MASTODON

OK, I was going through some old files and found several back issues of the zine I did when we lived in Madison.
Mastodon (or "breast teeth") was my attempt at publishing anti-copyright artwork by creative types. Everything in it is meant to be freely distributed, copied, etc. Printed in an 8.5 x 11 format, #3 can be yours if you simply send me 3 oz. worth of first class postage. And your address, of course. I mostly have #3 back issues, but there might be an extra #2 (which is the best, imo) floating around.

Hey, it's free!

Mama #4 is HERE!

HOT OFF THE COPIER
Due to the last-minute generosity of a like-minded mama, I was able to get black ink for our printer and get that damned zine printed. Oh joy! Rahula, you rock my world! I'm so happy to finally get something substantial done post-baby.

It may take a little while to get yours if you trade with me, so be patient. If you're expecting one in the mail and you still haven't received it in two weeks, please let me know.

BUY ONE
If you would like to purchase one, you may do so by mailing me $2, and sending me your address or a SASE big enough for a half-size zine. Just send me an email and I'll give you my mailing address.

WHERE CAN I PICK ONE UP?
FREE in Menomonie, at the Acoustic Cafe, Legacy Chocolates. I'm trying to get free copies out to Eau Claire at Racy's and Trucker's Union, too, before xmas break. Keep your eyes open. Eventually Volume One will sell it, when I get some copies to them, too.

HUH?
If you'd like to know more about the zine, just let me know.

Guess what color this issue is?

The story with the happy ending

So even though today is this grandiose gluttony day here in the US, we made good food and enjoyed each other's company all day. In fact, around 11:00 a completely organic, genuine smile filled me as I thought about how the day was going! The first in several months. I get to spend the day with Chris, the baby is so amusing today, Lola is entertaining herself as we cook. This is getting good!

And the best? While putting Pearl down for her nap, Lola kept at me to have a nap, too. I've been selfishly denying her naps yesterday and today in order to keep a bedtime for her that honors my need to actually talk to Chris during the day. If she sleeps too late, he and I never get to talk at all during the day. That's another post...

But today during this time, Lola came in after lots of struggles to lay peacefully in her bed next to us. As I tried to put the baby to sleep, Lola made some little talk (after being asked repeatedly to be quiet), and then settled down. When Pearl slept, I happily crawled in next to Lola and did some serious mama-kid snuggling. Guess what happened?

Gently stroking my cheek, she whispers:
"You are so special. You are the most special person in this house. Yeah. I love you."
Quiet tears.

"So special. You are so wonderful. And it's so wonderful to be the mama of one 4-month old baby and one 3 year old child."
I'm smiling, nuzzing her. Stunned.

"And that person sleeping over there, in that bed, she thinks you are wonderful, too. Yeah."

What kind of thing does the mother say to this besides, how did I fall into this story? This story with the happy ending?

Have you seen the Worldprocessor?

Do you like globes?

http://www.worldprocessor.com/

My favorites include the blank, the ocean currents, the life expectancy, and too many more to name. You simply must go to the site and see how creative we are. It is eerie how beautiful they are, like lamps, or candles, or maybe, stars.

Maria Lactans

Now you all know (OK, maybe you don't) that I was raised Catholic. Baptised, taught that women were inherently evil and that's why we're baptised, God made the whole universe, etc. I was also taught that Mary is the special ear to god for all girls and women, and that prayers to her would help when you really need it.

I am no longer Christian, and certainly not Catholic, but I still have a thing about Mary. My favorite thing about Mary is the beautiful suffering; the seven swords piercing her already blood-red heart are my favorite. Bonus points if she's holding fruit or nursing her baby. It seems that everyone worships a Great Mother, even the Catholics, in their own way.

Speaking of which, here is a fabulous site of pictures of Mary nursing Jesus, her baby and toddler. Yes! Toddler nursing! Mamas, I have to warn you about the misogynist stuff before hand: there is considerable text about women being discreet and obedient and shit like that. Um, ignore it or feel free to send the host a note. But I chose to ignore it since it makes no bones about being a Catholic web site.

dystopian fiction link

Another short post... kids are napping!

Found a great link. The entire essay is quite good; it's really a review of another author's writing, but hey, it's still interesting.

From the Boston Globe's essay:
But when it comes to the power of science fiction to spring us from what he claims is our current state of political paralysis, Jameson is enthusiastic. ''It's only when people come to realize that there is no alternative," he said, ''that they react against it, at least in their imaginations, and try to think of alternatives."

And that is exactly what I love about this kind of fiction - it validates my natural impulse to solve unsolvable social problems with my own ideas. I heart utopia.

And thanks to Boing for bringing this to my attention.

