Seeking Calm with Bottles of Gooey Glitter

I'm still on my quest for balance.  First it was the Zen Garden.  Now, it's the calm-me-jar. 

I took some regular ol' bottles, some glitter glue, and some glitter.

And I made fantastic jars of joy!

Some people call them mind-jars.  Some call them calm-me-jars.  I call them awesome.

They are all over Pinterest, of course.  The first ones I saw came from Little Hearts/Gentle Parenting Resources.  I loved the size of those for my little one's little hands.  Then I saw these 'relax bottles' from My Crazy Blessed Life.  I used those two references to make my bottles-o-sparkle.  If you need some more examples, there's this mind jar from Here We Are Together.  And yet another example from Still Life With Circles.

So what do you do with calm-me-jars?

Well..... you hold them.

.... and look at them.

And you magically calm down.

Which makes all the mothers happy, yes?

I don't know quite how it works, but I do know that it works on me too.  I've been mesmorized by Big Green since I made her. 

She sparkles in such a hypnotic way.

The Blue one I used silver glitter glue with blue glitter. 

It actually looks like stars twinkling in a midnight sky.  Just writing that sentence calms me down.

It's nothing new.  My sister had one of these water droplet spinner thingies when we were kids.  I would stare at this thing forever.  I wouldn't just stare, either.  I would play with it.  I would hold it in just a way so that it made one great big bubble, then watch it slide down the ramps.

These calm-me-jars work the same way.  You can shake them up, swirl them, let them settle and turn them upside down and watch the goo's beautiful dance.  My daughter likes to leave them upside down. 

Once I started thinking about the amazing yet simple joy of a bottle full of glitter, I started thinking of all kinds of applications.  Use them in a time in or time out situation.  Use them as timers - my bottles take approximately four, six, and 11 minutes to settle.  They don't even look bad when they've completely settled.  I may just keep mine on the table as an interactive centerpiece. 

Use them as a distraction - like when you're trying to untangle a sensitive head of curls or sitting in a doctor's waiting room.  Since my daughter was recently in the hospital, I naturally thought that using them in a hospital setting is kind of genius.  Kids do so much waiting in hospitals, much of it not in their room.  This is a wonderful, portable prop to keep kids busy.  It could also be used to distract them or help them stay calm during difficult procedures like blood draws and shots.

The possibilities are endless, although I wouldn't recommend using them for all of the above.  You don't want to overdo it and lose the 'magic.'

So there you go.  Water + glitter + glue =

Awesome.

**UPDATE**  I thought of another application: teeth brushing timer! I have a daughter who is less than keen about brushing her teeth.  I can't blame her, I was the same way as a child, and it's still not one of my favorite activities as an adult.  Shaking up a fast moving calm-me-jar (3 minutes would be good, I think) and asking her to brush until it settles sure sounds a lot more fun than trying to get her to "brush for three minutes." 

Don't Judge Attachment Parenting By its Cover

Something strange is happening.  I seem to be embracing the term “attachment parenting” more ever since the Time cover.  I’ve never liked labels.  Labels by their very definition attempt to make everyone the same.  And everyone is not the same.  So labels, by their very definition, fail every time. 

So I never voluntarily called myself AP.  I never embraced that title.  Heck, I’ve never even read a Dr. Sears book, and probably never will.  But there did come a time, when I wanted to find other people who parented the way I was parenting.  I wanted friends - mom friends - and using the AP label was the best and fastest way to do just that. 

Some seem to get all caught up in this word, “attachment.”  They think that AP means that you literally are attached to your kids 24/7.  If you don’t think people think that, just read THIS, written by a DOCTOR. 

And yes, I will freely admit there really are extremists out there that do try and literally stay attached to their kids 24/7.  They are few and far between; most AP parents are not extremists. 

Just like most republicans aren’t Ted Nugent, most computer nerds aren’t Bill Gates, most George Clooney fans don’t have an old VCR tape with every TV performance he ever made recorded on it (looks around innocently), and most people who advocate spanking as a discipline tool aren’t the parents on my local news last night who beat a toddler so bad she had two broken legs and two broken arms. 

Extremists do not discriminate; and honestly, we can all probably find something we are more extreme over than those around us.    But not all of us.  See what I did there?

Most AP moms are NOT extremists.  I can attest to this personally, because I practice AP type parenting like breastfeeding, cosleeping, and babywearing, yet I am not an extremist.  I have also used, at one time or another, a bouncer, swing, highchair, crib, and stroller.  I’ve used formula and bottles.  I’ve made wonderful parenting decisions and huge parenting blunders. 

