Shy in "Chi-Town" No Longer: Life in Chicago

I am the bald, one-breasted woman in the locker room

There aren’t very many of us.

After my mastectomy in the Spring I became hesitant and secretive when disrobing in the locker room.  The woman in the sauna, used to basking in her skin like a lizard, was now covered up and shy. 

Missing a breast, physically and emotionally, afraid of the discomfort that hangs in the air when people can see the effects of cancer on you.

Nine months post-mastectomy, I’m living in my second experience of being bald due to cancer treatment, in a new city, in a new locker room.  Self conscious and shy…

Until after a few visits to the locker room at the gym, in close quarters with other women, I finally let it go.

It happened in seconds flat one day, when a voice in my head said, “It’s obvious that you are a woman who has had some decisions to make.”

Since then, I’ve been ok with changing openly and padding around the place bald.

No secrets, this is what breast cancer looks like on a healthy young woman.

Today someone was moved to say something while I was changing—that she was six years out from treatment, and she saw me as strong and brave, that I will be in her prayers.

She was led to share her story and listen to mine.

I can see that by standing strong in my body, I offer other women encouragement to do the same. 

All the women, who because of their scars or less than average this or more than average that, feel afraid of being seen—I am brave for them and for me.+

She was afraid to come out of the locker,
She was as nervous as she could be.
She was afraid to come out of the locker,
She was afraid that somebody would see!
(Two, three, four, tell the people what she wore!)

-Carri

The Naked Truth (Well, Dressed Up a Lil' Bit)

Okay, I asked Carri if it was alright to tell this story and she said, "Go for it!' (I'm hoping that when I asked she hadn't just taken an after-chemo Ativan. She didn't call me "Eduardo", though, so I feel pretty safe.) This is the story of Carri's visit to an Open House of A Nudist Colony.....
Several years ago, when her firstborn son was, I'm not sure, less than two years old- my friend told me that she had seen a notice about an Open House at a "Clothing Optional" camp.  When she told me, her conservative Southern friend, that she planned to go check it out I was dumbstruck. I had visions in my mind of debauchery, lecherous old men and Swingers Club "Meetings". I'm not proud of my ignorance.
She was a nursing mama at the time so she planned to take her baby with her. She assured me that the Organization carefully screens the people to keep out potential predators so I felt a bit reassured. She sounded so confident, so laid back as if she did this sort of thing everyday. I asked her how her husband felt about it and she told me he was just fine with it. This was just another casual day in the lives of this little family.
I think to myself, as the day approaches, all the ways I can try to stop her. (A pretty tough feat as I live 3000 miles away). I seriously consider cashing in my meager 401(k) to buy a plane ticket out to physically restrain her. So convinced was I that this was a bad idea, I even thought of calling her husband who I barely knew to ask him if he really was just "fine" with the idea.  Alas, I did none of those things and it's a good thing I didn't because the story that she told me about her experience kept me giggling to myself for weeks!
This is MY interpretation of how it went based on the things she shared with me and the movie playing in my head as she spoke:
The sun burned brightly in the sky as she packed up the car for the day's adventure.(What, exactly, does one need to have at a nudist resort?)  The confidence she once exuded about doing this had taken a mysterious leave-of-absence. A shaky sigh escapes as she thinks to herself "200 rainy days a year in the Pacific Northwest and I pick the one day I WON'T have an excuse to wear a raincoat." She puts the baby in his carseat and off she drives with her "just fine" husband waving proudly at his courageous and forward thinking wife. 
They arrive. No neckid folks to be seen right away. Now a new dilemma presents itself. Where to disrobe? In the car? Do they have a special room? (I never did ask this question so, in my story I get to ad-lib. Thank goodness for creative license.) She disrobes in the tiny car.(In my imagination there's lots of grunting and cirque-du-solei contortions resulting in honking the horn, jumping at the sound of the horn causing her to jerk her elbow into the door and pulling her arm back so fast she hits the gear shifter as a crowd begins to assemble outside.  Tee hee hee heee! Wouldn't that be a funny skit? No? It was pretty funny in my head. ) Her hand quivers a little on the door handle as she takes a deep breath for courage and pushes it open. She quickly dons the baby carrier so, once in, the baby becomes a shield. (Oh, sure, she'll tell you it was strategically placed so the baby could nurse whenever he wants, but this is my script.)
With her cell phone tucked snugly into the pocket of the baby carrier, the two embark on their woodland hike. Starting up the path the phone suddenly vibrates and she's surprised to hear her husband on the other end. "Just wanted to make sure you two got there safely." He asks no questions. Just a quick "I love you." and the conversation has ended. Onward the mother and son go. She takes in the nature around her. She loves being outside, loves being in the buff and she's thinking to herself that she's proud she's come to satisfy her curiosity. This isn't bad, not bad at all. It's then, that coming down the path, there is another nature lover..an older man.  Should she speak as they pass? Wait to see if he speaks to her? Do people talk when hiking in their birthday suits? And what about eye contact? Oh please, let there only be eye contact. She is very conscientious about not letting her gaze drift downward. As they start to pass, the older man has a kindly smile and he makes a comment about the cute little guy she is wearing. This starts a little conversation.  (Now my imagination is really kicking into gear. What do two nude people who don't know each other talk about? A sample conversation that played in my brain is below.)
Old Man: Such lovely skin! Whar products do you use? I have a few wrinkles in my birthday suit. Can't
                really use an iron.
Carri:      Oh, just organic lotions and soaps. You can find them almost anywhere...but I don't recommend
               WalMart. I'm opposed to sweat shops.
Old Man:  Oh, my. Me too. Speaking of sweat, you smell lovely dear.
Carri:        Why, thank you sir. I use a special stone for deodorant.
Old Man:   Well, top of the mornin' to ya. I must get going. I'd tip my hat but I'm not wearing one...ha ha ha!

