Month: March 2012

Th Sofie Saga: Part III Hoping  

It’s good news.  Sofie is doing really well and we are very cautiously optimistic.  She has achieved her penultimate phase and is working very hard.  I am so proud of her I could just …… I don’t even know!  Her going away really shook up our family.  The good part of this is it has allowed me to take a look at how we are living and make some pretty big changes.  I have always liked change, but I tend to forget it’s an option.  We moved to La Canada for the schools because they are rated so high.  What we didn’t think through was the reason they are rated so high is they pretty much teach to the test.  There is very little to nothing in the way of art and music.  They don’t even have the annual “All Inclusive Holiday/Winter Did We Leave Anyone Out Because We Don’t Want To Offend Them” Christmas pageant.  I think to succeed in our modern world our kids are going to have to think outside the box.  There is no guarantee that if you graduate from college with a degree in engineering that there will be an engineering job for you.  If they can’t be creative and find something to do with their degree, perhaps even create their own work they are going to be in trouble.  It is not the fault of the public school system.  They do the best they can.  But since we are all shook up anyway we are trying Addie out this week at a Waldorf School.  Talk about change.  We have gone from the best in conservative education to a wacky wonderland of progressive learning.  It’s out there in it’s concepts but they make perfect sense to me.  Waldorf has a holistic (meaning whole child) approach to learning.  They teach through art, movement, and participation.  Don thinks I have gone completely over the edge but he trusts me.  Actually, I am a little nervous she will never learn anything too, but I am trusting my instincts.  Her first visit day I checked her in and as I was leaving noticed that her first grade class was standing in a circle under a tree.  I called Don:

Me:  The class is standing under a tree doing what looks to be a pagan ritual!!

Don: Are they trying to reanimate the dead?  Look in the middle of the circle is there anything twitching?

It wasn’t a ritual and anything that may have been dead stayed dead.  Addie loves it,  I love it and Don is skeptical but willing.  Sofie is appalled because she thinks kids who go to Waldorf School are weird.  That is exactly what I am hoping for.

I’m not sure where Sofie will go to school when she comes home, but we will find a place where she can thrive and be happy,  as happy as a teen age girl can be that is.  She gave me permission to post a poem she wrote for school.  Her assignment was to tell where she came from.  I didn’t know she was paying attention and even knew her address but apparently she is. It also sums up how she is doing way better than I could.  I love her so much I could just….well, I don’t even know!

Where I am From Poem

I am from British words and Irish accents
A package from Scotland that gave my Great Grandfather a wife
I am from Beverly hills, from being born among the stars.
From the winding road twisting and turning.
I’m from a mother, a father, a brother, a sister yet to come.
I am from Buffy, French cats, a puppy with more trauma than me.
I am from one house to another around the corner still surrounded by stars,
From tall trees and cactus leaves that poke my thumb.

I am from Broadway shows and dancing feet,
From writers, singers, performing fanatics.
I’m from Apple Hunting and authentic cowboys.
From October birthdays and Grammy Lu’s butterflies.
I am from Thermopolis to California and back,
From war, horses and heroes.

I am from Dip, Honey and Tinkiewinkie.
No one sleeps until I have all my Teletubbies.
I am from Doby-Blood, Zaboomafoo, and The Simpson’s.
From Cheerios, pennies and little people.
I’m from Rapunzel hair and a sea of blue eyes.
From a series of hamsters too mean to keep.

I am from Radio Disney, Hilary Duff
From Disneyland- the Mickey Mouse gang.
I am from willow trees, snap dragons, and lily leaves,
From a tree house with a bright red door.

I am from a long line of performers.
Dancing queens, a Cinderella who found her Prince Charming.
From Ugly Betty and Samantha, Who?
From extra special magic kisses to last all night long.
I’m from an ugly duckling venturing through the big city.
Honk.
I’m from an asian thing as small as a bean.
From a fox, a wolf, and two tigers.
Laohu.

I’m from 6th grade to now.
A hipster trying to fit in.
I am from the end of an era.
The fallout.
I’m from razor blades and bad grades,
A box that held my biggest secret.
I’m from lies, drama and tears,
Cheers to the teen age years.
I’m from sadness in June, to guilt in August to near death in October.
From happiness now.

