Gotta have fun along the way!
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Wild Joe's
As I sit in Wild Joe's Organic Coffee & Tea House, where I have now spent many a weekend day writing, editing, and re-editing this book, I am proofing the edits my book designer implemented for me last week. Is it normal to start hating your very own book? I can't help but wonder this, as I'm hitting that stage very quickly.
More significantly, as I read and re-read each chapter; each journey through the high highs and low lows of Motherhood, I feel the emotions all over again. The silly, gleeful and heartelt moments cause me to laugh out loud such that my coffee shop neighbors turn and give me that half accomodating smile that says, "whatever you're working on must be better than what I'm working on." But the difficult stories--the ones of prenatal and postpartum depression, of isolation, of lonliness, and chasing after the impossible Perfect Mom role that I am never destined to attain...those are really hard to dredge up again and again. Now years later, the memoires evoked are still raw.
So, I guess I don't hate the book so much after all. I guess if I can still tap into my own emotions that inspired the writing of A Dozen Invisible Pieces in the first place, it is still a worth while project. It is still worth putting out there. And after today, I am another step closer.
More significantly, as I read and re-read each chapter; each journey through the high highs and low lows of Motherhood, I feel the emotions all over again. The silly, gleeful and heartelt moments cause me to laugh out loud such that my coffee shop neighbors turn and give me that half accomodating smile that says, "whatever you're working on must be better than what I'm working on." But the difficult stories--the ones of prenatal and postpartum depression, of isolation, of lonliness, and chasing after the impossible Perfect Mom role that I am never destined to attain...those are really hard to dredge up again and again. Now years later, the memoires evoked are still raw.
So, I guess I don't hate the book so much after all. I guess if I can still tap into my own emotions that inspired the writing of A Dozen Invisible Pieces in the first place, it is still a worth while project. It is still worth putting out there. And after today, I am another step closer.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Housework Cure
I've done it. I've finally discovered the cure for finding a way to enjoy doing housework. The recipe for the cure goes something like this:
1) Write and self-publish a book that monopolizes every spare moment of your evening time during which you might otherwise be painting your nails, gabbing on the phone, zoning out in front of the boob tube, or reading (another) good book. Push yourself like a cattle driver to discover every possible promotional outlet (along with the help of your devoted husband, friends and family) and tap into each and every one of those outlets with no time to loose. After all, you won't have a PR person doing the work for you--having chosen to self publish.
2) Invite a whole bunch of friends, many of whom you haven't seen for a very long time, over to your house for a Girl's Night Out.
3) Suddenly discover your house is a disaster--having largely neglected it in the recent book-entrenched weeks--and needs a top-to-bottom sanitizing before the girls show up.
4)Languish in the mindlessness of scrubbing toilets and dusting furniture, while envisioning your forth-coming leisure time with the girls.
And the best part is...this REALLY works! I have never enjoyed the "down time" of house cleaning so much in my life! (Now, if I can just find a way to once again enjoy preparing dinner for my family...)
Okay, I'm off to send some more emails...
1) Write and self-publish a book that monopolizes every spare moment of your evening time during which you might otherwise be painting your nails, gabbing on the phone, zoning out in front of the boob tube, or reading (another) good book. Push yourself like a cattle driver to discover every possible promotional outlet (along with the help of your devoted husband, friends and family) and tap into each and every one of those outlets with no time to loose. After all, you won't have a PR person doing the work for you--having chosen to self publish.
2) Invite a whole bunch of friends, many of whom you haven't seen for a very long time, over to your house for a Girl's Night Out.
3) Suddenly discover your house is a disaster--having largely neglected it in the recent book-entrenched weeks--and needs a top-to-bottom sanitizing before the girls show up.
4)Languish in the mindlessness of scrubbing toilets and dusting furniture, while envisioning your forth-coming leisure time with the girls.
And the best part is...this REALLY works! I have never enjoyed the "down time" of house cleaning so much in my life! (Now, if I can just find a way to once again enjoy preparing dinner for my family...)
Okay, I'm off to send some more emails...
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Dirty Laundry
I have continually had friends and colleagues ask me, "how do you find the time to write?" After all, keeping up with three children--ages five and under--is no small task.
Sometimes, my answers consist of pleas of delirium, insanity, and the more typical stand by, "I work at night after the kids go to bed." But now that I'm getting closer to the launch of A Dozen Invisible Pieces, I'm finding myself drawn toward more and more day time work. After all, it's pretty tough to arrange book signing events at 8:30 at night.
So, in short: the best answer I can offer as to how I am getting all this done, while still maintaining my primary role as a stay-at-home mom, is to share with you a picture from my laundry room:
Thankfully, no one has run out of clean underwear...yet!
Sometimes, my answers consist of pleas of delirium, insanity, and the more typical stand by, "I work at night after the kids go to bed." But now that I'm getting closer to the launch of A Dozen Invisible Pieces, I'm finding myself drawn toward more and more day time work. After all, it's pretty tough to arrange book signing events at 8:30 at night.
So, in short: the best answer I can offer as to how I am getting all this done, while still maintaining my primary role as a stay-at-home mom, is to share with you a picture from my laundry room:
Thankfully, no one has run out of clean underwear...yet!
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Proofing and PR Work
With the full interior formatting of my book now in hand, I am painstakingly working through my last proofing of the manuscript. I have to say, it is mentally tiring and emotionally taxing to scrutinize one's own work in this way. But, man--is it worth it!
With the intention to return the corrections to Cold Tree's designer by Monday, we will launch ourselves into the final three weeks of pulling everything together!
