the barbarics of modern life

whew!  *big sigh*  it's Friday, and I'm feeling some relief about that (thank the lord-ish) after existing in nervous anticipation (and not the good kind) about it for most of the last several days.  This is the first Friday in at least six months that I haven't been able to rely on BFO relieving me of my responsibility for Spiderman.  And after a week like this one, that's been a difficult reality to face.

I've made the mistake of taking Spiderman's difficulty adjusting to kindergarten personally until now and upon releasing that (just in time) we found our flow again.  Poised for a happy, healthy weekend I (and you) am spared from having to bitch and moan about the (lack of) efficacy of Kaiser therapists, the failed collaboration with afterschool program staff, and whatever other ways I was projecting my self loathing onto other people and things.

(hooray!)

Tonight's Blue Moon:
a "Blue Moon" isn't really blue.  It's the second
full moon in any month that has two.
The first in August was 8/1, and tonight's on 8/31.
*Astrology/Astronomy lesson over*

Now I just get to sit here, with the Blue Moon in the corner of my eye, looking forward to the Spiderman-Momma-love-fest to come, and laughing about the absurdity of modern life.

I had a physical today.  And sitting in the lab while the phlebotomist drooled over one particular vein she spotted in the outside of the crook of my left arm I started thinking about how barbaric "self care" can be.

Let's play a game for Labor Day!

We work hard and as a reward for that labor we need to relax and take care of ourselves every once in a while.

See if you can match the descriptions of the self-care activities I've embarked on (to make myself feel at "home" in my body--sorry people, I'm trying here) lately with their common names: 

a. Strip naked from the waist down while a woman I have no relationship with (other than for this purpose) spreads hot, sticky goop onto my genitals with gloved hands and, after it cools, tears it off ripping the hair that grows there out at the root.
b. Strip naked from the waist up and let a man I have no relationship with (other than this one) systematically inspect my breasts with his fingers after he's congratulated me from moving from "severely obese" to "just obese!"  (he was so excited about it too.  it was almost cute) and then give me the privilege of placing my arm on a cushy wedge only to have another strange remove blood from it.
c. Expose my underarms to another strange(r) man who proceeds to press a blazing hot wand against it that also applies light suction zapping the hair follicles beneath the surface of my skin.
d. Strip completely naked and lie on a rubber covered table in a tiled room with a bathroom stall divider surrounding it while an older woman in matching black mesh bra and panties pours buckets of water over me, vigorously rubs some kind of grain (buckwheat?) into my skin, and eventually beats me over the back with her hands and arms.
e. Lie face up on a table with a cloud of steam choking any natural attempt at respiration while a woman paints creams and chemicals over my face and neck culminating with her looking at my face through a high powered magnifying glass whose light source generates too much heat and squeezing environmental evidence out of my pores.
f. Lie both face up and face down under a thin sheet in the dark with the sounds of chanting, drums, and bells in the background as a woman digs her fingers, hands, and arms into the tender sites of tension in my body while encouraging me to drudge up painful memories from all corners of my personal history.

1. facial
2. laser hair removal
3. physical exam
4. healing massage
5. bikini wax
6. body scrub

life is silly.

Happy Labor Day!




(the answers: 1e, 2c, 3b, 4f, 5a, 6d.  There is a lot of nakedness involved in "self care" no?)

home, or something completely different

I have no idea what this post is going to be about, and to be completely frank (because usually I hold back so much here-HA!), this is the last thing I want to be doing right now.  Of course, there's only one thing on the list of things I want to be doing right now:

1. Sleeping

BUT...  writing always alters my experience and I am guessing that going to sleep on this kind of pissy attitude isn't in my best interest, so let's see what comes up shall we?

Today was a strange day.  Last night I had trouble going to sleep (this is not something that usually plagues me, I can fall asleep anywhere... anytime).  When I closed my eyes I was transported to some pretty scary places.  And when I say transported, I don't mean that my mind started going crazy and making up stories... I mean I was (as) literally (as I can be) in other moments in time, witnessing terrible things happening (that actually happened) to people I love.

I woke up anxious this morning and when I was going over the list of things that could be the cause with the AngryWombat during our morning phone call I got the following:

• Devon is going out of town for 5 days and we won't have any contact until she returns
• Spiderman is having a rough time at Kindergarten and I feel very helpless about the whole thing
• I have a massage/healing appointment with a shaman today

and when I got to the last one all the hair on my body (even the teeny tiny ones under the surface of my freshly-shaved legs) stood on end.  WTF was that about?  Of all the things to be freaked out about I am freaked out about getting a massage?