I am from a new found love of screaming girls and emotional breakdowns.
From “I’m done with this.” and “nobody cares.”
From persevering and caring too much.
I’m from addictions, trauma.
From Summer, Winter and Autumn.
I am from a new me.
Free and loving sobriety.
Co dependence no more.
I’m from here on out.
I’ll decide what’s next.

Sofie Todd

Perspective

Well that last post was cheery.  This blog has become therapy for me and like my therapist I expect you all to keep this completely confidential.  It would be really embarrassing if this got out.   I received so many nice comments and a great deal of concern about my “mood”.  While all I post here is how I feel, please know that after I post I feel really good.  It’s kind of like when you take your kid to preschool and they cry hysterically when you leave.  You feel horrible all day but five minutes later your toddler is laughing and eating glue.  Just think of me as a toddler. 

I have decided that while being fit is important, focusing entirely on looking better is not a very lofty goal.  Especially because as one friend pointed out, “this right now is as good as you get.”  Hmm, I think that may be true and I should probably  enjoy it.  This has been a tough year for me, but I doubt the women in Syria would consider it so.  I don’t think people who have lost their homes this year would feel particularly bad for me and parents who have children in Afghanistan would love for them to be safe in Utah with the Mormon’s at therapeutic boarding school. I am not denying my feelings I have just put them in perspective.  As an old friend said,  “it’s okay to have doubts, it’s okay to feel lost, and it’s okay to feel failure.  It’s even okay to be a democrat! We get back up and we do it again, we fall and fall and we keep on walking.  My battle with cancer has let me see things differently and some good things are still the same.”  This friend lived in New York when he found out he had cancer.  His cancer diagnosis brought him back to California and ultimately saved his life.  He worked for Canter Fitzgerald in the World Trade Center and had he not been diagnosed with cancer and moved back to California for treatment he would have been in the tower on September 11.  Instead, he is thirteen years out from cancer and he, his wife, and son are doing well.  We can never know what is coming and how perceived bad things or even good things will actually affect our lives so I think I’ll just try to be grateful for what I have now.


My life is really good.  I have good friends.  I have a great husband who only irritates me occasionally and my kids are not always a pain in the ass.  Today I am not going to ask for anything more.  Not bad for an old fat lady.

Je Suis Finis

Here are the good things about a youth spent in ballet class:


  You learn anything worth having is difficult
              You learn how to focus.
       You learn to see two sides of most situations because after you learn a dance you have to reverse it.
          You can do something that a very small percentage of people can do.
         You love it more than anything.
Here are the bad things:

 You are never good enough
 You are never thin enough
  You can never grow up because you are called “boys”, “girls”, and “kids”.
 You are horribly underpaid and can barely make a living.
  You’re finished at about 35.
 You’ll miss it more than anything.

