Come Back To Me

Mother, father, where have you gone?

Why do I interest you so little?

I crave yours ears, your eyes, your imagination entwined with mine

Play, my first friend

Engage in your creation, the outcome, the furthering of love

Touch my check and hold me to you

Embrace my curiosity and give us time

What you seek from your omnipresent tool, dear love, is what I seek from you

A story, validation, a laugh, acknowledgement, hope, compassion

Be one with me mother, father

Reset how my impressionable life can go...

 

He'll Greet You In Your Way

Your chest rises, your chest falls
A flutter in your heart
Lips relax as you exhale
Eyes closed, eyebrows raised
Breathing

I dream of what you're imagining
What stories do you play?
Cheeks warm, hands cold
You're so alive with playfulness even still
Are you thinking of when you first saw her?
When you knew you had love...
When you knew she wanted you too?
Or the moments you saw your children's faces the day they were born
Maybe the sun on the green spring fields
The smell of her favorite flower or her night gown
Do you remember the very first laugh my mother laughed as a small babe?

As you feel her soft hand on your arm
Do you remember those first steps of hers?
The first tears she cried that made her leap into your arms
Perhaps you recall the nervousness of your first day in the service
Or the chill of the snow air in Ohio
Can you feel the ringlets in your baby's first baby's hair?
Weaving the sweet, downy strands through your fingers
Sweet Melody

I know the tape in your mind plays all of our voices
All the tidbits you know of us
We're with you
All of us
With you there
Can you feel us?
A river so calm
No toiling, no pain
Breathe in, now out
We're here
We'll always be with you
It's okay, what you need
Inside of us you're never gone




For my grandfather, Robert Eugene Winn
April 25, 1927-May 1, 2015

Up Again

For those who do it on their own
You are seen
You have a push, a keep-going that is unfathomable
Whether you are up and moving or have fallen and climbing back
You still say, "I have to, for them, it's what I'm here for"
It teaches me--chin up, press on
Hold them tight, eat together, know each other, tell your stories
You are here, completely here
We must be too
It IS a choice, I finally see
A daily stay, a daily push and recover
A knowledge that not all stay
Whether physically present but permanently out
Or gone, having given up or simply waiting for us there
We persevere because fight feels so good
We fight to triumph over death
We push with every single breath
Collapsing and getting up again
Again and again
We fight with a strength so deep
With a joy so full
Because we build it, we bind to it
We can't help but see it, and we choose to build up
We are here
Completely, for one another
For the ones missing someone, for the fallen
We will not let them be without
We will not let them be alone

A Poem For Husband

To the man who brings me tea in ninja cups

My one and only in flannel button-ups

You're doing it right with me, with us

Though you may second guess in the excess of fuss

This bright goofball who's truly nuts

Who pulls me from mud and digs us from ruts

You bring such passion and huge, vibrant cheer

Maybe it's a bit greater with a little good beer

If my jokes crash you'll still give me a laugh

Evening winking at me when I give you some sass

You've got us Mr. Hawley, day in, day out

It's so clear next to you, THIS is what it's all about

My husband, muse, advocate, hope

This girl sure wins 'cause you never said nope

Goodbye, My Babies.

     Norah and Cedar. What I want for you is to be kind. In that, the happiness will come. I’m not worried about your happiness. I’m not worried about much. I hurt for much, crave change and will pursue the movement toward it. I don’t worry about you, loves. But I think about your spirit. Our job, mine and daddy’s, right now, is to foster that glow in you. That magnificent wonder and enthusiasm burns brilliantly bright in you. Your attention to detail, your imagination, your vigorous grasp around our necks, your compassion, your delight in the small things, like tiny, warm blueberries, building a racetrack, getting to pick your own cookie, or tooting. My hope is huge. My hope is that your fire remains irresistible. I’ve met very little adults who have theirs still, fewer still who have triumphed over defeat and hurt and ache to ignite the burn of goodness and zeal in others. My children. It is not easy. You will be fighters. Your mother and father are fighters. We have lost many. We have seen things we do not wish anyone to see. As children ourselves, that light in us was constantly dampened by those whom we were to trust and look up to. Children, defeat the pain. Move onward into progress and marvel at good, giving little attention to the bad—for those things are a tantrums demanding attention. Overcome evil with goodness, with a patience and perseverance that becomes wholly addictive.  Worry switches on genes that were previously dormant, genes that you’ll battle with once they are allowed to play out their script in your chemistry. Worry sits in your blood, in your bones. Worry keeps your neurons from firing the way they were meant to. So, it’s simple. Do good. Think outside of yourself, look into the eyes of the ones serving you, lift up the hurting (and they will often be silent, don’t make assumptions, just go, love them), reveal your affection (it makes people wiggle, I like it). Demonstrate with your voice, your hands, your feet, your eyes, children, WHERE this world can go. You have an Ally. And you have us. But if somehow you feel lonely, afraid to show that you are deeply hurting, sit down and write to me. Play music, make a cup of tea, and write… and while you do so, daydream of all the good in this place that you want do in your glorious life. I will advocate for you. If you cannot see me, if you cannot be with me, I am STILL your advocate.

