the abuse to come. Each year of our marriage, the voice has gotten less and less loud, but as irrational as it is, it is still there. See how trauma works? Creeps into so many cracks everywhere in your life for years to come.

I digress to say that I have struggled with this for ten years, which probably would have been fixed a whole lot earlier had my husband and I had affordable health insurance that covered mental health services so we could have gone to marriage counseling. Instead, it took ten years and a simple date night conversation inspired by the presidential election loss of the worst president in our lifetime. Ironic.

So, learning that my husband voted for a Democrat as a child in a mock election, that he was feeling just as lonely and different as I was after that same election, that he voted for a Democrat again in his first presidential election as an adult, despite his upbringing and classmates teasing, despite his extended family insinuating that in order to be a Christian you have to vote Republican and knowing how important his faith is to him and the pressure that must have put on him.... I know now my husband has always been who he is. I know now that I did not force, persuade, or influence my husband to change his political ideals in any way. He has always been him, just as I have always been who I am, and we were just lucky enough to be introduced so that we could marry and be lonely Democrats(ish) in a highly conservative area, together.

Knowing with certainty that I did not change him is going to allow me to believe him when he says he is happy with me. Why? Because even if he had never met me, he would still be who he is, still feel like he doesn't belong, still feel different, and I am not the reason for it as I have thought for the past ten years. I am not naive to think that the intrusive thought that I have spent the last 10 years listening to and struggling with will disappear just like that. But this new and remembered information, with its concreteness, will help me challenge and defeat it each and every time it pops into my head, and trust me, it pops up a lot. I don't even know how to describe the relief I am experiencing to have such a powerful tool that may finally give me the upper hand in battling my depression.

There may be some people who get upset if I share this writing. So here is where qualify it. I am not writing this to cast any shade, but I am telling my whole truth as I experienced it. I am telling my truth for others to know so that I can make it real not only in my mind but in the minds of others, incase I ever need to reach out to a friend or simply re-read this published writing, when I begin doubting again. I am telling my truth and sharing it with others because I think it may have some value to others. I think this piece of writing shows a very real effect of trauma and how it continues to impact lives decades after the fact. I think this piece of writing tells a story of a successful marriage. I think this piece of writing is an applauding piece that shows just how amazingly patient, loving and committed my husband has been to me despite me and my baggage rarely making it easy on him. I am sharing it because it is pivotal. Pivotal in my marriage, pivotal in my mental health going forward, and I want to shout it from the rooftops that I am on a journey to being free of something that has imprisoned me for far too long.

And lastly, this is where I give my advice to parents of sons and daughters that are entering new relationships with people you may not like – your opinions about your children's relationship or significant others don't need to be said to them. Do not meddle in their relationships unasked. Just don't. If you raised them well and have a good relationship with your child, they will come to you when you are needed or your opinion is wanted. If you don't have a good enough relationship for that to happen, then you really don't have a place to stick your nose into their relationships. Although my previous traumas made something said to my husband into something much bigger than it was, what was said was still completely unnecessary and unsolicited. If that something unnecessarily said had just never been said in the first place, my trauma could not have snowballed into an intrusive thought that would effect my marriage for a decade and lead me to struggle with suicidal ideations. Or maybe the same intrusive thought would have developed, but it certainly would have had a whole lot less fuel to burn. Now obviously, I have been through much, much worse than a boyfriend's parent making the mistake of telling their son they don't like his girlfriend from a place of misguided love and concern. I stopped being mad about it and forgave them a long time ago and feel I have an amiable relationship with my in-laws; they don't have to like me for us to be kind. But, I have never forgotten that they don't like me, and obviously it has had long-term consequences of which they could not have predicted. I don't blame them for the snowballing effect my trauma had on what they said. They didn't know it would have that effect. But that is the point – you just don't know what an uninvited opinion about your child's relationship will turn into. I repeat – Do NOT tell your children that you do not like their significant other. Just don't. If they are happy, you are happy for them. The end.

And for the record, we have always, always, always been very, very, very happy together.

