I need your help!

CALLING ALL MAMAS.

Do you remember a few months ago, me telling you about a community art project on motherhood I'm participating in? It's called Greetings From Motherland, (check out the new button in my sidebar!) and it's a multi-arts, mixed-media, evolving, collaborative art project led by artist Mindy Stricke. We've been meeting weekly for months, talking in raw and honest ways about the experiences of new motherhood, and making art together. We're using the written word, abstract photography, miniatures, collage, sound, poetry, music, and more to authentically present the transition, challenges, and emotions that women experience when they become mothers. We present the familiar landmarks of our domestic landscape in unfamiliar settings and we slide a fresh lens in front of the viewfinder to showcase motherhood in a context that isn't often seen.

So where do you come in? Stay with me.

While Mindy will be taking the project back to Toronto this summer, our workshops here in Madison have been her pilot project, and our exhibition will be May 23 at the Goodman Community Center (more on that later). One of the exhibits will focus on sound, and we are recording ourselves singing unexpected lullabies. Rockabye Baby doesn't come naturally to every mother. Let's face it - some of us are more likely to sing country songs or Joan Baez or Ozzy Osbourne or made up songs about all the food in the produce aisle. And that's real motherhood, too.

We'd love to hear your unexpected lullabies and use them in the show. And you can contribute even if you live on the other side of the world. All you have to do is call The Motherland Line. Mindy set up a phone line that goes to a voice mailbox so that mothers could call at any time of day -- during those middle of the night wakings when you're losing your mind and you need to vent anonymously, or during the afternoon nap when you want to share an epiphany. But she's offering it up now for mothers to call in and sing a song - their unexpected lullaby - which we'll add to our repertoire and play (through headphones) in one of the exhibits at our show. EDITED TO ADD: Mindy wrote on the website that she would actually prefer (if you have the time) to record it as an mp3 or other sound file and email it to her. Click here for more info on that.

So are you in? I hope so. Here's the number. Call anytime, sing as many songs as you'd like. Your made up lullaby, an obscure song passed through your family, your favorite show tune or hair band ballad. And after you sing, explain briefly the story of your song, how it came to be your lullaby. (Or just sing and run. We'll take what we can get!)

We'll be thrilled if you participate. 202-59MOMMY (202-596-6669) To stay updated on Greetings From Motherland and online assignments, please head over to the official website to read up and subscribe.

I hope to post about another opportunity for you to participate (with writing) in the next week.

Stay tuned.

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Do I get a cake?

She sat in my livingroom, babies playing on the floor, and she randomly suggested, "You should start a blog. I'd read it."

I laugh as I think about it -- I had absolutely no idea what a blog was. I had never read one. Honestly, never. And my friend Cindy had never actually read anything that I'd written, but apparently she thought my oral storytelling was animated enough to translate onto the screen. (Although I do think my flailing arms and bug eyes get lost along the way.)

Medium-length story short -- I started writing, and people started reading, and here I am one year later (today!) feeling grateful and humbled and happy. Four days into blogging, I wrote a post where I answered the question, Why Blog? For me, it has been - from the beginning - a creative outlet and a place to find my own voice after all the years of professional and academic writing. I'm a life-long diarist and I have stacks of poetry and short stories from years and years ago, but I had really stopped any kind of creative writing for a really long time there, and I am just so grateful that I have re-engaged that part of myself. I feel fuller for it.

But you know what else? Do you know what lovely surprises blogging has brought me?

For one - it has brought me closer to people in my life. My own parents tell me they are getting to know me in a way they didn't before. And for two - I have discovered and encountered and befriended -- on and off the screen -- so many kindred spirits, far and wide, across the great wide expanse of the Internets.

All of you -- too many to link here -- I am so grateful for you (yes YOU!) and your hearts and your voices. You make me laugh or learn or think or cry or want to be a better writer, but most importantly - you help me see that I am not (that) crazy. If there's one thing I've learned through this freefall through the rabbit hole, it's that those of us who are drawn to write creatively share more than a few personality traits and brain patterns. For that, I'm grateful. (And relieved. See Mom -- I'm not crazy. It's just that I am an ar-teeest!)

