One Deep

We are deep in the ones at Fleckhaus. That is Willa is one and half with a vengeance. The Ones challenge me more than any other age.

Willa started walking at 8 months and climbing ladders at 15 months. She can spring to the top of the dining room table in the time it takes me to empty the dustpan in the trash. She can get her baby doll stroller stuck on the stairs in a compromised position in the time it takes me to chop an onion. I place the toothpaste higher on a shelf and she finds it anyway. The time comes to leave the house and her shoes are no where to be found. Shoes, after toothpaste (pa paste) are her favorite object. We spend most of the day putting them on and taking them off.

Willa is also a hider. What's that quiet sound in the house? Oh, it's Willa hiding with an object she shouldn't have, say Lip Gloss she smuggled from Sylvia's room. What's she doing with it? Oh, eating it. When I do find her in the closet, behind the sink or stuck behind the bed she gives me a devilish grin.

"Stuck" by the way is one of her top five most frequently used words. Hopefully these moments aren't portending a life of hiding from the law and getting "Stuck" in jail.

Why does this age challenge me so? I have a naturally short attention span and I like a fair amount of peace and quiet. I simply do not have the paranoid, vigilient nature needed to follow a one year old around all day. If my children survive being one with me they can survive anything. Likewise, if I can finish the year with all my marbles it will be a very good game even if poorly played. If I can accomplish a little bit in the next year, imagine what I can accomplish once Willa passes into the twos.

Also, after a day of intermittent crying my ears start to tune it out. My ears can only absorb so much crying. Again the crying results from Willa getting "stuck" with some object and she can't find her way out or through with it. Willa can wail. She has the mighty Fleck voice, one that can pierce through a raucous gathering of near deaf relations, such is the case with my family.

A friend of mine with a three month old baby just posted on facebook, "When will I get my momentum back." I replied, "I'm hoping in three years when Willa starts kindergarten."

The dishes are still undone, the floor needs to be vacuumed, this is my first blog post in months, and my career is on cruise control. On the other hand, she says "hello and Bye bye with the sweetest voice. She loves to put things away and help with the chores. Willa can grin the drooliest, goofiest, babyest grin that was ever grinned. Everynight after I lay her down in her crib, I say how thankful I am to share my life with this vibrant little soul. Thanks dear friends for joining me in some Mom angst.

Keys

I have a long history of misplacing keys. I think its a genetic trait I inherited from my father. It could also be due to the fact that I didn't grow up with keys. We lived in a small town where no one locked their doors. In fact, we didn't even own a key to our front door. If we went away on a long vacation we locked the door and kept a butter knife hidden above the molding of the door to jimmy open the lock.

I've told my kids there a few occasions when swearing is allowed. Searching for your keys is one of them. Fifteen minutes of peering under cushions, sandboxes, and so on would bring any soul into a fit of "Goddammits (Which by the way, is my favorite Swear word, it just some up a feeling so well)" I know better than to give them to Willa and yet I do it anyway to pacify the screeching. Sylvia is savvy enough to try to thwart my absent minded hand-offs. "Mom, don't give those to Willa!!!" Sylvia at age four can already see where that ill fated move would be headed.

Last weekend I found a key finder at the Bryn Mawr garage sale. It was only 50 cents and worth a try. It is supposed to work like this: When you can't find your keys you simply whistle and the a beeper will sound and you locate them. I gave it a try. I whistled and whistled and the thing wouldn't respond. However, it will respond to Willa's high pitched screeching.

Picture it, we are sitting around at breakfast eating our cheerios. Willa screeches for the bottle of water and the beeper goes off. At this point, we all know where the keys are.

I guess I recommend the key finder for those of you that have wee screeching toddlers about and don't mind the sound of screaming and beeping at the same time. Please, if you find my keys don't hesitate to call. If my pocket starts beeping, you know what that sound is.

White Priviledge

White privilege
never knowing that the opportunity couldn't have existed.
My "not enough" is more than most will have

No one will ever take off of my porch the twelve hefty bags filled with clothes I didn't have money to wash or closets to store because the city and the neighbors thought they were trash.

