Hidden Trauma: Dealing with Crap You Didn't Even Know Bothered You

It started with a post about someone having to sit next to a wriggly, rambunctious child at the movies. Before I knew it, I was on the attack and when it was over, I started crying... for an hour.

WTF?!?

I ended up talking with my husband, and I realized that I was especially sensitive about the idea that parents shouldn't take their kids out in public unless XYZ (usually to do with the behavior of said kids).

Now, to be clear, I get as annoyed as anyone when some little jerk-monster is being a pain. But I also remember feeling completely abandoned by all friends and most family for almost FOUR YEARS.

When I got pregnant, I stopped going to the bars with friends. Seems obvious, right? Well, none of them ever came to visit me or call to check up. I'd already established myself as someone who really doesn't like to "bug people", so I'm very unlikely to call someone just cuz I'm lonely.

Then I moved to eliminate the hour-long commute to work. On several occasions after my son was born, it hit me that if I was somehow incapacitated by
illness or injury, not a single person would notice for days at a time, except my coworkers, and I'd just get fired as a no-show.

My son is ASD (autism spectrum), and he was a fussy, fussy baby. I couldn't go out in the evenings, because he cried for around 2 hours every single night. No reason. Just cried. I couldn't do any of the evening activities that might have gotten me out of the house and around other people.

He also cried in the checkout lane. He'd be perfectly happy shopping, but no matter the time or how long we'd been at the store, he'd cry in the checkout lane. Three times I was told to abandon my month's worth of groceries if I couldn't keep my infant from fussing. As a single working mom, that wasn't even an option, but it didn't keep people from telling me I didn't belong in a public place with a baby.

When my parents came to town, they often took me out to eat. As a single parent breastfeeding, I spent my evenings eating take-out (usually cold after taking care of baby1), so I happily passed my son over to my mother and ate decent hot food that I didn't have to try to cook with an infant. Twice, my own mother asked why I didn't just leave my food and leave the restaurant when my son got a bit (trust me, that was only a bit, people) fussy. I may have gotten a look on my face similar to a starving predator facing down something that wanted the gazelle for itself.

At that point, I didn't have internet, except at work. So I spent my days working and my nights feeding the baby while I watched cable TV. Alone. For months at a time.

When I moved to my current small town, I went out ONE time with coworkers. We went to the bar for my birthday. It was my 30th birthday. One of my coworkers called my mother because she thought I was getting "too drunk".

I can't even explain how being collected by my mother at 30 years old because people don't TRUST me to be able to take care of myself... how that completely shut down any further attempts I might have made to have any kind of social life. After all, it was a small town. Everyone knew my mother.

So after 4 years of no social interactions outside of work and a few minor events, I started a business, met my now-husband, and got pregnant again. For several reasons, which have since been resolved, I started my daughter's life as a single mother still. My mom took us to see Juno. I got to watch 30 minutes before baby2 started to fuss.

I had no car - I was there with my mom who was still watching the movie with my son. So I spent the entire movie pacing the hall with a fussy baby. For some reason, I wasn't really eager to try that again any time soon.

So, that's all ancient history, and it sucked but it was what it was and now I'm okay. Except, apparently, I'm not okay.

Even now, just thinking about all of this (not something I usually do), I am fighting back tears. It was hard to think that after all the people telling me I'm a good mom, and I did so well when solo, etc., etc... I was traumatized.

Even now, the thought of being a single parent again is so painful that I just want to curl up into a ball. I am literally gun-shy of it. It closes my emotions off except for this bitter, clogging pain. It shuts my mind down except for these memories going through my head over and over.

And I never even knew that it had affected me so deeply. Despite the fact that I do Shadow Work ALL THE TIME, I never knew. I dig for things like this, regularly, but I had no idea it was there.

So the lesson here is this: Shadow Work is never done. There is always more to work on. And just because trauma is hidden, doesn't mean you are not traumatized. And just because you are traumatized, doesn't make you broken... just a little chipped.

Swimming with the Fishes: Tales of the Tickle Shark

Today, I went swimming. And it was a glorious thing.

Bug is the one on the left...

Nevermind that the water was over chlorinated, the room was unventilated, the kids were in need of micro-management, and there were bat-like shrieks reverberating through the room.

As an air sign, I am a born-in-the-water fish. (I know, but it makes sense on some level.) I love the weightlessness and the fact that I can just dive in and enjoy myself.

