We broke the US, kid

No doubt this last week will go down as one of the most surreal times in recent memory. For the first time in its history, America elected a president who not only ad-libbed his way to the Presidency, but exploited the suffering of millions of Americans to fuel his bid for the White House with unprecedented disregard for basic human decency. And I'm not talking about the Muslims, women, LGTBQ community, disabled, and veterans.

I'm talking about the Trump voters who thought life had gotten so unbearable that they were willing to overlook the complete lack of basic respect for human dignity regardless of race, gender, physicality and religion that epitomized Mr. Trump's campaign. I'm talking about the people who felt like being accused of criminal behavior was far worse than someone who openly mocked people different than him and incited his supporters to violence.

People don't vote for an overgrown toddler with hair trigger impulse control and no filter unless they are in a lot of discomfort.  But elect him they did and with their vote, they pulled the rest of the country along with them into their tailspin of existential anguish.

Now, I was no fan of either Trump or Hillary, so I voted third party (Green) because I live in a solidly blue state and had the luxury of voting my conscience. But had I lived in a swing state, you bet I would have voted for Hilary because she had the ability to maintain composure and decency even in the face of an opponent who was sexist, juvenile and showing up at national debates and campaign rallies woefully unprepared. AND she was convicted of Nothing.

Mr. Trump had a choice to acknowledge people's suffering and elevate their consciousness by offering solutions that respected all Americans. Instead he chose to inflate their fears and provide easily identifiable targets to pin their disappointments and failings to.

I said early in Bernie Sander's rise to popularity, that it would be a tricky situation if he didn't win the Democratic nomination. All that emotion had to go somewhere, but it wouldn't go to Hillary.

So on the one hand, it was inevitable for Trump to win because the DNC refused to acknowledge both the level of suffering and disenfranchisement of a large part of the voting public and how far they were willing to go to alleviate that discomfort.

Even if it meant switching horses in mid-stride to vote for the only Dark Horse left in the race. The only pill that they weren't TOTALLY sure would be the same kind of bitter as Hillary Clinton.

That's a hell of a wager to make, especially if you're a member of one of his scapegoat groups. Like women. Or people of color.

But it was one many of them were willing to make.

Even people I had thought were made of clearer ethics than my own, chose to vote for Trump. Members of my own family decided it was excusable to act without respect and decency, which I am still considering how to respond around.

It is perhaps one of the most disappointing experiences of my life, knowing that good people were willing to overlook such glaring flaws in a potential leader, even if they were manipulated by conservative media, overzealous peers, or naive ignorance. All you had to do was LISTEN to him and ask yourself, "Would I talk like that to my mother? To my good friend? Hell, to a stranger?"

And the answer would have to be that America didn't care about that enough to keep Donald Trump out of the White House.

In fact, only about 58% of eligible voters in the US actually VOTED in the election.

Oh, and Hillary Clinton won the popular vote. Donald Trump won the electoral vote.

And the Senate and House have a Republican majority, which means that unless Donald Trump manages to offend and alienate most of Congress, he'll have the opportunity to make some major changes to American Reality.

The big question is, What will he change?

If his campaign is any indication of his inclinations, the environment, minorities, women and NATO better start shoring up their ramparts.

In the meantime, I'm building relationships with people in my community, especially the ones who were targeted by Trump's vitriolic rhetoric. I'm donating money to organizations who support the environment, minorities, refugees and LGBTQs. I'm actively seeking ways to become involved in local government.

And you know, though I would have preferred a peaceful and compassionate evolution of our society, we got the quick and painful reveal of just how deep our divisions and wounds are in this country. We can't look away and pretend that everything is status quo as usual, even if we voted like we wished it were. Granted, if we are white, upper middle class folks, we won't be in trouble regardless of what Trump decides from taxes to bigotry, but we won't be able to get far before realizing that SOMETHING is different in our world.

For that, I am grateful. For that, I have hope that if we continue to stand for the world we wish to see, where people are treated with respect and value, one day it will come about.

But we must stay awake. We must look at what we take for granted that others cannot. We must ask ourselves how much we are willing to invest in a future that is truly fit for our children. We must consider deeply who we are and what gifts we have to offer to this worthy cause of healing and evolution.