Our Second EC Journey

To read about our Elimination Communication with our first daughter and to learn more about EC, visit: Maybellee's EC Journey

The first time Charlie went "on the potty" was actually at the hospital. I noticed signs that he needed to eliminate, so not even 2 days old and still in the hospital, my husband made the first poo catch!

When we got home, it was my turn! We have continued to make many, many catches. ECing this time has so far been very, very different. Its an acquired skill, so this second time around I'm more experienced and having an easier time of watching for and catching his signals. I have been having instant success at catching most of his pees and poos. Overall, I just know what I'm doing right from the start - at least for the most part.

What is new to me is this "boy business". ECing a boy is different. You have to adjust your hold technique to include guidance in aiming the urine stream - lest you wind up with a very big mess! In his first week of life we had to watch the sheets after a very messy incident. Another time as I was trying to EC over the sink, him and I both got a  shower! That has been the most difficult part for me, as I have smaller hands and he's a larger baby than my first, and making sure I'm holding him with adequate head/neck support while trying to get my finger placement just right to properly aim him has been an awkward challenge.

By 2 weeks old, he was already showing preference for the potty and not wanting to eliminate in his diaper.  Despite how often newborns go, I've been doing a pretty good job of getting him to the potty more than 50% of the time. The catch rate would be higher if I wasn't so busy taking care of a toddler, I'm sure, because he lets me know every time he needs to cry with a fuss. He always signals in some way. So far, his signals are lip quivers, unlatching from the breast, kicking his legs, becoming very still during nursing, or just generally being fussy. Its really neat to be ECing a second time, because thinking back onto trying to learn Maybellee's cues, she did these things all the time and I did not have a clue she needed to go. This second time, reading my baby is so much easier.

By 4 weeks of age, he was showing a very strong preference for wanting to use the potty. Sometimes he would start to fuss during tummy time, and I knew what that meant! A few times I had to finish what I was doing before I could help him potty, but every time, he always waited, even if that meant he started going the second he was over the potty and I took the diaper off. He was already demonstrating that he could control his eliminations also. I often remove the diaper in the other room and then walk him to the potty, and he always holds it until he's being held over the potty. At 4 weeks old he was also showing that he understands the cue. If I took him to the potty and cued him, even if I wasn't sure he needed to go, I could feel and see him using his pelvis muscles to try and pee!

BabyBjorn Little Potty -
the difference is a
shorter, smaller potty
with a more comfortable
squatty type position to the seat,
wider urine guard,
and no removable insert.

At 6 weeks old, we have established a really good routine. Most days, he only wets a diaper or two a day; the rest our catches. In his short little life, I can count on one hand how many times I've had to change a poopy diaper. We still have some off days when I'm just too distracted by my phone, cleaning, or Maybellee but for the most part EC has been VERY successful this go around.  That is, except for at night time. Charlie is a much heavier sleeper and wakes less frequently, which also means I sleep deeper as well. He also is not much of a crier, and although he does get squirmy in the middle of the night when he wakes and needs to potty, I don't always wake up in time until he's gone and a bit more upset for having a wet diaper and finally wakes me with some weak cries. Nighttime EC is less than 50% successful, which is a bit frustrating to me since night time EC with my first was 95% successful. However, he is still waking, rather than sleeping through his elimination, so EC is still having a positive effect on his nighttime elimination in my opinion.

At 7 weeks old I decided to switch the potty I most typically use - from the more modern Baby Bjorn potty (pictured above) to the BabyBjorn Little Potty (pictured to the right) and potty times have been drastically less messy and we no longer have aim issues. I wish I would have switched sooner ... and for life of me cannot figure out why in the world would they stop producing the Little Potty!?!? It's far superior to the newer product. In my opinion it is better shaped with a deeper seat to get baby into a bigger squat and also has a wider pee-guard, which allows me to just hold him on top of the potty and not worry about aiming him.

Big sister loves to help by bringing
the potty to mommy when Brother
needs to go and also helps make the
"Pssssss" sound or Potty sign to him.

