No words.

May 15, 2013 5 Comments

Reunited
I’ve been trying to write this post for three days and I still find myself sitting here with my mouth open and the words stuck in my throat.

Sunday night was the big Listen To Your Mother show and it was magic and empowering and has changed everything for me in so many ways. But I can’t even begin to process it because something else happened Sunday night that has me kind of reeling. And emotional. And giddily happy. And then scared silly. And then weeping with joy.

My youngest sister Dee flew in to watch me perform. She didn’t tell me, we hadn’t even talked on the phone in ages, and she wasn’t even sure if she was going to surprise me at all or just leave after the show – she was that unsure of what to expect from me. That last time I saw this woman she was ten years old. She got married nearly a year ago and I wasn’t there. I wanted to be. Desperately. But I knew that fractured family relationships would bring disaster on a day that she deserved to have for herself. So I put my dreams for her back in the spot in my heart where they’ve been locked for all these years. Hoping that a day would come when we could be together without the web of family dynamics.

love
She called my name as I was walking across the theater lobby and I couldn’t quite believe my eyes. She was crying, I was crying, my friend Sarah was snapping pictures while crying. I immediately made her and her husband Chris come back to my house where we stayed up until 4 am talking and crying and eating and then after a little more time on Monday they were back on a plane and I’ve been walking around in a stupor ever since.

When I ended my relationship with my parents, it was the wisest and hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it carried heartbreaking consequences for my relationships with my siblings. I have two sisters I don’t talk to, both for different variations of the same problem – repeating destructive patterns in our relationships that were set up for us by our parents. I wish nothing but every life’s happiness for them, but I am unconvinced that that includes each other. We all see our upbringings very differently and after years of sad experience I don’t think it’s possible for me to have a relationship with a sibling that denies my truth. I am rarely upfront about the pain I feel, I usually mask it under black humor and defiance, but this discovery was made at a cost so dear I didn’t think I could bear it. Some days I still don’t. I have to be careful what movies I watch or music I listen to because anything that reminds me of my siblings will send me into the dark place for weeks. This also means that I have kept the two siblings I do talk to at a distance. I am the only one who doesn’t have a relationship with my parents and after years of heartbreak so intense there are no words for it, I am wary and scared that all the hard work of healing I’ve done will be undone by getting too close to people who don’t see what I see. Not that I expect everyone to accept my way or no way, it’s just that for the sake of my emotional health I at least need people to let me have my own experience and not rewrite it into what they need.

Dee and Atti

Dee called me out on some of the ways I haven’t tried enough with her. And she was right. Because it is so so much harder to have hope than to just close the door and lock it. And she wasn’t quite right, because for most of her life she was too young to deal with this stuff. She was dependent on my parents and siblings and my own stuff would have been completely inappropriate to dump on her. Plus, I desperately wanted to believe she would never need to. That somehow it would have all magically gone over her head and I could pay the sacrifice of giving her up to keep her from ever feeling it. But I see now that I wasn’t giving her enough credit. She’s 24 now, not the 10 year old still living in my heart.

I think the thing that was the most surprising to me in all of this was her reaction to me. She was so happy and so emotional and something as simple as me inviting her back to my house meant so much to her, it all made me realize I had no comprehension of what I meant to her. I’ve seen myself from afar, loving that little girl I helped raise like she was my own, tortured by the loss of her in my life, and I never once considered that she felt that way about me. I was going off of the experiences I’d had with my other siblings and I never suspected that she would miss me like I have missed her. And I don’t think she had any comprehension of how much I did. By climbing on that airplane she was taking a big vulnerable leap into the unknown and hoping that she wouldn’t be rejected. At first I was shocked she would feel that way, and then I thought, of course she did. Why don’t I pick up the phone to call her? For the same reason. Only I let it stop me.

When you see these feel good stories of friends and families reunited, they always stop at the hug. And there’s a reason for that. What comes next is pretty terrifying. We both have a lot of work ahead of us to forge a relationship that is free from the reins of family dynamics and is one that serves us both. We have a lot of time to make up for and a lot of assumptions to unlearn. But I feel so hopeful this time around. Any of the other times I’ve been here I haven’t felt matched. It always felt great, but dangerously one-sided, and sure enough, it was only a matter of time before the patched plaster cracked and the fractures returned. This time, I think it might actually stick.

