That's the thing about bananas...

A few weeks ago I asked Facebook followers to tell me what they wanted to see me write about and two topics prevailed:

Parenting Adventures & Why I Can't Eat Bananas in Public

No joke. "Parenting and kiddos, yeah, that's great, but we really want to get to know the real you." The latter suggestion got the most "votes"--which means my readers are as nuts--or should I say bananas? harharhar--as I am. I recently posted the most awesome summer DIY hack possibly ever to check off the parenting adventures request. Now let me tell you the thing about bananas and why I can't eat them in public.

The short answer: Politics. 

The slightly more informative and interesting answer, in list format of course:  

This is pretty much my husband and I as bananas.

• I devoted an entire quarter of my undergraduate studies to learning about bananas through a critical feminist lense. I learned where they come from, how they get to my grocer, who picks them, who pays the pickers, and more importantly, what the industry looks like for those pickers. The adage "ignorance is bliss" never held truer than the changes I've felt morally and socially obligated to in my relationship with the sweet yellow fruit. I am as embarrassed to eat a Dole banana in public as I am to eat a Big Mac.* 
• I am a woman. I have been subjected to lewd comments and leering eyes while eating in public on many more occasions than I care to recount. I am not sure where one musters the mindless moxie it takes to actually vocalize something disgusting like, "Mmm, that's it, real deep now..." to a complete stranger as she tries to scarf down lunch while waiting for the approaching bus, but if there's a risk it might happen I'm not a betting woman. I'll almost always leave the fruit at home.   
• I always forget to take the peels out of my car. They end up as shriveled, utterly unrecognizable forms of their former glorious selves, and emit a spectrum of odor that goes from grossly sweet to compost in a day or two's time. It's disgusting, and sometimes comes with fruit flies.  

So there you have it: my banana-oriented idiosyncrasies. I know I'm not the only one with strange hangups with certain foods. I know some people who can't drink store-purchased chocolate milk because of rumours of pus-filled yuck milk comprising a great deal of the dark, rich goodness. I know a man who won't eat cheese if it crumbles when he cuts it. My little sister won't eat "green things" on her food (i.e. parsley) and strains them out of her ramen flavoring packets. Obviously people have their things. What are yours?

*If you want to know more about the numerous issues surrounding the banana industry, I recommend the following resources: Bananas, Beaches and Bases: Making Feminist Sense of International Politics; this article from The Economist; this banana blog; or this great piece from the Science Creative Quarterly.

My Boy, A Man.

In less than 24hrs I will put my firstborn son on a shuttle that will carry him to a flight, which will then carry him to Anchorage, from where he will drive to a remote town on an Alaskan peninsula. He will live, work, and soul search there for one month. This will be the longest he and I have been apart from one another in 17 years. While I am notably anxious to send him off, especially as I watch the hours pass and the send-off become more and more imminent, I am finding myself excited and hopeful for his journey. There are many reasons for this, but for brevity's sake I will focus on the top few here. I don't want to bore you by gushing about how awesome my kid is as he grows into a man, but it needs to be said.

First, the boy loves to travel. He has been taking solo flights around the country for a decade already, and has found himself in several other states on various adventures over the years. This trip will be his most independent of them yet. I expect that, in addition to learning copious things about himself, he will come back bearing plenty of lessons about work ethic, dependency, technological reliance, nature, and his place in the world.

Second, the last year has been ripe with transformation for Koa. He left school a few months ago, and since then has secured a fun and interesting volunteer position at the local Alternative Library, earned his GED, and finished Driver's Education. He has begun to explore and imagine a variety of career options and pathways for his future, and to discern and articulate what it is he wants most from life. This trip couldn't come at a better time insofar as helping him distill his dreams.

Third, he is staring down opportunities and has support I didn't myself feel as a teen. This notion is not insignificant, if only because I believe every parent's wish is to see their children have greater opportunities than they themselves had. After I left school and home at 15 I was on my own. For Koa to have our support and help in planning this adventure. for him to know that his bed will still be here, his seat at the table will be here, his family will be here, and his life will be here when he returns, he is receiving more than logistical backing... He is also getting affirmation that whatever he wants for himself in this world, his parents and loved ones will be here to support his work in achieving it.

And finally, he totally deserves it. Koa is a great gift to our family. He is compassionate, funny, smart, playful, thoughtful, loyal and talented. My son, the boy, has always been all of these things. My son, the man, deserves to find himself amidst all of the greatness that he has shared of himself with others. He deserves to feel the self-compassion in processing the difficulties he has surmounted this year, to internalize all of the growth, to challenge himself and see what he is really capable of independent of our immediate assistance, and to feel the freedom that an adventure like this is sure to provide. The constraints of the stress of teenage life are as real as they are in any other phase of life, and everyone deserves a break once in a while.

