Really? Friday

Here is my version of that SNL sketch on Weekend Update:

Really, Congress? A $12,790,209,500,000 national debt (see the debt clock here). The majority of Americans against it. Underhanded, questionable tactics needed in order to pass it. And you think we should all be singing your praises for passing that monster of a health care package? REALLY?

And, really, Jesse James? You are married to one of the most beautiful women in Hollywood. Everyone wants her. Hell, I even want her. And you cheat on her with a tatooted, Nazi-loving whore? REALLY?

And, furthermore, REALLY, Spring? You give me three days of upper 50's weather, I break out the flip flops, and unpack my shorts. And I wake up this morning to mid 30's and a veritable freakin blizzard out my window??? REALLY?

That was Really? Friday. Join me next week.

Blog of Note

So I am looking at the Blog of Note tab, and it hasn't been updated since like, January! Why is that? Or am I not looking in the right places? And seriously, what does it take to be a Blog of Note? From what I can tell it takes superfluous travel pictures, lots and lots of links to other blogs, pretentious taste in food, clothing, and home decor, and absolutely no relevance to the average person's life whatsoever!!!

That was Becky Uncensored for today.

I found my journal the other day

Yes, I know this blog was supposed to be separate from my family identity. But here I am writing about my kids again.

I have given birth four times. Two of those four times, I had what I call the epi/pit combo platter. That would be where upon arrival, regardless of the progression of labor, one is given pitocin to "speed things along", which of course, being that artificial contractions are more difficult for the body to handle, leads to the administration of the spinal epidural analgesic. Which is fine, if Mom is aware of the risks and still chooses to do so.

But two of those births were planned, prepared for, and much anticipated unmedicated births. Let me explain the difference between the two. When my first was born I laid in the bed at the mercy of what the doctor thought was best for me. Regardless of what I wanted. I was hungry. And I was lied to. Yup. I went there. They told me the pitocin wouldn't harm the baby. They told me my precipitous drop in blood pressure was due to my being dehydrated upon check in. They told me I simply didn't have the strength to push my baby out, after all I was just a tiny little woman and had been at it for, "so long"...

When my fourth was born, the room was quiet and peaceful. When my beautiful daughter was born, I was in complete control of my bodily integrity. I had no probing hands looking for information to put on their charts. People were not telling me what to do or how to feel, I was telling them, and they were treating me accordingly. I ate if I wanted. I drank if I wanted. Above all, my ability to bring my child into the world, and thereafter to care for and feed her properly was NEVER questioned.

I labored in the tub, and slept on the bed. I waited until I knew I was completely safe, totally ready. And then I simply pushed her out. And afterward I simply nursed her until she was asleep. And then I went to sleep. It was pure bliss.

I found my journal today that detailed the experience for me again, and it was brought right up to the forefront of my mind.

You see, ever since I was a prepubescent child I have had, shall we say, ill feelings, about my body. I was short you see. Weak. And female. Which of course also meant, not just weak, but stupid. To this day, you can call me any name in the book, but so much as imply that I am less than intelligent, and I turn into a raging bitch. I don't suggest you try it. When puberty hit, I got a lovely double whammy. I bloomed late. So I got teased through 8th grade for being flat chested. But over Christmas break in 9th grade, everything changed. Literally overnight, I was bustin out of my trainers and was a full blown C cup. Which garnered me all kinds of unwanted attention, and eventually, teasing. It was brutal. And I grew to LOATHE my body.

It took me 32 years to come to a place where if I could not love my body, I could at least appreciate what it is capable of. I needed to embrace what my body, and my body without drugs or artificial baby milk could do in order get to that place. I didn't know when I started looking into the natural childbirth movement what exactly was driving me. But now that I am on the other side of it, and I can see what I have learned about myself, it is very clear to me.

I was desperate to prove to myself and to others that my being a female is not a weakness. My body is not an inferior copy of a man's. My interests, abilities, and mannerisms are not stupid, ignorant, or inferior simply because they are not YOURS. After all. Look at what my FEMALE BODY is capable of!!!

Empowering. And for me, healing.

Excuse the 13 Year Old Girl Break...

I get just a little bit of crap for this, but oh well. Shortly after the New Kids on the Block reunion, I blogged a bit about my experience. Needless to say it did not go over well. Being the spineless and insecure person that I am, I took those posts down. The following is not meant as a defense, because I am way beyond needing to defend myself anymore. The following is more of an explanation.

The world is kind of a scary place right now. Earthquakes, wars, economic crises, statists trying to take over one third of the country's economy and change the face of our country forever. (More on that down the road I am sure.) Even my own personal life as a thirty something mom of four gets hectic and trying at times. It kind of feels like I am giving everything to everyone and leaving nothing for myself. I have a little one who literally depends on my body for her very sustenance. That's a lot of pressure! Cue gorgeous boy band reunion.

