The end of the Mayan calendar has people a bit wigged out and there are a lot of doom-sayers having a field day with that. We’ve got a Presidential election this fall, and that has folks a bit wigged out, too. And, of course, the media is already having a field day with it, labeling their news broadcasts such things as “Decision 2012″. I’m sick of the posturing and pontificating already. Whatever you believe, I think we can probably all agree these are stressful times and our individual and collective faiths are being tested.

No one is feeling it more than a friend of mine whose husband died this week. He was only 43 and had a massive heart attack on New Year’s Day. He leaves behind his wife of 19 years and two kids – none of whom have any understanding of what has happened to them.

Happy Fucking New Year. Lean into it, my ass.

Having had my own scare with Second Son in November (And no, don’t think you missed a post, because you didn’t. I have been too busy dealing with the shit storm that has been my life these last few months to write about it here.) I have only the tiniest inkling of what my friend is going through. How the hell do you lean into pain like that? I don’t know and I don’t want to find out anytime soon.

It’s amazing how things that were such big issues 5 minutes ago become petty and small in the face of this kind of news. I’m sitting here guiltily grateful that it’s not me in that kind of mind-numbing emotional pain, horrified for my friend and the grief she’s feeling, and hurting so much for their kids.

I know we’re all human, and that, to some extent, explains how we get so caught up in the insignificant details of our lives and allow them to take up so much of our bandwidth that the really important things – I love you, you are special, I see you, you make a difference, I believe in you – don’t get said.

Any one of us could be gone in any moment for any reason, but we live – myself included – like there’s always going to be a tomorrow. I don’t want to live in fear of death, but I don’t want to get caught taking life for granted, either. So, for me, I’m going to practice being a little more present everyday. I’m going to say more of the important things, even if they seem out of the blue to those listening. And I’m going to be my real self more. Less conforming to expectations and more genuine expression of who I am and what I’m here to do.

Because, you know my grandkids and great-grandkids need stories of their crazy Grandma who slid into her grave with a big thud, exclaiming, “Whew! Ok! I’m ready. But, I’ll be baaaaaaccckkk!”

Keepin' it real in the bloggerhood,

So, when Second Son showed signs of following his brother’s footsteps, I decided radical action was in order.  By this time, I was working at home and had more flexibility in my schedule, so I got certified to be a substitute teacher and took assignments at Second Son’s school so I could both see what he was up against and reduce his ability to buffalo me. I told him, “I hate to break it to you son, but the high-school dropout position in our family has been taken. Your job is to graduate high school, go to college and live a productive life as a functioning adult. If you don’t like it, take it up with God, because I can’t help you.” Today, he is a college freshman and I am so proud.

Meanwhile, PDD has navigated her way from kindergarden through elementary school with flying colors. Then came middle school last year. Her grades plummeted and the campaign for me to home school her began.

PDD is the only one of my children who enjoys reading.  She is very artistic, distractible and social – none of which are really valued in the public school setting. She is not one of those “fast” girls you see wearing hoochie-mama clothes and boys are still a little bit gross. So last year when she told me that one of her friends had already been pregnant twice, I don’t know who was more freaked out – me or her. Add to this the 30 minute morning battle to get her out of bed, the crying scenes because of the torment she was enduring from the mean girls clique, and her spiraling grades…well…let’s just say she had my attention.

While I could think of a long list of reasons why home schooling would likely be a better option for her (and me), there was an equally long list of reasons why it wouldn’t.  For the first time in 19 years, the home schooling issue was not cut and dried.

After spring break last year, PDD’s campaign to do school at home began in earnest. She kept saying she hated school and wanted me to home school her. We made it to the end of the school year and she passed 6th grade by the hair of her chinny-chin-chin, and I knew something would have to change for her, but I didn’t know what. I thought maybe the campaign would die out over the summer, but it didn’t.  More interesting was how she spent her summer: self-directed learning online.  She wrote countless reports on dogs, horses, wolves, and giraffes complete with pictures and references.  She and Google became good friends and I couldn’t keep paper or ink in my printers.

Then, at the beginning of August, when the start of school began to loom large, she said the magic words to me: public school online. My beloved Internet:  The very thing which has so drastically empowered my own life by giving me the means to earn a living at home ~ could it hold the same empowerment for my daughter in the form of public school online?

We are in the process of finding out.

In early August, we applied to the Oklahoma Virtual Academy through K12.com. We both were very enthused about the alternative format and the individualized curriculum. For me, the magical factor was that I wouldn’t be the teacher. So, it’s not home schooling in the traditional sense, it’s school at home.  Big difference.