Today, we had bug, ladybug and the bug-cousin in the pool with us. Ladybug, at 14 mo, was decked out in a floaty-suit. She was totally WTF at first, but she relaxed after a while and enjoyed being hauled around the pool area by Stormcrow. We played a little bit of "Pass the Baby," passing her back and forth between us. And we practiced a little bit of a backfloat.

"Mommy said she'd be right back...
that was half an hour ago..."

The boys, bug and bug-cousin, are 18 days apart. Bug-cousin just turned 5 yo and bug is 4 days away from that mark. We are going to the zoo tomorrow.

I got to be the Tickle Shark. I would swim up to the bug-boys and tickle them while they made their way around the pool. The pool was nice in that it was 3 foot for most of it, and 4 foot only in the middle. But there was a ledge around the edge of the "deep" part so the boys could maneuver through most of it without issue.

I, the Tickle Shark, caught bug several times, at which point he would shriek in delight and attempt to scratch his way to freedom. Bug-cousin (who may be slightly competitive) taunted me that I "couldn't catch him." I proved him wrong, catching him several times.

Adult-type persons...
Comforting, isn't it?

Swimming with kids is a pain in the butt, if you are alone, but when there are more than one adult-type persons, it can be a great way to run off the excess sugar. Not that I would EVER feed the boys slushy floats... Ever.

Tomorrow we shall be doing more sugar and running amok in the zoo. Looks like the monkeys will have some entertainment tomorrow... Woot!

A Baseball Bat to the Knees: Stomach Flu

Foot fetish + zombie athlete's foot = REALLY bad breath!

There is a zombie apocalypse going on. There is stumbling, moaning, pasty complexions, and a possible loss of body parts.

No, the Poncho Industry didn't accidentally release a deadly version of athlete's foot.When parents of small children get sick, no amount of special forces aide can help.

Each one of these is a hog-tied child...

Now, just to clarify, we are talking about a two-person job (raising two young kids from one day to the next) and not only tapping out one of the players, but hog-tying them and mounting them on the back of the player who is still standing (not for long!).

The person who passes the diapers to you while you pin down the kicking baby for the count of ten is, instead, curled up on the bathroom floor trying not to puke on the bath mat.

Even the absence of the gastrointestinally disturbed partner is better than having yet another body to herd to bed, bath and beyond (the activities, not the store). This is easily explained by the average weight of an adult vs. a child being in direct conflict with the ability of a person to wrestle two children while carrying that weight.

So what you end up with is zombie-parent stumbling around groaning like "Aaarrrnnn!" and not zombie-parent thinking that a gun is the only hope of survival.

Shoot the kids? Shoot the husband? I JUST DON'T KNOW!!

Free-Lovin' Paganism: The Unknown Pros

A few weeks ago, one of my coworkers (let's call him Mac), who is a single parent to two boys around the same age as bug, was having a parental melt-down.

He asked me (and a few others there) how he was supposed to answer one of the most feared questions a parent can get:

It's never too young to have "The Talk"... or is it?

"Where do babies come from?"

Poor Mac. He had no clue. But I was there to guide him through it. And the other parents there agreed with me.

"Just tell them what they want to know."

"So I should tell them that the daddy puts his %$#@&* in the woman's %$#@&*?"

"Well, you should use biological terms if you are going to talk about that. But I wouldn't go that far at their age unless they ask specific questions."



"So I should tell them that the daddy puts his %$#@&* in the woman's %$#@&*?"

"Um..."

Subjects that should NOT be made into a pop-up book...

It was a rather cyclical discussion. I kinda think that Mac just wanted to keep saying cuss-words and "dirty" words. He's a touch on the juvenile side.


It naturally reminded me of the time(s) that bug had asked the same question. He became more curious during my pregnancy with ladybug, but he'd asked about it before, also.

I have always used biological terms when talking about the body to bug. He still argues that it's "scrotum" and nothing to do with "balls" or "sacs." It makes me laugh when Stormcrow gets caught in that particular discussion.

On the other hand, bug gets the answers to his questions without me stumbling around for an appropriate response. I just give him the bare minimum of information to answer the specific question he asked, using scientific words, which he already knows. No muss, no fuss!

So, how did Mac do? I'm not sure really, but I make fun of him all the time about his whole "So I should tell them that the daddy puts his %$#@&* in the woman's %$#@&*?" silliness.

Mommy says I'm getting a brother or sister for Christmas!

All's Fair in Love and Parenting

Children are hell on their parents' relationship.

Today, I read about how the number of people choosing to be childless is going up and up, and more couples with children are regretting having them, claiming less happiness in their marriages, and even getting divorced because of the kids.

