Conquering My Home, One Room at a Time

Hmm, maybe "conquering" is too strong of a word.  How about "taming"?  "Domesticating"? 

Anyway, I've always been a clutter bug.  My school desk or locker was often alarming.  My family witnessed me sleeping on a bed half covered with possessions.  Doesn't everyone sleep with old school assignments, binders, rocks, stuffed animals, books, and dirty clothes?  Just my ten-year-old self?  Right...

I've been coming to terms with my near-hoarding tendencies.  And, yeah, that's a self-diagnosed term, but I read a book on hoarding, and while I don't have a home filled to the brim with everything I do have a lot of anxiety when it comes to chucking, well, anything.  And reading one book makes me an expert.

Besides, I believe I come from a short (maybe longer, but I only observed two generations) line of hoarders.  My paternal grandparents lived through the Great Depression and could never face going without again.  Therefore they saved everything.  I remember as a child going to help the entire extended family clear out my grandparents home and property because they had to move.  It was...disturbing.  You name it, they probably had it.  Piles stacked near the ceiling, trails to reach their rooms.  Their home was a fire trap and I'm grateful that things didn't end up that way.  They even kept their clutter with them, in any car they used or in bags hanging from my grandmother's wheelchair.  My grandmother was diabetic and they re-used her needles until they were blunt, and sometimes (if memory serves me right) sharpened them.  And (again, hopefully my memory is correct) they didn't really have a shortage of needles.  But there was always the pervasiveness of "not-having" due to their, well, not having during the Depression.

My father grew up in this "Must not waste!" environment.  Everything had it's uses and value.  What if he needed it someday and the store had run out?  What if he had no money?  Safer to save than to go without something important.  So my father collects every usable thing.  Multiple coffee cans filled with nuts, bolts, and other fasteners?  Check.  Car parts?  Check.  Fifty sets of skis?  Check.  An enormous garage filled with stuff?  Yup.  A vast amount of property with possessions strewn about?  You betcha.  So much saving and hoarding, anxiety and fear.  Fear of wasting.  Fear of not-having.

This angst over tossing things was passed onto me.  My dad would sometimes not even allows us to throw out something of ours.  To illustrate the point here is a pretty typical experience.  It was spring and the family decided to clear out some unneeded things.  Among all the objects that landed in the garbage bin was a little woven basket.  When my father came home from work he looked in the bin and pulled out this basket.  He came in the house and admonished us for throwing out something so useful.  "Who threw this away, this little basket?  I can't remember how many times I've heard someone needing a little basket, and here someone threw this away."  The basket was returned to the offender and is probably still packed away in their junk.

As a side note, if The Hubby or I are having a hard time deciding on our belongings, all one of us has to do is mention the little basket and it helps us get out of the rut of, "What if I need this someday!!??"  Useful phrase to have around.

My mother has a different kind of stockpiling situation.  She does hold onto things that have usefulness, but they are usually purchased items destined for a particular project or event.  However, my mother does seem to have issues with sentimentalism.  It's like she fears forgetting memories if she doesn't have a physical object to trace them.  After my wedding my mom gave me box after box of school work, art, notes, toys, and other items that were once in my ownership or created by me.  A lot of it was stored by me, but it was encouraged by my mother's questions, "Are you sure you want to get rid of that?  What if your kids would enjoy looking at it?  What if you want to remember *insert event here*?"  A different kind of fear, the fear of loss.  The fear of letting go of the past, of forgetting.  Of giving yourself permission to forget.

So, two different hoarding heritages, uniting in one person:  me.  I have a very hard time letting go of anything useful or sentimental.  Scraps of fabric?  I could use those!  Objects that bring back painful memories?  What if I forget the lessons involved?  Anything connected to my children?  What if they resent me for disposing of it?  Something of monetary value that I do not value?  I could sell that...someday.  Gifts given to me that aren't a good fit?  But they thought of me!  Tangible evidence!

Right.  I have so much stuff.  Junk.  Trash.  And it's kind of ironic that I own so much clutter, because when I think of my ideal home I imagine houses like these:

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Warm.  Airy.  Light.  Minimalistic to a large extent.  Uncluttered.  Roomy.  Only the necessary and beautiful things.  Only the things that elicit happy memories.  An embodiment of who I am, not who I was.  Focusing more on quality than quantity, and only keeping enough.  Being happy with less, realizing that having more actually makes me feel more stressed and anxious.

So I've been de-cluttering.  Many things make it to the local charity thrift shop.  Many things get tossed.  Some things were sold.  Many vital but currently unused items are being systematically stored.

I've found the process to be similar to a fever.  I have to contemplate a specific area, recently the coat closet.  I peek in it, assess the belongings, and ruminate.  I methodically examine each item in my mind, asking the pertinent questions:  Is this vital?  Is it beautiful?  Does it evoke happiness?  Do I already have one?  The internal agitation grows, roiling energy and anticipation through me until the fever breaks.  Instead of shivering and sweating I'm purging and organizing.  Ruthlessly.  I immediately take the trash out to the bin or recycling, the donate-able goods out to our bike trailer to drop off, and the items for deep storage into the garage.  Then I stand back and soak in the loveliness.  Space.  Breathing room.  Positive energy only.  I'm well again.  Until I find another spot that's ready for cleansing, and then I start all over.

I've done well.  And I'll be posting more about it in the future.  But for now I will tell you of my simple but astounding success.  And, again, those that know me best will understand why I consider this amazing.

With the help of BuggaBoo and Doozer we have cleaned BuggaBoo's room every night for a month.  A month.  It helped that we have partially gone through what we store in his room, throwing out or moving what doesn't belong and giving homes to the things that do.  I have been calmer knowing we will wake up to a cleaner space.  BuggaBoo and Doozer are happier knowing they'll have a place to play or escape as they need.  And I'm finding as these nightly cleanings become ritual I'm able to progress to other parts of the household.  It is too soon to proclaim it a habit yet, but the sink has been empty of dishes two nights in a row.  And those who really know me know how much I hate dishes.

The most amazing part to me was what ignited the transformation.  For years I've felt guilty for being a poor housekeeper.  I thought I was lazy, too distracted, not motherly enough.  I had felt judged and found wanting.  I had never grown up from my young self sleeping with my hoard.

It took me getting away from that to change.  The guilt didn't make me keep my house clean, it made me feel like a horrible person.  It was reenforcing my worthlessness.  It reminded me that I was lacking, not complete, not a person.  I had to realize that I am complete, exactly how I am today.  How clean my home is will not be a reflection on my worth.  My achievements are not me.  I am already whole. 

At the same time, for me to be able to let go of the object weighing me down, I have to give myself permission.  Permission to throw away useless things.  Permission to pass on useful things to others.  Permission to have faith in the availability of things.  Permission to forget.  Permission to give up potential.  Permission to appreciate people as they are now, not as they were.  Permission to enjoy moments instead of cataloging them.  Permission to grow and change.

Giving up my hoard is allowing me to change, to become a different person, because it will not anchor me in the past anymore.  Instead, I will fly.

Insights During and After My Latest Therapy Session

Yay for insights that make sense!

I've been to seven or eight sessions of therapy so far. We're still laying down groundwork because I'm still trying to share everything that makes me tick and tic. I'm a pretty complicated person.

So let's visit my first insight, the one I gained during my session. My previous session The Hubby was with me and we were talking about my internet "problem". No, not that, unless what you're thinking about is spending too much time on the computer, and then you're right on the money. I am on the internet Way Too Much. The last two weeks or so I finally figured out that a big reason why I visit InternetLand so much is because it's one way I sooth my anxiety. But during my session I discovered a deeper, if slightly more pathetic, reason why I'm here all the time.To sufficiently understand what I'm about to reveal I need to give a lengthy explanation.

I'm a weird person. I've never felt like I've really fit in anywhere. My personal opinions vary widely from liberal to conservative. But I can't hang out with liberals because I'm conservative on key points, and I can't jive with conservatives because I'm freakishly liberal on others. I'm not moderate because I'm not super lukewarm about anything.

The best way I found how to explain it to my therapist was through outward expression of myself: fashion. One day I'll want to dress completely punk with ripped fishnets and black nail polish, the next I might want to be ultra conservative with a pencil skirt, and blouse, and cardigan. Yet later in the week I might be decked out in my beloved country-western garb complete with heavy turquoise jewelry. I'm sure many people I associate with choose one of those personalities as my main identity and believe the others are costumes I wear to amuse myself. The truth is they are all aspects of me, they are all my true self. But if you focus on just one of them then you'll miss out on most of me.

We then talked about my love for the, um, "out there" stuff. I love crazy hair colors. I think tattoos and body piercings are pretty cool. I can find beauty in all types, I am not wedded to one standard. I told her that I really fit in with the Portland scene and she agrees. But we talked about how I've had to repress a lot of that because it doesn't fit in with my main culture, Mormonism.

Basically I fear making friends because I have been burned often for who I am. I have had some people be very cruel to me, especially women who belong to my religion. I have very few friends I am mostly honest with, perhaps five. Out of the five people that I'm pretty-sure-I-can-trust-but-not-100%-sure-because-they-don't-know-100%-of-me only three live nearby. And I have one person who is not family that knows all of me and accepts me and that is The Hubby.

