Open Book Blog Hop: Three Things Shaping My Voice

Winetasting in Paso Robles

What are three things that make you unique? That was the prompt for this week's Open Book Blog Hop. I think you'll see a lot of connection between my answer and my books.

Ultimately the thing that makes a writer unique is experience. Accident of birth places us in a certain range of possible experience and life directions. In my case, there are a few specific things which guide everything else.

First, and perhaps the most obvious, is the influence of my parents. My parents are both ordained Baptist ministers (it is one of the family occupations in my tree). However, their brand of religion is not exclusionary in the least. It is carefully considered, thoughtful, and deep. My father is a man of logic and learning, who enjoys everything life has to offer, from watching a finch take a bath, to winetasting, to playing electric bass or guitar in a funk band. When my friends meet him, they say, "Your dad is so cool!" Half the time they end up befriending him on Facebook.

My mother is a powerful person. She dictates the climate of every room she enters (a gift I inherited, for better or worse). She suffered prejudice in order to follow her calling. I think because of this, she determined not to pigeon-hole me into a gender label. Instead, as a child she gave me gender neutral clothes unless I asked for something "girly." She made sure I had all kinds of toys, from remote control cars to blocks to dolls. I had science and craft kits. Thanks to her, I never felt like I couldn't do something because I had a uterus.

Second, I experienced a lot of overt misogyny from toddlerhood through young adulthood. I write a lot about this in my memoir THRIVE, and while I won't go into the details of what happened here, it definitely shaped who I am and my voice as a writer (especially in the context of my upbringing). This made me hunger for compassionate justice for all people, no matter their identity or station. It definitely directs my themes in all my fiction, but especially in THE ROLLINS PACK, because I wanted boys to particularly understand how their actions can impact others.

Finally, I am an optimist. Despite whatever crazy things happen to me (again, see THRIVE for some of the nitty gritty), I look for the beauty and wonder in all things. This may be considered a quality or trait as opposed to an experience, but it definitely shapes how I view my life experience and how I approach new things. I always give people the benefit of the doubt. If I don't know I person, I never credit their reputation until I have seen and experienced it myself. If something bad happens, I always look for the lesson or opportunity available. When there is the option for adventure, I always say yes - because I see all the marvelous possibilities and potential. It's how I ended up studying abroad in Hungary at the last minute (I heard a professor talk and decided I was going a month before.). It's how I got married in India in the Himalayas (Because why not? A story for another time...).

These are the things that stick out in my head as dictating what I do and how I do it. These are the things that shape my work and my path through life. What about you? Leave a comment below or write a post and join the hop!

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Looking for a diversion this August? Be sure to check out P.J. MacLayne's books. If you like werewolves like I do, you might want to pick up a copy of WOLVES' PAWN. It explores werewolf social structure and has a love story, the kind of thing I love in paranormal!

Also be sure to read about MacLayne's Wyoming adventures. There are some super cool pics on her blog.

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An InLinkz Link-up

The End (A Poem)

There are so many thoughts running through my head. At first I thought I would just journal, but then I thought maybe there are some other people who are experiencing these things.

So, as a writer tends to do, I will share. This piece reflects on issues within the last few chapters of THRIVE: HOW I BECAME A SUPERHERO and serves as a reminder that even when we've gotten through part of the journey, there's always more time to be in the crucible.
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How can a parent consciously choose something that would be bad for their child? How can a parent willfully choose the interest of a friend, stranger, or the altar of an all-mighty idea over the best interest of their child? Their grandchildren?

How can a person not see what is in their best interest? How can a person not see what will be the best for their family? Community? City? State? Country? World?

I thought these things were obvious. I feel like they are obvious. They are so GOD DAMN OBVIOUS HOW COME YOU CAN'T FIGURE THIS OUT?!?!

It must be a lack of empathy.
It must be some an attachment to a mental self unrelated to reality. So they vote for their pretend best interest, instead of reality. This is torture.

Did you know there are black churches burning in the south? In a week. Less than every 2 days...one lights.

The mustard dried up.
And the brush burns.
What a sickly gas!

I cough and sputter when smoke blows on the wind. The sun grows dark and I close the windows hoping it passes - thankful for people trained, given full benefits, and protected by unions who brave the flames.

And it's one thing when it's a dusty canyon. It's another when it's a wooden church. A church - a place of prayer, of love, hope, and peace. A sanctuary - where people seek shelter from the storms of life, of which there are so many....crossing the mid-west it feels like pinball.

Bouncing us all around, pick a season, pick a weather - you will find it here!

And here we are. And I keep watching people on their journeys, sharing their excitement - sharing their successes and while I smile I can't help feeling I should be further along.

I was supposed to be further along.

I'm supposed to be more than I am.

I was supposed to have a house, a newer car, a career, a savings account. I was supposed to have a name for myself. I was supposed to be established. I was supposed to feel secure.

I was, I was. I was!

But I am. I still am. It is hard to read another peer bought another house. It is hard to see another peer beginning their family in safety and comfort. They don't have my worries. They don't feel my squeeze.

I remind myself this is transition. I remind myself this is not forever. I refuse to let this be much longer. I refuse to withstand this longer. I can't watch my husband sacrificing so much - so much, for so little. He deserves so much more. We deserve so much more. Our son deserves so. much. more.

I will find it. I will get it. I will have this. I have this. I got this. Just a little more. Just a little longer. By this time next year, the world will look differently.

I feel this. I know this. It sits in my gut, a burning coal.
I could choke on the smoke, but I don't.
I'm Ms. Fusion in a lake of flame.
Nothing touches my heat.

And you know, the world doesn't end with water.

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For more about my story, read THRIVE: HOW I BECAME A SUPERHERO in digital, and paperback.

As an indie author, I'm a bit like a local business and depend on the love and support of readers like you. Please check out my website and become a patron.

THRIVE Launched, Now What?

I've got a lot further to go.

I've been struggling the last few weeks. In the wake of THRIVE's publication, total exhaustion set in. I want to get a whole bunch of things done. I want to work. I know there are things I should be doing. I know this.

I think part of me felt like I hit my milestone and that was that. The project was over and I could space out. And it was a lot of work. And some of it paid off, but mostly it was just the beginning of a larger lead up to more things....which mean the dividends haven't come in yet.

I've been reading a lot about this, especially through my author forums, which have proved invaluable (for which I thank Clara, as strategic a person in thought as I am in feeling). In these forums, muckety mucks slum around with us peons. And it is great for the peons, and gives perspective to the muckety mucks. We find out how much more we have to do, and they realize how much they've done.

I have to say, honestly, it can be disheartening. I am at a disadvantage with what I am able to do (limited primarily by resources). But there are also things that encourage me - such as the reminder that this process is never over. Books do not stop selling - and with the internet, they can always reach more readers. There is always someone else who has not heard of me (Okay, in my case, at this point there are probably around 7 billion, but even for the famous author, there are probably 2 or 3B.).

This is actually a good thing because it means I can always do more for a book - there is always more that could lead to sales. Also it is a bad thing, because, well, it is never done.

Right now, after the insane push I made with THRIVE, some part of me thought the momentum was already there. That I could sit back and enjoy THRIVE having a life of its own. But I'm not there yet. I've hardly begun. It feels like the week after mid-terms where the tests are done, but there's another half semester to go. The nights of studying are not over. The note-taking is hardly finished. And I have no energy. And I'm struggling to get FAMILY FRIEND OR FOE rewritten, which while turning into an excellent book, is going much slower than I'd like. I have until August 2nd to finish the manuscript and upload it to Smashwords (incidentally, you should preorder it to get the 20% off price before it goes live!).