I was feeling a bit proud of myself, because despite this, I'm pretty happy with my life and my relationship.

Not that we don't have these moments...

Then, a coworker told me that she usually fights with her husband every time they go on a trip or plan to have visitors. And I thought, we don't fight like that.

She said it was because they both expect the other person to do things and get upset when it doesn't get done.

I tell Stormcrow exactly what I expect all the time. I do not expect him to know what I want... If I want it, I say so.

What does that say about me as a pagan, a parent and a woman?

Well, it says that I know myself. It says that I'm not under the impression that I am or should be a second-class citizen. I don't expect to be taken care of, child-like, by someone who "knows better." I have courage to be who I am, without hedging that based on what other people think I should be. I don't have to compromise myself. I can lead without all the whiny, manipulative games that seem so prevalent in our society.

But the thing that makes me most happy about this, is that my daughter will have a strong female role-model. My son will see woman through a filter of his experience with me.

If my children become able to accept females as being just as capable of leading the family unit, if they learn to see strong women as being as normal as strong men, if they gain the experience of a male-figure who doesn't depend on his ability to control to be the source of his manliness, then I will have accomplished so much more than I had ever dared to hope.

Oh, and na na-na na-na naaaa! I have a better relationship than my coworker...

Cat say Pfftt!

Yeah, I went there, too.

The Power is Mine (and Yours)!

This evening, at supper (honey chicken, stuffing and honey-cinnamon roasted radishes!), bug informed me that he could use his x-ray eyes to see that ladybug had a broken heart. To fix it, he offered to give her some of his heart-healing power, which he did by holding his hand over her chest and making a laser-y, swish-y noise.

Fear my powers of cuteness and latex!

I, being the on-the-ball, pagan parent who takes advantage of every learning opportunity, jumped on that wave and surfed it.

So, I told bug that that was called "energy transfer," which, as I expected (this isn't my first rodeo, after all), got him curious. He asked about it and we talked about how people can give each other some of their power, or energy, and how that can help people do things, or change how they feel, or heal.

Strangely,  bug looks just like this after 6 candy bars.

Then I showed bug how I give energy, and he giggled a lot. Stormcrow showed bug how he could siphon energy off people.

Then, reality crashed down: "THAT's all the power you have, mama?" Talk about a blow to the ego...

We talked about how not many people believe in powers and how that keeps us from being able to have bigger powers.

Do I think he got it? Kinda-ish.

Now you know; and knowing... Hey! I'm not in G.I.Joe!

But it's a good start, if I do say so myself.

Daycare Woes and Bloodshed

I like my daycare, make no mistake about that. They are nice, with lots of kids for my children to play with, and decent meals served three times a day (plus snacks).

But I sometimes want to smack them. Particularly the helpers.Now, I'm sure they are nice enough people, but sometimes they do something that sets my blood boiling.

Usually, it is something like talking to my son like he's a two-year-old idiot or a fourteen-year-old pain-in-the-butt. Since he's a four-year-old pickle (ie, normal, rambunctious pre-schooler), that really pisses me off.

Now, I understand that the boy-child can rub anyone the wrong way after a handful of hours. He is loud, persistent, demanding, and rather whiny. But when someone starts telling him that they don't expect him to have a "good attitude" or "good behavior" from the minute he arrives, I just want to slap some fear of the Mother Goddess into them.

Big knife, dead body... end of story

Seriously... Kali... Dark Mother... She'll smack you into next week, just to get your attention!

So, in the words of Stormcrow: "back up offa my baby, muh-fuh, or I WILL cut you!"

Bugging over Church

My mother likes to take the kids to church. She knows I'm pagan; she knows we are raising the kids in the pagan beliefs.

Now this is more like it...

Now, it isn't the church part that bugs me. It's the way she behaves towards the kids regarding church. She expects the almost 5 year old to sit quietly for an hour.

Seriously?!? Have you MET my kids? There is no quiet; there is no sitting. I can barely get them through sitting at the table for supper. And they have something to do in that situation. But just sit there and listen for an hour? I don't THINK so...

I love babies... when they are asleep!

I'm sure that my mother's heart is in the right place. However, expecting such unrealistic behavior is just silly. And she gets mad and PUNISHES them for misbehaving and (wait for it) embarrassing her. (She should read this.) Just to get this out there, my mother has a very low threshold for embarrassment... the drop of a hat will make her feel looked at and ashamed. It might drive me a bit nuts.