Exploring it more that morning with Devon I discovered that I was afraid of what it would bring up.  The woman I see is a shamanic healer, whose massage/bodywork is a form of releasing old "stuff" that's stored in the body as a means of healing and uncovering the purity of the spirit that is at all of our core(s).  It's been at least 10 years since I'd seen her last... and I was afraid of dredging up a bunch of stuff and then having to deal with it over the long weekend home with Spiderman (who hasn't earned the privileges of mother-sanity-saving technology like TV and iPad, so help me God-ish like forces).  Of course, working with Emma isn't a "dredging up and leaving raw" experience, it's a healing experience... and it was!

It was also a provocative experience and I was confronted with so much truth about myself and what I'm really capable of...  once again (it's been coming up a lot and I probably haven't said much about it here because I am still ignoring it) the topic of myself as a healer emerged.  Only this time when I shared with her some of the things I had been experiencing lately she told me I was living a "shaman's" story.  Shit.  Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit.  Really?

parenting (right now) feels like (i'd imagine) living here without a ladder

The idea of coming home to my core self came up, and that would be a great topic for a blog post... BUT when I got out of the session I had a voicemail from Spiderman's principal because he had been found in the bathroom plugging the urinal drains with papertowels and making them overflow, exposing his genitals to other students, and ultimately being removed from afterschool childcare until a "specialist" can assess the situation and create a safety plan (because he will not stay in the class/with the group... he just takes off).  *sigh*

So, maybe I'm a shaman... at least, a healer of some sort.  But I can't get my fucking kid to understand (perhaps agree is a better word) that he needs to stay with his class/group and listen to his teacher/care provider.  They call me every day to tell me how he expressed his discomfort about this new situation... and every day we talk it out... and every day something else happens.

Still focusing on gratitude.  Crying when it gets to be too much.  Asking for help (and even sometimes getting it).  Someday soon this will feel easy too (please soon, come sooner!  like now?  I'm tired.)

What's the spiritual superpower that equates to having a cooperative child?  I'd like to trade mine in for that one please (but maybe only temporarily... I'd like to come back and explore that other stuff when I get a chance).

Hmm... still pissy, but feeling pretty clever thanks to those last couple lines.  That'll do.  Goodnight folks.

a tale of two assholes

two assholes shared a car ride home from elementary school today.

the first asshole was a 5-year old boy.  he wasn't an asshole when his mother picked him up, but he immediately owned up to a "bad" day and when his mother found a note from his teacher in his backpack that read: 1. left classroom and went to playground on own, 2. tore up math sheet and other students' work, 3. threw other students' objects off of desks...  his mother assigned the asshole judgment to him in her mind (this was not a great way to start their evening together) while getting him into his carseat.

not really what our ride home looks like.

the second asshole emerged a block away when the asshole's mother made herself an asshole for attributing the same term to her son.

by the time they got home, there was only one asshole (the mother) left.  the first asshole had become a 5-year boy again.  He was vulnerable and dealing with something brand new and on a grander scale than anything he'd ever experienced without the support of a parent before... and he was frightened.  he didn't know how to communicate his needs for comfort to his teachers, other care providers, and fellow students.  his aggressive actions were the attempts of a desperate person who doesn't have the words for his feelings.  he was essentially crying out "i am feeling something really big and really scary and i need your help to define it and reassure me that i'm safe here!"

one asshole and one 5-year old began their evening at home with the asshole sitting in silence (attempting to let the rage drain out of her body) and the boy playing in his room.  the boy came to the asshole after a little while because he was done playing and wanted to do his homework.  the asshole asked the boy to clean up his room and he responded by whining about how hard it was.

the asshole saw a lightbulb illuminate over her head.  this was a great opportunity to play out a life lesson that will help in kindergarten and beyond: when something is wrong--tell someone, and ask for help.

the asshole was a different kind of asshole now... not the horrible-parent-who-dislikes-her-own-child-kind.  more the self-important-know-it-all-giver-of-all-wisdom kind.  the boy didn't take too kindly to her and her attempts to coach.  he responded by going back to his room.  when she went to check on him a few minutes later she found that he had dumped all of his dresser drawers onto the floor on top of the piles of toys he'd left before.

the asshole went back to being the horrible-parent-who-dislikes-her-own-child-kind and left the room to spare the boy her tears of frustration.  it was futile.  a few minutes later she heard the boy generating sobs of his own.  she went back into his room and found him buried deep under his covers, wailing (these two characters are very dramatic--it works for them).  She was still an asshole, but an asshole with heart, so she reached up and took him into her arms and they went and sat together.  Eventually her sobs started to drown his out--this didn't sit well with him, escalated his tears, and this disturbed her further.  She felt helpless...