And after that I need to work on ANDREW, and redo all the Rollins Pack covers, and revamp all those books, and finish proofing SIX DEGREES.

And while all this is going on, I need to continue working on speaking engagements about THRIVE, guest posts about everything, possibly blog hops, and remembering to eat and sleep... sometime.

When I do all that, not only will I feel damn accomplished, but I will have transformed my life. And that is incredibly exciting, but it is also a lot of work. And I need to keep reminding myself that it is worth it. I need to keep developing better systems for getting everything done that needs doing, that assures forward progress.

Here's to efficiency, effectiveness, encouragement, and energy! And crossing my fingers I get all four in hand...and soon!

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Transform your life and heal through my memoir and small steps for 32 days!

Get digital copies of THRIVE: HOW I BECAME A SUPERHERO and TRANSFORM TO THRIVE: 32 DAYS FROM VICTIM TO SUPERHERO!

You can also get paperback copies of both the memoir and journal.

Help Me: Alexis and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Weekend

What I can't lose

It started on Friday. Christian woke up with hives and swelling everywhere. His hands were swollen. His ankles were swollen. His eyes were practically shut. I called urgent care. They wanted to know about his breathing.

"It's fine."
"Okay, well then come in here."

We went, and through the course of check in, I find out our insurance has lapsed through one thing or another (auto-debit never went through...they never contacted us...whatever the case). Then it becomes clear, despite Christian's job (or because of it?), we can't actually afford our insurance premiums. This, thanks to our collected loans, and other responsibilities (which are small compared to most households, but that's all we can manage).

I have a melt down in the waiting room.

It ends up being okay. Only just. Christian takes meds. The swelling goes down more and more. The hives abate, for the most part.

I feel like something needs to change, but I can't seem to get any interviews for jobs I do apply for, that would make childcare possible. I can't sleep well, ransacking my mind for ways that I might actually be able to support us - paths that we could pursue that would actually make a difference for our family.

Fast forward to Sunday.

My son sticks a piece of a toy in his mouth and it gets stuck. It's awkward. It's hard to remove. He's freaking out. He's coughing. His face is turning purple. My mommy sense kicks in and I reach into his mouth and yank it out myself. He is shocked. He is horrified. He cries. He wants to nurse. There is no good place. My shirt is not really the best kind for this sort of thing. We're in the middle of the restaurant, completely exposed. Christian takes him for a walk. He comes back. He wants to stay cradled in my lap. He eats half a sweet potato fry.

He cries. He grabs at me, clearly wanting to nurse. I don't finish my lunch. Christian gets everything except our child, who I am carrying in my arms, across a huge parking lot. He's over 25 pounds, wriggling, kicking, crying, and all the while grabbing at my chest to nurse. I am just trying to keep him in the middle of my body so I don't throw my alignment off worse than it is.

We get to the car. It is hot. It is small. We cram into the back seat and miraculously he's able to latch. He gets distracted and starts playing with things. We relatch. He gets distracted. We relatch. I'm  sweaty and cranky and still in shock from lunch. He gets distracted again, and I make an executive decision and put him into his car seat.

Christian declares he can't drive because of his meds. Fine. I get in the driver's seat. I'm not totally aware of how I'm still upset, but I do what I have to do. This is what I do everyday. I make it work. I check everything, I back up. The car directly behind me is backing up too. I stop. She keeps backing up, but there is no way she can move her car enough. I honk my horn. She bumps me.

I put the car in neutral and the brake on. I get out of the car and look at our bumper. Our car is over 10 years old. Hers is too. There are no dents. There are no scrapes. I see no marks on her car whatsoever, though ours has some old ones from something I can't recall.

"It was just one of those things. I looked left and you looked right," the woman says. I look at the cars again and nod. I'm upset, but no harm no foul.

There's a loud honk from behind me. I look over and there is a car. i stare the driver down. She motions as though she wants to get through - between the two cars who just had an accident. She doesn't smile at me. She doesn't wave or anything. I get into my car and this driver has the gall to drive right between our cars, before either one of us has time to move out of the way. I had visions of chasing her down, of beating her window, of taking my teenage carkeys along her freshly washed California Prius and giving her a nice cursive message to immortalize the occasion.

"Thanks you fucking bitch!" These are the words I thought because she didn't know everything I'd been through this weekend. She didn't realize I had visions of losing not only my husband and best friend, but also the fragile financial security I have. She didn't realize that I had visions of losing my son to a piece of irregularly shaped plastic just moments before. She didn't realize that I had just carried this upset, frightened little boy, wriggling, and crying, at over 25 pounds, the distance of several city blocks. She didn't realize that I had just crammed into my back seat, so that same frightened little boy, could feel an ounce of comfort before being strapped down so he could be transported safely away. She didn't realize all those things, but she did see my car bumper get tapped.

I don't know what that Prius driver had going on in her own life, but I think she could have managed a few seconds wait time to allow a young mother a little less stress to an already stressful event.

So when I did finally get my car going, and make my way out of the parking lot and on to surface street, it was amidst utterly raw weeping. Christian offered to take the wheel, but I refused. I refused in part because I did not want to move from that spot. I did not want to get out of the car. I could not take my hands from the wheel, so instead, I wept. I sobbed until my throat hurt - until the sound was impossible, until it refused to claw from my throat. The tears continued to flow from my swollen eyes. I would sniff. I would take a few gasping breaths, and this was enough to allow that wracking sound from my throat again.

I cried so hard, so long, I started to cough. I started to choke. I calmed enough to breathe. I wept some more. I wept the entire drive to my in-laws' house.

"If anyone makes any kind of comment to me, I cannot be held responsible for what I will say back. I cannot!" I said as I turned down their street. Christian nodded.

"Okay. I understand. Just go straight to the guest room. It's fine."

I parked the car. I wiped salt from my cheeks - just salt tracks because of the drought. I got out, not looking back, not thinking. I went straight to the guest room where our son takes his nap. Christian laid him down beside me, whimpering and half asleep from the car ride.

As I lay there, nursing my sleepy toddler, I breathed deeply, my limbs trembling.

I can't handle anything else. I can't. I need a break - I need to catch a break. I don't have anything left. No patience. No resources. No stamina. I am running on empty. I am bare. I am raw. I don't know what I will do if something else happens. I don't know what else I can do besides what I am doing.

So I write this, raising my hands up, empty and asking...help me.

Ignoring the News

Sunflowers to brighten the day...

I seriously need to stop reading the news. Just completely. I need a news detox. I need fluffy cats, fuzzy bunnies, and baby videos. Lots of silly baby videos. And Saturday Night Live. Some Tina Fey.

Part of the reason is I get so pissed off when I read it. Part of it is I get so depressed. I lose faith in humanity and the world generally. I just get this awful aching feeling in my gut and that small voice in my head says,

"See. We are going to Hell in a hand basket. Soda and peanuts for a charge..."

I wonder if the world will be okay for my son. What will happen to him? I wonder if I will continue to see the blue sky and green grass, or if we are doomed to super winters in some places and legendary droughts in others...forever. For the rest of my life. For the rest of his.

