My Little Pupa

It's hard to believe, but I am the mother of a teenager now. I guess it shouldn't be that hard to believe, because technically I could be a grandmother. But still, it only seemed like last week that he was a baby. I can still envision the startled look on his face after he was born, opened his eyes and looked around the bright world while still safely tethered to his placenta. But my boy turned 13 yesterday, May 19.

We celebrated in low-key fashion. His dad had sent him an M.C. Escher book, he got lots of money from family folk that he'll be able to spend a little of, but he'll have to save most of it. He picked going out to eat for dinner at Potbelly. He's going to have some other pupas over on Sunday and play Settlers of Catan and eat cake.
My pupa, in his natural habitat.

Luka and I gave him a chia pet ("new", found at the Salivation Army), a Swiss army knife that he has been instructed to keep away from school grounds, and a square, decorative rayon sarong/shawl-type item to replace another similar type accessory that was worn into oblivion. He had adopted it at one of my Naked Lady parties and I called it his blankie but he didn't like that, I was supposed to call it a cape. Whatever it is, I bought him another one because every well-equipped pupa needs a cocoon.

My little pupa exhibits peculiar behavior. He will eat preposterous amounts of food. He's recently started shooting withering looks my way, meant to convey how embarrassing my behavior is but I am immune because I know how cool I really am. He will sneer at the younger folk, but then put on his bathing suit and leap around in the sprinkler with them. With his shoes and socks on, which I don't understand but I choose my battles around here.

I am fortunate. I've heard of other pupas who scream "I HATE YOU!" to their alphas and go around slamming doors but he doesn't do any of that.

I also gave him a can of Spam, inspired by the Spam-like bricks on the Settlers of Catan resource cards. It reminded me of how I used to eat Spam at my Grandmere's house, but my kids had never had it. No great loss for them, I know, but I thought Evan would appreciate the World War II connection, as it was the food for American soldiers. It also seems appropriate and symbolic for a birthday gift, as opening a can of Spam is kind of like a birth when the can is opened and the form drops out, all covered in a gelatinous goo like vernix. We will ignore the eating it part of the metaphor.

I'm going to call my Grandmere later today and ask her how she prepared it. If I remember correctly, it seems like she chopped it up into a sandwich salad, with pickles and mayo and stuff. I've heard of frying it up, or doing something to it with ketchup. Feel free to post your family's favorite Spam recipe in the comments section.


Happy Birthday, Evan and to Malcolm X too!

Purge Fix

"It feels good," he says.

Oh my head!

I was slammed with an overwhelming feeling of overwhelmedness a couple days ago. I couldn't function... I looked at my disgusting mess of a house and couldn't bear to clean it again. I dreaded the daily arguing with my younger child. Arguing about turning off the television, arguing about getting up in the morning and moving fast enough to get to school on time. The endless dealing with bodily fluids. Two nights in a row he had meltdowns about his dad being gone, crying and asking me why he left and there's nothing I can say. One of those nights, I laid there with him while he was crying and told him about how my parents didn't raise me, that my mother didn't want kids and so my sister and I went and lived with Grandma Terry. I told him how after that, as kids we hardly saw or talked to my mom but we saw our dad on weekends. He never really heard that story before, and it distracted him from crying about his dad. He asked, why didn't my dad divorce my mom? Well, someone had to take care of her, she couldn't really take care of herself.

As usual, when he has a meltdown like that, it makes me feel completely, helplessly shredded because there's nothing I can do about it. Then I feel the anger of wanting to fucking throttle his dad, and it struck me the other night how incredibly unfair it is that some people just get to decide that they want to pass off their responsibilities to somebody else. My parents, then my kids' dad-parent. Leaving the responsible ones to be uber-super-responsible. And I wonder, how did I get myself in this situation? I thought I was smarter than that... but no I am not, I did this all to myself. I am stupid, stupid, stupid.

And now I'm completely responsible for these people that I brought into this world. I am responsible for their physical, emotional, mental, and intellectual well-being. I am not equipped for this and I cannot take the pressure. I can't do it, I want to start my life over, I want to run away but I can't, and I'm going to cry.