Because I will always have bootstraps to pull up when times are tough
and therapy if I am sad
a massage if I am sore
a doctor if I am ill
vitamins and fish oil if the organic food I buy isn't enough

Even if my income isn't much there will always be
someone else to surprise me with a free ticket to the opera
or couch out of a Kenwood Mansion
or a recommendation for a job I will turn down
because "it just doesn't feel right."
a scholarship or grant money
steaks, goat cheese and pomegranate seeds

Will I continue to pick the garbage up
in our lawn
blown in from from next door.
Will I keep going and pick theirs up too or,
Will I call the city and ask them to take it away
Even if it turns out to be the family's clothes
Will I keep trying to learn the names and stories
behind the midnight fights in the street? Or,
Will I just close the windows and turn the central air on
Dial 911 from the comfort of my bedroom and fall back
to sleep while someone else sorts it out.

Can we share our sandbox
with our neighbors even if it means
it will sometimes get trashed and battered
our toys strewn far and wide down the block
sand dumped in rocks
rocks dumped in sand
Because my daughters need someone to play with
and I need community
and I want to be proven wrong.

Happy Birthday Willa

Nothing is cuter than a one year old on a Rocking Moose going "weeeee weeee weeeee" in a squeaky baby voice.

Sylvia was such a proud big sister at Willa's birthday party. She took so much ownership of the event. She helped decorate the house, make the cake and open presents. She even attempted to serve the Red Devil cake laced with beets. I think after two pieces fell on the floor, I had to step in and take over.

As it should be, cake and frosting smeared all over baby's face. Willa has been a good eater since day one, and the cake proved no exception.

Thank you to everyone that has helped me to get through this first year. I really didn't know how we would make it, but we did. It takes a whole lot of love and support to raise children. I am grateful for the friendship, financial support, and babysitting that has been offered up to us this year.

Willa is finally sleeping through the night(well, most of the time) and depending on me less and less to provide her nourishment in the form of milk. I feel like I'm getting my personal life back a little bit and can see myself in roles other than that of Mom. Recently, I've made time to go on dates with John, hang out with girlfriends, started a sewing project, started this blog, and looked into the next steps of my career. I love being a Mom, but having things that feed my soul outside of my children really helps energize me. The more I do some things for my self the more devoted I feel toward my children and domestic life.

The more we love, the more energy we have to love some more.

Formula to Survive Motherhood

8:00am two cups of strong black tea loaded with milk and sugar

2:00pm one strong cup of coffee loaded with milk and sugar.

6:00pm Gin and Tonic. Heavy on the lime.

Memories Re-Framed

I finally bought a frame for an 8 by 10 photo of my family. This photo was taken last fall at the Renaissance Festival. We used this photo for our Christmas card and I have it on my facebook front page. In the picture all four of us are smiling, happy and looking at the camera with our eyes open. These pictures are one in a million. I found the frame on an end cap in Target. It was a metallic dark Burgundy. It kind of looked like shiny wood. In my imagination it matched the wood trim that is so abundant in our house.

When we got home I put the photo in the frame the first chance that I had. The photo looked decent in it. Then, I started noticing; the photo didn't match any other frame in the house. In fact, not a single frame matched another frame in the house. All the eyes from all of the pictures gazed at me and said, "None of us are in matching frames."

This is how it works. Photos are taken at different times in our lives. In the time between those photo shoots trends and home fashions change. For example, sitting on the top of a corner shelf containing about eight or so framed family pictures, is my senior photograph. This photograph is complete with the big round glasses that were so prevalent in the late 90' The photo rests in a faux gold marble gilded frame. I'm sure I bought it off of the end cap at Target and that was in style at the time. Below it is a formal picture of Sylvia taken at age 2. This photo rests in a dark blue frame with wide border. Next to it is am 4 x 6 picture of my sisters, the kids, John and me. It is another one of those great pictures where everyone is smiling. This one rests in a metallic stamped frame. And on and on.

I look closer at the frames in my house. The lovely photo of John and me at a wedding sits in Metallic Silver frame(also off of the end cap at Target) I go into our bathroom and notice a post card that is framed. It's silver. However, instead of white matting there's stippled clear glass to provide a couple inches of space between the border of the photo and the border of the frame. Even two silver frames can be stylistically completely different.