I told her she shouldn't punish them for not behaving in a way they are not expected to behave any other time. I told her she may want to EXPLAIN in DETAIL what is expected of them when they are in church. I also told her it may be ridiculous to expect kids that young to behave the way she wants them to in church (and this isn't something that is only with my kids either... see?).

Her reaction? "You don't want me to take the kids to church because you don't believe in it."

What?

He's quiet cuz she threatened to tell His Father!

Yeah, there's a bit of a point to that, but just a wee-bitty-bit. I let my kids learn about all religions and experience whatever religious experiences they show an interest in. I don't care if they go to Sunday school, church, synagogue, temple, whatever. I draw the line at forcing them to do something they are not ready for (such as, wait for it, sitting quietly for an hour being talked at), or anything that I see as mental/emotional manipulation. But I have nothing against the Christian/Catholic beliefs... I just don't agree with them.

I also think that the (fairly modern) belief that young children should go to church is ridiculous. As late as the 30s and 40s, many churches expected any child under about age 6 to stay home... BECAUSE THEY COULDN'T SIT STILL!!!

"Hey, this is important for your spiritual development."

"I wanna play!!"

And you certainly shouldn't PUNISH someone for not being able to meet expectations that are, at least, uncommon skills for that person's capabilities. That would be like telling me to run a mile - like run for a whole mile - and getting mad at me cuz I'm a fat girl and passed out after 3/4 of a mile. It's just not right, ya know?

You're Eating... What?!?

I pull a Sanford, clutching my heart and crying out, "It's coming! Maple syrup is coming!"

I have to explain not only where a food is from, but how I managed to get it in the middle of Nebraska.

I mentioned to my coworkers that early exposure to a wide variety of foods may lead to fewer allergies as an adult. They looked me dead in the face and told me my kids would never have allergies.

When my family goes out to eat, if we eat "fast food", we all end up with digestive issues.

My name is Kalisara, and I am a food-aholic. (Hi, Kalisara!) I am a foodie (NUDIE-FOODIE!). I have made it my life's work to try most edibles from this planet. I'm on a mission from gahd: find the perfect food-gasm (gahd = Eros/Dionysus), and I love my work.

We have no less than five different kinds of cheese at any given moment, none of them being plastic (American) cheese. One of them is always sheep's cheese. As a family, we have consumed approximately 75 lbs of llama meat. The last snack food I purchased was dried Yacon fruit, which the kids ate most of it. We grind wheat to make flour. We use olive oil, sesame oil and real unsalted butter nearly every day.

I have infected my entire family with this joy of eating (insert Merril Streep replying to the question "What is it you really like to do?" in a falsetto brittish accent "EAT!").

This means that bug the bug the boy-child has never had a true picky-eating experience in his life. Upon going to a grillout at a natural-foods, half-vegetarian family, bug ate a little bit of all the salads, as well as a nice burger. The other young child there screamed until his microwavable mac'n'cheese was plopped in front of him.

Ladybug is following, having consumed an entire half-bowl of chicken enchilada soup just this evening. She eats all forms of meat, veggies, breads, seasonings, fruit... anything that fits in her mouth is consumed.

Stormcrow has slimmed down in the nearly one-year since he moved in, and he's lost about 40 pounds without dieting or exercising.

I think there are a lot of reasons to enjoy eating, the least of which is nutrition. There is nothing like putting home-cooked food into one's mouth and rolling one's eyes with sheer orgasmic pleasure.

Plus, enjoyment of food increases the amount of magical energy one gets from one's consumption.

And you forgot this was a PAGAN parenting blog... : P

Starting up again... and again...

"Stormcrow!"



"Stormcrow!"

My son calls for his dad at least once every 5 minutes for the entire time he is within vocal distance of him. This drives "Stormcrow" nuts! Bats! Up the wall!

I have a different perspective: first, at least the boy-child leaves me alone most of the time. Second, being removed from the situation, I get to swoop in and solve the problem. And I do. I pop right into the situation and tell everyone what needs to be done in order for life to continue in a happy direction.

The problem arises, then: Stormcrow wants the situation to be taken care of with maximum speed, but he doesn't necessarily look at how that will progress in the future.

For example, how do you solve the not-going-to-bed-until-I-get-"x"? Give the boy-child "x". And then boy-child will believe that asking for something will get him a bed-time deferment. I can see that giving the boy-child a granola bar will lead to bed-time snacks EVERY NIGHT. But Stormcrow needs a reminder.

I am also struck by the fact that my relationship is a bit gender-switched. This leads me to think that it really doesn't matter who does what aspect of parenting, so long as all of the parenting is somehow done.

