The Odd Broad

Fun with Spam!

My spam comments continue to accumulate at an alarmingly high rate.  On this rainy day in Boston, I thought I might share with you some of the latest and greatest:

On a post I wrote about my recent and shocking discovery that a coworker and I both auditioned for the role of Maria in a 1995 dinner production of West Side Story (and she beat me out!), "Ray Ban Aviator" mused: "His wow, I saw you share article, the feeling is very good. Continue to work hard * * * *" 

"Louboutin Flat Men" shard some insightful thoughts on my story about trying to discover whether or not my animal guide is a bird: "Love you share article * * * youth is priceless * * * If you want to retain youthful vigor, you have to take regular exercise."

From "Marcelin" on a post about my idiot neighbor carrying a dead mouse with his bare hands through the lobby of our building: "Amy- You know, I hadn't thought of it that way, but you're so right. They're even kinda like the three of us Noelle Yep, these are all from my fidles two of the less successful ones, sadly. They are good to munch, though; the kids are always bringing ears back to the galle to roast (i.e., char) on coals.Left by clare on October 5th, 2005"

On a post about why I couldn't stop eating Milano Double Chocolate Distinctive Cookies, Elif observed: "This is the perfect blog for anodyby who wants to learn about this subject. You realize so significantly its practically tough to argue with you (not that I really would want HaHa). You absolutely put a new spin on a topic thats been created about for years. Excellent stuff, just excellent![]"

When I wrote about living outside Fenway Park, and how I'd want to stab the idiots who'd loiter and smoke doobies in the alley behind our apartment, "Kish" said: "This book is full of great information. I think evyonree who is 18-29 really need to read this. The only thing I failed to see a lot of was on personality. The college aged individual wants to hold on to their youth, they should be networking from day one, cleaning up their Facebook page, attending more job fairs than frat parties, volunteering at every chance, and making the best impression they can. I believe this book will help individuals who are trying to enter the workforce, to be able to achieve that."

"http://www.noticiasysalud.com/" read the essay I wrote about the spirit of a futuristic singing and dancing robot girl who may or not be haunting my childhood bedroom (her name is Leah), and kindly wrote: "Hi there, Great info. Does anyone like raspberry ketone? I know where to get it cheap."

On a post about going vegan and tryng fake bacon for the first time (and how it tasted like the Pupperoni strips that my childhood best friend's yorkie, Missy, used to eat), "Gmina" shared: "Chucky it was great getting you on my saitncyded radio program. You surely blessed my listenership of over 2 million people with your music. Thanks so much for sharing your talent and look forward to hearing more from you.Dixie McCorkell CMA/CCMA/ECMATriplestrand Productionstspcountryradio.comtriplestrandproductions.com"

From "Antreas", on a post about the James P. Kelleher Rose Garden in Boston's Back Bay: "Yes, there are a lot of chipmunks this year. Not sure excatly why, but they tend to go through boom bust cycles, as to many small mammals. Perhaps the deep layer of snow was good insulation to allow more to survive the winter, perhaps abundant fall food allowed for good caches for the winter. There might be a corresponding bumper crop of some raptors."

And lastly, from "Akinwale", again on the post about my losing out on the role of Maria in that 1995 production of West Side (Salt in my wounds!  I was the Maria that never was and never will be!): "- ahhhh! andrea and rnatea you guys are amazing!! we're blown away. thank you for making us look so good (and for your sweet words ! that jumping shot is fantastic. love you guys!"

And the spam goes on (and on, and on)... 

It's not about a banana, who slipped on himself and fell-mo...

Anyone have any tips on how to extract catchy children’s tunes from one’s head?  There’s an Adam Sandler/Elmo duet that’s been looping in my brain for the past 24 hours or so and it’s starting to become a problem.  I was just in the kitchen at work, singing in almost full voice:

 

This is a song about Elmo,

Now, I don’t mean to kvell-mo;

But Elmo here can write his name

And soon he’ll learn to spell-mo!

 

Luckily, no one heard me.  (This time). 

Please send help.

 

Does this toddler clash with my tank top?

