The NSSDMD: (Not So Single Double Mama Drama) Part One

I have been away, and I'm truly sorry to leave those hanging that follow this journalesque blog o'mine. But as with a journal, sometimes life supersedes the written word for a time, only to fuel it so completely later. Please read on for a full explanation and catching up of what's been going down. I shan't be away again for so very long.

When I check out of lifes' motel, there will be so many shinning, glittery memories of my time here that I'll gratefully look back upon. My favorite movies and books. Enjoying all the boisterous family holidays as a kid, feeling safe, happy and loved. Sewing wild oats with wild abandon, in places I'd always dreamed of being and at long last, made it to. Looking in the mirror and feeling delighted at what I see staring back. Hours spent with the people that celebrate who I am the most, doing things unique to only us. And most glittery to date, starting a family of my own. My life has morphed and grown to allow for their respective journeys to take shape, and it's as rewarding as it is grueling at times, not that it's a news flash to say so. The past few months I've been away we've multiplied from three to four, moved to a new city, and started a new chapter.

My enigmatic little genius, my sassy spitfire with a heart of gold named Logan, who so completely changed my scope of life seven years ago (and the soul reason for the SMD), started out a painful secret of mine. I've touched on this subject a few times, but never with this degree of explanation. I didn't feel I could do it all justice, or I just wanted the forthcoming novel to do big numbers, I 'spose. But it's a necessary, timely time to let you all in on it.

No one knew concretely (a few family members suspected) of Logan until she was already here, after I gave birth to her myself, all by myself. I kept it hidden from everyone I knew. Yeah, I know, misguided teenagers in preachy after school specials do that sort of thing, not competent 23 year old aspiring actors. Secret, solo and in the passenger seat of a car isn't how women envision their first child bearing experience. Especially when they didn't want one to begin with, didn't fathom it ever happening. My distant thinking at the time was that motherhood would trample everything I'd carved out for my life up to that point. I was an island of my own independent functioning, a career oriented, self-sufficient party girl that no one really understood, but who many thought they knew well enough. Not having anyone to care about or for, besides me, myself, and I. My plan was to leave her at a fire station for someone who really wanted a kid, could truly take care of her. Then she came out and I let myself fall in love, and couldn't drop her anywhere but into my own life. Needless to say the ripples of how Logan was born touched everyone around us. Anyone regaled with the tale was/is shocked or humbled or confused (or all three) as to why I could/would do anything so "dangerous" or "difficult", or truly astonished that I had the wherewithal to see it through with no trauma or death.

Truth be told, I was more freaked out by the thought of others interfering than by any other facet of what was happening. No stranger was going to shout "BREATHE!" at me, if you catch my breeze. I know how to do that, thanks, and I would rather do it at my own behest. Most women would have gotten prenatal care, dealt with the "facts", let everyone know what was happening way before. Celebrated it with cutesy decorations, even. I'm not most women though, don't do things the "normal" way,  and these two experiences only cemented that about me.

When it was just Logan and I for that first five years, it felt like who I presumed I was and who I truly wanted to be finally blended and multiplied my person hood, even as it kicked my ass into shape. To hell with all the others. I had found a being that loved me for me, unconditionally, one who I would see concrete proof of daily time and energy and emotion spent. I was content and determined to shift and make my goals fit around this little lump of love. So I did, and it was good.

Cut to October of almost two years ago, when we met Darrick. He was a friend of a friend, and sparks didn't exactly fly when we first met. He seemed like good bro material, but I wasn't looking for any sort of romance. So, naturally, the ivory white glove of relationship slapped my cheek soundly. It was a quick, challenging, comfortable ride to coupledom from there. We went from acquaintances, to friends, to roommates with benefits, to being with each other everyday. We had started a life together. All within a couple weeks.

We were/are friends first, and that always leads to something lasting, even when it's resisted most for various external reasons. He's a lone wolf like myself, so we had some adjustments within ourselves to contend with (but like attracts like, so here we are). Logz was none too pleased to have our dynamic changed so soundly either, needless to say. I was all she'd ever known and now there was someone else taking my time and attention. But they are a lot alike ironically, and after seeing him as a friend first and then (stubbornly, reluctantly), a father figure, she finally accepted that we were now three. It was a breakthrough, it was.

Then around September of last year, I crash landed back in that weird, distant place I had only known once before. That lonely, protective, place. I watched from a distance as all the happy, nagging thoughts of giving Logan a sibling, all the anxieties of having another lump of love added to the mix too soon, as the anxieties of financial constraints had a strangle hold on us,  and most of all, dealing with what everyone around me would have to say about it all...finally, I watched as it all culminated on Mothers' Day of this year, when Maybel Dean Alexander was born. She was 8lbs 1oz of round, roley, Buddha baby from the moment she debuted. Quiet and observant and lovely. This time I was in the bathroom, not my car, so upgrade there at least. Just like her sister before, she debuted to a couple suspecting family members, but mostly clueless onslaughts of those who know us. They all were shocked and delighted, confused but content that we were both healthy and happy. Logan loves her baby sis, despite the initial resentful fury that comes with any sibling dynamic, and the near out of the blue big sister-hood.
  

