tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19362449801424832302024-03-06T02:57:47.005-05:00Funky Little EarthChildGentle rantings from a voice for those who cannot speak.Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-89663783283158302982016-01-04T20:24:00.001-05:002016-01-04T20:25:43.290-05:00Twenty Fifteen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It got better.<br />
<br />
Onward.Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-32512023948174490572015-06-24T01:52:00.000-04:002015-06-24T01:52:32.379-04:00Walking a New Path<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am a master at not believing in myself. It is an incredibly annoying trait. Not only is it annoying to myself, but it gets the eyeballs rolling of those around me as they try to encourage me. I can easily come up with an idea and then quickly put myself down, telling myself, "you stupid girl, you'll never be able to do it." The negative self talk puts the fuck in frustrating. Huh.<br />
<br />
Earlier this year, I was at it again. I was telling myself that I couldn't do "it." "It" was a new job opportunity. I received information that a local nature preserve was looking to train folks to become teachers in their children's programming. This is intriguing to me and is something I would love to do. It's certainly a large step away from my past life as a veterinary technician, but it is in the realm of science and nature. Once I read about it, I was excited as hell. I immediately called their office and spoke to the educator in charge. I asked her questions about the training program and then registered myself. Hanging up the phone, I felt that familiar chill of self doubt crawling from my brain. In 10 seconds, I went from, "this is an awesome opportunity" to "dumbass, you'll suck at this."<br />
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Why? No reason. Okay, many reasons. As we all know and I have talked about over and over and over and over - I went through a lot of crap as a child and as a young adult. I was tormented by peers. I was told by peers and adults that I wouldn't amount to much and that I was useless. So, I get it. I get why I have a lot of insecurity. Still, I'm in my 30's. I have a remarkable understanding about what happened to me in my past, how it shaped me, how it influenced my way of thinking about myself and others. At some point, I need to shake it all off. I need to acknowledge everything that happened, say hello, say thank you for the lessons, and move the fuck on. I'm still not 100% there, but I keep moving forward. Understanding why I think the way I do about myself makes it all the more frustrating. It's like I'm someone else looking at myself - I can see why the self doubt is there. I know it's pretty much silly at this point. I just can't stop it.<br /><br />There I was, a few weeks away from beginning a training program and my mind was constantly telling me all the ways I could fail. I wouldn't be smart enough. No one would like me. I would be too awkward. I would be too shy. I'd be too ugly (for real - this is the dumb shit my brain comes up with). I would be that girl who fell into a mud pit and got eaten by some rare giant scorpion. We don't even have scorpions in PA. They would think I suck and I wouldn't be hired and on and on and on and on.<br /><br />This is what I deal with inside my head constantly. It's a never-ending battle between me, myself, and I. So what do I do? I typically tell myself to shut up. Yeah, I have loads of self doubt that totes chews up my soul, but I somehow manage to move past it. There's a lot of anxiety. Lots of pounding heart beats. It's all worry all the time, but I somehow get myself to wherever I need to be.<br />
<br />
We started training this Spring. They do a two week training course where they take us through various trails and demonstrate their programs. After those two weeks are completed, you spend a lot of time observing other teachers in the actual classes before you can begin teaching on your own. The job itself won't begin until the Fall for me.<br />
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Training was a lot of fun. First, I got to spend a lot of time in an area that I have loved for a long, long time. We walked through many of the trails, taking note of all of nature's little surprises - the smell of spice bush and garlic mustard, salamanders under logs, raccoons up in trees, owl pellets, owl wash, the sounds of various birds, praying mantis galls, larval and nymph stages of bugs under stream rocks.......I had been hiking these trails for years, but there was still so much that was new to me. We tested samples from some of the waterways and observed aquatic life, both plant and animal, in order to determine the health of the specific ecosystems. We had a fantastic group of people. Our ages varied from 20's to 70's. Everyone was passionate about nature, learning, and the opportunity to share knowledge with children. We all worked together so well and got along happily. The weather was.....Spring. One day it was hot and we wore t-shirts and the next day we were in Winter coats, hats, and gloves. A few days later, we were happily walking through the stream to look for specimens, noting how refreshing and cool the water felt.<br /><br />My favorite part of the training was working in the stream. We would turn over rocks to look for snails, crayfish, eggs, larva, and nymphs of many insects. We found many crayfish. There were water pennies a'plenty, Mayfly nymphs, planaria, caddisflies, snails, and so many more baby creepy crawlies. I love bugs so I was constantly shouting, "this is so cool!!" every time I flipped over a rock and gently brushed a critter into my specimen cup (all critters were safely returned to their stream once we were done observing).<br /><br />It was sad when the training program ended. Our daily walks and talks through the woods were a total bright spot for me that month.<br />
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I began my observations last month. Sadly, the teaching season is winding down - but it'll pick up again in the Fall. I've followed along on a bunch of classes, getting ideas on how to teach different concepts and how to deal with the many unpredictable curve balls that Mother Nature will throw at you. I still have many, many classes that I need to observe, so I was surprised when the director of education emailed me and asked if I would like to try teaching one of the classes. It was a program I had observed several times already and she felt that I would probably be ready to give it a shot. For the first time, you go out with a supervisor so they can support you and critique your teaching style. Naturally, I said "YES!!!" immediately. I was assigned to a class of wee folk a week later.<br /><br />So, what did Jenn do? I freaked out, of course. All the self doubt came flooding back. In the week leading up to my first class, I had dream after dream about being unprepared - I would forget the curriculum entirely, I would forget to show up at the proper time, I would get lost. I even dreamed that I showed up in a fabulous ball gown and impractical shoes for hiking and the kids all screamed and ran away the moment I said my name. I'm terrified - TERRIFIED - of public speaking and I had visions of me just flubbing all of my words with a shaky voice. The forecast said it would be 95 degrees and humid, so I had visions of me either fainting or walking around with buttcrack and underboob sweat. Glamorous.<br />
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The day came and I sent my little dude off to school and gave my daughter a kiss before leaving her with my husband. I listened to Preston and Steve on the way to the park in an effort to calm my nerves and take my mind off my fear. I arrived at the park 30 minutes early and walked into the office to greetings from the other teachers who would be out that day. I quizzed them on whether they had ever felt nervous for their first class - they had - and if they dreamed about being unprepared. They laughed with me about my ballgown dream. I gathered all of my field supplies in my backpack and headed outside to wait for my class to arrive.<br /><br />Making small talk with the other teachers, I started to feel more calm, but my heart raised the roof once I heard the school bus coming down the street. I watched as a swarm of wiggly kindergartners emerged from the bus, dividing themselves into pre-determined groups. Each teacher took a group and went on their way. I waved at my group of kids and motioned for them to follow me out of the parking lot and into a small clearing so we could say hello and get acquainted. "Hello! I'm so happy to see you all. My name is Jenn and I work at (insert name of park). I'll be taking you on a little walk today and we're going to see what we can discover. How about you tell me your names." One by one, each child told me their name as they eyed me up and down. After our introductions, I gave them my two rules (I stay in front. Don't taste anything) and we were on our way.<br /><br />"Miss Jenn, will we get poison ivy? My uncle has poison ivy and he almost blew up."<br />
"Are there any bears, Miss Jenn? How about snakes? Can they bite?"<br />
"When is lunch? I'm huuuuunnnnnggggrrrrrrrryyyyyyy."<br />
<br />
I taught them about leaves of three and how we should let them be. I told them we don't have any bears, but we do have snakes and - if we are very quiet - we may see some of them and their friends. Lunch? That would be after class.<br /><br />We walked along our trail, looking for things of certain colors, noting different smells and sounds. We circled a pond and found many frogs. One of the students found a lightning bug, so I scooped it up into a bug container with a magnifying glass lid so the kids could get a closer look at it. We thanked Mr. Lightning Bug and let him go after each child had a chance to look at him up close. We stopped to smell the spice bushes, telling each other what we thought it smelled like - cereal, candy, peppermint, and.....poop (there's always one). We looked in the tree hollows and talked about who may live in them. We heard various birds, including the elusive pileated woodpecker. I sprayed spiderwebs with a mist of water to make it show up better in the sunlight. We found many harvestmen ("daddy long legs"). We made tea out of various smelly leaves and then left it in a compost pile. The kids observed how the sun makes shadows and they worked on finding different patterns of shadows among the plants. We felt the slimy goo the protects spindlebug larva that was deposited on plants throughout our walk. I sprayed the kids down with a squirt bottle of water because it was so hawt. We felt the different textures of bark on the trees and looked for shapes made by branches. I ended up going through the trail pretty quick and we had a surplus of time, so I took the kids to a spot that's good for seeing a variety of birds and some showy blue jays and cardinals popped by. We went to a smaller pond where the kids saw more frogs, a baby turtle, and they got to hear the frogs croaking. They also saw many dragonflies darting over the water.<br /><br />The kids would argue now and then about who got to walk right behind me and I found myself having to tell a few of them to go to the back of the line because the pushing and shoving was a bit too much. One little girl was very quiet and would be easily pushed to the side by the other kids when we would stop to observe something. And they would never let her move to the front of the line. So, for the last part of our walk, I brought her up front with me and I could tell that it made her so happy.<br /><br />At the end of our walk, I thanked the kids for visiting me and learning with me. I got a few hugs before they headed back to their bus for the almighty lunchtime.<br /><br />My supervisor and I went back into the office to review my day. She said I did quite well. Her critiques were that I went a little fast and I could have spent more time at each stop. I think I was so nervous about being too slow that I ended up overcompensating. Now I know that I can really slow down and take my time when I am showing the kids something. All in all, it went quite well. I can teach that program again in the Fall when it starts up again. Then, as I observe more of the other programs and get comfortable with them, I'll be able to teach those as well.<br /><br />So, that is life right now. There's a new beginning right around the corner and I am very excited about it. I'm glad I never listen to my self doubt. I am psyched about this opportunity. Being able to walk kids through these trails and getting them excited about nature is the best thing. Nature and it's preservation are extremely important to me and I am fortunate to have a chance to make a job out of passing that on to children.<br /><br />Much love and happy trails!!<br />
<br />
<br /><br />
<br />Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-33154351462080076202015-01-30T13:57:00.000-05:002015-01-30T13:57:22.234-05:002015: Just Keep Swimming<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My last post was depressing, so I am going to try to pick it up a bit.<br />
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2015 is here. I'm 20 days late in announcing that fact, but the world would literally stop spinning if I started doing everything on time. So, truly, I am saving the world.<br />
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I don't make New Year's Resolutions to a point. I have a rolling list of goals that I try to reach throughout the days, weeks, and months of every year. So, 2015 didn't start with me stating I would specifically do certain things because it is 2015. Rather, my many unmet goals of 2014 rolled over into this year.<br />
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Now, to completely contradict mysef, I am going to tell you some of my goals for this year. These aren't New Year's Resolutions, though. Those fail. These are goals that I <i>will</i> reach, dammit. There is no particular order here.<br />
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<b>Muscles</b>. I have slowly been working on adding some more muscle strength to my body. I am a very tough girl and I have a lot of strength, physical and mental. I seem to have week shoulders and wrists. It's weird. I can lift very heavy things and I pack quite a punch, but my arms get extremely tired in dance class. I specifically get tired in my shoulders and part of my upper arms (mainly triceps) and my wrists. I have a lot of wrist injury as well as chronic tendinitis in both of my elbows and wrists, so that probably plays a part in it. In my style of belly dance, Improvisational Tribal Style, we hold our arms up a lot. There's quite a bit of arm involvement in many moves. We also utilize movements from our wrists called floreos (these are inspired from Flamenco). I have also taken a few classes in sword work and those things are freaking heavy. I want to continue to work on increasing muscle strength in my arms as well as the rest of my body.<br />
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<b>Sewing</b>. Dear God Almighty, I want to learn to sew. I can sorta hand sew. I can stitch things onto other things and make it okay. My stitches are questionable, but functional. I really want to learn how to sew with a sewing machine. My mom has sewed for nearly her entire life. I wish I learned from her as a child and I really don't know why I didn't. I know that once I was older I was nervous to learn because I didn't want to suck. My mom would never make me feel bad if I didn't pick it up - it's just my own insecurities that stopped me. A few months ago, a friend attempted to teach me. We dance together and we were going to put together some costuming out of stuff we already owned. To be fair, my sewing machine was being a bit of an asshole, but I definitely presented a challenge for her. It took me a long time to figure out how to thread the bobbin. In the end, I sewed a wee little bit, but it was scary knit fabric and it looked like I had sewed it blindfolded. I'm not ready to accept the possibility that I may lack whatever it takes to learn to sew. I will keep on trying and I hope to have something to show for it this year.<br />
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<b>Routine. Routine. Routine</b>. I need routine. I function best when I have specific goals, lists, things to check off, a clear routine, etc. I have slacked off recently primarily due to health challenges and I need to get back into better routines around the home. I want to - and everyone says this - work on getting my cute little butt to bed a wee bit earlier at night and getting the same cute little butt up earlier in the morning. My goal is to get up and hour to and hour and a half before the kids. Typically, I wake up about 20 minutes before my son gets up for school. I think getting up an hour before them allows me to get just a little more work done without distraction. Plus, getting my work done before they wake means I can devote more attention to them.<br />
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<b>Better health</b>. I have a lot of health issues that have components somewhat out of my control. My health was a major challenge in 2015. While I have conditions that are chronic, progressive, and don't just go away, it doesn't mean that I have to willingly submit. I am only 36 years old and last year was very troubling for me in the way that my health got in the way of nearly everything. There was an insurance miscommunication (they sent me the incorrect cards and miscategorized my benefits) at the end of last year that prevented me from keeping appointments with specialists. All of that appears to be settled now, so I need to get my butt back into a whole lot of doctor offices and undergo more and more tests. It's not something I am excited to do, but if there are things that can give me definitive answers it would help with moving toward maintaining better health. Additionally, I want to pursue some complimentary therapies. I found success with acupuncture treatments, especially for my esophageal condition. Now, I cannot normally afford acupuncture. I am lucky that I am friends with an acupuncturist and that I can barter services. If not for that, I would have to do without. I am also constrantly striving to nourish my body better. It can be difficult when you are in a crushing financial situation like ours, but I try my best to make sure I am putting things in my body that will not harm it.<br />
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<b>Decluttering/More organization</b>. Just.....GAH!!! I have a very hard time organizing things in a sensible manner. I don't know if my brain just doesn't process things in that way or if I just suck. Either way, I constantly have to work hard to come up with an organization plan. Once I get to that point, however, it is smooth sailing. Once I have something organized, I can keep up with it. The challenge to this is my husband. This is constantly a work in progress.<br /><br /><b>Go to Church</b>. I have a somewhat complicated belief system. I am a Catholic, but I have many pagan leanings. I am also very liberal. Religion is a tough spot for me. I believe in the bones of my Catholic faith, but there are certain aspects of the religion that do not sit well with me. I often avoid services because I do not want to hear hate mixed in with a sermon. However, I like church. I like going to Mass. I have found a couple of churches - plain Roman Catholic, Independent Catholic, and ELCA Lutheran - that I like with priests and ministers that I like, so I want to attend services a little more often. I went to Mass on New Year's Day and the priests homily was just perfect and I was definitely in the right place at the right time.<br />
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<b>Become more financially stable</b>. This has been a work in progress for a few years. It's been a major struggle for our family and we are working so hard to get out. I am very much dedicated to this year being the year we truly succeed. I said that last year and the year before that, but I have a much better feeling about 2015.<br />
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<b>Visit family</b>. My family is scattered all over the world. I never had grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles to visit with on a very regular basis as a child. Okay, that is a bit of a lie. My paternal family lives in the same portion of the city where I grew up. However, my grandfather was a bit of a Nazi (as in wearing Nazi armbands on Jewish holidays) and my father distanced himself from them a long, long time ago. Plus, they're dead now. My maternal grandmother passed away last year. My mom's family is large, but very much scattered throughout the country and the world so we do not have regular visits. I have an aunt and two cousins who live two states away and I want to make more of an effort to see them more than our usual once a year. I want my kids to have more of a sense of family. My brother moved 1,000 miles away. He has two children and I have barely seen them in the last 6 years. I really want my kids to know their cousins, especially since my one niece and my son are close in age. Unfortunately, neither of us can afford to make the trips for visits. My mom has mentioned going on a roadtrip to my brother's this Summer. I am hoping we can make that happy.<br />
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<b>Pay it Foward</b>. My family has received a ton of help in the past year. I have so much good karma to pay forward. I have been working hard at that, doing the best I can with limited resources. I believe there is always good that a person can do not matter how much money you do or do not have. While I am always in the mindset of helping others (this is also heavily influenced by my religion - this is how I grew up in the Church), I am really hoping to have more resources this year so I can do bigger things for people.<br />
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<b>Stop sucking at make-up</b>. I can't girl. I do not wear make-up regularly. First, I am just gorgeous as I am. Stop laughing. Second, I have extremely sensitive skin and cannot wear 99% of the make-up out there without breaking out. One of the only brands that hasn't bothered me is Bare Minerals and it is extremely expensive. I was given their powder foundation and pencil eyeliner as a gift, so I use those. Third, I suck at application. I won't even tell you how many YouTube tutorials I have watched and I still can't apply more than a very basic line of eyeliner. No wings for me. I can do simple eye shadow as well. It's enough so that my face doesn't disappear on stage. As a belly dancer, I wear make up to perform. when you look at Tribal belly dancers, their make up is amazing. Mine is meh. My teacher held an in class make up tutorial, which I found extremely helpful.<br />
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<b>Belly dance</b>. I just want to keep striving to be the best dancer I can be. I could definitely drill at home more often and need to commit a specific amount of time each week to doing that. To tie into my my Pay It Forward goal - I want to give back in some way to my studio because I have been given so much in order to even take classes. I have no clue how to manifest this, but it will come. Back to the dance - there are specific goals I have in mind for my technique. First, I need to work harder at executed left-sided moves. Like many people, my left side is weaker than the right and it's harder to execute moves. Second, I want to increase both my strength and flexibility. Third - zills. I need to play better. Finally, I need to work on my nerves. I used to shake like a leaf in class when it was my turn to lead. It's stupid, to me, because I have nothing to be afraid of. I think it is due to a long held fear of people laughing at me....rooted in my past. I no longer shake in class. I shake during performances. This is especially frustrating because I was never shaky during my first few performances. It just started to happen in the last 2 or 3 performances. Pisses me off. I have two performances (how many more times can I say that word?) coming up in a couple of months, independent of my studio's student troupe. One will be the first time my own little troupe will perform. I hope my nerves take the day off.<br />
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So those are a few of my goals for the upcoming year. Here's to hoping I succeed in meeting all of them. Much love!!<br />
<br />
<br />Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-74376334186304690092015-01-20T00:11:00.000-05:002015-01-20T00:40:20.557-05:002014: Whiplash<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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True to my procrastinating form, I am writing my 2014 review weeks after the New Year has arrived. At least I'm consistent.<br />
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2014 was a very harsh year for so many people. I saw many, "dear 2014, fuck off!" posts on various social media sites as the year came to a close. It was brutal for a good many of my friends. It was just ones of those years that seemed to be messy for a large number of people. This includes my own family.<br />
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We started 2014 out with the usual New Year hopes and dreams, promising ourselves that it would be an incredible year. Life had already been a struggling for the year or so beforehand and we were optimistic that everything would turn around. In some ways, it did, but every step forward was met with several steps back. It was a recurring theme for the year.<br />
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I have incredibly mixed feelings about 2014. While we struggled in so many ways, we were also met with incredible kindness and help from literally all over the world. Living in poverty prompted me to share our story, which I did on my friend's blog, Poor As Folk. My story went a little viral and people from all over donated to our family. We received monetary support to help with our bills and food, as well as clothing and food and goodies for the kids. We also received kind words, advice, prayers, support, hope, commiseration from all corners of the globe. Knowing that so many people were thinking kindly about us and cheering us on was the greatest high. Additionally, many people shared that they had thought unkind things about people living in poverty and what I had written inspired them to look at the situation differently and soften their hearts. Experience all of this goodness from people was nothing short of awe-inspiring and I still have trouble finding adequate words to express how it affected me and my family.<br />