I wonder why leaders think it is a good idea to go to war when we aren't taking care of our recent vets, let alone civilians at home.

I wonder why people intentionally want to hurt others while couching it in terms of "personal choice" or "maintaining national identity."

Looking at pictures of new babies on my social media feed and I think, what do they have to look forward to? Is it enough to be fed, be loved, and have a place to sleep? Is that enough? Because it feels like nothing else is certain.

Despite these feelings of desperation and depression, I cling to my one true solace - my one true love - my words. Precious, perfect, wonderful words. At least I write the light as well as the dark. That is some solace. And maybe someone reading it will be impacted in a positive way. I can't know. I can only hope. But the hope is what keeps me going.

My most consuming project is not Khloe, though I love that series and gives me hope. No. My most consuming project is dark, difficult, and real. It really happened. That is what makes it so painful, so awful. And I relive it as I write. I relive every second. Anyone who has experienced what I have knows this. When you write, when you talk, it is being back there. And I don't do it because I hate myself, or I want to beat myself up. I relive every second in hopes the lessons I learned, my experiences, were not a simple personal thing, but something that others can grab on to. I want someone else to read about me and know, in her heart of hearts, "I am more than this," and "I am not alone."

We are never alone. I hold on to this thought every day.

There is my husband, who can make me laugh at the drop of a hat. He has this magical ability to crack my mother into hysterics, which makes everyone laugh, because its such a strange full body thing, she gives herself over to the experience so completely. It is such a joy to see someone else enjoying life. It is infectious and I can't help but crack into hysterics along with her.

I look at my son, who both relieves and creates stress. He relieves it because he is full of smiles and laughs, and play. He is full of wonder and life and love and I can't get enough of it. He is a source of stress, not because of the tantrums and the buttons he pushes. He is a source of stress because I know the evil in the world, and I wish he will never experience it...but he will. We all do at some point. We all know evil. There is no avoiding it. And that stresses me the hell out, because I know, even if I do everything right, I cannot protect him from the world.

So I need to avoid the news. I need to forget about Brian Williams and other talking head lies. I need to avoid the fact that police and civilians alike shoot and kill each other over the most mundane and preposterous awful things. I need to forget that women still fight for a voice, and alternative genders struggle to have even the space straight women have. I need to forget that war rages, and violence stains hands and dirt. I need to ignore the fact that we may have killed our species through some Icarus type hubris.

So please, send me your best cat videos. Send me your fuzzy bunny memes and your witty sketch and improv comedy. Recommend a good guided meditation and a fantastic quantum physics article about how small and pointless this human experience is in the vastness of space. I need a break.

Total Equality: A Feminist Manifesto

Recently Obama called for the American legislature to require equal pay for equal work. There have been a lot of conversations about that.

I would argue his call is premature, not because I don't want that. I do. I absolutely completely do. I just think the problem is bigger than that.

You can't eradicate a symptom if you don't cure the disease. The disease, in this case, is sexism, and it is pandemic. The body politic is infested with this horrible, debilitating illness. And we need a cure. We can treat the symptoms, but they will keep coming back in one way or another, until we address the illness as a whole.

It is for this reason I wrote and published TOTAL EQUALITY. I don't think people realize how pervasive sexism is in America. I don't think people realize how damaging it is, how painful it is, as a woman, to be systematically disregarded over and over again (my brown skinned friends know this very well, and I empathize with that hot mess because there is a lot of overlap). I wrote this because I wanted it to be absolutely clear, in one place, easily understood, just what is required for women to be equal to men.

Obama is right. It should happen now. It has been a long time. But let's be clear - this is still a big task, especially when America won't admit there is a problem in the first place.

Until All Are Equal - Feminism

The internet is full of fail. It allows idiocy to multiply like a virus and collect into little pools of festering infection. First, let me remind everyone: USE YOUR CRITICAL THINKING SKILLS. It is always a good idea to consider arguments thoughtfully especially if they are well structured and supported by sufficient evidence, regardless of your own opinion.  This is how we learn and grow and that is always a good thing.

Always consider a situation and the definition of the words being applied. Does the situation actually fit the words being applied? Or is the person making statement after statement with malapropisms? In other words, does this person actually know what he or she is talking about?

Just saying.

Now to brass tacks.

Let's remind one another, ladies and gentlemen, why FEMINISM is not the "F word." Feminism is not MAN-HATING or "Feminazism." That is female chauvinism and NOT the same thing (I think we all agree chauvinism is bad...equality is good). Let's also remind one another that FEMINISM is about a set of ideals - a philosophy and a movement. It is about EQUALITY in PUBLIC and PRIVATE spaces for EVERYONE.

If a woman has NOT experienced discrimination or violence because she is a woman, I can only attribute this to one of three things: sheer luck, lack of life experience and/or exposure to the world (i.e. too young), or obliviousness to her own situation and those of women around her.

If a man has not witnessed or met a woman who was discriminated against or attacked because of her vagina, then he can only be too young or oblivious (not asking the right questions or "calling a spade a spade" as it were).

Women, you need feminism because

1. You like being able to vote.
2. You like being able to drive.
3. You like being able to have your opinion weigh the same as someone who has a penis.
4. You like being able to choose if and when you want to be a mother.
5. You like government protected parental leave.
6. You enjoy being able to work...in any industry and any organization.
7. You enjoy making it to upper management (or at least having the possibility to).
8. You like being able to go to college and study whatever you want to achieve whatever goals you have.
9. You want to be able to get the same wage for the same work as someone with a penis.
10. You enjoy being able to wear pants, shorts, skirts, and pretty much anything you want at any time ANYWHERE - seriously... think Saudi Arabia people.
11. You enjoy being taken seriously. Seriously.
12. You want to be seen as a person, as opposed to a walking vagina to be possessed or used.
13. There are still women in this world who do not have access to all the  the above mentioned things.
14. Daycare is still not provided by all employers.
15. Women who take themselves out of the workforce during childbearing years have a difficult time being hired after. 
16. Women are still not trusted to know how to give birth in the US and around the world.
17. Women are still not allowed control over their reproduction in the US and globally.
18. Women are more likely to be the victims of sexual abuse (3 in 10) than  men (1 in 10).
19. Women are much more likely to experience violence at the hands of their partners than men.
20. Women worry about being physically safe with men. Men don't feel that way about women.
21. When saying that someone abused you sexually, society is predisposed to call you a liar and an opportunist unless there is physical proof.
22. "Cunt" is still worse than "dick."
23. "Whore" is a slur. "Pimp" is a compliment.
24. Women are less likely to vote for a female candidate to office.
25. We have been so conditioned by the idea that we can't do certain things that WOMEN REINFORCE the status quo.

Men need feminism because

1. Men can't stay home if they want to (without worrying about societal pressure and stigma).
2. Men like parental leave.
3. Daycare is still not provided by employers.
4. Imbalanced power dynamics foster resentment and subversion by the less powerful.
5. Men (and women) want whole, supported partners.
6. Having an empowered partner means a happier relationship (Ever met someone who had control over their own life who was upset about it? Really?).
7. Men need to know how to be male without being violent or aggressive towards women (read: television, video games, movies, and popular music).
8. Men need to be able to explore their own identities and roles (son, husband, father etc).
9. Diversity of perspective leads to innovation which can lead to better solutions (i.e. dialectics).
10. Everyone is more productive when they are supported and empowered (Think of your sisters, wives, mothers, and daughters here.).