Then we must act. And continue to do it for the rest of our lives until all beings receive the dignity and love they deserve.

Ho'oponopono Espen

Dear Espen,

You may not remember this incident when you are older, but I will because I behaved in ways I hoped I never would.

There are several things I want you to know about me that I have tried to keep out of the picture of your childhood. I did this because I wanted you to have a childhood that was as carefree and blissful as it could possibly be. To me, that meant having two parents that were happily in love, healthy and pursuing their paths to become the best version of themselves.

I want to speak to the healthy part. For most of my 20's and 30's I have experienced a variety of symptoms that have left me feeling physically exhausted. Rather like I'm running on empty with the light flashing for the last 40 miles. Because of this, I have unconsciously kept an energy accounting ledger that had enough in it to keep me more or less financially independent and able to live on my own, but precious little else that wasn't directly related to healing or infusing me with hope...like ecstatic dance, reiki, writing, music....but all of that had to stay small. Just a dance here or there. An impromptu song once in awhile-but nothing sustained, because it took too much out of me. I just didn't recognize how much I counted on being able to carve out space to just lie in bed all day if I miscalculated my available energy.

After I had you I realized just how tenuous my balancing act had been. I could hold down a job to pay rent and food but had nothing left over to invest in relationships or pursuing my real dreams. I could dream and live with my parents forever or survive on my own with little glimpses of what my life could look like if only I had the energy to follow those dreams. But I always had the option to retreat from the outside world and my dreams because no one was depending on me.

Having you was so clearly my destiny that I have always known there was something I needed to do and learn despite my physical exhaustion.

One of those lessons has been that I need to do everything in my power to heal from whatever is causing my body and mind to be so fatigued. And I also need to find a way to accept my reality exactly as it is because you never know if things will shift or stay the same.

But the thing is, I have also discovered what some of my deep patterning is. And let me tell you right now, it's the thing I am most ashamed of. I have spent so much time wishing it were not so, but it just makes it that much more regrettable when it gets the best of me.

I speak of my hair-trigger anger. That thing you saw yesterday when I suddenly went from sleepy to raging in the blink of an eye. Almost like there was an invisible line that had been crossed which transformed me from your loving, calm, patient mom into a frustrated, erratic, frighteningly cold monster.

It feels so terribly uncontrollable when I sense the anger welling inside me. I can see it coming like a tsunami and I can't seem to get out of the way. It picks me up and tumbles me around until I, and anyone in its path, are bruised and scared.

And I tried to explain it to you yesterday, how I saw the path unfolding, but it's alot for a little one to work with and that's why I am writing this now-- so you could read it later with more life under your belt.

The progression looked like this:

I am exceptionally exhausted.
I try to advocate for my need. (a 10 minute nap or some such)
I am unable to get my need met. (you want to have someone play with you, which is totally valid)
I get sad because I think I can't take care of myself and consequently, can't take care of you.
I want to fight for my needs so I can be a good parent.
I get angry that I am failing, that my body is failing, that my reality is not what I want it to be.
I lash out at you or anyone else within reach to try and dull the sadness.
It doesn't work and I start an emotional tailspin.

And that's when I make choices from a place of complete reactivity. It's such an undesirable emotional space to be in. Seeing that I am causing damage and yet feeling helpless to stop it.

All of that to say, it is my responsibility to accept this, to work with this and to make amends for the pain it causes the people I love.

I have explored several ideas for what is at the root of this wild emotionality and physical exhaustion. I have worked with Tibetan physicians and yoga to build up my body, naturopaths and therapists to try and pin down a clinical diagnosis that I can address, acupuncturists, shamans, life coaches and intuitive healers. All of that has allowed me to be a reasonable version of myself since having you...but I want to be better. I want to be fully energized and vital so I can run and play with you like you desire.

I am now about to embark on a path of retraining the brain to function on a more relaxed level. My sense is now, that I have been living with a heightened, long-term stress response for most of my life. Essentially, that my brain perceived a trauma long ago and jumped into high alert and never fully came back to baseline.