So this really does all tie into why I'm on the internet all the time. I belong to a lot of different groups online. Some are about natural living, some are about attachment parenting, some have political affiliations, and some are religious based. Not one of them fulfills me entirely. But together, that's a different story. All together these different forums and communities feed every aspect of me. And they are all found on The Internet. And the exact thing I told my therapist was, "I am friends with The Internet. That is so lame."

So, there it is. I'm so socially awkward in real life I turn towards a non-human entity because, A) I don't have many friends in real life because people don't want to be my friend and B) I'm afraid to reach out to real people anymore because I've been hurt so much.

So, if that wasn't enough realization for one day (And it wasn't the only insight I had during that session, just the biggest. Really, therapy is exhausting.) I had another on the bus going home. And, I'm sorry, it also needs an enormous backstory to make any sense.

Like I mentioned earlier The Hubby attended my session previous to the last. I wanted him there because I was doing to start delving into my aversion to housework. A phrase that kept coming from me was, "I just want to be taken care of." This prompted my therapist to ask me to explain my fantasy life. So I started into it.

It began with me sleeping in and not having to take care of the kids in the morning, not making breakfast, not cleaning because all that would be done for me. I said I would like to spend time with my children on my own terms. I started faltering at this point and said, "Man, this is all so selfish." She countered with, "Of course it is, it's your fantasy. Tell me more." So I continued a bit in the same theme.

My therapist then asked, "Do you want to be treated like a child? Is that what you need?" I vehemently countered, "No, I wanted to be respected, I want to be treated like an adult. I want people to respect my intellect and insights and feel like I have something to offer." So she said, "You want to be a queen?" And I said, "Yes, wait, no! I don't want all that responsibility. Well, I do want to take on responsibilities, but I want to choose when I do." And then I cried a lot because everything I want in life is so contradictory and not anything even logical.

I kept carrying on about how selfish and pathetic it all was. After I calmed down a bit my therapist (okay, saying "my therapist" all the time is super clunky, she's going to be Dr. L now) explained that having me truly discover what my fantasy is will help me discover what my deepest hurt is. Basically I think my fantasy life will fix everything, so we can look at it like a prescription. By using that prescription we can find out what the ailment is. Dr. L asked me to think more about my fantasy and see if that leads me to my wound.

So I thought and thought and thought. One thing that stood out to me was the question, "Do you want to be treated like a child?" and my angry response that I wanted to be respected like an adult. But I couldn't ignore that I wanted to be physically taken care of.

Then my first insight came. I tried to remember when I have ever felt like a child. Not in body but soul and mind. And I can't. I have always thought the way I do now. I may not have had the life experience to make 100% adult decisions as a child, but my thought process and logic have always been adult. This is something I've thought a lot about over the years, and every person I have surveyed about it agrees with me. No one has ever thought like a child. We have all been adults our entire lives.

That's what clicked it for me. I DID want to be treated like a child, but I wanted to be treated like a child that was also a person. I wanted to be treated like a child by a person that understood that children don't think like children but you have to care for and guide them like children. I wanted a parent. But why did I want a parent? And now I know why. This is what I wrote down on my bus ride home:

"Growing up in a home and religion where many of my feelings and experiences were invalidated I am now an adult that does not know how to trust and interpret my feelings and experiences. I don't know if my reactions are justified. I don't know if my perceptions are correct. I don't know if my action are right.

By suppressing most of my emotions my parents neglected to teach me which reactive emotions of mine are valid or excessive.

I am confused most of the time. I fear I overreact. I fear I underreact. I sometimes fear both at the same time. I don't know if people treat me well or poorly because I cannot trust my emotional reactions to their actions.

I feel like I need to seek out a wise person to re-parent me. Someone needs to teach me how to categorize my feelings. I don't know how to do it myself."

Basically I cannot trust my own reality. My parents treated most of my emotions as overreatctions. I know deep down that this is a lie, but I know that there is such a thing as overreaction. I never had the guidance to show me what a real overreaction is. The other side of that coin is because I was told most of my emotions were overreactions I don't know what an appropriate emotional response is.

A lot of my internal monologue goes something like this: "How that person treated makes me angry. Well, I don't know, maybe I should be angry about this. Maybe it's not as bad as I'm making it out to be. But what if it is, I'm really angry! I'm probably right, I should be angry about this. Well, maybe I should be more angry. Maybe outrage is the proper response. I don't know, I don't know. I should just drop it because I don't want to offend that person. But if they really did do something to offend me I should set a boundary with them. What if it's the wrong boundary? I just don't know what to do."

And so here is the kicker for me. Since I do not understand my own emotions I HAVE NO REALITY. There is nothing concrete about me, which probably contributes to my chameleon personality, but maybe it doesn't, but how do I know, but but but I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT MYSELF. If I can't trust my emotions what I can I trust?

Welcome to the life of a victim of gaslighting. Have you heard of it? Well, here are three good essays explaining the gist of it. I had come across the term months ago and knew it applied to me, but not until two days ago did I realize the extent of the damage. Nor did I realize all of those who have knowingly or unknowingly perpetrated it on me. It is a sobering thought. I'm grateful I set my next session next week instead of two weeks away. With this last revelation I think I'm finally ready to get down to business.

If any part of this post has offended you I direct you towards my disclaimer.

Absence Makes My Heart Grow Heavy

I miss blogging. I miss pouring my soul onto the computer screen and having others share my life. I miss journaling my experiences so I can go back and read them and remember. I miss the sense of community that comes from weaving new friends from all over the world. I miss you guys.

I feel like I'm in a hard place. I have so much bubbling in me that wants to spew forth. I want to shout out my triumphs and terrors. But I am so very, very afraid of offending other people. Which sounds a little weird to me, because I'm really not afraid of speaking my mind, speaking the truth. I'm not afraid of hurting others' feelings.

I'm afraid of the repercussion from going down such a road. I fear that if I speak my mind, if I share my truth, and if it hurts someone, they will rain down judgement and guilt and anger on me. They will do everything in their power to bring me back into line to make their life more comfortable, no matter how it makes me feel. I feel those types of people will want me to suffer so they can stay in their happy place.

I do not believe that everyone who has done this to me knows exactly what they are doing. We are creatures that fear pain, and that fear of pain drives us to fix the situation. But sometimes we forget that change, even positive change, can hurt us. When I was a child I would get the worst cramps in my legs from growing. Growing pains are never fun. But I would never trade my physical growth to avoid that horrible physical pain. And so I think that those in my life that hurt me to end their hurt really don't understand what they do.

But even if they may not consciously realize they are trying to dominate my actions doesn't change the fact that they are doing just that.

I do not live in a fantasy world populated by cupcakes and unicorns. I don't expect everyone to agree with my world view. I don't expect others to never be offended by what I say. I don't expect people to not get angry if what I say angers them. I don't expect to be unchallenged in what I believe. I don't expect to not be called out if I'm being a bitch.

However, I want to say things that may expose a person's wrongdoings, or the wrongdoings of someone they fear. I may speak up for something in my life that has no bearing on another's life except to offend them. I will want to vent, to blow off some of my anxiety and work out my problems on "paper". I would like to be respected in these endeavors. I would like to be treated as someone who is working through major depression and anxiety. I would like to be handled with care. I want to be valued by who I am, not by my accomplishments or lack thereof. I want those that claim to love me to treat me with love.

Sometimes loving someone is not easy. Sometimes you have to hurt a person you love in order to help them grow. In love there is such thing as tact, but there is no such thing as never having conflict. People change, people grow, people rise, people fall. Those that love them see where they are coming from and help them on their journey.

Help me on my journey. Before you judge my future postings please try to see where I am coming from. If I bring you up specifically, please examine your own intents and actions before critiquing mine. When you disagree with or challenge me do so with love, not with the intent to lessen your own pain just because it hurts.

Please, do not smother me anymore. I can't take the silence, it makes my thoughts too loud. They scream at me. I have to let them out before forget who I am.

Thank You and an Update

Wow, thank you everyone for the love, it's just amazing. I'm even feeling it in The Real World; I had some friends/leaders from my church stop by tonight to bring me dinner and as much help as I could want. We're setting up playdates and meals and other such things. It was hard for me because I was embarrassed to be telling Real Live People about my depression and anxiety. I couldn't look them in the face. If you're reading this, Real Live People, I'm sorry. You deserved for me to be more engaged, but I just couldn't do it. Thank you for dinner, it was delicious.

Wednesday I had a session with a therapist from LDS Family Services. I was having mixed feelings about meeting with a Church sponsored therapist. On one hand it's nice to know that I don't have to explain my rather confusing religion to a doctor who may not know about it. Having grown up in the LDS Church has shaped my life immensely. There is really no culture like LDS culture! However, I was worried that I was going to get a religion-happy therapist that would boil my troubles down into Pray! Read your scriptures! Attend church meetings! Be faithful! Those are not the sort of answers I need right now. I was apprehensive (to say the least) about this initial interview.