What would you give to feel carefree and a little irresponsible once in awhile? As long as it isn't hurting anyone? I look at it this way. I am not addicted to methamphetamines whilst trying to present a perfect picture for the outside world to see. I am not seeking extra marital sex with strangers or other women's husbands. I am not drinking myself stupid during the day simply so I can make it through one more day of catering to my husband and children. I am simply seeking some mindless tunes, something to sing along to, a little bit of indulgent pleasure, all wrapped up in a gorgeous (blue-eyed) package.

What have YOU done lately to relieve a little stress? Hit a little ball around a vast course trying to get it into a microscopic hole? Played mindless bloody, gory video games? Trolled a bar for casual sex? Watched a trashy reality show?

The point is, everyone has their distractions, each one is as useless as the next. This one is not hurting anyone. Leave it alone. And just because it originally appealed to tween to teen girls does not make it automatically illegitimate and stupid. It gives me joy, makes me happy, serves as a release, and spreads love. It WASN'T stupid back then, and it's not stupid now. Some of you get this. And if you don't, well, maybe I am just not interested in what you have to say about it.

What Makes My Soul Soar

This is really putting my heart on my sleeve. Why did I stop singing? When I was a little girl, I would close my bedroom door, put on my Whitney Houston tape and absolutely wail at the top of my lungs. I wanted to be her. So badly. When I sang it was like letting my heart out of my mouth and along with it came a rush of warmth and happiness washing over me like a warm wave. Why did I stop singing?

In high school, I sang in the school choir. It was a pretty big choir. A couple hundred of us. We sang typical choral music. Nothing I would actually listen to on my own. But oh, when those voices swelled around me, the feeling of making music with nothing but the muscles and sinews and breath of our bodies... Somehow the connection between brain and vocal chords working together to make music out of a tune our ears had just learned... I know it sounds trite but it is something of a miracle to me.

So why did I stop singing?

Well, in a nutshell, I grew up. I learned that people were listening to me. My brothers would tease me. I learned that not everyone appreciated the noise coming out of my mouth, on pitch and clear as it was. I realized it didn't move others as it moved me. Then, of course there was a progression of age, and lack of opportunities, and pretty soon I didn't really have anywhere to sing except maybe church on Sundays. But who can sing from the hymnal when you are feeding the little one cheerios and trying to get the big brother to stop pulling his sister's hair? Not me. Half the time I am in the mothers room, nursing.

So. I sing softly, gently, in a very sweet breathy voice to my babies. I sing every song I know, not just lullabyes. Hymns and choral music, classic rock and r&b. Country and folk and even sometimes tunes I make up to the words of famous poems. It seems to soothe them. They seem to like it. As Holly's warm breath evens out, and her eyes flutter closed and she gently breaks the suction and falls asleep, she smiles. She snuggles in a little closer, comforted by the gentle sounds her ears hear and the soft vibrations of sound waves she feels against her cheek.

No, it isn't as powerful as Orff's Carmina Burana. But she likes it; she seems to like it just fine. Someday, maybe I will find a place to use that voice again. But I guess it's being put to pretty good use for now.

A Bunch of Little....Deaf....Things

Seriously. I am just gonna blog this and then I am going to go get something done around the house, kay? Mmmhmmm.

Anyway. So I am doing my usual stuff. You know, procrastinating, watching the baby pick her nose. And I notice my 8 year old and my 4 year old have dragged out the cheerios and are tossing handfuls of them on the floor. "ARRRGHH! STOP IT! NO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" So I jump on it, watch them put the box back in the pantry, and go back to surfing the inter--- er, folding laundry. I look up 10 minutes later and they are at it again!

I grumble and finally yell "What are you? A bunch of little...deaf...things??" It's like when I tell them to do or not do something, they do exactly the opposite. Do they think I won't freaking NOTICE the little piles of processed oat material crunching under my feet as I walk through the kitchen? I JUST ASKED YOU NOT TO DO THAT!!!

*Sigh*.

I hate Saturdays.

Welcome to My Head

I admit it. I don't usually say what I am thinking. I enjoy being polite and having friends! But sometimes, I find that I don't say "it" even when "it" needs to be said. I have a virtual friend who really lets it all hang out. She says exactly what is on her mind, she is who she is at all times. I want to be that authentic. So I have decided to experiment with this blog. So if you don't really want to know who I really am, if you are happy knowing me as a mommy, wife, daughter, and mild mannered citizen, I encourage you to stick with my family blog.

This is not a forum for me to gossip. Such drivel ruins relationships and hurts feelings. Rather, you will hear real commentary on my life, being a mother, my faith, my struggles, and so on. I have been (rightly so) accused of overthinking, overanalyzing, and overreacting. So I generally try to stifle those reflexes. But in time, I have come to understand that most good writing is an exercise in self evaluation, belly gazing if you will. And that, my dear reader, is the crux of this experiment. I am a writer in my heart and soul, and always have been. It's time I reclaim that interest, and see how far I can take it.

Thanks for reading. I hope you like it.