 

 

Filed Under: Are you kidding me?, Mushy Love Stuff, The Good Life

Hulk Smash

May 7, 2013 3 Comments

Food Coloring Monster

When people feel sorry for me and Atticus over the fact that he can’t walk, I always scoff at them and make inappropriate jokes about how awesome it is to have a kid that stays where we put him. It’s my dark humor helping me cope once again, while recognizing that it is actually kind of great to not have to babyproof and worry about messes and deal with injuries caused by playing too hard.

Those days are officially behind us.

We’ve now had an ER trip for one head bonk and had to cope with another one when he fell off the stair he was playing on, the other day I walked in to find him throwing all his bath toys in the toilet, and now he has gotten into Bear’s baking cabinet, found the giant bottle of green food coloring, and decorated his whole self with it.

And of course, OF COURSE, this sudden burst of precociousness would occur while I am parenting him on my own. Of course he would save up all his mischievousness and mobility for the moment it would drive me the absolute craziest. He’s a wily little sucker.

So on the food coloring day, I did my best not to eat my young, remembered my sense of humor and stopped to take pictures, and then calmly tossed him in the bathtub. The second his toes touched the water a cloud of green rose around him, so I took out his favorite foam letter bath toys so they wouldn’t get stained, throwing them in the toy basket we keep next to the tub. I scrubbed his face and I scrubbed his hands and left him to soak while I saw to the kitchen and my newly verdant tile.

By the time I came back to check on him, my little monster was doing a handstand with his naked booty in the air, balancing his legs on the tub while holding his whole body up with one arm while he used the other to reach for his bath toys and bring them into the water one by one.

Part of me wanted to shake him, and part of me wanted to collapse in awe at the physical feat he was performing.

That’s what I try to remind myself whenever his precociousness makes me bonkers. When he talks back in ways so clever I can’t help but laugh, when he finds brilliant little ways to problem solve around my discipline, when he manages to use his body in ways his therapists and I would never have believed possible to get into something he knows he shouldn’t, I swallow that impulse to scream, I take a deep breath, and I tell myself that this is what is going to get him the life he wants. He might have cerebral palsy, but it doesn’t have him.

If he can make it to adulthood without me killing him, he’s going to be able to do whatever he wants.

Filed Under: 'dis Ability, Are you kidding me?, Atticus, mama musings, The Good Life

Speaking my needs

May 2, 2013 2 Comments

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Sunday was our most recent rehearsal for the upcoming Listen To Your Mother show, and I am relishing every moment of my involvement with these women. They are such a joy. After our run through, a bunch of us walked up the block for gourmet pizza and I ordered two meals like a glutton just so I could have leftovers. I love this place.

We were walking back to our cars, me in my signature high heels, arms loaded down with leftover boxes and eyes focused on reading a pamphlet about a local historical restoration project, when I looked up just in time to see I was walking into a tree. So I stepped to the side, right into a pothole. My heel wobbled, time slowed, and I saw that I was not going to be able to recover. My arms full and unavailable for catching myself, my subconscious lizard brain took over and without even realizing what I was saying, I heard my voice go, “Somebody save me!”

I still laugh hysterically when I think what I must have looked like to everyone else, holding my pizza box and flailing around, screaming for help. But Sarah just took one step forward, opened her arms, and kept me from breaking my face open on the pavement. She ended what could have been a disastrous fall with a hug.

Since then I’ve been thinking about my reaction. “Somebody save me.” From deep within my subconscious, so deep it passed the more common sense thought of just dropping the pizza boxes or not walking into trees, that expression welled up in time for someone else to act on it. It is a classic example of speaking your needs – spelling out exactly what I need from someone and trusting that they will act on that. In this case, I needed someone to protect my teeth from the approaching concrete, and that need was met with gusto.

Tuesday night I had another such moment. Solo parenting this time around has been ROUGH on me. Atti has chosen this week to suddenly get very precocious – more on that another day – and all of a sudden I have to monitor him and play with him and supervise him every second. He’s decided that with dad out of the house, he’s going to make up for his missed toddler years. I’ve been struggling and failing to meet the smallest of requirements of my usual days and when my sewing machine broke it was the last straw. I called Bear in tears, gasping for breath, and told him I needed more help.

And once I spoke my needs, they were met. He came home yesterday early, we mapped out a plan for how to arrange his schedule to better support me, we called in some friends to help, today I’m taking Atti up to Placerville so we can be tourists and see our new place, and tomorrow I’m cashing in a gift certificate I’ve had for ages and getting a massage.