My therapist is a splendid lady! And so professional, it was delightful. She had me fill out a questionnaire about my symptoms. There were some questions on the form about drug use, I replaced that with eating and junk food, since I have been soothing myself with food. The scoring scale is from 0-180. My total score was 136. A score over 63 is said to have "clinical significance." The doctor said that was the highest score she's ever seen, and she's been counseling for 15 years. I laughed when she told me that because I was relieved to know that a professional thought I was as crazy as I thought I was.

We quickly skimmed over my history to get a feel for what might be causing my funk. It is a many layered problem involving my childhood, past relationships, church indoctrination, personal expectations, extreme stress, and chemical imbalances. When the topic of religion came up my therapist was, hmm, I guess the best word is "aloof". She didn't start talking to me in a church member-to-church member way. It was very professional. I was very relieved.

Talking about my personal expectations was hard for me. It's was hard to admit that I don't necessarily find staying at home with the children to be rainbows and unicorn farts. It's hard to admit that I have dreams I want to actively pursue but feel from heavy outside and inside pressure to give them up because it's incompatible with being a 100% stay-at-home-mom. It's hard for me to say that the stress of dealing with kids is wearing for me, that I would be a happier person being a part-time-mom rather than full-time. Because a mother's place is in the home. And daycare is evil. And if I'm not with my kids all the time then how am I even a parent? And have I no faith?

Of course working through my childhood is going to be a massive undertaking. I'm looking forward to it but I know I'm going to be drained while dealing with it. There's just so much.

We discussed my postpartum depression that started with BuggaBoo and never really let up. She seemed surprised that I was never medicated, and looking back at how bad things were I'm shocked, too. What really hurts is there was many people, some medical professionals, that recognized my symptoms but didn't help me understand that what I was experiencing wasn't normal. My PPD coupled with untreated depression during my teenage years added to my father's (and possibly mother's) history of depression and mental disturbances makes for a strong case for organic causes. Not to say that it's 100% chemical, but that's a large aspect of it.

We did talk about medication. The doctor feels at this time it might be best to have a few sessions under my belt and see how that helps with my anxiety levels. I am open to taking something if I need it, which is a huge step for me considering how naturally minded I am when it comes to medication.

So, overall things were really great. We decided on weekly appointments because I am in crisis mode right now. It's going to help so much to know that every week I'm going to have time to myself to recharge and be able to work through things. Our car died a while ago so I'll have to take public transportation. At minimum it's a 90 minute trip there. So I'll have at least four hours to myself to just think or read or sketch or write or whatever. And there will be no guilt associated with it because it's something I have to do, so yay!

Again, thank you for your concern, it's heart warming. It's still surprising to me how many lives I've touched and blessed, and seeing how your all bless my life is an affirmation to me that we all need each other. Thank you, thank you, thank you, and God bless.

The Thief in My Life

I have a thief that has come into my life.

This thief has stolen my marriage. I no longer have a partnership between equals, two adults striving to lift each other up. Ours is now a relationship of invalid and caretaker, child and guardian. There can be no true companionship between such as these.

This thief has stolen my children. Once my kids were people to marvel in, now they are things to be endured. They are inconveniences that loom before me. I am empty so they are never filled, and they devour me from morning until night.

This thief has stolen my motherhood. Instead of sharing light and love and patience I am made of rage and nerves and apathy. I cannot nurture and calm, I want to belittle and harm. A mother like me should be a mother to none.

This thief has stolen my enjoyment. I have not sewn in months, nor do I want to. I cannot bring myself to cook, we purchase "food" from fast food chains nearly everyday and consider ourselves lucky to be fed. I buy ingredients with intention to prepare dishes with love; instead they rot in my fridge like the whitewashed sepulchre. My garden is composting before my eyes and it barely stirs grief inside me. I start projects to abandon them at whim. I just do not care anymore.

This thief has stolen my delight in food. I eat to forget, to shun responsibility, to have an excuse to sit. I eat to feed my sadness, to quiet the pain, to tell the kids, "I'm busy." I used to eat for flavor and fun and family, but now I eat in shame and excess and loneliness. I am never filled.

This thief has stolen my innocence. Guilt is my daily companion. No matter the choice, no matter my path, I am buried in guilt. Every decision in wrong, blame is all I know. I embrace it, I lie with it, guilt is my abusive lover.

This thief has stolen my sleep. When I wake in the morning I long for my bed. The memory of comfort blankets all my thoughts. I want to sleep, to know nothing. I want to sleep, until it is time for such a thing, and then I cannot. I am compelled to stay awake, to feel edgy and driven, until I am forced to my bed in the early hours of the day. I need too much sleep and none at all.

There is a thief in my life.

It is depression.

I have been robbed.

The Cost of Pride

It's general knowledge to those that know me best that my father was not a nice man while raising us. You can read a bit about it here and here.

In the first post I said:

I'm going to pause in my story to make sure to everyone reading this that my dad is NOT like this anymore. He has learned to control his temper and let his funny, sweet, amazing side out. I really enjoy being around him now and feel comfortable when my children are alone with him. He has grown so much.

Well, it's not exactly like this. I have come the believe that it has been easier for my dad to control his temper because we grew up and are adults. See, my dad cannot STAND crying, whining, or tantrums. So he basically cannot handle children. He feels that all children should be able to stop those annoying tendencies on command. He feels that crying and tantrums are counter-productive and therefore should never take place, ever. Well, maybe at a funeral you can cry.

Okay, maybe I'm being a bit unfair, but I'm rather upset right now. He is more in control of himself than he has been, but he loses that control around little children. He loses his self-control because he has to be in control.

My dad has been increasingly meaner to BuggaBoo over time. He never takes situations into account, such as missed naps or hunger. He claims to understand why pressing circumstances can make it more difficult for a child to control himself, but my dad doesn't care about that, they should still comply. He also seems to take a perverse pleasure with maliciously hurting BuggaBoo's emotions during discipline. My father feels like he doesn't need to explain his actions to children, they should just comply, and comply quickly.

I should know all of this, this is how I was raised. I just wish that he was different now.

I am different than my dad, and The Hubby is certainly different than my dad or I wouldn't have married him. We listen to our children. We allow shows of emotion, especially sadness and anger. We do not spank, as we do not see a difference between hitting a person on their bottom or hitting them anywhere else on their body. We do not use fear to manipulate the behavior of our children. We explain, when possible, our reasons for doing things. We see our children as people deserving respect, no matter their age.

At the same time we do expect certain behavior from our children, and we try to respect societal rules while still respecting our children. If they are throwing a tantrum in public we will try for a few minutes to calm them down before removing them. We teach them patience and politeness. They know they can not always get their way. They know that tantrums don't get them what they want. Well, BuggaBoo knows all of this, Doozer is a bit young. But BuggaBoo can trust us to take his feelings and needs into account when a decision is being made. He know that we can't always comply with his needs, but for the most part we can come to a solution that does.

We do not agree with my father's discipline tactics. He uses shame and fear. He tells BuggaBoo not to cry and gets mad when BuggaBoo doesn't stop right away. He sets up artificial situations to create a discipline problem, such as offering BuggaBoo dairy ice cream when he knows we don't eat it, and then saying, "Too bad, you can't have it. Now stop crying." He threatens to spank BuggaBoo, even after we have asked him not to, and I cannot be completely sure that he hasn't spanked him when they have been alone together.

I have tried to bring these issues up in the moment, but my dad hasn't changed his behavior. He sets his jaw and says, "Well, this is how I do things."

Right after my last visit to my family The Hubby and I decided that we needed to sit down with my father during a calm time and bring this up with him. We were able to gather up enough courage to carry this out the day after Christmas. The Hubby led the talk to show that we are a united front (earlier conversations seemed to be daughter versus father) and we set down our rules:

• My dad is allowed to make the rules in his home but we as the parents need to define the punishment.
• My dad needs to understand that we parent differently, and needs to respect us.
• My dad needs to realize that children are people just learning self-control and respect them and that learning process.
• My dad needs to let us parent when we are there, and not go over our heads to discipline our children like he often does.
  
• My dad needs to be nicer overall.

We made it clear that if he could not do these things he would not see his grandchildren. Without reliving the entire conversation this is what we believe about my father's feelings:

• He feels children should comply at the drop of a hat to any command given by any adult, especially when they are being "annoying".
• He feels that we are too soft as parents, and "can't understand how someone could grow up on a farm and parent the way [we] do."
• He feels that children can get into a dangerous situation at anytime, so they must be trained in such a way that every encounter is a danger. Meaning, since a child can run into a road and they need to stop when we say, every time we say stop they need to stop, regardless of the actual danger involved.
• He feels his home, his rules, and if our ways of parenting do not result in instant compliance, then his punishments.
• He does not believe in compromise.

Also during the conversation I needed to beg him to stop throwing hay to the sheep and listen to me, and he nearly refused to stop feeding the animals to listen. He would have slapped one of us as a child for that kind of behavior. When he finally did stop to listen, as soon as he felt he heard enough he started feeding the sheep again. I told him I was not going to let him hurt my kids the way he hurt me. When we were done saying our piece he reiterated "his house, his rules" and said, "Well, if that's how you feel about it, that's that." And I said, "I guess so." Then I started bawling, we stood there a while with The Hubby holding me, then walked back to my parents' house.