Anyway, it's been a year and I think that over the course of the 156 posts I've written, I have come to recognize my voice a little better. And I'm using it loud and clear right now to say

Thank you.

Thank you for reading, whether it's every post or just this one. Thank you for sharing your stories and thoughts through comments or emails or the little thumbs up button on Facebook. Thank you for keeping me or my family in your thoughts and prayers during hard times. And thank you for spending even a minute of your precious and limited time over here, reading what I pour out with humor or honesty or in a spinning, swirling whirl of a word-storm.

I don't have an end-goal for this blog, but I'm enjoying my own space to tell stories and share thoughts. And I will likely keep writing here, because really -- it is a whole lot cheaper than getting back into therapy.

Thanks, as always, for being here. I am truly grateful.

***

P.S. Today I am also over at my friend Lindsey's blog, A Design So Vast. It has nothing to do with my Blogoversary, but I do wax and flow on (and on...just a warning) in answer to her questions about some things that are pretty significant and meaningful in my life. If you're interested in reading, head on over. I really enjoyed answering her questions.

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meeting my edge

I am struggling with overwhelm-edness this week. These weeks. There is a heavy, dense cloud looming over my head, threatening to burst and leave me drenched at any moment.

But when I pick that cloud apart and take it one water droplet at a time, my pulse slows back down and my breathing steadies. But, man. It's hard not to run for shelter.

I'm working on noticing when and how I close off and shut down, how I pull away. It helps for me to break down the dread, to name my fear or my anxiety because when I flip on the lights and lift the covers, dragging that scary monster or the tumbleweeds of dog hair out where I can see them, I can deal.

I want to be open to the hard parts of life, because I'm pretty sure they will lead to growth. Either my own, or someone else's. Hopefully both. But it's continuous - the reminder to myself to open. Again and again.

Can I share something that has stuck with me this week?

"There is a story about a group of people climbing to the top of a mountain. It turns out it's pretty steep, and as soon as they get up to a certain height, a couple of people look down and see how far it is, and they completely freeze; they had come up against their edge and they couldn't go beyond it. The fear was so great that they couldn't move. Other people tripped on ahead, laughing and talking, but as the climb got steeper and more scary, more people began to get scared and freeze. All the way up this mountain there were places where people met their edge and just froze and couldn't go any farther. The people who made it to the top looked out and were very happy to have made it to the top. The moral of the story is that it really doesn't make any difference where you meet your edge; just meeting it is the point. Life is a whole journey of meeting your edge again and again. That's where you're challenged; that's where, if you're a person who wants to live, you start to ask yourself questions like, 'Now why am I so scared? What is it that I don't want to see? Why can't I go any further than this?' The people who got to the top were not the heroes of the day. It's just that they weren't afraid of heights; they are going to meet their edge somewhere else. The ones who froze at the bottom were not the losers. They simply stopped first and so their lesson came earlier than the others. However, sooner or later everybody meets his or her edge."

From 'Renunciation' in The Wisdom of No Escape by Pema Chodron

I'm meeting my edge, over and over. This week I'm going to work on moving forward with an open mind, an open heart, and a lot of humor. I'm going to try to encourage myself the way I'd encourage a friend. I'm going to eat lots of salads and take a walk on my lunch breaks and go on a date with my husband, even though I have so very much to do. I'm going to say my prayers and cheer myself on. And remind myself that it's OK if I don't make it to the summit.

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Minivan Convert, revived

Reposted from my first month of blogging, just under one year ago. (I'll be back to writing here again next week after I meet my deadlines. Thanks for reading!)

I actually wrote a version of this way back in January of 2008 on the little blog-type feature on my myspace page. (remember myspace? is anyone on there anymore??) Anyway, I posted it here on Boy Crazy when I first started blogging, and I'm honored that this past January, the parenting magazine hip Mama published it in Issue #45. I pulled it off my blog when the issue first came out, but it's been a few months so I thought I'd throw it back up here.

And feel free to chime in - I want to hear from you Minivan-lovers and -haters alike. (It's all in good fun, right?)

