Ghost

I am driving back from the grocery store when I see him in a beaten up Chevy with a dreamcatcher hanging from the rearview mirror. His paunchy face is looking downward, dangerously- the car swerves on the road. It is autumn. I am cold from my malfunctioning thyroid and the California lizard winds- scaly, thin, freezing. I am listening to Prince and singing under my breath, purposefully using the wrong lyrics to amuse myself, wondering what Prince is really like in bed, that tiny man body, that pompadour, the perfume, sweet velvet eyeliner, high voice. Does he hum to himself when he's licking a woman clean? I am picturing the bed of Prince- a thickly layered circular majesty suffocating with oversized pillows. 

I look up and he is looking down and my hands on the driving wheel instantly shrink two sizes and my feet shrivel and slip of the gas pedal and my body becomes the body of an eight year old and I can no longer drive or control my car and a great, shuddering fear and grief clicks the camera closed, and opened, and I am in a different world and time, and I am not safe. It is silent and the silence is threatening. It is cold and the cold is winter. It is fear and the fear is a warning. Only then do I see that it is not him. The man looks up just as we pass each other and he has a large, ungainly nose, puffy lips and a square head. Not my father.

The song rises again into my consciousness, my hands and body and feet grow and like Alice I am returned to my rightful size, and like Alice I awake from a dream that was not a dream. I pull the car into the Home Goods parking lot and press my forehead against the wheel of the car but it is not hard enough; I grip the steering wheel with wet hands and yank the thing into my forehead until finally it begins to hurt, and hurt, and hurt, and after a minute or so, I begin to cry, and the crying becomes something humiliating, something other, something high and shrill and wailing and completely unwelcome in this suburban palace of manicured grasses, elementary schools, street corners of pharmacies and Mexican food, the psychiatrists tucked cleanly and neatly far back into boxed corners on the edge of town. I listen to myself cry and think about how Indian people have that beautiful, out of control sounding musical wailing that reminds me of opera, and how I have no place to hide, and how I want more than anything in the world to be in that moment in the wide wide world and thrust my face into some rich uncontaminated soil and wrap my hands around grasses and feel the complacent face of sky watching my ritual. I think about why I am crying. I listen to what my brain tells me, and it has an order:

First: I want my daddy! I never had my daddy! I want a daddy!

Then: I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!

And: I don't hate him, Lura forgive me, I don't and I can't, I tried....

Then: I want my sister I want my sisterIwantmysisterIwantmysister and this trails and repeats and loops and so this way I know it is the true place of my grief. Oh Lura. My sweet baby sister. I am so, so sorry beyond even knowing what I am sorry for, knowing what I am sorry for, I am sorry for more and for everything and for not taking care of you. For not knowing how. I am sorry. I love you. I miss you. 

The emptiness of her loss spins from my crying mouth like a fragile ghost, misting around my chest and face, and I view it with ragged breath. I look into the loss. I bow my head because this is a place of suffering and grief, like an unmarked burial site in the middle of the Iraqi desert. No one names this place, and I cannot explain what it is that happened. I had a sister. I still have a sister. I lost my sister. She left us. She left me. I don't have my sister, anymore. It has been ten years.

Wherever you are, you are loved. You are so loved.

the mystery of nine mile marsh

sting hiss: steam blows

white lipped, slack cheeked

and foul, into the forced and

petal O of my mouth.

the compass pointed south:

air bubble to the heart.

the letting of my own changling

meat, the slow wet suck

of failure to thrive. lips flinch

with static.

i strike autistic at the fabric of

my nervous system, stemming

for my life: i will stop the jerking

of my muscles,

and the puppetry of my heart.

i am as ugly as the pustules

round my mouth. our lips

made a swamp where swampy

things burst to

breathe for me. i insist, i decline.

i will not be gassed like a sex doll!

blown up for your fine release.

ironed and stapled and taped into

an iron lung

this silence passing as peace.

the spasm passes through

my eye, a flicker, a flinching,

             

a brackish toss over your shoulder

straight

into the structures of my mind.

the tossing ocean sizzles like a

snail salted for dinner. i am

paying penitence with slow goings,

i am the salt lake, the great

continental divide- the result

of force and demand and machine

desire.

i am the water that set herself on fire.