All feminists are not the same, but saying that we don't need feminism is like saying we don't need to worry about racial equality. Sorry, but there is still a whole lot of racism in the US and the world, and there is STILL a lot of sexism in the world.

We definitely need feminism.

The Female Singer Songwriter

Monday night I had the opportunity to sing. These days I don't get to often, and this little showcase with Songwriters At Play served as a reminder of many of the things I consciously pulled away from.

I love performance. I love singing. It gives me great pleasure. Being in San Luis Obispo at Bon Temps was a pretty typical showcase experience. It was a weird location - weird because it's a creole restaurant attached to a Ramada Inn on California's Central Coast.

You can't make this stuff up.

The wait staff was exceptionally kind. Without having to ask, they brought us waters immediately. I don't know if that's just this restaurant's way of doing things for all clients - all I know is that often waiters don't bring musicians water. I was pleasantly surprised.

Our good music buddy Steve Key put together the group of performers. Being a part of one of Steve's lineups is always good because he makes a real effort to find a good mix of local talent as well as some interesting featured acts. It ends up feeling somewhere between an open mic and a paying concert (a great thing from a musician's perspective). They're always fun and musicians always feel supported there.

We tend to play early in these things, in part because we tag along at the last minute. This can be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on the crowd and other acts. Bon Temps had a really sweet group and all the musicians were hanging out, which made things exceptionally supportive.

This was REALLY important to us because we recorded our performance (I'll throw a link or embed the video as soon as I check levels etc). Steve even let us do an extra song because we were so on (and took so little time - mostly because we don't talk in between songs).

The goal of the video is to use as a demo for potential gigs (and possibly other auditions??? Hmmm...). Considering our performance, my only real concern is the video quality (GoPro don't fail me now!).

Just People at Bon Temps

The featured act was a band from Portland (who look like they're from Portland if you know what I mean) called Just People. They had some good grooves and the two electric guitarists worked really well together. It was the kind of band my husband really enjoys (Too bad he missed it! Ha!). I wish I would have heard more of the lyrics however. I'm not sure if that was just the sound, the singer's vocals, or the songwriting. I'll have to listen to some recording to see...that said, for some old school ska influenced rock, it was a fun listen.

What did I remember that I left behind? Late nights and loud music. I love performing, but I also love my hearing. I don't know how I can balance those things. I'm just not sure. I'd like to be able to, but I don't know if I have the money for the technological innovation required.

I also love my baby. The whole time I was at the gig I was thinking of him. I'd like to do more performing, but how can I with a little baby at home who has the beginnings of separation anxiety? It's tough to balance these things and there are no easy choices.

Looking at the other performers it was clear I was in a very different place in life. They were single, probably childless, and comfortable traveling long hours in crowded vans. I'm married with a husband and very rooted. They sleep in hotels or vehicles or on couches while living out of a small duffel. I like my own bed and the choices my closet offers.

I couldn't help thinking of the Koles and what Arlene gave up to be a mom for 20 years. Of course, then she returned to music in a big way (amazing songwriter and musician) with her kids all grown up.

I think of my cousin, an opera singer, who has her life scheduled out years in advance. She's always on the road and sees her husband when she can. She would have to schedule a family and I don't know if she ever will.

These are the choices women performers make. These are the scales we have to balance. Men have more freedom in this situation and I'm both envious and not. I don't know if I even want that life, but I do like to dip my toe in every once in a while. Showcases like Monday night let me do just that.

Procrastination? No. This is Multi-tasking!

I've been going through a slump lately when it comes to writing - well, sort of. It's kind of hard to write when there is an adorable baby sitting next to you. I mean, really, this kid is cute. But he's also a baby, and babies require a lot of care.

My days have been filled with a lot of other things besides writing - social things, exercising, and figuring out the next steps for setting up some writing classes that I'll be leading in SB County.

These things are exciting and good, but they also make it a lot more difficult to get to my books. The motivation is difficult to find. Frequently I find myself playing dinky little match-three games and watching superhero movies to try to get the juices flowing. Seriously. I'm watching The Dark Knight right now, in between writing blog posts and playing Pet Rescue Saga.

Now you know my priorities are straight.

But even while I am doing these other things, I'm thinking. I'm always thinking. What's going to happen next in my story? When am I going to block out time to write away from the baby (The answer is when he goes to sleep around 8  tonight.)? Where am I going to submit my short stories? What am I going to do for promotion of my new classes?

This practice of thinking while doing other things might be a product of motherhood, but I also think it's a practice of people who are going places and getting things done. If you're not always thinking, you're not moving forward. So it might be procrastination to some, at least at face value. But it's not in the least. It just allows my mind the freedom to solve some of my problems and smooth the way to getting things done when I do have time to focus on finishing things. Still, I'd like to be writing a little more than I am. Really. But balance is the name of the game, and sometimes I just have to play one.

Stop With The Unsolicited Baby Advice!

Pregnancy and parenthood are two things everyone feels is everyone's business. And maybe on the extreme ends of the spectrum that's true. When a person is obviously beating their kid, yeah, it's our business. When a person is smothering their kid to death or spoiling them rotten, yeah, it's probably our business. After all, we have to deal with the consequences of those kinds of choices as a society. Morally in the worst parenting situations we need to step in.

But what about those choices that are a little less societal? What about those micro choices? What about those choices that above all impact the chooser rather than everyone else? Do we have the right to swoop in and offer ridiculous amounts of advice just because something worked for us with one or two kids in our particular context?

That's some bullshit.

Just like every pregnancy is different, and every birth is different, so is every parent. Every family is different because the combination of people involved is unique. Yes, the extremes are of concern. Yes there are generalities we can make (like how eating balanced food and exercise are generally good for everyone - duh! Of course!). HOWEVER, I am not foolhardy enough to go in and say I know what is best for my neighbor. I don't know their kid. I don't know their parenting style. I don't know how they approach conflict or what they value or what their love languages are. How the hell can I come in and give unsolicited advice and think it will be useful, let alone welcome?!

So, let's make sure everyone gets one thing straight: I'm going to do what I'm going to do. I've already made my decisions about what I can do and what I will not do when it comes to pregnancy, childbirth, and parenting. These choices are based on several things:

1. Personal preference as it relates to communication, life expectations, personal experience, and values.
2. Research and conclusions by experts in various fields (which believe it or not, includes childbirth, baby gear, sleep training, breastfeeding, and diapering not to mention half a dozen other things!).
3. Finances - which will be more limited as I will be staying at home rather than working outside the house.
4. Space - which again is limited because we currently live in a loft apartment.

So, if you have similar preferences to mine AND experience with a tight budget AND having a baby in a small apartment, then yes I want to hear from you. But if you're living in a 5 bedroom house with a 2 car garage, a maid, and over $200k annually, then please - SHUT UP!

Let's get another thing straight: yes I may be a first time mom. Yes I know I don't know everything that will happen or how every single minute of every day of parenthood will be. That said, I've read about all kinds of things. I've done my research, reading experts and studies. I've seen documentaries. I've visited non-profit sites with all kinds of information about all kinds of things. Add to this the fantastic role models I've had (yay Mom and Dad!), and I feel like I'm as prepared as I can possibly be in the developing world.

My kid will be just fine. Yep. Pretty sure about that.