We stayed a bit longer to longer to gather up stuff and let BuggaBoo play with his cousin. Dad came in, didn't say a word to me or The Hubby or anybody else. He only said three things while we were there, once to get on my niece's case for crying, once to point out how my niece was not playing with the toy BuggaBoo took from her, and once to refer to my son as a "dead carcass".

Today my dad showed up on my doorstep. I expected him since my sister told me he was going to be in Portland for his post-sinus surgery appointment, but he didn't call me. He always calls before dropping in. I almost didn't let him in, but I thought if he was here to apologize I better give him the chance.

He wasn't. He said we didn't give him a chance to speak his side, then proceeded to tell me how I was in the wrong, that basically he feels as though we cannot control our kids, and if I come to his house I need to follow his rules. There was a lot said, but I was able to keep my cool.

So, as of right now, because my father loves his pride so much, he is not seeing my children. I love him, but I love my babies more. I will accept him back into my life when he can follow the guidelines we've set.

I hope it's soon. I want my children to know my father. He could be an amazing grandpa if he let himself.

Bumpy Road Ahead

So my brain is feeling a little fried. I'm still having emotional upheaval in my life, but it's becoming more complicated. I'm realizing many things about myself and my family dynamics and I've come to the conclusion that I need to work through my childhood before progressing positively with my life. And, ugh, how cliche is that?

After The Hubby and I got married we took nightly walks down by the river while I ranted, yelled, and cried about my childhood. When The Hubby joined my family they dynamics had settled down quite a bit, so I was opening that filthy chasm into my past so he could understand me. Together I healed enough to have a pretty amazing marriage. I thought that chapter of my life was closed, that I was "over it."

Kids enter stage right. Now I know that my past hurts have not been resolved, that things still aren't optimal between The Hubby and I, and that I am so child-like from my wounds I am not fully able to parent my children. If it had just been us two adults I think everything would have been okay except for the occasional meltdown. Well, that's not exactly true. I've been reading a lot (which is what I do when confronted with a problem) and I now know that though I love The Hubby like a spouse and lover, I was/am expecting him to fill me with the parental love I didn't get. And to quote my older sister, "Who really wants their husband to love them like a parent? I mean, when you're actually being logical?" I don't.

In case you're interested, here's my reading list, plus my thoughts on the books.

Bad Childhood---Good Life: How to Blossom and Thrive in Spite of an Unhappy Childhood, by Dr. Laura Schlessinger

Okay, I know not everyone loves Dr. Laura (I hate some of her advice), but this book was pretty amazing for me. It was hard to read, it was hard to put down. I remember reading it a few years ago and thinking, "Eh, I'm over all this so this isn't for me." Now I want to read it again and take notes. I had some pretty big revelations through reading this book, but I think they deserve a post of their own.

The No-Cry Discipline Solution: Gentle Ways to Encourage Good Behavior Without Whining, Tantrums, and Tears, by Elizabeth Pantley

This little treasure helped to reaffirm my parenting ideals while giving me practical tools to carry out said ideals. It also gave me the confidence to realize that my son is not a brat, no matter how much certain family members may think so. Basically this book reiterates for me that my goal in parenting is not to have a perfectly behaving child, it's to help form a fully functioning, independent adult. An adult who can make their own decisions in life, not just what I tell them to do. It also has a section on what to do about parental anger. Hint: anger happens, it's how you deal with it, and everyone makes mistakes.

Giving the Love That Heals, By Harville Hendrix, Ph.D, and Helen Hunt, Ph.D

We're getting books that's I've started, haven't finished, but like what I read so far. This one contains informaiton on how giving approprate love to your children can help heal your childhood wounds. I want to read the companion book, "Getting the Love You Want".

Will I Ever Be Good Enough?: Healing the Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers, by Karyl McBride, Ph.D

This is a good book so far, I think it would help my mom out more in dealing with the relationship with her mom. I'm only halfway through, so I can't give a complete review on it, but I'll finish reading it, so it can't be horrible.

------------------------

So there we go, that's what's on my bookshelf. Have any of you read any good book on dealing with your childhood? Care to share?

Why I Blog: The Second Introduction

First, a retraction: In my last post I brought up the fact that when I visit my family I have the tendency to slip into old behaviors that I don't like. While that is true I shouldn't have left out that being with my family is also a positive experience, not all negative. I love being with my family and there is so much good that goes on. There is a lot of growth I see in everyone, there are new and old babies to love, a huge farm to run around on, and family that loves me. I just happened to be focusing on the not-so-pleasant at the time.

On another note I hear an imagined chorus whilst typing such posts. What is this chorus saying? "Okay, Krista, get with the happy-making. Enough with this doom and gloom stuff, this isn't why I came here, I visit this blog to read cutesy updates of the kiddos. Or tutorials. Or there better be at least pictures." If you're coming here for that kind of stuff you'll need to glean it. I actually started the blog to document my life and the changes I'm making. The Hubby and kids happen to feature prominently in that life, so they will make steady appearances. But the bulk will be personal revelations and doings, often in a navel gazing manner.

See, I approach my blogging as an open journal. Maybe I should be keeping a private journal, but something about reaching an audience is so tantalizing that it keeps me writing whereas a traditional journal would not. Having this audience also makes me aware of my writing process. I need to be absolutely clear about my meaning so others can understand me. By being so clear for someone else I help to sort my thoughts for myself. Many times I've come to epiphanies through explaining my thoughts.

These personal thoughts of mine help me, but I hope that they help others. This is the second reason why I blog, and do so with boldness. One motive for keeping a journal is to help others in their journey. Well, with the danger of sounding prideful, I would like to help others now. And many of my friends, both in the blogging world and in real life, have expressed gratitude for sharing my struggles and triumphs.

I may not speak kindly or positively about those in my life. When I first set up this blog I wrestled with the decision to share it with my intimate friends and family for fear of hurting their feelings. I especially worried about my mother and father reading since so much of my growing has to do with overcoming childhood pain. In the end I decided to include everyone. I know that even though I will try to be tactful others' feelings may become hurt. However, I believe that most times hurt is necessary for growth, for both parties involved. I believe that true understanding can help. I do not claim to always take the higher moral ground, as I will have times of passive-aggressive moments where I will bring up personal hurts here instead of with the responsible party. I'm trying to do better. Sometimes the issue has already been brought up but I'm still sorting it out in my life. So I will journal it.

I hope that all of you reading up on me will appreciate my postings. I feel honored that so many want to know what goes on in my life, the good and bad. I am grateful for the outpouring of support shown to me and the sharing of personal stories. I'm excited to get to know you all better, whether you've been in my life this short while or with me my entire life.

So buckle up, this ride is gonna be ca-razy.

I'm in a dark mood so this will be a dark, if ironically an enlightening, post.

I spent the last week at my family's place. I went to help my li'l sister out with her new baby because her hubby was leaving to Denver for some job training.

Visiting my family is hard. I love them so much and when I'm living in my own world I enhance the good things I miss. When I'm with my family then I'm also confronted with all the hard, and I regress to what I've been trying to leave behind in myself.

This time was especially hard because I hadn't balanced myself from the three-week stay in July when I went up for my brother's graduation. Because of reverting back to my former self I've been raging against my little family and myself, but BuggaBoo is getting the brunt of it for the sin of being a willful toddler. He has taken to tracking my moods, asking me dozens of times a day if I'm happy, and if I answer otherwise he starts crying.

So today The Hubby took the children out for a long walk and I tackled the kitchen, listening to music cranked way up (sorry, neighbors). Today must be "ballads about horrible relationships" day on Pandora, and that got me thinking about my parents and their marriage and how we were affected. Two songs in particular really hit me hard, "Love the Way You Lie" by Eminem and Rihanna, and "Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga. And, please trust me, they may be rap and pop songs and the Lady Gaga song may be mostly frippery, but they at least started the thoughts rolling around in my head.

My parents don't have a very good marriage. It's the elephant in the room we're not supposed to point out. So while doing the dishes I was ruminating on how my siblings and I have a hard time in our marriages and sometimes with our kids. We want to have different experiences in our family but we don't know how because the omnipresent example was how our parents interacted with each other an us. We know what we want to be but we don't know how to get there.

And then I realized that my parents' relationship has nothing to do with us. Let me say that again, with caps: IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH US KIDS. My parents' marriage was about them, their individual relationships with us had to do with us. If we had never been born or had been different people it would have been the same between them. We never had the power to control their emotions, actions, or reactions. No matter how good or bad we were they CHOSE to have the marriage they have.

I am not laying blame at the feet of my father and mother. Just in the way that I can not control their actions they cannot control mine. And also, just in the way that I do not know how to act because of their example they do not know how because they never had a good example, either. My father never learned how to show any emotions except for happiness or anger. Even the anger he could not show as a child, but learned that the fear of anger can make a child comply, that the strong (his father) use that technique, and so that how he handles us. My mother did not learn how to react to a frontal attack because her parents did not act that way, her mother uses guilt to mold her children. And so my mother will use guilt with us. And this is how they treat each other.

So, what do I do? I am breaking the spirit of my son because I don't have myself under control. I feel the rage creeping up wanting to take over, wanting me to hurt my child. I abuse him emotionally but stopping short of physically doing so, but just barely. What is it about this small, beautiful child that makes me so angry? That makes me want to harm him?