Yikes! Carri's gonna flip her lid when she reads what went through my head all those years ago. She never knew her friend was so ignorant. (Can we just call me naive? It has a nicer connotation.)
The phone vibrates again. Mr. Just Fine wants to know where she put the ingredients for his beer maker.  He really feels like making beer today. "Same place as always, honey." she says. "Oh, yeah. Yup. There it is. Whaddya know? Can't believe I didn't see it. You gonna be much longer? " (I am totally making up the conversation. I have no idea what he was calling her for or how many times he called but in my head, Mr. Just Fine About My Wife Being Naked in Front of Someone Other Than Me is really Mr. Old Fashioned I'd Really Like My Wife Naked At Home. I should mention that I really like her husband. He is a great guy with really, really great hair.)
After completing her hike and gathering information about the place she gets in the car, dresses and heads home. (In my movie, I have her forgetting to get dressed again because she's so comfortable and then gets pulled over by a cop for some mediocre traffic violation.)
She calls me on her way home to tell me all about it and I was just so relieved to hear her voice, that she wasn't abducted by some naked hippies or broke a limb trying to swing naked from a tree. I realize that I am just as proud of her for doing something I don't think I could've done as she is for herself. (To be fair, when I visited her out there a couple years ago, I did get naked in a sauna. It was only in front of other women but that's a huge step for me.) And when I gave birth last year to a baby who came out of me wearing only her birthday suit, it was only appropriate and fitting that I name her Carri. May she be as brave, stubborn and loved as the Original!