It’s taken a lot of years and a lot of therapy to be comfortable with the vulnerability it requires to lay it all out there like that and be so naked about what I need. But it’s a skill I treasure. It has saved my sanity, and my skull.

Filed Under: Are you kidding me?, mama musings, The Good Life

Single Parents, I Salute You

April 26, 2013 3 Comments

I’m now completing my fourth week with Bear working out of town, and I am weary. He’s come home three out of the four weekends and one night a week, but it hasn’t even made a dent in my energy deficit. Seriously, how are you people doing this??

Because I am not a total self-absorbed jerk, whenever I describe this challenge I refer to it as “solo parenting.” Because even as I struggle, I recognize it’s totally not the same thing as being a single parent. I don’t have to worry about how the rent is getting paid, I have a light at the end of the tunnel, and I have those wonderful weekends where I get to lock myself in my studio and have some quiet. Plus I have the easiest kid in the world. Any parent who is raising kids by themselves would laugh at me like a chump if they could be a fly on my walls.

Well, I suppose there was the minor thing of a surgery, an IEP, two specialist appointments, and three school visits to meet with therapists, but still. Other than that.

So today I just want to say, single parents? I’m proud of you. You’re doing a great job.

Filed Under: 'dis Ability, Are you kidding me?, mama musings, The Good Life

Whether or not to be “That Mom”

April 22, 2013 5 Comments

Atti thinking

Atti had another IEP last week, and normally these things aren’t so bad for me. His teachers and school staff love him and I almost always leave feeling heard and supported and confident that my child is loved. Which is a pretty massive gift for any mom, let alone a special needs mom. I am always aware of how good I have it on that front.

But this one was a doozy. He’s about to go into Kindergarten. Which means that there are different measures that have to be applied for his goals. Which meant a pretty uncomfortable conversation.

For starters, Atti still doesn’t talk a lot. In fact, he talks so rarely that I’m tempted to say he’s approaching selective mutism. But a diagnosis for that is going to be rough, considering how many other variables we’re dealing with.

In children this young, the way they’re intellectually evaluated is mainly by tasks that require physical ability – handing over certain objects, pointing to objects, etc. – and in a kid that is physically impaired, it can be tough to evaluate. So then they go for verbal ability – answering questions, having a conversation, demonstrating comprehension. But if your child is verbally impaired, it’s even tougher. There are also some cues for visual ability – what they’re looking at and responding to – but if your child is also visually impaired, the whole thing is one big guessing game.

Which is where Atti falls in these evaluations. He can’t be counted on to respond with physical ability, he can’t be counted on to respond with verbal ability, and he also can’t be counted on to respond with visual ability. Tapping into that little brain of his is a big mystery.

I explain all of this because as I talk about the school psychologists reaction, I don’t want to paint him as a villain. His job is to remain impartial. He doesn’t spend all day every day with these kids. He has to go with what he sees on the test because he has to be clinical, and because no matter what is going on in Atti’s head, if he can’t do these things when asked, school is always going to be a challenge for him.

But his reaction hurt. If the tests are to be believed, Atti would be profoundly mentally retarded. Which I think anyone reading this blog for any length of time would know is totally not true. My child has known his alphabet since he was 18 months old, has been saying it backwards from 2, and has been reading since 4. And yet on the test? He wouldn’t even reliably say his ABC’s.

The school psychologist, in as gentle and reasonable way as he could, suggested it might be time to revise my expectations. That instead of college, I should be focused on the giving Atti the ability to make change for a dollar.

Every parent, whatever the needs of their child might be, eventually comes up to the point where they have to revise their expectations. Not every child can be a professional athlete, or go to Harvard, or be the President. Letting go of that is part of the work of parenting. But every parent also has to be their child’s advocate. They have to be the ones to push and fight and clear the path ahead of their child until they’re ready to do it on their own. Sometimes that means having faith in your child when no one else does. Sometimes that means sticking it to the man and hiring a lawyer and drafting laws like so many of the moms of kids with disabilities before me. Those moms are never far from my thoughts. My road would look very very different without them.