Honestly, there is nothing about HIM that MAKES me do anything. Just as I do not have control over my parents he does not have control over me. I am trying to excuse myself by saying it is his fault. It isn't. It isn't my parents' fault. It is mine. As my brother said this last week I am an adult now, what happened as a child is done.

So, I am writing this out for me, to be able to look back and remember that I said this: I am owning my problem. This is about me, I need to find a way to fix it. I don't know how yet, but I know why and when. Why, because I love my babies and The Hubby and I don't want to hurt them. And the when is now. This starts now.

So, Mom, I know you're reading this. Stop feeling guilty. No, you're not perfect. Neither is Dad. But Dad and you didn't do this to me. I am doing this to myself, but no longer.

Twilight: The Nursing Years

So it's official, I live with two vampires of the milky variety. Between the two of my chilluns I've been sucked dry, mostly of my emotional sanity. Don't worry about my milk supply, I honestly think I could support triplets.

Doozer is teething/growth-spurting/mastering the new skill of pulling herself up. This leads to nursing and holding marathons. She usually sleeps long stretches at night, but because of the aforementioned reasons she is staying latched on nearly the whole night with a 1-2 hour break in the early morning.

BuggaBoo is driving me crazy with the nursing. I'm torn about this, because when I dig down deeply I know that I love our nursing relationship, but his lack of patience is wearing me thin, thin, thin. He had been eating a lot of solids a few days ago, horking down as much food as we, the parents, do, but now he is back to mostly nursing. I'm afraid to cut him off, however, because his vomiting episodes usually follow a nursing marathon.

To show you how stressed I am, here this is: Although I am a strong believer in child-led weaning I have thought about weaning BuggaBoo completely. But it's not time, his nursing need hasn't been fulfilled yet. Nursing is the most important thing to him, he'll will choose it over almost anything. He will choose it over cookies, ice cream, and frosting, which are his favorite desserts.

As more evidence I'm going to relate our night-weaning experience. When I was 3 months pregnant with Doozer BuggaBoo was about 20 months old. He was still nursing every hour or two at night and staying latched for 15-45 minutes at a time. I was exhausted from growing a new baby and decided to night-wean the boy. Our agreement was he could nurse to sleep and nurse in the morning (loosely, after 6am) but that was it. Well, it was a month of screaming and crying and holding my breasts and touching a mole on my chest (he always touches it while we nurse) and going crazy. But after the month he was night-weaned and would ask to nurse at night about once a week, which I declined.

So by the time Doozer was born he had been night-weaned for six months. He still sleeps with us on a twin bed next to our queen. Well, it started when she was born and still continues to this day: BuggaBoo hears Doozer nursing and asks to nurse. He cries when I say no. Still. It's not every night, but it's often enough to be annoying.

So, to sum up the whole story, even if I were to wean BuggaBoo right now it would be absolute hell for the both of us because I'm still nursing Doozer and he would feel (rightfully) hurt every time he saw her nurse.

So we plug along. I don't do much in the way of housework. I'm feeling pressure from some about that because doncha know that a clean house is the good mark of a mother? I feel all touched out by the end of the day, and being touched by anyone else *coughTheHubbycough* gives me the skeevies. Oh, heck, even the kids touching me gives me the all-overs. I usually can't take a bath without one or the other in there with me, nursing away and splashing water all over the book I happen to be reading at the time (I try not to take library books in with me).

But the worst part of it all is I often feel like I've cheated BuggaBoo, that we had Doozer too soon for his needs. If it was just him then we could nurse whenever, without having to share or wait or scream. Nursing wouldn't be a battle of the wills, it would be me and my baby. Sometimes I feel Doozer could have waited.

Which then makes me feel guilty, because I LOVE this little girl, and I'm so happy she's here so then I think if BuggaBoo wasn't around so much then I could just have a relationship with her, and she's being shafted because BuggaBoo can't leave me alone.

We mothers are great about bringing on the guilt trips.

Lonely

Sorry for the lack of substantial posts around here, my life imploded. Here's the laundry list, 'cause I want to get it all out with as least typing as possible:

1) Our car died, something with the front differential and the axle. A good friend of ours that owns a used car dealership is helping is fix it for extremely cheap but getting parts has been troublesome. We would like to buy all used since we drive a 1992 Toyota Camry and it's not worth it to put in new parts but one of the parts we need is NEVER sold used because you need new gaskets to rebuild it and the manufacturer doesn't supply gasket kits. Awesome.

2) Our cats brought home fleas. My entire house is flea infested now, and all four of us humans are getting bitten constantly. I don't want to use chemical means to get rid of them because Doozer is constantly on the carpet or trying to eat the cat. We've been brushing out Pistachio (the kitty that comes home, I haven't seen Bella in days [it's the summer, she goes feral {how many parenthesis can I put in here}]) a few times a day and drowning the fleas in soap water. We've also been trying to vacuum several times a days but that brings me to point number...

3) My house is a disaster. Why? Let's look at points four and five...

4) BuggaBoo is growing or something and is in need of major Mommy time. And...

5) So is Doozer. She's learning to crawl (almost there!) and teething and getting sick again and starting separation anxiety. So either my arms are full of baby or she's crying on the floor or we're sleeping together in bed. She's also only napping for about five minute stretches (oh, how I wish I was making that up) so she's also really sleep deprived.

6) The Hubby is still having to work mandatory overtime. So that on top of already having to work nights isn't fun.

7) I deleted my Facebook account. Which has been a pretty positive move, but has an unintended side affect.

I'm lonely.

And it's more than just the deletion of my account that is causing my loneliness. I mean, I hardly have a present or conscious spouse around. My car is dead, which makes getting places difficult. Going on walks is always possible but it's so hard to get out of the house. I don't like making phone calls because BuggaBoo can be playing by himself so nicely but as soon as I pick up the receiver *WHAM!* he attacks me, starved for attention. If I don't get off the phone quickly he then spirals downward into malicious behaviors to force my attention.

And I have a few friends from the past that I'm pretty sure aren't friends with me anymore but don't have the courtesy to tell me so, which is a major bummer. I have made new friends, so that's good and wonderful, but it's not a straight conversion process. Seriously, one new friendship doesn't make up for one dissolved one.

I'm trying to figure out where things fell apart, and I'm feeling anxious about it. I think it's my fault because it's after I share what I deem to be needed information that the other person clams up. I know that last sentence looks really rude on the surface, so let me defend myself a bit. I feel strongly about many things in life, but the big ones in my life right now are attachment parenting, breastfeeding, natural and midwife-attended childbirth, male and female genital integrity, co-sleeping, vegetarianism and veganism, delayed or non-vaccination, and homeschooling. I know that looks like an overwhelming list, but most of them are covered under birth and parenting practices.

I totally understand that all of the above are touchy subjects. Most were touchy with me when they were first brought to my attention. I actually became "converted" to attachment parenting trying to disprove it. We were going to circumcise our sons for many reasons until we researched it in depth. We were going to practice cry-it-out with our babies until we read about how it can be damaging.

I know that situations vary for different families. I get it. I'm not living in some rose-colored hole in the ground. I also know that I might be the determining factor in some of my friend's eating and parenting decisions. I don't think I'm being overly aggressive about my point of view. For instance, a friend was having a conversation about vaccinations and the LDS Church's stance on them. She said it was not open for discussion, but then the comments were starting to be condescending towards those who choose not to vaccinate. Here is my reply:

I understand and respect all of your opinions, but please don't think that people who don't vaccinate are somehow stupid or ill-informed.

As for polio when the government started vaccinating for it the vaccine was a live-virus vaccine. All the cases of polio after that were contracted from the vaccination. Now that they are using a dead-virus vaccination it's not 100% effective, so the child that does contract polio may well have been vaccinated for it.

*sigh* I'm not trying to debate, please believe me. I want to bring up different point of views. I truly understand the Church's stance on this matter. I also understand that the Church knows that individual circumstances vary (think about working mothers). For my family we are following a delayed, limited vaccine routine due to the correlation of vaccinations and Type I diabetes. Our pediatrician agrees.

Yes, I'm fishing for responses like, "Oh, that was perfectly tactful," or, "Thought provoking, not aggressive!" But I also want to know if I stepped out of my bounds. See, this friend has not replied back to this or any of the several comments I have left her on her baby blog. Not one. I'm sure that I've lost this friend, someone who called me twin in college because we were so alike. And because we disagree?

Oh, look at this, I'm turning this into a real whine-fest, aren't I? Sorry, my blog, my open journal, I'm going to whine if I wanna.

I'm just curious when it happened that we became such a polite society that it because the preferable option to stop talking to someone rather than tell them you don't agree with their point of view. I know this is possible, I have this relationship with my sister-in-law. We have a lot in common (of course, my brother married her) but there are things we disagree on, notably vaccinations aned co-sleeping. And that's okay! We still talk. Heck, we even talk about those points on which we differ and still have friendly, horizon-expanding conversations.

Okay, this is getting really rambly and I don't know how to end it, so here I try. I'm lonely, that sucks. Talk to your friends, because if you don't that sucks. And having fleas in your home sucks.

