some very cool stuff happening...

Oh. My.Goddess.

 OK, so I got this job offer from a friend to babysit at her place for her boy, age 2, and another boy Molly's age and of course Molly would come with. She offered me more money than I now make at the clinic. (I have been alternately terrified and ecstatic about the thought of being in mommymode full time.) Well, being the conscientious and responsible woman that I holy shit did I just use those words to describe myself without a hint of sarcasm? am now, I told my supervisor of this development.

She asked if more money would make a difference. I told her it very well could. She said she'd run it by the board and she got some feedback from them. Unless her reading of their attitude is very, very wrong they're going to offer me $2.75 more on the hour! I can't do percentages but it's a chunkalunk of a raise. Definitely more than the munchkin watching gig. If I stay, it means Molly'll still spend 4 days a week in the land of peanut butter and potato chips and massive TV exposure*, but it also means we can start paying down some debt and work on the house some. I just can't turn that down. Bu also has a job interview tomorrow so help me work some positive mojo and you'll have a much less anxious cranky Daisy blog to read:)

*Which is also the land of Very Happy Molly who adores her Papaw & Mamaw & gets lots of attention and love.

daisypeeps

And I've just fallen even more in lurv with WP: I can make password locked entries: woot! If you're reading this I probably already sent you the password I'll use. If I missed you, couldn't track down your email, or you've been a naughty naughty lurker, email me and I'll rectify your ommission tout de suit.

And in the pouty realm of  not-love: I miss my 3 column template, but the ones on WP.com are boring as hell. Must get domain now now now.

feeling good is good enough

I feel like an awesome mom. No big reason, even let the baby throw herself off a dining room chair earlier. I just feel good. I was with her constantly since Thursday evening, which is rare- I usually have a bunch of design work to cram in and send her up the "holler" to the grandies for the afternoon on Friday or Saturday. But I didn't this weekend.

I also survived my first (after exactly a year and two months) free-range poop emergency. 

we now return to my regularly scheduled muggle life

I should have gotten a really good novel queued up to soften the Post-Potter Depresssion. (This isn't due to the content of the book; it was precious and I have no real critique except that there was a plot point that made me go Wha? Huh? and sent me googling for clarification.) Now that I've finished eating, sleeping, breathing Deathly Hallows I'm just a bit lost, entertainment-wise. I'll have to channel my obsession to another fandom and pop in Buffy Season 6 DVD's until I can get to the theater to see Order of the Phoenix.

Our day was insane, amplified no doubt by my staying up until 2:30 a.m. reading.   And why the hell has the baby decided that she needs to nurse for an hour and a half solid before bed?! 

toddler peace (i.e. unconsciousness)

There is nothing more precious than a sleeping toddler. Your infant may be just as cute- perhaps even prettier in her itsy bitsyness, just as peaceful and warm. But you didn't earn it. Not like you do with a toddler* By virtue of the contrast between the frantic demonic possession and hysteria of 15 minutes ago, the now-sleeping baby is the most cherubic divine sweetness I've ever seen.

*Unless you are Ciaran's or Viktor's mom.

little testy today

Tentative, apprehensive, and cautious: Have abandoned Blogger and left behind 100% customization (for free) in exchange for a pretty well designed template and better widgets and generally better everything else. Lookit! A "more" cut like my beloved LJ cut: Oh Bliss!

bloggy musings

Since at least the effin' backend at Blogger's working, I'll go ahead & wax blogcentric:

I have severe Blogathon and BlogHer jealousy. I think BlogHer would be so cool to experience, and I'd love to go one year... it's just a silly daydream right now, though. The Blogathon would be so very do-able with the exception of the little detail that I'm a mommy to a toddler who:

1) Doesn't sleep through the night and doesn't sleep at all without mama snugglies.
2) Still nurses lots, thus deterring me from the massive dose of caffeine it would take to fuel my being awake for 24 hours.
3) Would obviously not allow me to crash hard to recoup following said 24 hours.

Of course, I could ship her to the grandies for 36 hours or so, and she'd be peachy. Totally, annoyingly peachy. She loves them, and it's an amzing blessing, but I get so jealous I can't stand it. I have actually wondered if I left here there and never came back if she'd care. She doesn't even miss nursing until I show up. (Are all working mamas this crazed with jealousy?) We all know, though, that if I left her there I'd just blog a bunch of entries about how psycho I was feeling missing her and then I'd break down and go get her.

So no marathon burst of blogging creativity for me. Next year we'll see.

***

I'm pondering & pondering the blog identity issue again. This last topic at BlogRhet has had my cogs grinding, and then when I participated in a conference call with Wendy at eMomsAtHome (about a possible blogging spot over there) she mentioned that using one's real name is preferable to her because readers connect better. Made sense, and made me start second guessing all over again the pseudonym issue.

On one hand, this is a personal blog, and I do tend to go on about really personal shit- to a degree that it unsettles Bu sometimes. The alias helps me feel OK about trashing my family online, but is that something I should be OK with? I try to be fair when I'm venting but am I stepping beyond that? I also feel like my fakey identity has actually helped me to use a truer-to-me voice.

On the other hand, I feel less authentic too. I miss using the baby's beautiful, adorable real name. I miss using my beautiful adorable real name. I also think I could be missing some marketing for our business by not linking to our website. I'm thinking the women of the blogosphere could use my artsiness. Whatever I decide with regards to names and dirty laundry,

***

my happy ass is moving away from Blogger so fast Google's metaphorical head will spin. I can't afford a domain now, but soon I should be able to spring for that little luxury and I'll be scootching over to WordPress.org to explore a new and better blogworld:) I can keep my archives and I'll definitely hold on to the DaisyBones title, because it Rox. (Even if sometime I'm not Roxy.)

***

And I sooooo give up on watchdaisygrow. Too much to take on right now. The good part is I'm spending some of the time I would be blogging about self-improvement actually working on the house:) So I'll blog here about that stuff a little.

blogathon 2007 envy

I have serious geeklust for Blogathon. You know what? Next year, providing our lives are a little more sane, this is my plan: I'll go, all by myself (!) somewhere not too far off that has pretty scenery but also has WiFi, or at least some sort of broadband access. I'll write stream-of-consiousness for 24 hours, and it'll be a huge monumentally beautiful thing. I've never taken a road trip, even a small one, alone before.

Some little part of me craves alone time like nothing else.

Then, another part wants constant nesty snuggling with Bu & the Boue.

parentdish has best day ever

I'm a ParentDish junkie, since waaaay back two years ago when it was called Blogging Baby and I was gestating one Emsybird. Usually it's like my granola bars... junk but arguably healthy helpful junk that I skim over and maybe mark an item or two for keepies. (I still have the post on that poor ecstasy-baby bookmarked from before it was outed as a fake. Which reminds me, I dreamt I was shroom tripping and wondering vaguely when it'd be safe to nurse the Boue. Old self clashes with new self in my subconscious?)

Anyway, I haven't checked in for a few days but when I did, I saw no less than three Very Helpful and/or Enlightening Posts @ ParentDish. My top three...

#3 Kids are at Risk for Identity Theft because the credit agencies aren't privy to the age of any holder of a social security number. The asshat who inspired the post stole from his own son.

#2 How to (Potentially) Save Electronic Devices after your demon spawn toddler poured apple juice on it, peed on it, dunked it in toilet, etc.

And the #1 Most Awesomest Post (Probably Ever, But at Least This Week) at ParentDish:

Single Mom Invents Self Pleasure Attachment for the Vacuum cleaner. Woot! You are my Heroine, Joanne Drysdale. I guess she doesn't have a detachable shower head, poor dear.

five finger discount*

I have to share my take on this. Busha wrote today (so prettily I'm freaking dying for a pedicure now) about a lovely young woman who was having a mani pedi and who has both an arm and leg amputation from an accident. Busha confessed she was curious whether or not the woman was charged full price.

So a few years ago, like six, was my first and only manicure and pedicure. The now famous Souster was getting married and I had to be lurvely as her maid of honor. I had a very natural looking French mani and then very crass-like threw my legs up over the manicurist's table to have him do his first French pedi on me (we are slow to catch on here in the hills. And we do shit like hiking our crusty tootsies up on to a table to make some dude paint our toenails.)

So the whole time I'm getting the toes & fingers made all shiny, I'm thinking... "Do I dare ask for half price for the manicure?" I was 99% sure if I had the cajones-what's Spanish for ovaries?- to ask for it they'd be too embarrassed to say no. I didn't want to be cheap or all in-your-face about the freakydeak, but that's expensive pampering for a lowly art student barrista. So I sucked it up and asked. The chick who ran the register was very smooth and happy to oblige. She was also still laughing at my French toes.