So the day after our talk, which was yesterday -- another day of non-functioning where I slept all day-- Luka told me on the way home from school that a lady at the school told him that if he gets upset about his dad, to tell his teacher and she'll let him come talk to her about it. I thought, great, our family has been red-flagged by the school social worker now. Although it was actually kind of a relief to think that somehow a professional was involved. So I questioned him. What did she ask you? What did you say about me? Hoping he didn't rat me out for something, like... I don't know, like using my cell phone at Wendy's compound to call our pre-teens on their cell phones to bring us beers in the yard.

Well I didn't get to hear the whole social worker story because he decided right there he had to pee, jumped out of the van the second I pulled in, and then proceeded to spray me with pee as he tried to go in the yard because he couldn't make it in the house.

This morning, I woke up and felt like I had a lava lamp operating in the top half of my face. I thought aha! sinuses! That's my problem, that's what's been fucking me up and making me non-functional! It makes sense. I decided it was time to try out a neti pot, so I bought one at the Ypsi Co-op.

I tried it this afternoon. It didn't take long to get the hang of it. The worst thing that happens is that if you don't have your face at the right angle, like if you're tipping your head too far back, then the salty water drips down the back of your throat. But if you tip forward a little, it's really weird. You can feel your sinuses filling, and then it drips out the other nostril. Cool! I was disappointed, though. I was hoping for really gross, green, nasty stuff to come out of my nose and make me feel really cleansed. It's the bulimic in me, looking for a purge fix. But it was all clear. I don't think I feel any better, but I can see how having a neti pot around to irrigate the sinuses every now and then can come in handy.

I tried to get Evan to do it, because he's been clogged up but he wouldn't. Luka did, though. He insisted on trying it and then he stood over the sink for a good three or four minutes and drained the entire pot. It reminded me a bit of when I gave him an enema not too long ago. That was some fun family fun as we bonded over some water and an orifice. He was waiting for me to get the enema ready, and when he saw that the enema bottle had an orange cap he said, "It's ORANGE! That means it's POISON!" And I said, "bwa hahaha!! That's right!! It's been nice knowing ya, but we've had enough of you now!" And we all had a good laugh as I emptied the bottle within. Family enema togetherness. Come to think of it, I'm glad he didn't share that with the social worker.

So I'm disappointed in the lack of neti pot grossness, but I was talking to Stephanie today and she told me about ear candling. I've heard of it, of course, but I've never tried it and she was telling me about some heavy duty grossness that she's seen with it. I think that may be the next thing on our family fun agenda, trying to get some grossness through ear candling. Woohoo! Anyone up for some ear candling with us?

The Girl with the Golden Patella

My little black velvet painting of a girlie had patella surgery a couple weeks ago on her back passenger leg. Holy crap it was expensive! Apparently her back driver side leg also has a luxating patella, but not as bad. The orthopedic surgeon at MSU Veterinary Hospital said that she may eventually need surgery on that knee as well, if it becomes clinical. Not since nursing school has "clinical" seemed like such an ominous word.

It was all worth it though for my favorite daughter. She was gone two nights and we missed her terribly. Evan kept muttering, "I miss Junie" and Luka bawled when he found out she was gone overnight. The cat just did not console. Lulu is pretty cute but she can be an asshole. She doesn't really give me the respect that I deserve as the alpha mama. One redeeming quality she does have is that she's entertaining to watch as she waddles after critters in the backyard. The wildlife is safe, though, because she's a poor excuse for a predator.

I just have decorative livestock.

Here Juniper is, cowering because the camera clearly is an instrument of terror. I made her pose next to the bloodroot in my garden, one of my first flowers to bloom in the spring. I hope it symbolizes a new spring in my girlie's step. Interestingly, about three feet northeast of her as the crow flies, my hellebores is blooming. I planted it several ago and this is the first year it's bloomed.

Her ears come back after I ask her if she wants a chewie.

Last night Brooke and I took the kids to Detroit Roller Derby. The Detroit team, the Motor City Disassembly had a bout with Killamazoo. It was great and the kids loved it! They were much more crash 'em up than when they play the other Detroit teams. I love how the trashy cheerleaders make it child-friendly by bringing the kids in to dance and play with hula hoops during intermission. They also passed out Miller Lite necklaces and action figures to the kids. Luka got a Lavagirl but he didn't want it and so he picked out a matchbox car instead. I decided to put Lavagirl in my garden, here she is riding a cricket. She fits in well with the rubber snakes that I got from The Rocket and coiled around rocks and branches in my yard. I'm liking the action figure fairy in my garden.