I've been eagerly awaiting the May 21^st issue of Time magazine ever since I caught a glimpse of its über provocative, somewhat creepy cover.  If you’ve seen it, then you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about: on it is a 26 year old woman breastfeeding her nearly four year old son.  

The caption reads: ARE YOU MOM ENOUGH?  Why attachment parenting drives some mothers to extreme- and how Dr. Bill Sears became their guru.

Oi vey.  For starters, if this is a cover story about Dr. William Sears, then why are we looking at a attractive young woman in a tank top and skinny jeans nursing her standing toddler?  That question is strictly rhetorical, of course; obviously Time is going for sensationalism here, and from what I’ve been reading online, they’re definitely getting the reactions they were seeking.  (I do feel genuinely bad for the poor kid when he reaches puberty, though; kids can be brutal and this photo has blackmail written all over it.)

Okay, Time, I get it; you're trying to shock us.  And I admit it, I rubbernecked when I saw your cover.  But what is the big freaking deal about breastfeeding, and boobs in general, anyway?  Our culture is definitely a little breast obsessed, but isn't breastfeeding what the mam glands were intended for in the first place?  And why does Dr. Sears and his attachment parenting style make some people so edgy? 

Okay, so I’m letting the cat out of the bag: My name is Sarah, and I practice Attachment Parenting.  Dun-dun-DUN!!!!  

As I type this, my son is standing on his blue plastic Little Tike's chair, nursing.  We're also in our front yard.  Not really.  (Yes, really.)  No, just kidding.

Seriously, though, why do they have to make us all out to be a bunch of fanatical nuts?  I was hoping Kate Pickert’s article wouldn’t be as biased as I suspected, but with a cover like that, I didn’t hold out too much hope.  And I wasn’t surprised when her piece painted Sears and his wife, Martha, in a rather unflattering light.

So what is Attachment Parenting anyways?  Basically, you are an attached parent if you practice most of the Seven B’s:

Birth Bonding 

Breastfeeding

Baby Wearing

Bedding close to baby 

Belief in the value of your baby's cries

Beware of Baby trainers 

Balance

If you go to Sears' website you'll discover that a lot of us do these things anyway.  The truth is, I was practicing Attachment Parenting (to the horror of most women I encounter who gave birth to their children in the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s) before I even knew what it was!  My sister gave me her copy of The Breastfeeding Book shortly after my son was born.  Being a first time mother I was all at once exhausted, deliriously happy, hormonal, and hopelessly in love with my baby.  I had no idea what was going to happen regarding childcare after my maternity leave ran out, and that was a real source of distress.  In a nutshell, this was a tremendously joyful time in my life, but it wasn’t without its little challenges.

What I mainly found in Dr. Sears’ words were support and encouragement.  Much to my amazement, he validated just about everything my intuition was already guiding me to do.  He was a cheerleader of sorts, urging me to follow my gut instincts and to unapologetically focus my attention on my baby.  This period in my life would be fleeting and breathtakingly short lived; and Sears was giving me permission to fully embrace it.

This might sound really obvious, but I don’t think that it is.  I think a lot of new mothers are on the receiving end of a lot of unsolicited, opinionated (albeit well meaning) advice.  Advice from family, friends, books, the media, coworkers, neighbors, old women at Stop and Shop; it doesn’t matter who; when you’re that tired and hormonal, innocent, harmless seeming little comments can really seep under your skin.  I often have a genial, quiet temperament, but I have a natural aversion to advice.  I think a lot of it stinks and I resent having to smell it.  (I have a very sensitive nose).

Even the people who care about us the most can get a little opinionated.  One afternoon I mentioned to my mom something I’d read in a Dr. Sears book, namely, “no woman ever looks back and wishes that she held her newborn baby less.”  I thought it was a nice concept, and very true.  Now, my mother loves me and my child more than words can say, and even so, what was her immediate response?  “Well, holding him too much will make him spoiled…”

Did I mention that William was less than one month old at the time?  And that we both knew I'd be leaving to go to work full time when he was three months old?  In her defense, she is from another generation, and although she's worked hard her entire life, she didn't have to work outside the home when her babies were infants.  I don't think any of the women in my family did.  Of course, it was a different time back then, with a very dissimilar economy, and one income households were more the norm.  Maybe that's why a lot of them can't grasp the concept of my not really needing a "break" from William; if anything, I'd like more time with him!  I'm not sure they understand.  