But because so much of the hardest work has been done for me, I always wrestle with what is left. Those mom’s have made it so that I have the legal right to get Atti every possible educational opportunity. But just because the opportunities are there doesn’t mean they’re right. I could hire a lawyer and sit in front of a judge and force the school to put Atti in a typical kindergarten classroom, where he might be so left behind by the pace of what they’re teaching that he’ll give up on school altogether. Or maybe he’ll see all the other kids communicating in full sentences and having conversations and using the toilet, that he’ll decide that’s what he wants too.

Maybe by pushing him I’ll be a Tiger Mom and get fantastic results, or maybe I’m the Toddlers and Tiaras mom who thinks their child is the most perfect bit of creation when the rest of the world just sees a booger eater. Maybe I’ll be the best mother in the world and teachers will marvel at what we’ve been able to accomplish together, and maybe I’ll be “THAT mom.” The one that teachers cross their fingers they won’t have to deal with because I’m demanding and delusional.

By the end of the meeting we came to a good resolution. A lot of school districts have “LD” programs for kids with learning disabilities. This will put Atti in a class with kids who talk, it will give him a focus on academics instead of just life skills like making change, but it will be far more flexible than a typical classroom. I think we reached the appropriate solution. But I also know that my child is not intellectually disabled and I won’t let anyone tell him that he is. If it means being “THAT mom,” then I’ll have to wear that label with pride.

Filed Under: 'dis Ability, Are you kidding me?, mama musings

Lemonade out of Lemons

April 15, 2013 2 Comments

Last week and this week have been – and continue to be – challenging in a way that makes me accept every scrap of pity people send my way as the mom of a child with a disability. Bear has already started work in his new building, which is an hour and 45 minutes away. Which means that he comes home one evening during the week, then on the weekend, and the rest of the time he’s in a hotel while I solo parent it.

Of course this would coincide with two weeks stuffed with appointments. Every day last week, and multiple appointments every day this week, including another surgery on his little boy parts. I often say that nobody doles out motherhood medals, but this week? I’ve freaking earned one.

Last Thursday Atti had an appointment with a pediatric neurologist. We’ve been waiting for this appointment for months, and once he visits we’ll start working on scheduling the big surgery that will change everything for him. This was a very big deal, and, of course, an hour and a half away from home.

I planned ahead the night before and imagined Atti and I leaving before the bus to school was even scheduled to arrive, me armed with a change of clothes and snacks and diapers and drinks, driving through the gorgeous Altamont pass and enjoying the view of the verdant rolling hills.

Of course, that’s never how these things go. After a very early wakeup call thanks to Bear leaving his phone alarm on while he was in the shower, I spent the morning trying to get Atti moving, and myself moving, and Bear out the door for three days away, and before I knew it, I should have been on the road 15 minutes ago.

I shove Atti in the car and hit the road and after about 45 minutes of frantic driving trying to make up for lost time, I look down and realize my needle is on E.

I find a nearby gas station and as I’m pulling in I see lights in my rearview mirror. Another ticket. This time for expired registration. (Which is Bear’s job.) The officer was very sweet to me and let me pump my gas while she ran my plates, but I had pulled in funny, what with the cop behind me and all, and only the premium gas hose could reach my car. So I paid way too much for a few gallons of gas, since I couldn’t exactly start my car up and repark while the police officer was making sure I wasn’t a fugitive, accepted my ticket, and got back on the road.

With only a few minutes left of our journey the office calls. The doctor had to go into emergency surgery and had to cancel all of his appointments for the day.

So since the morning was such an epic failure, the rest of the day had to make up for it. We were in the Bay Area, the weather was beautiful, I was with my favorite little buddy, so we decided to cast off all other responsibilities and make this MAMA AND ATTI’S DAY OF FUN!

New toys
We went to a fancy toy store where Atti picked out some letters and I picked him out a tool kit…

New fabric
We went to a quilt shop where I picked out some fabric treasures, Atti got a sucker, and everyone in the store fell in love with him…

Splashing in the fountain
We played in a fountain we found in the center of town…

At the nursery
We picked out some flowers for the garden…

Reading
We went to the book store where Atti read his book while I got to read my own…

snuggle
And we finished the day off in our favorite way. Lots and lots of snuggles.

So a long drive, a ticket, a frantic morning, expensive gas, no doctor’s appointment…shrug. It was still the best day.

Filed Under: 'dis Ability, Are you kidding me?, Atticus, mama musings, The Good Life

Listen To Your Mother

April 10, 2013 3 Comments

Listen To Your Mother Read Through
Photo by Margaret Andrews of Nanny Goats in Panties

So much happened this weekend it’s going to take me the rest of the week to tell you about it. And it took half of this week even to wrap my head around it. It was everything I’ve been missing in my life all wrapped up in two neat little days of relief.