While taking a break between proofing sessions today, Ellie and I attended a book signing event at Llama Llama books here in Bozeman. This is the locally owned bookstore where I am scheduled to do my first event on May 17th. The author, Brian Khan of Yellowstone Public Radio
While I had hoped, a week ago, to convince Brian that I would make a fantastic guest on his Tuesday evening show, Home Ground, I ended up just appreciating my ten minute visit with him, and the advice he freely shared with me about the book publishing business. Best of all, Ellie now has her very own, signed copy of Tess's book, and she discovered in the process, that the canine author loves listening to a five-year-old sing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" and "Rock-a-Bye Doggy." (our local NPR affiliate), and his dog Tess were there to promote their book, Training People. Having been in communication with Brian via email in the preceding weeks, I wanted to show my support for his book promotion effort. And, of course, I wanted to meet Tess.
With the intention to return the corrections to Cold Tree's designer by Monday, we will launch ourselves into the final three weeks of pulling everything together!
While taking a break between proofing sessions today, Ellie and I attended a book signing event at Llama Llama books here in Bozeman. This is the locally owned bookstore where I am scheduled to do my first event on May 17th. The author, Brian Khan of Yellowstone Public Radio
While I had hoped, a week ago, to convince Brian that I would make a fantastic guest on his Tuesday evening show, Home Ground, I ended up just appreciating my ten minute visit with him, and the advice he freely shared with me about the book publishing business. Best of all, Ellie now has her very own, signed copy of Tess's book, and she discovered in the process, that the canine author loves listening to a five-year-old sing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" and "Rock-a-Bye Doggy." (our local NPR affiliate), and his dog Tess were there to promote their book, Training People. Having been in communication with Brian via email in the preceding weeks, I wanted to show my support for his book promotion effort. And, of course, I wanted to meet Tess.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
On another note...
Okay, so I couldn't find any sort of reasonable way to work this into the other post I just created...but I can't help but put this up there:
This morning, as I busily answered a few emails, ticked off a couple more items on the book promotion To Do List while the kids finished breakfast, Ellie and Landon quickly took advantage of my level of distraction. Within five minutes, they had liberated a ball of string from the craft bin and woven it around every conceivable object in the kitchen, living room, hallway and bathroom. In one long continuum. Pulling myself away from the increasingly addictive computer screen (I really need to create a new sense of balance for myself here), I discovered the spider's web that had become the main floor of our house.
As yet another snow storm flurried outside, my kids burned off their energy inside. Having created their own twine obstacle course, they began jumping the pulled-taught strings like a football player running drills through spare tires lined up on the ground.
Then it happened.
Just as 18month-old Gabe was catching on, I heard Ellie let out her characteristic howl that signaled the infliction of a true boo-boo. She had close-lined herself.
Getting her dressed for preschool an hour later, I realized the line across the front of her neck had swollen and reddened. She looked like a victim from a slasher movie.
How am I going to explain this to the preschool teachers?
Thankfully, I didn't have to offer any explanation. As Ellie greeted each teacher and child at her school, she promptly described her morning accomplishment:
"I close lined my neck at home and I have a boo-boo now. You need to be gentle with me today, 'cause it really hurts."
Waiting
Considering my field of work as a childbirth educator, it is difficult for me not to liken this whole book process to the gestation of a pregnancy. That being said, I'm glad women are not like elephants, and that our pregnancies do NOT last over two years, as this book project has for me. Interestingly enough, I began work on the book while pregnant with Gabriel--playing the waiting game during ten weeks of bed rest, and two weeks of prodromal early labor. My laptop became my refuge as I hunkered down in my room, on the couch, or on the lounge chair on the front porch. Before I knew it, the seed of a memoir had germinated, and I was off and running.
I spoke with my dear friend, Liz, this morning. The gal I visited in Las Vegas a couple weeks ago. She is nearing her 38th week of pregnancy, and also playing the waiting game. As she and I both near our magnanimous birth experiences -- hers,the birth of her first child; mine, the birth of this book...we continue to support and stoke each other's courage, perseverance, and...patience.
As a woman who has endured pregnancy, labor and delivery three times--as well as one who witnesses this process again and again in the Lamaze class students I teach--I remember all too well the gradually building anxiety, impatience and excitement as the countdown to one's due date hastens. At some point, most women can hardly restrain themselves against the anticipation of labor. When is this baby going to be born???
Now, less than a month away from the launch of this, my first book, I recognize that familiar anxiety and impatience as the countdown to the book release hastens. Can't the final editing and formatting go any faster? What will the actual book-in-hand look like? What will it feel like? Will others love it as much as I do?
The process of pregnancy is such a labor of love, as is the birth of a child (thus, the term labor). And likewise for me with this book, the weaving of words and paragraphs, one or two pages at a time (often late at night, during nap times, or at Wild Joe's coffee shop on early Saturday mornings) was, and continues to be a labor of love.
The publication of this book (public-ation) is not about becoming rich and famous. I know my chances of that are about 1 in a million (a trillion?). I'm not looking to get on Oprah (although, I wouldn't turn an invite down), or the early morning talk show circuit. I just want to share my story. I want other women like myself who struggle through the early years of motherhood to know they're not alone. I want generations of mothers who have gone before me, and those yet to come, to realize that today's moms face unique challenges that are complicated by careers, the medical industry, stoicism, and our fast paced culture. And I want the men and women who bother to read this book to ultimately draw the same conclusion that I have: It's all worth it-- the headaches, the heart aches, and the laborious nature of parenting. That the love a mother (or father) has for their child is incredibly healing and inspiring. That the wait is well worth their while.
So, as Liz awaits the next series of contractions that just might herald "the real thing", and I await the fitting together of the final pieces of the puzzle called book publishing, we both are able to embrace the maddening, trying value of letting our birth processes unfold in due time.