It has been kind of my goal in life to find the exact opposite of extremist - balance.  I’m just seeking the balance of life. 

My kids balance each other out pretty well.  The 6-year-old hardly eats a thing and sleeps like a log.  The 20-month-old eats like a hobbit and fights sleep with every single fiber of her being. 

It wasn’t my parenting that made them like this.  I didn’t use one parenting style with one and a radically different style with the other.  I parent them both using as balanced a mix of education and instincts as I can.  And that balance has evolved and changed as my education has gotten better and my instincts have gotten keener. 

This is just who they are.  And for me, the biggest part about being an attachment parent is listening to my child’s individual cues.  I don’t parent by the book, anybody’s book. 

The problem with criticizing AP in general is you force everyone practicing these techniques into the same label, and that just doesn’t work.  You can’t look at one AP mom and see an AP standard.  When you do that, you aren’t seeing her, you are just seeing words on a page (or a severely staged image). 

When trying to judge an AP mom, I would instead suggest looking at snippets of that mom’s life.  This way you will be judging her, not a stigma, an image, or a cover of a magazine. 

Here’s a snippet of this AP mom’s life, today’s naptime:

When my 20-month-old daughter rubbed her eyes and laid her head on my chest, I knew it was time for nap.  It didn’t shock me, this happens every day around the same time.  Not the EXACT same time, just around. 

I could have marched her into the bedroom, tucked her in, and left the room.  Then I could have listened to her cry for an hour while I tried to ignore how awful it felt by watching TV or folding laundry.  But I didn’t.

I could have wrapped her up on my chest with my Wrapsody baby wrap and worn her through her entire nap while I tried to watch TV or do the dishes with a gigantic baby attached to me.  But I didn’t.

What I did do, was put on Linda Ronstadt’s “Get Closer” album, scooped up my baby girl, and danced around the living room singing along to some of my very favorite songs.  Scarlett immediately laid her head on my shoulder and relaxed.  This was something we both enjoyed. 

By the time “People Gonna Talk” started playing (oh, the irony!), she was fast asleep.  That was only the 5th song on side one (listening on my mom’s vinyl), which means she fell asleep within 12 minutes, 36 seconds.  It could have happened a little before that, while I was distracted by the rock and roll.

Here’s the kicker: when I noticed she had fallen asleep, I didn’t immediately put her down.  I kept holding her, snuggling her, taking in her heat, her snuggles, her love.  I was waiting for the next song, “Talk to Me of Mendocino.”  I wanted to hold my baby and listen to that song.

The reason has less to do with AP and more to do with my life experience.  Mendocino always reminds me of my mom.  We listened to this entire album together more times than I can count, and ever since she died, this song makes me miss her, feel close to her, and think fondly of her.  My mom never read an AP book in her life, I'm not even sure she ever heard the term.  I'll tell you what, I was attached to my mom until the day she died, and beyond.

Scarlett also reminds me of my mom.  She was conceived just months after my mom’s death and born on my mom’s birthday.  She reminds me of my mom in so many ways.  So as I stood there in my living room, waiting to put my sleeping toddler to bed, I decided to hold her, and dance to Mendocino, and think about how much I loved my mom and how much I loved my sweet baby.

We were attached.  

I know, that kind of gloopity glop doesn’t have any science to back it up.  There is no parenting book that advocates it as a safe and effective way to get your kid to sleep.  There is no squeaky tight definition to describe it. 

It’s love.  That’s all.  This is how I loved my child today.  This is how I parented my child today.  This is how one AP mom got her child to take a nap today.  Tomorrow she may fall asleep in her stroller during our walk, she does that quite often.  Or maybe I’ll just lie her in bed and let her fall asleep while I lay next to her.  Maybe it will take 5 minutes.  Maybe it will take an hour.  Maybe it won’t happen at all and I will be thoroughly frustrated with nap time and spend the rest of the day trying to get over the irritation.

But today... for one AP mom mom.... nap time was a beautiful, musical success.