Without going into all the science behind what chronic, long-term stress can do, let me just summarize by saying that it produces all the symptoms I currently have because it shuts down all non-essential systems in the body...like higher level cognitive function, digestion, immune response and countless others.

This letter is my attempt at making amends for any pain and stress I have caused you because of the lessons I am still learning. I want you to know how deeply sorry I am for this. I want you to know that I am being proactive about mitigating my imbalances because I value the process of self-development and I believe it is possible to remember the light we have inside us more consistently.

Please forgive me for my shortcomings and the harm I have done you through my lack of self awareness and control.

I love you the best I can every day and I will continue to do so throughout eternity. And I love my own soul too, which is why I can write this without defining myself as my mistakes. Mistakes are opportunities to grow and get up again and I will do so as long as I have breath in this body.

Thank you so much for carrying your light and spirit in the world, Espen. You are the clearest individual I have ever known. I am so grateful for your steadfast sweetness and infinite love.

Always,
Little Mama

No Robot? Let Me Pee on the Floor

Espen and I had a magical time at Ecstatic Dance. Most of the time was spent on a giant pile of pillows with a host of other fairy children, pretending to be trains, boats and anything else that would justify scooting around in a line of pillows while adult children fluttered about them pretending to be sexy unicorns and what not.

We then perambulated to the nearest chai shop and toy store. Namely, Finnigan's. Which is also a magical place filled with wonders beyond any 3 year old's wildest dreams. Espen has some pretty good ones, so when we walked in, he immediately requested either amphibious cars or flying cars. Both, preferably.

The toy guys were suitably stumped, but only for a moment.

"Yeah," said one guy who looked like a young, geeky Hagrid, "We had an amphibious vehicle, but now we only have submarines that run in your bathtub and water helicopters."

Espen looked provoked. Once he saw the water helicopters though, he started getting excited.

"Mama!" he said, grabbing my hand and lunging towards the display, "They have biplanes too! Amphibious ones! I want both of them."

I kindly demurred much to his everlasting dismay. He began to bargain.

"Well, mama, how about I have one now and one at home?" Why indeed.

"Listen, Espen, you can either have one helicopter or the submarine."

"Submarine."

"Ok. Let's pay for it."

All was well until I turned my back to hand over the credit card.

And he saw the robot.

Really, it was more like some possessed remote control car that could had wheels on every imaginable surface so you could flip it over, on its side, make it spin somersaults or pretend it was a merry go round from the simple toggle of a switch.

It's an oddly beautiful and horrifying thing to watch your child realize that there is shit in the world that you have not told him about that is BLOODY AMAZING.

Espen looked at me long and hard. Then he looked at the possessed car thing and squealed.

"Mama! I WANT THAT ROBOT CAR SO BADLY!"

And he meant it too. I could feel it in every fibre of the kid's soul.
And you know, I wanted to give it to him.
But not yet.

I still want him to get lost in a mud puddle instead of an ipad. To be fascinated by a bunch of rocks because he doesn't have anything more flashy to grab his attention. There will be plenty of time for him to marvel at the technology of the 21st century, but for now, I want to keep his immediate possessions firmly rooted in the natural world.

Soapbox aside, I said no. And led him to a different part of the store after he had a turn at the controls.

We stood in the corner by the die cast cars and ambulances, and for a moment, peace reigned.

Until he had to try just one more time.

"Mommy. Can't I PLEASE have that robot?"

"Sorry, Wesp. Not now. When you get older."

He stood there looking at me, silently.

I looked back. And then down at the pool forming at my feet.

And I became a robot.

Pee.
Floor.
Wesp.
People.
Do something.
Pick up child.
Hold child tightly against body to stop pee.
Walk calmly but quickly from store.
Do NOT look back.

And that, folks, is the human stress response in 10 seconds flat.

Espen wanted his submarine.

There was no way in hell I could process that kind of benevolence whilst covered in pee and fleeing the scene of public urination.

"No way are you getting that submarine when you just peed all over the store."

He screamed like I had ripped his liver out and dropped to the pavement, writhing in fury.

So half walking, half dragging my furious pee soaked child towards the car, I tried to get my higher level cognition back online.

"Why did you pee on the floor, Espen? You didn't even give me a chance to find a place for you to potty!"