     It’s pretty clear, you are no longer infants, no longer completely reliant on daddy and I for all of your needs. You can prepare yourselves snacks, use the potty, safely bathe, play with and comfort each other. Babies, you are not. Years will keep going and you will become stronger, more inventive, more independent. I can’t wait to witness! Each day we are more deeply and passionately intertwined with you, sweet children. My young lady, my young man… go on, get on with it then. Face all this fearlessly, and with unstoppable pride, through all of it, I sit here listening, watching, beaming. 

The Truth No One Can Handle

Maybe just a few of you will understand this. But most of you will judge. Maybe those of you who’ve done it and see the light and the glory and have gotten back to a regular sleeping and eating schedule can kind of remember. But to tell you the truth, like any other heavy job, you can’t know unless you are in it NOW. If you did the job, and you’re done now, even if you do something similar, it’s not the same. It doesn’t help us to say, “ I remember that, that was hard!” or “Hang in there, it’ll get better” or “Just wait until they are teenagers!”. Are you kidding me?! These all make you feel better but do nothing for us. Truth. It’s pretty and poetic and supposed to do something. You’ve taken this sweet dream we have of a time when we can be ourselves again, have a marriage again, sleep again, eat food when we NEED to, and pursue our passions again, and smashed them… and for the sake of…?! Of course that’s not your intention. You want to encourage. Honestly, and please hear me, actions are more. Actions of encouragement take effort, something that’s easy to feel like we are doing the most of. And it often feel futile. Sure, there are not many things you can say to truly help us, but it’s okay to say no things. It’s okay to leave a meal on the doorstep and send a text to let us know it’s there (WOW, that would be AMAZING!!), it’s okay to play along and keep a drowning couple afloat with your presence. It’s the loneliest job. And we can’t run away. We can’t even step away for a minute. Because if we do, they kill each other.

We’ve all seen the effects of crappy parenting. It’s terrible and gut-wrenching and the adult zombies that didn’t choose to work on themselves and make it better are everywhere. E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E. Because it takes work. I am a hard worker. A very hard worker. I take little rest or reprieve. When I rest I get behind and get upset that I’m behind and then get upset that I don’t get enough rest. The rest can never come when we need it or want it the most. We have to wait, even we shaking and about to call 911. I get upset when people or memes or books or whatever say, “This is the magical key to enjoying life to the fullest right now. Also, look how beautiful they are..”. The way I look at it, no one does it right. Those of us who try, try until we scream and are near spiritual seizing, and then keep going, are phantoms. And that sucks.

Honestly, I am a fighter. A fighter like you wouldn’t believe. I have peace in my bones and a growl in my belly. My brain, my soul… they are gasping for air. And it’s okay. It’s how it works. No one gets through this collected and totally satisfied. I fight. I fight through with abundant love and feeling like a huge idiot and screaming and apologizing and trying again like a dummy. I can feel this. We, the phantoms, don’t talk about it, because we aren’t supposed to feel this. LET US. Or go away. We need to. Don’t butterfly and rainbow all over us when we are screaming, scream too. Then make spaghetti and cookies quietly so no one gets injured. God knows, we need a village, a village so giving, so thoughtful that it becomes common place and that’s just what we all do for each other. I’ll keep on working, forgiving, loving, admiring, washing, dreaming and all the things, including, probably, wanting more out of it all….

But for right now, I’m pissed.

And I’m not apologizing for that.

The Moms, The Cows, And The Poop

Cows are incredible. They poop. Their poop is amazing. They lactate. That stuff is amazing. I lactate, too. But that bit’s not for you.

In 1862, French chemist and microbiologist Louis Pasteur, now widely known as the Father of Germ Theory, completed his first test of a process that heated liquids enough to kill most bacteria and molds inside. "I intend to establish that, just as there is an alcoholic ferment, the yeast of beer, which is found everywhere that sugar is decomposed into alcohol and carbonic acid, so also there is a particular ferment, a lactic yeast, always present when sugar becomes lactic acid."* Sanitation in Mr. P’s day was not as wonderful as it is today and germ control was key to getting a foothold on the health of the public. Because of his work, Joseph Lister (sound familiar?) took off on his developments in antiseptic methods in surgery. This idea truly did change everything.

But, like every good idea, we need to always question the validity of the thing and have the relevance conversation. Is this practical now? Is it doing more harm than good? Because of developments in complimentary areas, are we able to render this supplement obsolete? Science rocks, but it changes. And so do our needs. For example, those functioning on mobile phones usually don’t need a landline, it’s superfluous. For our family, we have a laptop and Netflix so the pricey duo of television and cable are unnecessary (that’s a HUGE passion of mine—I double dog dare you, and nearly beg you, consider trading in your television to invest in your skills or passions).