This might seem like a trivial topic. But isn't it interesting how over time these frames are as eclectic as the memories contained in them. To further complicate things. When John and I married he brought with him pre-framed photos and I brought with me pre-framed photos. So there on the top shelf next to the faux gilded 5 X 7 senior picture is a wallet size carved wood frame with a picture of himself at one years old.

To dig even deeper. I have this habit of updating photos in a frame to reflect our current lives. For example we have a couple of very sturdy glass border less frames that sit up rite on a shelf. Every couple of years I replace the photos as new things happen in our lives. The picture of Sylvia's first birthday cake replaces me on a point in Grand Marais during our honeymoon. A picture of our wedding replaces a snapshot of us during our first camping date. The memory lives on, just a few layers in.

These frames show the passing of time and the shuffling of memories. Now that I have noticed this hodgepodge I have a choice: Do I embrace the variety of these frames, grabbing the newest thing off of the end cap at Target or, do I in an uncharacteristic moment of consumerism buy all new frames in matching finish?

Dear readers, now that I have raised the topic, I ask you to look around your living space and notice; What kind of frames are in your house?

Pictureless

For a while longer I will have to use words to describe what is going on in my life. I haven't quite got the hang of downloading things off of my phone. Our camera is returning with John from Germany as we speak.

I'm not very good at taking pictures. What I mean to say is the actual getting around to taking pictures. I'm often so caught up in the moment of what is happening I forget to capture it in pictures. On some practical level I figure if the experience wasn't that memorable I will just forget it anyway. On the other hand, if it was a vivid experience I will be able to summon up the images in my imagination. True, currently, we don't have a device that will download images from our brains to put in picture frames for other people to see.

On the other hand, when I find old photos I am always sent into a dizzy wave of nostalgia. I quickly become thoughtful and remember the time when..... Of course, it's at these moments I think, "Why didn't I take more pictures?" The funny thing is, I can be pretty good at taking pictures.

I learned to do photography on a SLR manual that my dad gave me for a birthday in high school. I actually had access to a dark room of my own, which, at the time was very cool. My dad, who didn't spring for a whole lot of things, never flinched when I used up half a bottle of some very expensive chemical containing silver. My dad taught me how to use that camera and then employed me to work for him at the small newspaper that my family owned. It was the Solon Economist and the North Liberty Leader. These papers, by the way, are still in operation. I payed my way through High School by photographing everything from basketball games to band concerts to little kids doing something cute.

Every Sunday, it was my job to go down to the dark room and develop all of the film and print the pictures for the paper. My senior year of high school my father bought brand new technology, the digital camera. I still developed the film, however we had a device that scanned the film to create digital images on the computer. Even thought I was in on this technology from the beginning I left it when I left for college. Only fifteen years later did I acquire a Digi of my own.

When I wasn't shooting pictures for the paper I did a fair bit of dramatic photography. This involved dressing my sister's friends up in spooky clothing and shooting them from weird angles with whatever kind of lighting I could create. They and their friends were good sports until the very end. Once, someone paid me $50.00 to shoot their cousins wedding. In the dead of winter I convinced my friend Sara to let me shoot her Senior pictures. This involved dressing her up in 70's gown and making her pose on a very cold lake at sunset. The cold really made her cheeks Rosy.

Now we as a culture have digital photography, Blogs, Snapfish and every sort of device to disseminate visual images from our lives to everyone else. Unlike having access to a darkroom there is nothing very extraordinary about owning a digital camera. I suppose, in a way, I am lamenting a lost art. If it isn't art, what's the point?

Hipsters/Yuppies

So, are hipsters the new Yuppies? Is it kind of the same thing. Young professionals with money to spare and into the newest trends. Don't get me wrong, I love hipsters and yuppies. Where would my massage practice be without double income no kids plus dogs people to support my practice.

I'm often jealous of hipsters. I would probably still be one if I didn't have kids. I remember a time when I had extra money to do things like, See a Band or build my CD collection or, even better yet hang out for hours in coffee shops. Part of the hipster look is looking like you don't care that you are hip. For example, choppy hair that is carefully messed up or, jeans and seems that are oh so intentionally distressed.