Dear Koa, I will miss you more than I want you to know. And yet, I am so excited to put you on that bus tomorrow morning. My son, young man, you have made me so proud to know you and grateful for the chance to be your mother. Travel safely, work attentively, and return wholly. We can't wait to hear all of your adventures along the way and upon your return, and to see the sick mustache you grow while you are away. We will be here waiting!

(love Mom)

Gone Campin'

I remember camping during the summers with my parents in the high deserts of the Southwest as a child. I remember hiking the Grand Canyon, sleeping in the back of my dad's pickup truck, stargazing at the expansive displays overhead, and waking to do things like explore ruins of ancient civilizations or picnic at nearby rivers. I remember the awe those contexts provided me.

As a teen I experienced camping in a variety of scenarios, from living in tents in the woods and sleeping in cars to spending time with the Rainbow Family at a gathering outside of Fort Collins, CO.

And finally, as a young adult, I met the man I would marry and he just happens to be one helluva camper. I've been told he was even an Eagle Scout, and though I tease him about it, I totally love that about him (not to mention I was a Girl Scout).
I fell in love with him camping in the month of March on the Oregon Coast. I married him next to a shining lake while our friends took over the campground nearby; our son Birch was born from fire embers next to that same lake years later. We have taken our tent to the Redwoods, packed full of boys and babies and beautiful memories. I have slept next to rivers, oceans, lakes, waterfalls, inside rainforests, at music festivals, on logging roads, and in backyards in that tent. I have come to love that tent because it is a physical manifestation of the life I am living with a person I love dearly. We are raising our children to understand the importance of sleeping outside now and again, and to feel the ways in which the earth on their feet propels them toward deeper understandings of themselves.

So now, in my thirties, I can comfortably take four children camping on a solo trip over the Pass. I can set up and take down my own tent, hang a hammock, cook delectable dutch oven food, comfortably go days without a proper shower, hike packing a 35lb child/pack combo, chop wood and build a raging fire, build a cooler in a river, dig my own holes, pack light, hang a straight shot on ladder ball, stop my own bleeding... you know, camp stuff. Here's to my first camping trip of the season, one which I happened to tackle alone because Brian had some serious work to crank out. Four boys, three days, two nights, one Mama... We joined a circle of friends (thank heavens, because seriously, that whole "it takes a village" thing is real as daylight), set up for the long haul, and never even had to be cold or break out the super-glue.

 I think everyone, but especially women and their children, should go camping. Get out there. Get dirty. Explore. Feel the dirt, the water, the leaves of the trees. Watch for new birds, fish, squirrels. Find bugs, talk to other campers, make a meal in tinfoil. Curl up in comfy feathered sleeping bags, tell stories in the woods, stare at the stars, take a deep breath. Remember that you are made of stardust, too. And then, when it's time to come back home, shine with the rejuvenation communing with nature provides.

If you are in the Pacific NorthWest and looking for a choice spot, allow me to share a few of my favorites:

Silver Lake: This is where we were hitched. It is approximately 1hr outside of Bellingham, WA, down the infamous Highway 542. Paddleboat and canoe rentals, fishing, swimming, and abundant grass fields are some key features.

Rasar State Park: Just outside of Conrete, WA, this park boasts rivers, kid-friendly hikes, warm sandbars you can walk onto, two large and fulfilling playground areas... Need I say more?

Deception Pass: Gorgeous, lots of hiking, best sunsets around. Easily accessed, though surrounded by water.

Fort Ebey: Saltwater shoreline for miles, old battery forts to explore, and the best place imaginable to fly a kite.

Are you a camper? Where do you go to commune with nature? Bonus points if the spots are in the PNW, because proximity, obviously.

When Life Hands You Grapefruit...

When we received word we'd be getting a delivery from a Fruit of the Month club as a holiday gift from a friend, though it was slightly reminiscent of the Jelly of the Month club bonus Clark Griswold received and we couldn't tell whether we were being punked at first, we were excited about having a box of fun food delivered to our doorstep. So far we've recieved pears (which I made crockpot GAP {ginger apple pear} Butter with), pineapples (which we grilled in a delicious teriyaki glaze and enjoyed with chicken), oranges (plain devoured), and six plump, deliciously sweet grapefruits. I have made it my goal to waste as little foodstuff as possible so the grapefruit found itself first devoured in fleshy, juicy bite-size chunks, and then I turned the byproduct into FOUR awesome life-extending creations.