People Gonna Talk

People gonna talk about the things you do
They're gonna talk, be it lie or true
Night or day, day or night
They're gonna talk be it wrong or right

People gonna talk about you anyway
They're gonna talk no matter what you say
Night or day, day or night
They're gonna talk be it wrong or right

It seems they've just got to
Yakety yakety yak
Though they know best not to
The minute you turn your back

People gonna talk until they're satisfied
They're gonna talk until they make you cry
Near or far, here right now
They're gonna talk 'cause that's how people are

It seems they've just got to
Yakety yakety yak
Though they know best not to
The moment you turn your back

People gonna talk until they're satisfied
They're gonna talk until they make you cry
Here right now, near or far
They're gonna talk 'cause that's how people are
They're gonna talk 'cause that's how people are


Talk To Me of Mendocino

I bid farewell to the state of old New York

My home away from home
In the state of New York I came of age

When first I started roaming

And the trees grow high in New York state
And they shine like gold in Autumn

Never had the blues (from) whence I came

But in New York state I caught 'em

Talk to me of Mendocino

Closing my eyes I hear the sea
Must I wait, must I follow?

Won't you say "Come with me?"

And it's on to Southbend, Indiana

Flat out on the Western plains

Rise up over the Rockies and down on into California

Out to where but the rocks remain

And let the sun set on the ocean

I will watch it from the shore

Let the sun rise over the redwoods
I'll rise with it till I rise no more

Talk to me of Mendocino
Closing my eyes, I hear the sea
Must I wait, must I follow?
Won't you say "Come with me?"

Fortunes from a Filthy Floor

I've been struggling to get back in my groove ever since my daughter and I came home from the hospital.  My house isn't as clean as it usually is, my inbox isn't as organized as it should be, and I can barely spell the word schedule.  I did remember to brush my teeth today.... didn't I?

Last night after I put my daughter to bed and managed to stay awake past 8:30, I found myself alone for the first time in a while.  My husband had succumbed to the snuggling snoozer and was sleeping with the baby.  I pondered what to do with my alone time.  I could sit on the couch and watch some TV.  Or I could clean.

I decided to clean.  I finally found some motivation, so I used it to just keep pushing myself.  Every time I would get something done, I would find something else that needed attention.  I'll just do these dishes and then I'll take a break.  I'll just clean up this half eaten crayon and put away this tent.  I'll just fold this basket of clean towels.  I'll just pick up the blanket of toys in the playroom.  Where would it stop?

Then, as I grabbed up the last plastic pickle from the carpet, a small piece of paper just outside the room on the tile floor caught my eye.  As I tried to decide if I was going to mop the floor or not, I picked it up and saw it was a fortune cookie fortune.  This is what it said:

"It is what you haven't done that will torment you."

Whoa.  That stopped me dead in my tracks.  I pondered the message for a moment.  Then I decided it was time to go sit on my couch and watch an entire episode of Frasier, alone and uninterrupted - unkempt floor be damned.  

Yes.  This is what I will do.  Decision made. 

As I walked by the kitchen, unable to keep my eyes off the filthy floor, I caught sight of another piece of paper closer to the door.  I picked it up and realized it was another fortune.  

"It's in your moments of decision that your destiny is shaped."

I can't make this stuff up, folks.  

For the record, my floor still needs to be mopped and that was one funny episode of Frasier. 

A Walk in the Desert

All photos taken by me.  Happy Mother's Day from the desert!

Yes! I am Mom Enough!

According to the internet, Time magazine has put a question to every single mother in America: Are you mom enough? I'd like to take a moment to address that question.

When I planned my first natural birth, I was mom enough.  When I instead had an emergency cesarean birth, I was mom enough.  When doctors tried to tell me how to birth my second baby, I was mom enough.  When I had a VBAC at home, I was mom enough.

When I planned to breastfeed my baby because I knew it was best for her, I was mom enough.  When I had an enormous amount of trouble breastfeeding after my cesarean birth, I was mom enough. 

When I was told in the hospital to pour formula on my nipples to help my baby latch, I was mom enough.  When it took two hours just to GET her to latch on, I was mom enough.  When I got in trouble with the nurses because I let her sleep too long without nursing her, I was mom enough.  When I let her sleep on top of my chest, I was mom enough.

When breastfeeding didn’t get any easier once I went home, I was mom enough.  When all I did for three weeks was breastfeed my daughter, I was mom enough.  When I finally couldn’t take anymore and I pumped a bottle of breastmilk so her dad could feed her, I was mom enough. 

When I started to supplement with formula, I was mom enough.  When my daughter wanted to hold her own bottle at 4 months old, I was mom enough.  When I started solid food too early (4 months) I was mom enough.  When I tried and tried and tried to get my kid to eat something, ANYTHING, I was mom enough.