* Sorry, couldn't help it. Cracking up at myself. So the moral of the story is if you have the ovarios** to ask for a very practical discount on your manicure by reason of having less than ten nails, you'll get it.

** Yep! Looked it up.

somebody help me? still online...

OK, now I'm going to eat and carry on like a real person, promise;) It's not my fault; I've found the best time eater on the whole www: It's The Generator Blog, and it's teh awesome. To the left we can see my beer label, which I could have expensively printed on actual bottles. I think they ship to the US. Maybe not. Don't mattah, not buying it anyway. But good on them for offering such a great freakin' toy.

first EVER daisy contest * will doodle for giggles

I realized, when we were having our Pissy Potter Party Pooper night, that I do not laugh out loud enough. Seriously, it's such awesome medicine, and I was hearing myself crack up, because the Souster is HIGHlarious, and I was thinking, "I never do this anymore."

So tell me a joke or link me to something lol funny. Not so much with the wry dry witty funny- which I do love, but make me snort and guffaw and be dorky. Funniest link/joke/story will win a pretty doodle doodled just for you, on paper, in your actual physical mailbox! Not as cool as some contests, but doodle for giggles is a fair exchange, I think:) [Comment by when I wake up in the morning tomorrow- 'round 7 or 8 a.m. EST.] No, wait. Comment by midnight EST Tuesday the 24th:)

Also, It's good for Emsy: laughter boosts the biochemical goodies in mama's milk. Who knew? (And lemme just say this link is to such a pretty little site. I never found them before. Will have to go look around.)

FYI, My crazy image contains stripes from The Stripe Generator, which might be of use to you knitty crafty chicas. If you're a digi designy chica, you have to CTRL + Print Screen to save your stripeys. Scary-funny mannequin face from Stock X-change, the best free stock photo site EVAR.

urgent owl message

Totally kidding, darlin'. Take your time and enjoy. It'll take me three freaking weeks to read it anyway in the short time between finishing whatever work and life have thrown at me (after finally sneaking away from snoozing Emsy) and falling into an exhausted sleep.

Everybody in my LiveJournal friends and Bloglines feeds has just finished, (and luuurved it!) is reading, or is scoffing at us silly grown-ups making a hysterical fuss over a kids book. No one's not talking about it. Shoulda scrimped and bought it. Coulda survived without fast food breakfasts and that bottle of wine. Damn it all, lack of impulse control! Will avoid having similar fangirl regrets when Stardust opens by beginning to save for date night right now. If Bu thinks he's getting out of a fairy tale flick he's so sadly mistaken.

***Forgive the sloppy "photoshopping" as I'm actually stuck in Fireworks land and working quickly;)***

Oh, and if you're so inclined, feel quite free to steal the "spoilers" graphic;)

addiction?

Do you blog in your head all day long, too? Or is it just me? Maybe I need a media vacation. Anyway, what I did was I downloaded a free timer- 4:43 left, and am allowing 15 minutes for blogrollage and posting. Then I'll work on web stuff and home stuff in timed bursts, see if I get some stuff done. It's an experiment.

Oh, the other experiment? The cloth pads? I bought some safety pins because the chick who promised me the washcloth would stay put magically lied to me:) Now I have a very comfy crotch, even if my lower abdomen is screaming.

Right now it's cram time so I can pick up my Emsybabyboo who I miss so much I could cry but I HAVE to come up with logo ideas and she hates when Mama and Daddy sit at our desks. Bu is away cutting grass so it'd be just me to contend with the toddlerness.

And... time:)

middle of the night fun with keywords

Dear i hate being broke:
Me too. Check out this cool site on running a household on the cheap. Some of her recipes are a little too Southern fried for my taste but she's groovy.

Dear weird birth plan:
Eat your placenta! I dare you. It's good for you.

Dear daisy heart feminism:
Yes this daisy does heart feminism. And pirates. I heart pirates. Almost bought a tee shirt that says so today.

Dear heavy boobz:
Use cabbage leaves or you can borrow Sophie.

Dear 11 months ear piercing shrieking:
I know, I know. It only gets worse.

Dear cure for nose ring funk:
Surgical steel, baby. And a ring's nicer to clean than a stud because it moves.

read, souster, read!

I was debating the mama's night out party vs. the impending logo deadline when Souster (think Soul/Sistah) called and mentioned the Harry Potter party at Our Favorite Locally Owned Bookstore Cafe. So I decided to go with her. Her husband, Goddess rest his soul, as she may have slain him by now, was late getting back to take over the care of her boys so we scooted into the store at 11:40 p.m. anticipating a giddy crowd of lightning bolt sporting 12 year olds and bedtime lax parents partying down.

Instead, we arrive to find that the clock had been set forward to 12:20, a snarky twenty year old with cooler hair than most people was taking down the Halloweeny poor-excuse-for-Hogwarts decor, and the cafe was closed. No cappucino to fuel souster's all night novel marathon! No festival atmosphere! No anticipatory countdown to midnight! The fuckers just sold her the book and we left, deflated.

So at this moment she's plowing through the Rowling goodness and the moment she finishes, it's mine! All mine. My own. My precioussssssss. Erp. Wrong fandom;)

This post brought, a little painfully, to you by the small cut exactly in the spacebar spot on my thumb that I got cutting up a yummy yummy cantaloupe. The delicious melon is my new favorite food. I could eat twenty one after another. They were on my brain lately because of this and then this and so I bought one today. Damn you, clumsy knife-weilding me. Wastotallyworhitthoughaaaahthatssomuchbetter!

this is the reason i cry when my baby sleeps over at the grandies'...

And I call at 1 a.m. to come bring her home:

This morning we went to LLL and it was a small group, very informal. Emsy actually was in a very nursey mood, so for the first time I actually breastfed at a LLL meeting. The topic was nutrition- as you well know, my number one angst-inducer. We did a frightful reality check exercise, each reading the ingredients (barely as there were insane chemical names that all of us stumbled over) of a typical processed food and then learning its identity. Cream cheese has tons of crap in it that's not cheese. Never noticed. I'm not on hyper-vigilant label watch too much. I generally would like to buy stuff that doesn't need ingredient labels. It's hard to break the habits though. I do pretty well in feeding Emsy good stuff. I know that won't help as she ages unless I improve too, so I gotta step up.

So after this nutrition check-in, I took her up to the grandies for the night. (They have baby show off company and I'm either working, mama's night out-ing, or both. Or, apparently, blogging my pissy self to death.) They have multi-colored goldfish crackers for her. I wait for ten minutes or so trying to find a way to express my preference for non-food dye crackers or- gasp!- vegetables without sounding like a harpy. I decide it's going to be critical anyway, so I ask them to look for stuff that's not artificially colored. Then Papaw opens the pantry to show me the

DisneyTrademarkedSuperSweetNowWithEvenMoreHighFructoseCornSyrupAndRedDye

snacks he picked up for her. I explain briefly for the 345,952nd time that whole unprocessed foods are the best way to go. Explain about good fats, whole grains, yadayadayada. They good natured-ly tell me how of course they understand but I am totally full up-to-here of bullshit and she's a kid they like this stuff. Oh really? Did my barely verbal 14 month old ask you for the diabetes in a box?

It's so fucking frustrating, because they aren't educated about nutrition. Not that I have a Ph.D. in Expensive Organic Produce and Flaxseed Oil, but they don't know why I care about this stuff. When I just flat out make a rule- like say, no peanutfuckingbutter, they "forget" it.

This is why you find a sickening sweet pseudonym, people. The grandparents. I love these guys so much, and they're so great with her. They're natural attachment parenting enthusiasts without knowing it (with the grandkids anyway) and she adores them. I just don't know how to get them on board.

Bu's advice? Feed her as healthily here as possible and let them be grandparents. But look: grandparents see their grandbabies a couple or few times a week. They see her 4 days a week all day, plus. They are like co-parents. I'm so sick of this endless debate. You know what I'm sicker of? Feeling so apologetic. Being all, "I know I'm a silly flaky hippy vegetarian lactivist and my wants and needs are ridiculous to you, but could you ____________?"

Fuck this. I. Am. Her. M O T H E R !

They're the ones who should feel apologetic about feeding my baby chemically created candy colored crap. I'm going to print some info for them to ignore and start packing lunches and snacks I guess. When I send stuff with her, Papaw swears she won't touch the beans or peas she eats for me. I guess I wouldn't either with a bag of salty chips sitting beside them.

Whatever. How many times have I written this post? *Sigh* I have a thing in the works- very very up in the air, so I might be able to be with the baby more. It's dependent on so much and there are many overwhelming choices. We'll see. When little shit like this happens, I just really want to be mothering my child full time and not farming it out to people who don't respect my ideas.