The first one was a simple stovetop simmer of grapefruit peels, cinnamon, and water. I left it on the range for hours, turned to the lowest degree simmer possible, and let it fill my house with the smell of clean comfort.

The second is a byproduct of the byproduct simmer... Is that like a double negative? Anyway, blending the aromatic pulp down to a puree makes it a perfect addition to any number of inexpensive body scrub recipes I utilize. The smell creates a great pick-me-up in an energizing morning shower, while the cinnamon helps to reduce acne-causing bacteria and exfoliate dead skin cells.

 The final two creations come in tandem, and are an incredible blend of house cleaning awesomeness fit for the dirtiest jobs. Using simple nontoxic ingredients and a little bit of leftover citrus, you too can create this easy cleaner that your children can literally drink if they wanted to--which they won't, unless they happen to be weirdos with a constant hankering for pickles doused in citrus air freshener, and who has that?

Rinds of six citrus fruits
Cinnamon oil (if desired)
1 gallon distilled vinegar
Airtight glass storage containers (I use mason jars)
Spray bottle(s)
Cheesecloth (though I found a mesh produce bag worked well)

Total cost: < $3

Simply stuff the rinds into the jars leaving headroom to fill with vinegar. Secure lids and put it somewhere safe to sit for two weeks. Every few days shake each jar vigorously to release the citrus oils. Once the two weeks are up simply strain the vinegar through the cheesecloth or mesh bag, taking care to wring the pulp. Reserve the pulp for the next project. Add cinnamon oil if you like the combination (I think it's wonderful), and bottle the citrus vinegar using a 50/50 ratio with water. You are now ready to clean up your act, your kids' act, your dog's act, or any other "act" you might find stuck to your counters, floors, appliances, toilet or walls. My favorite use so far? Whatever that shit is that's plastered to my dining room table. Whatever it was, it's gone now. You will have plenty, so save it for refills or put a cute bow or homemade label on it and drop it on the porch of a sweet friend to brighten their day! To use, simply give the bottle a little shake to enliven the oils, spray, give it a second to work it's magic, and voila! Wipe off the grime with ease.

As for the vinegar pulp, pulse blend it until it is nothing but small lumpy chunks. Store it in an airtight container, and simply mix a small amount with a dash of baking soda for a good extra-strength cleaning scrub for the extra-tough jobs!    

From the heart... to the hands.

Trigger Warning: This post contains subjects some readers may be sensitive to. It's about violence and it's about love, and it's about what happens when the two mix. Domestic violence isn't something that everyone is comfortable talking about without a warning, so this is mine to you. 

The fast approaching weekend and in particular Saturday, April 12th, marks a very special anniversary. The date conjures a void that is almost tangible, like a penny falling down into the darkness of a never-ending well. It marks one of those defining moments where something happens, and then nothing is truly the same ever again. For me, this weekend symbolizes the beginning of my journey toward a lifetime as a feminist, as an advocate, and as a survivor of domestic violence. It is the same weekend that, 28 years ago, my mother Lynn was plowed down on a rural highway. Her lover was behind the wheel, alcohol and aggression exploding in between the slurs and swerves, and the topography of my life and hers was changed forever in that moment.

The moment that the tiny yellow car caught up with her brought with it a full and weighty clarity. Her body exploded in a cacophony of noise--the sound of bones breaking, organs bursting, and her heart slapping against the busted up framework of her chest cavity--to which she sang a song that I would come to know as a verse in my anthem.

May you only experience love like you deserve to be loved.   

The arrest report from that night.

But that's not always what happens when you are 6 years old and you see your mother lying in a hospital bed so badly injured that she is almost unrecognizable, statistically speaking anyway. Children like me--little girls who know what it sounds like when a full-grown woman's body smashes into the side of a single-wide trailer, who help their mothers clean up post-battle blood--we tend to find ourselves in similar patterns when we get old enough for our own relationships. I don't know what it is about seeing the matron pilar in one's life peppered with hemorrhages, weakened by blood loss and holding to life by the wire threads in her monitors, that leads little girls to believe they deserve to be treated as anything less than the queens they are; however, there is an expansive body of evidence suggesting that children who witness domestic violence are prone to play out the role in their own lives. I did too, to a lesser but no less valid extent than my mother. Thankfully I escaped that life and built up my confidence before injury ever left me hospitalized. Feeling hopeless, worthless, scared and scarred for my life, yes, but hospitalization, no. Ever since, my life has been on a steady trajectory toward empowering other women to do the same.

