The Matriarch Mess

Your parents are the most important relationship you have, I'd say. From the ground up, the way you relate to them and vice versa directs every other avenue you take in your life. Even the worst of the worst examples of the parental bond have a way of contrasting life so that either, you never pass on any endured unsavory-ness, or you learn enough by it to overcome and be better than they had been.
At times, familiarity breeds contempt, however. It seems that if you're a daughter, no one gets under your skin like your mom, and same for father and son. A same sex parent can be a handful, and I know for a fact they feel the same about us. I have two daughters of my own.

My mother came to stay with me and the fledgling fam over the holidays, a step in the process of moving here permanently. It both chagrins and delights me, the idea was hatched out of a mutual agreement on us being under the same roof for a myriad of reasons. It sounded great in theory, as most theories do. If I didn't sport the Mama Card already, the transition and adjustments might not have been so bumpy as they've frequently been. But I do and they have, all the while, life churning on around us, being effected by our fall out. Shades of how it was in my childhood, cascading back.

I love my mom. I respect her and I appreciate who she is, look up to her in many ways. In the most flattering, emulating the groundwork she laid with me, for my own kiddos. I always did, even when our relationship was nothing to be proud of. So why is it that I mentally flip her off so often, cringe at her insistent instruction? Has my own daughter started doing the same to me, at the tender age of seven? How far off is my eight month old daughter on that? Crap on a cracker, I say. Doesn't seem right or fair. Just flat out contradictory to the very nurturing nature that women posses.

You despise most in others that which you despise in yourself, and that saying makes the most sense when I reflect on shouting matches we have. My mom is an intelligent, stubborn, hard working, persevering lady. She expects the best of people, or at very least, ownership of the worst. I am not far off in those respects, she instilled all of her four children with those traits, painstakingly so at times. They have served us well for the most part, so it's not for naught. I can't speak for my sibs, but in my case, she bristles at me most for being the very way she is to me, back at her. Give it a second, it make sense.
It's my choice to take offense to the manner in which she relates to me, I've been privy to her personality long enough to let it roll of my shoulders, or remember that she means all of it with the best intent. To humor her, as she's earned it.

I understand where she's coming from, and she me. We both agree on most subjects enough to make a go of it, but the select issues we do NOT agree on kind of rip our bond a new one. She's the grandma of my kids, and her job is to spoil them and send them back to me to deal with the less appealing aspects of mothering. That's the perks of having grand kids, I thought. Her stance on that is different, however. She's a teacher and therefor lives to instruct no matter what. It just comes out of her, I notice, even when it violates the treaty du jour. I've asked for boundaries to be honored, and the same of hers in turn. But every few days, we have a go-round that results in sullen, iceberg existences from her or I, or both. We have to fix that, I'm tired of the place where I rest my head also being the place I bang it on the wall repeatedly. In order to do so, I have to ask questions and embrace the answers, no matter what they are.

In all honesty, I do wish that she was still in charge at times. That I was just a cog in the machine, not the systems operator. That I could magically regain my freedom. Party, sleep in and not have to give a rats' ass about anything. Maybe her being in close proximity, it's a constant subconscious reminder of that. With my mom now in my California life, the lines of difference between what I had then and what I have now, are all the more visible. The same for her then. Perhaps seeing me with my little ones, starting out in a new chapter of life at the age I'm at, reminds her that shes' in the latter chapters, even if this endeavor is a new exciting phase itself. And that's a lonely place to be. So it's more familiar/easier to charge ahead than trot alongside. Or maybe we're just both stubborn, used to being in the drivers seat and secretly like a good high stakes debate (as usual, I bet both). What silly creatures us women are, though equally complex and amazing.

To meet in the middle, we have to keep trying to understand each others perspective and be patient. God help us all, the patience. I need to organize my own thoughts and emotions and remember who I am and what's happening in this moment. Who I am, in this moment. Even my lovely mom, who I cherish in her own respect, shan't effect that if I'm for real. I think that's how moms still teach us, into our adult years. I hope to remember all of this in the future, if Logan/Maybel and I are ever in a similar predicament.

Unless there's no reason to, we'll keep trying to allow it to work. Family is the best of reasons to do so, even as they make you want to poke your eyes out with blunt spoons. Just have to roll up our sleeves and clean up whatever spills out.     