The New Mommy Smell

Everyone who loves babies talks about that beautiful "new baby" smell...powdery and warm and supposedly "all natural".  Ah yes, the new baby smell gets a lot of attention. Your baby is taken out of your arms and passed around to all the grandmas and grandpas and well wishers and occasionally some hospital passerby that everyone thinks the other people know and the very first thing you hear is that tell-tale inhalation of your  tiny baby's head like it is a tube of Afrin nasal spray. I swear, you get somebody big enough and one day, a baby will disappear up his nostril just so he can keep smelling that new baby. (Try explaining that to Hospital Security.)
No one ever talks about that New Mommy Smell. Like all less-than-desirable subjects, I think people suppose that if the subject is avoided it will go away.  I'm here to tell you it won't. 
Sleep deprivation has a number of side effects...one of them is the loss of the ability to find your way to a shower after that sweet smelling bundle comes home. Maybe it's the bleary eyes that can not focus on anything that doesn't resemble a swaddled blue or pink capped Lump in the dimly lit room. ( Let's just admit, if only to ourselves, that it's a good thing cats don't wear hats.)
Those moms who have been blessed with boys know relatively early in the new adventure of parenthood what pee tastes like after a two am diaper change while trying to find the edge of the diaper tabs in the dark.  (And isn't it funny when you locate them and pull on them that they rip right off the diaper itself and you have to start the diapering process all over again?) Because of the tiredness, it doesn't dawn on you while you're rinsing with Listerine that the pee made it into your hair and onto your nursing shirt. And after fumbling with baby snaps and diaper cream we just can't make it to the dresser to pull out a clean nightshirt.  No, we just throw a towel over the wet spot on the bed and drop right in.
So, you've made it to daylight...an "appropriate" time to groom yourself when there is a knock at the door.  Enter all the baby sniffers who couldn't make it to the hospital. (And isn't that the Roto-Rooter man who's only connection to your baby is that your husband thought those tiny diapers were flushable as long as no one was looking?) Once again, the baby is passed around but you're not even thinking about getting cleaned up.  Now, you're making sure there's enough hand sanitizer to go around, that no one's been sick in the last two weeks and that no one's been on any international flights to tuberculosis-prone countries.
Once they leave, you realize you haven't eaten and this is also a new process to learn-especially if you're breastfeeding.  Learning to prepare and eat food with one hand (not always the hand you're used to) is also an adventure.  (Try spreading peanut butter on soft bread with one hand-I dare you.) No matter what you are making or eating, some of it IS going to land on your newly baptized nursing shirt.  (And your once discriminating tastes will no longer apply here...you don't mind picking the food off your shirt and popping it down the hatch.) You may be amazed to find that you have created a whole new kind of tye-dye...yellow mustard, tomato soup, egg yolk, mayonnaise...and let's not forget that the majority of your shirt will be awash in spit-up.  Spit-up on the shoulder is a sure bet that it's also in your hair somewhere.  Again, we give it no thought, so enamored are we of this new baby.
About the third day, Dad goes back to work and the visitors stop coming.  If you're lucky, a new Grandma comes over.  Again, the sniffing begins...only this time, there's a funny look on her face (and she ain't holding the baby yet).
At long last, it is another mom who recognizes the New Mommy Smell and though it may have been thirty years ago for her, she realizes no one ever mentioned  it to her either.  The only thing she recalls are the words uttered by her own mother-the words she speaks to you now without letting on that you reak: "Grandma's here, dear.  Why don't you treat yourself to a shower and a nap?"
Your hormonally, tear streaked face brightens at the mere thought of fresh hot water and a few moments to yourself knowing your baby is safe in Grandma's arms.
And thus, the New Mommy Smell is gone...for at least another two days. :)