Kindergarten missed me.

In honor of my mother's strength through the trying weeks that she faced lying in that hospital bed, and in honor of my own experiences with domestic violence and of the experiences of as many as 4,000,000 other women in our country every year (U.S. Dept. of Justice, Violence by Intimates: Analysis of Data on Crimes by Current of Former Spouses, Boyfriends, and Girlfriends, March, 1998), I am going to do something to help the women and children in my community who live with the effects of domestic violence. In honor of the 65% of children who will also be abused by their mother's abuser--all those tiny eyes and ears who live through the terror of a violent upbringing--in honor of my boys for whom I am breaking so many cycles; and in honor of the 3,247 people served by Domestic Violence & Sexual Assault Services of Whatcom County (DVSAS) last year and the countless others who need but do not seek their services...

A witness statement.

You may remember the success of the Warmth Wagon coat drive (if you don't know what that is click here and here). Well, I need you to help me fill my van once more. Beginning April 12 and lasting until May 3 (the duration of my mother's hospital stay following the incident), I will be in the parking lot of the Lakeway Market at designated times collecting items of need for DVSAS. I have coordinated with the organization to determine their greatest needs at this time and would be grateful if you would join me in helping to meet them. Many of the items are low-cost to purchase, or may even be things you have spares of around your house, and will greatly help ease the impacts of domestic violence on our community. Please, for little girls like me and their moms both in Tiny Town and everywhere else, and for everyone else galvanized by the crippling damage of domestic violence, consider skipping a latte this week and bringing a donation by instead. You will soften someone's experience guaranteed; trust me, I know. Here are the most pressing needs:

Children's Programs

Activity jumper/jumperoo (stationery, not door frame kind)
Art supplies (buttons, clay, dry-erase markers, crayons, markers, construction paper, glue, etc.)
Boppy pillows
Coloring books
Cookie cutters
Disposable diapers, all sizes
Dress-up clothes, and a storage trunk for them
Ergo baby carriers in new or good used condition
Full-length mirror
Gerber sippy cups
Non-perishable single serving sized snacks and juice
Play-Doh, rolling pins and other tools for it
Wooden high-chair

Adult Programs

Blank journals and notebooks
Gift cards to help meet basic needs (gas/food/groceries)
Greyhound vouchers
Non-perishable single serving sized snacks and juice
Pre-paid cell phones
Pre-paid calling cards

Agency Needs

Coffee, tea, and creamer
Desktop photocopier for copying protection/restraining orders in client rooms
Desktop printer, any kind so long as it's in good working order
Hot plates
Large plastic storage totes
Magazine subscriptions for the waiting rooms
Bathroom supplies: toilet paper, pads, tampons, bleach wipes
Thumb drives 

So, Tiny Town, show me what you've got! I will be in the Lakeway Market parking lot at the following times in the coming week, and will post the next week's schedule in a forthcoming blog post. Be sure to join the event on Facebook too, to keep abreast of the developments as the project gets underway.

Saturday, 4/12 9-10am
Monday, 4/14 12-1:30pm
Wednesday, 4/16 4:30-6pm
Friday, 4/18 12-1:30pm
Saturday, 4/19 12-2pm

Please swing by, say hello and help me make someone's life better through your kind deeds by taking your concern from your heart, to their hands.

Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner...

...except for the whole "chicken" part, since I happen to know for a fact that one of the randomly selected winners is a super-vegetarian... if not vegan. She just might be a vegan. (And we're totally cool, by the way. It's fine because, like, I'm pretty sure she doesn't even hold my birthday party against me since she knows the fur has no nutritional value and that there's no such thing as a vegetarian wolf.) Ahem, moving on.

Opting to share the bulk of my cloth diaper stash with other families instead of sell, consign or donate the diapers and other goodies means that families who might otherwise not try cloth diapers have the opportunity to fall in love with this eco-friendly, totally adorable option for FREE. These diapers are well known in the land of cloth diaper lovers and will easily last another child or two, so my hope is that the winners will share the love when they are done with them by passing them to another sweet family who will use them.  

Anyway, I am so happy to announce the two winners of the Great Stash for NO Cash cloth diaper giveaway prizes. The names were randomly selected using Random.org through Rafflecopter. The Full Stash packages each include 1dozen Fuzzi Bunz diapers, 18 microfiber inserts/doublers, a large wet bag, a small wet bag, and a dozen reusable cloth wipes--all from my collection. The Bonus Stash package includes two Fuzzi Bunz diapers, five inserts, and a sweet boutique blanket that we just loved from area craft masters Crackabo.