I want to stress: I have a super loving family, and a completely hands on, supportive husband.  And even so, I've adopted many tips from Dr. Sears which have helped me immensely.  During my maternity leave, I snuggled my baby every chance I got.  If he fell asleep in my arms, I didn’t concern myself with trying to get him into his bassinet so I could cook dinner or empty the dishwasher or do a quick load of laundry, as many people suggested I should.  I brushed off all household duties, in fact, and decided that my only job for that short period of time was to nurse and get to know my baby.  Do I regret that, as I schlep my kiester to and from work every day, 15 months later?  Absolutely not.

Honestly, I don’t find Sears’ theories too radical.  (Okay, perhaps attempting to breastfeed a baby in a moving car is a little wacky tobaccy, and you won’t find me doing that anytime soon.)  But I do not in any way consider him a misogynist, and I am saying this as a lifelong feminist.  

Can I just repeat that?  I am a lifelong feminist!  And do I think Sears is a chauvinist pig because he urges me to embrace and celebrate my maternal instincts?  No, I do not.  If anything, he has empowered me!  He reveres the power and natural strength of the female when it comes to parenting.  I’ve even found his advice has helped me balance my life as a working mother.  (And incidentally, do I think the brick wall that I’ve smacked up against while trying to merge my life in Corporate America with my newfound motherhood stinks of misogyny?  Yes, yes I do.  But that's a post for another day.)

And I digress.  I am an Attached Parent, but I certainly don’t think I’m a fanatic or doing anything too out there.  I didn't really use a baby carrier until recently, mainly because the Infantino one I picked out was too difficult for me to use without someone else's help.  (I now have the Beco Gemini carrier and it's great, and a nice option when the stroller/wagon/little push car isn't an option.)  I did breastfeed exclusively, and pumped until W was over a year old, but not because Dr. Sears told me to; because I wanted to.  I listen to my baby when he cries, and I don’t worry that he’s trying to manipulate me.  I trust my instincts and feel wary of any potentially shiteous advice I may receive.  People don’t seem to like that.  (Tough tacos!)  I co-sleep with my child, although this is something I never in a million years thought I'd do; but in the end it works for us, and when it boils right down to it, I love it.  That makes some people uncomfortable.  (Oh well!)  We chose not to follow the Dr. Ferber method of letting William cry it out, though this method has been effective for most of my family and friends.  I don't judge them, but a lot of them think I'm a wacko for not doing it.  My son is fifteen months old and drinks cow’s milk now, but I still nurse him, mostly at night and when I'm home on the weekends.  People might think that’s weird.  Do I give a rat’s A?  Nope.  And does that mean I’m going to be nursing him when he’s three years old?  Uh, no, it does not.  

It begs the question, do most Attached Parents look like Hubby and me, or is Jamie Lynne Grumet, the young woman on the cover of Time, who was breastfed by her own mother until she was six years old, the majority?  Why didn’t Time interview any more moderate Attached Parents, like myself and Hubby?  The tenets of Attachment Parenting have in no way put undue pressure upon me, hurt my self-esteem or made me feel less than, as the article suggests.  My childhood experience was loving and pretty wonderful; not traumatic, as Ms. Pickert also suggests.  I have taken the empowering, pro-female intuition theories of Dr. Sears and I have run with them.  But I'm not driving myself crazy with it.

Everyone's parenting style is their own personal business.  Early on, W's pediatrician offered some sage advice: do what works for you and your family, and when it stops working, recalibrate and find a different way.  Keep doing what feels right, and more importantly, what works.  That advice has stuck with me.