Overall, I have been putting a lot of effort into it this time, since I started it much earlier with Charlie than I did Maybellee. Some days it feels like all I do is go from breastfeeding him, to potty, back to nursing, potty some more, repeat. It does require more attention and a different kind of extra work involved to practice Elimination Communication than conventionally diapering or cloth diapering, but its such a wonderful experience to be able to watch your baby communicate his elimination needs and for me to be able to meet those needs. Sure beats doing the cloth diaper laundry and changing a poopy diaper too!


Although this is my second time doing this, its still so brilliantly exciting and fascinating to see it for myself that babies can, will, and do prefer to eliminate away from themselves and that by communicating with my baby, by carefully watching for his signals, providing a potty opportunity, together we can prevent him from soiling himself!

Baby Charlie's Birth Story

Baby Charlie's Birth Story

Charles (Charlie) Bodhi Grieser
8 lbs 6 oz, 21 inches, 14 in head and chest

Born 6:42 am at Henry County Hospital via Family Centered Cesarean by Dr. H

One of the more important aspects of Charlie's birth plan was that I wanted to go into spontaneous labor prior to my planned cesarean. 40 weeks passed by and I had very little signs that labor was coming. On Monday May 4^th, I had an ultrasound done to make sure it was safe to continue the pregnancy. I knew everything was fine but Dr. H needed the reassurance. Fluid levels were good, but he wasn't active enough during the ultrasound because it was during his usual nap time so Wednesday I had to go in for an NST, which we passed no problem. My OB was not going to be on call the upcoming weekend, and instead the OB that had done my first traumatic cesarean was, so I had quite a bit of anxiety leading up to that weekend, and was hanging onto hope that labor would wait until the next week.

On Thursday evening May 7^th , the evening before I was 41 weeks, I began having some regular pains right before bed close to 10 pm. The pains were in my lower back and pelvis, but I didn't feel them wrapping into my belly. I had had these pains on previous nights and they would come and go for about an hour and then disappear, so I wasn't thinking much of it, but after a half hour, I realized I had maybe about 6 or 7, meaning they were probably five minutes apart. I was curious and began timing them. At this point, they were starting to bother me a little more and after a few contractions I realized they were actually only 2-3 minutes apart and lasting over 30 seconds. I thought this was odd because it was progressing way too quick compared to my first labor and figured it was just false labor again and it would shortly end. I continued timing them, as my husband and I passed some time watching TV in bed. I kept telling my husband this wasn't it, mostly out of fear with hope of post-poning having the inevitable surgery for a little bit longer. The contractions were not stopping, getting more uncomfortable and was starting to hurt with cramping in my lower belly too. At about 11 pm, I lost my mucus plug and had bloody show. This was when I realized I was in actual labor. I sat in my bathroom and began to cry. I had been having a hard time dealing with my anxiety about my upcoming cesarean and dreading it the entire pregnancy, so now that labor started, it meant it was just hours away. My husband comforted me and calmed me, reminding he was going to be there to take care of me... and that my OB was on call! Perfect timing!

It was nearing midnight at this point, and the plan was always to wait till early morning to go to the hospital if I went into labor in the middle of the night. I told CJ to go to bed, and I stayed up to labor on my own, just like with my first. However, this labor was polar opposite to my first labor. Contractions were consistently 2-3 minutes apart. At 1 am, I could no longer lie in bed, so I got up and went downstairs to finish packing our bags. Yes, at 41 weeks pregnant, we still had not packed our bags. (I was convinced this baby was going to take its time arriving just like big sister, and expected baby to stay comfy until sometime next week.) I realized we hadn't washed the newborn diapers yet either, so I began cleaning and doing laundry in between contractions as well. At about 2:30, contractions were very strong, and still 2-3 minutes apart, but were now lasting almost a minute long at times. I realized if I wanted to wait till morning, I should probably quit cleaning and lay down to calm down the contractions. I went upstairs and layed down. It was really painful now to lay. Three contractions later, I felt a hard pop; my water had broken! I got back out of bed to labor on the toilet until my waters were finished. Contractions got very strong at this point. I was having a very hard time breathing through them and I was having a hard time staying relaxed. I found my self tensing up, crying or vocalizing through them. I tried swaying my hips, bouncing, hands and knees, but nothing was helping me cope with the pain. It was about 3 am when I realized I needed help and probably wouldn't make it a few more hours by myself, so I woke CJ up and he began packing his bags. I remember telling him, “these feel like pitocin contractions!”