FULL STASH WINNERS: Jaycie W. and Megan T.

 BONUS STASH WINNER: Holli G.

There were nearly 100 entries, which is pretty sweet considering this was all through the grapevine and my blog is pretty much brand new. Of course I know one of them because, well, 30% of my facebook followers and blog readers are technically real-life, true-blood friends who have seen the whites of my eyes in the last month or two. It will be nice to send her a personalized little card with the package. The others are women whose names I recognize from online community support groups for local mothers. I haven't met them yet, I don't believe, but it is cool to know that two of the packages will be staying here in Tiny Town. Lucky mamas and sweet babes--I can't wait to pass on the stash that we so loved. Watch your emails, ladies--I'll be in touch for delivery info soon!

Thanks to everyone for entering, for reading, and for simply being you. Don't you ever stop.

A Great Stash for NO Cash!

Heads up! I finally figured out how to make the giveaway legit on Facebook. Be gentle with me, as it's my first go with this particular application, but I have used it as a participant in other giveaways and found it easy to navigate. Most of you should have no trouble at all. Click here to enter!

You can enter up to five, yes FIVE, times in a variety of fun ways. Get one entry simply for “liking” a palpable paradox on Facebook, another for tagging the page in a status on your personal page about what using cloth diapers means/would mean for your family, another for following @palpableparadox on twitter, yet another for tweeting about the giveaway on twitter, and lastly (my personal favorite) you can write a haiku poem about cloth diapering on the Facebook page after you've liked it!

Remember, you don’t have to be actively cloth diapering to enter or win. You can be simply interested in trying them; you can be pregnant; you can be daydreaming about having a baby; you can have a neighbor two doors down you think could use them; you can be a Papa who wants to cloth diaper on his weekends (and I kind of hope you are, actually); you can be a grandma, a sister, an uncle, a mentor or a teacher of someone who you think might appreciate them. I just want the collections to go to homes where they will be cherished and put to good use by families who want to try to do the best they can for the Earth.

Now, the official mumbo jumbo: This giveaway is sponsored by me and only me, not Facebook or Rafflecopter or Fuzzi Bunz or any of the others groups, companies, organizations or individuals who may be mentioned in the duration of this giveaway. One winner will be drawn on the morning of April 3, 2014. If the Facebook page receives 250 or more likes by April 2, there will be a second winner drawn; if the page receives 300 or more likes by then, a third winner will be added. Winners will be randomly selected, and packages will be delivered (if local) or shipped within one week of the drawing. By accepting the prize you agree to release me of any liability resulting in your acceptance and use of the diapers, liners, cloth wipes, and wet bags contained therein. Use common laundering sense. The diapers have been stripped, but I advise you to launder them in your own fashion and detergent before use—you know, for sanitation’s sake. Now, if you’ve made it this far, you can leave a comment here on the blog for a chance to win a bonus mini prize pack not announced anywhere else. Simply tell me your two favorite colors from the rainbow diaper stash photo and you will be entered into a secondary drawing to be held the same day!

Good luck!

No, not that. Anything but that!

True to the tag I should probably be telling my therapist this instead of you, and I would—believe me, I would—but I only have one hour every two weeks and this just won’t fit in with all the other stuff on my list. Sorry, and you’re welcome.

I got my first tattoo when I was 15. It was/is the most hideous of indistinguishable blobs conveniently located forfuckingever on the small of my back. This tattoo was done by a guy named… what was it? Crawl? D’Beers? Copper, Topaz, Weed, Sailor, Golden, Maggot? I can’t remember his name now but I have six of his “practice tattoos” remaining, and a seventh that was converted into something I’m not embarrassed by over a decade after he scratched the original into my back. And now, tonight, after years and years of general conversation and a solid year of intensive present-day let's-look-at-your-patterns-of-impulsivity-lately conversations with Koa, the kid gets off the phone with my ex-husband, sits down at the table with the family for meat and potatoes dinner, and announces that he has great news! (Fuck me. This scenario is never, ever good. Seriously, there are days I wish the man would just dissolve or something.) 

"Yeah, he said he and grandma will take me to get a tattoo when I visit this summer!" 