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Of course, when you become so exposed there can be a negative side. For the first time in my blogging life, I experienced actual hatred coming from people. Me and my story were the subject of many a thread on message boards, reddit, Facebook, etc. I read untrue and unkind things about and my family from people convinced that I was trying to scam the world. To this day, I am still discussed in such a manner and people still come to this blog to leave comments accusing me of duping the public. I can lie and say it never bothered me. Of course it did. I don't like being accused of lying. I definitely don't like being accused of stealing. I've never had much negativity on my blog, other than people yelling at me for my language or telling me I'm a dumbass for hugging trees. So, it was all new to me. However, even in this bout of negativity, I would have people emailing me to say they found my blog via these message boards and they read something of mine that inspired them or helped them - I had quite a few share some emotional releases about their own miscarriages. I still don't know how I feel about it. Part of me wants to really lash out, but what does that solve? Some minds cannot be changed because they do not want it. It doesn't matter how much I explain, how many of my real life friends say, "she's legit, yo!" and how much I attempt to understand where they are coming from (and as someone who fell for an online scam a long time ago I do get the mistrust), they don't want to hear it. Another part of me completely believes that quote - "Don't let people pull you into their storm. Pull them into your peace." (Kimberly Jones) So - hugs. Finally, there is another piece of me that's like, "fuck it. Let it go. Move on." So, fuck it. I cannot let *those people* drown out those who have shown me love and support.<br />
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2014 forced me to seriously change my perspective about myself in several ways. I am a very stubborn person. I do not like to admit to myself that I can't fix everything. I've always been a fixer. Friends in a fight? I'll fix it. Friend in trouble? I'll fix it. Got myself in a bind? I'll do it myself. I don't need people. If people come and go, that's fine. I'll live. I can do it all on my own. I have prided myself in my ability to unfuck a lot of things and be totally independent. To finally lay it out on the line that things in my life were not okay was both frightening and freeing. I had hidden our financial troubles from friends and family for over a year. I had hidden my marital troubles for a long, long time. In 2014, I released it. I admitted to myself that I hadn't been doing a good enough job for myself or my family. I couldn't make everything better on my own. I couldn't make everyone like me. I couldn't save everyone. Financial struggles aside, I also had to deal with the truth about certain friendships and the hard truth about my marriage. I had been holding onto a group of friends, not speaking up about things that bothered me, letting hurtful things slide for a while. I didn't want the "friendship" to change, but I was forced to realize some of those people were toxic and that I needed to separate myself from the bad seeds in the group and stick with the good ones, letting myself understand that I would never "Fix" things the way I wanted. I had to be okay with that.<br />
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I also needed to learn to shut the fuck about the, "no one loves me," refrain that has played in my head for decades. Yeah, I can let myself go back to my school days and also to experiences in my young adulthood to see why I have had a hard time trusting people and letting them in. However, I also needed to realize that I'm 36 years old and the time for letting the past shape me has passed. I was too busy wondering, "gosh, does she actually like me or is she just pretending," to fully appreciate all of my friendships - and that's not good for any kind of relationship. I am constantly down on myself, telling myself that I am too weird and too odd for people to truly love me. Really stupid shit. To go back to our financial trouble - I had mountains of people helping me. My friends in my offline life held me up more times than I can count. They listened without judging and just held my hand through it all. They still do. I love my friends with all of my heart and I thank God for them constantly. I had to allow myself to feel worthy of their love, too. Clearly people like me, love me, respect me, and want to see me succeed. You don't get that from being a terrible person.<br />
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My health was another giant struggle. I have a quite a few chronic conditions that have been with me for many years. The biggies involve my heart, my esophagus, and my ears. My heart has almost been a non-issue for most of my life. It's problems have generally been manageable blips on the radar. I knew my esophageal issues (I still do not have a firm diagnosis, but they are leaning towards achalasia) had potential to become worse, but things had been quiet for a long time. Things with my heart and my esophagus changed a lot this year. I'm sure the mountains of anxiety have not helped my health one bit. In late Winter/early Spring, I began having frequent attacks with my esophageal condition. With these attacks, which come without warning, my esophagus spazzes, peristalsis halts, and food (sometimes just liquids) gets stuck. This causes extreme pain, lots of unglamorous drooling, and can impact breathing. Often, I can just wait it out and it will pass after 10 minutes. Other times, it won't stop no matter what I do. The risk there happens with the breathing as it causes pressure in the chest, makes breaths very short and shallow and can bump up the heart rate. The worry about loss of consciousness at that point. The unstoppable variety happened quite frequently this year, landing me in the hospital a few times. It's very frightening because you cannot breathe well at all and the pain is severe. The last time was right after Thanksgiving, when my 8 year old son was my hero and was able to call 911 (naturally, such an episode leaves me unable to talk). The remedy is a combo of IV drugs in an attempt to calm smooth muscle and, if that doesn't work, endoscopic interventions. Maybe I'll blog about it someday as it's way more involved in that and I know other people suffer from similar issues. As for my heart - she's been naughty. There have been many days an nights of pretty bad chest pain and rhythm disturbances. My cardiologist has seen me more in the last year than in almost all of the past 20 years since I began going to the practice. We've been trying to get to the bottom of everything, but my insurance company has stood in the way of needed diagnostics. So, it's been a trying year. Every other week to every week has been quite a challenge with my health and it has lost me A LOT of work and has been a real drag. It's also forced me to look at how I take care of myself. Like most moms, I take care of myself last. I need to be better about that. Having my experience at Thanksgiving has really made me evaluate our family emergency plan. I am so glad my son knew what to do, but I know I need to step it up and have solid plans in place for situations such as these.<br />
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And my marriage. That is another blog post all it's own. The end has been coming for a long time, but this year has really solidified it. It's something we both know, but are not ready to fully accept yet. It's not for a lack of love or respect. Obviously, my husband has worked his ass off for our family and I will always love him for that. Unfortunately, there are many things that we may not be able to overcome. It's been very sad and frustrating. I have been living for quite a few years with the hope that things will get better, but the reality isn't supporting the hope and I may have to learn to live with it. For now, we are trying. There is a lot that is broken. We have both been ready to give up and throw in the towel so many times, but we are still here. Who knows?<br />
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I wanted so badly to end 2014 on top. I wanted to prove to everyone that I was worthy and that I could kick ass and overcome everything. That was my plan. I completely failed. As some of my readers know, I have beat myself up a lot in the past few months. I have cried, bitched, whined, hated on other people, hated on myself, wanted to give up, hated myself for failing my children and my loved ones. The end of 2014 had some dark times that quite a few friends saw me through. I have been disappointed in myself and disgusted.<br />
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I mean, I even got the Instagram and posted pictures of food and coffee. That's rock bottom. (I needed to break the negative vibe in this post).<br />
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I just can't do that anymore. I have kids. I have to keep my eye on the light at the end of the tunnel. I will not fail my kids. They deserve a mother who will not fail them.<br />
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I don't do resolutions for the New Year. Rather, I have goals at all times. For 2015 - I will make this year my bitch. Good things, people, good things.<br />
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<br />Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-48942983849490787402014-11-27T14:20:00.000-05:002014-11-27T14:20:24.755-05:00Life: Near and Far<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj8O16vh1j7JQgbKbtjCLKTyPM2BZtCG-R2sKsASza7FyNZMUmHATlrqpqP1MHlR0ceBrvU7jjWTjqXxHmHUNxJXePxqrNuQkY__j3rBGQPAiL0-QFeDr7GwAii2S4TAlnfbgv664lKWvQ/s1600/kitchenwindow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj8O16vh1j7JQgbKbtjCLKTyPM2BZtCG-R2sKsASza7FyNZMUmHATlrqpqP1MHlR0ceBrvU7jjWTjqXxHmHUNxJXePxqrNuQkY__j3rBGQPAiL0-QFeDr7GwAii2S4TAlnfbgv664lKWvQ/s1600/kitchenwindow.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've always wanted a kitchen window</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not long ago, I was having a conversation with an acquaintance while shopping at the grocery store. She mentioned that she always wanted to write, but never took action. I encouraged her to write. I shared that I have a blog and that writing helps me declutter the brain. She said, "Oh wow. I don't know how bloggers do it. I love to read blogs, but I couldn't compare. They have such pretty houses and nice things and such pretty pictures. No one would want to see pictures of my house." <br />
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Dafuq?<br />
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I certainly don't have a pretty house or nice things and I was, at the time, a little puzzled by her generalization regarding bloggers. I later did some internet searches and discovered "lifestyle bloggers," which is what she may have been talking about. I see what she means - lots of (filtered) photos on blogs and Instagram showing very bright, cheerful, organized homes and pretty, fancy, sparkly things....mostly from HomeGoods and Target, it seems. I was all, "ooooh" and "aaaaaaah."<br />
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I decided, I need in on that action. I can be a lifestyle blogger. I can show you pictures of my house. Right? Sure, as long as you don't mind reality. I'll show you the perfect pretty moment and then the big picture. There is always a bigger picture.<br />
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<b>NEAR</b>: Look at my pretty, pretty plate. Isn't it nice. I am obsessed (bloggers are supposed to say that) with these plates. It's Ikea. Such a nice plate. Simple design, evoking nature. I bought it because it's and oak leaf and I like oak trees.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDg0nxfwMYhUIilivfmucv3Nb5NKaR4-Y6lVinLNC3CsKSlQGL0ya6XhoLnpDfx1f5iyprAwMKhcsvaG5fByyHv2S9nRMRSuArpqLwgCxerS5UG8WhIJF4JUr8L299zrlitkCnu5F39362/s1600/blogfoddersink2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDg0nxfwMYhUIilivfmucv3Nb5NKaR4-Y6lVinLNC3CsKSlQGL0ya6XhoLnpDfx1f5iyprAwMKhcsvaG5fByyHv2S9nRMRSuArpqLwgCxerS5UG8WhIJF4JUr8L299zrlitkCnu5F39362/s1600/blogfoddersink2.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a></div>
<b>FAR: </b>This is where it was residing when that close up photo was taken. Mmmmm....dishes. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg8MNr7BNqNsQzm7BY0XwrISUoum8EJeJvpQEkg4x3JhfHmq3gx0HvgdOJLuoOqEarqvhdeeyxjV6a85IqN1ocqPRcBVs5V-Ys6Wk1yGwdIFZD6HjiUy6UHdt9sEczZT0B8_b2c5Kcgffo/s1600/blogfoddersink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg8MNr7BNqNsQzm7BY0XwrISUoum8EJeJvpQEkg4x3JhfHmq3gx0HvgdOJLuoOqEarqvhdeeyxjV6a85IqN1ocqPRcBVs5V-Ys6Wk1yGwdIFZD6HjiUy6UHdt9sEczZT0B8_b2c5Kcgffo/s1600/blogfoddersink.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a></div>
<b>NEAR</b>:I am a belly dancer. I write out class notes in a little journal. I also use it to write notes about upcoming performances, costumes, music, etc. I noticed a lot of people take close-ups of their journals, usually with some religious verse written down...and a vase of peonies written down. Bonus Jesus book in this photo along with one of my flower hair clips. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2V9HBOCtBSN7aQWXsufw3HWOXxcCTLxpAnzQUn76UrBFgCPdd0sLbiYtzaHb5vCWhlzyqPaV62opJNJJ8Md1pW_2t1gQ9If_K7pnq5sVyT_Elkly3_MvCsTmFdh31WKiqoq8weRzS0mNd/s1600/blogfoddertable2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2V9HBOCtBSN7aQWXsufw3HWOXxcCTLxpAnzQUn76UrBFgCPdd0sLbiYtzaHb5vCWhlzyqPaV62opJNJJ8Md1pW_2t1gQ9If_K7pnq5sVyT_Elkly3_MvCsTmFdh31WKiqoq8weRzS0mNd/s1600/blogfoddertable2.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a></div>
<b>FAR</b>: The reality of my dinner table. This is the "clean" version. <br /><br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMlOcx2dApA4k3BpqUERrGaQ6Ks39MA1Sb3vi9lxBz4LEoo3AYiIWPoVUIQl1tBdG9JXcLtiFh3B4VgRwaRDXE3zN-vAo9my20fQiGqOfPpTCtnPAfN6lim9cQhh0u8EvnqhXcXCtGBYSQ/s1600/blogfoddertable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMlOcx2dApA4k3BpqUERrGaQ6Ks39MA1Sb3vi9lxBz4LEoo3AYiIWPoVUIQl1tBdG9JXcLtiFh3B4VgRwaRDXE3zN-vAo9my20fQiGqOfPpTCtnPAfN6lim9cQhh0u8EvnqhXcXCtGBYSQ/s1600/blogfoddertable.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a></div>
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<b>NEAR</b>:Next on our tour: my desk. This is where the magic happens. This is where your Funky Little EarthChild writes all of her words. I have a minor office supply fetish. I am not ashamed to admit this. I spend more time than necessary in the office supply aisle of various stores. Back to School time is like Christmas for me. I'm sad to see my son go back to school, but I love me some pens, paper clips, notepads. Whew...I need to stop talking or I'll need a towel. Here we have my favorite Inkjoy pens in a cup thing. It's CHEVRON!!! I'm so fucking trendy. Also, a container of paper clips, binder clips, and thumb tacks. Wanna get turned on? That cost $0.44 cents on clearance. I know, right? <br /><br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIxtoWzeggaXlJho91UHrEeHwLKPjOaulnN7J4VU-VGxGhg_vVGI0Z9hzoe4LhcofLBxePXKUDpzjJcMzLlWTXkIWB67XFgXHv9nLEE8S04Q3a67U2mXvxJtGtQCnElni1-90ivbl7uNq9/s1600/blogfodderdesk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIxtoWzeggaXlJho91UHrEeHwLKPjOaulnN7J4VU-VGxGhg_vVGI0Z9hzoe4LhcofLBxePXKUDpzjJcMzLlWTXkIWB67XFgXHv9nLEE8S04Q3a67U2mXvxJtGtQCnElni1-90ivbl7uNq9/s1600/blogfodderdesk.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a></div>
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<b>FAR</b>: Behold, the wonder that is my desk. There's even an empty box of a filter sponge for fish tanks. Why? God only knows. There are receipts, yarn, half finished crafty projects, thank you notes..... Reality:<br /><br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdulwDhDbUoJiXIy8k6Ykc_smreZsCBqGaTzW8gv09_vlN2yhMSDM48PDZ0HZMAaiUcn1rM0tlKi26yqvTyXK6P8deSEE3wurBYzU9vi2mmEuYeENkByStU6SF4JD0kwc98zpL7HPzCbI/s1600/blogfodderdesk2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdulwDhDbUoJiXIy8k6Ykc_smreZsCBqGaTzW8gv09_vlN2yhMSDM48PDZ0HZMAaiUcn1rM0tlKi26yqvTyXK6P8deSEE3wurBYzU9vi2mmEuYeENkByStU6SF4JD0kwc98zpL7HPzCbI/s1600/blogfodderdesk2.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a></div>
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<b>NEAR</b>: My bedroom is a sanctuary of rest, relaxation, and beauty (and cats):<br /><br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_g14OdlQnXzU10XaJC6JfGD_-7G3RAY-er8LOpLwPOJu6A_cKJk5ndpFQH86cMLnCSMXweH5AxK56BXJamD2Snf_6fIQYdS81mmmkPJENGQuJ8M9f1-IDMwhAeW3TAUjl7-bwbMuL4M1/s1600/blogfodderlaundry2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_g14OdlQnXzU10XaJC6JfGD_-7G3RAY-er8LOpLwPOJu6A_cKJk5ndpFQH86cMLnCSMXweH5AxK56BXJamD2Snf_6fIQYdS81mmmkPJENGQuJ8M9f1-IDMwhAeW3TAUjl7-bwbMuL4M1/s1600/blogfodderlaundry2.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a></div>
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<b>FAR</b>: When we zoom out of this photo, we get the laundry pile of doom. It has no beginning and no end. It is nothing, yet everything. It will eat your soul. Also, cats. <br /><br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwEf8V9CFuy_HmMltYWM6gZDbF2POnx-iOi-JrVJccKTABNMrXGRmperu9r9fdN7yk8MdhyphenhyphenhUoUI3ZB9hqJuEnUpPKeSYYXizbtDQOqDklZANRwd3UNFsJ_5Xw70_yK9ieazlJJPmZfJOM/s1600/blogfodderlaundry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwEf8V9CFuy_HmMltYWM6gZDbF2POnx-iOi-JrVJccKTABNMrXGRmperu9r9fdN7yk8MdhyphenhyphenhUoUI3ZB9hqJuEnUpPKeSYYXizbtDQOqDklZANRwd3UNFsJ_5Xw70_yK9ieazlJJPmZfJOM/s1600/blogfodderlaundry.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a></div>
<b>NEAR</b>: Books are important to my family. We all love to read. I may have gone overboard in my time when the Scholastic fliers came home from my son's school. A nice bookcase will help keep you organized. Yeah, there is a book called "EARTHCHILD" - pretty cool. <br /><br /><br />
<b>FAR</b>: holy fuckballs, we are overloaded with books. Good books. Books about every damn thing imaginable. I need my own library. The bookcase is also a catch-all in this room. As shown here, sometimes me husband just randomly flings books onto a shelf. <br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcSaT3q6U9F68iBxB5DsqvDlsWHh_kMhuNs2nz8DC33TnevFJtmx-goaYueRET__MCnill3BdAec40kU4VYGMqO24bbM0PWtsTq4jlZDakMolE9BNmwqHipqlIHxtS-xmyZJ-Yw04O4pQz/s1600/blogfodderbooks2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcSaT3q6U9F68iBxB5DsqvDlsWHh_kMhuNs2nz8DC33TnevFJtmx-goaYueRET__MCnill3BdAec40kU4VYGMqO24bbM0PWtsTq4jlZDakMolE9BNmwqHipqlIHxtS-xmyZJ-Yw04O4pQz/s1600/blogfodderbooks2.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a></div>
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<b>NEAR</b>: Finally, there is artwork. I love art. Most of the art on my walls was done by my son. Here and there are prints and paintings that I have picked up along the way years ago. This is one of my favorites - it's bright and cheerful to me. It's an Ikea. So posh.<br />
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<b>FAR</b>: This is the adjacent wall. The artwork here is a collaboration of two Renaissance masters: Monkey and Squishy. Monkey first began this piece at the age of 2. His young study, Squishy, added her own interpretation when she reached the age of 3 years and discovered the joy of sidewalk chalk. <br /><br /><br />
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You see, there is always a bigger picture. As humans, it's in our nature to compare ourselves to one another. Sometimes this is a great catalyst for making positive changes in our own lives. At other times, we get caught up trying to measure ourselves against what other people present and letting ourselves become a little green with envy. <br /><br />The internet is an amazing resource. Various blogs, websites like Pinterest, Facebook groups, YouTube videos all provide us with so much inspiration and instruction. Again, sometimes we get stuck in that rut of comparison, getting down on ourselves because our house isn't Pinterest perfect or because our reality would never fit into the highlighted, whitewashed, filtered photographs on a pristine white background. Life doesn't belong on a white background with chevron sparkles and just a wee bit of blue filtering. Sometimes it's messy.<br />
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Lately, I have been hearing/reading a lot of comments from other people, primarily women, who feel bad about themselves because they feel like they can't keep up with that they see. They are down on themselves because their bed isn't made or their rugs are spotty or their kitchen counter is full of dishes from yesterday. They say, "I WISH I was (insert well-known very organized blogger name here)." Stop. Those photos we compare ourselves to our only brief glimpses into reality. Even the most perfect Pinterest queen or household blogger has a struggle somewhere. Some of them probably wish they were the image the present. They have dirty dishes, too. <br /><br /><br />
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<br />Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-10361015277277596512014-11-09T12:55:00.000-05:002014-11-09T12:55:44.782-05:00Top 10 Ways to Tell You Have a Boy and the Top 10 Ways to Tell You Have a Girl<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copyright - me. Don't touch. </td></tr>
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I see many lists dropped here and there on the web that help parents tell if you have a boy or a girl. "Top 3874897 ways to tell you have boys" or "top 487589758574 ways to tell you have a girl" are popular themes in the parental webosphere. <br />
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I've decided to get on the gender list train as well. Why not? Parents could definitely use the help in determining whether they have a boy or a girl. It's not an easy job at all. What would we do without the help of clothing and toy manufacturers to remind us that <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2011/01/boy-is-still-boy-even-if-he-pushes-his.html" target="_blank">girls only like pink and some pastel purple and boys only like any color resembling bloodletting from zombies. </a><br />
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I present to you two lists of the top 10 ways to tell if you have a boy or a girl. I have one boy and one girl, so I am naturally some sort of expert. Right?<br />
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<b>Top Ten Ways to Tell You Have a Boy:</b><br />
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<b><br /></b>1.) Your child walks in the door, covered in mud and half a pine cone, and holds up a cicada shell and a live worm for you to, "please, please, please give kisses and hugs." <br /><br />2.) You spend 25 minutes playing dolls. 8 of those minutes involve at least one doll being decapitated. 4 of those minutes involve you and your child pretend nursing a t-rex.<br /><br />3.) Your child breaks out into song in the middle of the grocery store. By song I mean, "I love buttcracks! Buttcracks smell like farts! Fart, fart, fart. Buttcracks here. Buttcracks there. Buttcracks everywhere! And boobs!! We love booooooooooobs!"<br />
<br />4.) A sparkly tutu is required dress for gymnastics, ballet, t-ball, basketball, biking, hiking, grocery shopping, trips to the doctor, church, synagogue, dentist, tree-hugging ceremonies, school, pre-school, football, swimming, etc. etc.<br />
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<br />5.) Five days out of the week consist of at least one scraped knee. The other two days consist of scraped elbows. There's a wildcard poked eye or bloody nose every other week. <br />
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6.) You've stepped on a Lego at least 17 times today.<br />
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7.) You have been asked nicely - translation: commanded in such an adorable way that you cannot say "no" - to wear a superhero cape and mask for the walk to the mail box.<br />
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8.) When you drain the tub after a bath, you not only find small toy boats, a couple of Playmobil guys, and a matchbox car, you also find quite a bit of dirt, some grass, and what may be half of a stinkbug.<br />
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9.) No fart goes unnoticed or unannounced. 99.99% of the time, it's cause for giggles.<br />
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10.) You've had at least one makeover that leaves you looking like the clown from Poltergeist, while your little one declares you, "the most beautiful princess in the world!"<br />
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And now:<br /><br /><b>Top Ten Ways to Tell You Have a Girl:</b><br />
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<b> </b>1.) Your child walks in the door, covered in mud and half a pine
cone, and holds up a cicada shell and a live worm for you to, "please,
please, please give kisses and hugs." <br /><br />2.) You spend 25 minutes
playing dolls. 8 of those minutes involve at least one doll being
decapitated. 4 of those minutes involve you and your child pretend
nursing a t-rex.<br /><br />3.) Your child breaks out into song in the
middle of the grocery store. By song I mean, "I love buttcracks!
Buttcracks smell like farts! Fart, fart, fart. Buttcracks here.
Buttcracks there. Buttcracks everywhere! And boobs!! We love
booooooooooobs!"<br />
<br />4.) A sparkly tutu is required dress for
gymnastics, ballet, t-ball, basketball, biking, hiking, grocery
shopping, trips to the doctor, church, synagogue, dentist, tree-hugging
ceremonies, school, pre-school, football, swimming, etc. etc.<br />
<br />5.)