*****
All this anger aside, Papaw gave us wonderful news about his health, which makes me a much-relieved Roxy. I love them so much, I really do.

why i rox

I rox because Sue said so. And, as Sue is a mom, that makes it the law.

Sue awarded me with a Rockin' Girl Blogger Award. And so I'm embracing the word girl and the spirit of eternal youth implied therein, and I'm feelin' the Rockin' because my sink is shiny and I wore my favorite old skirt of mom's today.

And now I go forth with the love and hereby do declare that these girls rox too:

Alexis

Virginia Dare

(both of whom offered to send me pregnancy tests because I was flipped the hell out but I finally bypassed the insane new restrictive rules against the clinic giving federally funded free tests and snagged me a free and blessedly gloriously resplendently resoundingly negative test.)
Frankenbury

(who felt my pain and has such a beautiful girl with a beautiful name)

Sioneva (pray for her baby to sleep plz&thx)

and

Eden and

Thordora

who are my newest BBFFs (just invented it: blogosphere best friends forever)

I'll email y'allz tomorrow because I'm a melting puddle of sleepy.

rain

CHBM Carnival #39 Striving

I saw the simple, perfect one word prompt for the Crazy Hip Blog Mamas Carnival this week, and I felt some small thing in me come uncurled:

striving

It defines the whole of my existence lately. Aching inside for things to change and grow, to expand out of this cramped, folded state of being and stretch out to encompass all of my potential. I'm filled with wanting and dreaming and striving, but I'm so fuzzy on the details. The destination obsesses me- long lists in my mind of problems and obstacles and faults to be fixed. The focus is always on what I think I'm lacking. What seems like the futility of trying to change.
Then, "striving." A quiet little reminder to write, with a huge important message for me. Toward what am I striving? What is the essence of my need in this life I have now around me and within me? The swirling muddied worries in my mind- where are they leading me?

I thought of the advice that stays with me more than anything else I heard from my professsors at school. The delicately quiet, beautiful Norwegian art history professor said: "Simple people need complicated lives. Complicated people need simple lives." That's been in my mind waiting for me to make something of it for nearly ten years. That's what I want, crave, strive to achieve: a simple existence.

I want to live as a creature of good, sturdy habit and real holistic pleasures. I want the comfort of routine: Wake with the sun, a small cup of tea warming my hand. A sleepy waking child in cotton pajamas (and diaper.) Work carefully and skillfully on creative production. Play with the baby. Shop for juicy cantaloupes and deep green broccoli. Make a wonderful meal and eat it slowly at a table with my small family. Clean the home nest. Read to the soft, yawing baby girl. Nurse her and tuck her into bed. Tidy up what's left of the day's tasks and have time with my husband. Surrender to sleep at a decent hour ready to rise again.

This idyllic fantasy is, of course, not going to be perfect. That's not the point. It's the simplicity and the loose routine to frame my days that I want. I know there will be tantrums to contend with and mad deadlines and late nights... but I want to strive for it. I want the journey to be its own reward, for the striving itself to be a pleasure. I want to find little ways to improve, little by little like unravelling a knot a bit at a time, patiently.

how i gave my baby herpes by roxy daisy

Life keeps getting in my way, so I haven't finished the ADD article. I'm thrilled with the comments you guys have left about it- very thoughtful stuff. 'Veeta also emailed me a link about Dr. Phil's take which she says is-shockingly- similar to mine.

Brief summary of life this week:

Sunday: Break out with lovely premenstrual cold sore. (Period where are you? I know we haven't gotten a great schedule established again but if you could maybe hurry up it'd be so great. Thx.)

Monday: Grandies give Ems peanut butter, I am pissed. Freak out. Get over it.

Tuesday: Pick up Emsy and find her covered in very fine pink rash. Freak out again, then realize if it's peanut allergy it would have happened more immediately and even if it is an allergy it's obviously not severe. They also gave her Kool-Aid with dyes & shit in, so maybe it's that. They are told that juice is preferable. Water even better.

Wednesday: The rash is better but still there. Debate for an hour or two and finally decide not to take her to doctor.

Later, Papaw calls to tell me he has diagnosed her with his RN sister's help via telephone. She has Sixth Disease, he says. I snort and scoff and am generally obnoxious because there's no such thing. He's confusing it with Fifth Disease, which my supervisor's munchkin just had, but which doesn't match Emsy's symptoms.

Later still: Coworker lets me know her grandson had Sixth Disease. Google confirms this does exist, sounds like our rash, and is in the herpes family (simplex 6, hence the name.) Just like my ugly cold sore. Hmm. Great. No info is available on transmission but it is contagious. I am very glad all the aforementioned scoffing was done to my coworkers and not Papaw; I seem to be assholishly wrong, and also potentially responsible.

It's no big, she's not itchy or upset or feverish- that's the only real worry with this. If it doesn't look better tomorrow I'll take her to be checked, but I'm less worried now. It's also not a lifelong herpes thing like my pretty pretty cold sores. It's just a pisser. I never kiss her pwecious widdle boo face when I have a breakout, but I probably was smooching belly or arms or legs. And it could be totally unrelated- couldn't confirm or deny my possible guilt;)

Coming soon: Why I, officially, rock.

ADD rant: research girl to the rescue, part two

Resources:

http://www.add-adhd-help-center.com/newsletters/biofeedback.htm

http://health.msn.com/centers/adhd/slideshow.aspx?cp-documentid=100163625
http://health.msn.com/centers/adhd/slideshow.aspx?cp-documentid=100163624&imageindex=2

http://health.msn.com/centers/adhd/articlepage.aspx?cp-documentid=100145250

http://health.msn.com/centers/adhd/articlepage.aspx?cp-documentid=100148820

http://www.help4adhd.org/treatment/behavioral/WWK7

http://add.about.com/cs/discipline/a/behavior.htm

ADD rant: research girl to the rescue, part one

I have some small concerns about parenting differences between my style and the grandies' methods. I want to avoid being really snarky or judgemental- they are delightful, amazingly sweet people with the most pure and warm love for their kids and grand kids. There are some small lifestyle things that just don't jive with my desire to improve my life and make steps toward a crunchier Family of Boo. Their diet and TV habits are the biggest things. (They also clean with the most powerful germ fighting action supercharged chemical products they can find, and I just found out they'd sprayed some flea killer on the carpet which "says it's OK after it dries." Ergh.) Anyway, they are great people but they don't question the Wal-Mart ethos of our culture like I try to do. My point here is not to come off as a pretentious fuck, but to illustrate my point that we have different approaches.

This is why I was overjoyed when I talked to Papaw about my nephew Bren's new diagnosis of ADD. Papaw is unthrilled about the idea of medicating him, and given my resources (i.e. high speed internet access, kickass Google-Fu, and occupational therapists and behavioral specialists at work who depend on my expertise to deliver their phone messages correctly) I volunteered to look for non-drug treatment options.

The flipside of my excitement is a cynical feeling that Papaw will completely dismiss my ideas when I tell him that Bren needs way, way, way less screen time with both TV and gaming, some diet modifications, and a lot of really hands on creative parenting. He just is so resistant to change, as evidenced by the whole ice cream debacle. In a nutshell for those who didn't read the old mommy blog: Skinny kid, nurse practitioner suggests ice cream in with milk in sippy cup, Roxy freaks out, discusses wish for Emsy's healthy eating with Papaw and he scoffs that we'll have to change our diets too then, Roxy responds: Um, duh? We're all fatasses!

I don't know... it's not like I don't have enough mommy worries for my own Boue, but Bren just needs something to jump start his little life. He just turned 10. He lives mostly at the grandies' with a lot of time at his mom's. His mom and dad (brother of Bu, whom I'll call Chaz) were pretty young when he was born and broke up very shortly after. Chaz lives, in theory, with the grandies, but he doesn't spend the quantity or quality of time with Bren that the kid wants/needs, in my judgemental and biased opinion. Bren's been diagnosed with OCD and anxiety in the past. I just adore the child. He is so cool, so smart and witty. I see my teen and twenties self in him, and it kills me to imagine that darkness and doubt in a ten year old.

Gods... anyway, just got carried away explaining myself to death. And now I'll just skip to the relevant part:

I believe in treating all illnesses in the least invasive and "medical" way that is effective. (For example, my mild depression/moderate anxiety probably be OK with exercise, light, and herbs; but if I get my butt in gear to do that stuff and see no improvement, I'll try the birth control or even SSRI's again.) I know that mental illnesses of all kinds seem to be pandemic in our (my) society, and I question whether this might be a symptom of an "illness" or a failing at a cultural level- something like nature deficit disorder only I'd frame it in spiritual terms. I think that mental disorders are both under and over diagnosed- I suppose it's more succinct to just say that the whole field is terrifically misunderstood. I also believe that a humongous ginormous colossal number of ADD cases are complete bullshit. I think the symptoms are real but to medicalize the less than extreme cases is just pop psych being so fucking in love with itself it has to classify a different and fascinating personality pattern as a disease.

