frustration and faith

i’m feeling the frustration of a child, in this world, trying to understand those things that are yet beyond me, playing by rules that i don’t fully understand. having the rules of others hurt me for their closed-ness. what could be had if we could escape this clawing torturous assault to have? to have more, better, most – for things. in our case, to just have enough. the supposed right to freedom for the pursuit of happiness is the most ridiculous farce i’ve been fed. we are only free to buy into the pursuit as defined by … well, i’m not really sure who defines it. i have my suspicions, but i fear being labeled a conspiracy freak. the pursuit of happiness, to me, involves people, and focusing my life on my children, and my family, friends and neighbors. it involves growing, cultivating each other, by caring and conversing with each other, and working side by side, a labor with tangible benefit. to do so means starvation by the rules of this society, so i’m forced to toss my pursuit of happiness so that i can “survive” by someone else’s definition of the pursuit – by being a hard working “contributing” member of society. it isn’t fair, but i don’t believe fairness was an inalienable right.
i’m not really bitter. just frustrated. and torn. i attempt to understand God – does He exist as i’ve been told, as my heart wants to believe? as i’ve seen in my life? or was what i saw coincidence? many coincidences. too many in my opinion. so i long to believe that which i will never understand. i long to teach my children to respect something i question myself, to swallow the Truth that i’m still swallowing myself. i can hear myself answering the questions that i’m still wondering about myself, but it’s only an echo, it’s my voice through a tunnel. and i’m still the child. and i don’t understand the words as they reverberate in this walled in physical existence. our, or at least my, mind is wired for justice, for order and understanding. i long to skip past all this to the understanding of all. i’m calling out for justice, but longing for justice to be stayed in my part. i’m wanting to believe sins are forgiven, but that means that everyone elses sins are forgiven, and all my hurts mean nothing. and that is where the self screams out. for all my own professions of sacrifice and selflessness, my self still screams out. and if i know that selflessness is the key to reaching God, to having the pure life promised through his Sacrifice, and still choose to promote myself, how can i ever hope for a better world? i understand it, and long for it, and can’t achieve it. and if i understand it, and long for it, and just can’t reach it, at what point is the God of wonders supposed to help me reach it? i know, intellectually, it isn’t His responsibility. it isn’t His job. and yet, He became human to reach me. and my heart keeps saying, i’m just not doing enough. somewhere. just keep striving. answers. there. light. it’s at the end of the tunnel that i’m echoing along. so i try to toss my faithlessness, my self seeking, and try on the cloak of penitence for this season. i know my heart will be ripped asunder when i’m reminded of His sacrifice. i long for my mind to experience the rip that my heart will feel when God enters in. i long for faith to enter my mind, to strengthen my heart’s understanding. i long for a doubtless existence, when my voice stops echoing, and i’m no longer a child in this world, and i understand the words i say to my son’s “why?”: “because He is God, and we are not…”

hunting the cliche

the sands of time slip right along. my last baby turned one today. i say last as though i’ve had many of them. there are only two little ones that own my heart. as much as i adore them, i can’t imagine having any more. it isn’t as though i couldn’t or wouldn’t love another- it is just, i adore my two so much, they each hold my heart in their tiny, ever growing hands, squeezing as they flex their muscles, as they exert who they are onto this life. i can’t imagine adoring another, which doesn’t mean i couldn’t, i just think that that much love, in one person, would surely destroy anyone. full of so much adoration, one would have to overflow. it’s the dam that has to burst.