I spoke with my dear friend, Liz, this morning. The gal I visited in Las Vegas a couple weeks ago. She is nearing her 38th week of pregnancy, and also playing the waiting game. As she and I both near our magnanimous birth experiences -- hers,the birth of her first child; mine, the birth of this book...we continue to support and stoke each other's courage, perseverance, and...patience.
As a woman who has endured pregnancy, labor and delivery three times--as well as one who witnesses this process again and again in the Lamaze class students I teach--I remember all too well the gradually building anxiety, impatience and excitement as the countdown to one's due date hastens. At some point, most women can hardly restrain themselves against the anticipation of labor. When is this baby going to be born???
Now, less than a month away from the launch of this, my first book, I recognize that familiar anxiety and impatience as the countdown to the book release hastens. Can't the final editing and formatting go any faster? What will the actual book-in-hand look like? What will it feel like? Will others love it as much as I do?
The process of pregnancy is such a labor of love, as is the birth of a child (thus, the term labor). And likewise for me with this book, the weaving of words and paragraphs, one or two pages at a time (often late at night, during nap times, or at Wild Joe's coffee shop on early Saturday mornings) was, and continues to be a labor of love.
The publication of this book (public-ation) is not about becoming rich and famous. I know my chances of that are about 1 in a million (a trillion?). I'm not looking to get on Oprah (although, I wouldn't turn an invite down), or the early morning talk show circuit. I just want to share my story. I want other women like myself who struggle through the early years of motherhood to know they're not alone. I want generations of mothers who have gone before me, and those yet to come, to realize that today's moms face unique challenges that are complicated by careers, the medical industry, stoicism, and our fast paced culture. And I want the men and women who bother to read this book to ultimately draw the same conclusion that I have: It's all worth it-- the headaches, the heart aches, and the laborious nature of parenting. That the love a mother (or father) has for their child is incredibly healing and inspiring. That the wait is well worth their while.
So, as Liz awaits the next series of contractions that just might herald "the real thing", and I await the fitting together of the final pieces of the puzzle called book publishing, we both are able to embrace the maddening, trying value of letting our birth processes unfold in due time.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Just a Stay At Home Mom with a story to tell...
Four days ago, thanks to the technical genius of my husband, I launched the first official campaign to announce my forth-coming book to the world. On Friday morning, Andrew and I sent out an email announcement to about 200 family members, friends, co-workers, colleagues and acquaintances sharing the news of A Dozen Invisible Pieces and providing a link to the website (www.adozeninvisiblepieces.com) and asking folks to pass the announcement on to their own friends/family who might be interested in knowing about an up-coming book regarding the wonders and trials of pregnancy, parenthood, womanhood and more.
As of today, we have had people in seven different countries, and eighteen U.S. states view the website, many of whom have signed up for future notification of the book's official release next month.
Choosing the self publishing route has become increasingly mainstream over the past few years, but it is still a bit of leap over all. The traditional publishing industry is now comprised of several trade publishers who have now swallowed up smaller publishers...creating publishing houses within publishing houses. I suppose it's slightly similar to what has happened within the radio industry: a couple of enormous organizations control the large percentage of what is now available on our airwaves. Likewise in the publishing industry, the millions of titles flooding the book market pass through a relatively small number of gates...until self publishing came along, that is. Pick up an Writer's Digest magazine, and you will see ad after ad for Print On Demand publishers touting impressive author royalties, author copyright control, quick turn around times, etc. But the one service lacking, which traditional trade publishers can still offer, is wide-reaching book promotion campaigns. The print on demand and boutique self publishers offer a tremendous amount of benefit to the author who lacks the time, courage, patience, or even financial means to engage an agent and run the gauntlet that exists within the trade publishing industry. But if an author's goal is to publish a book for the general publics' consumption, they must be willing to do the leg work when it comes to promotion.
And so, while working in conjunction with my publisher, Cold Tree Press (www.coldtreepress.org) on the cover image design, interior formatting and the like, Andrew and I launched into the work of creating the website, this blog, a database of people and places we felt most likely to take interest in the book's contents, and then with a great deal of optimism and a leap of faith--we put it out there.
In four short days, I've received wonderful feedback from the folks who've taken the time to read my on-line excerpts and listen to the audio files of sample chapters of the book. I've received invites and requests for book signing events in Bozeman and Red Lodge, Montana, Richmond, Virginia and San Diego. All in four days.
I can't help but feel like this is all a crazy dream...after all, I'm just a stay-at-home mom with a story to tell! A story that so many people will read, and say to themselves: Wow, I'm really not alone in this Motherhood thing.
As of today, we have had people in seven different countries, and eighteen U.S. states view the website, many of whom have signed up for future notification of the book's official release next month.
Choosing the self publishing route has become increasingly mainstream over the past few years, but it is still a bit of leap over all. The traditional publishing industry is now comprised of several trade publishers who have now swallowed up smaller publishers...creating publishing houses within publishing houses. I suppose it's slightly similar to what has happened within the radio industry: a couple of enormous organizations control the large percentage of what is now available on our airwaves. Likewise in the publishing industry, the millions of titles flooding the book market pass through a relatively small number of gates...until self publishing came along, that is. Pick up an Writer's Digest magazine, and you will see ad after ad for Print On Demand publishers touting impressive author royalties, author copyright control, quick turn around times, etc. But the one service lacking, which traditional trade publishers can still offer, is wide-reaching book promotion campaigns. The print on demand and boutique self publishers offer a tremendous amount of benefit to the author who lacks the time, courage, patience, or even financial means to engage an agent and run the gauntlet that exists within the trade publishing industry. But if an author's goal is to publish a book for the general publics' consumption, they must be willing to do the leg work when it comes to promotion.