The Equals Project essay

The Equals Project is a newish magazine- both online and soon to release the first print edition, which I am thrilled to be a part of - with essays written by women about All The Things. I have an essay up today about Ever Elizabeth's place in our family called The Baby Of the Family.

I'd love if you'd take a minute to read it, comment. Thank you! I have no daycare kiddos today so am now off the puter to take Ever outside for a while until we have to pick up Ms. Lola. Hope your afternoon is calm, and if not calm, then not crazy, and if it's crazy, there's always tomorrow!

Winter Is Coming

A long breath of desire. A suspension of belief. A catastrophic orgasm, chaining you to the mortal body forever. The wind across my chest is your hair, everywhere I am alive I think of you, feel you, feel love for you blooming in my breast and belly and heart like a great, pulsating drum, filled with the warmth of sun and the distant freeze of salt water. Winter is coming. Every day we are filled with each other's arms and cut on the teeth of our lover, we are one leaping shrieking joyful laugh from the abyss. Tip. Restrain from desire, yet restraint is desire. I create structure and collapse into the footfalls of nighttime on a simple trip alone, for milk. There is no baby, no breastfeeding, no constant mantra of internet ego and titillation, no mundane brushing or laundering, washing or collecting. Lovers do not collect, lovers do not sort, categorize-- lovers do, lovers are, lovers feel. This is dangerous. Parenthood calls for order, sorted drawers, dental appointments, dinnertime. Abandon yourself to sex and time softens underneath the kneading of hands on belly- there are no lunches made, appointments noted, vitamins taken. There is the man and the woman and the naked body, as has been since time has known humans, as perfect and alive as a leaf slapping another on the branch or the fox dancing through the grasses. Give yourself to me. This is greedy, urgent even in slow motion, and I organize myself around the ritual of your body. The children glare balefully because they do not want their parents owned by any other, even each other. A phone rings from the other place, our dog barks, the baby cries. I am pulled angrily and flushed from the bottom of the river to the pounding of hands on the shore. Why revive? Winter is Coming.

Disneyland, California

Ever's first trip to Disneyland was sponsored by: Grandma
Grandma supports the arts and education of small grandchildren
through play and experience since 1994

The whole pack showed up, later than we planned because of me, Mom.
Hi, I'm Mom.
I slept in until 8, and then made everyone go to Starbucks AND Target, to get Ever an Etch A Sketch
for the car trip. We didn't arrive until almost noon. No one complained. This was accomplished through years of Mom being relentlessly late for pretty much every occasion and event known to Man, including the births of her own children, because who can leave for the hospital without the right pillow? Also accomplished through: profound resignation, illness bringing everyone down a notch, too happy to care, and lastly, love.
Mom also made the mistake of not listening to her firstborn daughter, Lola Moon, who gently and cheerfully suggested that we ' make a list of what to do! '
Which was shot down by everyone, including Mom, who later, after hours and hours of wandering around the park in a undignified, overheated, exhausted and futile effort to please all the people, all the time,
thought to herself that next time, she'd listen to her daughter.
First Ride: It's A Small World
Ever LOVED it. She was exactly as enthralled, mesmerized and overjoyed by the entire Disneyland experience as we all had hoped she was. It must have looked odd-- an entire family of five people with goofy grins staring at one small person for an entire ride. LOOK! SHE LIKES IT!
The day was gorgeous, sunny, and we all ate our home brought snacks and walked around before sitting for a little lunch. 

Let's stand in line for twenty minutes to meet Goofy!
I DON"T WANT TO LOOK AT THE STRANGE CREATURE WITH LONG EARS AND BAD TEETH!
Let's eat Mickey Mouse ice cream instead.