I called the hospital to let them know I would be in shortly. It actually took him a little while to finish packing up his and Maybellee's things, but we dropped big sister off at Grandpa and Grandma's sometime after 4pm and were at the hospital a little before 5 am. Contractions did slow down to 2-5 minutes apart at this point, but were still very painful, especially since once I was to the hospital they needed me on the monitors for an hour before the cesarean, which meant I was stuck in the bed. My sister arrived very soon after I was admitted, and surgery preparations started moving very quick.

The anesthesiologist arrived and began telling me what I should expect. She explained that I would go back alone for the placement of the spinal. I asked if CJ could come back with me, and she said no, and I began to panic. My first cesarean left me with some trauma, and when she said CJ wasn't coming back with me, I began to have the irrational thought that I would not get any of my wishes respected again and I wouldn't get a family centered cesarean. The anesthesiologist had walked away with her answer, and I was crying and I couldn't breathe, and CJ and Tessa was trying to calm me down. A few nice nurses also tried helping comfort and calm me, but I just remember wanting to jump up and run out of there and feeling embarassed that they all were watching me have a panic attack. The anesthesiologist came back and Tessa talked to her, and got her to finally agree to let CJ go back with me. Thank God for my sister being there to advocate for me. I was able to start calming down. Then Dr. H arrived sometime during this and had checked me. I was 2 cms. At first when I heard that I felt a sense of panic of “what if this time my body was dilating!?”, but then quickly realized this labor was so fast and tense I should have been a lot more dilated. It wasn't much longer after this they began moving me to the OR. CJ was able to stand nearby to hold my foot which kept me calm for the spinal placement. I remember telling the nurses I was scared and they were really nice and comforting.

Next thing I knew my sister was there and surgery was starting. In my birth plan I had requested to have the drapes lowered and for baby to be held up for me to see after delivery. The anesthesiologist retrieved a mirror for me and asked if I would like her to hold it so I could see, which was above and beyond what I had expected. I actually got to watch the entire delivery. I saw them pull baby's head out and suction baby's mouth, then Dr. H reached in more and pulled baby out by the arm pits and held baby up. The gender was a surprise and Daddy got to announce, “It's a boy!” They delayed the cord clamping for two minutes, and then baby immediately was put on my chest! He was only on my chest for a minute or two before I started to become really nauseous. Daddy held him for the remaining of the surgery while I spent a great of deal of it hanging my head over a bucket. I remember that I kept wanting to apologize. I had made such a big deal about wanting to hold my baby immediately after birth, and I was so sick I couldn't. The nurses were fantastic and made sure I never vomited on myself, unlike my previous cesarean where I was ignored when I told them I was nauseous. Even though I didn't get to hold baby but for a minute, daddy and baby stayed right next to me the entire time. Simply not being separated from them and not being alone in surgery made the world of a difference in comparison to my first traumatic cesarean. The surgery didn't seem to last long at all and I was back in my room for recovery. I was still dealing with nausea and low blood pressure, but I was finally holding my baby and he got his first nursing.

My recovery in the hospital went fantastic. They had a lactation consultant there to help us get started with breastfeeding. The nurses were very great about making sure my pain level was okay. They got me up and out of bed within 8 hours after surgery, and even respected my wishes to have the catheter removed early. All the staff were very respectful of our choices and wishes for the birth and newborn care, no one even attempted to retract our newborn son's foreskin during checks, and all were very helpful and kind. In the end, I got everything I wanted: respectful prenatal care with limited Doppler, spontaneous labor, delayed cord clamping, family centered cesarean, and a great recovery. I couldn't have had a better experience there and truly appreciate the Henry County Hospital for providing me and my family with a great birth experience.