Five days out of the week consist of at least one scraped knee. The
other two days consist of scraped elbows. There's a wildcard poked eye
or bloody nose every other week. <br />
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6.) You've stepped on a Lego at least 17 times today.<br />
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7.)
You have been asked nicely - translation: commanded in such an adorable
way that you cannot say "no" - to wear a superhero cape and mask for
the walk to the mail box.<br />
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8.) When you drain the tub
after a bath, you not only find small toy boats, a couple of Playmobil
guys, and a matchbox car, you also find quite a bit of dirt, some grass,
and what may be half of a stinkbug.<br />
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9.) No fart goes unnoticed or unannounced. 99.99% of the time, it's cause for giggles.<br />
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10.)
You've had at least one makeover that leaves you looking like the clown
from Poltergeist, while your little one declares you, "the most
beautiful princess in the world!" <br />
<b></b><br />
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What? Those two lists are exactly the same? Dear God, NO!!! But....but....what about the mud and Spiderman just for boys? What about pink glitter and pink princesses just for girls? Mattel told us that little girls are supposed to want the Barbie life and little boys want anything that can be blown up. There can be no cross-contamination - right? That's what our overlords in the toy store tell us. They must be so different and they cannot be the same. I call bullshit. Sure, some girls decide all by themselves they only want to be pretty, pretty ballerinas. Some boys decide they are only interested in superheros. More often than not, boys and girls experience a mixture of what they like. And that's perfectly okay. They're kids. Let them be. Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-46329965998490553582014-09-07T21:30:00.000-04:002014-09-07T21:30:01.500-04:00Check Out My Melons<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a selfie</td></tr>
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Everyone has been asking, "where did Funky go?" <br /><br />Okay, no one has asked. However, bloggers are contractually obligated to say things like, "y'all have sent me a million messages," or "I get so many people asking me to...." I thought I'd try to fit in.<br />
<br />But I don't fit in. <br /><br />Watch this space for more Funky Little EarthChild. It's been a crazy few months. I am normally a sporadic writer as it is. I've never had any type of regular or consistent content. Fear not, that will not change. Winky face. I just don't have the time to devote to writing every.single.day or every week. <br /><br />Life has been full of ups and downs lately. Lots of goodness from friends and family. Lots of health badness that has finally calmed down in recent months. Lots of marriage turbulence. Kids growing and growing and growing. I have so much I want to write, but I don't really have dedicated time to just sit down for an uninterrupted period of time to let my words just flow. It would help if I wasn't such a wordy person. I fail at being brief. <br /><br />If you've been emailing me - I'm sorry. For the time being,<a href="https://www.facebook.com/funkylittleearthchild" target="_blank"> please message me on my Facebook page</a>. I have a lot to wade through in Gmail. <br /><br />This blog was targeted by what I have been told is a referral site. You get a billionty visits from this site and end up with a whole lotta spam comments. My recent post on oil pulling has been the primary target. I've learned that there is a hell of a lot of dental-related spam out there. Who knew? Thankfully, Blogger is pretty good about recognizing a lot of spammy stuff, but a few well-constructed comments have gotten through. I turned comment moderation on for the time being just to help clean up (because your ass is not making money off my page), but I will likely shut that off soon and return to regular comments. <br /><br />Don't worry - there are plenty of selfies waiting to be shared. Okay, maybe not. <br /><br />I did sell out and try out the Instagram. I don't quite get it. I even tried posting photos of food and my nail polish to see if I would get some happy tingling sensation, but I still don't see the point. For now, I can be <a href="http://instagram.com/funkylittleearthchild" target="_blank">found on Instagram as funkylittleearthchild</a>. I'm not sure how long I will continue with it as I really.do.not.get.it. It's fun filtering stuff. I really know how to sell myself, don't I? <br /><br />For those wondering, I have a follow up that I will be writing regarding a guest post I did on <a href="http://poorasfolk.com/" target="_blank">Poor As Folk. </a>I wrote a post called<a href="http://poorasfolk.com/2014/02/19/jenns-words-living-in-poverty-is-like-being-punched-in-the-face-over-and-over-and-over-on-a-daily-basis/" target="_blank"> Jenn's Words. </a>This is not news to most friends or fans of Funky Little EarthChild. I received a tremendous amount of support in so many ways, including a GoFundMe campaign. the amount that I have relied on the generosity this year is staggering and sobering. Unfortunately, I found out that a viral post of this nature and the subsequent outpouring of support isn't a beautiful thing in the eyes of some people and they can make assumptions, talk shit about you, accuse you of crap, etc. It's the first time I've ever dealt with that sort of thing on my blog and it definitely did sting a bit. It's hard to tow the bullshit line that, "words will never hurt me," because words can have a negative impact. I'm a strong woman and I've dealt with a lot in my life, but being falsely accused, misunderstood, and made fun of reminded me that I am more vulnerable and human than I think sometimes. Half of me wanted to come out in full force and attack right back, especially after there were words about my miscarriage. Another half of me wanted hide from it all. Advice - "go get 'em" or "ignore them, you're better than that," flowed. I responded in a mix - partly acknowledging things that were said, responding to comments and emails, and partly shrugging it off. There are times when people will make up their minds about you, for their own reasons, and they cannot be persuaded they are wrong. <br />
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<br />I have a lot of words in this pretty little mind of mine. I plan to type some of them out very soon and get back into the swing of blogging, be it as sporadic as in the past or a little more regular. Time will tell. <br /><br />Until then....much love. <br />Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-20163291634430900652014-07-03T15:34:00.001-04:002014-07-03T15:35:21.005-04:00Love in Stitches<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It just so happens that I am not a crafty person. I try. I learned to crochet a tiny little bit. I learned to knit an even tinier bit. I cannot sew. I can hand sew things to bras for belly dance. Other than a hand sewn bra, I've never completed a project. Hand crafts require a certain amount of dexterity that I seem to lack. That, and my focus sucks. I keep trying, though. I'm going to successfully knit, crochet, sew, etc., dammit!<br />
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When a group of friends decided to work on a collaborative project for another friend in which each individual embroidered a quilt square, I pondered my lack of talent, my zero experience in embroidery, and my inability to actually finish projects and said, "Count me in!" <br />
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Small and brief backstory - I belong to a group of mothers who all had children at the same time. It's like a Due Date Club that you see on mommy websites. We've known each other for years and have shared many ups and downs. One of the mamas there has been in need of a little extra love. Since we're all spread out over the world, we needed to come up with a way to give her a group hug. We decided that each one of us would pick out a fabric and embroider our name and maybe a little something extra to symbolize our respective personalities. We created a little group and all of the finer details were organized by a couple of our mamas, with one of them volunteering to take all of our squares, sew them together, do the whole batting and backing and trimming thing to turn it into a wrap. <br />
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I decided on a little belly dance symbol to represent me. Tribal Belly Dance is extremely important to my life. In this group, I pretty much give belly dance as an answer to all problems. Feeling bad about the world? Belly dance? Need to feel love for your body, no matter the shape? Belly dance. Menstrual cramps? Belly dance? Want to get active without killing yourself? Belly dance. World peace? Belly dance. It's been a big part of my life for several years. Deciding on that symbol was the easy part. Actually putting a symbol into stitches was terrifying to me. <br />
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I decided on a simple belly/hips with a hip belt and tassels as it's a rather common symbol to see regarding belly dance. I don't know how well it shows in my picture, but I added tassels to the hip belt as they are more closely associated with the tribal forms (especially ATS and ITS) of belly dance than with your traditional Raqs or cabaret belly dance. I am pretty sure I broke many rules about embroidery. I certainly did when it came to tying off my thread. I tried to learn some stitches via YouTube tutorials, but mostly winged it since I couldn't watch and stitch at the same time. I did what I did what I believe are split stitches. I was sweating and having heart palpitations the whole time. Haha. The hardest part was actually my name. I messed it up several times and ended up pulling the thread back out. This left a series a of holes in the project, which you may be able to see here. I panicked at that point, but the friend who was sewing the whole thing together said she believed the holes would shrink once washed and not to worry about it. <br />
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We spent a couple of weeks posting pictures of our squares. It was amazing to see the level of talent among our group of friends. Every single square was a beautiful testament to that particular friend. Eventually, all of the squares were sent in. Our friend sewed them all together, spacing with blank squares, lined it, backed it, and put an edge all around it. It turned out beautifully. <br />
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It was received just a few weeks ago, at a time when that mama needed it so much. She immediately posted a picture of herself wrapped up in our big hand stitched group hug. It's something she will treasure forever and it's a reminder to our whole group of the bond that we have shared over the years. <br />
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Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-88130114418832823922014-04-01T18:52:00.001-04:002014-04-01T19:00:58.155-04:00Breastfeeding: This is WAR. Or Is It?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copyright 2014. Don't steal it. I'll cut you. </td></tr>
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<span lang="">It's no secret that I'm a vocal supporter of breastfeeding. If someone wants to make a nasty comment about breastfeeding mothers or threaten those who <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2012/01/i-dont-want-to-see-your-biebs-in-public.html" target="_blank">nurse in public</a>, I'm right there debating them. I have<a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/search/label/breastfeeding" target="_blank"> blogged about breastfeeding many times</a>. I have discussed the issue of breastfeeding on my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/funkylittleearthchild" target="_blank">Facebook page</a> constantly. I'm outspoken, supportive, and willing to educate. <br />
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<span lang="">But not everyone is comfortable being outspoken. Not everyone wants to post 100 memes in support of breastfeeding each day. There are many mothers who nurse in public who have zero desire to attend a nurse in. There are plenty of breastfeeders who don't want to write about it, talk about it at length, wear lactivist t-shirts, or put pro-breastfeeding bumper stickers on their car. Are they any less valuable? Is their input worthless? <br />
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There are some out there who would actually say, "yes." If you've been around long enough, you may have noticed that. There are folks out there who believe if you are not promoting and attending nurse-ins, passing around every fired up pro-breastfeeding blog post, creating and sharing memes, and wearing a pre-shrunk, nursing accessible, 100% organic cotton t-shirt declaring your lactivism, you are not doing enough. They believe we must all be in the face of opposition, beating our chests and chanting. It's as if we must always have the mindset that we are at war. Arm your tits and roar!!!<br />
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There's no doubt that the chest beating and chanting is effective. I'm one of those people, for the most part. I do not, however, blindly follow the crowd. I do not support every single nurse-in just because. I question if it's needed. Did the company show remorse? Did they show they are willing to accomodate breastfeeding mothers without harrassment? Yes? No need for a nurse-in. If you decide to do one anyway, I will not lend my support. I will not speak against it, but I will not promote it, either. That point alone caused someone to tell me that I set the entire Civil Rights Movement back. Yeah, little old me. Who knew I had so much power? I completely changed the course of history - Quantum Leap style - because I refused to promote a particular nurse-in (Applebees). That sort of hyperbole gets us nowhere. And guess what? I think comparing the plight of American mothers who nurse in public to those who marched for Civil Rights in the 1960's is pure bunk. Yeah, I said it. I wholeheartedly believe that we need to keep educating people, supporting one another, and making sure we don't get harrassed for nursing in public. I do not, however, equate our movement with the Civil Rights Movement. I have seen comparisons of mothers who nurse in public with African Americans who marched in the 1960's. While I appreciate the general sentiment, the idea doesn't sit well with me. Last I checked, none of us have been hosed down in the street, set on fire, bombed out of our churches, or murdered. No one has set a burning Hygeia pump on fire on my lawn. While I vocally and loudly support the right of a mother to nurse her baby in public, covered or uncovered, and I think it's insane that we even have to argue it in America in 2014, I do not for one moment equate myself with Rosa Parks. Does that opinion ruffle some feathers? It sure does. That's fine. Disagree with me if you must. However, don't even pretend that my opinion sets breastfeeding back or that I'm not doing anything to support breastfeeding mothers and their families because that just makes you a foolish. I was born into this. No really - my mother worked in maternity for over 30 years and was a lactation consultant. I grew up around this and have been actively supporting breastfeeding mothers and their babies since I was in high school (my first foray into breastfeeding counselling was with teen moms at my school). It would take me a long time to list all the ways I have helped families and list all the names of the mothers who had my help with breastfeeding, so there is no room to say I don't do anything for the cause. I have also breastfeed my own children...and in public. <br />
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Do you have to be overtly vocal to support breastfeeding? No. The mother who breastfeeds is doing a lot to support breastfeeding. The mother who quietly leaves the Enfamil bag filled with samples behind in her hospital room when she checks out post birth is making a statement. The person who sends a link to KellyMom or La Leche League to a pregnant friend is making a statement. The mother who quietly sits on a bench in a public location and nurses here baby publicly, <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2012/04/cover-debate.html" target="_blank">covered or uncovered</a>, is making a statement. The mother who sits in her living room after the kids have gone to bed, sipping her iced coffee and watching Real Housewives, while stuffing envelopes for her local chapter of La Leche League is making a statement. The dad who holds his wife's purse while she walks around the grocery store, nursing babe in a Moby, is making a statement. The waitress who see a mother nursing her toddler in the corner booth of the diner and asks her if she'd like a glass of water is making a statement. None of these things are overtly vocal. None of them make it onto a bloody battleground. But these folks are just as important as those who are a lot louder. Though their voices are quieter, their message is still as strong. <br />
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Moving forward will always require those who are willing stand in the spotlight and those who are holding the spotlight. It requires cooperation between the people who want to speak firmly and those who quietly nod in agreement from behind their computer screen. It's not a battle over who is more oppressed or who fights harder. If those who are beating their chest are unwilling to see the value in those who are quietly supportive, then they have already lost ground. You don't need to write 1,000 blog posts screaming that you'll never ever cover your baby and that you'll cut a bitch for suggesting it or attend a dozen nurse ins. Nurse your baby if you can. Support other families who breastfeed. You'll make a difference. <br />
</span> </span>Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-4081185958984514322014-04-01T11:56:00.001-04:002014-04-01T11:56:40.693-04:00365 Feminist Selfie: Another Week of Embracing My Selfie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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At this point in time, we all know I completely suck at keeping any kind of regular blogging schedule. I'm still on the #365FeministSelfie train, but technological issues, illness, and life have gotten in the way of me coming here to slap on a few photos and write some blurbs.<br />
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I'm still having a fab time taking pictures of my beautiful self, I guess. I'm part of an online group for happy selfies and it's been a lot of fun checking out everyone's pictures and reading their stories.<br />
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To the left, we have my very old, old sneakers in a hospital room. That's been the story of the past few weeks - crappy health issues. I was taken by ambulance to the hospital a few weeks ago. I suffer from a condition that causes my esophagus to quit working while I'm eating, leaving food lodged, tons of pain, and a lot of trouble breathing. It's also a perforation risk. That day was one of the worst episodes I ever had, so they called an ambulance and I was treated in the hospital. I have to get a bunch of testing done - scopes and barium swallows - in the coming weeks. Ew.<br />
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Spring is here! Early Spring means 65 degrees one day and 30 degrees with snow the next. Plus, tons of rain. Tons of wind. Some snow. Some ice. Probably a bit of sleet. And a thunderstorm.<br />
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This was a particularly gorgeous day and I took advantage of the nice weather to walk to my son's school to pick him up. He loves days when we get to walk. Obviously, this isn't technically a selfie. My husband took the picture....probably for my butt.<br />
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Highlighting my procrastination....this pic is from March 17th. See? It's been a while.<br />
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That's me and my green for St. Paddy's Day. And those are genuine Irish Eyes. They're my Grandfather's eyes. Same shape and the same color, I believe. I know he had blue eyes, but I'm not sure of the shade. He died in 1950 and the only color pics are fake color. <br />
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My son an I took a walk to pick up my car from the mechanic. He's growing up so fast and I know he may not be so willing to hold my hand for walks in the near future. Most times, he's running ahead, exploring. This was a moment where he slowed down and talk my hand for a short while.<br />
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And those shoes. Those are totally him. H&M used to sell these - they are Converse knock-offs - in a variety of super bright and awesome colors. He loves them and we bought a bunch in various sizes to grow into over a year ago.<br />
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Another rare kid moment - my little girl curled up on my lap while napping. she hardly ever slows down to cuddle on my lap these day. Being a two year old is very busy work.<br />
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She looks like she is nursing, but she's not. She just has her face smushed into my boob.<br />
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<br />Why, yes, I do have a wrinkly forehead sometimes.<br />
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More rare moments. This was on my way to a belly dance performance. I rarely ever wear make up. The only time I put it on is for a belly dance performance or for Rocky Horror in October. I am NOT good at putting on make up. YouTube tutorials be damned. I do a very simple eye, with very basic eyeliner and some mascara. That's it. I don't put lipstick on until right before my performance. Otherwise, it never stays on.<br />
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<br />That brings us to an end of the latest installment of me forcing you to look at me.<br />
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Obviously, I'm not sure that I'm going to keep up with a weekly thing or move to monthly updates. I really do like the whole #365selfiechallenge and I'm having fun with it. I'm glad it's somewhat inspired me to be a little more active on my blog. However, this isn't a selfie blog and I feel the need to light the fire under my buttocks and start writing about actual stuff.....like belly dance, having a child with OCD, storm chasers, boobs, etc.<br />
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To see all of my previous posts in the Embracing My Selfie series, <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/search/label/%23365feministselfie" target="_blank">please check out this link full of posts on the subject. </a><br />
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For the post that inspired this, please check out <a href="http://www.vivalafeminista.com/2013/12/365feministselfie-are-you-in.html" target="_blank">Viva La Feminista. </a>Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-65127588584883746492014-03-03T23:03:00.001-05:002019-01-06T19:35:09.546-05:00So, I Found This Picture of Bugs Humping<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB6YFzbc9awvjiEjAC80FAPGapVCHv52kk_OtPSReawJVU2K1ajYpT-iwA7fCBrQlrj52hVXesQVpr8i3JGYDQCMQPoplQefRrTkqukjnX7ndcvGzbrWuhHEk065bf0CovKuj66fzWGqbQ/s1600/039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB6YFzbc9awvjiEjAC80FAPGapVCHv52kk_OtPSReawJVU2K1ajYpT-iwA7fCBrQlrj52hVXesQVpr8i3JGYDQCMQPoplQefRrTkqukjnX7ndcvGzbrWuhHEk065bf0CovKuj66fzWGqbQ/s400/039.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copyright JSH 2012</td></tr>
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I was looking through some pictures today and I found a set from a walk I took with my family in the Summer of 2012. We were hiking through some local woods as we typically do year round. I had gone to hug a tree and my husband was going to take a picture when I looked down and noticed two sticks stuck together and stuck that way on the bark of the tree - right under my hand. Then I realized, those aren't sticks, those are Walking Sticks - insects. And they weren't stuck together. They were making love sweet insect love. Right next to my hand! Ew! No blankets. No "Do Not Disturb" sign. Just full on insect fuckery right there out in the open. In front of my children. Won't someone please think of the children? <br />
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I did what any normal person would do when they encounter two living beings humping away on the side of a tree. I took pictures. About thirty of them. Close up. They were very open and gracious about it. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">© Funky Little EarthChild 2012</td></tr>
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Now, you'll see in these pictures that the lady Walking Stick is rather curvy and the dude is on the lean side. Walking Sticks have quite a bit of stamina - they stay..umm...attached...for quite a few hours. That's right ladies. This little dude weighs less than an angel feather, yet he has enough stamina to satisfy his lady all afternoon. Say what you want about bugs, but these little guys are no two pump chumps.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">© Funky Little EarthChild 2012</td></tr>
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In all seriousness, I love finds like this. I think bugs are fascinating and my kids love them, so we've got a lot of pics of various little critter dudes and dudettes. This was exciting as I had never seen a live Walking Stick out in it's natural environment in over thirty some years of life until that day. Had I kept on walking and not stopped to hug the tree, I would have completely missed these lovers. And that would suck. I did thank them for allowing my family to linger and stare at them and take pictures of them copulating. I mean, you have to give them respect. I know they're "just bugs," but it may have freaked them out to have their insect sex disturbed by typical American tourists getting really close and saying intelligent things like, "holy shit! Look at that little guy go!" So, thank you Walking Sticks, for allowing me to photograph you and point at you and use you as a lesson for my kids.<br />
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At least I had a little class and didn't do anything tacky like pose for a picture next to bug lovin'. I mean, what kind of weirdo does that? Oh wait...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Weirdo © Funky Little EarthChild 2012</td></tr>
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Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-64533986579522050922014-03-02T18:16:00.001-05:002014-03-03T00:55:37.248-05:00Pulling My Teeth: Update<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks for the coconut oil, Erica. </td></tr>