When my first daughter weaned at 7 months and never wanted the breast again, I was mom enough.

When nursing my second daughter was a breeze, I was mom enough.  When I nursed her all the time, whenever she wanted, I was mom enough.  When I nursed her in public, I was mom enough.  When I kept nursing her past a year, I was mom enough.  


When my 20 month old daughter still asks for "babas" and I breastfeed her, I am mom enough.   When I night weaned that 20-month-old because I needed.  To.  Sleeeeeep.  I was mom enough. 




When I get a cold and stay in bed as much as I can, I’m mom enough.  When my extremely introverted personality just can’t handle the PTO, I am mom enough.  When I take my girls to the park almost every single day, I am mom enough.  When I let them watch TV, I am mom enough.

When I tried a horrible pocket sling with Dani and hated it, I was mom enough.  When I carried her in her infant carrier or pushed her in a stroller, I was mom enough.  When I researched wraps during my second pregnancy, I was mom enough.  When I used a wrap, sling, or baby carrier through most of my second daughter’s first month of life, I was mom enough.  When I still put my 20-month-old in a wrap, I am mom enough.  When I put them in swings and bouncers, I was mom enough.

When I made a big hubbub about what kind of carseat we would get for our first, I was mom enough.  When I THOUGHT I was doing the right thing, and turned my daughter forward-facing at 1 year and 20 pounds, I was mom enough.  When I learned how horribly dangerous that was, I vowed to keep my second child rear facing as long as humanly possible and to keep my first daughter in a five-point harness and then a booster seat as long as possible, I was mom enough.  

When I wouldn’t even consider cloth diapers with my first child, I was mom enough.  When I did decide to cloth diaper my second child, I was mom enough.  When I can't shut up to other moms about how cool cloth diapers are, even if they don't really want to hear it, I am mom enough. 

When I would go outside to smoke cigarettes, I was mom enough.  When I finally gave up smoking after 15 years, I was mom enough.

When I make carbanara, pesto meatballs with spaghetti squash, feta and kale casserole, and spinach salads for dinner, I am mom enough.  When I cook pancakes for dinner, I am mom enough.  When I take my kids to McDonald’s for dinner, I am mom enough.

When I actually get to sleep in, I am mom enough.

When I play with my kids, I am mom enough.  When I spend an entire day focused on my beautiful babies playing with them and loving them and napping with them, I am mom enough.  When I spend the day blogging or crafting or reading, I am mom enough.  When I actually find the balance between all that stuff, I am SUPER MOM!



I could go on and on and on.  And I encourage everyone reading this right now to give some more examples in the comments! My point is this:

I am the only mom my kids have.  I’m all they have ever known.  And hopefully I will be around to be all they ever know for a very, very long time.  They’re definition of perfection is me -- with all my mistakes, and my impatient moments, and my horrible mistakes (did I say that already) -- I am their perfect mom.  And as long as I always keep striving to become a better mom, I will always be mom enough for them.

And when the mom guilt comes, when I feel so insecure I think ANYbody would be a better parent to these wonderful kids than I, when I need a little help remembering that I am mom enough.... I’m going to look at my kids.  I’m going to look at my happy, healthy, well-adjusted, sometimes little farking hellions, strong, smart, and beautiful kids.  Not at the cover of Time magazine. 

I am mom enough.  And so are you.  Peace.

Wordless Wednesday: What Kawasaki Disease Looks Like

This is my daughter on her first day of kindergarten, August of 2011.  I never thought of her as being particularly muscular, but she was always extremely active and very strong.  She definitely has the body of an athlete, to me.

This is my daughter in the middle of her second Kawasaki Disease, April of 2012, just 8 short months after the first picture was taken.  This is only the 9th day of her sickness.  10 days before this, she felt fine and she looked like the first picture.  What strikes me most remarkable is the loss of muscle in her legs.

She had just beaten her dad at foosball.  It was a good day.



By the way, I SUCK at Wordless Wednesdays! If you are here looking for information on KD, please check out Desperately Seeking Kawasaki and the KD page on my blog.

Desperately Seeking Kawasaki Disease

I haven’t written anything in a while because I’ve been dealing with a very sick kid.  My daughter just recently went through her second bout of Kawasaki Syndrome.  Yes, that’s right, my daughter has had Kawasaki Syndrome more than once.  I’m going to be mentioning that a lot because when terrified parents put “can my child get Kawasaki Syndrome twice” into a search engine, I want them to actually find something that may HELP.