I was chatting with an old friend on Facebook the other day when I casually mentioned that my five year old just started playing soccer this spring.

"So I guess I'm officially a Soccer Mom, huh?" I joked dryly.

"Holy....! You don't have a minivan, do you?!?" he gasped.

In that moment, I feared it was time for me to once and for all overcome my delusions of hipness. Sure, I'm young. I'm somewhat fashionable. I listen to good music and wear cool sunglasses.

But I have to come clean. My name is Elizabeth, and I am a Minivan-Driving Soccer Mom.

The Minivan and I had a rough start. Just like everyone else, I hated minivans for no particularly good reason. But with three kids, a giant dog, kayaks, mountain bikes, and a penchant for road tripping; there aren't too many feasible alternatives out there.

I think my loathing of The Minivan had more to do with the image of The Minivan Driver than with the actual vehicle itself. Seriously, as much as the luxury SUV drivers are loathe to admit, a new Toyota minivan and a Volvo SUV really don't look that different. One might be a little smarter and the other a little sexier, but they could pass for sisters.

But minivan marketing sucks. The women in the ads are like minivan-repellent for me. And there was no way in hell I was going to be mistaken for one of them.

I don't know anyone who drives a minivan who wants to be that uber-preppy, I-live-to-cart-my-kids-around mom who clicks the auto-door button with her arms full of juice boxes and granola bars so her children can scamper into the van -- all with smiling faces -- on their way to practice.

Nor do I know anyone who identifies with the rich suburban wife who hides her shopping packages in the stow-and-go seat spaces so her husband doesn't see how much she spent at Nordstrom’s. Besides, where are her kids? If she didn't have to haul their asses to the mall with her, don't tell me she's taking the minivan.

So what my minivan antipathy really came down to was this: I hated the ads. I hated the marketing. Therefore, I hated The Minivan.

But about a year before we had our third baby, my husband persuaded me to give The Minivan a trial run. We were taking our boys on a cross-country road trip, so we left our trusty, rusty, ten-year-old Subaru in the driveway and headed out west in The Minivan.

My husband actually tried to convince me The Minivan looked cool. He had thrown on our rack and rocket box, which happened to be covered with a ridiculous amount of stickers, including some with slogans like "Lawns are for Losers" and "I got Lei'ed in Hawaii." But you know the old saying. You can put lipstick on a minivan....

Since I had already decided that I was going to hate The Minivan, I swore that after the big trip I would never drive a minivan again. But on that trip I had an epiphany. And I became a Minivan Convert.

I love The Minivan.

It crept up on me slowly. The van had all these great compartments to keep our loads of crap separate from our other loads of crap. It was so easy to get back to the kids. I could access the cooler in the way back. I could sleep in the back seat while my hubby drove, and he could do the same. And if both the kids were sleeping, there might even be room in the back for two, if you know what I mean.

I was reluctant to admit it, but the van made my trip easier. Could it make my life easier? I was crushing hard on The Minivan.

Sure, The Minivan tries to be my mom. It won't let me out the back door. It beeps at me if my seat belt is off. It separates me from the person sitting next to me so we won't fight. But I love it nonetheless.

And now I own my very own minivan. So it is time, once and for all, for a Minivan Revolution. Let’s remove the stigma of The Minivan and redefine Soccer Mom. Seriously, people. There are some pretty hip mamas driving minivans out there – whose kids may be known to kick a soccer ball around from time to time – and trust me, they look nothing like the women in the ads.

Now I know that my SUV Sisters will say “Sure, it's more practical. Yeah, it gets better gas mileage. I know there's more room and the ride is smoother. I'm still never driving a minivan because I am cooler than that.” But I tell you this:

Get over it. Your coolness is not tied to your car. We mamas are more than our minivans.

And I do believe that when I'm striding out of the market with a baby on my hip, two kids at my side, bags of groceries slung over my shoulders, and a giant dog waiting for us; the critics will feel The Minivan Love as they see me smile while my sliding doors open automatically and I get my kids and my crap into the van with ease.