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Just a little bit late here.<br />
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<a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2014/01/pulling-my-teeth.html?showComment=1390242279866#c4463374827366367076" target="_blank">As I promised in my original post on oil pulling</a>, I did it for 30 days. I typically oil pulled in the morning, though there were some days when it was so hectic that I forgot and would do it later in the afternoon or the evening. I may have skipped a day. I forget. <br />
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I surprised myself in that I was able to let the solid oil melt in my mouth, something that had gagged me during previous attempts. I would place the spoonful of solid coconut oil in my cheek and allow it to melt - took about 30 seconds - without gagging. Score!<br />
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So, did it make my teeth all fancy and clean? Are my gums healthier? Does my body feel so much better? Did it heal a bunch of ailments? Are my cavities gone?<br />
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Well, for one, oil pulling certainly left my teeth feeling very nice and smooth. That feeling would last for a little bit and was enjoyable - similar to the feeling you get after a cleaning at the dentist.<br />
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As for healing my gums, improving oral health or overall health - FAIL. There is zero noticeable change in my gums since beginning this routine. My gums bled just as much on day 30 as they did on day 1. Absolutely not a trace of improvement whatsoever. My overall health? Same. I don't feel any worse, other than massive exhaustion, and I do not feel any better.<br />
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I stopped oil pulling right on day 30. Why? I lost two fillings. Two motherfucking fillings are gone. This is sometimes noted as a "side effect" of oil pulling and you'll hear various reasons ranging from the fact that all that swishing will knock a filling out to it's your body's way of detoxing itself. Well, detox away, but I need those fillings. One was the youngest filling in my mouth, on one of my incisors and was comprised of the white filling material (I call it "bonding" which may be an incorrect term).<br />
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Since I have very crappy poor people Medicaid dental insurance that doesn't cover many fillings (if at all - and you need to ask permission for them), I cannot risk losing any more. So, I have suspended the oil pulling for the time being.<br />
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I wish I could have come back to tell you that it worked, my gums are healed, my teeth are sparkly white, my acne is gone, my poop looks like a Faberge egg, and my nails paint themselves. I'm not going to tell you not to try it. Many people are extremely satisfied with oil pulling and I certainly believe it works for them. Like anything else, what works for one person does not always work for another (a lesson that should be applied to all aspects of life). Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-74347840592679046312014-02-17T01:52:00.000-05:002014-02-17T01:57:16.497-05:00Frozen Toes, Warm Hearts. Or Something Like That<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_SydQQc5PblXhAn0wPzSIldj8huO1DT8ru0PPPrhyphenhyphenq-JMx-oeMBwZXhaOvahfc4dUdhmWHmrANeyoVY27Vj2B-qxsrfiSrvPnU5EEXX2WNnm9X88hcimdaFVDpRTSayqTUZWDgqIW9OBd/s1600/kidssnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_SydQQc5PblXhAn0wPzSIldj8huO1DT8ru0PPPrhyphenhyphenq-JMx-oeMBwZXhaOvahfc4dUdhmWHmrANeyoVY27Vj2B-qxsrfiSrvPnU5EEXX2WNnm9X88hcimdaFVDpRTSayqTUZWDgqIW9OBd/s1600/kidssnow.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copyright 2014 JSH</td></tr>
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The frozen white stuff that falls from the sky, oh we have so much of it. So much fucking snow.<br />
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I live in Pennsylvania. It's Winter. Winter in Pennsylvania brings cold temperatures, gloomy skies, frozen white stuff, winds, cold rain. It's expected. Every few years, sometimes several in a row, we get hammered in the Winter. We get storm after storm bringing us snow, sleet, freezing rain, and any other type of frozen precipitation. And brutal cold. This is one of those years. Mama Nature has gone all dramatic with the Winter weather. We've had a constant stream of storms dumping this frozen white shit all over our lawns and streets. We even had an ice storm, which brought down many trees and power lines in this area - the worst natural disaster here since Hurricane Sandy. There are many reasons for this extreme active weather pattern, which also included the Polar Vortex drooping down over half the country like a big saggy frozen boob - there are pressure systems off the East Coast that keep other pressure systems close to the coast, allowing cold air to travel down to us and naughty storms to keep following the same pattern. There's the Jet Stream, which is pretty much just on "lather, rinse, repeat" this year. We've got Climate Change. It's really a thing. Generally, there is a typical interplay of all these systems and atmospheric streams on this planet that control which way storms go, how low temps go, and how fucking batshit crazy we'll go after we've been locked in our frozen homes for the 5th consecutive week. Also, because Obama. Just kidding.<br />
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We've had so much damn snow that I, a lover of my gentle Mother Earth, am about to shake my fist at the heavens and scream, "bitch, we ain't the cast of <i>Frozen</i>! Knock this shit off." My son has missed a ton of school. I have lost count of all of the snow days they've had, not to mention the early dismissals and late openings. They have a lot of days to make up. Our last storm, just a few days ago, dumped a foot of snow on us and resulted in two days off from school. Even my 7 year old son rolled his eyes at the forecast, stating that he is sick and tired of snow days. You know it's bad when the kids are complaining. There are only so many crafts, baking activities, and snowman building outings that you can do. Worse, this snow has resulted in about two months worth of rent lost in income. That is bad for a family like mine. While I respect the forces of nature, I'm also ready to get this frozen shit show on the road and get on with some Spring...at which point I'll be hiding under my bed because of thunderstorms.<br />
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My kids have gone out and built so many snowmen and little igloos. We've sledded down the hill hundreds of times. We've thrown snowballs. We've run inside for hot chocolate and tea to warm up our frozen fingers. With the first few snowfalls, you bundle up merrily and run outside with your kids, snapping a billion pictures of every sled trip down the hill and every stage of building a snowman. By the 17th snow storm, complete with 18 inches of snow and ice layered on the ground, you drag yourself out in your pajama pants and boots, and tell your husband to grab a pic from the window with his phone. Snow is so love/hate for me. It's pretty to look at. I love the fact that my kids have such a blast in it. I'm just over it this year. I also believe that I suffer from SAD - Seasonal Affective Disorder. I have noticed it for the past few Winters. My mood and my energy level can get quite low during the Winter. I need sun. I am solar powered. Even on the coldest day, if that sunshine comes out, I'm running outside of my front door and spinning around in those golden rays of warmth - until I realize I'm only wearing a sports bra and my yoga pants with the hole in the crotch and that my nipples are indeed frozen solid. <br />
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I want to tell you that I spend every snow day curled up with a cozy blanket by the fire, book in one hand and piping hot cup of coffee in the other, warm fuzzy socks peeking out from under the blanket, and a cat on my lap. Such an Instagram moment. I want to tell you that my kids and I spend hours on those days creating all different kinds of crafts out of ecru cardstock, neon sharpies, and organic rose petals, while the aroma of various baked goods filled our home with warmth and sugary love. It's just not the reality. We've got cabin fever, yo, and we all out for blood.<br />
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Sure, we've done some crafts. I've got plenty of $1.00 sticky foam craft packs from A.C. Moore to entertain two kids for at least 6 minutes. My son is super artistic and can spend hours at a time working on a drawing or creating something out of things he found in the recycling bin. However, there is a two year old involved and, though she fancies herself an artist, crayons, paper, and stickers will only hold her attention for so long before someone melts down. While I have picked up a book this season, I only read for 5 minute spurts before someone is screaming, "mmmmaaaaaaaaaammmmmaaaaaaaa!!!!" or my two year old runs in without her pants to inform me that her poop missed the bowl and she stepped in it. We've definitely baked a bit this Winter, so I guess that gets me a nod from Pinterest.<br />
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I won't lie - my kids have watched more T.V. than any self-respecting member of <i>Mothering</i> would approve of. I could probably act out quite a few episodes of Curious George or Barney in my sleep. And I sit there, feeling guilty, because nothing that we are doing would be worthy of a white-washed and over saturated Instagram photo or a Pin to someone's "Comfy, Cozy, Family Snow Day" board. I worry that I'm not doing enough for my kids while they're stuck home for another snow day. We're not doing enough crafts. We're not baking enough muffins. I'm not making enough soup in my crock pot (because I don't own one). My house isn't as clean as everyone says it should be when you're spending so much time indoors. In fact, it's trashed....because my kids are wild savages. The guilt seeps in. Dear God, I'm not a good enough mom because I didn't do an ice particle home study with my kids and we didn't create snowman crafts out of organic cotton balls picked by sparkle fairies. Fuck that shit. My cure for mom guilt - getting the hell outside, getting into nature, even if it's a vast gloomy frozen fuckhole at the moment.<br />
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Being outside always heals me. To be completely cliché, nature is my Church. I find so much spiritual fulfillment outside in nature. Even in the Winter, when everything is frozen over, half-dead, and gray, I still find beauty. There are birds and other critters who only visit in Winter. Some are here year round, but are more active in the Winter. Winter brings owl humping season, and we occasionally hear the love calls of Great Horned owls. The foxes around here are very active in Winter and their ...ummm.... unique calls are frequent this time of year. Getting outdoors allows me to calm my brain a little bit, focus on simple things such as the color of the sky, clouds, little signs of Spring in the scenery around me. It just helps to ground me.<br />
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This Winter, when I have those crappy guilt feelings and I'm out of craft ideas and tolerance for Barney tunes, I grab the winter coats, hats, scarves, gloves, and boots and pack the kids up in the car and drive to one of our favorite parks. We're typically among very few at the park during this time of year, especially when there in snow on the ground. We walk on some paved trails, which are never plowed or shoveled after snow, and then we veer off onto the regular dirt trails. My kids love being out there. They love he change of snow scenery. Instead of snowmen, forts, snowballs and all of the things you do when playing in your yard, they just walk through the snow, taking in all the sites, noticing how the snow changes the landscape and the shape of trees and bushes. They are fascinated by frozen streams, ponds, and lakes. A bonus with snow is animal tracks - it's so much easier to see them, even on a frozen lake. They enjoy trying to figure out which critter made which tracks. I make it a learning experience, but not forcefully so. I let them wander and walk ahead of me (always safely in sight), exploring, and I occasionally remark about something - a sign of spring, a bird we only see in Winter (Junco), vegetation that stays green all year, different berries, etc. They learn, but with ease and without pressure. The wintertime scene in the woods is different than Summer - obviously - as it's quieter, sometimes more serene, not as full of people. You can listen to the sounds of the various birds, or of water cracking the icy surface of a stream, without trying to filter through tons of human voices. It's nice. Peaceful. <br />
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So even though it's the same frozen white shit that we have at home, my kids get a change of scenery, I get to refresh myself and clear my brain, and we all get some exercise. Bonus, the 2 year old usually passes out for a good nap on the car ride home.<br />
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Outside: You should go there.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copyright 2014 JSH I will cut you</td></tr>
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<br />Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-22477676084849130912014-01-12T22:36:00.000-05:002014-01-12T22:59:43.671-05:00Pulling My Teeth<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have the suckiest bathroom lighting</td></tr>
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At some point last year, I said I was going to start oil pulling. What is oil pulling? It's a method of swishing oil around in your mouth each day in order to promote oral health. <a href="http://wellnessmama.com/7866/oil-pulling-for-oral-health/" target="_blank">Here is a much better explanation</a>. Oil pulling comes with many claims - it will cure every thing from Alzheimer's to Cancer to Masturbation to Zinc Deficiency. Or something. If you google it, you'll see oil pulling listed as a cure for nearly every disease and disorder you can think of. I, however, do not buy into most of it at this time. I do believe it can have a good effect on your oral health, which is why I'm giving it a go. I know that oral health can affect your overall body heart, especially your heart and kidneys.....I'm just not down with the claims that it cures 948459478574 ailments.<br />
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I was drawn to the claims in regards to oral health. I have suffered from gum disease and shitty teeth since I was a child. There have only been a few occasions in my life where I have gone to the dentist and have been told I was free of cavities. A typical visit yields at least a few cavities. My gums are always unhappy. I hate smiling because my teeth are ugly. They have permanent discoloration thanks to both tetracycline and braces. I'm good about taking care of my teeth. I brush 2 to 3 times daily. I floss one to two times a day. My diet isn't total crap. I do drink coffee, but it's coffee or heart meds (seriously - it keeps me from bottoming out and passing out - ask my cardiologist). My teeth are so shitty that I currently have cavities, but my dentist (God, I miss my old dentist) told me she will not fill them unless I have some scary deep, deep cleaning first. My insurance will not cover that. Guess what else my insurance doesn't cover? Other dentists. I have poor people insurance and, while it's been a lifesaver, the dental coverage suuuuuuccccckkkss. So, I'm down for oil pulling if there is a chance it could help my teeth. <br />
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There are also many suggestions for how to do this. The length of time to do it, whether or not to brush your teeth afterwards, the type of oil to use.....it all varies. I'm choosing<a href="http://edge.affiliateshop.com/public/AIDLink?AID=124717&Redirect=/oilprofile/coconut-virgin.php" target="_blank"> coconut oil</a>. That is what I have and what doesn't gag me. The typical suggested time is 20 to 25 minutes. I use a teaspoon, not a tablespoon. <br />
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What do you do? You put a spoonful of coconut oil in your mouth, swish it around like mouthwash, making sure to push it through your teeth. Do this for 25 minutes. Now, coconut oil is solid when the ambient temperature is under 74 degrees Fahrenheit, give or take a couple. Some people can take a spoonful of solid coconut oil into their mouth and let it sit there and melt. I tried that once, I gagged. It wasn't pretty. I need it in liquid form. In the cooler months, I melt it over the stove. Since I do this in the morning, I hold it over the stove when cooking eggs or bacon. It melts pretty quick. If you do this be sure to transfer it to a cooler spoon!! Do not be like me - I heated the coconut oil over the stove (P.S. - the first time my husband saw me doing this, he asked if I had started a heroin habit since that's sorta what it looks like) and then put that spoon directly into my mouth. Ouchmotherfuckthathurtssobad. Don't do it. When you're finished, spit it into a trashcan. Don't swallow. Don't spit it in the sink - it's no good for your pipes. <br />
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There's some question out there as to whether it is entirely safe for pregnant women and breastfeeding women. I probably wouldn't do it while pregnant and I'm barely nursing anymore. There's also a bit of debate about using it when you have fillings in your mouth. The argument is the oil pulling will either damage fillings - I remain unconvinced here - or it'll leach toxins out of your fillings into your mouth and you'll fucking turn into mercury itself. I remain convinced on this point as well. Besides, my fillings are there in my mouth all day, everyday, with a direct access to my bloodstream (live teeth! gums!). I'm pretty much fucked as it is. <br />
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As I said, there is plenty to be found on oil pulling and this isn't really a how-to. I suck at how-to stuff. I'm writing this because I tried oil pulling at the beginning of last Summer. I didn't last very long because I ran low on coconut oil and being extremely poor, I just plain couldn't afford to buy some more. I needed to save what was left for cooking. Thankfully, a friend generously sent me some coconut oil last month and I can set some aside for skin health and oil pulling.<br />
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I'm going to do it every day for one month to see if there is any notable difference. My regimen is easy - 1 teaspoon of oil once a day in the morning. Swish for 25 minutes. Spit into the trash. Rinse and spit. Brush teeth. Smile. <br />
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I'll let you know the results in 30 days. :)<br /><br />*Disclaimer - the above link for coconut oil leads you to my affiliate link to Mountain Rose Herbs. If that makes you uncomfortable, but you want to check out MRH, just head to Mountainroseherbs.com. <br />*P.S. I giggled every time I typed "oral." Because I'm immature. <br />
<br />Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-43258586807855808092013-07-02T22:18:00.000-04:002019-01-06T19:55:09.996-05:00Photos in Five Minutes - Boobies Included<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7aLsr4BdmI2CtNA5MfwQw4y1TFRxF5TGARkNzGYqIxtbK5FwaP9Y6FPbsK57zparws7J_Td7u2XEmOnsij6-B-rdF-gkdLPch4kD4X1UBgLgwItG8Z3L0hY_Eu6vQNJNCJGHLyiOm8-Et/s960/anothertreehug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7aLsr4BdmI2CtNA5MfwQw4y1TFRxF5TGARkNzGYqIxtbK5FwaP9Y6FPbsK57zparws7J_Td7u2XEmOnsij6-B-rdF-gkdLPch4kD4X1UBgLgwItG8Z3L0hY_Eu6vQNJNCJGHLyiOm8-Et/s400/anothertreehug.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Requested tree hug</td></tr>
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Last year, I would occasionally ask folks on<a href="https://www.facebook.com/funkylittleearthchild" target="_blank"> my Facebook page</a> to give me ideas for pictures to post on the blog.<a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2012/05/photos-in-five-ish-minutes-may-8th.html" target="_blank"> I give them five minutes to chime in and then photograph the things that were suggested.</a> I haven't done it in a while and I completely forget that blogger can be a bit of a dick about uploading lots of photos. In any case, here are today's requested photos. This is excited stuff folks, there's pussy, booby and even refrigerator photos. That gets people hot. Yes, I know everything in my kitchen needs to be cleaned. It's been so humid that I melt when I move, so cleaning has been on the back burner lately. <br />
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My super smart and loverly friend, <a href="http://dumbsainthood.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Crazy Dumbsaint of the Mind</a>, requested a photo of me hugging a tree. I'm not sure if this qualifies as a tree or a bush, but it still needed a big ol' hug. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXD1ouwzQ_2ipz3EZbmA68i1EjcxnXU_F5qlfgLt2t1jTFn5ti3rXAf3xgsE3TOpRksVVKOt6ddypiTC0qUG5rmcVmhsG0unpq6xM57aZkGLJTJQwXPTA1yxAITMA5HF896y7aEqL5s4H/s960/kitchenwindow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXD1ouwzQ_2ipz3EZbmA68i1EjcxnXU_F5qlfgLt2t1jTFn5ti3rXAf3xgsE3TOpRksVVKOt6ddypiTC0qUG5rmcVmhsG0unpq6xM57aZkGLJTJQwXPTA1yxAITMA5HF896y7aEqL5s4H/s400/kitchenwindow.jpg" width="225" /></a>Stacey asked me to photograph my kitchen window. Alas, I do not have a kitchen window. I would really like one. I have this weird fantasy where I have a kitchen window, right by my sink. Perhaps, it's not a weird fantasy. I personally feel that having a window by the sink would make me much more likely to do dishes in a timely manner. Since I don't have a real window, I decided to add one in using my mad ass Paint skillz. It's hard to see here, but there is an apple tree, some happy little clouds, the sun, a bushy-tailed dog, poppies and som turkey vultures. That shit is copyrighted, yo. Don't even try to steal my artwork.<br />
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Liberty Ann requested "boobies." She did not specify which type of boobies. I brought up these images on the Google. This is a delightful little bird known as the Blue-Footed Booby. <br />
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Lindsay wanted to see my toaster and Amanda requested my microwave. I don't use either very much. They sit side by side on my crowded counter. Yes, they need to be wiped down. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3a_bwzPGhmYwdzJa2m-ctFibLT6lcDkRdLqR3lqHWzKnuPwHC1zX_VHobhpsqqAp9AP64Nm2dsxMBkFllB8I-2UtHLSk4nDqDT6UgRKgi_R4LiAn36zuRoE1xTopNbifzL_eEN6FHdbn_/s960/toasterwave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3a_bwzPGhmYwdzJa2m-ctFibLT6lcDkRdLqR3lqHWzKnuPwHC1zX_VHobhpsqqAp9AP64Nm2dsxMBkFllB8I-2UtHLSk4nDqDT6UgRKgi_R4LiAn36zuRoE1xTopNbifzL_eEN6FHdbn_/s320/toasterwave.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
Yes, those are produce stickers on the door of the microwave. My son loves to stick those in random places in the house.<br />
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Next up is a request by Thomas. He wanted a tree and a flower. He didn't specify if they needed to be real, so he gets the tree-shaped toothbrush holder and the flower in my hair. <br />
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The monkey tree toothbrush holder is from Target. I balance out my betrayal of the planet for buying China-made goods by using Preserve toothbrushes, which are made out of recycled yogurt cups. Of course, I gag whenever I remember they are made from yogurt cups since<a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2012/07/clowns-are-evil-and-yogurt-tastes-funny.html" target="_blank"> I think yogurt tastes funny. </a><br />
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I personally think everyone should wear flowers in their hair now and then. I do. Someone from my belly dance studio made awesome flower hair picks. I love them - it brightens my day and attracts the occasional bee.<br />
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Pussy shot! This is my cat, Gawain. Chandi wanted to see a kitty pic. Gawain is 9 years old and I have had him since he was about 12 weeks old. He found me at my old job when I was working with one of the horses in the barn. Apparently, one of our clients tried to give him to the clinic. When the receptionist told him they were unable to take any animals in for adoption at the time, the person left with the kitten and threw him out into the parking lot. He wandered around, found me, and began rubbing up against my leg and purring his poor little heart out. I had just taken in a baby kitty, Duncan, 12 weeks earlier and swore up and down that we were going to be a one cat household. Ha! Gawain here is one of 5 (6 total if you count my little Abigael in Heaven). I put him in a cage in the kennel and labelled it, "Gawain," after one of the Knights of the Round Table. I couldn't take another cat and the clinic decided that they would keep him an find him a home. The next day, I found that the kennel attendants didn't like the name I chose and changed it to "Poopy." Yes, Poopy. At that moment, I decided he was mine. No one was naming him Poopy. I'm a sucker.<br />
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April wanted to see my favorite blanket. Donni Lee wanted to see my favorite books and DVDs. It's hard to choose those. Also, my kids were watching, so I couldn't go near the DVDs because then they would start screaming to watch something and the toddler would insist on pulling out every single DVD and stepping on them. I managed to steal one, mainly because I found it hiding under the couch. I swiped it when the kids weren't looking. Labyrinth is the movie. It's my favorite. I saw it in the theater back in 1986 when I was 7 years old. That was my introduction to David Bowie, one of the biggest influences in my life over the last 27 years. Love him. Love him. Love him. The books are; <u>Earth Prayers,</u> <u>The Birth House,</u> and <u>The Red Tent.</u> I really can't choose favorite books and, to be honest, I chose these because they were my favorite books on the top shelf of my bookshelf. Frankenstein is one of my all time favorites, but I don't actually have a copy at the moment.<br />
The blanket was made for my son by my mom. It's a bunch of really bright robots. We all know I love bright colors. <br />
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Speaking of bookshelves, <a href="http://ladyandhoots.com/" target="_blank">Lady and Hoots</a> wanted to see mine. <br />