I think in the end, all of us- working moms, stay at home moms, attached moms- feel like crap sometimes.  Articles like the one in Time feed off of this, and our natural vulnerabilities.  They know as females we’re already prone to being divided amongst one another, by comparing our choices with those our peers may or may not be making.  But at the end of the day, we’re all alike in the fact that we love our children mightily and most of us are just doing the best that we possibly can.  

In closing, my name is Sarah, and although I do hate to be typecast, I suppose Hubby and I would fall under the category of Attached Parents.  This was our decision, and for me it was a natural one.  I most likely would have made the same choices had I never heard of Dr. Sears.  Judge me if you like, I'm getting pretty good at not minding.  xoxo

I will cut you

I was chatting with my friend Gregg yesterday when an acquaintance interrupted and asked me, "So, did I hear you're adding a sibling to your family?"

What, what, WHAT, now?!?!

So stunned and perturbed was I by her invasive inquiry that I instinctively responded with an equally awkward statement of my own: "I would really love to be pregnant right now, but we just don't have the money."

Bam!  Take that, lady!  Haha!  Winning!

But then to add insult to injury, the hag threw me a curve ball, a one two sucker punch, a real kick to the balls: "You liked being pregnant the first time; the second time is more of a job than something you enjoy."

Oh.  Well, thanks so much for clearing that up for me!  I'm really grateful you interrupted my conversation to embarrass me and then inform me of something that is completely none of your freaking beeswax to begin with!  Hooray for unsolicited negative advice!  Yes!  Yes!  YES!

Of course, instead of saying all that, I responded by giving her a swift scissor kick to the neck.  (Not really.  But you know I wanted to.)

Note to people everywhere: stop asking women if they are with child!  Forgive me if I'm being redundant; for I feel as if I've already written this a thousand times, my being a quasi-professional at artfully fielding questions regarding my reproductive organs.  But seriously, it's a very loaded, potentially hurtful thing to ask someone, and more importantly: you may be opening yourself up to physical attack.

Hi-YA!  (I have just administered a kung fu chop to the ribs.  See what can happen to you if you have diarrhea of the mouth?)

Not for nuthin', but I was wearing a really cute dress that day, too.  Nary a hint of muffin top.  Rude betch. 

Raining cats and dogs

It's been raining a lot here in Boston; the other evening I grabbed an umbrella, slipped on my polka dotted rain boots, strapped on the Beco baby carrier and took my sweet baby boy out for a walk in the rain.

I've never minded the rain, especially when there is no chance of my feet getting wet.  Prince William seems to like it, too.   We strolled around and spotted a lone bird perched on a fence, enjoying the rainshower. We also saw a neighbor's cat, black and white with striking green eyes, taking shelter from the rain underneath a bush with pink flowers.  We exchanged meows. There weren't many cars out on the road, but whenever someone would pass us, they'd smile or wave.  We must've looked like quite the sight, a woman out in the pouring rain with a baby strapped to her chest, waving at cats and birds.

William liked it when I splashed in the puddles.  He also wanted to hold the umbrella, of course.

When I got home from work tonight, the air was so deliciously mild that I knew we needed to go on another adventure walk.  I snuggled my baby close to me and together we saw a gazillion birds...two dogs...seven plastic owls...one wild bunny (we are so not in Dorchester anymore)...one gray cat...and again we saw the black and white cat who, if I were to be completely honest with myself, I suppose I've been kinda sorta stalking.  It's just, her looks and demeanor remind me so much of my late great Kittie with an 'ie', I can't help but seek her out on these little excursions. Tonight, when she came over and allowed me to scratch her head, I definitely questioned whether or not my Kittie's soul was somehow blending with hers, saying hello.  (Okay, so I've done a little research on the subject, and plenty of people in the know believe that the spirits of animals sometimes choose to hang around their humans after they've passed, or will somehow find a way to pay them a visit.)

Oh yes...I've gone there, girlfriend.  I've officially graduated from Crazy Cat Lady to Crazy Cat Lady Who Talks To Cats That Aren't Even Hers (in the hopes that the disembodied entity of her late feline pal will come through).

Because hey, you never know!

Hi, Mama...I wrote you a poem.