Keep in mind, I've planned for this. This wasn't accidental. I know I'm in for a ride. I know this is life-changing. I'm prepared for that to happen. I've done it before in different ways. I can do this. This is MY party. It's MY experience. Let me have it. If I need help, believe me, I'll ask. I'm not shy. But please, just wait for me to ask!

A Software Upgrade or Fun With Pregnancy Brain

I have a thousand things I could write about, but seriously my mind is blank. Which is why it makes so much sense to write about this.

Since becoming pregnant, I don't know how many times I've forgotten a word so simple and so well used in conversation that it's embarrassing. Or how about times when I've switched my student names when there is no possible connection between them? Yeah. I hate that.

The awesome thing is, these aren't the worst of it. The worst (or best) is trying to put toothpaste in your hair (instead of product) or a notepad in the freezer (instead of *on* the fridge).

I never did things like this before becoming pregnant. It is absolutely because of preggo brain.

Supposedly pregnancy brain happens when your hormones literally switch up your thinking. They do this so you are better programmed for motherhood. This means you spot danger faster than the average person, and respond more quickly to your baby. It also means you're more inclined to love on them (which thanks to biology is a continuous process fostered by childbirth and breastfeeding as well).

The price is your memory.

It seems like a fairytale. You pay with something in your head for some other head thing; except I can't help thinking in fairytales the price is always too high and has disasterous consequences. Is losing my memory too much to give? And is it permanent?

There are some changes in pregnancy that are temporary, but the rewiring of your brain into "mommy" is forever. For someone like me who has a strong memory (which I've cultivated through practice in addition to just having the gift) I probably have memory to spare (now I sound like a computer). But I can't help thinking about some people who didn't have all that much memory in the first place.

Memory is an aspect of intelligence. The ability to recall enormous amounts of information and use it with critical and analytical thought processes gives a person great advantage. Those with limited memory simply can't come to the same conclusions. This is probably one of the reasons Americans are looked down upon by many - we don't emphasize memorization in education. Literally, we seem more stupid.

So what does this mean for moms? I could make the argument that motherhood, pregnancy specifically, makes a person more stupid. And it does. That is a fact - if we're only looking at memory as an indicator of intelligence.

To counter that, I have to cite the sixth sense of moms everywhere as proof this rewiring process does something special. That joke about mothers having eyes in the back of their heads or that moms always *know* (and my own experience with this proves it true) tells me it's not a fairytale. This is not a situation where I'm losing something and getting very little back.

It's an upgrade.

So while misplacing things and forgetting basic words may be annoying, these experiences are a marker. I'm getting new software. I'm getting eyes in the back of my head.

Happy Mother's Day to...Me? or A New Mom's Worries

This is late, I know, but I've been busy.

I got more happy mother's day wishes than I ever expected. This is probably because I didn't expect any. I don't consider myself a mother - not yet anyway. At 23 weeks, I'm still a week away from viability. If I went into labor tomorrow, I don't know if the nearest hospital would attempt to save my baby. It's not common practice, but the Bay Area does have a lot of fancy medical care. It might depend on the hospital.

All this is to say, kiddo's lungs aren't completely developed yet. My baby couldn't survive without significant medical intervention. Kiddo isn't out in the world yet, so despite the incessant kicking and constant heartburn telling me I'm on my way to motherhood, I don't feel like it counts. Not yet.

Still, this didn't stop a lot of wonderful people from wishing me a wonderful day.

And I appreciate it. I do. I just think it's weird - and it's me, not them. It's totally me.

I even brought up my own weird feelings about it to Christian and he gave me a funny look. "You're over halfway done. You're already taking care of the baby, even though the baby's inside. You're already a mom. Besides, people love a pregnant lady."

In short, Get over it Alexis. You're being silly.

I think it's just one of those things where I haven't quite gotten it to sink in yet. I haven't wrapped my head around the fact that being this pregnant means in a few short months my relationship to the world, my identity, and every aspect of my life will be changed forever. As they say, once you become a mother, you are always a mother. There's no going back. [insert shiver here]

In these moments, when I'm pondering the enormity of the change, I kind of freak out. I worry about diaper changes, the zombification of my sleep schedule, and the fact that I may begin to feel like a living milk fountain. I worry about the costs involved and whether I'll be a good role model. I worry about whether I'll still be hot or if "mom jeans" are in my future.

But seriously, I just hope I don't screw it up. I'm crossing my fingers.

The Great Diaper Debate: Cloth or Disposable

Christian thinks I'm crazy. I might be. I want to try cloth diapers. There are several reasons for this:

1. Cloth is cheaper than disposables. You can use and reuse cloth diapers and covers. If you get all-in-ones that adjust, you can use the same stash of cloth for 2 kids! You save hundreds of dollars (or thousands depending on how much use you get out of them!)!

2. Cloth is cleaner. This sounds counter intuitive, but every cloth-diapering mom I've talked to or post I've read has had fewer blow-outs from cloth than disposables. I'd rather clean my kid's poop from his/her bum, not his/her ENTIRE BACK thank you!

3. Cloth is more responsible. It doesn't use harsh chemicals or take a bagillion years to decompose in a landfill somewhere. You also don't find used cloth diapers dappling the sand at the beach (so gross).

4. Cloth is healthier. I'll say it again - it doesn't use harsh chemicals! I've read from cloth diapering moms that with cloth their babies have fewer rashes.

Of course, it isn't always convenient. Cloth diapers do need to get washed. You do have to rinse poop off. That said, once baby switches to solids, you can use flushable liners to help make that process easier (which Christian is all for).

Disposables are nice when you are travelling and don't want to deal with a wet bag etc. In all honesty, I will probably use disposables when I'm travelling. The idea of taking a wet bag and hauling poopy diapers around doesn't appeal. I know people do it, I just don't want to.

There are some eco friendly disposable diaper options out there, and I'm investigating those, however they are pricier than the chem-infested plasticized mass-production dipes. It's a choice of trade-offs with which every mom struggles.

Without knowing exactly how kiddo will react to cloth (or Christian, or myself), I'm going to try it. People did it for years before disposables and made it work. I'm sure I can figure out something come September.

Mommy Blogger or Blogger Who Happens to be a Mom

In our society one of the jobs revered and devalued the most is that of "mother." On the one hand, moms are the people who we run to when we skin our knees, when we don't know what to do, when we're hungry, or tired, or freaked out. They love us deeply and so they care for us. Because of this, no one can speak a word against them.

Simultaneously, mothers are also unsupported. Women don't receive guaranteed paid time off when having a new baby. We don't have guaranteed daycare at our places of work. If we have to race home because a child is sick and no family is available to care for them, our employers become annoyed with us, possibly even writing us up. Pregnant women, while not legally allowed to be fired, are often let go for spurious reasons.

On top of all this, we are expected, once our bodies are taken over by new life, that our other identities are subsumed by the all-powerful "mother."

It is the difference between being a blogger who happens to be a mom and a mommy blogger. A blogger who happens to be a mom can write about anything, in addition to parenthood. A mommy blogger is first and foremost a mom. Her other self, the self before children is lost, for the purposes of blogging. Her primary identity is "mom."

As a woman, I can say this situation sucks.