Speaking Up

I live in a pretty quiet neighborhood. We have some gang activity, usually just tagging and some light scuffles. Overall, however, I feel very safe where I live and have no qualms walking around by myself.

Yesterday was not so quiet. My neighbors were having a horrible fight. Their family consists of a mother, father, and beautiful two-year-old girl. The parents are about my age.

The mother was yelling over and over, "Why are you doing this to us?! Why are you DOING this to us?!" I instinctively froze and started eavesdropping, and so many memories and emotions started flooding through my body.

See, when I was younger my father was rather abusive, emotional more than physical. I remember the fear and anger and the wanting someone, ANYONE, to come rescue us. It's not like we were being timid about it. A few dear friends did come to our aid and would help diffuse the situation.

But usually not.

Usually my father would get into a dark mood and proceed to batter us down through words and actions. When we did make a stand it often ended with one of us physically hurt.

I'm going to pause in my story to make sure to everyone reading this that my dad is NOT like this anymore. He has learned to control his temper and let his funny, sweet, amazing side out. I really enjoy being around him now and feel comfortable when my children are alone with him. He has grown so much.

So I stood in our apartment parking lot, listening for a thump or slap or scream. And it seemed the universe was conspiring against me. Whenever I started to understand what was happening a noise would happen. Emergency sirens, dogs barking, BuggaBoo running up to me and asking to play. The most annoying was my other neighbor who was running his table saw in the front yard.

I eventually went over to him and asked him to stop for a while because I was afraid this woman or child was going to be hurt. His reply to me was, "Oh, yeah, I heard them fighting." And I feel this is the crux of the problem, how society handles things like this.

See, I feel that embarrassment will keep people from helping more than anything. Yes, there is fear of physical hurt. But I would argue that most people just don't want to get involved because it's embarrassing. What would you say? "Hi, I heard you guys fighting rather vigorously and I was afraid that someone may get hurt or die. Yeah, I know you think it's none of my business, but...*shrug shoulders*" I don't see many people doing this. I know because it hardly ever happened with my family.

I think this whole culture of ignoring others' abuse it deeply ingrained. Think about it. If every abuser knew that a loud, scary confrontation would mean active neighbor interest, don't you think they would think twice about being loud? I guess that would mean that the abuse could be driven to be done in secret, but hang with me for a second. Abusers know they can be loud because nobody will stop to help. They are saved from persecution because of others' embarrassment.

Don't worry, I'm human, I felt these same emotions. I was agonizing about it to The Hubby, trying to figure out what to do. "What if they're just having a loud fight?" I would say. "What if someone gets hurt?" he would respond.

Finally we walked over together and knocked on the door to help.

No one answered.

Luckily I saw my neighbor walking home with her daughter later that evening. I walked right up to her and asked if everything was alright. She said it was going to be, and that sometimes her husband/boyfriend (not sure which) was just mean sometimes. She said her daughter would be okay.

I told her that my dad was abusive growing up and I always wanted someone to stop by, so I wanted her to come to me if she needed to. She said she appreciated that. I offered to take her daughter whenever, and she looked relieved about it. She acknowledged that everyone heard the fight, and I said that was true, but nothing to be embarrassed about. She said, "But it is embarrassing," and I said, "That is true, but I don't judge you."

She seemed honestly happy, if a bit chagrined, at my approach. I'm glad I did it. I never thought that my abusive past might help someone else through their situation. I always thought that my past was meant to make me grow. It has, I have grown a lot, but perhaps this is bigger than me.

Please, if you hear a fight and you have any idea that it might get physical, stop by. Be honest. Yes, it's scary. Yes, be prepared in case you might get hurt. Call the police if you can't do it yourself. But do something, because to do nothing could result in someone being hurt or worse. Believe me, I've been there.

Breastfeeding at Red Robin, aka OMG *Now With Update*

Okay, I'm starting at the beginning, because stories need back stories to make sense.

I am visiting my family in the Tri-City, Washington area. It was my little brother's graduation so I decided now would be a great time to come. The Hubby had to work so he stayed home and pulled in some overtime. On Father's Day The Hubby drove up for a visit, but he left Wednesday morning in order to be home in time for his shift that night. So Tuesday night we embarked to the only Red Robin in the area, situated in Kennewick, for a date.

Of course, it was a three-way date, considering that Doozer is too young to go very long without eating. Red Robin had been one of our favorite date spots, but I hadn't had Red Robin burger in a long time due to the fact their original Boca patties contained cheese. I was very excited for our date since Red Robin has recently started offering Vegan Boca Patties.

We ordered our food and started enjoying a toddler-free evening. Doozer became fussy near the beginning of our date. It was her tired/hungry fuss, which always turns into a full blown scream if not attended to quickly.

I started to nurse her my usual way, by lifting up the hem of my shirt. This time it made me very uncomfortable to do so, because:

1) We were seated at a booth, so in order for Doozer to be in the right position she had to be above the table, and
2) I was wearing a tighter knit shirt.

The combination of the nursing position and shirt design made it so my shirt was pulled way up, exposing most of my midriff and part of my back. That made me feel very undressed, so I opted to instead breastfeed with my breast pulled over my neckline, somewhat like this picture, but I had sleeves on my shirt and my neckline wasn't so low. My shirt, when normally viewed, showed no cleavage. Doozer often had her arm covering the top of my breast, and the way she was position covered even more skin. I did not use a blanket or other cover. I have reasons for this:

1) I feel it's disrespectful for the little person at my breast to cover them up in a hot, stuffy blanket so others, particularly mature adults, can feel more comfortable.
2) I know people will not become accustomed to breastfeeding unless they see it, so I feel I'm doing my part to spread awareness and eventually acceptance.
3) In Doozer's particular case she has had RSV plus two more colds. Her breathing is not always the best and when she nurses I become awfully worried sometimes that she's not getting enough oxygen since her nose is so stuffed up. I'm not going to add to the problem by throwing a blanket over her head or have cloth too close to her nose.

About halfway through our meal, after the waitress had suggested another basket of fries, the manager came up. As soon as I had seen him my heart sank. Here was the conversation:

Manager: I'm very sorry to be bothering you, but do you have a blanket you can use to cover up? We've had a complaint. The is a family restaurant and so it would be nice if you could cover up.

Me: No.

The Hubby: It's my wife's legal right to nurse wherever she wants to.

Manager: I understand that, but this is a family restaurant. I have a shirt in the back.

The Hubby: (dumbfounded look)

Me: No, in that case, we'll just leave.

Manager: I'm really sorry, but this is a family restaurant.

The Hubby: Can we get some boxes for our food?

Manager: Of course. I'm sorry.

He didn't give any alternative to covering up, and his demeanor was such that I felt his next question would be one asking us to leave, hence why I offered to leave. I was so angry and embarrassed I didn't get the manager's name. He brought out boxes, we eventually got our check, and we left. The rest of our date consisted of hanging out in my sister's basement watching "Glee" and complaining.

Wednesday Morning, after The Hubby left for his four-hour-drive home I hopped on my Facebook account and updated my status to this (names have been changed to my blog nicknames):

"Went on a date last night with [The Hubby] to the Kennewick Red Robin. Left after the manager came up to us and asked us if we had a blanket I could use while I was nursing [Doozer]. [The Hubby] said it was our legal right to nurse anywhere we wanted, but I guess the manager didn't get that memo."

Well, the number of comments I received far exceeded my expectations. As of right now it's up to 145 comments. My good friend looked up Washington State's specific law on breastfeeding and found this:

"Breastfeeding mothers are protected under state anti-discrimination law, and can breastfeed their children in public places such as restaurants, pools, theaters,
government buildings, museums, libraries, busses, or parks. No one, including business owners or employees can tell a mother to leave, go to the restroom, or cover the child."

Here is article talking about the civil rights law. The article also discusses other civil rights laws passed in Washington. Here is the law about who cannot be discriminated against in public places. Here is a good question-and-answer about public breastfeeding for establishments and mothers.

After hearing about the law and reading all the comments posted by my friends I realized I needed to follow up with Red Robin. First I contacted the Kennewick Red Robin to get the name of the manager (later it turned out that through an innocent mistake they gave me the wrong name). Then I called their Guest Relations and left a message. They called me back and told me they were going the pass the matter onto their Regional Manager. They also told me my friend had called to tell them telling them how upset she was at how I was treated. There was some confusion since my friend and I have the same last name, they thought she was family.

A few hours later the Regional manager called me. The conversation went like this:

Regional Manager: I am so so sorry this happened to you! Can you tell me what happened?

Me: My husband and I decided to go on a date with our 3.5 month old daughter. We were excited to go to Red Robin because you now have the vegan Boca patties. While we were there I was feeding my daughter without a cover. The manager came over and asked me to cover up and that someone had complained. My husband told him it was my legal right to nurse. The manager said that was right, but could I still cover up, he had a shirt I could use. We said no, we'll just leave, and we did.

RM: I'm so sorry that happened. I know the manager in question and he's going to be so embarrassed. I'm sure he didn't know your rights.

Me: I understand, but my husband told him it was my legal right.

RM: Well, I'm sure that because he had gotten complaints. We will tell him it's the law that you can breastfeed. I'm really sorry this happened. But it's hard because it is a family restaurant. And we can't expect all the managers to know all the laws about breastfeeding.