The Photo

I have a photograph that captured a brief moment in time when a young woman was facing divergent paths and uncharted terrain. The photo was taken in the hills of Oregon on a sunny day in May...a day in which my friend was to share with me a real mountain hot spring-the first I was to have ever laid eyes on. 
It was not meant to be.  At the base of our hike we were stopped short by engineers who had closed the springs to remove a fallen tree.
So, we wandered by the glassy lake and ooh'd and ahh'd the sparkling cascade of a waterfall.  The sound of tribal drums beating drew us to a high ridge overlooking the lake.  There sat a Native American woman chanting her prayers of restoration to the Spirit of the Mountain. The woman wore a kerchief over her thick, dark luxurious hair.  Accepting a silent invitation, my friend sat quietly next to the woman, her own mostly bald and patchy head also covered by a kerchief, her once long and glorious locks sacrificed to the Chemo God. 
Such a strong vision these two women made as they communed silently with their spirits that I stepped back from the scene and concentrated on taking photos of my friend's two young sons as they hopped from rock to rock, chased lizards gleefully and eventually rested, still on the big stones.  They sat there, staring pensively at their mother's back.  I dared not wonder what they were thinking and felt like an intruder with my camera.
Stepping back from them all, I took in the splendor of the nature around me.
Then a bee buzzed around the boys and the spell of spiritual silence broke as the Indian woman and my friend embraced a heartfelt goodbye to an unexpected moment that could never be duplicated and would never be forgotten.
But that scene is not the photo. 
No, the photo is of my friend taking a final walk by herself before we all packed into the car and headed home.
There she stands, practically blending into the scenery around her, wearing the shades of nature on her body.  A turqouise scarf, a teal backpack, sky-blue jeans and a dark top.
She is looking down at the ground, her eyes connecting with something I can not see...a creature, a flower, a rock, a thought?
She is standing with each foot on a different terrain.  Her left foot is on the base of a rocky slope.  The face of the slope-cracked, gray, broken and weathered.
Her right foot, just inches away, is enveloped by mountain grasses and sparse wildflowers.  She bears a pondering look upon her face, almost silently wondering which foot to lift first.  Her life, this last year, has been full of seemingly nothing but decisions...about her treatment, her doctors, her children's education, her husband's needs...once upon a time decisions were not that hard to make.  Now every new choice leads to another slew of options.
The petite woman is fighting cancer, fighting the side effects of the medication, fighting for normalcy and routine, fighting to make choice after carefully thought out choice to the one decision that will lead her to the end of all this fighting so she can once again, just BE.
Though she is surrounded by a friend, her sons and a newfound well-wisher, the photo shows only her and I realize at last that it's the same with her cancer.  The walk is a solitary one, the choices hers to make.
But in this photo, I finally see a peace on her face before she lifts her foot to move forward.  She is at ease in either terrain and knows that though one may be easier than the other both paths will lead her forward...indeed, she will walk whatever path will lead her  safely home.

Sound of Silence-Peaceful or Unbearable?