Personally, after researching instability in vitamins and the effects processing and homogenizing (which rearranges the fat and protein molecules, ridding milk of the cream-line, to break the fat globules into smaller pieces so they’ll be suspending in the milk instead) have on the fantastic nutrient quality of foods, I find that we are killing a good thing, billions of good things to shave off a bit of risk, which is a different ballgame now. A major contributing factor to the ever-prevalent American diseases is what we’ve exchanged for shelf-life. The American diet revolves around these faux-gods of convenience and sterility. I shudder at Safeways now and have befriended farmers. When food is hardly touched, its taste and nutrient quality are as nature (I say: as God) intended it for our bodies. There is very little fossil fuel involved in walking into your yard or onto your patio or driving to your favorite farm or Googling “CSA near me” for your food. Less gas equals less money. There is a belief, a stigma, that organic and unprocessed is expensive and pretentious…but oh, what a mistaken belief. We are always trading something for cost. Organic farming takes WORK and attention to detail. It’s about symbiosis and perpetuating a healthy ecosystem for ourselves and children and so on. We’re sick, our bees are dying in droves, our children are going through D.A.R.E. programs at school while on ADD/ADHD meds after having been pumped with Cap’n Crunch and Gatorade and sat in front of a screen for hours on end, our animals are confined to cages where they cannot turn around or stand up or breed or eat the foods they’ve been designed to eat… this is preposterous, disturbing, and wrong. THIS is wrong. Lifestyle must be re-evaluated if we are going to live, and live well. People often dislike change because it’s an adjustment. People dislike being challenged because it feels like an attack. We are being attacked, however, in our folly, in our acceptance of Big Food. Dig in. Learn about your food. Surely you’ve heard a bit. Surely you love food. Imagine how good it could be, and how your body will pay you back.

I bring up the cows for a few reasons. One: cows are awesome. Healthy cows are the best. Happy cows are healthy cows. Eat the good, happy, healthy ones. Eating less cows, and only the good ones, will heal you and your planet in great ways. Let’s reduce this methane, demand meats without antibiotics and animals that eat what they were intended to eat. Look for grass-fed AND FINISHED beef. Look for PASTURED meats (they were free-roaming). Know the terms. Be aware too, because the Big Food folk love to play games with terms and lobby for their interests, not necessarily yours. Monsanto just started work on GMO grass, so, good gracious, get to know the cattle rancher nearest you. The other reason I bring up cows: I intensely love genetics. What can’t we learn from genes? Also I love dairy. I am a second-time nursing mother and nursing my son still at nearly two years old, so learning about mammals tendency toward the benefits of milk, at least early on, adds to the wonders and facets of health, physically, emotionally, and sociologically. The fermentation processes that Pasteur worked with to further develop the Germ Theory naturally take place in the gut of most adults today. Lactose intolerance is an inherited condition that begins to develop around age four when, as physical anthropologists tell us, we are intended to be completely weaned from mother’s milk. The enzyme that digests milk shuts down in most mammals soon after weaning. In the gut (a truly fascinating epicenter of whole-health really) of a person with lactose intolerance , the sugar molecule lactose just floats around in the intestine and eventually ferments…and well… things happen, things we like when cows do it but not so much when we are in the second-comer to a still-warm porcelain resting spot. Milk-drinking adults are an EXCEPTION to the norm (look at you, all exeptional, give yourself a pat on the back). It took thousands of years, but we domesticated cows, loved them for the beautiful things they gave us, and soon isolated herding populations began to adapt a fancy new, and glorious (for us— YAY, icecream!) gut-trick, where our special enzyme stuck around. It’s a deviant gene on Chromosome 2. Our cute little rebellious lactase-persister is named SNP C/T13910. Aww. It should be on a Tee shirt, for sure. Or at least embroidered on something.

In our home, we’ve tossed out processed foods: white flour, white sugar, HFCs, 5+ ingredient anything, store-bought milk, conventional f & v, and the like (ask, I’ll do my best to give you a relatively exhaustive list). We participate in a herd share from a local farmer and enjoy insanely delicious raw milk and the full benefits of the folate, thiamine, vitamin C, water-soluble B-group vitamins (and other such things) that haven’t been cooked out of them. We eat whole, organic, traditional and as local as possible (some exceptions, which we educate ourselves about: chocolate and coffee—ALWAYS FairTrade). We eat grass-fed and ethical. We want to know WHERE our food came from and HOW that land and those animals were treated. Our teeth are in wonderful shape (I haven’t used anything with fluoride in years and the children never have). Our bodies are healthy and energetic. Our brains are excited and hungry for ignition in our passions. Mind you, we are generally exhausted from the raising kids thing, we are happy and enthusiastic, none-the-less.

Do one thing today: Google CSA. If you get to enjoy your rebellious SNP C/T13910, look into a herd share, too. You’ll be pumped. Find a cow and her farmer near you. Meet her, rub her neck a bit and thank her for eating grass and pooping (the cow, not the farmer)… after all, her poop can make that soil a happy place for the delicious things you’re going to enjoy within the next few hours. Eat with intention. Eat with people. Eat for good.

   -->For some wicked-good insight and delight, watch Food, Inc. and read “In Defense of Food” by Michael Pollan and “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle”by Barbara Kingsolver!

~THANK YOU CURTIS HAWLEY FOR THE COW POOP MEME IMAGE!~

*Manchester, K.L. (2007). "Louis Pasteur, fermentation, and a rival". South African Journal of Science 103 (9-10): 377–380.