I think I need to back up just a bit, though.  Considering only 19 out of 100,000 American kids will contract Kawasaki Disease, there aren’t too many people out there thinking about their kids getting Kawasaki Disease more than once.  Most people haven’t even heard of Kawasaki Disease.  Insert motorcycle joke here. 

If it wasn’t so terrifying when it’s happening to your own child, it would be a pretty interesting research project.  For one thing, it is an extremely young disease.  Dr. Tomisaku Kawasaki, a Japanese pediatrician, gave this disease its namesake and definition in 1967. 

Kawasaki Disease is a self-limited vasculitis that causes inflammation in the small and medium blood vessels of the body.  It most often occurs in children under five years old, but let me just address that “most often” phrase right now.  Don’t listen to it.  Not when it comes to Kawasaki Disease.  It has been my experience, that the very nature of this disease calls for the rare and uncommon to apply to your child.

Kawasaki Disease comes with a list of really weird symptoms including (but not limited to!) persistent fever for 5 days, chapped and cracked lips, swollen and/or strawberry tongue, swollen lymph nodes in the neck, swollen hands and feet, red palms and soles, and blood shot eyes.  The biggest cause for concern with Kawasaki Syndrome is the effect it has on the cardiovascular system.  According to the Kawasaki Disease Foundation, "Kawasaki disease is the leading cause of acquired heart disease in children."

The age of Kawasaki Disease can be both a blessing and a curse.  Much is still unknown about this disease, which is a big reason why it’s so scary.  There is no diagnostic test for Kawasaki Syndrome.  You can’t just draw some blood and run some labs; doctors must instead rely on observational symptoms and a thorough history, most often given by the parent.

There is also no diagnostic tool to tell us when the child is cured.  I learned this first hand when my daughter was not only diagnosed with a recurrence of Kawasaki Syndrome and A-typical Kawasaki Syndrome, but also Refractory Kawasaki Syndrome.  That’s basically a fancy way of saying the disease sometimes doesn’t go away with the standard medical treatment of intravenous immunoglobulin (IVIG).

But the fact that Kawasaki Syndrome is such a new disease brings with it hope for more information to come.  We can only learn more, which is a big reason why I was finally convinced to start writing about it.  This second Kawasaki scare was one of the most stressful periods of my life, but it also brought out in me strength I wasn’t sure I had.  I’ve finally been bitten by the “cause” bug, I guess.  I want to learn as much as I can.  I want to share that information with as many other parents as I can.  I want to help other parents during their struggle with Kawasaki Syndrome.  I want to help other children, just as brave and strong as Dani, to fight this disease. 

I’m going to be dedicating some personal blog space to this.  Not only to Kawasaki Syndrome in particular, but I also want to talk about how to navigate the medical system.  This is so important to ALL parents of sick children, but it has special meaning to parents dealing with Kawasaki Syndrome, because the diagnosis and treatment fall so heavily on the parents’ shoulders!

I’ve also started a Facebook page dedicated to Kawasaki Syndrome.  Desperately Seeking Kawasaki will be a place parents and caregivers can find information, but also a place to vent frustrations and find support from other parents who know what they are going through.  But I can’t do it alone! I need other parents and their individual, vital information.  The only way a page like this will be successful is with the sharing of ideas and information.

The only way to beat Kawasaki Disease is to work together.  Have you been affected by Kawasaki Syndrome? Do you know someone who has been affected? Please click over to Desperately Seeking Kawasaki, share it with those you think could help, and join me on my Kawasaki Disease Awareness journey.

Making a Zen Garden - This Time it's Personal

I have decided a Zen garden is a good idea because 1) I like Zen; 2) I like gardens; 3) I have been collecting rocks since I was a child and my 5-year-old has adopted the hobby -- hence, we have a lot of rocks lying about; 4) I live in the desert and have access to copious amounts of free sand; and 5) I saw this tutorial on how to make a Zen garden on a budget on Pinterest, and it is a new goal in my life to do every single craft I see on Pinterest. 

Mostly though, I’m just trying to figure out how to meditate.  I’ve been trying to shut myself up for years.  And years and years and years. Most of the time I fail miserably.  So instead of just repeating the same process over and over again, I’m trying to look at meditation from a more personal perspective.  Instead of trying to meditate how other people tell me I should meditate, I started thinking about how I would teach myself to meditate. 