Long story short, Tulsa Public Schools killed our plan by denying PDD’s out-of-district transfer. Why?  Because they have their own virtual school…surprise, surprise.  No mention of it on the district website, I guess we were supposed to intuit its existence. So, she is enrolled in the Tulsa Virtual Academy for now, and we’ll see how it goes. She is enrolled in 4 classes: math, geography, language arts and science.  She has to do 5 hrs a day for a total of 25 hrs a week.  The good news is the week total is the one they really care about, so she can spread it out over all 7 days if she doesn’t want to do 5 hrs a day, or she could do it all in 2 days if she likes. The bad news is the format is not the most interesting and there is limited interaction with teachers, unless you fail a test twice – then you have to go to their location (which, at the moment, is a suite of offices in Promenade Mall) for tutoring.

This is not ideal – for her or for me – but there is enough of what we both wanted out of online school to muscle through it until January when we can reapply to K12.com and TPS won’t be able to block the transfer. She’s an extrovert and I’m an introvert and we’re both suffering the fact that we’re now together 24/7, but we’re both finding ways to get the kind of time we need without driving the other one crazy.

Keepin' it real in the bloggerhood,

Dating, I’ve decided, is a crash course in personal growth. Not only are you dealing with your own vulnerabilities, insecurities and foibles, but the other person’s, as well.  It’s a mine field, at best – but if you approach it from a “what’s there for me to learn” place, it can be quite entertaining, as well.

Take last night, for example.  This guy had invited me over for dinner – he wanted to cook for me. He’s a nice enough guy, so I agreed.  He gave me his address and we agreed I’d come over at 6.

I arrived and he invited me in.  He was fresh out of the shower, had dinner ready to go on the grill and a bouquet of flowers waiting for me. He offered me a glass of wine and asked if I was hungry. I said I was, so he put the shish-kabobs he’d made on the grill.  I milled around a bit, looking at the pictures of him with the Governor of Oklahoma, another with Bill Clinton, some from his days as an army pilot, others from his travels around the world.  I thought to myself, “This guy’s going to be interesting to talk to, for sure.”

He came in from the patio and began to tell some of the stories behind the pictures.  As he lead me around the living room, he reached out to take my hand. I thought – awww…sweet.  Then he turned and planted a kiss on my lips – mid-sentence, no less.  Taken aback, I finished my sentence and then shut up.  He asked if that was ok and not sure exactly what he meant – was it ok that he kissed me, or did the kiss, itself, pass muster – I mumbled some affirmative.

We sat down at the dining room table with our wine and I thought, “Ok…let the stories begin.”  I asked leading questions, trying to draw him out, but between looking at my boobs and checking on dinner, all he could muster were one-sentence answers to my questions. It was beginning to feel like an inquisition rather than a conversation, when all of  a sudden, he comes back in from the patio and proceeds to try and perform a tonsilectomy with his tongue while boldly copping a feel.

Now I realize there’s a whole other agenda in play here. Dinner is served with impatience and it’s obvious I’m on the menu as dessert.  He attacks his shish-kabob with the vengeance of a man on a mission while I look around, totally expecting to see Ashton Kutcher and the “Punk’d” crew hiding around the corner.

I tried to make light conversation, but he kept eye-balling my boobs while he chewed.  Ewww.  It got so bad that without filtering, I said, “You know – if I could twist them off and give them to you to play with, I would.”  That got his eyes off of them, at least.

Half-way through his meal, he stands up, holds out is hand to me, and when I look up confused, says, “This is me trying to lead you somewhere.”  Still chewing a piece of steak, I stand up and take his hand.  Dumb. Ass. Me.

Next thing I know I find myself on his bed with a mouth full of half-chewed steak and him trying to kiss me.  He is trying desperately to put the moves on me, even manages to finagle his way on top of me, only to have me say, “Uhhh…excuse me?  What exactly are you doing?”

“I just want to hold you,” he says.

“Well, you might want to get off me, then, because the lovely dinner that you couldn’t wait for me to finish is now being pushed back up into my esophagus.”

He gets off me and sits up. I sit up and pat him on his knee and said as light-heartedly as I could muster, “Slow your roll, cowboy. Let’s talk and practice our communication skills some more.”

“Well, if it’s practice you need, maybe you should practice your driving skills and go home.”

Slowly, I turned my head to look him dead in the eye.  “You know what?  Thank you.  Thank you for dinner and thank you for that. Buh-bye now!”  I stood up, slammed the bedroom door behind me and was out of his house before he made it out of the room.