And so, while working in conjunction with my publisher, Cold Tree Press (www.coldtreepress.org) on the cover image design, interior formatting and the like, Andrew and I launched into the work of creating the website, this blog, a database of people and places we felt most likely to take interest in the book's contents, and then with a great deal of optimism and a leap of faith--we put it out there.
In four short days, I've received wonderful feedback from the folks who've taken the time to read my on-line excerpts and listen to the audio files of sample chapters of the book. I've received invites and requests for book signing events in Bozeman and Red Lodge, Montana, Richmond, Virginia and San Diego. All in four days.
I can't help but feel like this is all a crazy dream...after all, I'm just a stay-at-home mom with a story to tell! A story that so many people will read, and say to themselves: Wow, I'm really not alone in this Motherhood thing.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Shenanigans
Compared to my usual frame of reference, today was a particularly busy day.
Okay, what am I saying? EVERYDAY is a particularly busy day...but I guess I was multi-tasking more than usual today. My phone began ringing off the hook by 9am (thankfully I had been up since 6:30, thanks to my early-rising youth crew). As Andrew has been incredibly instrumental in helping me promote my soon-to-be released book, along with my dear friend Tera in San Diego, I've started to see some traction. I tentatively set up two separate book promotion/book signing events today: one here in Bozeman in May, and one in San Diego in June. But even as I have begun the process of spreading the word on this book about my family, my experiences as a woman, mother, professional, and stay-at-home parent, I could easily be creating the outline for a sequel.
In between telephone conversations with a local book store owner and an organization in CA, I rounded the corner into my living room to find Landon pulling Gabriel backwards by the feet--belly down--stretching out the feet of Gabe's pj's. "Landon, it's not okay to drag your brother around by the feet!" I heard myself scolding, en route to time out with Landon tucked securely under my arm.
Less than twenty minutes later, while conducting yet another book promo phone conversation, I retreated to my bedroom to check on the activities of a much-too-quiet trio of kids. Landon was up to no good again--this time naked from the waist down, fascinated by the discovery of his own ability to tuck a large necklace charm (of a pregnant woman) between the cheeks of his bottom and then promptly "poop" the object back out again.
Later this evening, now twelve hours into our day and while preparing the kids for bed, Ellie broke into one of her recurrent woe-is-me themes:
"Mommy? Why did Gabriel have to replace me? I wish I could still be the baby."
"Honey, Gabe didn't replace you," I answered, moving from canines to molars while brushing her teeth. All three of you have your own place in our family. You each have your own personalities, you were born at different times...you're each special in your own way."
I'd hoped my answer would suffice. No such luck.
"Mommy," Ellie replied, pulling away from the toothbrush, and grasping my face in her hands. "let me be straight with you. I used to be one, and now Gabe is one year old. Now, I'm five. He took my place."
"Hhmm, I guess you're right, Ellie." What else was I supposed to say?
Andrew and I pontificate with increasing frequency, that Ellie is surely an old soul. The things she comes up with are astounding. Last week, while setting the table for dinner, she lined up a row of boxes along the center of the table. I noticed her arrangement, and asked about the collection of shoe boxes, Tupperware containers and gift boxes. Pointing out a few, in order from right to left, she explained.
"These are treasure boxes from when different people were alive here on earth. This one," indicating the box furthest to her right, "was around when God lived on earth. This one was here when Jesus was alive. This one," now moving to the center of the table, "was from when the Native American Indians lived here, and this one is mine, since I'm living on the earth now!" Moments later, she mused about how similar the burritos we would be having for dinner that night were to the food people eat in Pakistan, Africa, and Mexico.
So, when I step back and wonder if anyone out there will find the contents in my book the least bit interesting, my present day familial shenanigans remind me that there is no richer content for a novel, than life itself.
Okay, what am I saying? EVERYDAY is a particularly busy day...but I guess I was multi-tasking more than usual today. My phone began ringing off the hook by 9am (thankfully I had been up since 6:30, thanks to my early-rising youth crew). As Andrew has been incredibly instrumental in helping me promote my soon-to-be released book, along with my dear friend Tera in San Diego, I've started to see some traction. I tentatively set up two separate book promotion/book signing events today: one here in Bozeman in May, and one in San Diego in June. But even as I have begun the process of spreading the word on this book about my family, my experiences as a woman, mother, professional, and stay-at-home parent, I could easily be creating the outline for a sequel.
In between telephone conversations with a local book store owner and an organization in CA, I rounded the corner into my living room to find Landon pulling Gabriel backwards by the feet--belly down--stretching out the feet of Gabe's pj's. "Landon, it's not okay to drag your brother around by the feet!" I heard myself scolding, en route to time out with Landon tucked securely under my arm.
Less than twenty minutes later, while conducting yet another book promo phone conversation, I retreated to my bedroom to check on the activities of a much-too-quiet trio of kids. Landon was up to no good again--this time naked from the waist down, fascinated by the discovery of his own ability to tuck a large necklace charm (of a pregnant woman) between the cheeks of his bottom and then promptly "poop" the object back out again.
Later this evening, now twelve hours into our day and while preparing the kids for bed, Ellie broke into one of her recurrent woe-is-me themes:
"Mommy? Why did Gabriel have to replace me? I wish I could still be the baby."
"Honey, Gabe didn't replace you," I answered, moving from canines to molars while brushing her teeth. All three of you have your own place in our family. You each have your own personalities, you were born at different times...you're each special in your own way."