Okay, yes, there are parts of my relationship with Christian that are traditional. But when I got married I didn't become "wife" and "wife" only. I stayed an artist,  dreamer, intellectual, traveller, adventurer, believer, singer, and dancer. I am all those things and a thousand more. Those parts of myself didn't stop being. Wife was just another identity I acquired. It didn't overpower the rest.

I know being "mother" is a little different. Believe me, kiddo let's me know regularly. Giving my body over to create a new human life is an all-consuming, deeply impactful task that I am very aware of at all times. My body behaves differently. My thoughts are different. And when kiddo arrives in this world, my life will take on a new routine. Of course!

But I won't stop being all the things I was before. I won't stop being a writer, for example. I don't want being at home or being a mom to cause me to lose my identity as me. I don't want other people to see me as *just* a mom. It's disingenuous and frankly, limited. It's like reducing a person to their ethnicity or religion and saying that is all they are.

Yes, I'm Christian and yes I'm white, but those are not identites that I think of first when I think of myself. They aren't the things that could help a person pin me down. I am so much more than "Christian" or "white."

How is being reduced to "mom" any different?

So when I think of where I go in this blog, I know I'll write a lot more about parenthood and all that means. To the outside world, I may be a "mommy blogger" but to me, I am not. Not really. Not quite. I happen to be a blogger who is *also* a mom (well at least in a few months). Kiddo is important to me, and caring for him/her is going to take up a lot of my time and energy. To process the change I will write a lot about it, but that has to do with my need to write to process my world. If anything, this proves I am a writer first. Then a mom. A blogger who happens to be a mom.

Over Halfway Done: 21 Weeks and Counting

Well, this post is late because Blogger has been failing at picture loading for about a week (mostly because I refuse to use all Google applications and stubbornly cling to FireFox, plus I refused to give my picture copyright to Facebook for a workaround. Never fear however, Twitpic is here!). Ahem.

As 20 weeks is technically the halfway point, I probably should have posted this even earlier. Still, my anatomy scan was later (this past Monday) so I didn't feel like posting a halfies post without having completed my signpost moment in Western medicine.

Thankfully, the kiddo is perfect. Actually perfect.

Kiddo matches my dates perfectly, in size and weight (this is pretty rare as most women don't know exactly when they conceived and few babies follow a pattern). Brain and spine are perfect. Heart is perfect. Abdomen and everything inside look perfect. Hands and feet are perfect. Nose and lips are perfect.  I can't tell you about the genitals, because I refused to look (as did Christian), but the tech didn't say anything was amiss with that either.

She even called our baby "good-looking." I assume this is because of measurements, although our tech seems to have been doing this a long time. I suspect she's seen her fair share of unborn babies. A scan that can take as long as 1.5 hours only took about 30 minutes, because well, this lady is pro. Her fingers danced across dials to get things properly lit up, and her hand shifted the wand just slightly and got a perfect view in a matter of seconds.

She knew what she was doing. So if she said kiddo is good-looking, kiddo IS.

Of course, it is possible our baby could look super goofy or troll-like. Some babies do (anyone who says anything otherwise is a liar - or delusional). Still, based on Christian's beautiful family, and my own breeding, I think it's safe to expect some serious cuteness happening here. Sugary, ridiculous, pudgy, cuteness.

Oh. My. God. I CANNOT WAIT!

Just writing that made me want to go all Elmira on this kid.

But even if my kid is goofy looking, I won't care.  I'm their mom. I will still go Elmira on them - hugging them so tight they'll be practically smothered in love. My hormones will go into mama-bear mode when there's even the tiniest hint of a threat. I won't be able to help it - it's how we're programmed, and what I learned about mothering from my own mom (Baby just kicked. Maybe s/he knows.).

Needless to say, having the anatomy scan under my belt, I feel like I really am halfway done. The intensity of baby's kicks is increasing and my belly is so big I can't comfortably lounge or touch my toes. Basically anything that smooshes my abdomen is a no-go.

But other than the need to keep my posture perfect, and avoiding the lower rack of the dishwasher or feeding the cat, I feel pretty good. I sleep pretty well these days. My heartburn seems to have calmed down (although it always reminds me it hasn't completely disappeared). I have enough energy to write or edit regularly, apply for jobs, and go for walks. I'm trying to regularly lift, but that comes and goes (the current heatwave in Oakland makes exercise a real chore, and the parents' visit derailed some of my efforts temporarily as well). Still, I'm getting in more steps than I did before I was pregnant (woohoo!) and I'm eating pretty healthy meals to fuel all this energy.

Sure, I get the occasional ache or pain from shifting too quickly, or staying still too long. Sure, I get moments when nothing feels comfortable. All in all however, the second trimester is pretty awesome.

I'm not sure how I'll feel in two months when kiddo's frequent strong kicks connect with my ribs and my sciatic nerve, or in August when it's hot on my second floor and I'm so big I feel like I'll burst. But that's then. I'll deal with it when it gets here (and hopefully with a whole lot of swimming). For now, I'll enjoy the regular movements letting me know just how healthy and perfect my kiddo is. I'll enjoy the attention I get from my coworkers, friends, family, and Christian. And while I wait for the inevitable, I'll enjoy fantasizing about all the stuff that comes with it - from cleaning poop and spit-up, to singing lullabies and giving tickles. I really can't wait.

Raising Boys v. Girls: It's All About The Hormones

I've been doing a TON of research (and when I'm not blogging on my phone I'll share it with you). I've been researching because of something my midwife said about the first few moments after birth.

She said it was the only time you could think of your child as just a person, without any gendered identification.

Initially I agreed with her. I've always been a big proponent of gender equality (and I mean gender). I want to raise boys or girls the same - to feel like they have options beyond what people associate with a penis or a vagina. I want children to know they can do anything they choose.

The problem is, mothers and babies already start to have a relationship long before the baby is born. Hormones are already telling the mother's body what will be. Hormones decided long before the baby could hear or see what it was going to be - in some cases, even before the baby was a sparkle in his or her parents' eyes.

We are, unfortunately for the thinkers among us, slaves to our hormones. Before birth, our gender identity has already been determined (and I say gender here on purpose). Our hormone levels are determined, which leads us to certain sets of choices and it's measurable - in your ring finger. Depending on how long your ring finger is compared to your index finger, scientists can tell how likely a person is going to have certain traits associated with estrogen or testosterone. These traits extend from physical things like muscle mass, to learning disabilities, and personality traits (I'll link a bunch of articles about this from my lappy later I promise!).

So...unless you believe souls choose their parents, you are not the captain of your fate... Not completely. This jury's rigged.

But what about the role of mothers? We're just as ensorceled by hormones as our fresh pink babes! Before they thought parents treated boy and girl babies differently because of cultural expectations (gender roles etc). Now they know it has to do with hormones. Women are just as responsible for choosing the sex of their baby as male sperm are for confirming it. Eggs are predisposed to X or Y based on the mother's hormone levels.

And guess what? Women with higher testosterone *tend* to have boys. Women with higher estrogen *tend* to have girls. This is because testosterone and estrogen are linked to personality traits - ways of being. Higher T makes you take initiative, more risks, and generally be more assertive. Higher E makes you more cautious, responsive and empathetic.  Women with higher T are better mothers to boys because they understand them better. Their personalities match. Likewise the opposite is true about high E women with girls.

Could you imagine the DISASTER that would happen if a woman with really high E levels tried to raise a son? Or the opposite? It wouldn't really work - not for the extreme ends of the spectrum.