I started to ponder over the times when I would be able to zone out, so to speak.  It always seemed to accompany some other action like watching the same TV show or movie over and over again, vacuuming, crafting, singing or humming in the shower.  The times that I zone out always include movement, sound, patterns, and/or vibrations. I’ve been trying to meditate by sitting perfectly still with my eyes closed and my head clear.  I think I’m beginning to see the problem.  At least one of my problems, anyway. 

Zen gardens are simple in design, rich with history, and contain an intricate web of possibilities.  Most consist of nothing more than rocks and sand.  One meaning of the Zen garden is to resemble an aerial view of islands floating in the ocean.  The Zen rake creates an endless array of waves in the sand.  I am particularly drawn to the natural transformation of using one element - Earth - to represent another element - Water. 

A Zen garden allows me to bring movement into my meditation practice.  The act of raking the sand waves around the rocks brings purpose to my body, which allows my mind the freedom to wind down.  The key to the success of my Zen garden, I believe, is to make it as personal as possible - to give it meaning.  After all, that sand is supposed to be me - my mind, my body, my spirit, my soul.  The rocks are supposed to represent my life - those ever-present islands, anchored about.

So here is my attempt to make a personalized Zen garden.  I started by thinking about EVERYthing in my life as a different rock - what it would look like, what it would feel like, what emotions it would evoke.

Here is my husband:

My husband is most definitely my rock.  His incredibly logical, black and white mind balances my overly sensitive and intuition-heavy brain waves.  I’ve often called him the yin to my yang.  He embodies the classic strength that brings me a feeling of safety when he is near.  He is hard, strong, stable, and unchanging. 

But turn the rock over and you see this:

My husband is also scarred.  He carries the physical scars of a car accident that left his legs mangled and his life scattered into little pieces on the road he was planning to take.  He carries the emotional scars of a hard childhood marred with common, yet no less jarring problems.  He carries the moral scars of a religion that he has come to realize failed him in every possible way.  While I desire the stable, smooth side, it is the scarred side I find most beautiful. 

Here are my two beautiful daughters:

I mined this geode myself out of a rock bed just feet away from the Mississippi River.  I then strapped it and a backpack full of other geodes onto my back, and hiked it out of the woods.  It was hard work, let me tell you.  Every time I look at this geode, I remember how hard it was to acquire, and it makes me smile every time.

Two halves of a whole; not twins - the two parts aren’t identical, my girls are about 4 years apart.  But they have many similarities, were actually formed out of one piece, and were brought forth from their resting place in space by the same pair of hands.   

From the outside, a geode looks like any old rock - hard, strong, set.  But if you look inside the geode, you find a beautiful and fragile world of crystal and light, surrounding a hollow place in the middle.  This hollow space can range in size, depending on the condition and age of the geode.  I’m coming to see that the void may be even more beautiful than its jeweled casing. 

    “Thirty spokes will converge in the hub of a wheel; but the use of the cart will depend on the part of the hub that is void.  

     With a wall all around a clay bowl is molded; but the use of the bowl will depend on the part of the bowl that is void.

    Cut out the windows and doors in the house as you build; but the use of the house will depend on the space in the walls that is void.

    So advantage is had from whatever is there; but usefulness rises from whatever is not.”

    -- Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching (No. 11)

If I fill the void in my geodes with mud, I will no longer be able to see the beauty that lies within.  If I fill the void in my geodes with water, the beauty of the entire rock is cleansed, freshened, and enhanced.  And the water is able to rid itself when it’s use is done, by evaporating back into the atmosphere to continue its purpose in another state. 

Here is how I see the memories of my mother:

This jar of rocks also came from the muddy waters of the Midwest.  They were hand-picked and sent with love to my mom, shortly before her death, by a dear friend.  Each rock differs from the next in shape, size, and color.  Each one will feel a little different when I pick it up and hold it in my hand.  Each one, taken individually, contain the potential to hurt, to damage, or to scar in a painful way.  But when brought together, they compliment each other beautifully and make a wonderful, cohesive package.  They fit together to make a larger, stronger, more stable, and more beautifully powerful structure. They can also be contained, if I choose to contain them.

Here’s my collection of daily chores:

Those four big rocks on the left are all dishes.  Man, do I hate dishes.  At best, these just look like big dumb rocks put here for no particular reason whatsoever.  At worst, these are huge boulders that, if one doesn’t watch carefully, can wreak havoc with the peace of the day.