"I want my submariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!"

Sigh.

I understand now, weeks later, that excitement over robots can trump the evacuation impulse in 3 year olds. But then, I didn't. Then I was just a blindsided mom covered in pee trying to regain perspective.

But now, I am happy to report that Espen has a submarine and I have only been peed on twice since then.

To be continued.

Are We Bad People Mommy?

Sometimes I utterly fail as a parent. While that is a highly uncomfortable realization, it's even more devastating when I get brought up short by the tiny human I'm trying to help succeed.

Maybe you've had something you really wanted to be good at, only to discover you've done a complete nose-dive instead of the triple twist you were attempting. 

Just so this morning.

Espen and I are standing in the kitchen after breakfast. He wants to open a banana like a monkey. I've been thinking alot about how to be as kind as possible to the Earth, given its state of disrepair caused by over-consumption and exploitation. So, I'm a little unenthusiastic about opening a banana right on the heels of a big breakfast.

"Are you going to eat the whole thing?"

Espen nods and grabs for the banana.

"I'm asking this because I don't want to waste food. It hurts mother earth when we waste food because it takes a lot of her energy to grow it."

Espen nods again and starts opening the banana.

He holds it in his hand and studies it for a moment before making it dance across the table.

"Ok, Boo. Why don't you eat it and we'll get going."

He turns it into a bridge and looks at me smiling.

"Oh! A bridge." I say. "Now eat it."

He holds it over the ground.

"No. Espen, just put it on the counter if you don't want it."

He turns away from me and dangles it provocatively over the ground.

"Espen. Don't do it. Stop."

I move towards him and just as I reach him, you guessed it, he opens his hand.

Plop. 

The banana lay on the ground in the suspended silence as I felt the anger rising up my body.

"Espen!" I raised my voice and put him on the ground. I took him by the hand and marched him to the back porch. 

"If you can't respect mother earth and your own mother by following directions, you need to play outside for awhile." Not super clear logic, I know.

I shut the door, fuming and walked back to the banana. Washed it. Ate it. Breathed. Went back to the back door where Espen was whacking the glass.

"Buddy, I'm sorry I lost my cool, it's just upsetting when you waste food and don't listen."

Espen danced away.

"We're bad people, mommy?"

My guts froze.

"What did you say, Espen?"

"I'm a bad person, mommy."

There was my sweet little boy, without a malicious bone in his body, saying he was a bad person. That was NOT what I was trying to evoke in my little sermons on taking care of the earth.

I felt like puking.

"Oh, Espen. You are a GOOD person! Sometimes we do things that aren't kind, but that doesn't make us bad."

"What do you do, mommy?" he wanted to know.

I was scrambling from the shame of having anything to do with giving him the impression that he was a bad person.

"Well, sometimes mommy says things that she means to be kind, but then she realizes they hurt someone...like you thinking you were bad because you threw the banana down. I'm really sorry I gave you that idea."

"It's ok, mommy!" he said happily and ran off to play some more.

But I can't stop thinking about it. Not because I want to punish myself and wallow in shame, but more because it was an unintentional result of a style of communication that has been going on long enough to make an impression. And I didn't really even see what kind of seed it was planting.

So now, I'm pondering, how do I change my language and behavior to reflect the good kind of person I want to be? 

It's difficult to accept that I have unconscious programming that carries this kind of message. You are not a good person. I no doubt picked it up from a variety of places growing up, but I'm not interested in investing energy in figuring out WHERE it came from so much as discovering an ALTERNATIVE to it.  

Because if there is one thing I am damn sure of, it's that Espen is a wonderful human being. And despite my failure to embody that belief, I will begin again, with a new intention to uplift, encourage and gently instruct so he can experience what it is to fail within the arms of a loving parent, rather than a condemning one.

Oy Vey.

Oh Mommy Pet My Hoom!

This morning Espen met a beautiful human named Gabriel, who, upon seeing Espen and I, raised his hands in namaste.

"I'm Jaime and this is my son, Espen." I said, holding out my hand. Yes, enchanted. 

He took my hand and immediately bent down to Espen and chanted something under his breath before asking if he could shake Espen's hand as well. 