So, that out of the way, I'll get to the really, actually, unambiguously relevant part:

Most of you are parents so a good number of you might at some point have to deal with ADD or similar personalities. When I'm finished being research girl and have sufficiently willowed some solutions for coping with ADD without drugs, I'll share. Might help somebody, and at the very least will help me keep my links in a central location. So. Part two in a li'l bit.

*Edit*
I just had a brain wave and decided I'll write this up in article form and submit it to Crazy Hip Blog Mamas. They're wanting more participatory members and I'm wanting to practice writing more purposefully in case I decide to really try to blog for money. (Elsewhere, that is, I need my pure expression, geek-out-with-the-baby-bliss-&/or-angst outlet:)

have fallen deeply in love with new artist blogger muse hip little goddess

Oh wow! Eden left me a comment suggesting Keri's period tracking plan and I followed the link and found the most endearing site design ever, which houses the sweetest blog, the yummiest art, the coolest inspirational tips, and I'm just in love.

Thanks Eden! So giddy:) To be chipper in the midst of the PMS, that's just beautiful. Fuckin' A.

bottom fell out

of my good mood and high energy.

I just have doubts today. I think my new blog project is excessively narcissistic, and I'm insane to think anyone would read it much less buy advertising on it some day. I'm thinking I couldn't finish new artwork by October even if my Fairy Goddess Mother flew in and fixed up my studio. I think the house will be a pit of filth forever and my husband loves Second Life more than me.

Given these feelings, and the calendar, we can all assume I'll be having a period in 7 days or so. I need to start charting carefully again because 1) it was really nice to know that my depression/anxiety is hormonal and 2) if Emsy had an accidental baby sibling I think Bu and I would end up divorced. The idea is just not good. I'm through with childbearing.

A "normal"American woman would surmise from the preceding paragraph that it's high time she marched her (shaved, tanned) legs into her (private, insurance-paid) gynecologist's office and got some birth control pills. Even a spazzish wanna-crunch paranoiac like me would start to think maybe she should research more and consider taking her pale hairy self to the low income clinic to discuss options with the one crunchy nurse practitioner.

For now I'm off to try to make sense of these moods on my charting page at MyMonthlyCycles.

watch daisy grow

There's a veritable orgy of posting happening at the snarky self improvement blog. It gives me terrors for some reason, like a fear of success thing- like documenting little successes is too much pressure because what if I fuck up and slip backwards again? Whatever; I won't bore with that here- if you're interested there's more over there.

The grandies have my Boue and I haven't showered all day (but was fairly productive- secured the state health insurance for the baby and had a bite free playgroup and great mom talk) so I'm going to have a steamy burny good shower and flop heavily into bed. Happy weekend.

CHBM Carnival #38 Camping

I'm digging on the writing prompts lately. The carnival theme this week at Crazy Hip Blog Mamas - camping-evokes two vivid images in my mind. The first is Bu with long hair and a deep tan living by the New River and guiding whitewater rafting trips. The second is the trip I made to the Greenbrier River with an old friend with benefits.

These rivers each have a huge presence but very different souls. The New River is this rushing dynamic masculine God with a deep, old power. He's not hostile but he tests your strength even with his gentler currents. The Greenbrier's a shallower, slower feminine river, nearly a creek in her smaller places. She has good cool swimming holes that are quiet and shady, and she glistens with a jewel-like rock bed under crystal clear waters. She inspired my favorite poem, which I'd posted as a kind of teaser post.

I didn't know the long haired raft guide Bu, although I'd met him just before those years through a mutual friend (and I'll link to that story after I repost it here.) Those years living in a tent by the wild river, reading Tolkein and Kerouac seem to have permanently impressed themselves into his nature. The outdoors always reminds me of my husband, and when we dated we were outside a lot. His aura reads like water to me when he's at his happiest, and his moods directly reflect how much time he's been in fresh air. Seeing him in the river with his broad, sunspotted shoulders makes me dizzy in love.

We want so much for Emsy to grow up outside. Bu did, running in the woods where we live and camping and later backpacking with our incredible dog Dharma, name for Kerouac's The Dharma Bums. I'm excited to show her the rivers and the forests and the amazing mountains in our region. (The photo is the three of us on Spruce Knob, the highest peak in WV.) If I can choose a gift for her to take from us I want her to fall in love with the wild.

My love of nature's so spiritual and theoretical. I feel like a tourist in a campsite or state park. My childhood was lived almost completely in my mind- buried in stories and sketches. I want to know the outdoors better, deeper. Know it like a resident and symbiont, not a passer-through. I want Emsy to never think about her place on this Earth, I want her to feel in her bones that she is of the Earth. No number of Sundays in church or full moons in a circle can teach her better than swimming those beautiful rivers and roaming our woods.

pointless fun is good for the complexion

OK, I’ll admit I installed a site tracker not so I could take charge of my traffic and build a better blog, but so that I could make funny posts addressing peeps who landed here after googling something quirky. Finally, the time has come.

Dear “are wiccans crazy”:
Often, yes- but not any crazier than monotheistic crazies. And we out our own nutcases spectacularly.

Dear “clair danes nipple”:
I’m sure you’re disappointed. If you find that hot nude photo, do come back and share.

Dear “how to grow big cantaloupe”:
Bwahahaha! Feed your baby every 1.5 hours all night long for week, and then find that she slept through the night. Wake up: presto! Big cantaloupe. Two of them, even.

Dear “show me the simble of the pirate bones”:
It’s a symbol. And OMG could you die? This skirt is so sassy it makes me want to get lipo, although, for the record, I'm philosophically opposed.

Dear "toddler biting attachment parenting":
Good luck. It sucks, I know. Try Dr. Sear's suggestion for holding their arm gently but firmly against their little demon teeth so they know they can hurt.

*Edit*

Dear "can you be a fingertip dilated and go into labor?":
Yep. You can even stay that way halfway through labor so the midwives have to inflict unspeakable torture upon your cervix. But that won't happen to you; I have freakydeaky girl parts. Hope your labor is healthy and quick and empowering.

poem | river

This is far & away my favorite poem. I wrote it in the summer of 2000 I guess. I'm posting it because I'll reference it later today in a carnival post. I'm not in a poetry phase right now. I go through cycles on a visual brain - poetry brain seesaw. When they meet in a suspended, gravity free balanced moment I do my best work, integrating text into my visual art. This was written in a longer burst of poetry brain when I was doing slams at a local bar, occasionally even winning. Somewhere I still have a Jagermeister ballcap and lingering liver damage from the prize stash. I give you river:

i went to the river
& they gave me rivershoes:
strappy sandals w/ thick soles
to protect my feet:
high-arched & pavement spoiled,
from slipping
on smooth rocks
or opening
over sharp ones.
the straps of my sandals
bit into me
& i blistered.
but i set my jaw
& waded out to the deeper waters
where i could feel
the will of the current testing mine.

the rushing tickled
my calves & ankles
& it aroused a desire
to surrender & become
completely wet.

i sat down on the rocks, face tilted back
yeilding to sun above &
water surrounding.
i leaned far back,
letting the river wash my hair
& tension
away, behind me.

w/ the river embracing me,
& the sun filling my eyes painfully,
i wrote a poem
about alchemy & baptism
but the river took it-
i couldn't bring myself to dry off long enough to write-

so i gave it over to the
fire & water
spoke my poem to the sun
where it danced & rippled across
the water where the
light & coolness
mingled i released the poem &
let it be a prayer instead

now i am getting acquainted w/ this river
& falling in love w/ her.
for a time i sit,
bathing blissfully
& trying to remember the word
for a river nymph
so i can name this experience.

now, moved,
i wade deeper, where the water
splashes my thighs then
my crotch & the cold
makes me gasp & giggle.
i explore, with my feet
searching for the deepest place
& then finding it
i peel off my bathing suit
& toss it onto a pile of stones posing,
until a rainier season,
as land.

the rivershoes come off next.

a watersnake slips through the river
& slithers up onto the stones
curling up beside my discarded clothing.

i go headfirst into the water.
the river drinks me.
the perfect, clean cold
shocks & thrills me
raising bumps on my skin
like the floor of pebbles beneath me.
each a hard, smooth piece of earth,
each a single cell
of the riverbody.

i float
above & a part of them,
head down,
eyes open,
hair like snakes
coiling around my vision.
as i look down,
the harsh gaze of the sun follows
& performs its own initiation.

during that hot day, it
stings & blisters
me, killing 2 layers of my surface
that i will peel off
7 days later,
awed at shedding my own skin
& remembering watersnakes
& cool ripples singing across stones
& the eye
of that singeing sun
finally accepting me-
wrinkled, red, & blistered-
welcoming me to the summer.

the new project

I remember launching this blog and having stomach butterflies because although I'd thought and thought about it and thought about it some more, I still had really mixed feelings about starting over just when I'd gotten started, and about using a fake name, and whether the title DaisyBones was cool enough, and whether I'd continue to write demonically long run-on sentences, and other concerns ad infinitum.