  

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.

Deciduous

I'm on the two month cusp of my third decade here on earth. On paper and in practicality, it's just another year, but because it's the end of an era, and the start of "true adulthood" as they say, I can't help but muse on my station. Contrary to most, I say assuredly as ever before: bring it on. I've always had an inkling that this specific time frame will yield amazing, positive fruition for this old soul. No more uncertainty and fluctuation that the teens and twenties challenged with, no more stress about superficial issues that once preoccupied and distracted me. Nothing but proof of progress, greater confidence and manifestation of all the hard work and perseverance that kept me going through all those years of wonder and upset (the only thing, at times), one way or another.

Why now as opposed to any point in the past, though? As I've been doggedly rushing towards this milestone, some of the miraculous journey was lost in the shuffle, I see that now. Is the very concept of "age" a help or a hinder, then? If we were never told of our age or that time passes in incremental notches towards a mysterious end point, would we have the same life experience, or would we ourselves even "age" the same? I don't think we would, but we as humans might need to play the game.

The first birthday is a big one, the start of hopefully many to come. Then there's the acquiring of walking, talking, reading and writing skills. Losing of baby teeth. The loss of innocense and blissful ignorance to harsh and necessary realities. All signs that we are growing up on schedule, as that's the goal. The sixteenth birthday is the next big one, then the eighteenth, then the twenty-first. Every one after that is a running joke about how close you are to being over the hill or on the other side of the hill, or one foot in the grave, basically. It's a blur, a blast and a torture in so many ways. All the while, we are chided to "act our age" or "grow up" if we aren't exhibiting ideal adjustment to all this change, all this rapid development. You wouldn't drag an infant along the ground, angry that they weren't striding along with you, but at a year, time to buck up and make it happen. Self/society imposed deadlines and all. We can't wait to be adults frequently as children, time ebbing along, but as adults we often rebel against the the shackles of responsibility when we get there at long last. We are never happy with what we have in the precious present, but so sad when we notice it has disappeared, further down the pike.

We live to move forward, pursuing a new plateau, languishing if we fail to. We don't actually know we're getting older, other than we tell ourselves we are, and compare our aging with others that are or have along side us. Without our calendar year strumming on, we have no evidence that indicates our maturation to date. We have memories, scars of every type and anecdotes, but nothing tangible.

It's a no wonder we all feel so cut-throat compelled to achieve and retrieve what we want in life. Youth and material obsession, the ever accelerating yearly traditions (Christmas is now Halloween, Thanksgiving and ACTUAL Christmas, so we are all but done with the year around October or sooner), and the subtle, subliminal reminders that we're getting older and are going to die someday...it's all tremendously pressuring.

Quantum physicists theorize that time is actually circular, not linear. That all historical and future events are happening simultaneously with our notion of here and now. As mind blowing as that thought is, I would be delighted to know it's so. To have the finish line stretched into infinity, or have it revealed as the starting line instead. To enjoy "time" in feeling and quality for it's own sake, as it's all happening in it's own way and scope, and will be regardless of your perception of it/role in it. If we had that certainty, we could stop for a moment, we could enjoy that moment. We might not ever attain what we want when we want it, but we might remember more of the details when it mattered most.

Like majestic, oxygenating trees, we garner annual rings of growth, whether we're conscious of it or not. From the ground up, it takes earned wisdom to know our value truly, to fully utilize the stature and strength we inherently posses but often forget we have to our detriment. In that respect, age is an important awareness. The most important. Unlike trees though, our rings are phantom (crows feet, laugh lines and gray hairs might count I 'spose), unless we use them to our full advantage and remember to revel in the space between each new one. Relax into the cycle and trust it will take you where you need to be, not the other way around. To absorb the landscape around you not constantly vie for richer soil, be you redwood or sapling or in between. I've finally learned that one, so on to the next branch. At a leisurely, seasonal pace, that is.