Way back in September of 1991, two months (an eternity in teenage life) before the infamous Knock-Down Drag Out incident, I was invited to go to Carri's house to watch a Simon & Garfunkel Live from Central Park concert on a video she'd borrowed from the library. So excited was I to be invited to this magical girl's home (I mean, she fairly sparkled like a Pixie and I certainly hadn't met anyone like her in my little town of Athens) that I dared not tell her I had no idea who Simon and Garfunkel were. I was raised on Loretta Lynn, Kenny Rogers, and the inimitable Barry Mannilow (all from my parents 8 Tracks)
Friday afternoon comes along and I find myself in the living room in awe of the big remote controls (more than one, wow!) and the fact that someone I knew had SATELLITE! I was dying to watch the MTV I'd heard all about and finally SEE the hitmakers I'd only heard on the radio. But alas, I would have to wait. It was S & G time.
Carri was rapt while explaining to me that this was their first reunion or last reunion or who knows, I wasn't really paying attention, I couldn't stop looking around the Pixie's home. I must explain that I'd been pretty introverted up to that point and hadn't had many friends, I was usually a third wheel. So here I was, she liked me enough to share something with me!
The music began to play and I thought, oh...not so sure about this stuff. How long was this concert? I started to ask and she said, "Just watch, shhhh."
Uh-oh, I was already annoying her, I thought in my fourteen year old mind. It was two hours of silence, well except for The Sound of Silence song and others they were singing. I kind of liked the music and I had all these comments and questions building up in my head and I was about to bubble over but I had to keep quiet. At last the video was over and I could start my chain of questions. As I opened my mouth to speak, Carri turned to me and said, "Isn't it so nice that we can just sit here without speaking and just BE?" What did I have to say about that?
"Yeah."
I finally admitted to her just two days ago, that when it comes to being on the phone or in a room with a friend, I don't really care to sit in silence. I am a Chatty Kathy and I love hearing other people talk and tell stories and sing out loud. I think I told her about the relief I felt that night as we were listening to the stereo in her room, not talking just BEING, when her Grammy came in and started telling us a story (to teach us to be greatful for the things we have) about how, when she was our age, she earned money by cutting the toenails of an elderly man...thick, crusty nasty toes that required two hands to operate the clippers. She got a penny a toe and a little something extra if she cleaned the toe-jam from between his toes. We were rolling on the floor laughing.
All this happened before Dr. Phil taught us about being our authentic self, before Dr. Laura taught us about taking care of our relationships, before we started reading self-help books in place of Anne of Green Gables. It's been a learning, beautiful, funny, moving journey that I feel the need to share, not exploit, because I want everyone to value and appreciate friends who may think they don't have enough in common to put forth an effort to maintain them. Maybe you have a friend you've stopped speaking to or who has stopped speaking to you because of some difference you think is too great but is really a judgement one or the other of you has made without understanding and empathy. That's happened to my friend and I on two separate occasions. The first time was my doing and I had to find the courage to pick up the phone and admit I was wrong. The second time it was her and I thought I'd never hear from her again but she picked up the phone one night and since then we've vowed to not judge any more...to be forthright when we have differences. It's made all the difference in the world.
The silence of a lost friendship is never peaceful.

Sealed With A Suckerpunch

Some, maybe many people, wonder how Carri and I can be friends when we are so very, very different. (We've wondered it too and discussed it many times in our hour long morning phone calls.) I think both of us are still amazed that this friendship has endured almost twenty years...especially when you consider the way it really got kicked into high gear. Quite simply, our beloved, lithe, petite, softspoken Carri PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE! Yes, intentionally! She was trying to get a point across and boy, did I learn a valuable lesson. (That lesson will become clear soon.) She says I can do this story Justice and it's funny that she said that because "Justice" is how the whole fight got started.
November 1991...
Carri and I had already had a few sleepovers, sat next to each other at lunch and due to our last names starting with a B and C, we were usually assigned classroom seats right next to each other. Things were good but at that point our friendship wasn't anything exceptional, at least, not that we recognized.
History Class with Mr. Solmitz (an aging hippie with an afro hairstyle) was always interesting as he didn't really follow a curriculum. I don't think we opened our books in class more than ten times that year. What he valued most was discussion, especially about how current events related to history. He loved debate.
That infamous day, we started a topic about punishment and justice. I went first on this because I was, well, a loudmouthed, passionate Scorpio with very strong opinions about Justice. My take was that it was better to take some time to really plan out a proper punishment rather than immediate retribution. I liked the idea of the planning out the Perfect fate for some criminal. (Hey, I was fourteen years old, what did I know?)
Just then, my little quiet friend from one desk over chimed in. Apparently, my statement was just too much for her to bear in silence. "Excuse me, Tanya" she softly and politely interjected. "Are you telling us that if I punched you in the face right now, you would rather plot and plan my punishment than punch me right back? Honestly, Tanya, if I punched you right now, I guarantee you would hit me right back and it would make you feel a lot better than walking around seething with the anticipation of my punishment."
I was stunned. How could this girl know and understand so little about me? I don't say anything I don't truly believe and besides, she would never hit me. The idea hit me as preposterous and I laughed, sputtering out "But Carri, You would never hit me so this isn't even a real hypothetical to draw any conclusions from."
"But just for the sake of argument, let's pretend I hit you..." said Carri before I quickly interrupted, " But you wouldn't, you just wouldn't." She tried again "But Tanya, let's just say", again, I interrupted "but you Wouldn't." Gosh, when would this kid get the hint, drop her unfathomable hypothetical and let me get on with making my case for the class? After trying in vain  several more times to get me to agree to her scenario with me interrupting each "But Tanya", I saw her lips tighten into these two thin lines. I didn't see her fist clenching, I never noticed her arm drawing back and as I gave my "But Carri, you wouldn't!" protest one last time, she suckerpunched me. I was dazed, I was sore, I was on the verge of tears when I felt something well up inside me and then, just as she had predicted, I gave her my own right-hook!
Instead of the tears one would expect, this girl burst into laughter. Alas, she had proved her point about immediate grattification and my argument was blown out of the water by a 95lb waif. She laughingly said, "you feel better now don't you?" And as our classmates went from shock to laughter to applause, I started laughing too as we hugged each other and checked out each other's war wounds. Mr. Solmitz gave us an "A" for the day. And we've been best friends ever since.
Now class, here's that valuable lesson we all took away from class that day and it's a real good one that has served us all well.....DUCK!