It's my second Mother's Day being a mother, and as I pushed my child in his stroller yesterday, these words floated into my head...

 

My mother...Aquarius, deep, thoughtful, silly, hard working...

Loves her children and grandchildren fiercely

*

She works too hard

and

worries too much

for the ones that she loves

and the prayers she prays are tangible.

I feel them wrap around me

in times of need

*

I tell her my fears, my disappointments, the things that make me sad.

I know she desperately wants to fix them, and we both know that she can't.

But I wonder if she realizes that by simply

hearing me

and allowing me to express them

She somehow makes them diminish

*

My mother held my newborn son in her arms

And as I listened and watched them together

I learned how to talk to him

*

My mother fosters our connection daily

And if there ever was a time when we didn't speak every day

Then I can't remember it

*

I share with her my dreams, my hopes, my fragile wishes

And she keeps them safe for me

And waters them when I forget to

*

Our connection surpasses this world

(She knows that I chose her long before we ever "met")

She would probably want to remind me that she's human, has flaws and makes mistakes

But this woman who raised me, and loves me when I am wretched and unlovable 

is

and has been

the perfect mother...

(For me)

 

 

I love you, mommy...always and forever...

xoxo

Get me a ladder! I'm getting up on my soapbox, betches

I am not a lesbian, but I play one on TV.  (Not really; but I did play a lesbian Kosher caterer once in Falsettoland!  And I did have two sorta promising callbacks to play Maureen in a US tour of Rent in the early 00's!) 

And I digress.  No, I am not a lesbian, but I may as well be, since I have always gotten extremely riled up when it comes to the subject of homophobia.  I don't brake for it.  Rather, I suppose I revv up the gas pedal, figuratively speaking.  (I rarely drive.)  This morning I had the unfortunate experience of reading a rather silly but upsetting blog post by Bristol Palin in which she blasts President Obama's recent endorsement for gay Americans to marry. 

Bristol, Bristol, Bristol.  Who is influencing you, girlfriend?  Do you need a mentor or something?  For starters, why on earth would you include that bit about a child needing to be raised in a home with both a mother and a father, when everyone knows your baby daddy wrote a tell all book trashing your mother?  You make yourself an easy target, Miss Palin.

While I agree with her valid point that a woman politician is most certainly subject to certain invasive questions that a male candidate would never be asked, that's where any agreement with her ends. 

She chides Obama for taking into condsideration his daughter's opinions on this civil rights matter, and even goes so far as to say it's a good thing Malia and Sasha aren't younger, because then Dora the Explorer might be appointed the next Attorney General.  She even makes the odd suggestion that Malia and Sasha's tolerance for homosexuality is somehow derived from watching one too many episodes of Glee! 

I wonder if she realizes just how careless, insulting and polarizing that statement actually is.

It is easy to deride the musings emanating from what appears to be a very young, very misguided soul.  This is a free country and everyone has the right to express their opinions, no matter how backward they may be.  But if Ms. Palin is ripping on President Obama for allowing the unbiased views of his children and wife to soften his own long held predjudices regarding a severely outdated public policy...how is that any different from Americans being forced to endure that very same public policy based purely on the biased, very personal opinions of some of the American public? 

(I realize that is a run-on sentence.  But I'm pissed off, okay!?)

How are parents expected to answer their children when asked why can't gay people aren't allowed to get married?  Are we to shrug and say, Well, honey, because it's against the law...

But why is it against the law? 

Because some people don't like the idea of it.  They feel it's wrong and it goes against their religion.  And gay people have to respect that. 

To hell if I'm ever going to utter those words to my child!  This shouldn't be a political issue, this should be a non-issue.  Marriage is a basic human right, and I personally feel very nervous for anyone who has fought in their lifetime to barr someone from it.  Karma is a betch, people. 

Homophobia didn't make sense to me when I was a little kid, and it doesn't make any more sense to me now that I'm an adult.  It seems to me that children are often wiser than adults; somehow their souls are more open, they are closer to God.  It doesn't surprise me that Malia and Sasha influenced their father on this important issue.  I know I learn something from my son every day, and he can barely even talk.