Who knows...maybe we'll even take it to a soccer game.

hip Mama Issue 45

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Ugly Days Redux

Hi! Since this week is insanely busy with multiple deadlines looming over my head, I am taking the week off from writing here. But since next week will mark ONE YEAR since I started this little old blog, I will take this busy week as an excuse to repost a couple of posts from that first month when like, my mom and my friend Jodi were reading my blog. (hi mom! hi jodi! I'm glad you're still here!)

This post is actually much older than a year. I wrote it when my oldest was just turning 4 and my middle kid was about a year old. I wasn't blogging then, and I was on a hiatus from journaling. So what I'm posting below was a brain-heart dump that I poured out into a Word document on a really tough afternoon during naptime. I filed it away, just having needed to release some thoughts and emotions, and when I started blogging I dug it out and threw it up to share. I know I'm not the only one who has been there.

Anyway, I'll have another oldie but goodie up later this week. And hey -- thanks for reading.

September 3, 2007

I want to be a good mom. I think I am a good mom. But some days I lose it. Today was one of those days. I hate it when I feel like this. I hate it when I talk so meanly to my kids. I hate feeling like I don’t want to hold my baby or when I feel like hurting my 4 year old’s feelings on purpose. That’s not the kind of mom I want to be. That’s not the kind of person I want to be.

I’m embarrassed because I’m sure my neighbors can hear me when I yell at the kids. But they don’t hear me when I’m being a good mom. I feel like I need to knock on their doors and explain myself. Tell them that if they had kids, they’d understand. But they don’t, and they won’t. Or maybe they would, but it doesn’t matter.

When I’m in my moments of rage, when I’ve lost complete control of my temper, I can feel the good part of me trying to surface, trying to speak words of reason to the out-of-control woman who has lost her cool. But I push her back down where I can’t hear her. I don’t even let her message be articulated. I know she’s right. I know that I need to roll with it. That it’s no big deal if the baby doesn’t get his nap. That it’s too much to expect a 4 year old to leave me alone while I’m in the room with the door closed trying to get the baby to sleep. That I don’t need to heap shame upon a child because I gave up on the baby’s nap.

But I was disappointed. I wanted to have one-on-one time with my son while my other son slept. I wanted to bake his birthday cake. The one I couldn’t bake yesterday, on his actual birthday, because the baby was sick. Couldn’t he see this time was supposed to be for him? That he had to leave me alone so I could spend time with him later?

I feel deflated. I feel like a failure. I know there are times like this, and that even good moms yell at their kids sometimes. But I thought I was bigger than this. I thought I had become a patient, flexible, empathetic person. Its times like these I feel like the person I used to be.

Not that I was a bad person before, but I definitely feel that I have become a better person since having children. And those traits I was so happy to outgrow reared their ugly heads today. I guess I need to recognize that they’re always there, lurking, waiting for a chance to surface. My impatience, my temper, my illogical demand for control of the uncontrollable will always be challenges I struggle with.

But I guess for now I work from where I’m at. As my 4 year old said to me so matter-of-factly this morning as I sulked in the rocking chair, “Don’t you wish you could start over? Everybody does sometimes. But we can’t.”

So I will take a deep breath. Let the morning roll off my back like water. And I’ll move on from here. When the boys wake up I’m going to give them big hugs and apologize for being so crabby and mean. Even good mamas have ugly days.

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from my notebook {coffee shop}

{from the coffee shop}

Sometimes when I see parents with little girls I feel a twinge of envy. I wonder what it would be like. I project dreams and expectations for my own life's do-over onto a little girl with messy hair and striped tights and a dirty dress.

But then I see a mother ten years my senior laughing over coffee with her teenage boys and my heart swells, threatening to burst at the seams, spilling flashes of my future out onto my lap.

:::

I was going to leave you with a Snippet, but I'm too tired to do anything but lift lines straight from my notebook tonight. Soon, soon. They'll be back.

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All Wrapped Up

Our wisdom is all mixed up with what we call our neurosis. Our brilliance, our juiciness, our spiciness, is all mixed up with our craziness and our confusion, and therefore it doesn't do any good to try to get rid of our so-called negative aspects, because in that process we also get rid of our basic wonderfulness.