I'd hoped my answer would suffice. No such luck.
"Mommy," Ellie replied, pulling away from the toothbrush, and grasping my face in her hands. "let me be straight with you. I used to be one, and now Gabe is one year old. Now, I'm five. He took my place."
"Hhmm, I guess you're right, Ellie." What else was I supposed to say?
Andrew and I pontificate with increasing frequency, that Ellie is surely an old soul. The things she comes up with are astounding. Last week, while setting the table for dinner, she lined up a row of boxes along the center of the table. I noticed her arrangement, and asked about the collection of shoe boxes, Tupperware containers and gift boxes. Pointing out a few, in order from right to left, she explained.
"These are treasure boxes from when different people were alive here on earth. This one," indicating the box furthest to her right, "was around when God lived on earth. This one was here when Jesus was alive. This one," now moving to the center of the table, "was from when the Native American Indians lived here, and this one is mine, since I'm living on the earth now!" Moments later, she mused about how similar the burritos we would be having for dinner that night were to the food people eat in Pakistan, Africa, and Mexico.
So, when I step back and wonder if anyone out there will find the contents in my book the least bit interesting, my present day familial shenanigans remind me that there is no richer content for a novel, than life itself.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Audio, Anyone?
I have a whole new appreciation for books on tape actors. Reading aloud with intonation and precision is not an easy task. If it was, I suppose the Toastmasters organization would be defunct.
With the guidance of my ever-amazing, tech-savvy husband, (he is sitting beside me right now putting on the final touches) I have recorded a selection of readings from the book and placed it on the Experience the Book section of my website.
Having always been a reader who was curious to know how an author would intone his or her own work, I hope this added feature to the web site will satisfy others' curiosity, and peak further interest in the contents of A Dozen Invisible Pieces. Follow this link, if you want to hear an excerpt: http://www.adozeninvisiblepieces.com/experience_book.html
Thanks to everyone who takes a few minutes to listen! And as always, if you like what you heard, forward the link to this blog or to the website, on to those you know who would also be interested.
Now, go pick up a book, and snuggle in for a good read.
With the guidance of my ever-amazing, tech-savvy husband, (he is sitting beside me right now putting on the final touches) I have recorded a selection of readings from the book and placed it on the Experience the Book section of my website.
Having always been a reader who was curious to know how an author would intone his or her own work, I hope this added feature to the web site will satisfy others' curiosity, and peak further interest in the contents of A Dozen Invisible Pieces. Follow this link, if you want to hear an excerpt: http://www.adozeninvisiblepieces.com/experience_book.html
Thanks to everyone who takes a few minutes to listen! And as always, if you like what you heard, forward the link to this blog or to the website, on to those you know who would also be interested.
Now, go pick up a book, and snuggle in for a good read.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Mothering the Mother
Hello from Las Vegas!
Okay, as exciting as that sounds, I'm not here undertaking the "typical" Vegas experience. My best friend, Liz, is 35 weeks pregnant with her first baby, and has been on modified bed rest for the past 10 weeks. I'm here to cook and clean and keep her company. The strange thing is: while it seems like every day of my life at home is filled with cooking and cleaning that I would give my right hand to be rid of...I am so over joyed to be here fulfilling those same tasks in another woman's home! To see her pregnant, to talk about Motherhood with her, to mother her...is such a complete honor for me.
As a benefit of my work as a childbirth educator, I am around pregnant women all the time. But with my students, I maintain a respectfull distance when it comes to inhaling the sweet energy of their pregnancies. With Liz, it is different. (After obtaining her consent) I have kissed her belly a dozen times, sat close by her with my hand on her abdomen, taking in her unborn daughter's languid rolls and the quick prodding of hands and feet. I have given foot massages, and will later conduct a private Rite of Passage Motherhood ceremony with her.
In my up-coming article, Mothering our Mothers, in Montana Parent magazine, I discuss the basic needs new mothers have after the birth of a baby. Following a survey of over 130 women in the greater Bozeman area, I found a few basic things to be true: women need time to rest, time to bond with their babies, healthy food to be prepared for them, household chores to be managed for them, and....they need to be mothered. They need someone else, be it their spouse, a friend or neighbor, to look after them so they can better care for their newborn.
In a perfect world, it would be the new mother's own mom that would provide this service. But in our culture, where families are spread out all over the country (and beyond), this is not always the case. As I poured over the survey responses, I noticed a recurrent theme echoed again and again in the voices of the respondants. They wanted to be mothered as they learned the art of mothering themselves. They wanted to be relieved of all other tasks and duties as they regained their strength after childbirth. They wanted the confines of their home to be protected by a trusted source as they nested in to bond with their child.
So, even though Liz's baby is still yet to be born, I am here, mothering the mother. And while I am temporarily excused from my own mothering duties back in Montana (where my husband has gladly stepped in to look over our three little rascals) I am revelling in this, unfortunately, rare opportunity.
Okay, as exciting as that sounds, I'm not here undertaking the "typical" Vegas experience. My best friend, Liz, is 35 weeks pregnant with her first baby, and has been on modified bed rest for the past 10 weeks. I'm here to cook and clean and keep her company. The strange thing is: while it seems like every day of my life at home is filled with cooking and cleaning that I would give my right hand to be rid of...I am so over joyed to be here fulfilling those same tasks in another woman's home! To see her pregnant, to talk about Motherhood with her, to mother her...is such a complete honor for me.
As a benefit of my work as a childbirth educator, I am around pregnant women all the time. But with my students, I maintain a respectfull distance when it comes to inhaling the sweet energy of their pregnancies. With Liz, it is different. (After obtaining her consent) I have kissed her belly a dozen times, sat close by her with my hand on her abdomen, taking in her unborn daughter's languid rolls and the quick prodding of hands and feet. I have given foot massages, and will later conduct a private Rite of Passage Motherhood ceremony with her.