First, I have to try and describe what it was like to meet up with my new cohorts and do our first read-through for Listen To Your Mother. But that is a hard, hard, thing. How do you explain love at first sight?

Let me back up a ways.

Because of the activism work I do, I often find myself the object of a great deal of scorn. And worse. It’s a hard thing to try and describe but in this tiny tiny tiny little corner of the internet, I’m a public figure. It’s not a role I’m really even comfortable acknowledging because as someone who is also engaged in this mainstream world of blogging and writing and YouTube and trying to gain eyeballs, I am painfully aware that the corner of the world that cares about Mormon Feminism is miniscule. Laughably small. So so very tiny that it is pretty ridiculous anyone would think of me as public at all.

And yet, here we are. These issues are deeply felt, and activism for powerless or disenfranchised groups mean that any crumb of public attention matters a whole lot more than it would in any other group or situation. Which means that by being willing to engage with the press, I take a ton of shit. From every side. Mormons who think that I’m an apostate and go so far as to gather random comments I make across the internet to make the case for a church court. Secular feminists who think that a woman in a patriarchal religion is a beacon of internalized misogyny. Other Mormon feminists who think I’m megalomaniacal or representing things wrong or too aggressive or not aggressive enough.

There are people who monitor my every word. I wish I could say that was me being paranoid, but I’m currently paying the price for the truth of that statement. Around the internet there are whackjobs and bigots who are convinced I’m secretly trying to bring down the church with an elaborate conspiracy, but I usually find those people amusing. Locally there are people here in town who also monitor my facebook page and my blogging and report me to my ecclesiastical leaders. I find these people to be so vitriolic and attached to their own political principles over the teachings of the gospel that I think their apostasy court would be far easier to support than my own, but not according to my Bishop or Stake President.

I kept quiet about these things for a long time to try and repair the relationship and be discreet, but those efforts proved fruitless, and I’m now moving so…

For the last few years I haven’t been allowed to hold a calling, or speak without the stake president supervising, or teach a lesson, or even hold book club in my home without the bishop calling me into his office several times over my selection and then coming to chaperone the event. I still have a temple recommend because I’ve done nothing wrong and my conscience is clear, but nevertheless, I’m essentially being disfellowshipped for my actions. When I talked to the bishop about this he couldn’t name any problems and said that things would change, but they haven’t. I’ve lost friends I’ve had for years. People that I was there for in their own times of crisis have told me I should leave the church. But I keep at this because I believe it’s the right thing to do. And because I believe the true test of a Christian is how they treat the people who aren’t kind to them.

LTYM
Photo by Lisa Smiley of Lisa Smiley Photography

So with all that pressure, and all that emotional energy going out, I’m sure you can imagine that I’ve been feeling depleted. I think it’s shown in the blog here. My creative mojo has been gone, the words have not been coming. I am luckier than most in having many deep and true friends but I’ve been feeling a loss of community. Without my family in my life, I long for a group to understand me, to support me, to hear me.

And it was with that big aching need that I came to the Listen To Your Mother read through. As we sat around the table we poured out our most intimate feelings and experiences. Our emotion built on each reading, tears flowed, we laughed until we were sore, and we nodded and clutched our hearts and said, “me too.” Here was this roomful of funny, smart, passionate, present women, with vulnerable open hearts, and we filled each other up. In that one afternoon we did the work of years of friendship.

Margaret and Nichole thought they were selecting readers for a beautiful show, and that’s true too, but really, they were curating me a group of great friends.

Filed Under: Are you kidding me?, mama musings, Matters of Faith, The Good Life

Change is hard

April 2, 2013 Leave a Comment

We love our OT
We have had tremendous good fortune in Atti’s therapists and case workers and doctors. There have only been a couple of people that weren’t good fits, and everyone else has been the most dedicated, kind, supportive professionals I could ever dream of.

One of our most favorites is Atti’s Occupational Therapist, Margie. Atti fell in love with her from day 1, and now every time we drive to the school where he receives therapy he bounces in his seat and says “Let’s go see Margie.” His poor PT has had to put up with playing second fiddle as he fawns all over Margie, but she just shrugs her shoulders. She has to stretch him, Margie gets to play. It’s a role our PT is used to.