So, here I sit, watching Stormcrow answer the boy-child's summons while rocking the baby-girl to sleep.

Left Turn, No Blinker

There are two ways to approach having children: a) they will fit into your pre-existing life, and b) your life does a 180, loop-the-loop, barrel roll, screetching halt, speedy reverse with drifting...

Anyone who thinks that they can go with A is in for a shock. It just doesn't work that way.

Children are like bank robbers who get trapped with the bank CEO, surrounded by SWAT. They are desperate to get their own way and somewhat delusional that they might actually do so. Any negotiation with the hostage takers will only result in encouraging their behavior. DO NOT NEGOTIATE. They will NOT release your life to it's previous existence.

For pagans, this is even more so the case. We used to go to ritual, engage in various activities for achieving altered states, some form of "free lovin", a little bit of nudity, playing with fire and bladed weapons, staying up all night, dancing around fires...

Now? Supper is at 6, pj's and books at 7, and bedtime is 8, and the goddess split the skull of anyone who dares to disturb that most sacred of rituals.

Where solstice used to be a revelry of unprecedented Bacchanalia, it now consists of barely getting the kids outside before the sun sets (cuz you disrupted the sacred ritual, silly!), trying to light a fire in the firepit with wet firewood (cuz it's been raining for a week and you were just happy that all the family was indoors - forget worrying about the wood!), while using free limbs (arms, legs, head) to keep the kids from sticking their "helpful" fingers into the flames, then trying to make up a story about the sun on the spot (cuz you certainly haven't had any time to PREPARE) and having it interrupted every 30 seconds by questions you may or may not know the answer to until you don't know which way is up.

But it's all worth it because every family member joined in waving goodbye to the setting sun and that seems far more spiritual than turning in a circle to address each of the cardinal directions.

Happy Solstice (late, of course)!!

No Longer the Single Parent: Getting a Houseboy, or How to Keep a Home Clean with a Preschooler

Ok. The title is a joke. It's meant to be funny.

Not because I use the term "houseboy," but because anyone with a preschooler knows, there is no keeping the house clean.

Wow, it's been about 3 months since I made the decision. I decided to get back together with the father of my youngest (almost a 6 mo). He moved in within a few weeks and I began the way I always begin - with complete honesty.

I said, "Honey, I'm a demanding bitch. But you will always know where you stand."

I think he thought I was joking. Or at least exaggerating.

Nope.

So now I have a full grown man to chase my son, watch my daughter, clean house and cook meals. I know, right? I've got it made in the shade.

Well, except he doesn't know much about raising kids, cleaning house or cooking.

I get mad sometimes, frustrated often, and I praise him whenever he does good work. For example, I told him that dinner tonight (baked chicken, mixed veggies and stuffing) was wonderful. And it was.

However, three hours ago, I looked up how to cook a chicken cuz he put it in the oven at the temp he thought it should be and for the time he guessed was right. B'gak!!

Two days ago, I gave him the eyebrow (left eyebrow raised in the WTF look) because he wanted to actually cook the stuffing inside the chicken. As in, put it in the raw bird. Something that nutritionists everywhere have warned against for decades, now.

I may have told him his idea was quaint... Or antiquated. I'm not sure which. I'm pretty sure I didn't call him names... Pretty sure...

I also remind him frequently that messes should be cleaned immediately unless you want stains. Skid marks don't belong on the toilet seat. And thou shalt not soak the cast iron in water with the wooden utensils. Gah!!

But all Mr. Mom-humor moments aside, he is totally invaluable to me. He likes to grind wheatberries and use the sifter to sift out flour for REAL whole wheat bread (which he loves to make - though I need to get him to understand that rising times are not just a kinda-suggestion).

He thought it was the greatest thing since (whole wheat) sliced bread when I bought, not one, but TWO meat grinders AND a shoulder roast for him to make ground beef. At this rate, his birthday gift is gonna be a breeze!

Oh, and he's super sweet, and cuddly too! (Though the bastard has lost more than 30 lbs since moving in... Grrrr! I've only lost about 5 lbs.) He makes me coffee in the morning while I take a shower and turns on the news for me. He makes lunch for me to take to work everyday. He has supper going when I get home. He brings in the mail every day. And he takes bug to the park (an event of epic proportions in and of itself).

So, all in all, I think we are a happier, more smoothly-running family because of him. And he's warm. He warms my butt at night.

What? You've never had a cold butt at night? It's a serious medical-ish condition.