i guess i’m not the typical parent. then, i’m not the typical human. i just love my kids so much i cry just thinking about the love sometimes. i savor every second (some less than others, i can’t deny. screaming and disobedience plague my house as well…)i can’t articulate my thoughts well right now, and i’m sure that sounds like i need a pill or something, right?
i watch other parents, doing what they think and feel is right. or, perhaps, just existing until this stage is over. or, perhaps, never caring to see that spark, that deeper level, that is beyond caring for the necessities of parenthood – food, clothing, shelter, space. isn’t that some psychological needs pyramid or something? they grant their kids the necessities, and leave it up to the kids to figure out the icing, the color and flavor, the clarity that makes life worth living. they spend their moments in escape – on the internet, gaming or social networking (Guilty!!), working without ceasing, mindless in front of the television – i think, because their lives are so empty from the pursuit of happiness? survival? consumerism? the lean mean green (not eco-style!) american dream? i think fitzgerald had it all right… that pursuit can only destroy what you love. and in this case, it is the family, the children, the future generations. i wish we all could just stop, now, and savor each other, our families, and this earth, for what it could produce in our hands, rather than in the mechanized claws of industrialization we’ve decided are necessary for “efficiency.”
i sometimes think i must be destined to die early, because i just feel so much older than everyone else. in the past, i’ve felt like screaming out, “but see, see, LOOK. this here – THIS is what it is all about. cherish THIS. forget all you’ve been taught, fed. it’s just an illusion. it’s just a wall put between you and what is really important. what is really real in this life – people, each other.” i know that sounds like raving lunacy. which is why i’m convinced i’m so much older than everyone else. that and i’m past the point of feeling like shouting, and more to the point of feeling sad that everyone else is missing out on so much.
i know everyone has to be free to live as they wish, and everyone has to come to these conclusions on their own – you can’t buy the wisdom that painful experience grants, at least not and have it retain its quality. but that, i believe, is the base of it all – humans treasure quantity, some value of more-ness, where even “quality” is defined as having more of something than another has… more leather, more amenities, more sparkle, more shine, more cost. the things that have enriched my life have been, perhaps not free, but not directly resulting from more-ness, from some material purchase. i can’t buy my daughter’s sweet smile, or my son’s giggle. i may have to pay to keep them alive, to shelter them and care for them. i know everything has a cost… but those things, that make life valuable, that are pure and sweet, have no price tag, but my time and my input, my putting myself in and connecting to them on their level. it is all a cliche, and it has been said before, but it is all so true. people are beautiful, broken beings, and children just shine, wanting someone, anyone to see them. many parents are too caught up in _____ (fill in the blank) that they never see those crying out for connection, until it’s too late and the children have built walls around themselves, and turned into beautiful, broken adults, screaming on the inside, and trying to quiet it all with diversions, and american dreams. we are the disease, we are the cure. we are.
this is a huge digression from the anniversary of my daughter’s birth. but these are my thoughts as i end the last first birthday of one of my children. the sands of time slip past. please, make the most of every grain.

climate bail out+sundries about the sun drying us up

well, not really. that just had to be said. makes me think of the spongebob movie. i know, i’m lame.
Climate Gurus grabbin the dough

murphy’s law/advice for parents

1) always feed your cat, dog, goldfish, eel, whatever, before you attempt to put a teething, overtired baby to bed. said baby will inevitably hear the tiniest squeak. beyond that, a cat, for instance, can be mute for all waking hours (or hours you wish the child would stay awake, like 6:30 pm when you know bed is in 1.5 hrs…) as soon as you get the baby to sleep, the cat will begin meyowling (yes, i meant me-yowling!) vehemently and continuously until the baby joins it in the song.
a teething baby can hear the gulping maw of a hungry goldfish. i’ve even witnessed a baby arise from catatonic sleep at the sound of a leaf falling from a potted plant…
2) it is inevitable that if your child is going to act out in public (insert “repeat that nasty cuss word they learned at school”), it will be as soon as you turn the grocery aisle to join the little decrepit church lady. you can have been the only soul in the store for 5 aisles, but as soon as the oldest, most morally upright (uptight?) person is in sight, you can teach color theory with the shades that person will turn at the foulness you didn’t believe could come from the mouth of your child…
3) as soon as you mop a floor, something will spill.
4) if you ask anyone who did it, it was either the cat, or the youngest who can’t yet speak for themselves.
5) if there is one thing in this universe that you dislike (say teletubbies, or transformers), your child will not only like said thing, but will obsess and cry and fuss to have everything made in the image and likeness of said thing. undoubtedly in front of little old church ladies.
6) to get the 6 trillion variations of the thing you hate, they will pull out all stops: they will ask for new parents, claim the most deprave torturous disciplinary treatments have been exacted upon them, and appear as though you just gouged the eyes out of their favorite teddy bear with their histrionics.
7) especially in front of little old church ladies, and grandparents. it doesn’t matter whose grandparents really, they know a weak link when they see one…
8.) as soon as you change your baby’s diaper, they will choose that time to make their poop.
9) …unless you are potty training them, in which case, it is as soon as you have pulled up their pants again, after waiting 45 min while listening to various renditions of elmo’s world.
and finally (and anticlimatically)
10) if your spouse just broke the uneven numbered glass, so that you finally have an even number again, you can rest assured that a child will break another within 24 hours, so that you are back to an uneven number again…