10 Things to do with WIC beans

I've had a request for ideas of what to do with all those pounds of dried beans you get from WIC. I mean, plain old beans is pretty old. Here are some things you may want to try with all those legumes:

1. Make bean bags.
Remember how fun that was? Just need some cheapo fabric from Goodwill or use an old shirt. Go crazy! Play bean bag tic tac toe.

2. Spend your winter counting them, perhaps arranging them by size and/or color.

3. Plant them next spring (away from rabbits! rabbits will eat your sprouty plants!)

4. Make a rattle. Or maracas.

5. Art! Glue, construction paper, macaroni, straws, whatever. Sculpt your favorite mammal, or a favorite book.

6. Sensory table media for the older toddlers.

7. Donate them to the Food Pantry.

8. Send them to friends. Wrap them in colorful hand-made boxes and claim they're magic beans. Just don't tell Mom!

9. I suppose you could really eat them... Chili? Refried beans (our favorite)? Vegetable stew? Black bean and corn pie?

10. Accidentally spill them and wait for the drama?

Have You Been Touched by His Noodly Appendage?

I am much, much, MUCH too amused by this. And perhaps, after a good strong ale, you will be too.

They have a couple online stores, too! (By the way,this nursing mama wears an xxl)

How long is 5 minutes?

Still in my pajamas. Almost 9:00pm.

I wish I was one of those people who loved staying in their sleep clothes all day, feeling the baggy groove. But I'm not. To me, changing clothes is an integral part of my ability to brush my teeth, my hair, shower, and go outside. This day has been all about the intense philosophical needs of Lola and the need to eat, wear clean clothes, and sit down on a couch free from miscellaneous Lola things when I needed to nurse Pearl to sleep. I am reminded of the mama poets from 50 or 80 years ago who wrote in 5-minute bursts, on whatever they had, whenever they could, forging their own way amidst the currents of child rearing. I tease myself with quick fix daydreams - what if Lola was already out of diapers and used the toilet by herself? What if I had an extra $100 a month for take out? What if we lived in the woods with a pack of dogs and an indoor cat, all snuggly in front of the fireplace? What if Chris's family actually tried to include him and cultivated a sense of family for our daughters to see? What if we already had another source of income that allowed me to work with the girls and write and play all day?

I do miss my two-handed butt time in front of the computer. But you should see me go in 15 minutes when I get it! Writing is easy again. Dishes are washed faster than I can remember in my childless days. I know how to enjoy laying flat on my back for 2 minutes, and make it count. No amount of chaos looks like a disaster anymore. I am truly beginning to see the meaning of "force of nature". Mamas, do you feel it?

These days are my favorite, who am I kidding? I have a life of the mind, even if it's slogging through another round of reassuring questions from my sensitive 3 year old: what does opposite mean? Was the dead otter we saw in that picture a "he" or a "she"? Was the chipmunk a mama? Where did it live? Why? What does "drive" mean? What does "never" mean? How long is 5 minutes?

Zine teaser

What follows in an excerpt from an essay in my next issue of mama, #4. It's the last one describing my meeting with my birth mom's family.

Mama #4 will be out as soon as we scrape up the $$ for a black ink jet printer cartridge (anyone have a spare black for a 15?) and some copying fees...

********************

From: Seeking My Birth Family, Part 3

In locating my birth aunt, I understood now that I had a place to figure out. A new role to add to my already complicated sense of identity. How would it all shake out with my family? How would I get along with my birth relatives? What did I expect to get from all of this? These hard questions were not so complicated after all; I approached it all with an open mind and, at times, a vulnerable heart. I cried a lot after I learned that Judy died. I cried, too, in the car on the way to our first hotel stay in Illinois. To my partner I explained that I wasn’t sure what I would need throughout all of this, but that I would let him know as I went. He supported me the whole time, with his whole person. And together we drove on down to meet my kin.

To prepare for the trip I packed some family photos: me growing up, as a baby, as a girl scout, with my parents, Lola as a baby. I didn’t have a lot to share, but I brought what I could and what I thought someone who wondered about me but missed my entire childhood might be interested in. The first family-related stop was my parents’ house. There we washed some diapers, filled up our bellies, got a good night’s sleep, played at a park. Talked a little. I was surprised to discover my own parents’ mild anxiety about the trip, which they let only a little show. As I shared with them the pictures of the DeBord family P. had sent to me they had so many questions. They never said what their hearts shouted: can we meet her? Their sadness for my loss (of Judy) was deep and wide. They grilled me about our itinerary, which I shared: next day to P’s to meet at a park; then, off to set up camp nearby; spend the day together after that, doing whatever catching up is possible in such a short time; meet my other birth aunt and then off to Missouri to visit the graves of my dead relatives; then to meet my extended adopted family to celebrate my grandma’s 90th birthday; then, the loooong drive back home to Wisconsin. Lots of driving, lots of car time, lots of overnights with an almost-three year old. A busy schedule for someone in need of thinking time, of the still quiet time to process all those pesky questions about loving and family and loss.

continued...