That date lasted an hour and 39 minutes, including drive time.

From the “what can I learn about me” perspective, this date was highly educational.

• I learned that I am over my self-consciousness about how I look and whether a man will find me attractive in all my middle-aged glory.
• I learned that no matter how long I go without getting laid, my libido does not lead the show.
• I learned that I really do want to connect with a man on multiple levels.
• I learned I can trust my intuition.
• And, most importantly, I learned how to disconnect quickly and effectively when I’m sure there is nothing for me there.

All without getting my feelings hurt or thinking there’s something unredeemably wrong with me.

I bet he’s still mad.

Keepin' it real in the bloggerhood,

“Probably not anytime soon, ” I say to myself, but do not share with him.

Today’s #Trust30 prompt is Surprise by Ashley Ambirge I am, along with every one else participating, tasked with thinking of a time when I didn’t think I was capable of doing something, but then surprised myself. How will I surprise myself this week?

And here’s the funny part – what’s so surprising to him is who I am turning into from his perspective. Of course, surprises seem to me like a given when your role in a relationship changes, but I guess he thought he knew the whole and real me, already.

But for this moment, it doesn’t matter what surprises him. This is supposed to be about how I will surprise myself by doing something I don’t think I can do.

Ok, I don’t think I can continue tip-toeing in this relationship just to keep him comfortable. I don’t think I can just go along anymore, and it feels like I have only two choices: disengage and detach, or let fly with what I really think about what I’ve seen going on, which, no doubt, will really surprise him. Because, you know, he keeps asking me what I think.

His surprise is that I don’t just automatically back his position.

My surprise might be that there is something else I can choose between the all or nothing I feel.

Keepin' it real in the bloggerhood,

The Farm: This is a picture I want to one day have my own picture of, with me in that chair. It’s at a place calls Brinson’s Race and it’s owned by a friend of mine, Laura Biering. That rocking chair, and the dark, cool, quiet of that porch just call to me. In fact, I go there quite a lot already…in my mind. No surprise, since Laura, herself, has the same effect on me.

Valle of Yellow Creek Art Studio: Through another good friend, Ellene Breedlove Davis, Valle of Yellow Creek Art Studio is a place I have only seen in my mind’s eye (with some help from her paintings.) I came close last month, though, when I got to meet Ellene in person in Atlanta, about 60 miles southwest of where she lives in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in north Georgia. This painting, called “Sunny Morning Road“, will be hanging in my home very soon. That will keep me happy until I get to go there and let Ellene show me how to play with paint.

Karen’s Front Porch: Despite all the beautiful scenery surrounding Karen’s new home in Pleasanton, CA, what calls to me is this space, with a cup of French Vanilla coffee in hand and her to talk to. And yes, I would love to go with her to the Farmer’s Market, sight-seeing in San Fransisco, wine tasting in Napa Valley…as long as we come right back here to talk and just be.

Wherever Marty Lands in Palm Springs, CA: I’d follow Marty wherever he went because he is the draw, but he and his partner, Bill, are currently investigating real estate in Palm Springs, CA. So, that means maybe one day soon, I’ll have a home away from home in the desert to run away to. I’ve never been to the Palm Springs area, but I know one thing for sure: Wherever Marty lands will be beautiful, welcoming and good for my soul because he will be there.

Keepin' it real in the bloggerhood,

When I became a mother, something inside me changed. Something went a little left. It’s like a secret code was activated and now inside me lives a fierce warrior. When pushed, she pushes back. Hard.

What good is being a warrior when there is no war?

Oh, but there IS a war raging. Ask any parent who’s ever tried to get a child birthed, raised and out on his or her own in one piece, capable and ready to take on the world for themselves. It’s battle after battle getting a child to adulthood…some internal, some between you and the child, and some between you and the world.

I screw up left, right and center, all day long and half the night as a mother. If I got started trying to list all the ways I’ve failed my children, I’d be sitting here still typing this time next week, at least. But that has nothing to do with me being (and recognizing) the fierce, warrior mom that I am. I fight for them much more than I fight with them.

When I look back over the last 6 years or so, my experience of mothering Second Son is vastly different than my experience mothering Oldest Son from 12 to 18. Where Second Son has been willing to listen, to consider maybe, just maybe, I had some valuable insight to offer, Oldest Son knew every damn thing already and gave me zero air time. Where Second Son allowed me to not only know what was up with him (only after extensive inquisition – he wouldn’t say shit if he had a mouthful), but to advocate for him when necessary, Oldest Son stonewalled me at every turn.

