theproseccopalace

[theproseccopalace]

Herbs and Other Ways to Stay Occupied

This is day... hell I don’t even remember how long it’s been since the social distancing orders have been in place. I’ve found lots to keep me occupied - things that are definitely more interesting than housework and learning new ways to keep things clean around here.

To their credit, my kids have done a PHENOMENAL job of keeping themselves busy as well. My daughter Tia spends her time after school work to maintain her social activities using TikTok, Facetime, and Netflix. Her afternoons and most evenings are spent dancing. Here’s a quick sample: 

http://www.rightthisminute.com/video/get-your-daily-dose-comedy-these-hilarious-kids at the 1:20 mark - with all the good, must come the hilarious!

My son Ewan is programming his Roblox games, playing, finishing his assignments for school, and doing whatever future hackers and programmers do all day. All I know he is quiet and doesn’t cost a lot of money.

My hubs works several hours a day in a homemade office we cobbled together as fast as we could when the virus loomed in Arizona back in March. My children’s game room was sacrificed for this cause. Before that it was a spare bedroom just sitting there empty. I think it was the Thursday of Spring Break that this house went under lockdown - before any state suggested it. 

I cleaned my house. I organized my pantry. I did my taxes. I cleaned out my filing cabinet. I cleaned out my kids closets and my own of winter clothes and stuff we didn’t want anymore, and my hubs did the same with his stash. We put my daughter’s LED lights up in her room and placed posters on my son’s bedroom walls. And then...?

I was no longer interested in home improvement. I entered the malaise that goes with pacing yourself for the marathon as opposed to the sprint to the finish line. There is no finish line in this house.

So I turned my attention to happier, calmer pursuits. 

I received an Aerogarden for Christmas. It had been sitting there for months in it’s box. I had intended to set it up, but never got around to it. Now - there was no excuse.

I opened the box, read the instructions and did all it asked of me: which was simply find a spot, plug it in, fill with water, and drop the pre-seeded pods in. I have the Harvest model, so there was only 6. Plugging it in also set the lighting timer automatically. 

And that was it. It was a bit anticlimactic really, for someone who loves to dig in the dirt. 

But a few days later: magic happened as my dill plant sprouted and took off. Then the genovese basil, followed by the thai basil. Then the curly parsley and thyme sprouted, which left a lonely little empty mint vessel empty. I’ve grown mint before outdoors. It takes off once it’s established and becomes almost weed like. But this one?

Nothing. And there was nothing i could do to help.

The grow-lights came on at the appointed time like clockwork. Then i got reminder lights to add more water, or more plant food. This little machine really takes to guesswork out of it for those with a questionable color of thumb.

The dill grew like a weed and soon outgrew the machine itself, and my basils were quick to follow. I realized i needed to start my harvest. Out came the shears and with a few snips, I pruned the dill to a manageable level. The basils too. 

Now - what am I going to do with all these fresh herbs?

I love to cook, but i’ll never use all of this in one go! Then i remembered a quick little tip i used in the past but had since fallen out of the habit - freezing them. 

So i prepared the fresh herbs and pulled out my candy mold. I love my cute little candy mold, and it’s easier to pop the frozen herbs out of them once they sit in the freezer over night. I chopped up the bigger basil leaves in my Ninja mini food processor to make short work of them. I put the herbs in my candy mold and used EVOO for one mold, and purified water for the other. Some recipes or soups call for fresh herbs from time to time, I like to be prepared.

Pop the molds in the freezer and that’s it! in 24 hrs my herbs are frozen in a lovely little cubes and I sort them into little baggies that are labeled for future use. Since then, I’ve fallen into a little routine of harvesting and freezing.

It’s such a great feeling to finally have my own supply of fresh herbs and not have to run to the store for them. If you ever have to run to the store though, and you have leftover - just freeze them in a little mold and save them!

Store bought also can lah!

I HIGHLY recommend the AeroGarden system for fresh herbs, lettuces and tomatoes, and even fresh flowers. Go crazy!

*You can dry herbs as well, or just harvest them fresh. Be sure to put fresh herbs intended for immediate to 4 days use in the fridge in a cup of water. Frozen herbs are only good for cooking and soups, not to be used as a fresh garnish. 

Ready for harvest again and still going strong!

*PS - the mint FINALLY sprouted! But it’s far too small to harvest yet. 

[theproseccopalace]

Coronacation Starts - Day 1

Technically, school was supposed to start TOMORROW for my little ones after Spring Break. But make no mistake: with the new social distancing recommendations to slow the coronavirus spread making the need for my kids to do other things besides staying on an iPad all day imperative, i needed some structure in our day. Not only are my little ones going to be home for two more weeks, but my husband is working remotely most days from home too. Usually my days have a bit more me-time built in, but this was gonna be a hard pill to swallow with everyone now in my space. The only way we were going to get through our state enforced social distancing experiment to defeat the COVID-19 virus that is currently sweeping the nation is together. We needed a plan.

First this morning - we had a family meeting. I told the kids what I wanted to accomplish, what I wanted them to do and help out with. This was NOT a vacation, but something we needed to all do together to protect our neighbors, our family members, and our friends at school. In order to pass the time, we needed some fun things to focus on together, as a group, but with plenty of alone time built in for our sanity as well.

Sure there was the items from school I could have them do. But that wasn’t part of the curriculum, or fair, was it? Besides, school didn’t officially start until tomorrow, so today was going to be a trial run.