In my up-coming article, Mothering our Mothers, in Montana Parent magazine, I discuss the basic needs new mothers have after the birth of a baby. Following a survey of over 130 women in the greater Bozeman area, I found a few basic things to be true: women need time to rest, time to bond with their babies, healthy food to be prepared for them, household chores to be managed for them, and....they need to be mothered. They need someone else, be it their spouse, a friend or neighbor, to look after them so they can better care for their newborn.
In a perfect world, it would be the new mother's own mom that would provide this service. But in our culture, where families are spread out all over the country (and beyond), this is not always the case. As I poured over the survey responses, I noticed a recurrent theme echoed again and again in the voices of the respondants. They wanted to be mothered as they learned the art of mothering themselves. They wanted to be relieved of all other tasks and duties as they regained their strength after childbirth. They wanted the confines of their home to be protected by a trusted source as they nested in to bond with their child.
So, even though Liz's baby is still yet to be born, I am here, mothering the mother. And while I am temporarily excused from my own mothering duties back in Montana (where my husband has gladly stepped in to look over our three little rascals) I am revelling in this, unfortunately, rare opportunity.
United States - Teaming with Opportunity, Exuding Emptiness
Okay, considering my last post, I need to add an incredibly huge addendum: even though we lived in a strangely messed up society, we are still so much more fortunate than a vast majority of women across the globe. American women have access to so many opportunities than women in many parts of the Middle East, Africa and parts of Asia have ever had. However, that being said: it boggles my mind that a country with so much wealth, health, freedom and intelligence is still so lacking in social measures. I heard a story on NPR this morning that described the U.S. Army’s policy on maternity leave. Women soldiers who are, in some cases, putting their very lives on the line for their country, are only allotted the DOD’s minimum amount of leave time after birthing a child: four months. While this is certainly a longer maternity leave than many women in our country take, considering the gravity of a female soldier’s line of work and potential sacrifice, I would have expected more.
According to Wikipedia, other countries boast incredibly supreme parental leave programs following the birth of a baby compared the good ol’ US of A. For example:
Sweden: 18 months of paid maternity leave per child, pay split between state and employer
Estonia: 18 months paid leave for mother, starting up to 70- days before baby’s birth. Fathers are then allowed paid leave (amount of time depending upon wages) starting in the third month after the baby’s birth (at this point, pay is received by either mother or father)
Bulgaria: 45 days 100% paid leave for mothers prior to baby’s birth, 2 years paid leave following the baby’s birth and the option for an additional one year of unpaid leave. After the completion of this time period, the woman’s employer is required to have her previous job available to her.
Canada: Mother receives 15 weeks of paid maternity leave, paid through the Employment Insurance program. An 35 weeks paid leave split as desired between two parents.
UK: 39 weeks of paid maternity leave, the first six weeks paid at 90% of full wages, then prorated from there. A total of 52 weeks of maternity leave may be taken while job is held for woman.
Afghanistan: 100% paid leave for 90 days.
China: 100% paid leave for 90 days.
Congo in Africa: 100% paid leave for 15 weeks.
Burundi in Africa: 12 weeks leave at 50% pay.
USA: 0 paid weeks for mother or father. 6 unpaid weeks for mother and/or father, if they work for a participating employer, and have worked for that employers for the preceding 12 months and have accrued at least 1250 hours of work time.
I see this as so much more of an issue than just supporting women as they recover from childbirth. It is about supporting the entire family. Allowing parents and their children adequate bonding time following a baby’s birth. Allowing parent and child to establish bonds of trust, love and adoration that deepen the foundation of relationships that will last a life time.
How can we, as a culture, scratch our heads in wonder at the growing rates of depression, anxiety and divorce when we so poorly support families in their most vulnerable early years? How can we expect to set an example in the world beyond our shores when we are raising a generation of robot children—poorly bonded with their parents for lack of sheer time, growing into older children, teens and eventually adults that are still struggling with the basic tenants of connection, compassion, and empathy? How can we expect our children to develop these qualities if they are not embedded through direct example from the very beginning?
When I consider other cultures—cultures that are rampant with poverty, violence, illiteracy and disease, yet still manage to maintain ties to the tradition of cultivating family, I am saddened by the loss of this tradition our melting pot society has suffered.
The United States is teaming with opportunity. It is also exuding emptiness. Talk to any social worker, school teacher, or family counselor and they will tell you the same thing: we are, as a nation, showing signs of emotional detachment. So how can we reverse this tide? I say, start from the very beginning. According to Wikipedia…the rest of the world already does.
According to Wikipedia, other countries boast incredibly supreme parental leave programs following the birth of a baby compared the good ol’ US of A. For example:
Sweden: 18 months of paid maternity leave per child, pay split between state and employer
Estonia: 18 months paid leave for mother, starting up to 70- days before baby’s birth. Fathers are then allowed paid leave (amount of time depending upon wages) starting in the third month after the baby’s birth (at this point, pay is received by either mother or father)
Bulgaria: 45 days 100% paid leave for mothers prior to baby’s birth, 2 years paid leave following the baby’s birth and the option for an additional one year of unpaid leave. After the completion of this time period, the woman’s employer is required to have her previous job available to her.
Canada: Mother receives 15 weeks of paid maternity leave, paid through the Employment Insurance program. An 35 weeks paid leave split as desired between two parents.
UK: 39 weeks of paid maternity leave, the first six weeks paid at 90% of full wages, then prorated from there. A total of 52 weeks of maternity leave may be taken while job is held for woman.
