For My Daughter. Myself. All daughters. All people.

For My Daughter
A poem by Sarah McMane
"Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where you backbone ought to be." -- Clementine Paddleford

Never play the princess when you can
be the queen:
rule the kingdom, swing a scepter,
wear a crown of gold.
Don't dance in glass slippers,
crystal carving up your toes --
be a barefoot Amazon instead,
for those shoes will surely shatter on your feet.

Never wear only pink
when you can strut in crimson red,
sweat in heather grey, and
shimmer in sky blue,
claim the golden sun upon your hair.
Colors are for everyone,
boys and girls, men and women --
be a verdant garden, the landscape of Versailles,
not a pale primrose blindly pushed aside.

Chase green dragons and one-eyed zombies,
fierce and fiery toothy monsters,
not merely lazy butterflies,
sweet and slow on summer days.
For you can tame the most brutish beasts
with your wily wits and charm,
and lizard scales feel just as smooth
as gossamer insect wings.

 Trump muddy through the house in
a purple tutu and cowboy boots.
Have a tea party in your overalls.
Build a fort of birth branches,
a zoo of Legos, a rocketship of
Queen Ann chairs and coverlets,
first stop on the moon.

Dream of dinosaurs and baby dolls,
bold Brontosaurus and bookish Belle,
not Barbie on the runway or
Disney damsels in distress --
you are much too strong to play
the simpering waif.

Don a baseball cap, dance with Daddy,
paint your toenails, climb a cottonwood.
Learn to speak with both your mind and heart.
For the ground beneath will hold you, dear --
know that you are free.
And never grow a wishbone, daughter,
where you backbone ought to be.

In Memory... Watching My Children Grieve

I will never be okay with watching my children process loss and grief.  It is more painful than my own sadness.  
Watching them try to rationalize the loss, place the feelings somewhere so they are not so heavy, question the relevance of the tears that sometimes fall, search to understand the grief...
They give in and allow the sadness, authentically embracing all of the feelings.  Able to carry something that none of us will ever be able to understand.   Bravely facing the questions that will never have answers.  
With a gracefulness and maturity that the adult mind often lacks completely.  

Oh, my sweet, beautiful little offsprings.  
If I could carry this knowledge for you so that you could rest in a world that knows no loss or suffering, I gladly would.  
Shed your tears.  
I will hold you and wipe them.  
Willing that those tears carry away tiny bits of your pain.  
I will protect you from much in this world.  
Reality often carries with it stories that we don't want to know.   
Death is a part of living that we all must face.  
You do so with much bravery, realness and raw authenticity.   
I would be more like you.  

My loves.  

My hearts.  

We walk through this together...

In memory of Sher Kay Toburen 05/30/1952 - 12/03/2014
Cherished daughter, adored oldest sister, doting Aunt/Great Aunt, loving wife, generous friend

FB Rants 11/29/14

You guys. Raising teenagers is hard. I'll admit that. I feel it should come with 24 hour therapy, massage therapy, mandatory vacations, weekly maid service, sleep! and, for those that can hack it, lots and lots of wine. But, as I chauffeur my offspring and friends around, and I listen to the conversations and stories from my lonely front seat position, I have learned something. Teenagehood is difficult already (more so for them than us), but it is made infinitely more difficult for all involved when the parental units cannot get their shit together. When parents do stupid, hurtful things (to themselves or that directly affect the teenager) and then expect perfectly mature behaviour from that teen in response - they need to be junk punched. Hard. Teenagers FEEL everything. Just like young children. And they act out and react to what is happening in their lives. Just like young children. They just do it in more obvious, damaging and possibly dangerous ways. See it for what it is - a reaction to their environment. Couple that with the cascade of hormones flooding their bodies, peer pressure (that they may not be telling you about), teachers being buttheads, lack of sleep, their ability to find and destroy junk food, their rapidly growing bodies... and you've got the perfect scenario for immature overreactions.
This should be expected and acknowledged. Not judged and punished.
For being developing humans.
After hearing a particularly painful story from the back seat recently, I came away with one overwhelming thought: I will do my absolute damnedest to not be the reason or cause of unnecessary upset to my teenagers. There is enough shit happening in their world outside of home. The least I can provide them with is a safe place. It is my obligation as a parent.
It's yours, too.

So... This is Parenting

Ooof.

I've had some parenting moments lately.  Well.  More than some.  But some that have particularly stuck out and I've been dwelling on them trying to figure out why they seem particularly meaningful and important.  They've brought on tears during the interaction and also in reflection. 