360 Degree View

Chemo # 8 of 12

One Full Moon ago I spent the night naked, out in the wild.  I told people I know of my plan to spend the night outside in the Silent Pool at Breitenbush Hot Springs.

After I accomplished this little feat, I didn’t have much to share about it…no remarkable revelation…but I do have something to say.

I went alone, on a 2.5 hour drive to a wilderness resort.  As my guiding spirits would have it, I met an acquaintance upon my arrival, and we had dinner together.   I set up my tent for sleeping when morning came.  I offered this space to my Wise Woman friend for the night, since I intended to be in the water.

Where did I find myself when darkness came, instead of in the water?  At an ecstatic dance jam-- just shaking my things all over the place with a bunch of folks seeking authenticity and self acceptance.

So I can do that when they say I’m Stage IV.  Dance up a sweat with the best of them.  And no one I don’t know is the wiser.

I slipped into the pool around 10pm.  It was so easy to exist in the nude with the mastectomy scar in the darkness.  People silently slipped in and out of the pool until about 2am.  What a long night in the darkness, in the geothermal heat of the water.  What a long night of resting my head on a rock, and later a rolled up, wet, cold towel.  What a long night of experiencing a man or two coming and silently sitting in this pool with me, where talking is taboo. 

I was afraid of wildcats.  I know what animals they say reside in the forests, mountains and river of the Breitenbush area, and am not familiar with their habits.  So besides, being alone in the night with my old PTSD condition related to men sneaking up on me as a child during the night, I was afraid of the native four-legged hunters of this land.  I was at times frozen with fear.  After all, I was nude, unarmed, and unskilled at self defense.  What was   I thinking spending the night out there like that?

So I would be mired in this intense fear.  I moved around the pool trying to figure from where I would have the best vantage point—and here’s what I learned:

Eventually I have to relax my body, and no one can ever see 360 degrees around them.

I stayed out there until about 6am, with silent, nude stranger-men who had drifted in around 4.

My friend had padded down my tent with extra blankets before her early morning departure, and I slinked off to my nest, slept until 11, enjoyed a geothermal sauna and nude lizard-like bask in the sun, was fortified by organic vegetarian food, and rolled home to my family.

Again, I have to relax my body, and no one can ever see 360 degrees around them to secure safety.

Love,  Carri

In Six Months...

One perspective that is sometimes offered to a person dealing with a disease that may or may not lead to their demise is, “Any one of us could die any time.  All any of us really has is this moment.”

I agree with that, and I appreciate the perspective shining light on how important this moment is.  Seeing this helps me to absorb blessings in the here and now that I might miss in my hurrying along…

Still, making dentist appointments this morning for the next six month check-ups for my boys is different for me than for any random one of us.