Afghanistan: 100% paid leave for 90 days.
China: 100% paid leave for 90 days.
Congo in Africa: 100% paid leave for 15 weeks.
Burundi in Africa: 12 weeks leave at 50% pay.
USA: 0 paid weeks for mother or father. 6 unpaid weeks for mother and/or father, if they work for a participating employer, and have worked for that employers for the preceding 12 months and have accrued at least 1250 hours of work time.
I see this as so much more of an issue than just supporting women as they recover from childbirth. It is about supporting the entire family. Allowing parents and their children adequate bonding time following a baby’s birth. Allowing parent and child to establish bonds of trust, love and adoration that deepen the foundation of relationships that will last a life time.
How can we, as a culture, scratch our heads in wonder at the growing rates of depression, anxiety and divorce when we so poorly support families in their most vulnerable early years? How can we expect to set an example in the world beyond our shores when we are raising a generation of robot children—poorly bonded with their parents for lack of sheer time, growing into older children, teens and eventually adults that are still struggling with the basic tenants of connection, compassion, and empathy? How can we expect our children to develop these qualities if they are not embedded through direct example from the very beginning?
When I consider other cultures—cultures that are rampant with poverty, violence, illiteracy and disease, yet still manage to maintain ties to the tradition of cultivating family, I am saddened by the loss of this tradition our melting pot society has suffered.
The United States is teaming with opportunity. It is also exuding emptiness. Talk to any social worker, school teacher, or family counselor and they will tell you the same thing: we are, as a nation, showing signs of emotional detachment. So how can we reverse this tide? I say, start from the very beginning. According to Wikipedia…the rest of the world already does.
Culture of Awareness (Not!)
I have begun generating some interest in my book—largely through the efforts of my dear friend, Tera. A saleswoman in San Diego, she is incredibly well connected to people all over the country, really, and for some reason she is compelled to help me get the word out about my book. She seems to think there is a message within those 212 pages that young mothers can’t do without.
All I know is that motherhood is darned hard. It tries the patience of many a woman—a little or a lot—depending on her personality and those of her children. And here we are, doing our very best (in most cases) to nurture our kids into reasonable, functional human beings, and we’re doing it in a cultural environment that is severely lacking when it comes to supporting moms—whether working inside or outside the home. As I prepare to publically launch this book, as well as write for Montana Parent magazine, and interact with the students who attend my Pregnancy to Parenthood Childbirth Preparation classes, I am so underwhelmed by the quality of support out there. We, as an American culture, can be doing so much more.
I suppose then, that’s what this book demonstrates: it demonstrates how hard it is to achieve the goal of being a good parent in a lackluster environment. It decries the challenges without having found a solution.
I think that is the direction my work is taking me: creating cultural awareness of the crying out we mothers are doing: HELLO AMERICA! WE NEED MORE SUPPORT! PLEASE HELP US TO BE THE GREAT MOTHERS WE REALLY WANT TO BE! Do you think anyone is listening???
All I know is that motherhood is darned hard. It tries the patience of many a woman—a little or a lot—depending on her personality and those of her children. And here we are, doing our very best (in most cases) to nurture our kids into reasonable, functional human beings, and we’re doing it in a cultural environment that is severely lacking when it comes to supporting moms—whether working inside or outside the home. As I prepare to publically launch this book, as well as write for Montana Parent magazine, and interact with the students who attend my Pregnancy to Parenthood Childbirth Preparation classes, I am so underwhelmed by the quality of support out there. We, as an American culture, can be doing so much more.
I suppose then, that’s what this book demonstrates: it demonstrates how hard it is to achieve the goal of being a good parent in a lackluster environment. It decries the challenges without having found a solution.
I think that is the direction my work is taking me: creating cultural awareness of the crying out we mothers are doing: HELLO AMERICA! WE NEED MORE SUPPORT! PLEASE HELP US TO BE THE GREAT MOTHERS WE REALLY WANT TO BE! Do you think anyone is listening???
Play Dough and Book Promotion
What in the hell am I doing trying to promote a book? Why do I think I have anything to say that others would find worthwhile to listen to? Even as I try to steal an hour here and there to work on the book promotion—a process I truly know nothing about—my children constantly remind me that I am CRAZY to pursue anything other than making Play Dough pies and construction paper Easter eggs with them. I am, afterall, a stay-at-home mom…therefore I am expected to be at their beck and call 24/7!
Even as I research and create promotional avenues, pick the brains of those who have gone before me in the book selling maze, I am (temporarily) ignoring the secondary subjects of the novel I am trying to pitch. Does this make any sense? Okay. Computer—shutdown. Time to play Red Light, Green Light!
Even as I research and create promotional avenues, pick the brains of those who have gone before me in the book selling maze, I am (temporarily) ignoring the secondary subjects of the novel I am trying to pitch. Does this make any sense? Okay. Computer—shutdown. Time to play Red Light, Green Light!
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Dung Bomb
I just returned from the grocery store—having completed the week’s shopping with all three kids in tow. It is almost dinner time.
If you are a parent of one, if not more young children, you may already have experienced the chill of dread up the spine. Taking young children to the grocery store in the late afternoon is rarely an uneventful event.
Ellie and Landon were adequately entertaining the other shoppers in the produce isle as they rocked a bunch of bananas each, singing, “rock your baby, rock your baby, rock your baby…” appropriate arm motions swinging in time to their tune. The song changed to “Milk your cooo-ow, milk your coo-ow, milk your cooo-ow,” when we hit the dairy isle.
People were still cordially smiling.