Margie is the person with the most childlike spirit I’ve ever known. Watching her play with Atticus, and sincerely enjoy it as much as he does, has completely changed my approach to parenting him. Playing silly games isn’t something I do until I can distract him with something else and get back to my day. Now it is my day. And I’m remembering how much fun it was as a kid to play pretend, and imagine, and explore.

Margie and Atti
Margie started her retirement last week, and so now we’ll be embarking on a new relationship with a new OT, and finding new ways to keep Margie in our lives. Because we’re not letting go of someone this special.

Filed Under: 'dis Ability, Are you kidding me?, Atticus, The Good Life

Cat out of the bag

March 29, 2013 5 Comments

Family Outing

Finally. FINALLY. I can talk about the big secret that’s been bottlenecking all my blogging mojo.

Bear has succeeded in bagging his white whale – he’s gotten his dream job. There is a long long sordid history of interest to no one but us, but this has been a journey that started before Atti was born, took a couple of unpleasant side trips, popped back up just before Christmas, and today is finally Bear’s first day at work. He’s still a hospital administrator, but now for a different company and what makes this his dream job over the other one is so inside I can barely even keep it straight myself so I won’t bore you all with it, but he is over the moon.

What this means for our family, besides a very happy husband, is still largely to be determined. The company basically liked Bear so much that they hired him without a building for him to run, so for now he’s just kind of … waiting. Hopefully it won’t be too long and we should find out more once he’s been there for more than a few hours, but as of right now he’s just helping out in another building while we wait to hear if we’ll be moving somewhere.

Rumors have led us to get all excited a few times, only for the rumors to not pan out, so I’m really really trying to be patient and just let things happen, but it is rough for me. I’m not exactly great at processing things privately, so having to sit on my hands and not share my angst as I wait to see where the heck I’m going to end up next year….how’s a girl supposed to cope?

Wherever we end up will bring us the chance to buy another house – maybe even build one this time. Maybe even get my dream farm. So I want to plan and scan real estate and go for long drives in the country, but I just don’t know what part of the country to go driving in. Well, probably Northern California, but it’s still kind of a big place. There’s a lot of roads.

We’ll definitely be in this house until the end of the school year, because there’s no way I’m giving up Atti’s teachers. But it looks like Atti will most likely start Kindergarten in a new place. Hopefully a new place that will see just how brilliant and stubborn and amazing he is like these teachers did. So until we hear different, we’re still stuck in limbo. But at least now it’s on the way to having all our dreams come true, and not waiting for the floor to drop out beneath us.

Filed Under: Are you kidding me?, Grand Schemes and Other Plans, My Dreamhouse in Progress, The Good Life

Normal is Overrated

March 5, 2013 1 Comment

I’m doing pretty great these days, shaking off the last of the gloom and breathing in the fresh air. I always struggle with blogging when I can’t be completely transparent, and right now there are some big things in my world that wouldn’t be prudent to discuss (no I’m not pregnant). Mostly great, one thing that’s a bummer, but mostly big awesome wonderful things it kills me to vague blog about. Soon, my friends, soon.

So I’m feeling kind of stymied. I don’t want to talk about my depression anymore, I can’t talk about what I’m thinking about, and I’m still trying to call my creative mojo back to me like a cat that has a taste of the wild. It’s days like today where the manic periods look so seductive.

I met my friend Regina for breakfast this morning, and as we discussed all of my many schemes and projects she laughed and shook her head at me as she said, “I’m always glad when I can get through the laundry.” I laughed and brought up how rarely my house is clean, but I’ve been thinking about her statement ever since. Part of what makes bipolar so hard is just living in the normal times. Normal is struggling to get through the laundry and keep everybody fed. But I still expect that ferocious energy and drive of mania to accompany me through my daily life. It’s like I’m counting on a bonus in my daily budget, and if that bonus doesn’t come through, I’m underwater.

So I’m breathing deep and practicing self care, and soon I’ll have my ship righted. To mangle a metaphor or two.

While these upcoming changes have me typing here with my tongue tied behind my back, I’ve been keeping up the work elsewhere. I write here about bipolar disorder, and here I keep up my liberal Mormon rabblerousing.

I think the news embargo will be lifted next week. The week after at the latest, so don’t worry about having to put up with too many more of my vague whining. Soon I’ll have all kinds of new and specific things to whine about.

Filed Under: Are you kidding me?, The Good Life
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