As soon as babies pop out, mothers have already subconsciously started responding to their babies in certain ways, ways of which they are completely unaware. It just doesn't matter if you know the sex or not. All that gender stuff is predetermined.

Thanks hormones!

So where does that leave us progressively-minded ladies who want our children to feel more equal? Well, we do have some control. We can make our children feel more or less powerful. We can tell them they have more or less opportunities. We can tell them they have to stay in a narrow box or we can let them honor their preferences, skills, and talents.

All this is to say, finding out the sex doesn't seem to matter one way or another. Our bodies already know. Things are already in motion. It's a preference. And maybe it's related to not wanting monster truck onsies or frilly purple tutus as opposed to how we'll look at or hold our babies.

P.S. I really don't like monster trucks or frilly tutus. Let's keep it to yellow duckies and kelly green frogs shall we?

You Know You're a Mom When...

I don't know when it happened, but suddenly I realized I was doing mom things.

You know what I mean: coupons, repurposing, thinking about utility over beauty (whhhaaaaa?!?!).

So then I started thinking about all these new things I was doing and decided to make a little list for you. These are in no particular order - not a count down - just things to let you know you have crossed forever into the frighteningly strange realm of parenthood.

So here we go. You know you're a mom when

1. You clip coupons. Seriously. For everything. No item is safe from clipped coupon savings!
2. You live for discount shopping - this may have been something you practiced before, but you have taken it to new heights (4 onsies for 9 bucks?! Alright!!).
3. Safety comes first! Every nook and cranny comes under scrutiny. Every person's behavior is evaluated. Nothing is assumed to be alright. I feel like I might be practicing to enter the secret service!
4. Clean and tidy rules the day. Again, this is something you may have practiced before, but now it is more important to maintain a tight ship (see safety). Food can't enter the danger zone and be eaten. There is no 5 second rule. That toilet is disinfected like clockwork!
5. Long term planning for the win! Yeah, yeah. I know. You did this before. But now you have another person to think about. You have to structure trips around town to account for snacks, naps, and potty breaks. Meal plans are your (and your budget's) savior! Living in the right neighborhood with the right school in 5 years IS your 5 year plan.
6. You fantasize about making *stuff* with kiddo. It doesn't matter this won't happen until they're at least 2. It's there in the back of your mind.
7. Your favorite blogs are all written by moms for moms, giving you sneak peaks of things to come and tips on how to deal with the horrifying present (whatever that might involve).
8. All the new friends you're making have long term committed partners and have kids or are pregnant. The riff between you and single people seems too big to cross (because let's face it - you really just want to talk about your kids or your pregnancy with someone who understands, and who can set up play dates).
9. Multi-tasking is where you live - like permanently.  Time management is crucial to you. You plan your day as much as possible and when something goes awry (which it always does) you regroup and figure out a way to get shit done anyway all while *someone* is taking a nap.
10. You feel weird on a day when you get nothing done (i.e. cleaning, working, organizing, errands etc) because well, maybe you missed something. But what was it...

This is my new existence. It is odd to realize my new chapter in life has already shifted my thinking and every aspect of being. Of course, once kiddo arrives, it will go turbo-charged (I know this is true by the way s/he is already - why is that kid stretching out against my womb?! Yoga later please!).

Still, I can't wait.

The Great Surname Debate

Whenever I think of the American custom for a woman to change her surname to her husband's, I always think of anthropology.

While marriage is a universal practice, the terms of such practice are varied around the world. The answer to the question of who is marrying into whose family changes. If the society is matrilineal, the link to the mother is most important, thereby rendering the husband the adopted one (and everything that means). If it is patrilineal, then the opposite is true.

It should come as no surprise that America is a nation of men.

I'm a strange bird. When I found out the history of my surname, I found held no affinity for it. My father's name was changed through adoption by his step-father as a baby. He didn't even know his biological family was different until much later. When I was in high school, and discovering myself, I went through a period where I wanted to reject the name. Of course, this adopted name is very rare in the U.S. and makes my name combo even more so. So I didn't change it.

My mother's maiden name is fairly unusual except for a small area of the country where my extended family is tucked away. Despite this rarity, I didn't change my name to my mother's last, as it seemed a mute point. I figured I would get married and change my name then.

As I got older my relationship to my name changed. I liked the rarity of my name (though there is a woman with the same last/first combo in Australia - but we don't talk about her.). I like even more what it means - the history of rejection and adoption that it brings. I also like the sound of my full name. I decided if and when I got married I would only consider a last name that was weightier than mine... But this decision was quickly replaced by the idea that I would never change my name.

The fact that I still get some confusion over my name being different caused me to make changes in social media, though professionally, my name is just my own. I don't mind socially being called by Christian's last name, although it does bother me when close friends make the mistake (which happens though rarely).

I would have let the whole thing rest, but we have come to a difficult juncture. What last name should our child have?

I've thought a lot about this. While the meaning of my last name and the associated clan is way cooler (it just is...the motto is "Learn to Suffer" which makes me do my evil laugh every time I even think it) there are other considerations. Christian is the only boy. His family gave him 2 middle names, both of which are family surnames (so...no pressure). Needless to say, he has always felt the need to "carry on the family name" even though his last name isn't exactly rare.

Of course, if we have girls, it doesn't matter. They will come to a point where I am and may or may not decide to pass on their name. I even suggested that if we have a daughter she should take my name. Christian wasn't opposed, except if we only had girls then his name would be left out/not passed on. I still like the idea of daughters having the name of their mother, but I'm not married to the idea (badum cha!). I also like the idea of all the children having the same last name, but for different reasons.

For boys, I am not attached to my name. I understand Christian's need (despite my awesome meaning surname) as a very American man. I'm fine with sons having his name. The first name we picked out for a boy sounds great with his surname. I like the meaning of the full name and how the middle name references me (P.S. You won't find out what it is unless we're having a boy!).

But if the boys have his name, it brings me back to that question of giving all the children the same name. While I like the idea of daughters standing firm and strong, representing their mother's line, I don't feel the need to pass on my surname. It was adopted - not biological. Names, while important, are also something that change through life (both legally and socially). Even if I gave a daughter (or a son, for that matter) my name, there is no guarantee she would keep it. People do all kinds of weird things with names these days that can result in breaking family links. Some people make up names they give themselves when they marry, completely different than the names they were given at birth. Who is to say my child wouldn't do this or something similar?

The question gets me thinking why this is happening.

The reason this is even a debate has nothing to do with names, but with changes in gender roles. This is all about women and men. The question of who is more important - who is marrying whom into the family - is what causes the confusion of names. In some places in the U.S. different names are not an issue because gender roles are loose and fast (I mean think of the Castro! Helloooo! Not to mention Berkeley!). The Bay Area probably has every iteration of family name choice that can be. The assumptions about family names being the same one way or another are just not made... with one exception.

I think married white people are assumed to have one family name. This is weird and nonsensical, but brings me great amusement at the grocery store when I enter my rewards card and Christian gets called "Mr. Donkin" (which happens way more often than you might think).

In other places in America (I'm thinking Oklahoma or Idaho), I would expect, it is rare for women to have different names or to deviate from the married family's name. This has to do with ties to family and more traditional cultural expectations. All married couples are assumed to have the same last name, and it is the husband's. In these places, a difference in name implies a divorce or illegitimacy somewhere in the family history. This would be a mark and would likely be avoided (thus the need to keep up the husband's name tradition to protect family honor).