Espen was suitably overwhelmed and transfixed. 

I recognized the chant.

"Did you just chant Om Mani Padme Hum to Espen?" I asked, secretly hoping.

He smiled and nodded. I did too.

"It's one of my favorite mantras." I confessed. 

"Mine too." He smiled and we parted ways, Espen reluctantly loading into the car. He kept trying to look back at the midnight angel, Gabriel.

"Mama, what did he sing me?" Espen demanded to know.

"It's the mantra I sing to you sometimes, remember this one?" and I sang it to him.

He smiled. "Oh that one!"

Later that afternoon I heard him happily humming around the backyard.

"What are you singing, Boo?" I asked.

He smiled at me and sang louder.

"Oh mommy pet my hoom, oh mommy pet my hoom!"

All hail, Wesp. Keeping even the most ancient of mantras relevant in today's times.

Though I didn't ask him in the moment, I am deeply curious as to what a "hoom" is. Any thoughts, please leave them below. 

Great White Poo

There are moments that occur as a parent which belong in a Hall of Legends of Things You Survived.
Many times, you don't know these experiences will gain legendary status until after you have weathered the storm.

Just so with the Great Norovirus Epidemic of Eld-Mathis.

Our tale begins on a blustery Thursday night, with my arrival home after an exciting gathering that left me too inspired to sleep. "Not a problem" I opined, "I shall catch up somehow in the night."

That night, however, was never to arrive.

At 2AM I heard a sob emerge from Espen's room. Sometimes he has night sobs, which, while heartbreaking, often resolve quickly.

This one, however, built into a cresccendoing, "Mooooooommmmmmyyyyyyyy!!"

I bounced out of bed, still fresh from my illuminating evening and trotted into his room.

Whereupon he said, "My tummy hurts!!!" and then started making strange sounds in his throat.

You can easily see where this might be leading, but I did not have the advantage of the Omniscient Reader. I simply thought, "That's a strange, mid-chest kind of sound. Huh." And began to stroll with him in my arms towards the kitchen to make him tea.

Whereupon, Espen began to vomit. And sob. At the same time.

It cascaded down my neck, rolling gracefully over my chest as I tried to race to the sink.

Tobias slept on, in spite of the violent retching sounds of a kid tossing his dinner out his mouth and freaking out because it feels so disturbing.

I yelled. "Tobias! Get up RIGHT NOW!"

So he staggered out to find a vomit encrusted wife holding a vomit drenched 3 year old standing in a puddle of vomit all over the kitchen floor.

We processed to the shower where Espen and I washed the puke down the drain and Espen got his second wind.

Seemingly no worse for the wear, he bounded out of the shower and threw himself nudie onto our bed, shrieking with glee. Almost as if to say, "We're up for the day now so might as well PARTAY!"

The clock read 3.30AM.

We coaxed Espen into jammies and tried to ply him with treats of plain toast and tea, but he was ready to get cracking.

Until.

"Mommy! My tummy hurts aga....".

And that was the next many hours until daybreak. Back and forth between dry heaves, racing around the house like a maniac between vomiting sessions, and passing out face down on the floor, bum in the air when his body demanded a quick re-set.

I gotta tell you, I was just trying to keep up with him so I could try and force water down him and have a pan and hugs at the ready for the inevitable hurking.

When daylight broke, he raced into the bathroom and started shrieking. "MY BOTTOM HURTS!!!!"

He ripped off his diaper, clambered onto the toilet and had the most spectacular poo-ah-rea ever.

His little face crumpled. "WHY, mommy? Why is this happening to my body!!!!!"

Why indeed. Espen has been a remarkably healthy child and until this fateful day, had never experienced this kind of violence within his body. No puking, no crazy diarrhea, nada. So I could only imagine how baffling and frustrating it must feel to have your body ejecting things from every conceivable orifice without giving you forewarning.

That whole day was spent in a daze on the couch. I'll admit, we watched Youtube liberally and I was damn grateful for the thousands of videos on the International Space Station and amphibious vehicles.

Our story does not end here however. Oh no.

The weekend was just beginning, and Saturday was a day and a night away.