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This is a cheap ass number from Wal-Mart. I had to build it myself. Surprisingly, it was USA made. It's actually held up well for 5 years. It houses my books. Not my kids books...mine! There are novels, veterinary texts, pregnancy books, poetry anthologies (belonging to my husband), various human medicine texts, mythology books, an art history textbook, journals, earth-friendly books, religion stuff, biographies, home how-tos, breastfeeding texts and books and more. There's even a book about Storm Chasing (<u>Into the Storm</u> by Reed Timmer). I read a lot of both fiction and non-fiction. <br />
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Sarah wanted to see my dishwasher detergent or the ingredients that I use to make it. I don't make my own. I haven't tried that or making my own laundry detergent yet. I see so many mixed reviews on both and I just haven't made the leap. I normally use Ecover. I used to use Planet until it became hard to find in local stores. I also like Sun and Earth, a local company, but it's hard for me to find close by and the cost isn't always okay with me. I usually get Ecover on sale. I have also used Seventh Generation and would get it via Amazon Subscribe and Save, but they have super raised the price lately and the company isn't my favorite. They're big on greenwashing.<br />
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I do dishes by hand, not the dishwasher. Ours is old and gross.<br />
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Brave is the person who ventures inside my fridge, which is what Chelsea and<a href="http://www.humblespoon.com/" target="_blank"> Humble Spoon</a> wanted to do. It's not that bad, really, just rather empty. We've got lots of eggs, yogurt (not mine!), cottage cheese, plenty of local milk, not-so-local cheddar, a bit of fruit (unseen - it was on the counter), water, maple syrup, juices (yes, even *gasp* non-organic orange juice. Yes, I know about the flavor packs they use and how it will cause me to grow breasts inside my mouth), and some lonely little celery stalks destined for the stock pot. I don't know why I'm listing everything - just saving you from squinting. <br />
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Even more brave is the person who wants to see my kitchen sink, as requested by Jennifer.<br />
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Michelle wanted to see a random dog, but I couldn't find one, so here is a picture of my dog, McKenna. She passed away almost exactly 5 years ago after a 19 month battle with bone cancer and an amputation of her leg. She kicked that cancer's ass for quite a while. <br />
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Thomas wanted to see a random animal. This little dude is an alpaca made of alpaca wool. You can also see a goofy little turtle along with the Goddess doll lovingly made for me by Joni Rae of <a href="http://jonirae.com/" target="_blank">Tales of A Kitchen Witch</a> fame. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiWeBInha5lIB0idbmQDogWWdo15S_PFPI5-wLnIf3DQoZE1o3nRiErRMFpUzZ8b22y8iq_GBN1l-DF8DXbYOeJbyhm4SBCTqwyWYb0pfAyKn8XlF5gjmDHacN3QVPW6yJEQXqFAET4oAV/s1600/loosestrife.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiWeBInha5lIB0idbmQDogWWdo15S_PFPI5-wLnIf3DQoZE1o3nRiErRMFpUzZ8b22y8iq_GBN1l-DF8DXbYOeJbyhm4SBCTqwyWYb0pfAyKn8XlF5gjmDHacN3QVPW6yJEQXqFAET4oAV/s320/loosestrife.jpg" width="180" /></a>Trista wanted to see my favorite plant, which I absolutely cannot choose. This is yellow loosestrife. It's considered an invasive weed in some locations, but it never spreads in my garden and doesn't bother anyone here. The bees love it. I love it. It stays.<br />
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Ashley asked for a picture of something yummy that I grew myself that most people don't. Well, I can't grow food here because the apartment complex sprays pesticide like it's water. This is all I have in my house that I grew myself - my dehydrated and ground up placenta. I only make a few capsules at a time. Because I'm lazy.<br />
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Last, but not least, Dixie wants to see my favorite spot to sit and take a breath of fresh air. Since I was stuck at home today, I chose to photograph that location here. I normally like to go to a park or the beach for some nice air. This is just my crappy little Ikea chair on my front "porch."This is where I sit and read or yell at my children while they play. <br />
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Holy crap. We made it through all eleventy billion pictures. I am sorry for those who are still using dial up. All photos are copyright ME, so don't steal them or I will do something drastic, like call you and sing or leave buttcrack sweat on your favorite chair. I know they're awesome, but their mine. All mine. They were taken with my Droid because I couldn't find my camera. It was where I left it, which is the last place I thought to look - in my camera bag. <br />
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Hope you enjoyed my dirty kitchen, my flowers, my placenta, and the pussy. Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-78957417433893030962013-02-26T21:50:00.001-05:002013-07-02T22:27:55.840-04:00Nursing in Public: It doesn't Always Make the News<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In our little online world, we often hear about nursing in public in two ways: 1.) How to do it without a wardrobe malfunction and 2.) stories of harassment for doing it. There's plenty to say about nursing bras, nursing tops, altering your wardrobe so you don't have to buy specialty stuff. And there is more than plenty to say about women being harassed in public. It happens nearly everyday. It can be a small moment where a passerby makes a rude remark and keeps on walking. It can be the ignorant comments often found on blogs and articles about breastfeeding - "I totally support nursing, but women need to be discreet about it." It could be something much bigger, such as an actual business telling a mother that she is not allowed to breastfeed in public within their walls. You literally cannot throw a nursing pad without hitting a story about a mother who has been harassed in some way shape or form. I have <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2012/10/nursing-in-public-horror-of-horrors.html" target="_blank">addressed the issue</a> of the rights of mothers to nurse their babies in public without harassment several times myself.<br />
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However, there is something we hear about far less - something that doesn't get a lot of attention. Happy experiences. Yeah yeah, some times a blogger, myself included, will ask women to share their happy nursing in public experiences on their page. It does happen, but not as often as I would like.<br />
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I just want to simply tell mothers that many women have nursed in public without a single dirty look or rude comment. It's not always a horror fest of ignorant comments. You are not always on the defensive. I am one of those mothers. I nursed my son for 3 years. I nursed him in public whenever he had the need. I have been nursing my daughter for 18 months now and she shows no signs of slowing down. She, too, has been nursed in public whenever the need arises. I have nearly 5 years of combined nursing in public experience and I have not had one single bad comment. I have never been <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2012/04/cover-debate.html" target="_blank">asked to cover</a> up, to move, to leave. My first time nursing in public was when my son was 4 days old. He began to scream and turn bright red with his furious hunger in the waiting room of the pediatrician's office. Being a new mom, I was a little nervous and wasn't as graceful with manipulating my clothing, my bra, my baby, his blanket. I remember trying to cover him just for a few moments as he latched on. That did not go over well. People looked at me, but more because my son was obviously screaming from hunger and not because they were shocked to see a woman nurse in public. And that was the last time I felt nervous.<br />
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I have had the opposite of negative attention. I have gotten compliments and smiles. I have had strangers walk by and say, "I miss feeding my babies," or "That is just the best thing in the world." Not too long ago, I stood in line in Toys 'r' Us and the cashier and two customers noticed me standing there nursing Squishy. The cashier smiled at her. One of the customers commented that it was just so nice to not have to carry bottles and bags and just feed whenever and wherever. The other customer and cashier agreed. And then they gushed over the infant nursing on my breast.<br />
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Those moments happen, too.<br />
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For what's it's worth, I have nursed in some of the big offenders when it comes to businesses harassing mothers. I have nursed in every aisle and department of Target. I nursed at Applebees. I have nursed at the YMCA. I'm out and about everyday and I have a long list of places where I have nursed easily without issues.<br />
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We don't see news articles proclaiming, "<i>Mother nurses baby in public,
while shopping in the shoe department of Sears. Several customers notice
and smile and carry on with their shopping</i>." It's not because it's a rare occurrence, but it's because positivity doesn't always sell. You don't always hear about the woman in the coffee shop, who is told to please make herself comfortable while they get her order and they'll bring her coffee to her while she is nursing. You don't always hear about the waiter who brings an extra glass of water for the mom nursing at one of his tables because he has heard that nursing moms need to drink more. We don't always notice the nice old ladies with blue hair who walk by with a smile and a happy sigh while your nursing your baby and pushing your shopping cart at the grocery store. The grocery clerk who goes out of his way to help you carry your bags out to the car so you can keep nursing without carrying extra stuff never makes the headlines. These people exist. <br />
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There is no denying that we still have work to do when it comes to educating the public about breastfeeding and help others to understand that nursing in public is a right and there is nothing wrong with it. We're working on it. Change for the better will happen.<br />
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I just wanted to take this small moment to reassure new mamas who may be scared of nursing in public because they hear all of these stories about harassment. You don't have to go out there expecting that you'll need to defend yourself for feeding your baby everyday. I want you to know that there are so many times when it goes perfectly and the only attention you get is a smile or a mother of grown children reminiscing of when she nursed her babes on a bench at the mall. Remember, you are taking a stand even when you quietly nurse your baby at a table in the food court. Even if you don't get a smile or a comment, someone will notice. And that someone might be a mom-to-be who saw how comfortably you sat there while feeding your baby. She'll think to herself, "I <i>can</i> do that, too." There may be a young man who sees you and learns that boobs have several functions and it's fine for a woman to use them to feed her baby in public. You may get noticed by a younger girl, years away from having her own children, who doesn't even realize that she was exposed to a normal way of feeding babies. You made it look normal and natural and, while she may not realize it at the time, a little seed will be planted somewhere in the back of her brain, quietly waiting until the day she blooms with new life and realizes, "hey, I can do that, too." So rock on with your publicly nursing self! Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-56943799714572196182013-02-24T16:52:00.001-05:002013-02-24T16:52:41.600-05:00Attachment Parenting Communities: In Need of Repair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOZ3tRiWjbCmByHWjaIvgV2KAAjkUJFXrHpeOutsv1wXS6G1rQggVprLn_EwcwR9SWCXTbH-JF26-U3ByukdjAjOOyeqkBw9hdCRMWpwJ7IRnpllF_Ns6UfmD7CEpPL7pTwai77e9QnYL/s1600/058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOZ3tRiWjbCmByHWjaIvgV2KAAjkUJFXrHpeOutsv1wXS6G1rQggVprLn_EwcwR9SWCXTbH-JF26-U3ByukdjAjOOyeqkBw9hdCRMWpwJ7IRnpllF_Ns6UfmD7CEpPL7pTwai77e9QnYL/s400/058.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
When I first read <a href="http://twodegreesofsuburbia.com/Category/why-i-am-over-the-attachment-parenting-community/" target="_blank">Conscience Parenting's blog about being over the Attachment Parenting community</a>, I was all, "YOU GO GIRL!" Then, I read some responses on various pages and in my groups and I felt a little ticked at the blog - like she was maybe throwing all of us AP folks under the bus with the loonies. I also read a <a href="http://evolutionaryparenting.com/why-im-sticking-with-the-ap-community/" target="_blank">wonderful counter by Evolutionary Parenting that I also agree with</a>. Now, I am back my YOU GO GIRL response to the original piece.<br /><br />I have read a lot of butthurt in the past 24 hours since I discovered the post. People are taking what she wrote very personally. In a way, I understand that. Most of us are very passionate about our parenting and it can be hard to read anything negative. However, she isn't attacking the philosophy of attachment parenting. She is not attacking those of us who practice this method yet are open and accepting of those who parent differently. She is speaking of a very real problem in the AP community. You will find extremism in every forum about every subject everywhere online. We focus on the AP issue here because this is something that's part of our lives. I think we have all seen it. Parents who attacks others who don't believe in the same philosophy. Lactivists who bash the hell out of formula feeders. Intactivists who think ANYONE who circumcises their child - despite the fact that they didn't even have the proper information - should have their children taken away. Babywearers who think even a minute in the stroller will turn your child into an unattached zombie. Co-sleepers who think the mere thought of placing a baby in a crib for a few hours will cause low SAT scores. Cloth diaper fanatics who think even one disposable diaper automatically sets your kid up for ass cancer. Gentle discipliners who think the slightest raise of your voice will turn your child into a sociopath. We've seen it. We know it's out there. It's happened in the comments on most pages. It's happened on this page. It's happened to me. I was bashed on a local AP group for stating that I would use a stroller from time to time on really long walks. Bashed. As if that one act would undo every other AP moment. We know this contingent exists and we know they give us all a bad name. We know they are the reason we are viewed as crazy. <br /><br />I agree that there is a level of fanaticism on some pages. The worship of certain bloggers does exist. And there are most definitely bloggers who seem to require that you agree lockstep with everything they say and any voice of dissent will be banished. That's real. Hey, it's their page so they are free to accept who they wish and preach what they wish, but that doesn't mean they speak for all of us and we know that those voices sometimes give us a bad name. <br /><br />I have been called a troll. Your very own beloved Funky Little EarthChild has been called a troll. I have had the terrible audacity to suggest that I do not agree with every nurse-in that has been held. I was told point blank that I moved the whole women's movement back on that one and somehow my thoughts were equal to hating the Civil Rights movement. I have the ridiculous notion that bashing formula feeders and calling them lazy bad mothers won't win hearts and that breastfeeding advocates would do better to treat them kindly.I obviously hate breastfeeding because I suggested that you can be a good breastfeeding advocate even if you don't march, don't nurse-in, don't post photos and don't speak the loudest. And let's not even mention the shitstorm I once provoked by stating that unassisted birth isn't for everyone. That's a real pearl clutcher right there. All of those things have earned me a troll title at some point or another. There are some big time bloggers - including ones that you all love (and that's okay) - who have privately shit talked me - ME - to the extreme. This is just another extension of the high school mean girl club and I totally understand why someone like Conscience Parenting is disillusioned by it all. <br /><br />As I said, there has been a bit of butthurt and misunderstanding of the intent of Conscience Parenting's original post. Don't worry - I went there, too, for a few moments last night after I read it. She is not saying that Attachment Parenting is bad. She is not trying to start a war between any groups. And there is no "page war" between Conscience Parenting and Evolutionary Parenting. She is trying to shed the light on a very real problem in this community. This is a wonderful method of parenting. It's the way it should be. However, there are some nasty extremists with some very loud voices who bring negative attention and so we all get stuck under the same "they're crazy judgmental<a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2012/04/watch-your-language.html" target="_blank"> nazis</a>" umbrella. Many have been judged and hurt for not being 100% AP and not doing things "the right way." Some people can let that roll off their back. Others are more affected and may feel isolated by those they originally trusted. This is the crap that people see. It's the stuff that gets the most attention. Is that wrong? Yes! But that's the way it is and it's what pushes many away from attachment parenting. <br /><br />This is the part where I go on a different path than Conscience Parenting. She is doing what works best for her and her family. If she does not want to fully associate herself with this community, then she should not be forced to do so. She should not be criticized for doing something that she feels is the best for her. Obviously, the fighting and the judging affects her spirit in a negative way and she wants to distance herself from that. I respect and honor that. She's not giving up this type of parenting for her family, she's taking a step back from some of the extremism. She knew this would cause a virtual poo-storm and that she'd be criticized for it, but she spoke up anyway. That's important and admirable. And while I have had similar misgivings about the attachment community - and I don't even label myself an Attachment Parent because this is simply the way I was raised and it felt normal for me - I have decided to be one of the voices that will speak loud enough with my words and actions to drown out the crazies. Judging a mama for formula feeding? Bashing someone for using Huggies? Giving the evil eye to an exhausted mother who raised her voice? I'll let people know that we're not all like you. I want to see more babies with attached parents. I want to see more breastfeeding. More cloth diapering. I want more gentle discipline. I want genital integrity for all babies. I want to see an end to Crying It Out. I want to see more baby wearing. I just won't shame others while I spread my message. I won't tell people they are bad parents because they are not like me. I won't call them lazy. We're all welcome to express our opinions, but if you try to use words or actions to hurt other parents and to shame them into becoming a super attachment parent just like you, I'll probably lose a little respect for you. Oh, yes, I know us attachment parents have been judged. We know what it's like to have to defend our choices on a daily basis. And that's no reason to do it to others. Isn't that what we teach our children? <br /><br />The truth is that many of us who fall under the attachment parenting category want to see a better world for our children. We want children to be loved and respected. We come from a place of very good intentions. Some of us are louder than others. Some of us have made mistakes in our journey. There are some who give us a bad name for various reasons, but the majority of us are good and welcoming. We need to realize that we are a good group of people, but there are kinks in our armor that need to be fixed. That's not a bad thing. Knowing there are some problems gives us a chance to look within, make the necessary repairs and march on - shining even brighter. Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-26786419072402243582013-01-30T12:32:00.001-05:002013-01-30T15:27:51.622-05:00Second Class<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2m7RBR8lVTBdY2t-F7BRX8VKX3cqT7I9mZMg2FGz7VTpcuCEjleap1NeNm4Xsp_vWOKD2OUHU-mAHdR1hThWMY3aQO3crhfBznHYWusqyE3rzcXP8mbCCckUiY1xlbkhln-CePRogj8O/s1600/funky2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2m7RBR8lVTBdY2t-F7BRX8VKX3cqT7I9mZMg2FGz7VTpcuCEjleap1NeNm4Xsp_vWOKD2OUHU-mAHdR1hThWMY3aQO3crhfBznHYWusqyE3rzcXP8mbCCckUiY1xlbkhln-CePRogj8O/s320/funky2.jpg" width="182" /></a>Folks, I'm pissed. I'm so pissed, that I have just sat down to write a quickie little blog about it right here. I'm so pissed, that I pushed my lunch aside so that I can type this out. And it's a good lunch - steak and onions. It'll wait. <br />
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I just read an article that I found from <a href="http://www.mommatraumablog.com/" target="_blank">Momma Trauma </a>about a young mother, a teenager in high school, named Jaielyn Belong. Jaielyn gave birth to a baby boy and would like to return to high school to finish her education and graduate. She is currently enrolled at Lake Forest High School, which is located in Felton, Delaware. Jaielyn is breastfeeding her son and would like to be able to pump at some point during her school day between classes. The school is denying her request, stating that the pump would be too noisy and that there is no where to store the milk. According to the nurse, the fridge is only for medicine. Hello, ass, breastmilk IS medicine. School employees told her that she'd have to nurse before school and then wait until she got home to feed him again. No pumping at school. According to the article, they won't even budge if Jaielyn brings in a doctor's note. <br />
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Please read the full article on the Momma Trauma website:<br />
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<a href="http://www.mommatraumablog.com/1/post/2013/01/delaware-teen-mom-denied-breastfeeding-accommodations.html" target="_blank">Delaware Teen Mom Denied Breastfeeding Accomodations</a><br />
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I personally believe that teenage mothers are a class of people that our society feels is perfectly acceptable to discriminate against. Teen mothers are treated as subhumans from the conception of their children to the birth and then beyond. They are treated as if they are stupid, classless, useless, slutty, immoral whores who are nothing but parasites and black marks on our society. I don't give two fucks what your religion says or what your morals dictate, teen mothers are still human beings and should be treated as such. This situation here is a prime example of why we have far to go in our treatment of teen mothers.<br />
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We all know that breastfeeding is the normal way to feed a baby. We are aware of the mountain of health benefits that come with breastfeeding, both for the mother and the child. We all know there are risks to not breastfeeding. But did you know that teenage mothers are more unlikely to breastfeed than there adult counterparts? Only about half of teenage mothers will attempt to breastfeed their babies at birth, but that number drops to 19% by 6 months post partum. There are several reasons for this such as the lack of support, lack of breastfeeding education, social stigmas and - what's that? - the return to school. There has been a desire among health officials and breastfeeding professionals and advocates in this country to increase the numbers of teen mothers who breastfeed. And here we have a mother who is perfectly willing to do so, yet her school is standing in her way.<br />
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You know, one of my very first experiences as a "breastfeeding counselor" came when I was a teenager - assisting and counseling a teen mother who wanted to breastfeed. I know quite a few women who became mothers as teens and who specifically like to work with teenage moms to provide them with the education and support to successfully breastfeed their children.<br />
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Out of all the girls who will drop out of high school, one third of them do so because they become pregnant. Only 40% of teenage mothers continue on and graduate from high school. These are dismal statistics. Unacceptable. Work must be done - and is being done - to ensure that these young women can have the resources to continue their educations and graduate from high school. And, and look here, we have a young mother who wants to do just that, yet her school is setting up road blocks.<br />
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We know what Jaielyn will go through if her school succeeds in bullying her into leaving the pump at home. It means she will go 8 hours without nursing or pumping. It means she will be at an increased risk for developing plugged ducts or mastitis. By the way, a good case of mastitis can knock her off her ass and leave her sick at home - missing school! It means her milk production is at risk of dropping. Would she have to supplement? Supplement can lead to even more of a supply drop. Why should her baby miss out? We also know that babies who are breastfed are less likely to develop illness, including ear infections or colds. Yes, we all have anecdotal evidence of a formula fed baby who never gets sick or a breastfed baby who gets repeat ear infections. However, the evidence is clear that breastfed babies are less likely to become sick. So, if we increase her baby's chances of getting sick, it means Jaielyn will have to stay home to tend to her baby and make doctor visits. More missed school. How is that fair to Jaielyn? How is that fair to her little boy?<br />
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The school says she might get bullied or teased if allowed to pump. Are you out of your goddamned mind? Newsflash: you are supposed to protect the bullied, not the bully. How about not tolerating bullying in your school? How about teaching your students that crap like that will not be allowed? Way to blame the victim. Perhaps we should send them some information on anti-bullying school policies and bring them up to 2013. <br />