I wonder, will I be here next April?  Eewww!  Here I am, talking with this receptionist about six months down the line, and she is so matter-of-fact about seeing us then as we are now.  Inside I am unsure and feeling alone in some predicament…

Yet this is all adventure in my imagination.  Someone once said to me, “If you’re going to make stuff up, you might as well make up good stuff.”

-Carri

The Arlo Barometer

We have been seeing in the United States, that our frogs are indicators of the health of our land and water.  Sometimes the frogs are sadly disfigured, due to our poisoning of the earth in our pursuits of modern agribusiness and industrialization.  I watched a documentary with the boys last winter about our frogs. 

Well now, I am considering the Arlo Barometer.  In our home, it is obvious to me that the behaviors, thoughts and feelings shared with us by our five year old are good indicators about how we are doing as a family.  He’s close to the earth, close to the source of creation and sustenance.

Friday was two days after chemo treatment #7.  I thought I would lie down for a half an hour after my morning session with the Molecular Enhancer and my workout routine.  Then my half hour turned into all day.  This is something I’ve rarely done.  So shocking, that everyone in my house was rather puzzled and annoyed that I was camping out in my bedroom, eating and watching movies. 

Arlo came in and said, “Mama, are you alive?”  I said, “Yes, are you?”  We’ve exchanged this same banter before. 
When he came in and asked again, I asked him if he is worried about me being alive.  He said yes, and answered my, “Why?” with, “Because of the chemotherapy.”

Ok, so we had a talk about the chemotherapy and the cancer,about how I’m doing so well and showing no signs of dying.  Lying in the bed just sometimes feels best.  Silas was just hanging around listening during this conversation, and I could tell that he too was reassured.

Thanks Arlo, for speaking your mind, and sharing your feelings so frequently.

I’m watching the Arlo barometer, for signs of stress and fear, self-assurance and ease,  and that helps me know how to support the boys.

-Carri

Oh, Mama

Oh, the excitement of opening up Microsoft Word! Just to open a file where I can paint pictures, blanketed comfy on my couch, with candle flames dancing on the hearth and a breeze running in and out with the children…on this chilly-cloudy day, I have made a nest where life-changing things are happening. Just like the wind, the force behind and the matter of this that bubbles up within me is not something I can see.


Today it is the spiritual practice of mothering and being teacher to my children that is on my mind. Regarding homeschooling in particular, by tradition, I would have normally begun last week, September 1st. But Mama had chemo two weeks in a row. Mama hasn’t gotten her teaching resources together. Mama hasn’t gotten her DAY together half of the time…

That rhythm that makes a home run more like clockwork…it does melt away during the summer, as we become more will of the wisp. Most parents and children adjust to changes in September, so what’s my hang up? Why does getting from here to (where was that again?) seem like a long, steep hill?

Well I got it recently. Along with our routines being swept under the beds all summer, so was the nurturing of our home. It became clear to me that my starting place was our living space; and just like all the Mamas and Papas need to put on their own oxygen masks before those of their children, in an airplane emergency, the place I focused on first was my own bedroom—

The Inner Sanctum

Oh boy, it can sure become a catch all. What a difference when the vision of my altar and Dream Space is in reality, something nurturing to me. The place where I go to let go, relax and dream is good for me.

Then I moved on to the kids. It was a hands and mind and heart absorption into clearing out their living spaces and creating cheerful, celebratory, comforting nests for them, for creating, dreaming and all this growing…I imagine I can HEAR them growing sometimes.

It’s the Womb outside the Womb. The children were born from my body and into my arms. All that time spent in my arms, being fed on mother’s milk, very gradually sitting, rolling, crawling, tiptoeing into Selfhood. It’s cooking, not milk, heartfelt, brief squeezes, not rocking in the chair, that helps them grow now.

Now, as the soil is beginning to feel prepared, I can more easily imagine myself being inspired to engage in some homeschooling with them.

I look forward to the stories and fables I will tell them, weaving together a pattern that will be a reference in moments requiring a noble conscience. I look forward to being near them as the world opens up a little more and a little more, through their natural drive to explore and learn.