My husband, the social critic of everything related to bicycles, points out that there is a new trend to single speed or fix a bike. That isn't bad in and of itself, in fact it's practical however, there is this thing where the handle bars are intentionally cut narrow so that one's hands mush rest next to the stem. A pair of mismatch rubber handlebar covers adds to the overall look of the bike. If you know anything about bikes, you know that narrow handle bars makes it almost impossible to handle the bike. Really, you need all the maneuverability you can get when you are probably also sporting a gigantic chain. You know the kinds that can wrap around your neck and makes you look like you live in New York.

I think that part of being a hipster is trying to separate yourself from that fact. In other words,
"Those people are such hipsters (say it with disdain.)" The hipper you are the more you have to be in denial of that fact. Of course, I would never admit that I could have fallen into the category of hipster a good five years ago. My clothes were often distressed, but that is because I am by nature and cheapskate and a slob.

My question is, what does Hipster mean to you? Are you one? If you aren't, what stands in your way? Is it possible to be hipster parents?

Reiki

Re-Introducing Reiki

Reiki is a form of energy work that means Universal Energy. With Reiki, the practitioner channels universal energy through her body to help heal the client. The practitioner holds her hands above or on the client. Reiki is a way to help a client line up their life and heal on a more subtle level. Ideally, I would spend forty-five minutes to an hour working out trigger points, opening the channels and preparing the body to receive Reiki healing. The last fifteen minutes to half hour would be spent clearing the Aura, lining up the Chakras, and healing the original traumas that caused the injury. Clients find that they feel better on all levels and achieve a greater sense of peace.

I use the word Re-Introducing because I first received the Reiki attunements in 2000. After the attunements my life realigned and I was called into the Massage and Shiatsu profession. Although bodywork has been the focus of my practice over the last seven years, a touch of Reiki has always been a part of all of my treatments. It’s often the indescribable something that makes a treatment better than average. Recently, my intuition has told me to more openly serve clients with Reiki energy. Reiki easily fits into a Massage or Shiatsu session. We can discuss its application during the intake and see if it is right for you.

Reincarnation

I'm just about through with Depak Chopra's book, Life After Death, This book connects quantum physics, research on near death experiences, Vedic Rishi's, Buddhism, Christianity and many more ideas to describe what happens in the Afterlife. Overall, it is a book about consciousness, not only ours, but the universe'. He talks about the cosmic fields that bind us all together through big bangs and all. There are so many profound things in this book that it would be hard for me to sum it up in a few short paragraphs. In the end he talks about how our own consciousness creates what will happen to us in the afterlife. Our consciousness continues on post death and who we are still plays a part. In other words, if we believe that we will meet Jesus in heaven, our brains will download that image and play it for us. If we believe in nothing, this probably what will happen. If we believe in hell or that we are going there, there is a good chance that we will end up there. And so on....

From there he goes on to discuss how after we pass through that first phase we will pass into a phase of touching on eternity. Chopra from what I can tell through various readings, is really passionate about eternity and or continuation of it. After we have our time tuning into the great cosmic oneness we will incarnate again. He also references the Bardos for those that are familiar with Buddhism. Again, this book blew me away. Read it if any of this intrigues you.

I first encountered the idea of incarnation when I was in elementary school, somewhere between the 2nd and 6th grade. I think that I was watching Leave it to Beaver. It was the show where Don Knox is a sheriff in a small town. Is that Leave it to Beaver? Don Knox makes some sort of off hand silly comment about reincarnation. The thought of it sent thrills through my little body. Until then there had only been heaven and Jesus. What? my little brain tried to work it out. Initially, I was totally against the idea, if not totally fearful. Who would have thought that an old comedy would have been a stepping stone into the world of esoteric.

I could go on and elaborate on this whole subject. I have stories and stories to tell. Those will just have to wait for other posts. This one struck me in the same silly sort of way.