I did launch, and I'm feeling happily at home here now.

The set up here is to remind you how neurotic I am about planning & worrying to the point of not being able to act, so you'll be really impressed when you go to the new blog-in-progress. The whole point of launching now is that it isn't ready. It's a Thing:

An R-rated, snarky, f-bomb inclusive self-improvement blog aimed at documenting a process of "fixing" my chaotic mess of daily life while I share what I learn along the way- all (please gods) whilst raking in a little ad revenue. How I'll generate the traffic to support a monetized blog is totally beyond me- but I'll learn as I go and blog that too, incorporating how-tos and suchlike.

Now I'm wanting to put it off, design a pretty catchy banner ad and unveil it here, but nope: gonna link you now, with good ol' text. Go see

*watch daisy grow*
building a blog, and a life, from the ground up

I'm having fun already. I'm finding a new, even freer and more me attitude there already. The slight self-deprecation and insane over-wordiness is closer to the voice I find myself using in my personal journal.

a daisy primer: how to give good copy

I've been a writer since my mom gave me a flowery (but sadly, daisy-free) diary in the the fourth grade. The journal has always been my outlet of choice, but there has been a lengthy flirtation with poetry as well as the sturdy and well-bibliograph-ied art crit essays in school. (Chillax on the creative abuse of the language, I'll get to that.) After finally achieving the BA, (in Fine Art; I'm a pretty much self-taught designer) I jumped into the business with Bu planning [my genius corporate takeover] to become more active in web development.

While the bring-out-the-reading-glasses-and-migraine-pills world of HTML and CSS still fuels my nightmares, I have become the go-to gal for "prettying up" our clients' web content. Striving for readability comes naturally, but I was a little dismayed to find that writing for web publication is very different than writing for print.

I'm still a newbie and fear that it's a fate to which I'm doomed forever given how quickly technology is shifting. Catching up with the www while everyone's whizzing by me talking about Web 2.0 is daunting, but I'm always up for a crash course and sharing what I've learned so far. Firstly, these are my rules:

#1: Shut the $%@# Up

We don't read web pages like we read print. The most methodical book lover can log on to the net and become an ADD-afflicted robot, skimming pages and sampling information as quickly as possible. Of course, as we find the pages we want and tuck into the meat of the site (usually the sub pages) we expect to read more in depth content, so keep this in mind. A front page (or main, home, or index) needs to be very light on copy. I shy away from any more than a brief paragraph or two of text. Edit like crazy then cut some more. The sources I've found say we have anywhere between 15 and 30 seconds to grab attention and turn a scanner into a reader.

This advice applies to a typical commercial site. A blog (which we all know is an amazing tool for business as and not just an awesome creative outlet for spazzed out moms) of course requires you to do a little less Shutting the $%@# Up. On a blog, assuming your style and subject match, you can certainly write more freely than on static sites. Keeping it as brief as you can is still important. Most readers are looking at several (maybe dozens of) other feeds and will skip a post that's too long.

Brevity is a hard line to walk for our clients, and for me too. Sometimes we're a little too in love with our own minds or ideas or products, and we gush. Just stop it. This is the single best page I found researching this post, and all it says is:

"Most copywriting on the web sucks because it’s written for the writer, not for the reader. Write for the reader. That is all."

When you do have to get wordy, break up the text. I use much shorter paragraphs in web copy than for print. Always,

always

use a full line to space between paragraphs. Use images wherever you can to add variety. Bu loves to use bolded text to highlight the phrases we think will pull in readers. I'm not crazy about the way this looks, but see above Re: writing for the reader.) Bulleted or numbered lists are great organization tools, as are subheadings within a page. Please for the love of the Design Gods don't ever use generic horizontal breaks or cute divider bars. Ever. I'll bitch-slap you, I really will.

#2 Organize/Stay on topic

Organize your copy into relevant categories. For a commercial website selling a product or service, this means getting all your Word documents or scattered note papers and assigning them to categories. These are your sections for navigation. If you have a lot of textual content, you may need to subdivide. For example, my non-profit clients typically use "Home About Resources Support Us" or similar as main navigation, and under "About" we put "Mission, History, Board of Directors, etc."

For bloggers, this means that if you want to make money you need keep to the main topic of your blog. If I started a fine art blog and sold ads to galleries, museums, and frame shops I'd have to leave out the cute baby stuff. Obviously. Even within your highly topical blog, stick with one idea or story per post. If you find you're consistently wanting to post a hodge-podge of different thoughts, try making it a weekly round-up of collected rants, reactions to current news, or other noteworthy items. That gives the miscellanea a tidy home. (EMom's own free blogging course has lots more blogging tips.)

#3 Voice & Grammar: They're Where it's At

Generally, if you're writing for commercial sites, you obviously need impeccable grammar. Make sure to check- even if, like me, you're sure you're an expert. I find errors often, mistakes I knew were wrong immediately after hitting 'post'. On a whimsical blog like this, it's not a big deal, but for a "real" web endeavor it will really devalue your product. There are several good grammar resources online.

It's a good idea to brush up on using active rather than passive voice- it's much more engaging and flows more easily. Using active voice, as well as present tense when possible, gives sentences more impact. (Watch verb agreement if it's not yet a habit to write this way.) Word's spelling and grammar tool will usually alert you to passive writing.

My caveat to grammatical perfection is this: To lure readers in, a blog needs a personality. Most bloggers strive for conversational tone, and rightly so. Blogs are a looser and more intimate communication tool than other forums, and they lend themselves to an informal approach. So unless you are an unapologetic grammar geek and that's a good vibe for your business, you can end a sentence in a preposition. I give you permission. The key here is to know the rules and which ones are all bendy so that you sound intelligent yet warm, not ignorant. Let your voice reinforce your identity- if you design skins for MySpace or blingy cell phone cases, it's OK to lapse into txtspk. If you are a marketing consultant, prolly not, lol.

#4 Why I Hate Thinking About Keywords, but Have to Suck it Up

I hate this part. I have to stop thinking about the flow of language and the effectiveness of my words, and think about how many bloody times I can incorporate and repeat key words. I'm still learning this science and many times I'll send Bu a beautifully written intro page and he'll chop it to pieces so search engines will like it better.

I've found a very methodical approach to key words and metatags. This site is a great resource. It enables you to input a word and it will generate related words and show you ranking for each key word- how many searches are run for each and how your competitors use them. It's a great way to find new phrases and words and they offer a free trial. Once you have a list of terms to use, check out this method for deciding how many and which ones to use.

The second page of the link tells you how search engines read key words and where to place them in your text. The article goes in depth about using keywords in metatags and alt text, etc. Breifly, in your body text you should repeat your key word about three times, but not too much, and keep them in the beginning of your text- it carries more weight than placing them in the middle or end. Whenever possible, use your key words in links- they're highly favored by search engines. This site has a good explanation for beginners on how search engines work. SearchEngineWatch is, according to Bu, the end all be all of search engine registration. Jennifer's Search Engine Guide is another thorough and frequently updated resource for marketing on the web.

Lastly, I'll make like a professor leave you with a supplemental reading list:

http://www.provenanceunknown.com/edit/basics.html
http://www.excessvoice.com/web-copywriting-tips.htm
http://www.copywriting.net/webwriting.html

Edit 7/13/07:
Derek, you win the LMFAO award of the day. Thanks for pointing out that I misspelled the word grammar. I was just testing you?

aw, come on people

Now it's no fun to write hybrid silly words like ginormous. Apparently it's in the dictionary, so it's not cool anymore. I drive Bu insane with my penchant for inventing goofy words or using the Buffy slanguage trick of verbifying nouns, but I stand by the design principle I learned in college: If you know the rules and then you can break them. I'm grammar savvy enough. Hell, I'm a language arts genius by local standards, at least in my little [holler] valley. So I'll continue to invent and/or chop up words as I see fit. I'll also persist in my girl-who-hyphenates-fucking-every-damn-thing that she doesn't strikeout splendor. In case you were worried.