I don't suppose I can explain my position to any satisfying degree, but I'm a writer so I'll take a stab at it. Some could argue that I betrayed many people out of the "pregnancy experience" they would have had through me, that I cheated Maybel out of prenatal care in every respect, that I cheated myself out of that...and in that way I feel a millimeter of remorse. But that's just it; if it weren't for anyone else involved, I would have done it just the way I did. She came out as healthy as a little ox (or bull, she is a Taurus..and her name is Maybel) so at the end of the day, no harm no foul. Darrick took the biggest hit being a proud papa that couldn't really be, but that's a big reason why we work. He trusted me to do what I had to, and he's just thankful to have such a wonderful baby girl. 

Pregnancy does funny things to women, just as war does funny things to men. Hormones and emotions thereof, the prospect of  shoving your personal autonomy farther away (just as you got it back to some degree if you have more than one), considering all the ramifications of every choice you will or won't make on your baby and everyone else involved...it can be one of the loneliest, scariest times in a womans' life. Even if throngs of people support them through it, it's still personal and private and life altering.

For some reason, my response to all that is to go into "protection mode" as a nurse in the hospital called it (we went both times after they were born, to get checked out). Half of me denies it's happening, the other half will be damned to let anyone mess with me or the alien object that grows steadily that I must protect. A part of me just doesn't want anyone to see me go through all the gory details if I can spare them. As crazy as it sounds. I didn't connect to either girls until I looked into their eyes for the first time, heard their cry, kissed their little chubby cheeks. I knew if I'd gone the traditional route things would have been worse for me, and in effect, them.

This I will say, however, for what it's worth and as for how it may apply to mine or  any particular life situation of yours:

1) Babies are resilient, miraculous creatures. They follow mamas' lead, so if you're OK with your choices, they will be too.

2) Panic never helps any situation, stay calm and stay in the moment and stay strong. It will work itself out, I'm living proof of that.

3) If you trust yourself enough to know what's best for yourself, then committing to it all the way-even when that means choosing something that's wrong to someone else-won't bring about catastrophe, it will bring change for the better. With all due respect to the peanut gallery, you have to ignore them. Either they'll understand or they'll exit your life, and you'll be happy in that life. It's the only one you have, afterall.

So Maybel is here now, no matter what it took, with all her magic and beauty and wrecking ball effect life as we knew it, only to re-build it stronger. She fits so well, and we love her completely. Amidst all the Maybel drama, we were getting ducks in rows to move to San Diego, the other big change in our lives lately....standby for Part Two.
     


      

The SMD: Double Dutch

The most indicative sign of the times we live in, are those noticed when you spend time with a group of modern youngsters. This isn't a news flash or an unexplored theme here at the SMD, but it continues to boggle my mind all the time, sending me scrambling for a solution to it's residual effects. Effects that both Logan and I, daily, rebel against by nature.
We have always delighted in her respective stages, enjoying that age as much as possible without letting loose all her "big girl" strides (it's harder than it sounds at times, but completely worth it) and until she started school, it wasn't a blip on the radar too often. The blips were fewer and farther between, at least.
She's spent the majority of her time around older people as opposed to other children, but an only child has that cross to bear, and it's a good thing more often than not. She's always held accountable for things she knows better of, in the best and worst. This school year has been a bitter pill socially though, and it has everything to do with her defense mechanisms and the influences she's feeling torn by.

How tragic it is to witness the attitude, sophistication and morals she's immersed in resemble that of Sweet Valley High rather than Sesame Street. She has to jarringly bounce between the two worlds: the safety zone of accepting home life and the ongoing teen-like drama of the 1st grade (there's something really wrong with that last part), just to survive. So very foreign, this concept, at such a young age.

Yesterday she was recognized at an awards ceremony, by her teacher and principal for a whopping reading level escalation this trimester, and for perfect attendance. She is now a level above where they hope the students in her grade to be at the end of the year, with a few months to spare. She jumped ten levels, the little dickens. I'm beyond proud of her for accomplishing that at all, let alone under these emotional circumstances, and I told her so. They need to hear that stuff as often as possible, and so many don't. This feat was accomplished by the harnessing her frustratingly/ brilliantly selective focus and fortitude (and my dogged insistence she apply herself, but that's my job and the whole point of me being at home with her) despite any fatigue she comes home drenched in.
The same skill set that she possesses to achieve such accolades is the very one that causes her to stumble in the social world, and I noticed it yesterday. There she stood, getting an impressive award, and after all was said and done and we came up to her to congratulate, a group of her friends stood by with thinly veiled contempt for her. Or maybe it was AT her. It was hard to witness proof that originals aren't really encouraged completely, when there are so many types of necessary conformity at this age. It's a hard concept to grasp at any point in life, hard to be different when sameness is affluent and easier.