Thank goodness the flowers are finally blooming. May they bring you a spring in your step as well.

Your Mind for a Hairdryer

Happy Earth Day. Here are some John Trudell nuggets of wisdom for you, as a present. The first is a snippet from the documentary Trudell, the second a video of Look at Us from his recording Tribal Voice. I listened to this song over and over again on the drive to and from Lansing when my dog had surgery. Most of the lyrics are below. But not all, so you have to listen. Please?

This man freaks me out, in a good way.




We see your technological society devour you before your very eyes we hear your anguished cries exalting greed through progress while you seek material advances the sound of flowers dying carry messages through the wind trying to tell you about balance and your safety. But your minds are chained to your machines and the strings dangling from your puppeteers hands turning you, twisting you into forms and confusions beyond your control. Your mind for a job your mind for a t.v. your mind for a hair dryer your mind for consumption with your atom bombs your material bombs your drug bombs your racial bombs your class bombs your sexist bombs your ageist bombs. Devastating your natural shelters making you homeless on earth chasing you into illusions fooling you, making you pretend you can run away from the ravishing of your spirit. While the sound of flowers dying carry messages through the wind trying to tell you about balance and your safety.

Trying to isolate us in a dimension called loneliness leading us into the trap believe in their power but not in ourselves piling us with guilt always taking the blame greed chasing out the balance trying to isolate us in a dimension called loneliness economic deities seizing power through illusions created armies are justified class systems are democracy god listens to warmongers prayers tyranny is here divide and conquer v trying to isolate us in a dimension called loneliness greed a parent insecurity the happiness companion genocide conceived in sophistication tech no logic material civilization a rationalization replacing a way to live trying to isolate us in a dimension called loneliness.

Look at us, we are of Earth and Water. Look at them, it is the same. Look at us, we are suffering all these years. Look at them, they are connected. Look at us, we are in pain. Look at them, surprised at our anger. Look at us, we are struggling to survive. Look at them, expecting sorrow be benign. Look at us, we were the ones called pagan. Look at them, on their arrival. Look at us, we are called subversive Look at them, descending from name callers Look at us, we wept sadly in the long dark Look at them, hiding in technologic light. Look at us, we buried the generations. Look at them, inventing the body count. Look at us, we are older than America. Look at them, chasing a fountain of youth. Look at us, we are embracing Earth. Look at them, clutching today. Look at us, we are living in the generations. Look at them, existing in jobs and debts. Look at us, we have escaped many times. Look at them, they cannot remember. Look at us, we are healing. Look at them, their medicine is patented. Look at us, we are trying. Look at them, what are they doing. Look at us, we are children of Earth. Look at them, who are they?

Wink

This guy winked at me. This is actually kind of cute, but I don't even own a hoodie so I don't think it would work out:

"I would love to find a "woman-bud". Hunt out of a camper upnorth or tipin a few golfin or reelin in a bass. She has to love morning lovemaking. She would hafta mabey throw a cap on an grab a hoody an go. She cannot be non-effectionate. An hopefully have little wrinkles by the sides of her eyes or edges of beautiful lips. Love being in the presence of two girls at times. My daughters 11 an 14."

Shaping Up

I think I’m stinking with bitterness over this sweater I knitted. And reknitted. It’s the Jane crossover sweater, from Perl Grey, knit with Ottawa yarn from Fleece Artist. I love love love the yarn. I encountered numerous problems with the pattern, though, and now I may just have to transform it back into a ball. I thought this would be a good sweater to experiment with, since it’s not that fitted. But I guess that turned out to be the problem. I am liking the bangs, though.

I started to knit the larger size, thought for sure I would run out of yarn so I took the whole thing out and knit the smaller size and figured I’d just block the hell out of it to make it fit. Then I made the front panels too long and took those back and redid them. Now that it’s all attached, it doesn’t quite fit right. It has these big gaps at the armpits and it’s much too boobslingy. I feel like a boob marsupial when I wear it.

I successfully knit another hippie hat. This is the Ana Bandana pattern also from Perl Grey. Knit in Woolie Silk from Fleece Artist.