And let this also serve as a preview of coming attractions as I've addressed the whole taking-huge-liberties-with-language thing in my [Highly Anticipated Forthcoming Scholarly Work] vaguely off topic copywriting post. Unless I decide to post it at the new blog, where it may fit better. I dunno.

ball

My ass hurts. Time spent at a desk today:

9:30 am - 1:00 pm = 3.5 hours
1:45 - 4:30 pm = 2.75 hours
5:00 pm - 7:30 pm = 2.5 hours
10:30pm - 12:00 a.m. = 1.5 hours

10.25 hours? Is my math right? That's insane. ('Least I got some shit knocked off the old to-do. This program was going to rock my socks, but I can't get it to synch up so I may fall out of love. Jury's still out.) I need to find my exercise ball to use as an office chair. Sciatica is awful. I'm off to down some ibuprofen and go to sleep.

research girl

I have some small butterflies in m'tummy. I feel like I did the first day of school after my long sabbatical. I'd been slacking so much I think I'd flunked three quarters of my classes, my roommate had bailed and I'd run home to mama, (and that's a fucking heartbreaking phrase right there isn't it?) and I had a crazy headspace from crushing on one of my professors obessively hard. Never pulled a Bobita *wink* but it was massive, this crush.

So when mom died and I had about enough money for a semester's tuition and art supplies from her life insurance, I was able to decide impulsively (sans the mountains of FAFSA paperwork)that it was time to finish. Walking back in to a clausterphobically familiar arts building and taking my seat at the heavy wooden tables in the Ceramics studio was intimidating. The constant battle between devastating insecurity and grandiose excitement about my talent was dizzying.

In comparison, seeing an opportunity to write more seriously- with research and everything!- and signing on without any hesitation is not a huge deal. But it's kind of a thing for me. I haven't made any decisions about my growing desire to make some money from my affection for blogging, but it's been on my mind constantly. There are parenting website plans slowly cooking that are too precious and young to share. Of course, there's always the stagnating business we are coasting on which needs to be revamped so badly. And there's the secretive new Roxy blog in the works, which might be crazy or might be really groovy. Wow...it just seems like actual progress to jump into a little project where I'm going to be doing a productive thing kind of publicly.

So when you see a post about copywriting tips, be very very impressed that I'm honing old skills and sharing the fruits of my learning. Be not afraid that I've abandoned waxing poetic about milky nipples, redneck husbands, and lesbian crushes,- it's still me here.

To prove it, I leave you with trademark goofy Roxy Randomosity: You should all, if you have babies or toddlers, immediately renounce your religion in favor of paganism, because you can say this and then crack up at your own horrible rhyming bad joke: "Oh, baby...Do the toofs hurt? Are you a teethin' heathen?"

And now I'm off to Do A Project. (Grinning about it, too.) "I'm research girl." That would be a Willow quote. As a matter of fact, in the Daisy family, to willow is a verb meaning to research, preferably using technology but also in ancient occult texts, whilst being a cutey patootey geek chic Wiccan hottie.

font love & clean threads

My new favorite font in the whole wide world is Century Gothic. I have changed my blog's font to reflect my new obsession. If you don't have this font installed [you are missing out on the cleanest yum yummiest most adorable font ever] it should default to whatever sans serif font you have set.

I'm trying to find a place to download this or a lookalike for free. In the meantime, if my DaisyBones suddenly looks unpretty on your screen, couldja comment so I can tweak?

K Thx,
Roxy

P.S. Working (impressively diligently) on new project. Will linkie soon; just have to manage some new posts. V. v. excited and alternately worried that my fabulous idea is lame as lame can be. Typical for any creative endeavor of me. There has been unprecedented productivity chez Daisy, especially on the laundry excavation front; hence the slow weekend in my microblogocosm.

sunday morning fluff

Emsy has returned, the past two nights, to her previous pattern of 1-2 overnight nursings and 1-2 early morning sessions. Fabulous. Except today I noticed my boobs are cantaloupes again in the mornings.

Then I spent several good minutes wondering why in the hell the word cantaloupe made me think of Maggie Gyllenhaal. I'm not a "boob woman" anymore now that the function of my own knockers has thoroughly and abruptly desexualized the whole concept of breasts universally, so it wasn't a 'boobs -->big cantaloupe boobs --> yum, Maggie boobs' train of thought. Plus hers are adorably perky- even now while she's (awesomely and publicly) nursing her boo. I finally figured out that her babysitter character in Moster House called the kid "cantaloupe." OK, not crazy. There is a Maggie/cantaloupe connection. The character was cute- her hair is messy groovy punk yum. Maybe I should take this to my hairdresser and see if she can translaste Pixar hair to real hair? (Probably not; see below.)

I've found a way to live with my too-messy overgrown pixie. It involved gel, a blowdrier, hairspray, and a curling brush. Good gods almighty. It's cute and flippy and perky and I'm not sure but maybe a little soccermommish. I'm not happy with the 10 minutes + chemicals to achieve acceptably attractive hair, but I'm strangely vain about my hair- and I only own a few presentable 'do rags. I seem to have decided by default to grow it out , because the funds aren't there to keep a short 'do trimmed and cute. So I'm on the long annoying shaggy road to PonyTailLand. I was gonna post a photo but the cameras are still packed from our a.m. shoot. It' like this girl's... which is interesting, because I took this photo to my stylist a while back, and she said my hair wouldn't do this since I'm white. Riiiiiiigghht. Her hair is sooo different from mine. Only it's exactly the same.

it's not an addiction! shut up!

Oh dear Gods somebody come pull the plug on my pipeline modem. And help me make another double strong iced chamomile tea.

Waaay too much caffeine, today, will probably give Ems heart palpitations when the grandies drop her off. Can. Not. Focus. Must. Turn. Off The Screen.

OK: no more bloggies for Roxy today. Laundry and cleaning the house for me. Maybe a nice bath after cleaning the tub. But, seriously, I've spent enough time online for a week. Brain = fried like kalamari.

Yeh I stole their bandwidth, put me in jail.

quickie

WordPress users, do y'all know of any tutorials online that explain how to set up a WP powered blog on your own domain? I have some blog ideas that'd definitely need their own URL, and WP apparently is the way to go for that. I don't know how to integrate my own page with their blogging tools, though.

Anyone ever use BlueHost.com? They look so good & cheap. Too good to be true or not?

Random thing: WTF, boobs? I've barely used Sophie at work lately and have only gotten around 3 oz when I do remember to pump. Today? Bustin' outta the bra, pumped 5 oz. Is this nighttime munch-a-thon finally kicking up production? Weird.

an epic post: the interview, mother of all memes

I latched onto this at Sleepless in Cologne, and Bine sent me these really insightful questions. If you want to play too, comment here and I’ll ask you five questions (in no timely manner at all, I'm sure.) Make sure to leave an email address if I don’t have it, or a blog link and I’ll comment back with your questions.

1. although you have blogged about this before, could you sum up how you felt/feel redifined by becoming a mother? how much of it did you expect before setting out on this journey and what took you by surprise?

Being a mother became a primal calling- some powerful blend of biological imperative and mystical longing. In one year (I was 25) I fell in love with Bu, lost my mom, and my best friend got pregnant. I started daydreaming constantly about how I would feel as a mom. I wanted it so much and thought about it so much I seem to have really gotten a grasp on how it would change me. There weren’t a lot of surprises. Being in the experience of course is different from dreaming it, but it feels pretty much like I thought I would: exhausting and wonderful, challenging and fun. I feel empowered and more substantial from a psychological perspective, and I felt the deep shift from maiden to mother in a spiritual context. The changes were actually easier for me than I thought- I was worried I’d have severe PPD, given the hormonal ties with my depression and anxiety, but the smallish increase in anxiety is probably within normal range for a new mom.

The one thing that shocks me is the hard-to-define feeling that I’ve joined some secret society that I didn’t think I’d ever be allowed into. It’s not that I don’t feel worthy to be a mom, or that I ever really worried I’d be infertile (given my anatomical anomalies) but more that motherhood is so real and wholesome and, what:normal? that I’m kind of still vaguely surprised to be living it. That feeling might come from the idea from thinking in my adolescence and twenties that I wanted to grow up to be a cool loner drinking homemade absinthe and painting in oils with a bunch of cats and variously gendered interesting lovers running around. (I've always been wilder and fringe-y-er in my head than out.)

I’m dazed to find myself in a thoroughly unremarkable lifestyle with a little house, a husband, a baby, and dogs. It’s a good feeling, though, to find myself abruptly an adult in pursuit of simplicity. I’ve found that I’m grounded and peaceful at my center- however much I may write about my anxiety. I’m a sun now, with a little new planet dependent on my gravity. It’s come time to own my power and grow into myself. There’s been a sort of Persephone, Ophelia, female Peter Pan thing in my life and I’ve refused to own adulthood until now. It would be a huge disservice to Emsy to not rise to the occasion now. I want more than anything in this world to be the best version of myself so I can model real womanhood for her.