Cheers to you, Prez Obama, for allowing your heart to evolve.  Way to go.  Bristol, maybe one day you'll be able to say the same for yourself.  When you know better, you do better, and I hope someday you allow someone to open your heart and your mind. 

They call me the seeker...

It was 3:45 am this morning when I heard what sounded to me like a computerized female voice whisper the name...

Charles Doe.

Say whaaaat??!!

Had I been dreaming?  Several scenarios instantly ran through my groggy and slightly terrified brain.  Is one of my spirit guides attempting to communicate with me?  And are they using a computery voice so I won't be as afraid?  Who the heck is Charles Doe?  Or did she mean Dill?  Charles Dill?

Yes, maybe the name I heard was Charles Dill.  And incidentally, we are out of dill in our spice rack.

Suddenly, the fact that my upstairs neighbor leaves for work at 4:00 am and slams the door behind him becomes a sort of comfort.  At least someone else is awake with me right now besides Charles Dill.

As I mentioned yesterday, I've been rereading my copy of Infinite Quest by the medium John Edward.  No, I am not trying to learn how to make contact with the deceased.  I'm way too chicken for that.  But I've been having a number of intuitive "Aha" moments lately and I feel it's time for me to get more serious about developing my intuition. 

I've been interested in this kind of stuff for as long as I can remember.  Even as a very young child, I can remember trying to coerce the cake topper from my Christening cake (a groovy 1970's style Jesus, complete with mustache and beard) to come to life.  This lofty idea dawned on me after watching the movie "The juggler of Notre Dame," in which a statue of the Blessed Mother comes to life and throws a rose to said juggler.

My JC cake topper did not come to life.  Maybe I wasn't holy enough.  (But two nights ago, I did have a lovely dream about my two grandmothers in which an ivory statue of the Blessed Mother moved her arms!  Does that count?)

In the years that followed the JC incident, I was drawn to Astrology, the Tarot, and started doing birth charts, all the while keeping a strong connection with God.  I never really felt any of these pursuits pushed me away from Him; on the contray, I realize now that if anything, I was probably just trying to bring myself closer to Him.  (Granted, in the beginning I was purchasing 99 cent horoscope scrolls and visiting seedy palm readers at Hampton Beach, but you get my drift.  I was searching for something, something deeper.)

I've always suspected this world is more magical and mystical than we are often led to believe, and I never needed much convincing when it came to concepts labeled metaphysical or "out there."  I just had a natural inclination for them and an inherent sort of understanding.  I now know that this is because in Numerology, my life path number is 11.  (And if Hubby is reading this, he just rolled his eyes.  His life path number is a 3, not that he gives a rat's A.)

While I'm on the subject of my handsome Scorpio, I find it hilarious that as interested as I am in all of this, Hubby has no interest whatsoever.  It's not that he doesn't believe, he tells me, but he is simply not interested in discussing it.  He likens it to him rattling off details about batting averages in baseball or programming for video games; I am not fascinated by that.  And ironically, that's how my soulmate feels about this kind of stuff.  Or at least this is what he has led me to believe (wink, wink).

It is at this point that I am usually compelled to ask, "So what you're saying is...you don't believe we've had a past life together, or that we chose to be together before we incarnated?"

Tee hee.  Can't blame a girl for trying.  I figure I am probably interested in it enough for the both of us.

And I digress.  On my way into work, I did an internet search for Charles Doe and came up with a few different people.  One of them was an Olympic Rugby player in the 1920's.  Another was a stern looking, bearded NH laywer from the 1800's.  Hmmm.

Charles?  Charles?  Are you out there?  Am I supposed to take up Rugby or something?  Was I meant to practice law?  (Or perhaps address my facial hair?)