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This is discrimination. This is a civil rights issue. This is a human rights issue. Jaielyn has rights and so does her baby. Just because she is a teen mom doesn't mean she is any less capable of making the best decisions she can for her child. It doesn't mean she should be treated like she is the inconvenience. Her school should be thrilled that she wants to return. Maybe there is a tax break in it for them. :::eyeroll::: As for the pumps beinig disturbing to her peers. Please, as if there isn't a location anywhere in the school where she can pump in relative privacy. And, have you been to a high school? There is plenty of noise to be had. A mother pumping for her child should be among the least of their concerns.<br />
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She should not have to wait a year to return to school. She should not have to find a new school. She should not have to be homeschooled. This mother has chosen to return to her school and the school needs to buck up and let her pump. I promise them, it won't ruin the precious young psyches of the other students. If anything, it'll show them what responsibility looks like. <br />
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If you'd like to take action, please visit the Momma Trauma blog linked above and stay updated on the situation. Pass that link around to everyone. Facebook it. Tweet it. You can call the school and leave messages. You can also email the school. <br />
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School nurse: dmblades@lf.k12.de.us<br />
Dean of Students: chmorris@lf.k12.de.us<br />
Principal: jfilicicchia@lf.k12.de.us<br />
Assistant Principal: twmorris@lf.k12.de.us and jdberry@lf.k12.de.us<br />
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<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[7]">Lake Forest High School</span><br id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[8]" /><span id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[9]">302-284-9291</span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[9]"> </span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[9]"> </span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[9]"> </span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[9]"> </span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[9]">Supposedly, the high school had a Facebook page that has now been taken down. I guess thy couldn't handle to comments. </span></span></span><br />
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<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[9]">If you are planning to contact the school, I urge you to remain respectful. If we get nasty, sarcastic and rude with them it will just push them away. This is a frustrating situation from every angle, but we have to remain calm in reasonable when in contact with these folks. Otherwise, they will brush us off as "crazy hippies" and progress won't be made. There is a chance to make some positive change here, let's not ruin it with anger. I'm pissed about this, you're pissed about this and lots of other people on the internetz are pissed about this. That is more than understandable and it's fine to vent on our pages, twitter and Facebook. It's so frustrating that we are still fighting these fights in 2013. However, any contact with representatives of the school should be courteous and respectful. <br /><br />UPDATE: The Superintendent wrote his own blog post regarding this situation, <a href="http://spartansuper.blogspot.com/2013/01/breast-feeding-at-school.html" target="_blank">which you can find here. </a>He states that students may pump at school, though there are no specific accommodations (such as a designated room) and that students are responsible for their own cooler and storage. He also notes that the district has an alternative school where teen parents may bring their children and breastfeed or pump there. He notes that a teen mother who chooses to leave the alternative school and return to Lake Forest, "</span></span></span>also chooses to leave behind a certain level of support." While I am happy to see that there is a possibility she can pump at school, that last comment about choosing to leave behind a level of support is a bit harsh. It shows that they really aren't interested in being helpful to this new mother. As I said earlier in the blog, there are alternatives to this school. She can do online charter, homeschooling or she can attend this alternative school. Personally, I would rather attend a school where I can bring my baby and remain all attached and in contact. That would be my choice. It's not up to me to make the choice for Jaielyn, however. It is up to no one but Jaielyn herself - and she has chosen to return to the regular high school. She should be supported in that choice and they shouldn't being throwing down roadblocks that would make it more difficult for her. <br />
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<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[9]">My sources for teen breastfeeding rates and teen mother drop out rates:<br /><br /> <a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3197474/">http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3197474/</a></span></span></span><br />
<a href="http://www.thenationalcampaign.org/resources/pdf/teen-preg-hs-dropout.pdf%20" target="_blank"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[9]">http://www.thenationalcampaign.org/resources/pdf/teen-preg-hs-dropout.pdf </span></span></span></a><br />
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<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[231].[1][2][1]{comment135765916589551_215458}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[9]"><i>Written while nursing my sleepy little girl.... </i></span></span></span><br />
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Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-39528232196402230332013-01-15T14:50:00.000-05:002013-01-15T15:01:30.645-05:00Will The Real Real Woman Please Stand Up?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZsShm4v-eB-KBuUo1z-5hubdbygpNq8h9zIHE75nMEGA2R5eBoOEXl8xAsUGivJPuTPI-hjIo6FD-7c9fgwzGevzcstsJAP8dlDkHSUr7vg_OkTzmh8QNj3CfyErR6fE29zRvWhE5ycC0/s1600/269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZsShm4v-eB-KBuUo1z-5hubdbygpNq8h9zIHE75nMEGA2R5eBoOEXl8xAsUGivJPuTPI-hjIo6FD-7c9fgwzGevzcstsJAP8dlDkHSUr7vg_OkTzmh8QNj3CfyErR6fE29zRvWhE5ycC0/s400/269.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Real woman? Sure. Classy Lady? Definitely.</td></tr>
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What does a real woman look like? Is she tall and thin, like a supermodel, with small perky breasts and a small waist? Is she short and curvy with plenty of flesh, including ample breasts and hips? Is she in between? Maybe she is about 5'4" with some muscle, some fluff, a little boobage and enough butt to fill out her jeans. Maybe she is all of those. Or none of those. Or some of those.<br />
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Our society and media values a woman who is a bit on the tall side, quite a bit on the slender side and big-boobed. You can't throw a Weight Watchers point without it landing on some article, blog or show dedicated to the problem of women working too hard to become too perfect. <br />
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The Golden Globe Awards were held a few nights ago. I missed them this time, but I tried to keep up with them online. I haven't seen a real move in the theaters in quite some time and I haven't a clue about most people, movies or shows nominated, but I sure do love me some super fancy dresses. I just love the glitz and glamor. Of course the internetz were abuzz with news of who won, who lost, who wore what and all of that juicy Hollywood bullcrap. I perused online to see pictures of all of the lovely ladies in their gorgeous (J-Lo!) and what-the-fuck-were-you-thinking (Helena) gowns and the dowdy pantsuit (Amy - wtf?). Twitter, Facebook, blogs, fashion sites were full of comments from us little people judging and praising all of the fashion. One thing stood out the most because it seemed to be mentioned the most at the time was the comparison of two new moms - Claire Danes and Adele. Both have recently had babies. Both have different bodies. <br />
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Claire Danes, who I will <i>never </i>forgive for quitting "My So-Called Life" and taking away my favorite show (and Jordan Catalano), looks very slender and trim. She looks pretty much as she always does, though her dress had this geometric panel on the front that can hide her figure a bit. My first thought was, "oooooh, that's a glamorous nursing panel." <br />
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Adele, who I adore, looked like Adele. She's curvy and full as always. Personally, her dress wasn't my favorite, but she looked beautiful in it. <br />
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Many comments praised Claire Danes for losing all that baby weight so quickly. Many comments condemned Claire Danes for losing all that baby weight so quickly. We are a fickle society and the different comments showed that. The same went for Adele, though I saw more comments that "she still looks pregnant" as if that's a bad thing when you just had a baby quite recently. All of these comments were what I expected. We have a society and media who praise women for being perfectly thin and supposedly fit immediately after giving birth. We adore the celebrities who make an appearance a week after giving birth looking like they never had been pregnant. Bonus points if they didn't even get a stretch mark. We are inundated with these images day after day. So, is it a surprise that women rip each other apart based on body types? No, it shouldn't be. This is what the media wants. They want us to be constantly competing and constantly striving for perfection - it's what keeps us buying their magazines, their Spanx, their creams (made with baby foreskins - yum!), their make-up, their clothes, their diet foods, etc. Women yearning to look like today's it girl spend a lot of money and are a prime marketing target. <br />
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So, with that in mind, I was hardly surprised to see women scoring Adele vs Claire based on how they looked. I was mad, though. Pissed that we fall into this trap of competing all of the time. We're products of our environment - this being told that we're not good enough since we're girls so we must always work hard to prove ourselves - but there has to be a point when we wise up and stop this shit. What truly pissed me off was one comment I saw under Claire Danes' photo, "She's not a real woman." That comment was followed up with a lot of agreement that Claire is not a real woman because she is skinny and lacks curves. "Adele, now that is what a real woman looks like. She has curves. Real women have curves and breasts and hips." There was the obvious evolution of the discussion where it has been decided by many that Claire obviously crash dieted and worked out to near death in order to look the way she did at the awards. The talk was that "real women" never - the word never was used quite a few times - look like that a month after birth. Obviously, she is a bad mom because she didn't spend enough time with her baby because she was too busy working out and counting calories. For what it's worth, she discussed breastfeeding when being interviewed on the red carpet. Doesn't sound like she is neglecting him too much.<br />
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Women should not feel like they need to look a certain way after birth. They should not feel pressured to slim down immediately. I personally know women who begin to worry about their post baby figures as soon as the pee hits the stick. It's so sad that women feel this way about themselves. That being said, there are women - and not an insubstantial amount - who slim down immediately after birth naturally. I come from a long line of women who do this. Many of the women on my mom's side of the family are tall (like 6 feet) and thin. They barely require maternity clothes when pregnant and they all walk out of the hospital looking like they have never given birth. Are they not women? Where do I fit in? I'm slender, but I have curves. I still have a little <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2012/08/belly-flop.html" target="_blank">belly pooch due to diastasis</a>. Am I a real woman now? Will I lose my real woman status if I go back to having a flat tummy? What if my boobs shrink? I love every curve on my body and <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2011/11/fossils-of-my-ferility.html" target="_blank">you know I love my stretch marks</a>. Should I love myself less since I have curves and stretch marks? Or should I love myself less if any of those marks fade or those curves get a bit smaller. At what point will my Real Woman Card expire? <br />
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It's so tiring listening to women shame other women based on their bodies. It's like you're damned either way. Adele sucks because she didn't lose baby weight fast enough. Claire Danes sucks because she lost weight too quick. Skinny women aren't real women because they lack curves. Fluffy women aren't real women because they don't take care of their bodies. It's not "normal" to look like Claire Danes after you give birth. It's not "normal" to look like Adele after we give birth. Being a woman, in whatever shape you are in is apparently just not normal. We can't give birth correctly. We can't feed our children correctly. We can't lose or retain weight post partum correctly. Can we just shut the fuck up with this nonsense already? Why must we always pick one another apart? I get that skinny isn't always healthy and being overweight isn't always healthy, but do we truly think we are encouraging other women to better themselves by telling them how much they suck? I mean, I can't even post a brief body positive message on my page without someone piping up with," yeah, we should accept each other, just remember that fat people will die from all the twinkies." Come on! <br />
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I'm not pushing anyone to be unhealthy, but I realize that humans come in a variety of shapes and sizes and the sooner we accept that the healthier and happier we will be. If we are constantly telling women to be ashamed of their bodies, whatever form they take, they will not seek to take care of themselves. Even in 2013, it seems like women have so much to work against. When we fail to unite with one another it makes it easier for all of us to fail. We need to work on accepting one another in all of our various sizes. We need to encourage one another to be healthy, realizing that healthy is not one single size or shape. <br />
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What does a real woman look like? The answer isn't in chromosomes or body parts. It's not found in the amount of flesh around our hips or in our breasts. It's not found in our ability or lack of ability to produce children. It's not found in our housekeeping practices. It's not found in our clothes, our hairstyles or our cosmetics. It's not in our names or our societal roles. If you feel you are a woman, then you are a woman. No uniform required. Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-54353561128142315402012-12-18T10:32:00.000-05:002012-12-18T10:32:30.464-05:00Holy Mother of God<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhBB5yCmEty643L5Mz0vUscO5r4RTjRZ_ki3yUAcSCi_IQNsgOSxaTif8imB_onE3WowChzY-XaiyVhz2d6zsMC-3g-ufBEyGMiDENurC34YlbJ0_RVNTL87PII5tkxUZR6Lzd7lW7ZNh/s1600/rubens.Jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhBB5yCmEty643L5Mz0vUscO5r4RTjRZ_ki3yUAcSCi_IQNsgOSxaTif8imB_onE3WowChzY-XaiyVhz2d6zsMC-3g-ufBEyGMiDENurC34YlbJ0_RVNTL87PII5tkxUZR6Lzd7lW7ZNh/s320/rubens.Jpeg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By Peter Paul Rubens</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, I went to church the other day. I sat there....oh no, wait, I forgot that I'm Catholic...I kneeled there, praying. I was praying that God would make me all super holy and more Christian than others so that I can feel righteous in judging some awfully gnarly things in this world, like the anatomical features of my own womanly body that He created. I hadn't noticed much when I walked into the church because I was too busy feeling the Spirit, but after some prayer, I opened my eyes and looked around. I noticed the most vile and crude things. There were paintings....painting that showed a woman's breasts! In church! Where Jesus lives! Oh my God, this woman who apparently has an affinity for blue robes modeled for a bunch of paintings showing her indecently breastfeeding an infant - and sometimes a grown toddler! Fucking hell, even one of the paintings showed this rather old-looking <i>naked</i> baby just clinging on to her exposed breast, <i>nipple</i> and all, while He looked outward, smiling. This woman, this floozy, obviously thinks she's all that because in some pictures she is wearing a fancy crown and she always has a halo. Oh, heavenly. And just to prove how immoral she is, she is almost always flanked by flying babies, who are also naked and flaunting their wings and penises. Oh my God. Who does she think she is, just sitting there in her regal robes acting like she is the Mother of God while forcing our young, impressionable children to look at her breasts? Have mercy! I started having heart palpitations, so I had to look elsewhere and I focused my attention on the Crucifix hanging from the ceiling. I focused on the bruised, beaten, pierced body of Our Lord and all the blood that trickled down from His wounds and I prayed that I never have to see anything as offensive as a painting of some woman breastfeeding in public again. I then looked at one of my favorite statues in the church - it depicts Jesus, wearing nothing but His underwear, tied to a post, being whipped, His back a bloody mess as He received the cruel punishment for being the Son of God. I focused on those bloody gashes on His back again and prayed that the children will not ever have to view the vile images seen in those paintings of the breastfeeding woman. Then I took out my rosary and prayed to Mary, the Mother of God for a little bit, though I was still distracted by the flaunting woman in those paintings. I think I may write a letter to the Pope, asking him to have all such images removed from Churches so our children do not have their innocence stolen from them. First, I'm going to follow the Stations of the Cross around the Church and focus on the depictions of Jesus dragging that cross across town, His body full of bruises and blood until He finally had nails driven into his wrists and feet...I think they need to take those paintings down and replace them with a nice, moral Saint. Saint Agatha comes to mind. I've seen paintings of her holding a plate with some sort of jell-o molds or something. Kids love jell-o.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4gRS7waFRTtXw_iLYg6ItWy3RWk0DtyyXcN9eK_BP5FA2YOKZrFK0uEA_ssRhM1O_1ZF-bZLSmzQPizx5OFYewqNPclxLl8FWrbEsivqUCRNm_JIRovj2Bit4v_Jf6JWYX9Mksk92yUKf/s1600/StAgatha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4gRS7waFRTtXw_iLYg6ItWy3RWk0DtyyXcN9eK_BP5FA2YOKZrFK0uEA_ssRhM1O_1ZF-bZLSmzQPizx5OFYewqNPclxLl8FWrbEsivqUCRNm_JIRovj2Bit4v_Jf6JWYX9Mksk92yUKf/s320/StAgatha.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Agatha</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Seriously, people think like that. Recently, someone had an image of a Renaissance (or high medieval, I forget) painting of the Virgin nursing baby Jesus removed from her page for indecency. In Facebook's never-ending <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2011/01/breastfeeding-is-only-obscene-when-its.html" target="_blank">witch hunt for breastfeeding images</a>, despite their claims of allowing such images, they even managed to insult God and His mom! Asinine! I then saw a lot of debates on Facebook in the last few weeks about the appropriateness of churches housing paintings of the Virgin Mary breastfeeding the wee little Jesus. I guess I didn't get the memo that we'd be returning to the Protestant Reformation, when great works of art were defiled in order to cover up any saucy bits of flesh exposed on the subjects. There are actual discussions as to whether it's okay for people to see Jesus and His mom doing what many babies and moms actually do. I have to say it's not surprising given the fact that this country has a problem with respecting the rights of mothers to nurse their babies in public. It's been a long battle since we decided that breasts were no longer for nurturing the babies and were now only to be used as objects of sexual lust. So, yeah, I'm used to it....but, Jesus' mom? Are we really going to ask God's mum to wear a Holy Hooter Hider (comes in a lovely pastel blue with a virginal white lily print or you can get a custom designed one from Etsy with the Vatican logo embroidered on it)? Let me frank - Jesus was breastfed. I know there are some Christian traditions which are all about telling women that they are the embodiment of sin because they are women and that their bodies are shameful, but that crap doesn't fly with me. Why would God have a problem with the body that He created? He designed boobs all by Himself. He knows they can serve more than one function - nourishment, a nice place to lay one's head, a good place to hide small toys or, for the adults, a little something nice to look at. Obviously, God didn't have a problem with boobies or any other part of the womanly body because He saw fit to send his Kid to reside in a human womb, shoot out of a human vagina and nurse at human breasts. Get the hell over it already! The body isn't sinful! The sin is in shaming our bodies so much that we don't even remember what's normal about their functions anymore.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJ5LqUq2leG-O1ew7_vtT5YbsPHyZLPHG29PV5y0oV8VVPAmhPJ6G3DPBuIuQvQQKlGqI8XyQvdUBS3B0D1avoaB7O1aEoP7rgSgWQO95DsMpwflROHl8MYHLtijiweMKnZaZP5SEqq83/s1600/van+Cleve+maria+lactans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJ5LqUq2leG-O1ew7_vtT5YbsPHyZLPHG29PV5y0oV8VVPAmhPJ6G3DPBuIuQvQQKlGqI8XyQvdUBS3B0D1avoaB7O1aEoP7rgSgWQO95DsMpwflROHl8MYHLtijiweMKnZaZP5SEqq83/s1600/van+Cleve+maria+lactans.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Holy Family By Joos Van Cleve - is she mom enough?</td></tr>
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It especially pisses me off because these are typically debates held about images seen in Catholic churches...by non-Catholic people. Dude, this art is our tradition and it's sacred. Respect that. Why are the breastfeeding pictures so hotly debated? Have you seen the imagery of Jesus on the day He died? It ain't pretty. In fact, you are more likely to walk into a Catholic church and see a variety of images of Jesus getting the crap kicked out of Him and, of course, nailed to the Cross. There's usually blood. There is no uproar over the Pieta, an image of the Virgin Mary holding her adult son, Jesus, dead and slumped over in her lap, yet we whine about an image of the same pair, only 30 years before that when Jesus was a baby at His mother's breast. Really? Where is the uproar over images of St. Agatha? She was martyred for her faith and they cut off her breasts. She is most often depicted in two ways - either in the moment of torture as they cut her breasts from her body or in her more Saintly form (fully clothed and, you know, alive) holding a plate with her own two breasts on it. Oh, but St. Agatha art gets a pass because <i>her</i> breasts are being removed, they are not nursing an infant. Art depicting violence towards a woman's breasts is ok. Art depicting the natural function of breasts is sinful and shameful. The hypocrisy is astounding.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge99xwJNzzK1M56wIJrjFIysIrLPBlPngQLmszy9a2LxdZAtbAyG3LXC2TKpzSiWwj9mp0xK4NWo4h1XVFiUM36hMZEoWNqf7jd0CtV3HVIyJK9IxWtuTRTaeL36F3QTN2QhLOtTz3xcBt/s1600/Pieta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge99xwJNzzK1M56wIJrjFIysIrLPBlPngQLmszy9a2LxdZAtbAyG3LXC2TKpzSiWwj9mp0xK4NWo4h1XVFiUM36hMZEoWNqf7jd0CtV3HVIyJK9IxWtuTRTaeL36F3QTN2QhLOtTz3xcBt/s320/Pieta.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michelangelo's Pieta at St. Peter's Basilica</td></tr>
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I guess people are getting weary over the whole <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2012/01/i-dont-want-to-see-your-biebs-in-public.html" target="_blank">breastfeeding in public argument</a> because they keep getting beaten down by logic and reason. So, they do the natural thing when you cannot reasonably argue and discriminate against something - hide behind religion. Eyeroll. It's not going to work folks. You can stop harassing moms in malls when they feed their children. You can also lay off the Mother of God. There are <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2012/10/nursing-in-public-horror-of-horrors.html" target="_blank">other problems in the world</a> and the sight of a mother nursing her child is not one of them. It's time to move on. Your religion doesn't give you the right to harass and judge <i>any</i> mother for nursing in public, whether she is the Mother of God or a mom sitting behind you in your church pew. Nothing divine or earthly gives you that right.<br />
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<b><br />
"Gather the people, consecrate the assembly; bring together the elders, gather the
children, those nursing at the breast." - Joel 2:16</b><br />
<b><br />...."God bless your mother--the womb from which you came, and the breasts that nursed you!" - Luke 11:27 </b><br />
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<i>P.S. - a little fun trivia - an important component of Medieval and early Renaissance artwork was to communicate with worshippers back when the more common folk couldn't read. Paintings were loaded with symbolism that most people would have been able to understand. Baby Jesus nursing was a major symbol of His humanity. That's also why He was depicted nude. Let's have fun with the Van Cleve painting up there, just for a moment. Nude baby nursing = Jesus as a human. Knife = circumcision (booo) of Jesus. Old dude = it was commonly believed that Joseph was a really old guy when he married Mary. Mary's blue and white duds = her virginity, purity and motherhood. Mary's red duds = Passion of Christ and His blood that washes away all sins. Citrus fruits = weaning. It was believed Jesus was weaned onto citrus fruit. Enclosed window with garden/pastoral scene in the background = Mary's purity. Joesph is often seen at that window as a symbol of his protection of her purity. I think there is a sheep in the pastoral scene behind Joseph and that = Jesus as Lamb of God. There is a glass of wine which = Christ's blood and passion. There is a reflection of light in the shape of the cross in the glass. I'm not sure what St. Joe is reading here, but he is often depicted reading The Magnificat. Isn't that cool? The medieval paintings are treasure troves of symbolism. </i>Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-32227181056736589682012-12-17T13:40:00.002-05:002012-12-18T09:57:53.025-05:00Immaculate Detachment<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlFgO5E26gB-Wr0dFhw50cvd2R9a7EBUkWZN3_pJ8OHX6snoobStJUCh_4GHX_VMYJIkkkm6Me-WGRrHO-qqKX7fOHpx3YgMkiTbrgcvmHhLYfD4I-VfgvioF5tMKSNv2v47-xq6ImG6i/s1600/smh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlFgO5E26gB-Wr0dFhw50cvd2R9a7EBUkWZN3_pJ8OHX6snoobStJUCh_4GHX_VMYJIkkkm6Me-WGRrHO-qqKX7fOHpx3YgMkiTbrgcvmHhLYfD4I-VfgvioF5tMKSNv2v47-xq6ImG6i/s400/smh.jpg" width="225" /></a>Unless you are living under a rock - and what are you doing reading me, then? - you are very much aware of the senseless tragedy that destroyed lives and sent 26 Heavenward last week when a gunman opened fire inside a school.<br />