2. how and when did you get introduced to wiccan faith and how does it influence your daily life today? how many people around you are aware of this and/or share this with you?

As a child and teen I was very interested in fairy tales, the occult, and all the new age trappings- astrology, crystals, the Ouija board. I played with my mom’s Tarot deck. (She was a witchy-ish new age leaning Christian flower child.) In high school I was reading about paganism. I remember falling in love with the word ‘pagan’ in my English class. We were studying the Romantic poets (sigh) and one of the characteristics of the movement, according to my teacher, was a “pagan love of nature.” I quickly dug up stuff on neopaganism and decided emphatically that I was home. Initially, Wicca put me off as too organized and hierarchical- and too controversial (I had friends warning me it was “dark magic”- Ooh! Scary! Darkness Bad!). After I went to school in Pittsburgh, read Drawing Down the Moon, and found an informal class/forum in Wicca, I started identifying as Wiccan. I was studying pretty seriously for quite a while. After coming home to WV, I found the UU pagan group I refer to occasionally here. I met a priestess who was mentoring me in Pagan Universalism and who moved away as I got serious with Bu. My intent dissipated a lot, and since then I haven’t been active at all.

I’m definitely more interested at this point in being an active Unitarian Universalist than a practicing witch. They do overlap for me, and other pagan UU’s. It’s a lovely thing to have found a system that is so open and un-dogmatic that I have room to explore other traditions.

Having Emsy has really made me re-examine my passive approach to Wicca and UUism. I want to impart these teachings to her as she grows, and I am passionate about my faith. It does bring up the idea of openness again. I’ve never hidden my affiliation with Wicca, but I’m not as open as I used to be either. I rarely will be seen wearing a pentagram symbol (but I have one dangling from my rear view…Gaia is my copilot!) The grandies are aware that I worship God and Goddess entities of some sort and Bu’s used the word “witch” with reference to my faith. (Geesh- the word faith makes me really uncomfortable; just realizing this. I’m not faithful as such. I’m a “questioner” and don’t have dogmatic beliefs.) I do have some vague worries that Emsy will be denigrated by well-meaning, misinformed people if she takes to Goddessy-flavored UUism like her mama. Our neighbors and family are certainly not hip to earth religions by any stretch of this very stretchy imagination.

3. before you found out that your “birth defect” was non-genetic you were very scared that emsy might have inherited it. on the other hand i think you agree that it has made you special in a way. how did wanting her to be “normal” create a conflict for yourself?

It was a huge conflict. I lay awake in bed late one night early in my pregnancy, willing the little fetus to please, please, grow ten fingers, please. Every memory of self-consciousness was funneled into that moment and I just broke with it. I vented all the worries in that night and just bathed in tears. There was no brave child pretending to ignore stares from classmates, there was no haughty teenager telling herself, “He’s staring at me because I’m a hottie,” no snarky chick sporting a pirate hook on her tiny arm at Halloween and feeling like the Queen of Wild Beautiful Freaks. There was only a human animal feeling marked and completely isolated from her tribe and praying to her Mother goddess to please never, ever let her baby feel so odd and alone and conspicuous.

To allow myself to pray that prayer, I had to unblock a whole life of just stubbornly refusing to feel that primitive embarrassed difference. No, of course there is no shame or judgment intellectually, but there is a large and scary feeling to look this fundamentally different from everyone else I meet. Imagine something so much deeper than being fat in a room of trim people, or the ugliest girl at the prom. I know it’s not a disfigurement or a horror to look upon. I know I’m not monstrous or even that strange. But that awareness of not-normal just is. I never, ever allowed myself to feel that. I just didn’t let it be there. But I felt it somewhere, because I found it stored in me and projected onto my baby, and I couldn’t bear “inflicting” that on her. It would be my fault if she were deformed, because I didn’t get DNA testing. I would be responsible in a way my parents weren’t. They couldn’t have known or prevented it. I could have.

So it was a flood of relief when I found out about ABS (a probable cause, but not a conculsive diagnosis- it leaves unexplained the organ defects in my kidneys & uterus/cervix/vagina) and when the nurse pointed out two tiny vague hands with barely discernable but countable fingers on my ultrasound. Then, even better to hold her hands and touch ten tiny pink fingers. Now, I adore feeling her little left hand automatically grip onto the “handle” of the long finger on my strange right arm while my left hand grasps her right to lift her up. I love the way her head rests against the short little curve of my arm when she nurses like it was made just to cradle her.

4. you think your fear of making art is at least in part a fear of facing your “real self”. could you imagine treating this as a kind of therapy, for example choosing a fixed date every week like a doctor’s appointment you couldn’t call off or postpone, retreating to a studio and working for a couple of hours?

I’ve got intentions to do this. I need it, a little routine to break open the barrier I have made. I’m so intimidated by the time “wasted” by not making art. Like I have to start conceptually from scratch. I feel enormous pressure to be amazing, because I have seen hints of true, exciting beauty in my past work and I know it’s in me to be amazing. Instead of feeling blessed to know I have talent, I suppose I’m worrying that I really won’t find that spark if I dig for it. Part of it, honestly, is a fear of success. I’m scared the ideas or the energy are too big for me. It’s a weird mystic feeling for me- like I’m meant to channel something that’s too big for me or something? Gods, it borders on psychotic. It’s. Just. Art. It’s beauty and communication. I have to let go of this crazy obsession with the Artist as some powerful wizardy figure and just be a maker of lovely objects.

I want to start with art books, because they are safe and small and enclosed. Familiar and comforting. It doesn’t matter now what I make or how or the medium I choose. I just need to make, for me. Perhaps I’ll just think of myself as an artisan rather than an Artist and get down with the zen of creating tangible stuff.

I have to carve out a physical place and some time for it. Stop making it a big deal- clean the room and draw some pictures! I loved this question- I’ve always seen art as a therapeutic process. If anyone else is looking for a therapeutic or introspective approach to art, or just has a simple creativity block, The Artist's Way is a great tool. That said, I may mount an archeological expedition for my copy and use it as a map.

5. if you had a fairy wish granted, what would you wish for? what would you really wish for?

Oh, this is so difficult. This was my nursing marathon brain occupation last night. Came up with very little in the way of concrete answers. What I want is to see is more empathy and tolerance in the world. How specific does this fairy need me to be? I thought of other vague responses: For everyone to have enough. World peace. Global Enlightenment.

What I want most, in this moment is a huge, cold glass of very lemony water and a large serving of pretty pink sushi. (Caught fresh, prepared, and served by a shirtless Captain Jack Sparrow, if it’s a very nice fairy.)

*Edit* I've just gotten a big kick out of this: I'm Jack with his compass and no idea what I want most;)

before | after

Before motherhood nightmares were like this:

weird mystical evil monsters
naked in public
clauterphobic dungeons
in danger and can't work a phone
lost my teeth

After motherhood they are like this:

Left the car unlocked and some mofo stole my carseat and now there's no safe way to get the baby home!

more on the wiccan pedophiliac-porn writers

There's major buzz at The Wild Hunt, where I first heard about AJ's plan to do the human effigy thing in condemnation of the Frosts. Most everyone is either in support of it because they are the creepiest assholes in our community, or against it because they are uncomfortable with the idea of burning witches*- even symbolically, even really creepy ones. Like I'm wont to do, I hear about outing pedophiles (in this case I have no idea if they are active molesters of children but they definitely published instructions on how to and suggestions that one should rape their children so I make very little distinction. Gavin Frost's apparently argued that he threw that passage in there for shock value and to bring attention to society's approach to adolescent sexuality. Pure bullshit.) and I lose my rational faculties. I am incapable, after living with the rage I have against my family for ignoring my mother's rape, of having a logical reaction to the issue. Which is why I was sort of quietly saying, "yeah, burn baby burn." If someone offered to actually, not metaphorically, burn my mother's uncle, I'd be gathering kindling. Not proud of that, it's not enlightened or wise or good, but such is my anger.

After reading the comments and letting the issue lie, I stepped outside myself a little and saw this from an outside perspective. It makes us look like crazies, people. It really does. (Probably more than one reader thought I was a wack job when I posted about it before.) There have to be pro-active ways to show our collective disgust with these guys. A huge RAINN campaign on behalf of the pagan community? Some well made websites denouncing any affiliation with these fuckers where covens, circles, groves, churches, and groups, and solitaries can sign on as being decidedly not affiliated with these guys? Emails to circulate to newbie groups that they can skip the Frosts in their Magick 101 collection?

Just imagine if a group of Catholics, after the string of stories about abusive preists, had set up mock exorcisms or inquisition style burnings. We'd have had a heathen hissy fit at the ridiculousness, wouldn't we? Granted, Wiccans are generally more given (these days anyway) to pageantry and dramatic ritual, but I'm starting to be concerned about the PR ramifications of this effigy burning. Not enough to outright protest or be pissy with AJ, who I'd never heard of until now, but I'm on record as being concerned.