And the air was literally sucked out of the room, except for Koa who was smiling and nodding his head affirmatively. He resembled some sort of adorable bobble-head souvenir one would pick up at a gas station or visitor's center at the tail-end of a trip you can't wait to get home from. Meanwhile I was more like the haggard tourist in a foreign land, stunned and stammering, lost, confused, and stuck in my same old outfit and furry teeth because someone stole my luggage back at the station. I stuffed a piece of garlicky steak in my mouth and stared out the window towards Canada. Breathing deeply and slowly grinding through the meat, I took great care to bite the tiny minced garlic particles one-by-one every time I needed to bite my tongue. It helped me be less of an asshole. I'm not mad at my kid; he's just doing the kid thing, searching for the Always Yes--but it's kind of easy for me to flip the asshole switch when my ex enters the conversation.   

Now it's been an hour and so far I've had a little cry and gotten frustration-fueled heartburn from the situation. Balls. Here's the thing: I am covered in tattoos. I have them on my feet, calves, ribs, arms, fingers, ears, neck, back, chest, shins, and the inside of my lip. I have never once doubted Koa would eventually follow suit to some degree, be it one or 100%, ever since he proudly declared he wanted a mermaid with the body of a shark tattooed on his belly when he was just six-years-old. This is just not how I imagined it would go down.

I think all parents have hope that their children will be better off than they are in a number of ways and I am no different. While I fully support my son dropping into life and out of high school, while I have long encouraged him to follow his own path whatever it looks like, I just simply cannot get behind his very first tattoo memory being one tainted by the impulsive nature of his life right now. My own experience not withstanding, I desperately wish he would wait until he is an adult so that he can make decisions based on how his path unfolds as he ventures into a life outside of my nest. It's not a good time for him to walk into a sleazy shop about which he knows nothing, select some shitty flash drawing off the wall at the encouragement of my ex, and allow some degenerate stranger to scrawl into is virgin skin with his tattoo "gun." That, and of course the thought of my ex getting the honor of accompanying him for the occasion makes me throw up a little in my mouth. It's true that I have had every Christmas, every birthday, every Easter, every New Year (save for this very last one), and every Father's Day with Koa throughout his entire life... but that's because I'm actually a reliable parent to him, have always been present in his life, and actually have some idea of where my son is at right now both mentally and emotionally. It's just not a good place to be making decisions that literally mark for life unless he wants to start saving for cover-ups now... but that would be our money because he doesn't have a job, and I don't really have that in the budget.

If nothing else I guess I just assumed this particular rite of passage would be one I was an immediate and positive part of. For now, however, it looks as though I may have to begrudgingly accept his choice to have someone else there instead. And not just someone else, but my exfuckinghusband, some dude I married as a wayward child-bride and divorced before I was 21. I hope my pride and excitement for Koa to transform himself in this way in his lifetime isn't overshadowed or reversed by that particular detail, but more than that I hope he doesn't get a staph infection from unsanitary conditions or poor aftercare in the time he's out of state.  

Nice to meet you, Cloth Diapers!

When I had my first son a couple months after turning seventeen I wasn't really running on well-researched paths. I pretty much raised him in a manner heavily influenced by three things: mainstream child rearing culture, the ever-present advice of my ex-husband's parents, and the way that I was raised myself. Suffice it to say that a lot of my parenting beliefs and approaches have changed over the last several years, and all I believe to be positive steps toward the outcome of better relationships with healthier more confident children.

Some of the differences between what I affectionately refer to as my my First and Second Waves (of motherhood) include issues of circumcision, breastfeeding, babywearing, elimination communication, diapering, sign language, sensory learning, screen and media exposure, and issues surrounding 'discipline' when the children 'act out' (aka now I'm not always a huge jerk when my kids are slamming down on my buttons in a developmentally appropriate way).

One of these subjects tends to lend itself to less inflammatory discourse than some of the others, so I'd like to start by sharing a little bit about my venture into cloth diapering.

Though I had seen my step-mom cloth diaper my little brother when I was around ten years old, I remember it being a cumbersome task involving pins and covers and hand wringing shitty diapers in the toilet. Par for the course in many cases, sure, but to me as a child--totally disgusting. Koa and Cedar were raised in disposable diapers due to a number of circumstances ranging from resources to knowledge, but mostly due to lacking exposure to the practice. Jump forward almost a decade to find me living in Tiny Town, a great place to be born. Here I learned about Doulas and Midwifery and natural birth and birth centers... And about cloth diapers.

Elvis is everywhere, even on a tiny Birch.