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The news shook me to my core. I do not do well when I hear about harm to children. Whether it's children in this country or another country, it hurts my heart to think of them suffering in any way. Furthermore, I have a 6 year old son - the same age as many of the children who were ... killed. He goes to school, too. My mind has not been off of this tragedy for more than a few moments since it happened. So many things have floated in and out of my brainspace since then - sorrow, hatred, anger, fear, hope, compassion, empathy, more fear, shock, more sorrow, more sorrow and more sorrow. My heart grieves so much for all the lives lost and the families and friends who are missing their loved ones.<br />
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As usual, when you have a mass shooting - - - Wait...wait. Can I just say that it is completely FUCKED UP that I just wrote, "as usual, when you have a mass shooting?" Why is it usual? Stop the world, I want to jump off. - - - Anyway, when these tragedies happen, you can expect the usual reactions and debates over guns. Obviously, when crimes of this nature happen with guns, it's reasonable people are going engage in a discussion about them. That's not a surprise. That's something I expected. I also expected people to raise the issue of how we deal (or don't deal) with mental illness in this country. Of course we're going to talk about that.<br />
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But there is something I didn't expect from a source that really should know better.<br />
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It was Friday, just hours after the shooting. I had taken my son and daughter to a local mall with my mom to visit Santa and have a picture taken. Afterward, my kids played in a little play zone full of things to climb on and kids with germs to share. My mom wandered around, keeping an eye on my kids, while I played bad mom and sat on the corner of a cushioned bench and looked at my phone. I wasn't truly paying attention to my phone. I always have an eye on my kids. I was mindlessly letting my Facebook feed scroll on by, not really noticing the words on the screen. I fought back tears as I kept thinking of those children and the adults who tried to protect them. I went to my own Facebook page for this blog. The last thing I had posted was from the previous night when I advised people to run outside and check out the meteor shower. I thought of how I lifted my son from his slumber, bundled him up and took him outside where he saw 5 shooting stars slowly flash across the sky. I then wondered if any of the children who passed away had spent their last night alive doing the same thing...stay up late, bundling up to go outside and watch the skies. Not know that the Heaven they stared out would be waiting for them. I fought to keep more tears back as I watched both of my kids slide backwards on a slide in their fancy Santa picture clothes.<br />
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I needed something to take my mind someplace else, so I clicked back to my news feed, in search of some other news or maybe some silly cat meme.Instead, I found something to make me angry. It was from well-known natural childbirth advocate and educator, Suzanne Arms. She is the author of Immaculate Deception, which has been read by many birth advocates over the decades. That book was one of the first books I had ever read on the subject and it provided me with a little bit of inspiration when I was a teenage birth activist. She is currently working on some film project in which she wants to relate the experiences within the womb and the experience of birth to our psyches. In essence, she believes that your life as an unborn baby and the way you are born will have lasting effects on your mental state for the rest of your life. She also believes in the importance of the mother-child bond and that this can be altered by birth experience. Ok. I can get behind that somewhat. I sure do believe that birth is extremely important, which is why I believe it's essential to make sure we are respecting women during pregnancy and birth and that we empower them to make decisions regarding their pregnancy and birth. Of course I believe a strong bond between mom and child is important for a healthy mental state. Duh. However, I believe that these things make up a few pieces of a billion piece puzzle. I believe a good, gentle birth, breastfeeding and attachment type parenting are very important, but I know that other variables may come into play during a person's childhood that can alter their mental and emotional well-being. It's not exactly black and white. As it is, Suzanne Arms is focusing on how the pre-birth period and birth itself affects a person because that's her scope of interest. She has been working on getting her film funded and relies heavily on donations. What does any of this have to do with the horror that happened in Connecticut. Oh, I'll tell you.<br />
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Within hours after the shooting...before the sun set...Suzanne Arms posted twice to her Facebook page. And it's what she posted that caught my attention as I sat in that playzone trying to fight tears. Oh Suzanne, you helped me fight those tears, just not in the way I expected. She posted that a horrible tragedy unfolded in Connecticut and that it made her sad. Well, that's a reasonable response. She stated that the shooter had killed his own mother (she also incorrectly reported that the mother was teaching a room of kindergarteners) and that was tragic. Of course. Her next sentence is where any sensibility that she possessed went to die. She said that this incident was "clearly" (her word) and example of the importance of that mother-child bond and attachment. She then spewed a little bit about the importance of a good womb environment and birth. Yes, folks, she actually made the leap from some soulless piece of shit slaughtering children and adults to the act being a clear example of what goes wrong when a mom isn't happy in pregnancy, doesn't have the perfect natural birth and doesn't establish the correct kind of bond with her child. Are you furious? Do you want to get more furious? Her next spewing of sentences was to tell us that THIS - this motherfucking senseless horror - was a perfect reason to DONATE to her motherfucking film! And then she went on and on about what amount you can donate.<br />
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Let's sum this up. All in one status up, Suzanne Arms briefly mentioned the school shooting was sad. She then hitched the shooting to her theory that bad pregnancies and births lead to psycho killers. She then asked people to donate to her so she can continue to make her film about this theory.<br />
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Of course, most people responded to tell her she was an ass. That prompted her to write a follow up status update. Did she apologize for attempting to co-opt this tragedy to fund her film? No, because that's what people with hearts would do. She merely asked her fans if her words were upsetting and wanted to know if they agreed with her colleague who said she was out of line. She made no admittance of feeling the slightest bit guilty. Again, many people responded that she was, in fact, a cold-hearted opportunistic bitch idiot. There were a few people who defended her. Some even said that their FIRST thought was what kind of birth the killer's mother had. I shit you not. Their first thought wasn't about those slaughtered children...it was whether or not his mother had a serene hypnobirth or an intervention cascade into a c-section. And we wonder why people think natural birth advocates are insane. Another person said we are "stupid" to not make the connection between birth trauma and mass murdering gunmen. And then we had the typical folks coming out of the woodwork to say, "see? This is what's wrong with all of you natural birth nuts. You people are the crazy ones." Suzanne Arms managed to offend to senses of reasonable people with her use of the tragedy to make a buck, she laid the blame of this on the feet of the killer's mother and she also helped to further isolate the natural birth movement and have all of us birth activists lumped into the same category of insanity. Thanks, Suzanne.<br />
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Now, I have to relay all of this to you based on my memory. I cannot provide links. Without a word, Suzanne removed those status updates. That was two days ago and she has not posted since. A compassionate person with some semblance of a heart would have issued an apology. Two days is too long for me and the small amount of respect I used to have for her has been flushed down the toilet. She is a thoughtless coward.<br />
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Does she realize the pressure she just put on mothers who didn't have her optimal kind of birth when she stated that this tragedy was a "clear example" of her theory? If you didn't give birth, orgasmically and in water under your backyard honeysuckle bush while some chickadees and robins serenaded you as you softly hummed your baby out of your vagina (which was previously anointed with unicorn breastmilk and fairy tears by your midwife as she sang ancient tribal hymns) then your baby will grow up to be a mass murderer. If you had the misfortune of having your birth plan ripped to shreds by the hospital staff and you end up with pitocin, and epidural and a c-section, then your baby will be a serial killer. If you stressed for one moment during your pregnancy and disturbed your unborn baby's daily yoga meditation because you had the audacity to worry about your creeping blood pressure....well, you might as well just hand that baby a gun and tell him to go to town right after birth because there's no hope. It's that kind of talk that helps widen the divide between mothers in this society. Rather working towards this common goal of empowering women and educating them so that we can improve birth experiences and outcomes, blind statements such as the ones made by Suzanne Arms end up placing blame on those mothers who didn't have the "perfect" experience and it turns people off to what could be a good message. Statements like that do more harm than good, no matter the intention.<br />
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But, above all, she did a terrible disservice to the victims of the shooting. Capitalizing on their deaths to further your own agenda for your birth film is despicable at best. I said on my Facebook page that I no not believe in the devil, but if I did I would say that he was with Suzanne when she decided to write those statuses within hours of children being shot to death. Other people mentioned and I agree - perhaps we should have a discussion with Suzanne about the way she came into the world. Was it her own birth that caused her to be so detached and callous when speaking about this incident just hours after it happened? Perhaps her own mother didn't give birth the "right way," which has caused Suzanne to believe it is perfectly fine to mention murdered children as an afterthought when trying to get funding for an unrelated birth film. I am bothered by the notion that it's possible a family member of one of the slain could be a birth advocate who follows Suzanne on Facebook. What if she came across that status update and a knife pierced her heart as she viewed that opportunism? <br />
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I won't harp on Ms. Arms for much longer. I wanted to get this out there. I needed to vent about it. I'm not going to wish harm or failure to Ms. Arms for what she did, other than the natural consequences that occur when you make dumb statements ( i.e. people like me blogging about what an ass you are). I can say that I'll never recommend her works. I'll never promote her film. I'll leave this here to be seen and people can decide for themselves if it's something that bothers them. I'm releasing this energy and it's done.<br />
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Of course, now that I have your attention, I am going to ask you to do something before you "X" out of this little post. Just stay there for a moment and be silent. Pray. Do whatever it is that you do to put good energy out into the world. First, pray for the sweet souls of those who were killed. Then, pray for peace and comfort for their loved ones. Lastly, pray for peace for all of us - an end to this senseless violence would be a wonderful thing. Much love. <br />
<br />Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-74370339806964291202012-12-10T13:20:00.001-05:002012-12-18T10:03:26.206-05:00Scrooge vs. The Elf: A Tale of Christmas Compromise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's the most wonderful time of the year. A time when we celebrate the birth of Baby God by standing in line for 17 hours on Thanksgiving so we can push ourselves through store doorways, elbow one another, threaten to cut a bitch and stuff our carts full of cheap plastic crap made by Chinese <strike>slaves</strike> <strike>children</strike> workers for $0.09 cents an hour. And God forbid the 16 year old cashier who has been standing on her feet since last Tuesday wishes us a "Happy Holiday"... because <i>she </i>will be solely responsible for waging a war on Christmas, the little heathen. It's beautiful traditions like this that make December (and the September, October and November preceding it) so warm, fuzzy and wonderful. Sure, sure - there are other traditions such as lighting Advent candles on a wreath, singing carols about some impoverished baby born in a stable - what he has to do with Christmas is anyone's guess - and stringing up thousands of lights on your windows despite warnings from your Homeowners Association.<br />
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Different families have various traditions for this time of year. My family always goes to a certain Christmas display in the area. We have gone since I was a teeny EarthBabe. In my own home, we celebrate Hanukkah, St. Nicolas Day, Yule and Christmas and there are lights, foods, crafts, treats, decorations, prayers and traditions that go along with those four. One newly manufactured and super trendy tradition that I have been avoiding for the past few years is anything involving that mother-fucking Elf on the mother-fucking Shelf. It's true - I have not been a fan. My eyes have rolled numerous times reading status updates from mothers worried that their Elf on the Shelf won't be in as cool a location as their neighbor's Elf on the fucking Shelf. Deep sighs escape my throat as I see one more Pinterest photo of some creative ways to stuff your Elf into precarious situations around the house. My head has hit the desk on more than one occasion as yet another terribly over-saturated Instagram photo with too much blue filter shows an Elf getting into all sorts of silly hijinks. The mother-fucking Elf on the mother-fucking Shelf with his little prissy sideways eyeroll and unfortunate case of rosacea (or is it? I personally think he drinks too much) was not going to be welcomed into my home. I am comfortable being judgmental about the damn Elf as I sit at my computer, in my Christmas penguin fleece pajama bottoms while sipping my iced coffee from a wine glass. I even made fun of the thing on my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/funkylittleearthchild" target="_blank">Facebook page</a>:<br />
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<i><span class="userContent">"Got one of those Elf on the Shelf dolls. I set
him up in a kitchen cabinet last night. Woke up to find him with a dead
hooker and a bag of blow. Decided he was in no position to judge my kid
and make reports to Santa and sent him to Blitzen's Home For Wayward
Holiday Helpers. Hope he makes a good recovery." </span></i><span class="userContent">- Me</span><br />
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<span class="userContent">That was as close to my home that any Elf on the MF Shelf was going to get - a fake scenario in a status update. </span><br />
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<span class="userContent">Until I went to Target with my son. </span><br />
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<span class="userContent">We arrived at our local Target with the simple task of getting a present for a birthday party. That was all. I had a coupon for $3.00 of my purchase. It was going to be an easy and happy and cheap trip. Of course, I can't just walk into Target and go to my targeted (giggle) aisle and pick out the one thing I needed. Noooooo. I have to walk to perimeter of the whole store. If I don't, the world will spin off it's axis and things will suck. True story. I wheeled my cart through the store, with my 6 year old laying on the very bottom rack of the cart and my 15 month old standing in the part where little kids should be sitting - pretty much everything that the warnings on the cart tell you not to do - and passed display after display of crap I don't need. I saw a display of the mother-fucking Elf on the motherfucking Shelf ('twas only one plush Elf left, surrounded by EOTS books, CDs and other overpriced elven do-dads) and proceeded to smugly walk right by it, happily glowing with my sense of pride that <i>we </i>don't do <i>that. </i>The squeaking of the cart wheels was met with another high-pitched noise - my little boy shrieking, "Mama! Stop! Stop!" I, of course, have a heart attack and immediately think this is what I get for being that bad mom who lets her kids ride on carts in unsafe ways. I thought I must have run over his hand, or his nose or something. No. He continued, "It's the ELF! Oh my God! It's really the ELF! They come alive at night and run around your house while your sleeping! Oh my God! I never thought I would ever see one!" He jumped up and grabbed that last little Elf and asked, "Mama, please, can I have him? Please? I've never had a real Elf before!" His gorgeous brown-green-brown eyes were lit up like the finale of the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uU3Nc3_K_JA" target="_blank">Wanamaker's light display</a> in downtown Philadelphia. He was glowing - actually glowing - with excitement. You know how they talk about the Christmas Spirit and all that magic? You know, the magic that we have forgotten as we grew up and stopped believing? It was right there - emanating in all of it's red and green glory from my son. </span><br />
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<span class="userContent">This is the part where I could have educated him about our culture of consumption. I could have lectured him on advertising and it's sinister effect on children like him. I could have made a grand speech about how he didn't need to have an Elf of his own just because other kids have one - be yourself, kid. Stand out in the crowd! I could have told him that the Elf isn't real. </span><br />
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<span class="userContent">Or course, I said, "Wow! I think this little Elf was waiting here just for you." More light and sparkle in his eyes. "What shall we name your Elf?"</span><br />
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<span class="userContent">"Golly!" he said. (pronounced like "jolly") This is not the typical EOTS. It's plush and it has a kinder gaze, not that sarcastic sideways creepy killer clown look. It comes with a removable skirt, so your Elf can conform to gender roles and be either a boy or a girl. I asked my son if Golly was a boy or girl. "A boy!" he said. I pointed out that we could take the skirt off when we got home. "Why would I want to take his skirt off? That's <i>his </i>skirt. He needs it and you can tell he likes it." Well played, little man. </span><br />
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<span class="userContent">And he was a happy little boy. And I was a happy little mom. I couldn't take that moment of magic away from him - even if I don't believe (or do I?). It was a beautiful moment and I think I may have even heard an angel sing....until I heard more shrieking. This time, it was from the little baby girl in my cart who was trying to furiously rip the Elf from my son's hands. "No! No! He's for BOTH of us, but he wants ME to carry him. You stay in the cart." Cue crying from the little girl. Ahhh...the beautiful sounds of the season. </span><br />
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<span class="userContent">Bonus: the Elf was on sale. We did not get the book. My son does not seem to know the "official" story. To him, this elf is a magical little dude who just shows up in different places when he wakes up in the morning. We do not say the Elf is spying and making reports back to the North Pol-ice. There is no pressure to "be good" in front of the Elf. The Elf simply finds a new place to plop his little skirted ass each night. There is no pressure for mama, either. I have a few tricks up my sleeve for Golly's nightly maneuvers, but I don't worry about being Pinterest perfect. When my son wakes up each morning and sees that Golly has moved and may or may not being doing something silly or helpful (we found him with a screwdriver and my son's new Ikea chair fully assembled), he laughs and is happy and excited. He lets his child imagination take over and basks in that wonder of the Christmas season that so many of us secretly wish we could get back. </span><br />
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<span class="userContent">Here's to Christmas magic and compromise - and to the hope that the little Elf really will do something magical, such as organize my pantry or put the laundry away. </span><br />
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<span class="userContent"><br /></span>Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-18043373506760931522012-11-13T01:46:00.000-05:002012-11-13T14:41:53.564-05:00Sexy Hobbit Feet and Other Compliments for Pregnant Women<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There is nothing more glorious and glamorous than a pregnant woman. Each protruding curve of her beautiful body evokes the image of an almighty mother goddess and Mother Earth herself. She is curvy, glowing and vibrating with life.<br />
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Of course, those curves can barely stay contained in the are-you-fucking-kidding-me-that-maternity-clothes-are-this-small -?-maternity shirt (TM). Her belly hangs well below the hem of her shirt and her breasts are spilling out from the nursing bra that she bought in 3 cup sizes bigger than normal and it <i>still </i>doesn't have the decency to contain her boobage. And no one ever told you that the beautiful curves of a pregnant woman included her swollen feet, did they? The glow is likely due to the immense amount of sweat pouring out of her pores because anything warmer than 38 degrees Fahrenheit is like standing in the middle of the Sahara for a pregnant woman. And vibrations? Dude! Her blood sugar is crashing - those are the I-need-food-NOW-shakes. She just spent twelve hours standing in line at Babies 'R' Us (it's corporate policy to have only one apathetic cashier available on their busiest of days) buying breast milk storage bags and baby booger suckers and now she is hypoglycemic! So grab her a chair so she can get her feet up, get her some ice water, heavy on the crushed ice, and bring her a damn sandwich! And make sure you tell her she's beautiful at least 4 times every 19 seconds. Clock is ticking.<br />
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I know. I just inspired millions of women to get pregnant right.this.minute. How can you resist my ultra glamorous portrayal of the maternal state? All joking aside, pregnant women <i>are </i>goddesses and we are all simply beautiful. It's just that we don't always feel that way about ourselves. Yeah, yeah, it's all a miracle. We know. We know that we are gestating the revolution, the next generation and whatever other hippie love phrase you want to put in there. We know it's sacred. We know we should be worshiped. However, there are times, when your maternity jeans keep slipping down your butt and your maternity shirt keeps hiking up, that you don't feel like much of a goddess supermodel. People can tell your feet are curvy because you're wearing flip flops - in Minnesota, in January, in 17 feet of snow. You have no choice because your feet have swollen to the size of a small toddler. Your legs have been shaved into an odd patchwork pattern because you just plain can't see them. You tried to sit down in the shower to shave them, but found you couldn't get back up - worse, your husband was still at work, so you spent two hours sitting in the bathtub, clutching your razor, while your not-very-helpful cat sat on the tub ledge and stared at you as you cried one of those pathetic, snot-bubbly cries until the husband finally walked in the door and rescued you. You ended up with a cold and suffer because you can't take anything useful and when you go to the store to buy tissues, you are standing in line when you feel a sneeze come on and you do one of those unfortunate sneeze-cough-burp-fart things and pee just a little thanks to the baby squeezing every noise and fluid producing organ and hope no one notices as you dig through your wallet for your store bonus card and some dignity. At some point, you're sitting in the library when you get a whiff of decomposing onions. You look around to see where the stench is coming from when you realize it's <i>you</i> and that the joyous hormones of pregnancy have added to your normal bodily odor and then you start to dry heave from your own scent because morning sickness still has not passed at 7 months of pregnancy. Yeah, we know this is a miraculous time, but we don't always feel it. And that's okay.<br />
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Here's what's not okay - telling us that we look bloated, crappy, tired, fat, whorish, smelly or hairy. Nope. You just can't do that. Sure, your pregnant friend might say, "I just feel so huge and nothing fits and I smell really weird," but you can't agree. No. She looks beautiful. And no comparing how big she is to how big you were. <br />
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Here is a helpful list of what to say:<br />