But with a different view:

They can become an amusement park of fun and learning, a constant reminder of the importance of hard work, and a lesson in the value of monotony, rhythm, and the patterns of life. 

Here is the school pick up/drop off at my daughter’s elementary school:

So close, and yet so far away.  We watch the sun rise over this mountain range on our way to school every morning.  From far away, the Organ Mountains look like a painting of perfection from the beauty inside the human mind.  Up close, it’s a big fucking mountain that exhausts me to my core every single time I try to climb it.  Sometimes we must decide when to hike up the mountain and when to avoid the mountain altogether.  But that’s a blog for a different day...

The Sand

The sand is me.  How did I want to portray myself in sand? I could have walked about a block and a half from my house and scooped up a bunch of yellow, desert sand for my garden.  Instead, I decided to be patient and wait until a trip to White Sands National Monument (only about half an hour from my house) would yield a bucket of pure white, fluffy sand that is so fine and soft it hardly sticks to the skin.

The rake represents the control I have over my own life.  In this particular instance, it helps me to see the difference between a sea of water and a sea of sand.  A sea of water is uncontrollable; the rake is rendered useless.  It can be calm, peaceful, tranquil, but it can also be chaotic, violent, and damaging.  I can definitely see myself in that metaphor.

My Zen garden allows me to see myself, instead, as a sea of sand.  With my trusty rake in hand, I can control the waves of my own ocean.  Right now, I’m using a fork I found right in my own kitchen.  The tools we need in life are sometimes right under our noses.

I can decide whether to softly wind my waves around my islands or whether to lead the waves to the islands edge.  I can decide if I want to make a bee-line right to my island, or whether I want to leisurely spiral to my islands.  I can decide if my sand waves stop short of the island altogether, or even, occasionally topple over my islands, burying them in a dusty white comforter. 

By making my Zen garden a personal experience, I’m making it more of a life tool.  When I tend to my garden, I’m not just moving sand around.  I’m manipulating the energy of my life.  I’m learning about myself and the people I love most in the world.  I’m coming just one step closer, to learning what the hell meditation really is. 

My Zen Garden!

 I added in my birth art sculpture.  It means a lot to me and I thought this was a better use for it than sitting in a drawer, collecting dust.

 

Everyone is loving it.  Both my husband and my 5 year old have been using it.  My daughter likes to take all the rocks out and just rake the sand.

Then she put every single rock in at once.  Always experimenting, that one.

Do you know what your personal Zen garden would look like?

Zen and the Art of Renaming a Blog

Do not adjust your television sets; you have, in fact, reached Zen and the Art of Cloth Diaper Maintenance.  I’ve just renamed it The Grey Seeker.  I’ve been feeling a bit stifled lately.  I have wanted to start a blog for years, but only found the courage and will to do so when I started writing about parenting stuff.  I love writing on subjects like homebirth, breastfeeding, and cloth diapers.  I still want to talk about those things because they’re still a big part of my life. 

But I also need to talk about other fascinations in my life -- history and philosophy, politics and society, spirituality and trees, lions, tigers, and bears.  We have an owl that likes to sit on our flagpole at dusk and hoots at his or her mate, perched in another tree in the neighborhood.  I HAVE to write about that.  I get so excited about my latest cooking and crafting adventures, but I can’t talk about cooking and crafting on a blog named Zen and the Art of Cloth Diaper Maintenance.  It just doesn’t work in my mind; it doesn’t compute.  The result is a semi-abandoned, yet truly loved (by me) blog.

It's more than that, though.  I'm spending more time coming up with catchy titles and themes than I am writing about what is on my mind and in my heart.  I'm stealing from paying homage to works of art I admire, instead of showing people who I really am.  I'm hiding, and I don't want to hide anymore.

It’s time for a change.  Not something to replace Zen and the Art of Cloth Diaper Maintenance, but something to include it and more.  The Grey Seeker.  A place where I can talk about cloth diapers.  A place where I can talk about my zen garden.  A place where I can talk about whatever I want and, as always, try to find the balance, the Zen, the Grey of life. 

And I’m not going to change it again in another six months.  Really.  I’m not. 






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Oh, who am I kidding? I've already changed it again twice in the past hour.  I guess what I'm trying to say here is: Under Construction Till Further Notice.  And possibly forever.