- Pema Chodron, from Satisfaction in The Wisdom of No Escape

You're so sensitive.

You're too sensitive.

You obsess about things.

You over-analyze everything.

You have a 'strong' personality.

You're so opinionated.

You talk too much.

You're feisty.

I've heard them plenty. Sometimes said with love, other times not so much.

For most of my life I've seen these traits of mine as negative.

But Pema's right.

I can see it about myself because I see it in my friends. What makes us crazy is all tangled up with what makes us wonderful. What makes our friends and family love us. What makes us us.

So yes, I am or have all of those things on that list. But you know what else?

I'm empathic.

I'm creative.

I'm passionate.

I am warm.

I am nurturing.

I'm a thinker.

I'm an advocate.

I'm a storyteller.

and more.

And so are you. Tell me about it?

...

sharing today with the community at Tuesdays Unwrapped.

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{from the coffee shop}

They were talking politics, and I heard him tell her, "I think it's good for parents to give their children something to believe. They can always change their minds later."

And I thought, what about teaching your kids how to think, not what to think?

I don't need my kids to grow up agreeing with me -- I want them growing up knowing how to think. To form their own ideas, to question pat answers, to want to know the why's behind the what's and how's.

This is what I want for my kids:

For them to learn that everyone has ideas. That we will like some people's ideas better than others. And that even if we don't like someone's ideas, that we can still like them, still respect them as a person.

For them to question good guys and bad guys. To accept that if we try hard enough, if we approach people with open minds and ears, that we can find common ground somewhere.

That we should listen, rather than wait to speak. That we must always be open to changing our minds when presented with new information. That there's no shame in recognizing we were wrong.

I don't want to give my kids something to believe. I want to support them in their process of discovering what they believe.

(And I want to follow my own advice.)

Do you think about this stuff too?

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Open Heart

A little Story People art to start your weekend off right. Snippets will be back next Friday. Won't you come back to play along?

:::

He told me one time he forgot himself & his heart opened up like a door with a loose latch & he tried for days to put it all back in proper order but finally he gave up & left it all jumbled up there in a pile & loved everything equally.

from Story People

:::

Thanks to all of you for your thoughts and prayers for my Dad. His surgery went well, and the doctor feels confidently that the cancer was contained to his prostate. We'll know for sure in a week. Thank you, truly, for caring.

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out of control

I used to let little things ruin my day.

Grind the beans, heat the kettle, fill the press, steep the grounds, pour the dark and steamy into my Nissan thermos and then

leave it on the counter as I head out the door.

So sad.

A few years ago, it would have ruined my day.

About six years ago, I made a decision to let go of those things beyond my control, all that I can't go back and change, the anxieties that worry can't alleviate.

For a long time, I had to work at it, to ask myself whether I could control the situation, and if I couldn't, to intentionally let go of the anger or the worry or the regret.

Somewhere along the way, it started to come naturally.

And now, I find myself pleasantly surprised when I recognize the peace that sits on my heart despite annoyance or setback or the unknown, knowing it wouldn't have been there a few years ago.

This morning I drove to the grocery store with a kayak strapped to the top of my van.

I remembered it was there moments before I pulled into the parking garage.

The one with the 7foot max sign hanging above the entrance.

So I swung around to the side and pulled into a metered stall.

I grabbed the baby and plugged the meter, giving myself more time than I needed.

We finished up with time to spare, and as we pulled out of our spot and rounded the corner

I noticed a little white paper tucked under the windshield wiper,

corner flapping in the wind.

Parking violation. $20. Meters enforced Monday through Saturday.

Utterly baffled, I circled around the block to check my meter.

Still ticking away with an 8 minute reserve.

For the stall next to the spot I had parked in.

D'oh.

The work of letting go has been worth it for me. Goodbye to worry, guilt, regret, jealousy, anger, fear.

Acknowledge it. Give it a nod. And release it.

Let it dissipate like raindrops in a river.

One of the best choices I ever made.

My dad is having surgery on Thursday. Prostate cancer. If you are one who prays, would you please keep him in yours?

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