And now back to your regularly scheduled Mommy Blog.
Thanks for the (homemade, vegan, lavender-scented) soap box,
Roxy

*It is, now that I've thought some more, a very uncomfortable association for Wiccca. I'm certainly not one of those "Never Again the Burning Times" bumper sticker sporting witches. If you're feeling slogan-y, how about "No Wiccans Were Harmed in the Making of this Inquisition" on account of Wicca didn't yet exist. However, we all seem to have a soft spot for anyone called a witch and for heretics in general.

And the pretty lady is Kali, the slayer of the demons of ignorance. (I LOVES me some slayers.) She's the patron Goddess of my rage.

Edit: wonky spacing & apparently 'inarguably' isn't a word. i'm a spaz.

Edit 8/11/07: The creepyfucks have started a blog, wherein they state: "Public attacks on Wiccans/pagans are harmful; ipso facto the attackers are not Wiccans or pagans but instead are nurturing in their psyche an internalized sectarian Christian paradigm."

some awesome stuff, and an evil tooth

I have to find this t-shirt for Ems. And the accessories. *Sigh* I'm loving Feministing.




In other mommyblogger news: We have a molar. That's why I've been I N S A N E L Y deprived of precious Morpheus' blessings this week. I'm now stocked with fruit juice popsicles and will have Tylenol and Orajel at the bedside for the next waking.



So we skipped the forest, saw Transformers, and had kickass make up sex. This was a brilliant plan. I was instantly a kid, all agog at Big Awesome Shiny Optimus Prime in his CG gloriousity and surround soundiness on the big screen. Plus there were Cookie Dough Bites. (The sexy romp was OK too I guess. But DUDE! Optimus Prime!)

the funniest eCards in the brief and sordid history of teh ynternette

OMFG LOLZ

For the record, I'd only actually perform sexual favors for Xanax. Maybe Valium.

when am i ever going to learn...

to not pull away from Bu when we are stressed and snappy and fighting? When he pulls me in toward him (metaphorically, via IM) it feels like slipping into a hot bath after having been out in the cold. When will I remember from one tiff to the next that talking through it made it livable, that the turning tail and running away made it worse?

He urged me to leave work at lunch to go to eat and go to the forest (emotionally charged state park where mom's wake was held- six years ago next Friday - and where he proposed and where there are a lifetime of happy memories.) So I begged off work and he'll be here to fetch me in a minute and then I can dissolve into his arms in a better variety of tears than the ones responsible for my splotchy face this morning.

sweet

patriotism...

makes me uncomfortable-Like when I go to the LDS church with the grandies, or when people make gaybashing jokes in my present assuming I'm a hetero in on the joke. When people pledge allegiance to the flag it reminds me of old grainy videos of Hitler. I'm not comparing American patriotism to Naziism, necessarily... though on occasion there are disturbing parallels.

It's just that identifying with this abstract thing of a nation and feeling some belonging to it eludes me. I don't have American pride. I was just born here: so? I do have a little protective pride in Appalachia, even as I occasionally deride some of the aspects of living here. But home is real and tangible. The country is an idea, a set of laws, a system... and I've been dissillusioned with it- as a whole- for as long as I can remember.

Maybe part of it is just a general distaste for being a "joiner." Group mentality escapes me usually. Not to an anti-social degree, just I don't know... is it that it seems to be human nature to expect/demand a degree of conformity and herd mentality within any group?

I'm looking out where Americana threw up all over my neighborhood, and I just feel distant from the hype of the day, like I always do. I just don't care, and it's not some active anger or cynicism, it's just the the concept of My Nation illicits no emotional response. Intellectually, I'm there, I'm trying to engage. Have tried to be active and responsible, and have done work a little bit. I don't feel informed or aware right now, though.

It's feeling like a chore at the moment. Sorting through information on the presidential candidates is overwhelming, and I feel like I'm out of the loop. I've been very myopic, living my small routine and growing a family like a careful garden. It's frustrating. Dennis Kucinich is my guy; he's the man. But he's fringy, not electable. I've loved Hillary like an idol in the past, and then haven't followed her senate career. John & Elizabeth Edwards have both impressed me recently. I even have a soft fuzzy reaction to Rudy Guliani, probably because he's hot and a little bit pro-choice. Meh, not voting for a cute Republican.

OK, so today is for me a day off to spend with family. And I celebrate with amazing pasta salad. A recipe for you:

Roxy's Rockin' Pasta Salad Recipe
Stolen From Sweet Soccer Mama at Birthday Party:

16 oz package of pasta shells
8 oz Ranch dressing
1/4 cup McCormick Salad Supreme Seasoning
1 head broccolli, florets only
1 red bell pepper
1 green bell pepper
1 yellow bell pepper
1 package grape tomatoes

Boil pasta per package instructions. Chop veggies. Drain, rinse pasta in cool water. Drain well. Mix up veggies and pasta, stir in ranch dressing and seasoning. Chill 4 hours.

Makes a bunch. I use my biggest glass mixing bowl to prepare and serve.

dai(sy)dreams

A sample of what I daydream about while nursing the baby 1,234,798 times a day:

Maybe I should take a nap... no, I'm not that sleepy. Naps... Leo da Vinci did little power naps all day and night instead of a long sleep. Da Vinci lived in a non 9-5 world. Artists should. I should. What was work life like in Renaissance? What time were shops open? What kind of shops were there? Where did Da Vinci buy his tools? Image of sculpting tools. Where did Michelangelo? Will I ever find that awesome hollowing/scraping tool I borrowed once from Joe? Did they make their own tools? Image of women in peasant clothes hunched over paint brushes with animal hair bristles. Image of Mona Lisa. Smell of oils & turpentine. I should start blogging my daydreams. It's like a part time job, my daydreaming. How many hours a day do I spend nursing the baby? She nursed less last night. Thank the Gods. I want nursing photos, look how cute she is playing with my necklace. We'll have to do that soon, while she's small and cuddly. We could set up in our bedroom and do topless with beads for her to play with. Black and white. She's so pretty... looks like a little girl today in her matchy outfit. When she was an infant I though her fancy clothes were sort of ridicuilous. It was like baby in drag. Tiny babies aren't gendered... now it's so cute though.

about last night...

Ah. I've finished at-home job, after finishing away-from-home job, coming home, downing a rum and cola, and deciding that by virtue of cocktails the at-home job is by far superior. I now have a few moments to myself before I go fetch the banshee.

What in the name of Bob/FSM/Goddess/JesusGodAllMighty is wrong with my Boue? She woke every hour last night to scream, writhe, and fuss for 5 minutes, nurse for 10 or 20 minutes, fall back asleep and repeat each 60 minutes all night long. There's no sign of teething, gas, etc. She did a milder version night before last- and I think the lack of sleep might be the culprit behind the mood crash yesterday and the general anxious awfulness.

So last night, in the middle of the eighth or ninth nummins session, I was pondering, like I do, whether it is maybe time to night wean. I got up after she fell asleep and messed around on Ask Dr. Sears and Kellymom researching a little about night weaning. I found some info that'll help, but I really don't think I'm ready yet to impose a schedule. Part of my reasoning there is that my momtuition is pretty sure that night weaning = weaning weaning where Emsy's concerned. I'm just not here during the day enough for her to continue to nurse in the daytime.

I don't know... I've always said that moms shouldn't martyr themselves- if nursing is legitimately kicking your ass, you quit. You'll be a better mom if you're happy. (I do rant on & on, but my arguement is that society as a whole has to get on board to make it easier to nurse.) I'm not at the point yet where I'm ready to stop, and I really, really still feel committed to her right to self-wean. If this pattern of 8-10 times through the night continues, though, I'll lose my shit.

I'm also starting to feel twinges of wanting out of that bed, back into Bu's. I wish we could have a true family bed, but there are so many reasons it doesn't fit. The cosleeping and nursing are intermingled, of course, so a decision there, too, involves some level of weaning. There's something at play here underlying it all. It probably looks like mommy guilt, but it really isn't. It's more the intense pride I feel about doing things the way that feels right to me. There's so much I'd do differently if I could, but I've never given up with nursing and cosleeping, even with challenges that have come up. It's a source of mama empowerment that I followed through with those ideas. Taking my crunchies where I can, I think.

It was sort of a moment of facing the idea that someday I might have to decide between my ideal plans and my reality. They seem to conflict quite a lot where baby rearing is concerned, and I hate that. It's a lesson, though: Zen and The Art of Toddler Maintenence? We'll see. She's had her phases before, and they've passed. We do, at least, get to sleep in tomorrow.