The SMD: De-Cycling

I've felt like a terrible mom for the past few weeks. Even if it's not my fault directly, I am in charge of helping my kid navigate the treacherous battlefield of school, through all the social, educational and pragmatic follies it provides. Logan has come home in a bad attitude funk for a few weeks now (no matter how I futilely try to ease the strain on my end), and it hurts my heart to see her in such a state. We've had many conversations on bullying, talked over negative choices versus positive conflict resolution, and she surely knows her place in all of it and how to avoid trouble. But being prepared in theory doesn't mean in practice it will work out. Us adults struggle with peaceably asserting ourselves, and these are six and seven year olds, for crying out loud. My daughter is feeling alone and bullied, and I want to snap my fingers and fix it. But I can't.

I remember my own versions of playground politics being as hectic and oppressive. Back then the "popular" kids would exclude anyone else from foursquare or tether ball, only sharing among themselves with hurtful scoffs at your request to join in. The odd derogatory remark or slur on my hygiene or my family, the occasional physical altercation. The upper classmen throwing their weight around and ignoring the lower levels or being mean for no other reason, than that they could. It cuts deeply, even as it was played off to the contrary, or in the worst case, turning into one of them myself to fight fire with fire. Which never gets anyone anywhere. The major difference is that all this was happening in fourth or fifth grade, not first grade. The times they are a changin', and how unrecognizable they've become.

Academically speaking, the year is going well. She's easily getting the hang of addition, writing her letters and sentences with increased ease, and reading better all the time. Many accolades on returned homework packets. I'm so very proud of her progress, and all the more jarred at the social backslide. Parent/teacher conference was today, and it was a welcome insight into her classroom time. She's ahead of the curve in many areas, so maybe that's the rub.

The biggest change for Logan has been that I'm not the Room Mom this year, not there (yet) on a weekly basis to back her up as I had been before. It's just a different ball game this time around. Without the weekly presence in her school experience, I guess she feels alone and adrift to battle it out on her own. Cutting apron strings is good, just not when the child feels abandoned by it. Schematics and scheduling shouldn't be a roadblock when a parent wants to be instrumental to the teacher and therefor the class, but these are difficult days. We're all doing our best, but it really sucks when signs point to it not being good enough.

After a particularly aggressive interaction with some older kids at the pool the other day, I asked Logan to please level with me. She tried to throw out an obnoxious, flippant response and avoid talking about it, but I just patiently waited. She finally collapsed into my lap, and let the flood gates open. She's been having trouble on the playground with a girl in her class, her molar teeth are coming in and making it difficult for her to chew food, she misses her Kinder-friends that were such a close knit group, now split among four different classes/recess cliques.

Of all the issues, the one in particular stood out. I smoothed her hair from her bleary eyes, and assured her that it's going to be ok. We talked about bullying yet again, and I reminded her of the tactic we'd seen a while back on one of her favorite Nick Jr. shows, Little Bill. Instead of engaging with a bully, whatever their verbal affront, you simply say, "So?" and carry on with your business. She had forgotten that simple yet effective technique, and was glad to be reminded of it, I saw it on her face. Sometimes all it takes is a gentle reiteration to help them feel equipped against the negative, but who knows if it will come out when she needs it. Those are the times a mom wants for the ability to magically appear and urge the kids into a kind resolution. If only the technology were at hand.

Bad examples at home, jealousy, insecurity and competition are the main reasons kids act out against one another, I've noticed with my own. When watching each other act a fool, it's easier to join the crazy train than to walk away and save yourself the potential disciplinary consequences, as you have to show no fear or vulnerability to be exploited later. In that sense, they all just want to fit in, to relate and to be secure even if it's by detrimental means. I think that's why Logan has gotten into this cycle, as heart wrenching as it is to realize. It's such an unfair, uphill battle. Especially for those that get taught ways to be a good citizen get pitted against those that don't. Nary the twain shall meet, without alot of bumps along the way.

Logan is a super smart go-getter (or a flat out bossy boots when she's allowed to get carried away), and has a penchant for entertaining others. She loves to help out, she wants everyone to get along and follow her down the path of fearless adventure. She's goofy, energetic and creative. All these traits will take her far in life, but the rite of passage that is the immediate need for acceptance, blocks her from seeing that. I've taken it upon myself to remove that big gnarly block, every chance I get.

At the close of our state of the union talk, I told her that empathy and her own attitude are the only things to get her past would-be bullies. After explaining that by putting yourself in the other kids' shoes and trying to be kind to their rough day/bad mood, she seemed to click a bit better with the advice after. "Don't worry about the stuff that happens between the learning so much," I said. "Lead by example and remember who you are and what our family does in those situations. Don't just turn into them to cut corners." She smiled at me, nodded her head and agreed. "Yeah, cuz it just goes 'round and 'round and 'round!" She replied.