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<b>Don't say: </b>"<i>Wow. You're tiny for 30 weeks. Are you sure you're really pregnant? Are you eating enough? Are you worried that the baby will be too small?"</i><br />
<i> </i><b>Do say: </b><i>"Wow. You're gorgeous. You are a glowing Earth Mother Goddess."</i><br />
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<b>Don't say</b><i><b>: </b>"Wow. You're HUGE! Are you sure there is only one in there? Wow! I can't believe you're only twelve weeks. I didn't even look that big when I was 40 weeks. Are you worried your baby will be too big?"</i><br />
<b>Do say:</b><i><b> </b>"Wow. You're gorgeous. You are a glowing Earth Mother Goddess."</i><br />
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<b>Don't say:</b><i><b> </b>"Look at those huge feet! They look like Hobbit feet - are you from the Shire, Frodo? Man, I bet a guy with a foot fetish would love those. How can you even walk with feet that huge?"</i><br />
<b>Do say:</b><i><b> </b> </i>"<i>Wow. You're gorgeous. You are a glowing Earth Mother Goddess. Would you like to sit down. Here, have my seat. In fact, let me get you a gift certificate for a pedicure."</i><br />
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<b>Don't say: </b><i>"I've never seen a person eat so much. You're only eating for two, not seven. Aren't you worried you'll make your baby fat?</i>"<br />
<b>Do say: </b><i>"</i><i>Wow. You're gorgeous. You are a glowing Earth Mother Goddess. Can I get you another sandwich, with a side of steak?"</i><br />
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<b>Don't say:</b><i><b> "</b>Girl, your hair is looking kinda greasy lately and your skin could use some love. Come to think of it, do you smell that? Is that you? Oh, you must be having a girl and she is stealing ALL of your beauty and then some." </i><br />
<b>Do say:</b><i><b> "</b>Wow. You're gorgeous. You are a glowing Earth Mother Goddess. Let's go get our hair and make-up done. My treat."</i><br />
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<b>Don't say:</b><i><b> </b>"Holy shit - you're carrying around a load of weight. Woo. That looks painful. You should get one of those belly slings so you can heave that beast around."</i><br />
<b>Do say:</b><i><b> </b>"</i><i>Wow. You're gorgeous. You are a glowing Earth Mother Goddess. Can I give you a back rub?"</i><br />
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I'm sure you get the point. It <i>is</i> a little hard to carry around an extra human strapped to your lower front half, defying some laws of physics. No matter how gorgeous we look, we can have times when we aren't feel the sexy glamor and it can be hard on us. We don't need someone extra reminding us that we are huge or blotchy or stinky or that we are eating a load. Even if you're thinking it, don't say it. We hear enough crap from the media telling us that we have to be sexy pregnant ladies, with petite bumps, globe-shaped perfect tits and <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2011/11/fossils-of-my-ferility.html" target="_blank">NO STRETCH MARKS.</a> We don't need to hear it from our friends, family and co-workers. So, remember, even if your pregnant best friend is weighing down the passenger side of your car and she's sprouted 4 extra chin hairs right in front of you and she keeps burping due to her acid reflux, please don't tell her anything other than she is the most beautiful person you've ever seen. <i><br /></i><br />
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<br />Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-24264617343867270252012-10-03T15:23:00.001-04:002012-10-04T13:10:06.248-04:00Nursing in Public: Horror of Horrors? Maybe Not<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_HJWx6GrMX4df-BKphlL_mzCAjGWreudT0Vx4uSZnKsgY5ttjiAdw4p7Bw2D_f-x1I8GRy_siaSYSx2wcWasLHbfVWqXtYqrXO03-dB7zKhDLzmk1G0cJspB-F_tX-lI5cbOZYppQJgb/s1600/nursing+friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_HJWx6GrMX4df-BKphlL_mzCAjGWreudT0Vx4uSZnKsgY5ttjiAdw4p7Bw2D_f-x1I8GRy_siaSYSx2wcWasLHbfVWqXtYqrXO03-dB7zKhDLzmk1G0cJspB-F_tX-lI5cbOZYppQJgb/s320/nursing+friends.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nursing in Public with my breast friend. Copyright 2007 JSH</td></tr>
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Ah yes, the image of a mother sitting on a bench at the mall, sandwiched between Hollister and a free-standing kiosk where some creepy dude asks if he can see your nails. Scores of teenagers walk by, clad in high top sneakers and neon short shorts (wait, did I just write that in 2012? Did we time warp back to 1987?), eyes and fingers glued to iPhones. Sure, we could get offended that a 13 year old girl just walked out of Hollister wearing a tank top that shows her ample perky cleavage, with the back of the top made out of see through lace and a pair of shorts that are so short that you can see her buttocks clinging to her thighs for dear life as they fear they may fall to the ground without any support. Across the way, Victoria's Secret's music is thumping and you can see four posters up on the windows showing underweight models with breasts the size of GMO watermelons pouring out of bras that promise to lift, define and change your whole fucking life. One of the models has her body twisted in a pose that not only shows her heaving bosom, but also reveals her airbrushed taut ass being barely covered in a lacy thong. All of that is fine. We're not going to call a security guard because some 13 year old girl is barely covered in her clothing or because there are posters showing mostly naked women seductively staring at you from behind the bra shop window. We don't care that Hot Topic is blasting some song about someone wanting to fuck someone else. No, we care that the mother sitting on the bench is committing such a terrible sin - nursing in public. That's right. She's sitting there with her baby sucking on her breasts. In public. I mean, you can't even see her boob because she has one some sort of clothing that prevents that, but you know what she's doing. If you get close enough to scold the mother for her indecency, you may even hear the baby making swallowing noises as he eats. Isn't that terrible? Of course, you don't want to get too close or you and your children might just see a nipple. Did you know there is an epidemic of people dying because they see nipples? I didn't, either. <br />
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Puh-fucking-lease. If this is you, the person who gets oh so offended over seeing a mother nurse her child in the mall or any public place, please do the world a favor, get on the right side of history, and get over yourself. I have zero tolerance for individuals who call security guards and cops on women who are feeding their children. It's 2012. We all know by now that nursing is normal. We all know that people don't die when they see nipples. For fuck's sake, Mark Wahlberg's three nipples hung above Times Square forever and no one died. Why is a nipple that feeds a child any different? Obviously, a nip slip while a mother is nursing is actually quite rare and the most anyone will see is the top of her breast, maybe some side boob or underboob. Sorry, none of that is offensive. You see more titty on teenage girls. You see more titty on grown men. Don't like it? Don't look. For god's sake, use your neck and turn your head. Blink. Look elsewhere. Babies eat from boobs. It's not about you. It's not about someone trying to offend you. It's about feeding babies. Get over it. <br />
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Really - you feel the need to take a cop off the street, from protecting the public from real crimes like rape, burglary and murder just to tattle on some woman who is breastfeeding in public? Damn, better pay me a few bucks, because you just wasted my tax dollars for that frivolous cop call. Sitting at home on your Facebook, playing Farmville and flagging other Facebook members for posting nursing photos or videos? Life called, it wants you to get in on it. <br />
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Before you call the cops or before you report some Facebook photo, take a moment to get on your knees and pray. Pray to God, Jehovah, Jim, Flying Spaghetti Monster or Gene Roddenberry - I don't care. Just pray and say thank you. Thank your God that your life is so darned fucking perfect that the only thing you can find wrong with it is that some mother dared to breastfeed somewhere within your optical field. It must be really nice to live in such harmony where a mother who feeds her child in the most normal way is the only damn thing you can find wrong in this world.<br />
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I am not here to condemn you, despite my obvious hostility in this post. I am here to help you. You seem to lack a broader world view and that can lead all sorts of narrow-minded shenanigans, such as soliciting law enforcement to make a baby stop breastfeeding at Applebees. I want to assist you in finding other things wrong with the world. You seem to want to help make this world a better place. You seem to have a need to be mad at something. By now, you must realize that shaking your fist at nursing in public isn't the answer. So, where can you turn that self-righteous indignation? Let me show you the way. Here are some real problems that should make you want to take action.<br />
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1 in 7 Americans lives below the poverty line, with more than half of our citizens experiencing true poverty by the age of 65. 1 out of every five children lives in poverty. The same amount of children, 1 in 5, goes day to day wondering when or where there next meal will come. 48 million Americans - 16 million of those are children - struggle to feed their families each day. Get pissed about hunger.<br />
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In America, a person is raped every 2 minutes. How many people have been raped since I started writing this ten minutes ago? 1 in 10 men have been raped. American women are 10 times as likely to be raped than to die in an automobile collision. 1 out of 7 college women has been a victim of rape, yet 90% of them never report it. In fact, of all the rapes in this country, over half do not go reported. 1 in 15 rape victims will become infected with a sexually transmitted disease. Only 3% of rapists actually go to jail. Get pissed about rape. <br />
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Everyday - every mother fucking day - more than five children in this country will die of child abuse. When you go to bed tonight, don't think of the nursing mother at the mall, think of the 5 children who were alive 24 hours ago but died at someone else's hands. 80% of those children who died were under 4 years of age. Of the children who survive the abuse, 30% will grow up and will abuse their own children. There is a report of child abuse filed every 10 seconds in America. I couldn't even write this paragraph without breaking down. Get pissed about child abuse.<br />
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Over 42 million Americans have been sexually abused as children. 500,000 of the children born this year will experience sexual abuse as children. 1 in 4 girls will be sexually abused. 1 in 6 boys will be sexually abused. I want to vomit. Get pissed about child sexual abuse.<br />
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Count to 9. Are you done? In those 9 seconds, a woman was beaten. When you go to bed at night and you think of the 5 children who died as a result of abuse today, please add on the 3 women who die each day at the hands of a husband or boyfriend and the one man who dies each day at the hands of a girlfriend or wife. 10 million children witness domestic violence in their homes each year - half of those kids will grow up to become abusers and continue the cycle. 6 million men are victims of domestic violence. Get pissed off about domestic violence.<br />
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That's just a sample of things in this country that are truly wrong. If you're reasonable, you'll see that these things are worth way more of your energy than worrying about a mother nursing her child somewhere public. Focus your energy into solving these problems and not harassing some random breastfeeder at Denny's. Good? Good. <br />
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Statistic Sources:<br />
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<a href="http://www.dvrc-or.org/domestic/violence/resources/C61/" target="_blank">http://www.dvrc-or.org/domestic/violence/resources/C61/</a><br />
<a href="http://domesticviolencestatistics.org/domestic-violence-statistics/" target="_blank">http://domesticviolencestatistics.org/domestic-violence-statistics/</a><br />
<a href="http://www.d2l.org/site/c.4dICIJOkGcISE/b.6143427/k.38C5/Child_Sexual_Abuse_Statistics.htm"></a><a href="http://www.d2l.org/site/c.4dICIJOkGcISE/b.6143427/k.38C5/Child_Sexual_Abuse_Statistics.htm" target="_blank">http://www.d2l.org/site/c.4dICIJOkGcISE/b.6143427/k.38C5/Child_Sexual_Abuse_Statistics.htm</a><br />
<a href="http://www.childhelp.org/pages/statistics" target="_blank">http://www.childhelp.org/pages/statistics</a><br />
<a href="http://www.oneinfourusa.org/statistics.php" target="_blank">http://www.oneinfourusa.org/statistics.php</a><br />
<a href="http://www.rainn.org/statistics" target="_blank">http://www.rainn.org/statistics</a><br />
<a href="http://www.crisisconnectioninc.org/sexualassault/rapestatistics.htm" target="_blank">http://www.crisisconnectioninc.org/sexualassault/rapestatistics.htm</a><br />
<a href="http://www.bread.org/hunger/us/facts.html" target="_blank">http://www.bread.org/hunger/us/facts.html</a><br />
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How you Can Help:<br />
<a href="http://www.bread.org/hunger/us/solutions.html" target="_blank">Bread For the World</a> - Hunger<br />
<a href="http://www.thehungersite.com/clickToGive/home.faces?siteId=1" target="_blank">The Hunger Site</a> - Hunger and Poverty<br />
<a href="http://www.rainn.org/" target="_blank">RAINN</a> - Rape, Abuse, Incest<br />
<a href="http://www.d2l.org/site/c.4dICIJOkGcISE/b.6035035/k.8258/Prevent_Child_Sexual_Abuse.htm" target="_blank">Darkness To Light</a> - Child Sexual Abuse<br />
<a href="http://www.americanhumane.org/children/stop-child-abuse/?gclid=CLeWvaTI5bICFU6d4AodbikA4w" target="_blank">American Humane Association</a> - Child Abuse<br />
<a href="http://www.everychildmatters.org/home/coalition" target="_blank">Every child Matters</a> - Child Abuse<br />
<a href="http://www.nnedv.org/" target="_blank">National Network to End Domestic Violence </a>- Domestic Violence<br />
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<br />Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1936244980142483230.post-88761568573125720892012-10-01T12:52:00.000-04:002013-02-26T01:47:14.267-05:00My Cloth Diaper Sh*t List<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_2PJ-hsWcVXcsKp4lLL_XMQdfbdCNOonFyyCEogSahqnAj7RBhaKmWv1fNJooUs5rzHCIzGlY9nOccD9-h3rFMAyzgepYWIuQN4WRDm5VdqJK8gQWSIn7-v77-BU22iJ9Gieu02e38oC/s1600/buttons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_2PJ-hsWcVXcsKp4lLL_XMQdfbdCNOonFyyCEogSahqnAj7RBhaKmWv1fNJooUs5rzHCIzGlY9nOccD9-h3rFMAyzgepYWIuQN4WRDm5VdqJK8gQWSIn7-v77-BU22iJ9Gieu02e38oC/s400/buttons.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buttons that touch baby's skin. Pet peeve.</td></tr>
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I love me a good cloth diaper. <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2012/05/ch-ch-ch-changing-diapers.html" target="_blank">Cloth diapering is something I firmly believe in</a> for many reasons - for the health of the baby, health of the environment and the health of a family's finances. I have no problems admitting that I am a cloth diaper addict and I definitely have more than I need. I could certainly get by with a small stash of a dozen prefolds, a few flats and maybe a pocket or two and a bunch of covers. However, my addiction doesn't allow for that and I have more than I actually need. Still, in cloth diapering two children, I have not spent near as much as it would cost to disposable diaper one child. I love most of my cloth diapers. I am partial to <a href="http://www.mudshrimps.com/" target="_blank">Mudshrimps</a> covers and pockets. I also love Thirsties along with plain old prefolds and flats. I've tried a few brands over the years and like most of them. Yet, there are some brands or some cloth diaper accessories that I just don't like. So, here it my Cloth Diaper Shit List.<br />
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<b>Boingo - </b>these are fasteners for prefolds, flats and contours (remember those?). They are an alternative to Snappis and pins. Boingos come in a set of two fasteners. One for each side of the diaper. These have recently been "improved," but I can't comment on that as I never owned a pair of the old kind. The thing that drew me to these was that they are like pins - you use on to fasten each side of the diaper. I love my Snappis and never honestly had a problem, but I was always a bit turned off by the fact that a band goes across the belly. I'm always checking to make sure it's not too tight as I imagine it would be uncomfortable for the baby. Lots of people raved about Boingo fasteners, so I decided to give them a try during the<a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2012/05/flat-butt-day-one-small-print.html" target="_blank"> 2nd Annual Flats and Handwashing Challenge.</a> They are damn cute, I'll give them that. However, I hate using them. It's not for lack of trying. I have tried so many times, in so many ways with so many diapers. I have tried them on a variety of flats, prefolds and my old Kissaluvs contours. They don't work well for us. I can't get a tight enough fit with them and I end up with a diaper that will fall off before I even get a cover on them. Some people say to fasten them quickly first and then go back and fasten them a second time and get it tighter. Well, that is fine and dandy if you have one of those babies who actually stays still for a diaper change. I don't have that variety of baby and I don't have the time to fasten and re-fasten and re-fasten. No, they should work properly the first time. For flats, I have tried them with the diaper bag fold, the Jo fold, the origami fold, the kite fold and the neat fold. Nadda. I forget the name of the fold I use for prefolds - angel wing, maybe? Anyway, they suck for that, too. I can't even use two for a Kissaluvs contour because they're big and my daughter is bitty. One Boing could hold the two sides together - in the middle of her belly, which defeats the purpose of using them to avoid having something going across the belly. Also, they are large and I have a bitty baby and they rub against her leg. Again, this was true for all folds, no matter how tight or loose I got them fastened. By the time I changed her diaper, they would shift and a part would rub against her skin and leave red marks. Speaking of mark, I cut myself with the teeth more than once and my daughter, who is in the habit of grabbing herself when I change her diaper, was scratched as well. When I compare the Snappi teeth with the Boingo teeth, they don't look any different, but I've never hurt myself with a Snappi. Speaking of teeth, these fuckers have put holes in my prefolds and my flats. Yes, some of those holes do shrink up when I wash them. Some stay, however. Even with the ones that shrink up after washing, you have to wonder if repeated tearing would eventually be unrepairable. The worst tears were in my Ikea Burp Cloths that I use as flats, my Osocozy flats and my Indian prefolds. They did not leave holes in my Kissaluvs or my hemp/cotton prefolds. <br />
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I really wanted to like these. I realize they are popular and many mamas like them. They are adorable and I like the idea. For now, I am staying with my Snappis. Maybe I'll learn to use pins. <br />
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<b>Thirsties Aplix - </b>I have been using Thirsties covers since my son was a year old. I started using their old AIO/pockets when he was around two years old. they don't make them anymore - they probably got sued by FuzziBunz (who hasn't?) or something - and have switched to a different AIO and pocket design. The ones I have had for years have been washed a billion times and have held up nicely. The Aplix is holding up just fine. When my daughter was born, I needed a few more smaller covers and also decided to try out their Duo pockets and their AIO. I love the Duo pockets. The AIO is fine, too, but not as absorbent as I'd like. The Aplix, however, is a different story. I don't know if Thirsties changed something with their Aplix, but the newer diapers do not hold up like the old ones. I mean, the Aplix started to wear out on all of my new Thirsties stuff within three to four months. She was wearing a dress one day this past Summer and I didn't use the little bloomers that came with the dress because she had a cute little Thirsties diaper under there. We were eating at a restaurant and I picked her up from her high chair and the diaper stayed behind. It came undone by itself. Isolated incident? Nope. I found this happening again and again with several of my newer Thirsties items. They do offer snaps on their Duo line, but not on the plain covers, if I recall correctly. I chose the Aplix because it's daddy friendly. <a href="http://funkylittleearthchild.blogspot.com/2012/05/flat-butt-day-6-husband.html" target="_blank">My husband has learned to fold flats</a>, but he and snaps do not get along. He tries, but they are more frustrating for him. The newer crappy Aplix in these diapers is disappointing. I will continue to use Thirsties products, but I'll have to avoid Aplix from now on. <br />
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<b>Charlie Banana -</b> people rave about these, too. I never had any intention of buying them. My friend got some on clearance at Target, didn't like them and gave me three that she didn't use. They're cute, but they are definitely far from my favorite. These are one sized diapers that you adjust with elastic in the gussets. Guess what? I hate that part. I hate gusset adjusting. Yep, I do. Since my daughter is so small, I've had to adjust it to the tiniest setting. The diaper bunches up horribly at the waist when adjusted to small. Plus, it doesn't stay that way. I'm constantly having to re-adjust the elastic. I also get those awful hip wings, where part of the diaper slides out from under the fastening snaps. I also hate this feature in the one FuzziBunz one size that I own - yet another diaper I received for free because I will not give that company any money. Speaking of - <br />
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<b>FuzziBunz - </b>their diapers are fine. I own three, a one size and two perfect sizes. These were all free to me. I dislike the one size for the same reason I dislike the Charlie Banana - adjustable elastic in the legs. The perfect size are just fine. I dislike the company. I have been reading about cloth diapers since way before my son was born in 2006. I used to lurk on the AOL cloth diaper message boards (remember those?) and I remember when the initial <a href="http://boycottfuzzibunz.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">"scandal" surrounding FuzziBunz </a>went down. The gist is that pocket diapers have been around for a few decades, but became more popular in the 2000's. The founder of FuzziBunz took the opportunity to patent the pocket diaper. Was her design original? No, but she had the "smarts" to patent it. What followed was panic by a lot of work at home moms, some of who reported being harassed and threatened with legal action or coerced into forming license agreements with FuzziBunz. There's slightly more to the FuzziBunz story, including her recent issues with Charlie Banana, <a href="http://thedramaofdiaperswappers.wordpress.com/2010/08/09/an-update-on-the-charlie-banana-vs-fuzzi-bunz-issue/" target="_blank">where she made serious false accusations against CB and emailed retailers telling them not to sell CB products</a>. It just left me with a bad taste in my mouth regarding that company and I choose not to support them. <br />
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<b>Microfiber -</b> I have plenty of diapers with microfiber sewn in and with microfiber inserts. This is a material that I am trying to get away from. First, microfiber is a petroleum product. Ew. Second, it just plain sucks. Yes, it's absorbant. However, I find that microfiber is the only material I have ever had stink issues with - in both inserts and AIOs. Plus, it takes for-fucking-ever to dry. I have always disliked BumGenius diapers and the main reason is the microfber as it retains smells, holds residue and takes for-fucking-ever to dry. I liked Kissaluvs fitted when my son was a baby and planned to buy a few more for my daughter. Nope. They replaced their cotton terry soaker with microfiber. Bummer. I've been making the switch to mostly hemp inserts. Yes, hemp takes for-fucking-ever to dry, too, but it's the lesser of the environmental evils. <br />
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<b>Snaps inside of a diaper -</b> there are some diapers out there who were so poorly designed that the snaps, whether to fasten them shut or to hold an insert, touch the baby's skin. This is not okay to me. I have an old Thirsties fitted that would probably be a workhorse, but I don't use it because of the rows of snaps in the front that directly touch the baby's belly. I also have a Baby Bee-Hinds bamboo (another fake eco-friendly fabric) fitted that is unbelievably absorbent, but has snap-in inserts where the snaps directly touch the baby's skin. Unlike the Thirsties diaper, I am able to place one of my thin fleece inserts into the diaper to cover the snaps and hopefully make it more comfortable for the baby. Again, Kissaluvs is an example here. I wanted to get their organic fitteds, made with hemp and cotton. Sadly, they come with snap-in inserts and the snap is exposed and will touch baby's skin - right at the tailbone area. Ouch. It's just a dumb design flaw with some diapers and I don't see why manufacturers think it's a good idea.<br />
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<b>$35.00 Diapers </b>- bitch, I'm poor as hell. I don't care if it's made of sustainably harvested fibers from a unicorn's mane. A diaper cost $35.00 or more better change it's damn self.<br />
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And that, folks, is my cloth diaper bitch session for today. Do I expect you to agree with all of these? Nope, so please don't feel defensive. These are merely my opinions. I am perfectly fine with the fact that people love FuzziBunz, Boingo and Charlie Banana and are happy to spend $35.00 on a diaper. These are my own thoughts. Much love.<br />
<br />Funky Little Earthchildhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18426546990920691174noreply@blogger.com4