These moments came in conversations with my 16 year old son who is having some troubles finding his way in high school.  His unhappiness is very apparent and breaks my heart.  In the past these situations have caused me to want to shut down and step away.  I don't know how to handle my children's feelings (since I was never allowed to express or safely have feelings in my childhood - see how that works?).  I feel obligated and guilty and it's easier to just cocoon.  But then that makes me feel even more guilt (even getting into shame here), then I resent that they even have feelings (because, how dare them, right?!) and then I try to engage from a place of duty (because everyone wants their authentic feelings to be handled like a fucking chore, right?!) and it just ends up ugly.  
 This time is different.  Maybe all the internal work I've been doing is starting to spill out?  About fucking time!  ;)
 I was able to come alongside him.  Involve him in the conversation and the solution.  Empower him.  Validate him.  And "breaveheartedly" face his feelings with love and compassion, instead of fear and guilt.  

I was able to parent.  I was able to fucking parent in the way that it is supposed to be done.  I was able to parent in the way that I needed to be parented (the way that everyone needs to be parented, really).  Which has led to these realizations:

Parenting has the ability to break you wide open in ways that cannot be understood, described or experienced in any other way.  
Parenting is a constant state of vulnerability. 
Parenting has the ability to hurt you deeper than deep can go.

BUT!

Parenting has the ability to heal you in ways that cannot be understood, described or experienced in any other way.
Parenting is a constant state of amazement and wonder.
Parenting has the ability to go deeper than deep can go, find those traumas and wounds that must be healed, expose them and offer you an infinite amount of opportunities to sooth them.

Again, ooof.  

Parenting:  (if done in a way that honours all parties) that amazing thing that can soothe wounds from your own childhood, while simultaneously breaking you wide open.  It is both healing and inflicting at the same time.  It is living in a constant state of juxtaposition.  (No wonder we are all so fucking tired, eh?!?!)  

The soul is healed by being with children.  ~  English Proverb 
(Seen on 'The Organic Sister' page on Facebook.) 

Here is where I leaned/am learning to be a Braveheart parent:
http://braveheartparentinghelp.com/
They are on Facebook, too.
 https://www.facebook.com/pages/Braveheart-Parenting/169976559781542   

FB Rants 10/2/14

I was passively/aggressively invited to an argument on FB this morning by a complete stranger, over a comment that I made that did not involve him in any way. I did not respond. I don't plan to. I will log off and go about my day and my life without it affecting me in any way.
See how easy that is, People? You don't have to respond to every ignorant invitation to an immature battle of wits. You don't have to blare your opinions all over the interwebs, all day long, every time you see something that you disagree with. Your time is better spent proving that your beliefs make you a good person to the people that see you and experience you every single day.
Bottom line, you don't have to be a dick on the internet.

FB Rants 9/28/14

Hey, People. Guess what. Respect and trust are something that children (no matter what age) do not, I repeat, do NOT owe their parents. Respect and trust are earned. If your children (no matter what age) do not respect and trust you, 2 things, you are not being respectable or trustworthy and you are not showing them respect and trust. I promise. Children learn how to navigate through this world by behaviour modeled by their parents. Not by verbal lectures from their parents. Good, loving, kind behaviour is best modeled. If you want your children (no matter what age) to act like a loving, kind, decent person, you are going to have to put in the work and be one yourself.
Children (no matter what age) are not animated objects to be broken, scared, oppressed, manipulated and bullied into a place of obedient submission. (No matter what an archaic, barbaric book says about it!) They are fully conscious, fully aware, fully sovereign human beings. They are human beings. Human. Beings.
Let's stop expecting (which is a mistake unto itself) behaviour from our children that we are not even willing to rise to ourselves. Stop it. Just, stop it. Be the kind of person that you want your children to be to the rest of the world.
Let's stop shaking our heads in bewilderment at "this generation" and its supposed flaws, and have the humility to recognize that the current generations can only be what the previous ones cultivated them to be. Stop it. Just, stop it. Be the kind of person that you want to meet out in the rest of the world.
Let's stop expecting (again, huge mistake) and hoping that everyone else will make the world a better place. Let's stop demanding that our children behave as we say and not as we do. And let's just start doing and being it ourselves.
Society starts at home. It starts with me. And it starts with you.