Once I found them I was hooked. There are so many amazing companies and hard-working Mamas with home businesses to choose from; children look adorable in them; they come in almost any print or color you can imagine; after the initial sticker shock wears off they pay for themselves quickly and retain a strong resale value; and using them creates a lower impact on the Earth than using disposables. With all that on the table it was hard not to get hooked. Those of you who've been following along well know that once I get excited about something I don't really look back until the guilt or regret not only nips at my heels, but actually tears a chunk out of the back of my thigh. Such is the life of a borderline hoarder. That is how I wound up with a stash of diapers that numbered 120+ at one time for just my two youngest boys. I know, I know, it sounds crazy, but like I said Tiny Town is really into these sorts of things so finding used cloth diapers in excellent condition to bulk up on was an easy task. Besides, mathematically speaking, this obscene amount of diapers really only amounts to purchasing one every three days or so... Which kind of doesn't make me sound any less impulsive, I realize, but it's a noble cause to get behind. 

Birch wore cloth a solid 93% of his diaper days and Aspen started in them, but we finally caught on to elimination communication with him and drastically decreased the need for a lot of diapers in the process. I was rotating through an immense diaper stash and washing a less-than-full load every two or three days, had finally perfected my dry pail and wash systems, and I felt great for acing something plenty of other people are intimidated by. That is until the day a tiny baby Aspen got the diaper rash that changed everything.

Looking for some pep.

Maybe I'll tell the tale another time because it's a doozy and deserves a full post with lots of informational links and statistics, but basically when Aspen's diaper rash refused to respond to the usual course of treatment at home, I took him in to see another doctor in his pediatrician's office who had room on his schedule on a Sunday. It is enough for now to say that the doctor did not respect me or my son, resulting in formal complaints and investigations with the State that nearly took us to court for a malpractice suit. Then, because of a need to apply heavy creams to his rash that would compromise the absorbency permanently in the cloth diapers, I started using disposables. Simultaneously I battled a depressive bout of my own while also processing a lot of other internal family stressors, and I couldn't find the energy to think about returning to the cloth diaper ritual after a month, then two. Now it's nearly seven months later and I can say that my fetish for the fluff has quelled considerably. My expectations for myself at this juncture are much lower when it comes to my ability to manage regular weekly laundry, even with the help of Brian and the older boys, much less the added two or three loads of diapers. Part of me feels lame for throwing in the towel, but more of me recognizes the breakup with cloth as a simple way to practice self-care. When everything feels like it's caving in on me, or like it's incredibly heavy or busy, or we have a week heavy on the nighttime accidents or daytime art projects (which seems to be, well, pretty much every week), removing a few loads of laundry a week actually feels like removing a few tons of brick off my back even if I do understand the social, environmental, and financial implications of the decision. We all have to arrange our priorities based on our circumstances, and I feel no shame in reevaluating them according to my latest self-revelation. In fact friends, reevaluation driven by self-reflection and revelation is a really refreshing practice. It helps me remember that the whole world is fluid, even me, and that it is okay to be so.

I do, however, still love cloth diapers--especially my Fuzzi Bunz stash. I sold off my tiny ones as soon as Aspen was out of them since he is the final baby in our home, but I still have a huge stash of medium and large sizes in all the colors of the rainbow. While I could likely sell them for $5-$8/ea in Tiny Town and recoup some of my investment, I've decided I would rather share the benefits of cloth diapering with other families who have or are expecting a little one and who may or may not otherwise consider using them due to cost or other factors. And plus, remember the Great Purge of 2014? I have to hold up my end of the deal. The diapers are beautiful, insanely useful, and totally storied--they were part of every day of my children's lives for 2+ years--but they are not doing any good just sitting in IKEA storage bins.

The most glorious remnants of our cloth diaper days.

Stay tuned for the full details on how you can win a dozen of my Fuzzi Bunz diapers and inserts, along with both a pail-sized and a travel wet bag. Sure they're used but they were well taken care of and recently stripped, they are free, and they will be catching shit so I don't think it really matters that much. Plus, you are under zero obligation to enter to win something you wouldn't actually cherish and use. For the rest of you, save about $125 and change the way you handle bio-waste forever. It's actually a really sweet deal, and one which I will have delivered to your door if you win and live in the US.    

Details coming Wednesday (or maybe sooner if I get ambitious and am not just being pushed around by caffeine and sleep-deprived delirium) so stay tuned, spread the word, and be sure to LIKE ME for the most up-to-date announcements as I hammer out a plan...         