The hat helps me be one with nature. Here I am cuddling a chipmunk I found in my yard:

I finished the bandana hat in perfect time for buying 2008 Dunegrass Festival tickets. The place where we arrived last year and Evan scanned the horizon and said, “This place is overrun with 98% hippies.” He apparently was okay with it though, because he’s been asking to go back. I also made reservations for a cabin at Mammoth Caves for the end of June. Toss a camping trip or two in there, a whole lot of swimming at Rutherford Pool and Murray Lake and the summer is shaping up. Luka’s soon getting started with soccer, but Evan is resistant to organized sports. So I’m steering him towards some slacker sports. I signed him up for a summer geocaching camp. And I’m going to learn disc golf so I can take my ducklings out and play. Hey! There’s another bandana hat wearing opportunity.

I got a little preview of summer yesterday when I found myself repeatedly saying “BECAUSE I SAID SO!!” I have a plan, though, to deal with these children who constantly ask why why why to every little thing. They’re not really looking for reasons, either, they’re trying to antagonize me. So here’s my plan. One day soon, when I tell them to turn off the tv, for example, and they say WHY I’m going to sit them down and look up articles about the detrimental effects of excessive television viewing. We’ll read it all together and then I’ll require them to write little book reports about it that they can refer to the next time they want to know WHY. And I will find other topics for them to research for any other questions that they have for me. And then they will know why.

She Said He Said

She complimented the man from Georgia on a nicely done profile on a well-known online dating site. She said, you looked at me so I looked at you. You live too far away and you’re too conservative but your profile was well-written and entertaining when so many are predictable and kind of boring. Good job! Good luck!

He said:
“You are freshly divorced, you stink in bitterness, photos and profile. Give yourself the time. Do not judge people for their politics when you yourself describe yourself as being a fleeting leaf on the wind. You have no basis. No foundation, bitter with God, don't believe in anyone or anything. You need time. I will include you in my prayers despite yourself. It will take time for you to cycle out.”

She said, noting that in the very first line he stated that since his friends include felons that he’s clearly non-judgmental:
“Non-judgmental for sure!”

He said:
“The kettle calling the pot black? lol ;)

No, but really, an observation, if you have never been divorced before, or never really noticed, the first relationship after a divorce NEVER works. It just doesn't probably because the person never gives themself enough time to heal. Just an observation, not judgment.”

She said, even though she swore she was going to drop it:
“Well! At least you don't sound so sadistic this time.

And I never said that I'm non-judgmental on my profile... like you do. Everyone is judgmental in one way or another, and the entire basis of this site is to make judgments. Right?

The nature of romantic relationships is such that it may include a wide spectrum of possibilities... and what does it mean to have something "work out?" That you're together until your dying day, and if you're not that it's unsuccessful? That's a rigid view, in my opinion. I'm not necessarily looking for the love of my life and I'm sure other people feel the same. That's not a bad thing, it's recognizing that we may need/want different things at different points in our life and if things change it doesn't necessarily negate what we had.

These are rhetorical questions. You don't have to answer.”

He said:
“I will share, placing an emphasis on hope.
I believe that we are challenged, we are here to learn things that we cannot learn very easily in the spiritual realm.
Yes, we existed before this time, we are temporarily robbed of those memories due to the profound psychological impact during our stay here.
We are immortal, but we did have a finite beginning.
We volunteered to come here, actually a gift to be accepted or not.
Sort of a lotto ticket.
The goal is to channel our hearts and minds to be constructive, positive, creators of sorts, trying to physically fabricate our lives to good positive things.
The reason for this is because when we arrive back into our true home environment, after the death transition, our thoughts become manifest, here we actually have to physically make things happen.
So we take what we learn here back with us to create, to share and instruct others and do things in the positive.
Those that do not have a handle on that positive thought process are self-constricted to be within an environment that is the most comfortable to them.
So the saying “A self-made hell” may be a heaven to that one within the hell.
To others it would truly be hell…..lol
The hope is that, even then, everybody has the opportunity to improve and extract themselves out of a self-imposed hell.
So now, as we move through our trials and tribulations, we are being prepared for our next journey, like clay on the potter’s wheel.
Then that would place our relationships as possibly the most formidable tool with which to shape us.
At least for me, and hopefully those things will make me wise beyond my years.”

Okey dokey then. Why didn’t we let the South secede when we had the chance, I ask? I give this thing a few more weeks.