I am telling you this because it explains why at fifty I still feel I am not good enough or thin enough and because of that I feel I have hardly any value what so ever.  I am writing about this because I want  to stop feeling that way now.  After I push “publish” I am done.  I am tired of feeling bad about myself all the time.  I never considered myself self-absorbed, but guess what?  You are still self–absorbed even if what you are thinking about yourself all the time is bad.  The amount of energy that goes in to this self-loathing is ridiculous.  So what to do?  How have I dealt with it in the past?
In my twenties feeling not good enough and not thin or pretty enough coupled with paternal abandonment made me a really fun date.  Pretty much a sure thing.  Ask anyone.  I look at pictures of myself then and I was pretty hot.  I did not know it or feel it at the time.
In my thirties I became a childbirth educator and doula.  If I wasn’t hot for a dancer anymore I certainly was hot for a Lamaze teacher.  I didn’t know it or feel it then either.
In my late thirties through now I have just been driving my husband crazy and teaching my daughters the art of self hate.  When I am seventy and look back at pictures I am pretty sure I am going to think I was kind of cute now.
This is how sick I am.  I don’t want to go to events my husband has at work because I think it will embarrass him that his wife is not young and thin and has no marketable skills.
Peggy, after going through chemo and radiation, has double pneumonia and while I am concerned about her I am mainly jealous because she is getting really skinny.
I know.  Pathetic.  But wait! There’s more.
I am constantly comparing myself to others and becoming increasingly judgemental. I am coveting what I don’t have.  I feel envious and entitled.  I was never like that before.  It’s ugly and I really don’t want that to be me.
I want to travel all the time but it occurs to me the reason that ultimately doesn’t make me feel better is I am taking the problem with me.  Apparantly my brain is a pretty unfriendly toxic place to be.  Bathed in vodka or Xanax it wasn’t so hateful.  Spell correct just automatically capitalized Xanax.  It did it again!
Writing makes me feel better (too bad for you!) So, I decided I needed to move to Paris and sit in cafes guzzling café au lait and write.  Then I realized that if you feel bad about how you look and covet designer handbags Paris is probably not a good idea.  I was telling my friend Henia about moving to Paris and she showed me a poem she had written just that day.  I will let her speak for me.
She thought it was time
To finally escape
This sun-baked race
Of trophy freeway cars,
Fighting each other to get
Nowhere
Faster than the other
Snail-paced Mercedes
In the next lane.
The speed of it all
Like escargot—
And she thought again,
It was time—
Because she was tired…
Time to retreat to Paris,
To start smoking again,
To stop working out
To resume eating cheese,
And in sidewalk cafes
Drink wine by the bottle
And languish
In words and a notebook…
And the river,
And aimless walks
Over snow-covered bridges;
Blowing hot breath into
Icy cold fingers
That would soon grasp a brush
In an attic apartment,
Warmed by the steam from a mug
Of stove-top black coffee,
And the strains of cool jazz in the air…
Henia Flynn
Au Revoir and don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.

Don’t Rush Me!

I am not interested in whether or not you feel birth control should be covered by insurance because today I have a much bigger issue to rant about.  If you don’t like “feminazis” go ahead and stop reading. OOH, I am so mad!
My favorite time of day is after taking Addie to school I come home, have a cup of coffee and watch the Today Show.  I just love that Ann Curry.  Well, unfortunately today glaring hideous and hateful from my television was Rush Limbaugh calling a young female law student a prostitute and a slut for testifying before congress to have insurance pay for contraception.  Does he kiss his mother with that mouth?  I had to put down my Obama coffee mug to pose to you the following questions:
1.  Why is birth control a women’s issue? Don’t men have sex with women?  Isn’t that how you make a baby?  Why aren’t we calling men who don’t want their partners to get pregnant sluts?
2. Why is it OK to vilify a young woman and call her a prostitute and a slut because she is asking for insurance to cover birth control?
3.  Why is the Republican Party continuing to allow Rush Limbaugh to speak for them? 
4. How can anyone condone the lying and hate mongering Rush Limbaugh spews across this country’s airwaves?
Rush Limbaugh is dangerous and uses his radio show to incite hate and divisiveness.  He is fat ugly drug addict and the best argument for birth control I can think of.  If he can find any woman on the planet that is dumb enough to sleep with him then we have a double argument for birth control.  Neither one of them should reproduce.
I know, aren’t  I doing the same thing calling him fat and ugly and attacking him personally because I abhor what he says and can’t abide to hear his whiny voice?  Yes. The difference is he has millions of listeners and the five of you who read my blog probably agree with me.  So there.  Also, I want to clarify, I know many drug addicts who are lovely people (myself included) so I didn’t mean to imply that in itself was a bad thing.  I just don’t like his hypocrisy.
If you agree he is mean spirited and creates more harm that good join me today by doing the following:  Copy and share my Facebook Post that will say something like this.
 “Don’t Rush Me!”
I am an American and Rush Limbaugh does not speak for me.
I am also going to ask my Facebook friends who are fans of Rush Limbaugh to unfriend me.  I can tolerate differences of opinion but I will not be friends with someone who approves of that man.  Also, please unfriend me if you like Rick Santorum or are against gay marriage.  I don’t have time for this nonsense.  Damn, my coffee is cold.
Late breaking news:  Boehner said Limbaughs’ comments were inappropriate.  Way to read him the riot act!  At least it’s something.
Interview with Sandra Fluke