I’ve long maintained that somewhere between the 11th and 12th birthday, boys just lose their natural minds. I’d say it was the onset of puberty, and maybe that’s exactly what it is, but hell – I’m a girl, the first of 4 in my family – what the hell do I know about the onset of puberty in boys? Not a damn lot, even now, I assure you.

Don’t think for a minute Second Son didn’t lose his mind back then – he did. But how it has shown up has been drastically different. As the second child, and no doubt helped by the fact that the older sibling is a full 6 years older, Second Son had (and capitalized on) ample opportunities to watch his older brother and decide, “Uh yeah… that doesn’t look like it turned out all that well…I think I’ll take another path when I get there.”

And take another path, he did. Jesus Lord.

Maybe the underlying difference has been the fact that Oldest Son has me, his father and his stepmother all chiming in with parental wisdom, while Second Son just has me. Maybe having a plethora of parents gave Oldest Son room to flagrantly discount us all, whereas Second Son figured he better not shit where he eats. I don’t know. What I do know is that being summarily dismissed by Oldest Son made me redouble my efforts at “righting my parenting wrongs” with Second Son. In short, the warrior mom heard nothing but the battle cry and went a little left herself.

None of this bodes well for PDD. She just turned 12 last month, and I already see the signs of her natural mind going out the same window her brothers’ did. But she’s a girl, and I delude myself into thinking I know what I’m in for with her. Having been a teenage girl eons ago, myself, I entertain the delusion that I am prepared. But the warrior mom inside knows better. She thinks because I think I know more, I am now accountable to do more.

Given the fact that PDD is saddled with the feckless father, I’m afraid the warrior mom is right. Something tells me I will be grateful for every minute of the last 12 years of preparation her brothers have provided.

Pray. For. Me.

Keepin' it real in the bloggerhood,

It’s nothing short of a miracle to me that this kid is graduating today, and a true testament to the power of deciding you’ve had enough bullshit in your life and you’re not going to let it keep you down.

Two years ago, had you told me I’d be going to his graduation today, I would have been mighty skeptical. He got ZERO credits for second semester of his sophomore year.

Last year at this time, I had almost no faith that we’d be going to graduation today, because he got ZERO credits for his entire junior year. But, the madness in his life had calmed down by then, and he told me, “Mom…I am so ready to get out of high school and graduate. You watch what I do this year. I’m graduating in the spring!”

And so he is. This afternoon. 3pm.

In the space of one school year, this kid did whatever it took to catch up credit-wise and grade-wise and I am so proud of him. It’s been iffy, right up until this week as to whether he’d really pulled it off, or not. But he’s had a great lesson in perseverance, determination, and staying the course that will serve him well the rest of his life.

This morning, I am acutely aware that the real value of his high school diploma is that it serves as a tangible reminder of his ability to climb up out of a very deep hole he’d dug for himself and overcome what I’m sure quite often looked to him like completely insurmountable odds of getting to this day.

Learning what you’re capable of is priceless.

Update: I think this picture says it all.

Keepin' it real in the bloggerhood,

Hence why I find meditation so difficult. Yet, also why I can’t leave it alone. But that whole issue is one of the thoughts I’m trying to turn off because it’s not the topic at the moment.

The one I want to think about is what explains the numerous and varied reasons humans create such conflict over stupid stuff.

I read “The War of Art” by Steven Pressfield recently. I bet he’d say that humans create conflict as a result of disconnection from Self. Because they live with their Egos in charge and the Ego wants everything – no matter how good, bad, or ugly it is – to stay exactly the same.

And why do we need everything to be exactly the same? So we can feel safe, of course. I was about to say that humans used to go after one another like crazy. But, what? Like we still don’t?

We do. All we’ve done is change how it shows up.

Then the thought pops into my head: Why?

My ever present friend. The question: “Why?”

The answer that comes to me is that so many people are still living on automatic pilot. Granted, more and more people are choosing to live a conscious life – and thank God for that – but by and large, so many people are still asleep at the wheel. They’re just going through the motions of daily living. Get up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, watch TV, go to bed. Rinse and repeat.

So when you throw in some Change, it’s no wonder people go berserk. It’s like waking up in the middle of the night to go pee and someone moved the furniture all around in the room while you were sleeping. Shins are at risk! And it hurts when you bang into something you didn’t know was there!

I don’t think we can ever get rid of surprises in life, nor would we really want to. If we want everything to be the same because that’s what makes us feel safe, then it seems to me that we have to find another, more enduring source for that feeling of safety so we can accommodate Change and roll more gracefully with the punches.