Of course my (and Christian's) family are traditional in MANY ways. There is nothing wrong with this. And even though they are traditional, my cousin (the closest in age and also female) kept her name. I don't think anyone questioned this because she had built her career with this name. I guess this is an accepted excuse, if grudgingly, for more traditional families. Even as I write this, I don't think my mother's family would ever question what a woman would choose to do. This is wise, as all the women from that line are spitfires and would tear you a new one if you did. My father's family is more traditional in this way, but they wouldn't say anything out of politeness, bless them.

Christian's family was less certain about my choice to keep my name. I think this had to do mostly with the fact that Christian is the only boy (remember those 2 middle names?). However, we came to an understanding. Socially I will (and often do) go by his name. I might even add his name legally at some point (though not hyphenated and I will not get rid of my name). Any boys we have will have Christian's last name without question. The patrilineal connection is protected.

And as I sit here, typing this, I mourn the fact that is how it has to be. It is not because I feel my name absolutely must be passed down, or even that I feel strange about the whole naming convention of tracing one line versus the other. It's not even about the family ties necessarily severed with made up names. Rather, the whole thing - that it is a question, that it is confusing, that it is a debate at all - gives me grief. What's more, I have no idea how to make it better, and that is even worse.

Working From Home: Dream or Reality?

I hate the idea of someone else raising my kid, and one income isn't enough to make ends meet in the Bay Area (grumbles) especially on a mechanic's salary.

I love my husband and his benefits make it possible for us to do things that we previously couldn't, but let's face it - motorcycle maintenance is a labor of love, and not something that will get us through college, weddings, and retirement (I will say this - it is a stepping stone for greater things that I'm pretty sure will happen in the next 5 years. I'm crossing my fingers).

In any case, writing is wonderful but not a real consistent thing. I made enough to cover costs thus far (if you don't include time...ha!) but nothing over. While I'm gearing up to submit a bunch of shorts to magazines/contests, the pay out for such things is hardly guaranteed.

Meanwhile, time marches on, bringing us closer to the end of the school year and my teaching contract. I love teaching art, but monetary wise it won't make sense to continue next year (I would pay every cent I earned to a babysitter).

So, what does a new mommy do?

Cry.

Just kidding. Well, I probably will...but seriously, until recently I was flummoxed. I want to spend time with my baby, continue writing, and earn money?! I must be INSANE to think this is possible.

Ahem.

I started applying to teach and evaluate at some online schools this week. This weekend and following week I'm going to look into some additional remote options. I may even go crazy and consider a business (that one scares me the most, but I also find it strangely intriguing and have for yeeeaaars!) or some training to open up some more doors (I love doors).

It appears the second trimester energy has come in full swing because I'm determined.  I won't take no for an answer. Failure is unacceptable as we would literally have to move (and I really don't want to move in my third tri, though I know women who have done it). Of course, if something doesn't materialize, we'll be looking at apartments.

My situation is a common one. I can't help wondering about women with fewer skills and less initiative. What do they do with their babies? How do they live? Do they just hand their babies over to someone to care for, not seeing them for at least 9 hours, 5 days a week? Doesn't it make their hearts ache?

And then of course, I think of the lack of support businesses and governments give to mothers and families. Work place daycare, paid parental leave, and affordable housing in the community where parents work are often fantasies. Commutes take time away from parents and children. Unpaid parental leave means families can't bond when their new baby has arrived without taking serious financial losses. Daycare away from work creates stress and added separation.

Part of me wishes I was an employer so I could show people how it's done. Part of me wishes I was a consultant so I could explain to people the cost-benefit analysis for society and labor productivity gained from instituting these kinds of changes. An iota of me wishes I was a government official making the changes themselves.

While I wait for the U.S. to become enlightened (and my writing to take off) I'll peruse the work-at-home options until the one that works best (badum cha!) comes to me.

Do me a favor and send good thoughts my way. I have until June 13. That's only a couple months away.

Natural Childbirth: Why I Won't Be Drugged

It's time to come out - about childbirth.

For those who are close to me, you already know I believe natural unmedicated childbirth is best. It is how I intend to give birth to my growing baby. My mother did it in 1982 and I will do it 2013. Millions of women have done it in between, and millions more will do it after me.

The *only* reason I would change my mind is if there was a *medical need* to do anything else. When I say medical need, I don't mean they *think* the baby is big or that my pelvis is small (well, I mean, seriously that would be stupid. Have you seen my hips?). I mean situations such as the baby's heart rate is wonky or I'm bleeding and to ignore these things would result in the death of one or both of us. That is time for medical intervention. And I am absolutely for medical intervention when it is necessary. But when it's not?

I am not a wimp.

I am the kind of girl who was so impatient to get my ears pierced a third time at the age of 16 that I jammed earrings through my lobes without numbing - slowly.

I'm the kind of girl who decided 2 weeks before I needed to be there, that I would study abroad in Hungary without knowing the language or anything about the place.

I'm the kind of girl who at the age of 4 jumped off the top step to catch a floating envelop and broke her collar bone at the bottom because, I reasoned, I was light and small. I could totally catch it (I didn't, but it was a nice idea).

I am the kind of girl who put up with chronic TMJ pain and difficulty chewing until - with the help of my parents and world class surgeons - it was corrected through months of preparation, hours of major surgery, and 6 months of recovery.

I'm the kind of girl who would marry my best friend and then jump in a truck and move to a city I'd never seen just so he could get the best training he could to do the thing he loved (and I'd put up with that city for 2 yrs until I thought I'd go bonkers).

I am the kind of girl who told friends exactly what they needed to hear even if it meant I cost myself a friendship because no one else would say the thing that needed to be said.

I am not a wimp.

I am strong. I am powerful, and above all, I am a woman.

I know childbirth is intense. I know it is unexpected and things change mid-progress. I know it will be painful at times.

But it is also beautiful, wonderous, amazing, and brings me closer to the Creator than anything else in the world. And when I use this amazing power, at the end, I am given a precious gift - something unique and beautiful and wonderful - my baby.

I don't want anything to get between me and that time - certainly not a drug induced stupor. Christian asked me once what he should do if I asked for drugs, and I looked at him like he had 5 heads.

"No drugs."
"But what if you ask?"
"NO DRUGS! I want to feel everything."

He kind of smiled and nodded, though I could see it made him nervous. It is hard to watch someone you love go through something so physically intense. I can only imagine what will go through his mind during the process. Still, I know he'll respect my wishes. I know my midwives will respect my wishes. I know, short of real medical danger, I will stay in the beautiful birth center room, and see my baby for the first time, completely alert (if tired and hungry).

And when I picture how it will happen, I see that. I see myself holding my baby in the birth tub, letting him/her nurse the first time or falling asleep in my arms. Just picturing it is enough for me to feel my cheeks get sore from grinning. And I know this imagined picture will pale to the feelings of the real thing - like Dorothy stepping into Oz, everything will be in sharp color. I wouldn't be able to see that with an epidural. Medical interventions would keep things blurred and foggy. No thank you, I'll take the sharp focused picture every time.

So when someone asks me about my birth plan and questions the wisdom in going natural or my (ha! my!) fortitude, I will say this:

I know myself. I have no doubt in my ability. I'm powerful. I'm a woman. I was made to do this. You can't stop me.