As we made our way signing, shushing, laughing, and me constantly replacing the absconded items back to the shelves Gabriel had liberated them from, I was actually making progress toward filling our cart with the bank-breaking groceries that never seem to last and always seem to cost more with each trip.
Then it happened.
“I need to go potty!” Landon announced to everyone in the deli meat section.
“Okay, honey. We’re almost done. Just hold it a couple more minutes and we’ll be back to the front of the store where you can go before we check out.”
Landon has recently gotten over another month-long bout of uncontrollable diarrhea. But his stools have been formed for the past several days, and accidents have once again subsided. But less than one minute after his announcement, he adopted the stance.
“Uh-oh, Mom! I had an accident,” Landon sheepishly confessed—legs spread wide. I didn’t see a wet spot at the front of his pants which could only mean one thing: Number Two.
“Okay, honey. Let’s get you to the bathroom.” It was then I realized, I had no diaper bag. No change of clothes, spare pare of underwear. Nothing. Not in the store. Not even in the car. I’d planned on a quick trip in and out of town, having changed the baby’s diaper moments before leaving, and encouraged the older two to visit the bathroom one more time before our departure.
Landon walked alongside the grocery cart—legs still spread eagle, making his walk awkward and slow. I felt for any wetness that might have leaked through the cotton layers; soaking the navy long johns he had opted to wear instead of pants. Dry.
Grabbing a package of baby wipes from the baby supplies isle, we headed to the store’s bathroom.
The dung bomb I found nestled in Landon’s Spiderman underwear could have been used as a weapon. No diarrhea in sight, I just barely caught myself from scoffing at the poor kid, “you could have held this!” But, nonetheless, there we were, all three of us crammed into the bathroom stall, our full grocery cart parked outside the bathroom door, still waiting to be paid for.
Underwear removed, cleaning accomplished and groceries bought and bagged, we headed for the car parked in the only available spot—all the way across the parking lot. As Ellie and Landon surprisingly followed my strict directions on maintaining contact with the cart at all times as we dodged cars and other shoppers, I looked down to see Landon’s long underwear was sagging enough to reveal a half-dollar-sized quarter slot.
Driving home, engineering my plan for entertaining the kids with a quick video while mommy put away groceries and prepared dinner I was interrupted numerous times with questions and the always predictable request for a story. After creating a tale about Harry the Yak who loved to wear red, high top tennis shoes and fielding Ellie’s questions about which animals you could and could not milk, (“Mommy, can you milk a chicken?”) as well as why long johns are long, I was done.
“You know what, guys? Let’s just listen to the news for a few minutes.”
If you are a parent of one, if not more young children, you may already have experienced the chill of dread up the spine. Taking young children to the grocery store in the late afternoon is rarely an uneventful event.
Ellie and Landon were adequately entertaining the other shoppers in the produce isle as they rocked a bunch of bananas each, singing, “rock your baby, rock your baby, rock your baby…” appropriate arm motions swinging in time to their tune. The song changed to “Milk your cooo-ow, milk your coo-ow, milk your cooo-ow,” when we hit the dairy isle.
People were still cordially smiling.
As we made our way signing, shushing, laughing, and me constantly replacing the absconded items back to the shelves Gabriel had liberated them from, I was actually making progress toward filling our cart with the bank-breaking groceries that never seem to last and always seem to cost more with each trip.
Then it happened.
“I need to go potty!” Landon announced to everyone in the deli meat section.
“Okay, honey. We’re almost done. Just hold it a couple more minutes and we’ll be back to the front of the store where you can go before we check out.”
Landon has recently gotten over another month-long bout of uncontrollable diarrhea. But his stools have been formed for the past several days, and accidents have once again subsided. But less than one minute after his announcement, he adopted the stance.
“Uh-oh, Mom! I had an accident,” Landon sheepishly confessed—legs spread wide. I didn’t see a wet spot at the front of his pants which could only mean one thing: Number Two.
“Okay, honey. Let’s get you to the bathroom.” It was then I realized, I had no diaper bag. No change of clothes, spare pare of underwear. Nothing. Not in the store. Not even in the car. I’d planned on a quick trip in and out of town, having changed the baby’s diaper moments before leaving, and encouraged the older two to visit the bathroom one more time before our departure.
Landon walked alongside the grocery cart—legs still spread eagle, making his walk awkward and slow. I felt for any wetness that might have leaked through the cotton layers; soaking the navy long johns he had opted to wear instead of pants. Dry.
Grabbing a package of baby wipes from the baby supplies isle, we headed to the store’s bathroom.
The dung bomb I found nestled in Landon’s Spiderman underwear could have been used as a weapon. No diarrhea in sight, I just barely caught myself from scoffing at the poor kid, “you could have held this!” But, nonetheless, there we were, all three of us crammed into the bathroom stall, our full grocery cart parked outside the bathroom door, still waiting to be paid for.
Underwear removed, cleaning accomplished and groceries bought and bagged, we headed for the car parked in the only available spot—all the way across the parking lot. As Ellie and Landon surprisingly followed my strict directions on maintaining contact with the cart at all times as we dodged cars and other shoppers, I looked down to see Landon’s long underwear was sagging enough to reveal a half-dollar-sized quarter slot.
Driving home, engineering my plan for entertaining the kids with a quick video while mommy put away groceries and prepared dinner I was interrupted numerous times with questions and the always predictable request for a story. After creating a tale about Harry the Yak who loved to wear red, high top tennis shoes and fielding Ellie’s questions about which animals you could and could not milk, (“Mommy, can you milk a chicken?”) as well as why long johns are long, I was done.
“You know what, guys? Let’s just listen to the news for a few minutes.”
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