Uncertainty: The Gateway to Possibility

Apr 21, 2015 by

I am in one of those “riding on cloud nine” moods where I think, for a moment anyway, that I’ve found Shambala and the Holy Grail.  Truth is, I’ve found nothing, except, it seems, a hefty dose of serenity on the other side of what has been several weeks filled with anxiety and overwhelm.

In the middle of overwhelm, I talked with my spouse about potentially taking off on a retreat.  Since her job will be sending her to San Francisco in a few months, she enthusiastically supported it.  It gives me an attitude adjustment, helps her absolve a little travel-guilt about being away from the family for a week for the first time, and we all win.  I found one that intrigued me, “The Fear Cure” at Kripalu.  Considering retreats are anything but cheap, I ordered the book to see if I could really buy in to this “new-age funny business” and sign up.

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Feb 4, 2015 by

Is my daughter watching too much TV? Getting too much screen time? Is she getting enough “fresh air”? Is she going to pick up a stomach virus? A serious personal dread of mine. Are people going to pick on her at school? Am I spoiling her with clothes or toys? Am I using my phone too much around her and completely ignoring her? Am I being too strict or mean? Am I being too lenient? Is she going to meet a boyfriend (you know, like a decade from now) that is going to get her into drugs? Am I totally f@$king up this parenting thing? Am I being too weird and nervous?

Photo Credit: Flikr Creative Common,きゃりこ / Kabukicho Shinjuku / Tokyo

Photo Credit: Flikr Creative Commons,きゃりこ / Kabukicho Shinjuku / Tokyo

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The Quest to Impress My Kids

Feb 3, 2015 by

Last week, I was asked by my son’s teacher to speak to all the 2nd grade classes about what I do to help the community.  Part of my job is community education and training.  I’ve dedicated 23 years to anti-violence efforts.  I am somewhat well rehearsed in the safety/active bystander talk, so why did the butterflies begin to form in my stomach as I read the invitation?

Noah 2.15

My son, a soon-to-be 8-year-old, is more than impressed with me behind closed doors.  Yet, the public persona of who he needs to be at school is starting to take shape, much to my dismay.  “I Love You” has become a not-so-public symbol and a secret hand tap.

“Well, what would YOU say about being a community helper?”

Clearly, I am not as cool as a firefighter.

“You’re just a social worker!”

‘Just’? HA!

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My Postpartum Depression Story – Emerging on the Other Side

Jan 28, 2015 by

It’s been almost four years since that June morning and I am no longer depressed.  I have a second son now and didn’t have postpartum depression with him.  I have since bonded with and love both of my boys more than anything in my life.  My bond is strong and secure with my sons. 


I am happy.


My sons are happy.


So when did my PPD go away?  I’m not exactly sure.  I suppose it gradually got better with time and antidepressants.  By my son’s first birthday I guess I felt “better” or at least better adjusted.  By this, I mean I looked forward to spending time with him, I felt a connection with him, and that “mother/son” bond had been formed.  I was able to sleep again, and I wasn’t constantly obsessed with thoughts and worries.  I (somewhat) came to terms with the fact that I will never again feel the kind of “normal” I did pre-children and this was my new normal.

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Why Parents Have a Hard Time Talking to Teachers About Their Children’s Needs

Jan 25, 2015 by

1024px-Pink_Pearl_eraserThe girl’s violence struck the library like a bolt of lightning, drawing a gasp from the teacher and the librarian alike. Awkwardness soon followed the initial shock, and then the two adults exchanged a glance for a shrug. It was over. The teacher continued shuttling the children out into the hallway, back to the kindergarten classroom. The girl joined sullenly, her dark features receding as thoughts quickly turned to the remainder of the day ahead.

Just a moment ago, the girl had asked to see a book – the book the librarian had just finished reading to the class. The book made her angry. Some character, a silly anthropomorphism, had been wronged in some manner. The plot had concluded without the wrong being righted. It made her furious. On the way out of the library, as Mrs. Kelland’s kindergarten class fidgeted and bobbed along in their straight little line, she took the opportunity to break away and ask to see the book. The request was granted, and the girl smacked the book hard and fast with an open palm, more than once, and yelled the worst admonishment she knew at the age of five: BAD!!!

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