I'll be doing everything I can to bridge this temporary gap in Logan-ness. Keeping things copacetic and structured at home, giving her praise for her good merit, keeping her in check when she tries to shirk her big girl responsibilities under the guise of being too tired/stressed to deal. We'll see if maybe she can implement those tactics more, and be happy to be her more often. I truly hope she can, as that's the only way any negative scenario is stopped. By taking the sting from the words/actions and affording a chance to fix it. Otherwise, we're all in the loop with no hope of getting out.

A Mark, A Yen, A Buck Or A Pound

We hunt it down, hoard it from others, dream it were endless, and when it isn't, make it stretch. We flaunt it, we use it, we abuse it, we pray for it. We save it, shift it, invest it, spend it. We debate over it, we hate it, we love it, we lose it, we know it's not the key to life, but it sure makes the journey to find said key, a smoother ride. We don't need it as we need the intangible air we breathe (not yet, but days are numbered)...but we DO need it for the food we eat, the roof over our heads and the learnin' in our brains, so that we might earn more than those who have no learnin'. Survival of the fittest and all that. It separates us, elevates us, chucks us into fits of anxiety, depression and elated relief at any given moment. Our culture, attention, stress levels, daily routines, economy and our very lives, all center around paper. Not metal, nor magic nor spirituality. Not love, not happiness. Paper.

There are two very polarized, heated, arguments about this illustrious parchment. Both based in stereo-typical-albeit true at times-nonsense. Those that have a sizable amount wish to keep it for themselves and let it trickle down as they see fit, or something to that effect. They demand the freedom to choose how to share it, or to share it at all. They made it, they speak for it. If they want 15 houses and 35 sports cars, that's their prerogative.

Those who have minimal amounts, wish to make more but they need start-up capital to do so, just to put food on the table while they fight/compete for their opportunity to make more. And those opportunities have dwindled desperately low. The less fortunate strain the lives of those who don't know strain otherwise.

The have and have-not arguments both have valid points, but it all just boils down to your fortune blueprint and how wisely you build around it. You had no control over this as you were born, but are held accountable (pun intended) for it constantly throughout life, one way or another. We all strive to attain the American Dream, but unless we have money, connections brought about by money, or fertile means to make/save, we're at the seemingly unsympathetic whims of those that do. The age old Land O'Plenty conundrum.

For the record, I believe that a decent human will work honestly and dutifully to better their finances given an unbiased chance. I also believe that those with money would share if it meant truly helping someone and not just pacifying laziness. The skills it takes to make a mountain of cash from a start up business is a close skill set to that of someone who has to make sub par wages take care of a six person family. Devotion to a cause, if you will.

It's borderline terrorism to admit to a stranger that you have no 9-5 job (or, heaven forbid, that you're winging it with no health insurance). Heads piteously tilt at your tragic lack of security/usefulness and a silent prayer is uttered for your wretched mortal soul. Or so it feels. Either that, or assumptions are made at outward appearance that you're a trust funder with no need for the rat race. Then you're regarded with an equal mixture of hatred and envy. You're not a hinder, but you're part of the hindersome wealthy that ignore those in need. A glint of you'll never know what I go through, you'll never care in their collective eyes.

You're a blight on society no matter where you fall. Not only does that hurt and offend, it works against anyone getting to a better plateau in spirit or monetary gain. Realizing in a short second or two that those around you will forever categorize you on such insignificant yet pragmatically vital detail is sour and bitter and sickening.

We're all people, regardless of jumbled/heralded fiscal follies. We all have hearts and feelings and passions and ideas. We aren't numbers or faceless crowds to be herded to and fro by the pluses or minuses on our bank statements. That argument doesn't hold up to creditors though, most wouldn't give a squirt of piss for your specific circumstances. Just be responsible for your debts and stop whining, would you? Even as we try, we're still shuffled into the masses of lazy good for nothings that don't have the crucial pioneering spirit, and will never be handed the tools to adapt one.