Another Darned Post About How Hard It Is

I thought I had met my wits' end before, but I discovered an even longer highway to hell this morning.

Today, after a night of the same, Pearl cried, fussed and/or screamed every time she nursed (or was put on the boob), every time she went to sleep, every time she woke up, every diaper change, every time her poor tender gums ached. Man! This afternoon I put her in the sling to try and get her to sleep and my only thought was "I'm so happy I don't have to hold a screaming baby." Immediately after that I was simply happy her screams and sobbing were well-muffled by all that fabric.

Then, after some intense crying, she fell fast asleep.

Mamas, do I need to tell you how good it feels when your entirely miserable baby finally conks out peacefully?? I got a good hour and a half of quiet baby, of playing with Lola, and a short waslk around the block. I could talk and think. As in a cheesy movie, I noticed all the colors of the world, the warm day, the doomed lone butterfly. Like R. says, sometimes it takes someone else's crankiness to get what you need. So far, every time, he's been right.

At least she's sleeping now.

And on another note - have you read fourlittlebirds' blog yet? Her stuff about birth is so wonderfu. Go there now.

Octavia Butler

I just found out that Octavia Butler will be interviewed on my favorite radio news program, Democracy Now tomorrow.

Her science fiction, while not as profound or maybe just not as poetic as Ursula LeGuin's, is often just as interesting. Feminist, Black, far-seeing, and a self-admitted hermit in Seattle, she has written books in which the other is not only necessary and tragic, but also a persistent survivor in unimaginable circumstances. I enjoyed her exogenesis trilogy and you might, too. She won a Macarthur grant about 10 years ago.

Another Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again

Again, I have been reminded why I hate crowded "fun" things with children.

I have developed a strong aversion to all indoor events full of strangers and their children. Of narrow corridors, artificial air, clutter, ugly furniture, loud noises, strollers. Of packed streets, of long lines, of pushing and shoving to move you and your three year old along a narrow pathway to another loud and crowded venue. Perhaps I am just done with all of that.

We went to the Interntaional Folk Fair in Eau Claire today and I - gasp - hated it! I love learning about people, their origins, their cultures, their norms, their food, their quirks. But this felt like consumer madness. There were small rooms filled with cluttered tables staffed by beautifully-dressed people, with some things for sale, some to eat. Nothing easy to get to or enjoy. Just step up and grab some papers about that country and go to the next one, please. Maybe buy some representational food or craft/art while you're there. Ick. I hate this kind of approach to culture.

Remind me to stop taking my children to things like this. I'd rather stay at home and cook some curried tofu and cauliflower while drinking hot chai and watching a good movie. Now I'm going to try to relax and convince my tired body to release its headache.



An hour later:
Who am I kidding? Of course we'll go to this event again - what else is there in my little conservative xtian, white neck of the woods? And besides, Lola loved the steel drums.

And thanks to L., who made it all possible.

Compassion

I've been feeling a bit stressed lately with childcare. Pearl's started teething in earnest, which has meant screaming, fussing, crying a lot when she nurses, being overstimulated/overtired at night when I'm most in need of some down time. It's beginning to feel like a bit of a marathon by 8:30pm. And some mornings I reluctantly look at the clock to see it's only 10:30. You'd think I'd learn to stop all that, but I'm slow to change.

When I get that stressed, and have little or no break time, I have learned that the first thing to go has been my compassion. For Lola, for Chris, for myself. It's not pretty, feeling like I can only meet the basic needs of the household and everything - anything - else is extra. No fun time, no cuddling, no soft voices, no mama who feels she can provide any comfort to anyone.

And the effect on my children? More child screaming. More whining and shrieking. More boundary testing. More tired behaviors and less impulse control. Children who are harder to parent when exhausted. Stronger desire for comfort foods.

And I've also noticed a parallel lack of compassion in my eldest daughter. When did I forget to teach that we care about what happens to other people? I mean, this principle has been explained before but never been emphasized, made explicit. She watches our compassionate gestures, and relationships, but I've never pointed it all out to her.

So today I've decided to reintroduce compassion. In my explanations, in my actions, in my body. I'm choosing compassion, if you will. Maybe it will work. Maybe I'll just go drink some more coffee. Whatever the result, I'm sure whatever happens I will feel more like a good mama and less like an angry, testy mama. Nobody likes that. Or, perhaps, everybody will.