8 years

it’s a long time.
it’s almost a third of my life. (9 would be)
it is the anniversary i celebrate today. not of marriage, but of our relationship.
i don’t know what i envisioned those 8 years ago. i suspect nothing, because i’d never been in a real relationship. i just wanted to see what it was like, maybe have some fun, go out. nothing serious… because i figured it would just be the first of many failed ones. that’s how those things work, right? i certainly couldn’t have forseen the sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet life that lay ahead of us.
for any of you out there, married or dating or whatever, you may have noticed, you may not: love is cyclic. it is not constant. it is more like a tide. in the beginning, it is deep and strong, and you are easily (and happily) drowned in it. it isn’t the person, it is the feeling, the dance, the play. you can’t see the bottom, you can’t see the end, and that’s ok.
just when you start to get a little worried you’ll never see the bottom again, the plug is pulled – the tide rushes out, and all you have is bottom. dry, desolate, and you’re throwing sand at each other, wondering where your sanity is. all you can see is the person, and every tiny little difference from your expectation is magnified in the shimmery heat waves of parched ground… and that’s just it, you’re standing your ground. naked before someone not enemy, and maybe not friend?
and then, in a moment, the water rushes back in.
in my experience, this cycle is about 2-3 years in length.
i think, eventually, it all becomes less drastic, less dramatic. or maybe you are just so used to it, you recognize it is coming and retreat within yourself. if you haven’t lost yourself…
i sense that my husband and i are entering that – the acceptance. i would say my husband never had to enter because he was always there. but our history reminds me he certainly had to be coaxed in. it’s just hard to remember. which i think is a good thing… the pain, the bitter, take up much less memory than the sweet, the dear moments. and perhaps it is just a function of maturity, but everything is beginning to take on a feeling of generality – like the measure of something is not in this moment, but in the overall impression. even in the bitter moments now, the overall impression of sweet draws us back out far quicker than just 2, or 4 years ago. and that is definitely a good thing.
i can’t look ahead to the next 8 years now. i still sit in the seat of no expectation. i’ve learned that if i hold on tight, i’m only going to throttle – myself, my husband, the future. i release, and we all breath. and from moment to moment, our lives are redefined. and that’s ok.
because the overall impression remains intact.

more on daddy

he didn’t even know what his grandkids call him.
despite the letters i send, with photos, love you poppy. his girlfriend said she didn’t know what to sign the christmas presents, and she asked him, and he didn’t even know.

even after i was tired of being that little girl, i still am. can i ever change? or am i destined to continue being the sensitive emotional one, who always gives everyone second chances…

daddy’s little girl

from back in august

once upon a time, there was a little girl. she loved her daddy, but he lived with other people. so, she would anxiously await anticipated phone calls from him, or stare excitedly out the window, hoping he would be coming soon. hoping that maybe, this time he might stay. that this time, he might come home.
and she would wait… and wait… and wait…
she spent 18 years waiting. then she left the window.
but she keeps looking back. and listening out for that call…

i’m still that little girl, waiting on daddy to come home.