It was one of those trips where things were slightly off for all of us- with the enormous exception of Ever, who could live at Disneyland. Ian, Lola, Ed and Dakota all felt ill, having been fighting the barrage of various diseases going around the last month. Dakota was also bumming for personal reasons although he put a good face on and was polite, generous and kind the entire day. It's hard for me to feel how proud I am of him, how much I love him, out there in the world on his own-- it is where the expression ' fit to burst ' came from. I myself have been battling The Autoimmune Stuff for a while now, so eight straight hours of standing and walking in the direct sun made me feel very unwell, surreal and frustrated that I couldn't enjoy it more. That passed quickly, and the realization that It Is What It Is helped me settle in and accept what I felt, and enjoy the parts that I could. Lola was having a pretty good case of The Anxieties, and also handled it well. Mr. Curry got progressively sicker until he lost his voice entirely, and yet never used it to complain. We all shouldered our various complaints good naturedly for the most part, and were able to really enjoy the parts that were there to enjoy.
The kids took turns remarking ' Even so, we are so lucky to be here! ' or after a brief complaint of head hurting or stomach hurting ' But we are all together, and so lucky to be here! ' I was proud of my kids, and proud of Mr. Curry and I for working hard over the years to model gratitude and perspective and manners. Over the years there have been fit throwing, bad manners and ingratitude for sure, ( and will be more, with Lola and Ever so young still ) but sometimes it all comes together and you see that what you are teaching is sinking in.
I was definitely the worst behaved of the lot-- by the end of the day I felt awful, sun sick despite sunblock, aching all over and frustrated by a serious of problems with accessing our  money, Ever refusing to sit in her stroller ( only tantrum of the day ), a recurrence of guilt that I couldn't just BE HAPPY in the happiest place on the earth that someone else payed for, holy hell, huge blisters on my feet and realizing that I had put myself in the position of going on no rides all day ( Mr. Curry tried, but I was flustered and wouldn't decide on anything ) I think I actually stomped my feet taking Ever and her potty into the bathroom while everyone tried to figure out how to get ahold of our money.
I'm so ashamed.
But the moment passed and I rallied and Dakota slung his arm around me and said Mom, it's cool, you're doing great, and I was then overwhelmed with the blissful and surreal reality that I had raised a son who understood, in some part, what it is to be The Mom in these situations,
and I laughed and the moment passed.

Lola, Ever and Mr. Curry on Dumbo. They had so much fun! And I got to stand with my boys and talk and watch. 

This was an awesome moment- we watched the end part of a Star Wars show, and I had a mocha frap while Ever had Mickey Mouse ice cream. 

The big three kids were off on their own for a few hours, and us three ran into the  parade- which, again, Ever loved. Magic. 

Ever has a love for fountains, and the one at Toon Town kept her occupied while Mr Curry waited in line to meet Minnie Mouse.

She was enthralled with the dishwasher in Minnie's house.

Meeting Minnie was so, so sweet. Minnie is Ever's favorite, next to Mickey. She asks to watch Minnie's Bowtique every day, dresses like Minnie, has Minnie books, etc. So this was a big moment in her two years of life. Which she wanted Daddy to do with her, not Mommy. Not that I minded. Or anything. Sniff. She wanted Daddy all day! It was sweet to watch-- all day, every time she went on a ride or saw a character, she reached for Daddy.  Lola complained too, about the lack of Ever holding on rides.
The last ride was the Nemo submarine ride-- we all went on this one. It's such a good ride to end the trip with. Soothing and cheerful, the girls both glued the whole time.

People In Your Neighborhood

take a seat and read!!

My piece on MindBodyGreen gives 10 tips to help a child with anxiety. Happy to be part of this awesome online magazine!

Programs to help kids in poverty are imperative to break the cycle, and Patricia Mainer is the living embodiment of that. Her story is so inspiring, and I'm glad she chooses to speak up and advocate.

Patrick Stewart tells his personal story of how the physical abuse of his mother affected him as a boy. He wants change. Make it so.

I have linked a few articles on breast cancer and the changing ideas about it's detection and treatment. This woman's blog chronicles her story and what is a perfect example of the ideas being discussed. She was diagnosed with DCIS and ended up going a different way for treatments.

A woman with bipolar discusses the movie Silver Lining Playbook and her decision to go public with her diagnosis. We watched the movie SLP a few weeks ago and I liked it- a realistic recounting of one story of bipolar.

I love this interview with Ian McEwan by Zadie Smith in The Believer. Ian McEwan's Saturday is one of the most engrossing books I've read in a while, and Zadie Smith's On Beauty is one of my favorite novels in general. Their discussion about writing is geek heaven for me.