She wasn't an asshole anymore either.  She was a 32 year old woman, vulnerable, and dealing with something brand new and on a grander scale than anything she's ever experienced without the support of a parent or partner before... and she was frightened.  she didn't know how to communicate her need for comfort.  her aggressive actions/judgments were the attempts of a desperate person who doesn't have the words for her feelings.  she was essentially crying out "i am feeling something really big and really scary and i need your help to figure out what to do with it and for some reassurance about my safety!"

and there were no more assholes left in the house and there are no more assholes left in this story.

the mother told the boy how loved and lovable he is, how wanted and treasured he is, how safe and protected he is... and in turn she was loved and lovable again, wanted and treasured again, safe and protected again.

two assholes shared a car ride home from elementary school today.  two lovable-perfect-exactly-the-way-they-are-beings cleaned up a bedroom together, did homework together, ate dinner together, and will snuggle up with a bedtime book later tonight.

Simple isn't easy... until it is.

i mentioned this already on Wednesday, but I feel compelled to go into a little more depth about the magic of gratitude tonight... so that's what's gonna happen!

I'm not sure when it happened, but sometime over the last couple of months I became a whiner.  *ahem* excuse me, I mean... I returned to my whiner self (it isn't as if I have no experience being a whiner).  Instead of appreciating the brilliance of the life I've built for myself (with some very generous assistance from El Universe) I was focusing intently on what I didn't have and how much I wanted it and how great the distance was between the present and where I wanted to be.  And being very grumpy about it. 

After only a couple of days of very intentionally focusing on gratitude in the form of triggering myself to ask "what is there to be grateful for in this situation?" and then answering the question I am energized again.  This renewed practice of turning my focus away from an irritant into an opportunity to exist in Love has taken me back to a connection with my best self and forward to the kinds of things I've been longing for!

I know how annoying it can be to listen to someone say something is "simple" or when everything seems complicated and difficult.  The truth (for me) is, it is simple...  but that doesn't mean it's easy.  It can't be forced.  I knew I needed to practice gratitude if I wanted to move forward into lightness instead of dwelling in the shadows, but it wasn't going to happen until the moment I was willing and "ready" (whatever the fuck that means) to do it.  One day I woke up and was "ready" and now I'm in that place where life does feel so easy that if i were the kind of person who judged herself i would feel like an asshole for all the times i complained about how hard it was.

Have you ever taken note of what's in the space between hard and easy for you?  What gets you there?  People say things like "change will happen when the pain of staying put is greater than the fear of the unknown" (loosely quoting god only knows who), but again... that doesn't actually happen in an instant.  It's true for me that it often feels like waking up ready, but if I glance back I can see that there were stepping stones between the headspace I was in and where I am now. 

Here are a few of the things that got me here this time: 

1. This note from the Universe: Go ahead, Kate, want it all. Just learn to be happy before it arrives, or you may not notice when it does.  :)  Tallyho, The Universe   
• Feel free the (insert your name here) and use it for yourself.
2. Several gems in an interview with Lama Surya Das at Teaching What We Need to Learn: "I'm just being there while getting there," and “If we are not here now we won’t be there then. There will be no heaven, there will be no peace and contentment.”   
• I've mentioned this series a gazillion times here already... if you're not already listening I don't know what else I can say about it except maybe: please go listen to an interview or two.  LIFE CHANGING.
3. Devon said something (completely kind and supportive like everything else she says) that triggered the hell out of me and in the process of integrating I found myself seeing myself clearly enough to see the path to growth
• I'm not offering her to you, but you can probably have a similar experience with one of your mirror people.  Practice vulnerability and it will happen.  Promise.

This is what works for me... This is the stuff that "gets me there" (there=readiness).  Someone remind me of this next time I'm a grump-a-lump?