By Friday evening, Espen was starting to eat solid food and show some spirit in a sedentary, couch bound kind of way. By Saturday morning, he was reading to go hunt for spawning salmon in the Columbia River Gorge so we headed off for adventure.

About 3 paces up the trail, his strength and good spirits deserted him and he began demanding to be carried. Tobias and I were glad to oblige for awhile and then decided the salmon could wait for another day. After stopping for lunch and checking out Logtoberfest in Carson, WA, we headed back home for bed.

Espen ran to the toilet again. I waited for the tell-tail wail. Nothing. I looked at him closely. He was crying.

"Oh buddy, what's wrong?" I asked, concerned.

"My bottom."

"Awww, Wesp. Let me see."

He slid off the toilet and I peered in, expecting mayhem.

What I saw blew my mind.

White. Poop.

As in, Albino Shit.

For those of you who are thinking, "Was it pure mucous?! Did you take him to the doctor?!?!" let me just say, No.

It was just white, white poop.

I ran into our bathroom where Tobias was making a poop of his own.

"WESP JUST MADE A WHITE POOP!" I yelled, excited in a way that can only be described as The Most Amazing Thing I've Never Imagined Has Just Happened.

Tobias looked at me meaningfully.

I collected myself enough to stand on the other side of the door and talk rapidly about every aspect of the Snowy Poo.

Tobias emerged and walked to the potty. "He's been eating all white things."

I thought about it for a moment. Bananas. White Bread. Rice. Applesauce. Thank you BRAT diet for this wonderful opportunity to re-define bowel possibilities.

Thinking the day was over, we tucked Espen into bed and shortly after, hit the pillows ourselves.

Only to find myself awakened at 2AM with a strange rumbling in MY tummy.

And oh sweet Jesus, what a rumbling it was.

For the next endless hours of the night, I crawled, staggered and oozed between bathroom, bedroom and the floor.

Somewhere in the midst of this Apocalypse of the Gut, I recalled Espen on his hands and knees, heaving into the bowl. His bottom thrust skyward as his forehead of cheek rested on the cool floor. While this had seemed uncomfortable and tragic at best from my healthy perspective, it now appeared to be excellent advice.

I tried it.

To my everlasting delight, I discovered that it was in fact easier to projectile vomit from a hands and knees position and that when the world began to spin from dehydration, elevating the bum and putting your face on the floor really helps make the world stop rocking. I made a mental note to thank Espen when I could swallow.

Imagine now, if you will, Tobias staggering into my room around 9AM saying, "I don't feel so well."

And now, imagine that there are not one, but TWO adults covering every available surface with their puky-poopy bodies while Espen is feeling perfectly grand.

At one point, I recall being horizontal in bed, listening to the sounds of Tobias sicking it up in the bathroom while Espen said, "Sure, mommy, I can make you toast. You want a Popsicle and some applesauce?" And thinking, "I'm ordering from my 3 year old. He would survive without us! Amazing!"

And boy would he.

When Tobias and I emerged far enough from our stupor to look around we discovered that Espen was capable of opening new yogurt containers, eating close to a dozen Popsicle in a 10 hour period and making lots of toast.

I've never been prouder.

Beware the Mest

Espen has been introduced to the book Are You My Mother? recently and has been forever changed. It is clear that the concept of having a cow or a snort for a mother both fascinates and provokes him.

"Be a kitten!" he will yell and then come hopping over.
"Are you my mother?" he demands, leaping about with anticipation.
And then, I dutifully meow and stare at him since that's all the somewhat creepy kitten does in the book.
"Now be a snort!"
This is my favorite as I feel very pleased with my snorting abilities.
He approaches cautiously.
"You must be my mother!"
I snort and slide towards him.
"You are not my mother!" He shrieks, "You are a snort!"
This is when I either chase or grab him and throw him into a pile of pillows and blankets that he has created as his "mest".

That's right. His mest.

"Put me in my mest!" He yells, howling with glee.

Mests have begun cropping up everywhere. In the bathroom. In my bed. In the pantry. Anywhere a blanket and every pillow in the house can fit is Prime Mest Real Estate.

Every time he invites me to his mest, I giggle. And hope that mests stay around a real long time.