FB Rants 8/31/14

Now that our beautiful local landscape is dotted with hideous, monster structures called wind turbines, and they are FINALLY spinning, is now a good time to expect my hydro bills to be drastically reduced? No? ‪#‎takingituptheass‬ Oh, what's that? My bill is actually going to go up? 'Cause it has. A lot! ‪#‎takingituptheassmore‬ Now I get to see these ugly things on the daily, pay for them for forever and never actually see any return on them? I should just stay bent over, eh?

FB Rants 9/9/14

Thank you, but no thank you, ‪#‎MeghanTrainor‬ for a song that *ALMOST* has an empowering message for girls. Instead it ends up doing a disservice to both men and women. If your mama had stopped her message at "don't worry about your size" then all would be cool. But, nope, there had to be more. You just had to keep singing. ‪#‎why‬ ‪#‎shutup‬ ‪#‎bodyshaming‬ ‪#‎yetagain‬ ‪#‎sametiredmessage‬ ‪#‎sigh‬
Here is the real message we should be sending:
Girls, you do NOT have to justify the size of your butt!
Boys, there is SO MUCH more to a girl than the size and shape of her butt!
Girls, a man (not a boy) will appreciate and respect "holding you at night" no matter the size of your butt.
Boys, hear this! There is SO MUCH more to a girl than her body.

We have to stop with these near-misses in messages to BOTH genders in our society. Justifying the size of your body to a culture that demands you be a "size two" with a nah-nah-nah-nah-boo-boo retort of "guys like my size better in bed anyways" is NOT body acceptance. It is more body shaming. Furthermore, it only serves to send the message that guys ONLY care about girls who go to bed with them and that girls should ONLY accept their bodies if boys want to go to bed with it.
"'Cause every inch of you is perfect/
From the bottom to the top"
FULL STOP! FULL FUCKING STOP!
(This has been Ranty Tuesday with Hillary. Thanks for playing along. Carry on, Love.)

I just can't... So, I rant

I rant.  A lot.  It is my way of lashing back at the accepted status quo and trying to spread little seeds of doubt, wonder and unrest among anyone I come into contact with.  For the most part.  
I ranted last night to my daughter's friend.  I ranted a few weeks ago to the owner of the dance studio where my daughter is a student.  
I don't do it loudly.  I try not to do it angrily and be all nasty about it.  I want it to be heard.  In the most Freudian way possible.  ;)  

Since I have exhausted my family's tolerance of my attempts to save their lives, save their souls, save the environment and save the planet, I often turn to Facebook to vent something and call attention to a particular cause, shift or thought.  So I will start copy/pasting my little rants here.  You know.  To preserve them for posterity.  ;)

I'm going to go post one all up in here right now!

The Healing Letters, Volume 1: Dear Mom

 (Not gonna lie.  This has been saved in 'drafts' for a very long time.  I got to "crippled and extremely damaged" and had to sit with it for a few months and grieve.  I hope that I am ready to press 'publish'.  Here goes.)


Dear Mom,
I want to believe that you did your best in raising me and loving me.  

I want to...

It's just that - your best left me crippled and extremely damaged.

That damaged child became a damaged mother who, in turn, damaged  my own children.  Some days I feel too broken to attempt to heal the brokenness that is evident in my babies.  Some days I feel unable to parent my children in any way other than how I was parented.  And the cycle spins itself into continual useless continuation.  For no other reason than that it is all we know.   

But I know that there is still time.  For my children.  For me.  For you.  For us.  

So, I press on.  I fight.  I cry.  I heal.  I try.  I fail.  I see hope.  I accept.  I acknowledge.  I rejoice at progress, no matter how small.  I mourn.  I grieve.  I feel helpless.  I feel hopeless.  I avoid.  I hide.  I remain disconnected.  I feel guilt.  I get depressed.  I am angry.  I am sad.  I feel fear.  I choose happiness.  I embrace.  I trust.  I am... a mess.

I am fighting an invisible war.  Within myself.  It is not my war.  It is not my fight.  And yet.

I desperately want to show my children their value and open a sacred place for them in my heart, but I was never shown my own value and never offered a sacred place in anyone's heart.  So, I struggle.  To undo a lifetime of wrong so that I can do right for my babes.
I do not hate, though.  I see, I understand that I am where you have been.  I can offer you forgiveness, Mom.  Because I desperately need to be forgiven by my children.  I desperately need to forgive myself.  

And now, as the tears flow, I find a bit more peace.  I make the slightest motion forward.  I carefully reconstruct myself.  And there is hope for all of us.  

I love you, Mom.
Signed,
Your broken, learning to be whole, child