I am significantly daunted by the need I have for regaining routine for us. How does Mama rise each day before the children, fit in an hour with the Molecular Enhancer, a varied, time consuming routine for Mind/Body health, and room for the variables that can arise from chemotherapy treatments and the Moody Blahs? There are things I need to be on time for. There is creamy oatmeal to be made with strawberries and coconut. There are morning songs to sing, pies to be made, a home worked as soil amended with physical, intellectual and spiritual nourishment for us all.

Oh, Mama.

- Carri

Introducing: The Family Writer vs The Real Writer

Once upon a time, somewhere in my youth, I was labeled "The Writer In The Family".  I won some essay contests, public speaking contests and one spelling bee all before the age of thirteen...it was obvious to my family that I was some sort of genius. At least, that's how they made me feel. So, I told myself that I am a writer.  As it turns out, what they really meant was "Ah, a new sucker to write our Christmas letters and keep in touch with relatives we'd rather not spend our precious time on." Yes, I was (and still am) the designated letter writer for the entire family.
Truthfully, I do love to write. But here's the kicker- I'm not very good. I still write like an eighth grader and I don't possess words of wisdom. I know tons of big words but they don't sound right coming out of my mouth and half the time my thirty-three and three quarters years old brain can't remember how to spell them anyway. I'm not a very serious woman most of the time. I totally remember my dreams every night and I spend hours wondering what they "really" mean. I have an active imagination to help get me through the monotony of carpool (I like to pretend I'm on a road trip picking up interesting hitchhikers) and it doesn't hurt that every once in a while my husband's face mysteriously morphs into that of Johnny Depp. A serious writer I am not.
I am serious about my role as a wife, mother and friend. This blog is supposed to be a cooperative effort between me and said Best Friend but I still can't figure out this Blog thing enough to make it so she can post any time the whimsy hits her. So for now I'll have to repost her writings for her. Don't worry, you won't need me to tell you which posts are mine and which are hers-it will be obvious. Carri IS a seriously amazing writer.  She's been writing like a wise old woman since she was a kid and published her first short story about a heroic tale of saving a beloved cat. (okay, that doesn't sound so amazing right now but trust me on this.)
So, this is the only time I'll address the differences in Blog Posts. When you want to read something so good it should be in a book instead of this Blog tune in for Carri's stuff. It's absolutely Free.
Now, I've got to go and figure out exactly how to get her stuff on here.
(By the way, my next post will be the story of Carri's visit to her local Nudist Colony. She may be brilliant but she's never boring!)

We Can Do This

On opposite sides of the country, my best friend and I were looking at the same four walls you find in every hospital.  I was rapturously nursing my newborn daughter at my breast while my best friend was saying goodbye to one of hers.  At the ripe old age of 33, she was undergoing a mastectomy while I was in an O.R. getting my tubes tied. 
We've been friends since we were fourteen and though, most of our friendship has been spent in separate states, due to a move by my family, we have led pretty parallel lives...up until a year and a half ago.
Now, there's nothing funny about having cancer or loving someone with cancer but we've realized during this long journey that you have to laugh and you have to find humor.  And that's one of the reasons this blog has come into existence.  Maybe we won't be able to poke fun at ourselves every day but we"re sure as hell going to try to make someone smile.
For her latest round of chemo I began sending one funny card to her every day...then I ran out of stamps (or as my three year old muralist likes to call them, stickers). 
Hence, a blog she can access everyday for a little tee-hee-hee-hee and support.  We've been each other's lifelines for twenty years but this cancer thing, man, I'm gonna need your help to fight this foe.  Funny mom stories, funny friend stories, jokes, inspirational writings, quotes. 
And I'll do my part.  I promise, it'll be funny.
Now, I've got to see if this thing really worked. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to computers but if Carri can sit in a chemo chair for ten hour days, I can hen-peck my way through this mysterious world of blogging.