Ice Cream Man To Rival: ' I Own This Town'   oh I love this.

Fellow blogger, writer and mother Jane Roper wrote this great piece for The Millions on publishing her book and the diagnosis of her daughter with leukemia.  

My piece on Budget Fashionista lists the 20 best pieces of fashion advice ever!

geez, you really like your kids

$3 flowers from the Saturday morning Farmers Market
one block from my house
a stroller walk away

Ever Elizabeth took this of her Daddy

Ever and Daddy looking at the puter together
and Ever with my daycare kiddos playing on our very very very very
used front porch
Ever is obsessed with making 'chocolate soup'
ie mud, leaves, twigs, berries, chalk, etc.
' BELISH! ' she says

Ever and Daddy looking at the kitty who lives next door
probably because we don't have one, Kinny is obsessed with cats
and that thing?
oh that's just the pee inducing lizard that keeps surprising me on our porch.
he's huge and mean.
and that last picture,
that's what i do a million bajillion times a day
so that Lola's best friend said
geez, you really like your kids

Just So-So Stories

-I drove by a big white truck painted across the side with red letters SIEMENS What an unfortunate name for a company.

-Ever is fully potty trained minus pooping in her underwear the last two days. Cleaning poop out of underwear is five million times more gross and difficult than cleaning poop out of diapered butts. There is the underwear creamed with poop, first of all. Yesterday after dumping out Ever's poopy underwear into the toilet, the toilet clogged. I got the plunger and began working away at the clog. The plunger curled up on itself and I had to use my bare hand to uncurl it, and as I pushed at it, it uncurled in one big Snap! and flung poop water all over my face.

-Ian gave me an awesome mother's day card, with a sweet sentiment in it that ended:
 Keep it up! 

-I am watching Mad Men from the very beginning on Netflix. I'm now on Season 3 in the first few episodes. When we head toward bed at nite, Ever says ' Momma you watch Mad Men? He falling! '
And as he falls and falls and the camera pulls away to reveal Don Draper sitting with his arms out, drink in hand, and the music skitters and lands delightfully, she says ' He's OK! ' I'm loving this show.

-It was- is?- almost 90- degrees here today. The kids have been in the house most of the day, minus an hour in the morning and now an hour in the later afternoon. I'm running out of ways to keep them occupied. Ice cubes only go so far. Oh, I need to buy shaving cream! Thank you. Your welcome.

-Mr. Curry made a wonderful mother's day for me. I felt happy, loved, and lucky. Which was good because I've been in a state of constant anxiety the last few days. I needed a break. Today, back to the fear. Someone must sing me Soft Kitty.

-Ever has pneumonia. Thursday we went to the pediatrician- a new one- and left with antibiotics, albuterol for breathing treatments and a liquid steroid. She's much better now. The first few days were upsetting. Watching her breathe like that brings up the emotions of her first month of life when she was hospitalized with RSV.

People In Your Neighborhood: Mental Health Edition

take heart, and read

My post originally up here at Flux is now up at Huffington Post: Wabi Sabi { Scenes From A Marriage} on bipolar, marriage and the story we make of our lives.

A brave, beautiful essay from Edenland on her recent hospitalization and diagnosis of Bipolar 11. 

What would have happened to Sylvia Plath with proper treatment and medication? Seeing Sylvia Plath With New Eyes

Depression, Anxiety and Me 

This article on helping the siblings of mentally ill or atypical kids is informative and compassionate.

Fish oil supplements 'beat psychotic illness' : I give my children fish oil supplements from the time they are toddlers, for a variety of reasons, but the preventative and stabilizing effect on mood is definitely one of them. I think anyone with a background of mental illness in their family is doing their children a huge favor by providing this. The study I link is not the only study to link fish oil to mood stabilization. There was a major study done in a prison, for instance, over a span of a year or two, that showed a great reduction in violent acts and behavior in the population after daily fish oil supplementation was introduced.

Natasha Tracy's informative, updated and honest blog, Bipolar Blurble

The blogpost everyone is talking about: ( at least, all the COOL mentally ill people, like me! ) Depression, Part Two from Hyperbole and a Half