i waded through the stilted conversations, the long silences filled with sounds of animal planet – he’s finally gotten satellite. it’s about when animals attack – the scariest animal events caught on tape. i’m filled with apprehension that he doesn’t even wonder if a 5 year old should be watching this. but we are on such shaky footing, i hold back those apprehensions.
he nearly died. well, maybe that’s a little dramatic. he had a blood clot in his leg. the doctor’s caught it before it had a chance to migrate, to his lungs, or brain. my granny died of a stroke. well, a heartattack that followed several strokes. he denies me the right to know if my genetic disorder came from him – it can’t be him, he says. he bleeds too easily. he still denies it, even after this dvt. he’s not the reason i have my clotting disorders… oh no.
he has a visitor, a coworker with whom he chews the fat about all the hard work, little pay and no appreciation they get on the job. once the coworker leaves, the silence is broken only by the wimpering of my daughter in my lap, ready to nap but unable to in this unfamiliar place. he has more to say to that visiting coworker that to his own blood – than to the daughter he hasn’t seen in 7 months, the grandson he pretends isn’t there, and the granddaughter he had never met until now. i slip into the kitchen to throw away a dirty diaper, and find seasoned ribs and pork for a later bar-b-que. he doesn’t even ask me to stay, after i’ve seen them. his claims of blood and chivalry mean nothing. i’m angry at myself for reaching out to him, for continuing to try, for continuing to care. i’m tired of being the little girl waiting on daddy to come home…
after a few more unpleasant pleasantries, i leave. once back home, i sit in the car with my sleeping babies, and i eat the slice of homemade cake i was taking to him. i’m tired of caring, of aching for his approval, of putting myself into this awkward interaction that is our relationship. but mostly, i don’t want my son to idolize him, or my daughter to be hurt by his negligence. i won’t allow them to sit at that window, waiting on poppy to come…

so this explains it

semen controls womens minds (lives).http://jenapincott.wordpress.com/2009/01/08/semen-has-mind-control-properties/
apparently men’s penises are just as powerful as they think they are…

another new year

and the world hasn’t ended yet. interesting how we tend to think that the end of the world would be on a day we set aside. end of the year – end of the world. we humans think we are so important…
thankfully, in the morning, i will wake up to the same people, same faces, in a new year, a new chronicle of my life. i will be lots of new things – but mostly, i will be the same ol me.
2008 wrought alot of changes on me. i broke in many ways. the pieces surround me, not as tasty as the reese’s kind… demanding attention, or at least cleaning up. i’ve regained part of what i’d lost. i refound what was important to me. i’ll never regain my grandma. i’ll never regain the last birth of a new child (or the sleep i’ve lost consequent to that new child). i’ve learned that love is more about smoothing, polishing, redefining yourself so that you can fit together. it’s certainly not the puzzle piece fit i thought it would be… at least not for me. it’s about losing bits of yourself in the overages, and extending bits of yourself in the vacancies, so you meet in one even seam… but don’t overlap. life is about the meaning you make of the moments. it really sucks that we can’t make much of it because we all have to work stupid jobs we hate to make the money to survive. i’ve eschewed that – to just about everyone’s comdemnation (constipation?!). i wearing away the pull of material things, cutting loose the daggers, hooks that this society has had me swallow as the cure-all to my emptiness ails. there are a few things material that will always pull me. when asked what i would grab if my house was burning (after my kids of course): my photos, my journals, and my computer with both photos and journal on it. my words and my pictures are the only material things that matter. memories are the most important thing to me – my story, my thoughts, my childrens’ histories, i’m preserving for them. so, i’m trying to detach myself from the rest… it’s harder than it sounds, but the 3 bags of giveaway attest to some progress.
the richness of this existence is found most in the pause between breaths… in the moment between a sigh and opening your eyes… in the exhale of a deep laugh… in the shared twinkle of a loved ones eye. i long to live every moment with the intensity i sense pulsing under the taunt surface of this life – the throb of meaning that lies beneath. i wonder constantly why we don’t all feel this way. but i guess i’m the grasshopper, enjoying the summer while the ants are storing away for winter. i hope not…

my sprawling fall

my sane thoughts come out as inane ramble.
my emotions make my brain a scramble
dreams of you seep in my head
before i can fly out of bed
i run from the desire to see you
from hope you desire to see me too
i must see
so i must flee
but i never can escape
against my soul this longing scrapes
i’ve cried out before
i’m not longing for more
unlock with the key
the cage over me
let me be
set me free