I've had both self accumulated chunks to live comfortably with, and also the crippling lack there-of. I can see both sides, even as I am in the ebb tide currently (and for years now). Waking up to no food in the fridge, no gas in the tank, and numerous bills staring back delinquent, is no way to wake up. All the merciless angst, all the pressure to pull your own weight. It's the opposite of thriving, it's suffocating and nerve racking.

When things were financially easier, life wasn't deeper or more fulfilling simply because I could go shopping...but it was a stronger sense of self that I provided for myself, and those I love with my own two hands. The world was a not so noisy, rarely as ravenous and far more forgiving. It's that contrast that wrangles me to the ground.

I'm an able bodied young person-relatively speaking-and for that reason, I'm not on unemployment, food stamps or Medicare/Medicaid, even on the days I could use it. And there's many of those days. There is nothing wrong with needing or asking for help, but many see it as weakness or thievery, so much that the stigma and general tone of it all is intense enough to thwart me. I would if I had to, but it hasn't come to that yet. There are those that abuse the system in every economic bracket, and it's a shame to see such needless negativity, it breeds more of the same. There is always a comeuppance for those individuals that have nothing to do with my opinion of them, so I leave it be and focus on myself and my family. I have to.

I haven't been gainfully employed for about six years. My daughter is my current and most important job, any money made outside the home would mostly be spent on child care so I could leave the home and earn it. And there's the rub. I don't delight in this.
It's been excruciating at times, not to know where the next meal will come from, and not feeling in control, as for many years prior I was.

In this time however, I did earn a black belt in the art of making 20 dollars last a week or two, a degree in making miracles happen by wishing and willing the ends to meet, and a PHD in staying as positive as possible. I fight back mentally with the thought that someday, I'll be stable and regain my personhood to myself, and in effect, society. Some day, this will all be a funny anecdote. That all this struggle is for good reason, if the pay off, literally and figuratively, is what I'm striving for it to be. The lessons learned are invaluable, even if I didn't pay a small fortune in exchange. Being the best person I can despite the occasional urge to go on a shrieking, wild-eyed, machete wielding rampage, out of frustration, exhaustion and degrading misconception, is my focus. Out of this blinding ire that what I desperately try to improve, with futile job hunts and internal mantra, hasn't panned out yet. My sense of security isn't what it used to be, but my life is by no means inconsequential because I'm broke. Quite the converse, actually. I try frequently to better myself and my situation, but I refuse to let money be the bottom line, as scoff inducing as that statement might be to some. It comes and goes.

At the risk of provoking more tail-chasing debate, I'll say this: We're all in this together. If I woke up tomorrow with millions, this feeling wouldn't magically erase with that paper. It has been etched into my soul in both the bad and good. Maybe that's the point. Maybe others need some etching of their own before they understand their respective opposite. Understanding leads to betterment of any situation, but that's a tall order. I know it's easy to say ideally what we might learn in practice to be otherwise, as I know how hard it is to work your ass off only to see the fruits absconded with. It always works out because I believe it will somehow, but there are those that lost their resolve long ago, or never had it. That doesn't make them less deserving of a person.

The most mutually revered beings in this divided climate are those who blend in regardless of background, regardless of education, regardless of brands on their back. They relate human to human and forget to keep count, give and take equally. They shape our lives with the uplifting message to exalt what's truly important. Quality of life by way of one another.

Ultimately, it'll be a compliment to share wealth I've secured for myself. It means that all the discipline it took to get me there paid off. I've arrived, I've battled and won. All the blood, sweat and tears it took, weren't in vain. I believed and I achieved. It means I'll be breathing easier, stepping lighter. I look forward to that day, but I'm intent on enjoying my humble journey no matter. I will look at it with that trademark leadership slant that Americans are conditioned to show from day one, and try to help. From the bottom of my soul, that's the truth. For no other reason than to be kind to those that need it. But for the grace of God/your own personal Deity, go us all to the other side of the spectrum.

"Money makes the world go around" was cleverly and satirically sung in Cabaret, and at top volume and in various inflections by us all, since we created this game. That may be so, but it takes all walks of life to push us past preconceived notions, drop our egos and choose to look toward the prosperous horizon, marching on together. Pick each other up when we stumble, appreciate that we're in a position to do so. Try to do better, believe in the worth of us outside our net worth. I would gladly pay those taxes.