Control

Riding the waves of life. I used that imagery giving birth to my children. Riding the wave, looking over my shoulder to know when to paddle, staying with the crest, being in the moment so as to not become overcome by what I can not control. Knowing that really, truly, we are powerless. Being willing to surrender any notion of 'control' of the situation. Breathing, observing, being.

Rob is out of work again. My Grandmother has cancer. Things I can not control. The economy. The speed at which cells in Grandma's breasts divided. 

What I can control. The direction that I look. Whom I vote for. Where in my body I send my breath. My ability to still sit in the sun with a cup of coffee, watching the golden strands of my children's hair intermingled as they examine dirt, and say to my self "life is good". 

Because it is. Life is sweet. Regardless of the size of waves, or where I am in relation to the pounding surf. 

Teach Your Children Well

Still Life Sunday:

Finding Yoga Everywhere

Some thoughts on my June 'challenge'... last month my sister, who is 12 years my elder, finally got to walk across a stage and accept her Associates degree. It has been a long twenty-five years coming for her to experience that, the walk. Through abusive relationships, drug addictions, undiagnosed bipolar disorder, my sister has clawed, fought, slugged her way to this point. And I am so very very proud that she kept at it. When so many others wouldn't bother at this point, she is continuing on, working now towards her BA. It is her commitment that inspired me to bring discipline back into my life.

I feel often that I float through on life with little intention, lacking a clear focus. So rather than focus on the BIG things, I wanted to create daily habits, little things, that will be the fertile ground for the seeds of bigger things to grow from.

Today I finish my yoga practice at 11 pm. Just 5 Surya Namaskar A's, and Savasana. In a way I felt I had already done my practice while I cooked dinner. If yoga is truly the yoking of mind, body and spirit, risotto is yoga. The act and art of standing patiently, mindfully, coaxing and nursing along these little pearls to release their starch is a practice in its own right. As I stood over my stove, linking breath and the movement of my wooden spoon, setting an intention of love, knowing the steamed greens and ricotta added would create my son's favorite dish, this was yoga. It was lovely. But my mat time is mine alone. So I need that too.

In time I'd like to add more structure to the yoga challenge, Ashtanga 3 times weekly, 3 days to play and explore edges in a freer form. But first June, to develop the daily habit of creating space to breathe.

I thought I'd share the recipe for this dish. My cousin Selene gave it to my mother, and she shared it with me. Bridger can not get enough. Be sure to use best quality whole milk ricotta, fresh, not the supermarket kind (I make mine - stupid easy, and SO GOOD), and season to taste as you go. Once you are adding liquids, stir very frequently, it's what makes risotto so creamy.

Ricotta alla Selene

Steam 5-6 cups of greens - spinach, chard, kale, whatever you have. Puree.

Simmer 5 cups stock of your choice (chicken, veg, beef) in a saucepan. Melt 1 tbsp butter in 1 tbsp olive oil in a large saute pan over med-low heat. Add 3 cloves minced garlic and 2 medium diced onion, and sweat until translucent. Do not brown. Add 1.5 cups Arborio rice, and stir to coat, toast for 1 minute. Deglaze with a generous splash of sherry, or white wine, stirring frequently. As rice soaks up liquid, and starts to thicken, add a ladleful of the stock. Stir until it is absorbed. Continue adding stock by the ladleful as it is taken up by the rice, stirring frequently. To add all the liquid should take 25 or so minutes. As you near the last ladleful, add the greens, stir to combine. When rice is al dente, or just softer, add 1 cup of ricotta, and stir well to combine. Add freshly grated parmesan to taste. Heaven. A little bit of my mother's Italy in my kitchen.

Consistent Commitment

I'm good at a lot of things. To the point where I don't get to do a lot of them very often. And I often I am not very good at caring for myself. So in an effort to fix this conundrum, I am making the commitment to myself to do the following consistently in the month of June:

Practice yoga daily.
Have a green smoothie, and/or a green juice daily.
Blog at least once a week.
See my horse this month.

There. It's out in the ether. I have to do these things now.

Starfish

So it happened over February vacation. I was at a Panera with the kids and a friend. I had one of THOSE MOMENTS where just for a second, you look up, look around, and SEE something. Trash. Lots of it. And Panera is hardly a wasteful establishment as American capitalism goes. They have reusable flatware, mugs, and silverware for their eat-in customers. But fountain drink cups, napkins, chip bags all get thrown away. Yes there's recycling for bottles, but in the moment I asked an employee where I could recycle Isabella's juice cup, and she respnded that there wasn't a place for that, I looked around. And I was horrified. Think about it. That was one twenty minute shot of what goes on in hundreds of thousands of resturants EVERYDAY. That made me start to think of exactly how much garbage (much of which could be recycled) goes into landfills minute by minute. And then I thought about the needed paradigm shift. People bringing a reusable cup with them to more than just a coffee joint. Not just a few people, EVERYONE.

Now, don't get me wrong, recycling is important. But it is also a carbon-heavy, inefficient, imperfect PART of the solution. It is not the answer. In our culture, so much of our economy depends on the manufacture of disposable items that really MUST be replaced by reusable items. Our enviromental survival depends on breaking the conumerist attitudes that say we can buy new things cheaply and more easily than reusing what we have. There are lobbies that prevent the government from creating incentives for us to ensure that our children will have a home to live in at all. But I can't change those things all by myself, or change them right now. But  today, on Earth Day's big 4-0, I'll tell you what I can do: REDUCE consumption, REUSE what I have, RECYCLE as much as possible.