There’s a saying something along the lines of “It takes great strength to be gentle.” I think, in the same vein, it takes great self-awareness to accommodate Change. And self-awareness for those still asleep at the wheel can be terrifying, at least at first. And terror, when we want safety, is the last thing we’re going to willingly sign up for.

I find my safety in my growing self-awareness and self-esteem. When you know yourself and value yourself, Change is not as scary, and I can much easier make like a duck and let the inconsequential things, the B.S. created by those around me resisting change, and the drama of it all roll right off my back. Not that I can accomplish this EVERY single time, but more and more often, I can.

Keepin' it real in the bloggerhood,

That might sound strange to you, but it’s true. I am almost pathologically unable to sit still, be quiet, not jump in and take charge, particularly if there’s a problem to be solved. I do know how to follow, but when there’s a gaping void of leadership, I can’t ignore it. I must fill it. It’s how I’m wired. It’s in my DNA.

The irony is that I am now tasked with coming up with – get this – a leadership project!

Here is what I know right now about this:

1. I enjoy what I do for a living, but I don’t know that I LOVE it. I can do it, yes, and while doing it, I usually do not want to put pins in my eyes over it, so that’s a plus, definitely. But I’m not sure I am able to give back to the world in as big a way as I’d like.

2. It may be that what I’m looking for is simply an extension of what I do. Some other form of it, maybe.

3. I worry that I don’t have the discipline required to make a dent in the Universe in a meaningful way. You can see my track record here at this blog is nothing like consistent. That’s how I’ve observed myself for years: Not consistent, but instead showing up in fiery, spontaneous bursts of inspiration and motivation…often, but not on a schedule. Not predictable. Dare I say it aloud…”not reliable.” [Gasp!]

Well, let me stop myself right here. That’s total horseshit. I am one of, if not the most, reliable people the folks who know me know, according to them. In fact, they might say the only way I’m not reliable is when it comes to championing myself. (Huh…well, look, folks…this paragraph is me doing exactly that. So, I’m learning.)

So, if I’m wired to lead, how can I lead more consciously, more purposefully, more authentically?

This is my question to live with today.

Keepin' it real in the bloggerhood,

A hundred different thoughts are vying for my attention, but as if I’d stepped outside of myself and am looking on, I’m struck by the moment. It’s quiet, it’s calm, and there’s a palpable question in the air for each of us. I only know for sure my own question. I can only imagine theirs.

“Do they, either one, have at least one memory of me filled with as much unmitigated joy as the soccer scene at the end of that movie?”

If I try to imagine not their questions, but their answers to mine, my heart begins to race.

For me, living an authentic life means showing up for what is…whatever that is. I know I have control over only myself, and sometimes even that is iffy, so it takes a certain amount of courage to get up each morning and attempt to live this day awake and aware. Because when you pay attention, when you engage, you feel. And my, haven’t we all spent a lot of time trying to avoid that on our paths to here…

I wonder sometimes if everyone else who wakes up and starts living their life on purpose has this same heart-racing, breathless feeling as frequently as I do? Or am I just still getting used to it? Is it even something I want to get “used to”?

Maybe not.

I know this much: Living this way is much more difficult, in many respects, having lived the more recent years of my life on the run trying to dodge it. I don’t know if everyone arrives at awareness worn the hell out, but I seem to have. I wish I could say I didn’t know what was happening the whole way through, but a part of me did. A part of me is now sitting, not in judgment, but in understanding sprinkled with just a tad of “it’s about damn time” of me. I can’t even be mad about it. I get it. I was there.

When I hear people describe this as “vibrating at a higher level”, I think to myself, “Damn, they’re not just whistling Dixie! This is something else!” In my mind’s eye, I imagine waving my hand, faster and faster, and faster still…trying to vibrate it at a higher level. I wave until I’m sure it’s going to fly off my wrist, but it feels like hard, hard work. Nothing like this “being in the flow” stuff.

But I’ve had that experience, too. And its different. It’s what I imagine my hand would feel like if I could wave it just a tiny bit faster. It would cease to be work and feel more like a jet taking flight. The hard, hard work of going against the forces of nature would be done and it would be in that flow.

So, living an authentic life requires sleep. It requires I take better care of myself, be kinder, slow down. I must remind myself that I am no longer on the run. That I can take a deep breath. Resting is no longer against the rules.

Living with awareness is a whole different ball game.

Keepin' it real in the bloggerhood,