Me: I understand that, but it's the law.

RM: I know, but there are children that go to Red Robin and it's now summer vacation so a lot of families are going.

Me: I understand your position, some people are uncomfortable seeing breastfeeding in public, but the law says I can do it anywhere, anytime and any way I want to and business owners or employees cannot ask me to move, leave, or cover up.

RM: I know, and we are going to inform the manager about your rights. But if there are three tables that complain, how can we shun those three tables to make one family happy? This is a family restaurant and we need to make it friendly for families.

Me: I understand your position, but it's the law that I can breastfeed uncovered.

RM: Well, we're really sorry about what happened and we want to make it up to you and we want you to come back and have a better experience. We want to send you a gift card.


The rest of the conversation consisted of the manager getting my information to send me a gift card. She also asked me about my friend who called in. She thought we were family somehow. I told her we were good friends who happened to marry men with the same last name. These are the problems I had with this apology:

1) Although I do not doubt the fact she was sorry this happened she still conveyed the feeling that she felt the Kennewick manager was in the right.
2) She did not fully expect her managers to know the local laws.
3) She told me only the single manager was going to be informed, not all of them.
4) She did not assure me that this wouldn't happen in the future. In fact, quite the opposite, I got the feeling that it WOULD happen again if other patrons complained about a breastfeeding mother.

So where I am now is considering a nurse-in at Red Robin. Not a screaming, ranting, sign-waving, every-breast-uncovered nurse-in. Rather I would like it to be a peaceful, thought-provoking experience where mothers come and nurse however they are comfortable whenever their babies need it. I want to show not only Red Robin but their patrons that breastfeeding is normal and not offensive. I want them to see it so they get used to it. Maybe it'll give the Red Robin staff a chance to use their new PR skills.

Thoughts?

Update 06/24/2010: I got a call from Liz at corporate at 10:00am today. It was a very positive phone call! Here's the conversation that took place:

Liz: First off, is now a good time to talk? I know you're a mom and really busy.

Me: Yeah, now is good, my littlest is asleep and the older one is watching TV with his uncle.

Liz: Okay. We are so sorry about what happened the other day. There's a lot of information about what happened and I wanted to hear it from you. Is that okay?

Me: Yes, that's just fine. Tuesday night I went on a date with my husband. We had my daughter with me and she got hungry so I started to feed her. At first I was pulling my shirt up but since we were at a booth it was really awkward and I was really exposed. Being in that position made my shirt be in my armpits. So I decided to bring my breast over my neckline and nurse that way. Then the manager came up to us and said somebody had complained and asked us to cover up. I said no and my husband informed the manager that it was my legal right to nurse wherever I wanted. The manager said he understood that but this was a family restaurant and he had a shirt I could use to cover up. I said we would just leave.

Yesterday I posted about my experience on Facebook and started talking to my friends about it. One of my friends found out the law in Washington is that managers, business owners, or employees cannot ask a woman to leave, stop breastfeeding, or cover up. I knew that my right to breastfeed was protected but I thought that a manager could ask you to leave. Once I learned the full extent of the law I contacted Red Robin's Guest Services about it. I got a call from Guest Services telling me they would have the Regional Director call me.

She did call me, and I'm sorry, but I don't remember her name. She told me she was sorry, and that she was going to talk to the manager who had talked to me, and that they were sending me a gift card. However, she also said that it's not really the job of the managers to learn the laws. She also didn't give me any assurance it wouldn't happen again. She said that the managers are supposed to make the majority happy, so if a lot of people complain about a breastfeeding that the manager would probably talk to the breastfeeding mom about covering up. I feel that's not good enough. So, yeah, that's what's been going on.

Liz: Well, I again wanted to say how sorry I am that this happened. I'm a mom who has breastfed and I know how important it is. Moms who are breastfeeding should be able to feed their babies wherever they need to. The manager was in the wrong and we are going to instigate a company wide training to teach about what to do when customers complain about breastfeeding.

Me: I think that sounds like a great idea, that would be wonderful.

Liz: We have training for our managers already to train them on local laws and such, we contract with an independent third party to do our training. We will be sure to make an emphasis on breastfeeding training. We'll start immediately at the Kennewick Red Robin, but I want to let you know it's going to take a little bit of time to implement it nationwide.

Me: I understand, it's a big company. I'm glad you're implementing this.

Liz: Now, I want to make it very clear that I'm not making excuses, but it's a very sticky situation for our managers to deal with. It's hard to make everyone happy. Do you have any ideas on how to help?

Me: Yes, I do. First of all, there is a website for Washington breastfeeding laws that offers little cards you can print out. Mothers can use them to inform others about their rights and managers can give them to customers who complain to explain the laws. That way your managers can say, "I'm sorry, but it's the law," without the customer getting mad at the restaurant.

Liz: That's a great idea!

Me: They also have fliers you can print up and display in a prominent place of your restaurant informing customers of the law. Also, I know that breastfeeding laws are different everywhere. In Washington mother's rights are protected but in Idaho I know managers can ask you to leave. It would be really nice if Red Robin was a breastfeeding friendly restaurant everywhere, regardless of the laws.

Liz: That would be good. Do you have the website for those cards? That's a great idea.

Me: I don't know it off the top of my head, but I can email it to you. Do you want me to send it to guest relations or do you have a specific address you want me to use?

Liz: You can use guest relations, but here's my email address, it's really easy. [Email address]. If you have any ideas you can send them here, we want to hear them and we want to have an open dialouge.

Me: I can't think of anything else right now, but I'll ask my friends if they have any ideas. I wanted to say that I really appreciate this phone call, thank you for doing all this.

Liz: My pleasure, we just want everyone to be happy.

****

So overall I'm really happy with how Red Robin is handling this now. I don't think I'll organize an official nurse-in but I think it would be a good idea for mothers to go to Red Robin and nurse. Also, let them know how you feel about how you want them to uphold a mother's right to breastfeed, whether it's state law or not.

If they don't do what they say they're going to then we can take this further. But as of right now I'm feeling pretty happy.

Updated again: I wanted to add a link to the web page that has the little cards to pass out. Enjoy!

I Know Why the Mother Dresses Up for the Doctor

Horrible analogy, I know, but that's what popped into my head and it hasn't left yet.

I've been thinking a lot about Freedom vs Being With My Kids. I though now would be an apt time to discuss this since I've read about this topic on these blogs. So if you read those posts and see me cover some of the same ground, I'm sorry.

I recently was in a discussion with my sweet sister-in-law about parents that schedule regular absences from their children. I was quick to judge those mothers as insensitive to their children's needs and she was quick to correct me. She reminded me that some moms need a break from their kids in order to be the best mom they can be. I eventually agreed with her, but in the way that you're actually saying, "Well, I guess for SOME people it may be that way, but NEVER for me."

And then I ate my words. A week or two after this conversation BuggaBoo went to a friend's house for a playdate. And it was bliss. I think I took a nap with Doozer. When BuggaBoo came home I was in a much better position to be a better mom.

Also recently I've caught on fire for a new project in my life. In short, there is a lack of cute breastfeeding clothes, a severe lack of cute breastfeeding dresses, and a BRUTAL lack of breastfeeding clothes patterns, period. I've been brainstorming new nursing openings that I can use on clothes so I can dress myself the way I want to be dressed. As I was drawing inspiration from ready-to-wear clothing I was struck with an epiphany: Why don't I start a line of pattern for nursing clothes? And then the next thought was shameful, guilt-inducing: Why couldn't I have figured this out before I had kids? Which makes no sense, since I wouldn't have a need for nursing clothes without these babies of mine, but who needs logic?

And so has started a war in my life. I'm trying to balance my needs for freedom with my needs to have family ties. Note I'm not talking about my children's needs. *I* need my babies. When The Hubby takes BuggaBoo out for a few hours I look forward to the time they'll be back. When The Hubby takes the two of them out for a walk I anxiously wait for them, unable to do anything for fear that Doozer is screaming to be fed. Never mind the fact that she'll sleep for two hours in the wrap, I know she is screaming.

So then the children come back and mob me. My thoughts at this point are, "Why didn't I take better advantage of my time alone?!?" And then there is resentment. 'Round and 'round it goes, the life of a mother.

So, back to dressing up for the doctor. My feeling is mothers are so relieved to be doing an activity that doesn't have to do with their children, directly or indirectly, that they're going to take full advantage of it and dress up. Because a doctor will not talk endlessly about your children (which we all know that's what happens on your hubby-wifey dates) and a doctor isn't wondering why you're kids aren't with you and the doctor might actually appreciate not seeing you in spit-up covered sweats.

So, this is what I wore for the doctor:




Cardigan: Given to me by my sister
T-shirt: Thrifted and then altered by me
Neck lush: Made by me
Belt: Thrifted
Skirt: Made for me by my MIL, maternity wear
Boots: Given to me by my sister, same as above
Baby: Made (mostly) by me



Vintage butterfly hair clip: Worn by me as a child, still with me today

I Need a Backbone

Tomorrow BuggaBoo is going to be babysat by a woman who has totally different discipline techniques than mine and isn't afraid to use them on other people's children.