I've always identified as a 'crunchy' type, even in 6th grade, before I knew what recycling was, I'd doodle 'peace, love, recycle' symbols on my notebooks. I was raised to compost, to be frugal, to revel in the natural world. So as an adult, I already did alot of the 'obvious' green things: energy efficient lightbulbs, composting, carrying a mug and water bottle around. Bridger is in cloth diapers (LOVE OUR CLOTH!!), and our town charges for trash but recycling is free, so we recycle like crazy at home. Last year we joined a CSA, to support local organic food, and reduce the carbon-footprint of our diet.

Since my MOMENT though, I've made a few more changes. Like stopping using paper towels. I cut up receiveing blankets and we use those instead. I'm buying as much clothing second-hand as I can find. We are buying whole melons and pineapples and cutting them at home instead of buying the pre-cut, pre-packaged fruit at the store. I'm using alot less 'help from the store' - it really doesn't take that much more time to make things from scratch, there is so much less packaging, and it tastes better too. And this might be TMI, but I switched to sea-sponge tampons. In at least 25 years of monthly cycles, feminine products have got to make a huge enviromental impact. The eww-factor is really not that bad. No worse than wiping a baby's shitty behind...

At one point Rob asked if I thought not using paper towels was really going to make a difference, and I was reminded of that story about starfish on a beach. Thousands of starfish were tossed up onto a beach after a storm. A person is walking on the beach, throwing them back into the sea, one by one. A passer-by asks why, what difference could it possibly make. And as another starfish is returned to the sea, the person says simply, 'it made a difference to that one'. Alone we can not change world. But we share this earth with 7 billion other people. If each one of us took personal responsibility for our actions and the impact we have on the earth and each other, we could alter the course of the future. If we each examine our lives, and find one thing a month, week, even day to change that will reduce consumption, reuse what we have, or recycle what we no longer need, we will make a difference. We must make a difference. The time is now.

Thinking of Angels

Often enough in baby-lost blog land it's been commented that the not-babylost crowd really 'doesn't know how we'd survive it'. And I've said that myself. I can't imagine how I would go on if one of my children were to die before me. And I've also heard it discussed (and thought to myself) what might be worse, losing a term infant, a young child, a teenager about to step off into the world, or an adult child. I find those conversations a bit useless, it's all fucking awful. Pain should never be compared - it all hurts.  And, as a human mother who has survived my share of heartache and trauma, I know that when I say 'I don't know how I'd survive', what I mean is that I don't want to have to find out.

And universe, I want to die before my children, but not before they still need me. Picky, I know.

April 3rd is a cruel day in my opinion. Two years ago, a baby named Baker was almost born, but then died. To labor and not come home with a live baby, unimaginable. Twelve years ago, my childhood friend Robert was stabbed once in the back outside a night club. He fell to the ground and bled out. There were over 50 on-lookers but to date no-one has been brought to justice for his murder. He was 18. So tonight I am sending so much love to these families, marking yet another year gone by.

I have to believe that the animus that is a human spirit continues after the body ceases to function. I know that in the months after Robert's death I would sometimes feel him with me, so close it was palpable. I know I see Baker in my son's laughter. I've taught my daughter that in the retelling of stories and memories we keep the spirit of those who have passed on alive within us. On the eve of Easter, I'd like to think that I can keep these two spirits alive in a way, resurrected from faint memory.

And I pray that I will never know the sorrow of a childless mother, walking the earth without her heart here on earth. And I pray that I will always be humble and human enough to know that I can become that woman, so quickly, so easily. So I am thankful that my heart walks this earth with me. For now.

Captain Obvious

One must first be lost in order to be found.

The brilliant and profound C has once again sent my mind-cogs into action. Yesterday as we sat with toddler chaos all around, and coffee to soothe the ragged edges, she began to muse about how much more comfortable she is in her own skin as she walks through life as N's mother. As a mother, you just do what needs to be done. And after a while what used to be gross, or awkward, or someone else's job just gets done, or is ignored. Because it just is. Screaming child in store? Check. Shirtless baby on a (thankfully) 70 degree October day coming into YOUR doctor's appointment because they puked all over themselves and the car and you were too sick to remember a change of clothes? Check. Grabbing visible boogers from the nostril entrance? Check. What once would have cringe-inducing, or embarrassing, we just do. And that kind of comfort in one's life is such a revelation.

And that made me realize: it took me becoming not myself to truly become myself. The early days and months of motherhood truly made me not myself. At birth I transformed from the vessel that grew another human being to the being that was now charged with sustaining this human being. There was no room for Mira at that time. I was just Mother. This phenomenon was not relegated to just the first child either. I so clearly remember, as I began the descent into PPD, thinking out loud 'I was a perfectly competent mother of one child. What the fuck made me think I have any business being a mother of two children?????'. I said this to my mother (god love her). Please, never tell an overwhelmed mother of less children than you have that she has it easy. Guarantee you've just made her feel like shit. (And Mom, you were not the only one who shared that sentiment. You are amazing. I love you and thank you for all of your gifts.) But I digress... I had to learn to be the mother of two children. I had to abandon all that I thought that knew of the mother of Isabella alone, in order to become the mother of Isabella and Bridger. And now, I find, that in delving so deeply into being someone who is not Mira, I have found who I am.

In yoga we talk of duhka, the cause of suffering. It is the sand at the bottom of the glass, that when stirred, makes the water cloudy. It prevents us from seeing the truth of things. A block of marble looks like nothing more than a cube of rock, until the sculptor chips away everything that is not the statue. It is then we see the art within. It is with that intent that yoga aims to unify the body and mind, to quiet the inner chatter so our essence can be found. I find it a little ironic that it was my practice before I returned to the mat that allowed me to find myself. Malasana as I squatted to birth my babies. Ardha Chandrasana while picking up toys. Tadasana to be stern. All before I knew... It makes me wonder how many incarnations of myself I will be privileged enough to discover in the years to come.