Cavorting with serpents

When we learned that Koa had severe allergies to pretty much everything under the sun--including all but one of the trees native to a 5 mile radius around our home, his childhood pet cats, his grandparents' dogs, mold, grass, pollen of all varieties, dust, and pretty much every other environmental contaminant imaginable--we began a cleansing process that involved air treatments, immunotherapeutic allergy shots twice weekly, a host of medication, alleviation of yard work and dusting duties for a certain bubble boy, and refusing against all my will to replace our beloved cats once they were no more. Hence the crazy cat lady giveaway...

But the importance and therapeutic powers of the presence of animals is not so easily erased and so we went in search of a calming animal that could help with the general anxiety issues Koa and I share, and that would also provide us with something to care for, to see thrive, and to hold my sons' interest.

Enter the White's Tree Frog. 

We began pursuing these little guys at the recommendation of a longtime friend and herpetology aficionado, and are so excited for them to arrive tomorrow. They are pretty much always smiling, which seems very calming in and of itself, and the home we have built to accommodate them is a stunning focal point of our space.

While Aspen and Birch helped me prepare the coconut substrate for the terrarium, Koa and I worked to place the tropical plants.

 My friend put us in contact with one of her friends (the same man who hooked us up with a donation site for the animal remains from the best birthday party ever) who was able to order five of the little guys for us from a quality source in Florida. You can count on at least one entry on them once they have arrived and settled in!

In the meantime, please enjoy these photos of Koa, Cedar and Birch getting acquainted with Raymond. He came to visit us when the source for our frogs came to check out the terrarium setup last night. You know, no big deal. Just my children cavorting with a massive serpent winding itself around the bodies of my offspring in the comfort of our own home... The usual.

Wishes really do come true!

sack of tools, that is.

I have wonderful friends. Wonderful, brave, daring, talented, hilarious, engaging, and genuine friends. They are always backing me up, even when my ideas are totally batshit crazy. For example I once ran an impromptu coat drive and they stopped by with hot coffee for me and warm coats for the homeless. This time I sent out the invite to my taxidermy themed 34th birthday party and not only did they show up ready to learn, but came armed with accessories like sun hats and itty bitty cigarettes to create incredible taxidermy pieces while here.

This is the best birthday party I have ever had. I once had a roller skating birthday party that was pretty awesome. We had cake and skated. This, however, trumps any birthday party I or pretty much anyone else has ever had. Why?

Three words: Heirloom party favors.

Oh, and we still had cake. Red velvet cupcakes with rabbit ears on them. Thematically apropos.

Not only did these troopers put aside nerves and queasiness, but they brought booze and food and sweet gifts like Magic 8 Balls and bedazzled satin mesh-back Virgin Mary trucker hats (for real, which likely warrants its own photo post later this week). They also wrote genuine messages of love and endearment in my cards, and let me know how special and precious I am to them. They spent hours reminding me why I have chosen them to be my nearest and dearest. Additionally, they are an aesthetically pleasing bunch to spend four hours crammed in a cold garage with, so there's that.

Speaking of troopers, my boys Cedar and Koa deserve a HUGE hollar of gratitude. They entertained, wrangled, bathed five times, read books to, fed, comforted, watched movies and cuddled with Birch and Aspen through the entire duration of the party, the cleanup, and the time it took Brian and I to have a beer, take a load off, and reflect on how much fun everyone had. It really was a once in a lifetime type of thing, and I am so grateful to know the kinds of people who will step outside their comfort zones--or into them, as the case may be--and do something new for the sake of checking things off of Bucket Lists. Monotony is miserable, and everyone deserves to have an heirloom taxidermy piece to leave behind. Thanks to the assistance of Cedar and Koa, I now have two of them. I'll make sure to bequeath one to each of them.

One very important aside: The guinea pigs and rabbits we used were purchased from a reputable provider of feeder animals for zoos, animal rehabilitation centers, and other agencies across the country. They are bred to be feeder animals, and are treated with the highest standards of care during their lives and processing. Humanely euthanized using carbon dioxide, the animals are immediately frozen and sent out. You may notice the mounts we created use only the pelt of the top half of the animals. Because I love me some philanthropy, the parts you can't see (because my Grandpa reads my blog and I don't want to post a picture of a bloody, earless, footless rabbit here to shock him) are heading to Predators of the Heart, an organization serving wild animals in a variety of ways, and will become food for wolves and cougars. I am thrilled to see the animals go full circle to their destiny as feeders while also being memorialized as a tangible remembrance of one of the best times I've had in a long, long time.

Happy Birthday to Me! 34 isn't looking so bad so far...