Just for the record we don't physically discipline our children, reasons of which I'll go into on another post.

She offered to babysit and I felt I couldn't turn her down in fear of hurting her feelings. She would have asked why and blah blah blah. So because I didn't want to hurt an adult's feelings, which she should be fairly able to deal with it, I'm putting my son into a situation where he most certainly will have his emotions hurt.

Where did my spine go?!?

Update: I just called her with the very legitimate excuse that I needed to take BuggaBoo to Doozer's appointment because we suspect Doozer has thrush. Since I'm tandem nursing he'll need to be treated at the same time or else he'll just give it back to her.

I did call my mommy for advice, and I will be sitting down with my friend and explaining to her my unease about her watching my children. Ugh.

To Everything, Turn, Turn, Turn

Okay, I'm ready to blog. And this is going to be a long one.

Last Tuesday, the second, Baby decided it needed to be breech. I don't know why. Baby didn't like being breech, considering the way it was straining to turn back all day Tuesday, but breech Baby was. We found out at our prenatal appointment that Tuesday. Our wonderful, amazing midwife was certain Baby was breech but urged us to get an ultrasound to confirm that fact before attempting to turn Baby so that we wouldn't accidentally turn a head-down baby to a breech position. We were able to make an ultrasound appointment for that afternoon.

Ultrasound tangent time. The Hubby and I don't like routine ultrasounds. We aren't sure of the safety of the technology. I was going to post links for you to look at but Firefox is doing some crazy chicken-dance and keeps shutting down when I have multiple tabs, so if you really want to read up on it, that's what Google is for. Actually, if you don't mind, use "goodsearch (dot) com" and put in the "Oregon Midwifery Council" as your charity of choice.

So, we aren't sure of the safety of ultrasounds. They have been shown to cause low birth weight and they are known to heat fetal tissue because they are energy waves. When your baby's tissue gets too hot protein synthesis can't happen and growth halts until the tissue can cool down. Bones retain more heat than fleshy tissue, and this is most notable in the skull. Diagnostic ultrasounds spend a lot of time looking at the head and face to determine birth defects. Having ultrasound waves pointed at the head for a long time heats up the skull, causing the brain to slow or stop development until the skull can cool down. If the heating up takes place during a delicate part of the brain development, who knows what can happen?

Also, diagnostic ultrasounds can tell if you have birth defects. But there aren't many birth defects that can be fixed while you are pregnant, and the ones that need attention after birth your midwife or OB/GYN can tell after the birth. So if you find your baby has a defect during pregnancy there isn't much you can do unless you're willing to have an abortion. Which we're not. Also, I have personal experience with this. My sister found out at her 20 week ultrasound that her baby girl had a condition incompatible with life. She knew her baby was going to die. So she grieved during the pregnancy and grieved the death of her daughter. I have decided I don't want that.

In short The Hubby and I "play" statistics. We compare the statistics of something being wrong to something that can be fixed to the risks that ultrasounds pose and have decided that most ultrasounds are not wanted in our case. However, we are completely okay with ultrasounds when medically indicated, such as the case of Baby being breech. It was a short ultrasound just to tell the position of the Baby, which was all the information we needed.

However, the technician treated us like uninformed bumpkins. First she asked us how far along I was. I told her 38 weeks. She expressed amazement that we hadn't had an ultrasound earlier and then asked us "If you haven't had an ultrasound how do you KNOW you're 38 weeks?" Um, what? It's called "knowing your last menstrual period and calculating the date from there". Heck, I even adjusted for the fact that my cycles are different from the "standard" 28 days.

Due date tangent. What is the deal with changing due dates based on ultrasound measurements? Do OB/GYNs really believe that ALL babies grow at the same rate and that they can really tell how far along you are based on your baby's size? Almost all of my mommy friends that have had ultrasounds get their due dates changed, and often to an earlier date. So, here's a real story to illustrate the point I'm trying to make. My friend A had a due date. At her 20 week ultrasound the due date was changed to a week earlier. This new due date approaches and passes. They induced her three days after the new due date, because "being late is sooo dangerous!" Which that is another tangent... Okay, after 41 hours of induced labor they perform a c-section because baby is distressing from the really hard contractions. Baby is about 6.5 pounds. Does that sound like an overdue baby to you?

So, tech doesn't believe I'm actually 38 weeks along. She also can't understand the fact that a midwife can actually feel the position of the baby, nor does she understand the fact that we don't want our baby measured. But instead of treating us like intelligent adults and asking us our opinion she gets all flustered and makes somewhat snarky remarks ("And here's your placenta, which is good information to have." "You're right, it is good to know, my midwives already knew where is was." "How?!?" "You can hear the placenta with a fetascope.") and then won't let us leave until she consults with a doctor.

So at that point Baby was breech and we needed to change our birth plans. In Oregon you cannot legally deliver a known breech at a birth center. However you can birth them at home. We started planning for a home birth. Two weeks before I was due. Why a home birth? Because if I went to the hospital it's nearly certain I would have to endure a c-section. And because vaginal breeches do not carry a significantly greater risk than vertex (head down) babies with experienced midwives or OBs. The problem is finding an experienced OB/GYN. I saw my niece's breech birth in a hospital and there is no way I'm letting a doctor do that to my baby. Thankfully my midwives are experienced in breech birth and they do a great job with it. Ask my friend that had breech twins with them.

So we were feeling peaceful about the breech position of our baby, but apprehensive of the home birth. Not because I'm scared of home birth, but because it's was a complete change to what we had been planning. And I don't know if you know this, but mothers that are two weeks away from delivering don't do well with last minute changes.

We set up an appointment for that Friday (the fifth) to try an external cephalic version. This is where you try to turn the baby manually into a vertex position. The head midwife of the birth center was doing the version while one of my midwives was monitoring the heart rate of Baby. Halfway through the version Baby's heart rate dropped waaay down. Since this indicated a problem, probably a cord wrap, the version was stopped. The midwives said that Baby could still turn itself but they weren't going to try manually. We were okay with this, if Baby wanted to be breech that's okay. After the version attempt, however, we felt we needed to tell family we were having a home birth and why. By the way, we aren't worried about a cord wrap. Many, many babies are born with a cord wrap and my midwives, once again, are experienced in dealing with them.

The responses I got from family ranged from "Oh, no, that's TERRIBLE!" to, "Eh." And, honestly, both extremes were not helpful. The best response for me was "I know everything is going to be alright, but I'm sorry this happened." You know, indicate concern but not like it's the end of the world. I found out just the other day that there were MORE extreme responses, such as family that wanted to call me up and tell me exactly why I needed to deliver in a hospital. Thankfully I was protected from those calls by a sensitive family member. Thank you. I know the risks involved with a vaginal breech, and I would have been okay talking about my relatives' fears, but I have a feeling that I would not have been heard, which would have been stressful for me.

So when we went to our next prenatal appointment this last Monday and discovered Baby was transverse (sideways) the stress mounted. With a transverse baby you absolutely cannot deliver vaginally, it is always a c-section case. My midwife was sure that Baby was in the process of turning itself. I felt the fear that I would go into labor before Baby finished turning. I had my cervix checked to see if A) we had time and B) if Baby had and arm or shoulder engaged in my pelvis. Luckily I was a "tight zero" and all my midwife could feel was Baby's back.

We started talking about options. My midwife told me about a naturopath that performs versions with the use of an ultrasound. That way he could see exactly why Baby's heart rate dropped and could deal with it. We set up an appointment for Thursday to feel Baby's position again and make a choice.

We chose not to tell family at that time that Baby was transverse. Considering the reactions from telling them about the breech birth we knew we could not deal with the fear that would be generated from this new position.

Monday night/early Tuesday morning I woke up to do my nightly ritual: going to the bathroom about twenty times. During one of my bathroom breaks I was feeling Baby and was sure that where there had been a head there was now a back. I remember thinking I was very excited and I wanted to wake The Hubby for him to feel, but I didn't want to jinx anything, especially if Baby decided to move back. So I just went to sleep. When morning actually happened I had The Hubby help me feel my belly. And we were pretty sure Baby was head down. So I called my midwife and asked if I could go in that day and get checked out. She said of course and I took BuggaBoo with me to get my belly felt.

Baby is now officially vertex! I don't know why we had to "go through" all this. I have found many blessings in this experience, though. First, before Baby turned breech I was actively comparing Baby to BuggaBoo. After Baby turned they became their own person to me, not just a different experience. I have really connected with Baby through this whole thing. Also, I was afraid of the labor pain. I knew I could deal with the labor, but I was starting to panic about the pain. Now after being faced with the very real risk of a c-section I can say I am excited for natural labor to happen and to feel my body give birth. What a glorious thing to have a baby naturally! I have come to trust my baby and my body more, though it took a lot of faith. I have grown so much closer to my midwife, my "new" one (the other midwife delivered BuggaBoo, so we already have a great relationship). I have come to love and depend on her so much.

So now things are back to normal, whatever that means. I will be giving birth at the birth center, provided that Baby has decided it's done doing somersaults. I am having a vertex baby. Looking at it superficially nothing has changed. But I can tell you so much has changed, and I am glad for this growth.

And I am ready for this baby, whoever they may be.