A year ago, I took my daughter to the McDonald's on Hiawatha. You know, the one with the playland. This McDonalds features a playland with big story foot tall plastic tubes that a kid can climb up and slide down in. It smells like stale grease and honestly, is a scary old thing. Sylvia flirted with the idea of actually going in it. I can't remember if she made it all the way up inside. She kept trying to coax me into it. I was very pregnant at the time and it would have been impossible to squeeze through one of those gerbil maze tubes. To reassure me she says, "Don't worry Mom, if you go up in there and die, you will be reborn again a baby and you can try again." In a more general sense, I was reassured. I think I will wait until my next lifetime to try to climb inside one of those things. Maybe by then McDonald's will be extinct.

Infomercials

I have always secretly really loved infomercials and now my three year old is rekindling a smoldered obsession.

Together we watch as Mr. T and a very perky women try to convince us that a Turbowave will change our lives. Infomercials are sort of like going to Church. Each product offers salvation from the daily grind. If only we had a Turbo wave we would feed our families healthier foods faster. I almost drool when they show the fast cooking pot-roast with potatoes and asparagus. Mr. T rubs his tummy and says, "MMM that looks good." Even though I am a notorious cheap skate I feel the urge to call for a limited time only. They will even throw in a blender that will make my life even better.

The next best thing to watching a cooking gadget infomercial is watching a vacuum cleaner infomercial. If only I bought the hydro vac my worries would be over. I could vacuum up John's wood shavings from his hand planes, the endless spill of cheerios, and the pins from my pincushion. Cat hair be damned. Marital bliss would be around the corner, my husband and I would never argue over my deficient housekeeping abilities. I picture evenings of romantic music conjoined with me vacuming and John MonsterSteaming the children's toys.

Infomercials offer this escape into this logical, orderly world. Meals are always prepared on time and to every one's satisfaction. The house always looks clean. My soul is at rest.

The item that I most yearned for as an adolescent was this pocket sandwich maker gizmo. You put a piece of bread on either side and some sort of filling in the middle. You pressed down the top and minutes later you had something delicious. Perhaps, because there was a period in my youth where out of necessity I was in charge of cooking, I took on an early yen to make domestic life better. The sandwich maker seems a little old school now. In fact, an apple pie made out of two pieces of white bread and saturated fructose corn syrup pie filling sounds like the last thing I would eat now. Still, the Nuwave fascinates me.

Then to make the whole thing even more comical. My three year old repeats in exact tone phrases from the infomercials, "For a limited time only you can eliminate germs and bacteria." She rushes to the T.V. set when an infomercial we haven't seen comes on. Together we get excited about the possibilities presented to us.

The funny thing is that these infomercials fill in the gaps when PBS is doing their pledge drive. After several minutes of being told how PBS has changed our lives and offered us a different kind of salvation I turn to an infomercial. I find myself in a philosophical struggle; If I weren't such a cheap skate, and actually decided to give money to something I saw on television would it be to achieve peace of mind knowing that I donated to a good cause and contributed to my child's education or would it be to achieve peace of mind knowing that my floors might never look the same again.

Spring

I felt like I participated in a sort of revenge today.

I unleashed two three year olds and a toddler onto my front porch to shout forth lusty jibberish into the spring air. Their songs were accompanied by stomping, clapping and dervish dancing.

Let my drug dealing, basebooming neighbors know, they are not the only ones that can make noise.

Sing on girls.

Willa is breaking and opening my heart. She is no longer just my little baby. She runs forth with the pack of the young. Happy and wild she joins in their play and their chase. Only when it's really necessary does she look to me for comfort and take solace in nursing. The world is too big, too joyous not to participate in. Let her voice join the din. Let her foot stomps join the dance. Cheeks red from hollering and sweating on the porch, let her come back to me. Let me, for these months longer, savour every kiss I can place on her sweet nearly hairless head, look into her eyes as she nurses, and selfishly hold her newness close to my body. My heart expands with everyday of your life and grieves as I must release you moment by moment into the wider world.

Hours and Rates

Appointments on Mondays and Tuesdays from 11-7pm at LifeForce Chiropractic.



Please call 612-822-7509 to schedule a session.

$40.00/30 min
$75.00/60 min
$105.00/90 min