It's not the kids' fault, either. Alot of her peers/older kids she's exposed to on the bus, haven't had the privilege of a parent/care giver around to cultivate that in them, good bad or indifferent. No one's fault, but no ones' immediate duty either, when providing food and clothing and a roof over their heads trumps all other finer points. No judgement, as we all do what we have to do (and these are tyring times that keep getting trying-er), but there's still collateral damage to deal with, everyday for everyone involved. Our family deals with the converse, and neither is a pic-nic, I know that. Parenting is just so impossible sometimes, we all deserve medals of honor just for any positive result or semblance of balance we can achieve. I mean that.

On this hyper speed maturity crash course, all of them are trying their best to assert/be themselves, while blending in effectively. Society is a sticky wicket, it really is. Stand out and strive for success they're told, but get nailed for doing so by those that you most want to be stoked for you, your friends/peers. In my experiences growing up, I was confronted with these issues much farther down the pike (like, Jr. high farther), and I'm flat-out pissed that Logan has to go through this while she's just getting the hang of this school thing. But such is their quickened journey. She/they are just as screwed as we are as parents-damned if they do, damned if they don't, and damned if they can fix it consistently, half the time for one reason or another. That's important to remember, as we watch them mutate from what we know to what they choose to be. Even if we don't relate to it as much as we once did, we're growing and learning as they are.

This school year is almost over, and I'm as relieved as Logan is. Perhaps a smidgen more. Hopefully this next go-round will be more grounded, more even, more fun for her. I know my little one can do whatever she wants in her life, school or otherwise, like everyone can, and it's pointless to waste your gifts just to blend in. That much she's learned. I've passed on the best tools I myself employ, and tried my hardest to inspire kindness to herself and others, even when it's the hardest road to take. That's all we can do, really. If only I could grab her hand and transport her to the future for a few moments, where she'll see that all her attributes that caused her grief growing up, allow her to succeed in her adult life...that would be helpful quantum leap. Until such is possible, the jumps we sustain will be to keep standing. And that's good enough, when we're still learning the ropes.

Mustard Seeds

The little things in life end up being what the big picture looks like, even as they're simultaneously shuffled under the rug to suit any given situation. We've learned as consumers to attack the fine print with an almost OCD precision for fear of being duped/fleeced or cheated. But when it's time to provide that precision to others in the workplace, it often mutates into a defensive justification of why we can't be bothered, why it doesn't matter or isn't worth it. We're adrift in this shit ton of minutia, whether in positive or negative light. God is in the details, they say.

This past weekend while watching the Super Bowl Half-time Show, I realized Madonna is a perfect example of the detail double standard. I could write an entire entry (or two) about why she irks me but I won't, suffice to say that she is a Monet in my eyes. From far away, she's a pop culture mainstay that makes that money, flaunts that body and shocks that audience with no shame in her game for quite a few decades now. Props on that. Any article read, interview witnessed or publicity stunt endured however, and she comes across not as the "artist" she claims, but rather a competitive fame whore with no real gratitude to her fans, no real self-aware dignity of what she has already accomplished. There's no need to be chasing down juvenille adoration so aggressively, still, when we know it's just to remain in the limelight. If I didn't know the latter, I could accept the former. But alas...she might as well have been a crew member jostling a mop in drag, she was so out of place on that extravagant stage. Her Madge-esty was not so majestic, so I'm pretty sure that backfired to some extent. Her chosen details did her wrong.

Topical examples aside, if you're inspired to do something from the heart and with good intentions-uplift your fellow man, spread love not hate, that kind of thing-delightful details are part of the package. Taking pride in every last stitch is becoming a lost art form, but it doesn't have to. We could take a cue from the former generations on this one, as much as it pains us to admit that tid-bit. A job well done doesn't have to be shoved upon us from the outside in. Looking around and appreciating the small stuff that our job affords us-money to do it, contrast to enjoy it-can be all we need to step it up a notch and further a cycle of positive actions, not negative defenses. Our details can do us right.

The difference between like and love, first or second, yay or nay in relation to important things, boils down to the tiniest fragment and it's all up to your attention to maintain the good. If the little things noticed don't agree with the grand scheme you're working toward, they can become what's holding you back instead of helping push you forward.

Holding the door for someone, picking up litter as you happen by it, or smiling at someone that looks like they need it, are the only ways I how to keep the inspired details churned out, and coming back in. All for the sake of dwelling in a happy place and helping others join in. So make the most of those mole hills, the mountains await.