 

 

Notes from the author:

a). If you would please read that last sentence in a Boston accent it will be much funnier.

b). I am in no way mocking the computerized female voice I heard in the wee hours of the morn.  I am merely making light of it so it won't feel as creepy crawly.  Because we all know I will be peeing my pajamas and whispering fervent prayers to The Holy Spirit when it comes time to go to bed tonight.

xoxo

An energenic defense

The other day, as I was casually voicing some genuine yet admittedly far-fetched concern, my dad told me to stop worrying so much. “You’re such a fretter, Sarah!”  Incidentally, I love how he says this as if he had no hand in making me the so-called fretter that I am today.  But alas, I’m 33 years old and I believe the statute of limitations has expired on being able to blame my parents for my various neuroses.  (Damn! That was such an irresistible, easy go-to during my teens and twenties!  I'm a little sad to see it go.)

Lately I've been thinking alot about energy and how it affects us.  I’ve always been a person who feels things deeply, to the point of being a little too sensitive at times.  (Thanks, Dad!  Woops, I slipped.  Won't let it happen again).  When I would find myself haunted by an image I’d see on television, or a particularly upsetting newspaper article or film, I guess I always figured something was wrong with me for feeling so disturbed by it.  I realize now that there isn’t anything wrong with being empathetic, but I do need to protect myself from being blindsided by negative or toxic energy.

How to do this? Some suggest prayer, visualizing oneself surrounded in white light, meditation, or breathing.  I recently watched a video clip of Eckhart Tolle saying that taking even two mindful breaths can be a very effective tool for centering oneself. 

I was on Facebook the other day when I noticed a friend was discussing this very topic, wondering when her caring attitude would start being less of a burden and more of a blessing.  I think it's an issue a lot of us grapple with, especially females.

As I get older, I realize I need to be much more selective regarding how I allow my energy to be altered and spent.  Motherhood has only reinforced this belief, seeing as the time I get to spend with my little one is so precious to me that I don’t want any external noise or unconscious stress to negatively season it. 

In a nutshell, I’m sensitive.  And there is nothing wrong with being sensitive; in fact, I think embracing my feelings makes me a stronger person.  But I need to manage my sensitivity better, and I'd like to shelter myself from the daily annoyances that tax my soul.  I owe it to my son, to Hubby, and to myself.  And I don’t believe I’m being selfish by saying this.

The medium John Edward talks about this in his fascinating book, Infinite Quest.  He mentions that we take preventative measures every day to avoid pain or conflict: we wear a seat belt when driving, take vitamins, buy car and home insurance, floss, get flu shots.  Why not practice the same kind of precaution when it comes to dealing with our emotional energy?  He refers to it as psychic self-defense, and I think he makes a really interesting point.  He offers a number of different visualization exercises, a regimen of sorts for shielding oneself from negative influences; which could be anything from a crowded subway car to a person with a draining personality.  (Smelly energy, he calls it at one point, a phrasing I find totally delightful.)

It might be easier said than done, and definitely requires a certain commitment, but I am genuinely trying to be more conscious of what and who I focus my energy on these days.  Life is beautiful, and way too short to be a basketcase.  xoxo

An Owly Addendum

A little follow up on my recent post on animal guides, and my uneducated yet earnest hunch that mine may or may not be a bird...

Believe it or not, the other day we stumbled upon a house in our neighborhood with seven plastic owls in the front yard.  Seven owls, staring us right in the face!  The baby went ballistic.  So many birds!  Now, another person may not consider this striking choice in lawn decor to be overly remarkable, but I tend to take note of synchronicities such as this.  I find it adds a bit of bedazzle to the average day.  In any case, these enchanting plastic birds certainly got me to wondering...is someone trying to tell me something?  And if so...

WHO?  (Intentional pun there.  Sorry.)

My friend Marissa's sister is in possession of a cd which takes the listener on a guided journey to locate one's animal guide.  She's going to let me borrow it.  I might be just a teensy bit nervous.

Lastly, it was brought to my attention that I may have taken a bit of creative liberty the other day when I quoted Hubby as saying owls are hot this season.  His exact phrasing was more along the lines of owls are trendy right now.  Just wanted to clear that up.  My husband doesn't find owls hot.  He may or may not find girls with owls eyes hot, however.  (Or at least I hope that he does.)

xoxo