So i had the kids brainstorm some ideas of things they’d like to learn about. Up went makeup class. TikTok moves. Baking and cooking. Sewing. Computers. Nature walks. My hubs, Tia and I got carried away... 

Then, my son Ewan threw an epic fit b/c he didn’t understand what we were asking him to do. Slowww down! What do you want?! What are we talking about? Was it school from 9a - 11p?! Home schooling sounded scary. Where was the time to play Roblox?! 

*Autism is a weird place, folks. If you don’t know someone personally on the spectrum, it can throw you for a loop. Let’s just say that my son’s world is like - imagine you are a child in a white room and given a machine. You have no idea how the machine works. You have no idea how big it is, what it does, or if it might hurt you eventually. But when you get it, the machine is working, and it’s got some interesting parts. Some boring parts. And some parts that your parents assure you is necessary, but you don’t understand what it does, or why it matters. And after all these years, by now you’ve gotten used to the smell of the grease, the squeaky sounds of the gears, and the lumbering motion of it all that it no longer seems too scary. But now - it’s broken! NOW it’s scary again. (*Autism is different for everyone.)

Sigh.

So after some gentle explaining, he finally got it. This was gonna be fun! We were going to do this together! And it wasn’t just information flowing in one direction (adult to kid), but in BOTH directions! Why not? The best way for kids to show they know something is to have them teach it. 

The schedule we settled on for Day 1. Don’t forget the water!

My boy is literal, so he needed to SEE it. So once it was written down - he was on it! He saw his portion of the day and took it seriously! He started planning. and asking questions.

But first - the dog walk.

Get that sunblock ready!

Crossing the overpass.

We walked 2.62 miles according to my Endomondo app. I usually walk miles with the dogs every morning on my own, but the kids and hubs were happy to try it. Oli and Tia took turns riding the longboard and Ewan usually stayed with me and the dogs. They were very proud that they walked that far! And when we passed the playground - it was unnervingly full of kids, though some families were practicing their social distancing. 

Then, home for showers and lunch. Ewan scarfed his lunch and went straight to the computer. Why? He wanted his presentation to be engaging and fun. So I left him to it.

This is what he was up to. He took GREAT care to create a PowerPoint presentation about how to create a hole in a wall in Roblox. He thought about how to explain it to us, and why we should do it. He even inserted screenshots and killer transitions. The kid is gonna be a video editor someday. Then when the time came, he painstakingly explained it to us (theory), then had us perform it!

Daddy’s turn.

Tia’s turn.

SUCCESS!!!

We all could do it after his careful instruction! He was very proud of his class, and we were very proud of him.

Next: was read in the park. The kids were in the middle of reading Percy Jackson: The Lightning Thief for ELA to help tie in with their studies on ancient Greek culture - starting with their system of religion. They hadn’t finished yet, and I saw a great opportunity to do so.

Ewan only needs snuggles, not help reading. He’s the fastest reader in the house!

After 45 minutes in the park, it was time for Tia’s stretch class. She is on a company team for dance and they usually dance for HOURS everyday. This was going to be an adjustment. Tia loves dance, so she’s plenty self-motivated. But i think she misses being with her friends in the studio. But this would have to do.

Daddy helping to build the floor for Tia’s stretch class.

Tia follow’s her dance instructor’s lead for Stretch and Technique class. We learned that there is no Instagram Live for laptop. I joined for the Stretch part. No, there are zero pics of me doing it. Thanks Dance Studio 111! (follow on Insta @dancestudio111

All in all, we had a lovely first day of our social distancing. Dinner came with Tia learning to cook another chicken dish (Indian Baked Chicken Thighs - yum!) and the kids pitching in with setup and cleanup of the dining table. And Oli and I learned that as long as there is a nice structure in place, with plenty of stuff the the kids to do, chores, fun learning angles and some free time too, this kind of home based instructional system might be just the thing for us. <3

[theproseccopalace]

MOM Strike! And other teachable moments - part 1.

By now, you may have seen my little stunt posted on social media that I pulled on my kids recently. It involved a strike, teachable moments, and some real results. It also got many likes and comments. 

Yes, I went on strike. I’m not the first mom to do this - I think mom’s everywhere dream of this once they receive their first petulant eye roll from their once adorable child. Well I got mine, and it led me to this point.

It started off as any other week, really. My kids had dutifully neglected an assignment from their teacher that I thought was going to be very fun. Geometric shape mobiles - art AND math?! What could possibly go wrong? My son who is ALL about his math classes, and my daughter who brings home works of art that are - no lie - INSPIRED... I thought this was a no brainer.

I went to Michael’s to collect the supplies they would need to complete their task. String, card stock, glue. I had them look at pinterest for inspiration. They all selected different ideas. I talked to them about how to go about their projects. 

That day I was mentally prepared. My daughter usually needs much help at all. My son, however, would need a lot of guidance and encouragement. I had had my coffee. I had all the energy in the world! 

Kids came home, and my friend’s daughter, who I watch after school until her mom comes to collect her, started to work drawing her shapes and cutting them out. She already had her definitions and her theme. She had her materials and my hot glue gun. Girl was unstoppable!

I found my son relaxing on the couch staring at that infernal iPad. “Son, do you think you should start your project? It’s due on Friday.”

He looks at me and bats his doe lashes, seems to consider seriously, then says, “Hmmm, no. I think I will play iPad right now. Maybe later.”

Me: “Do you think this is the best use of your time to finish your project?”

Him: “Yes.”

I stood up and walked away to find my daughter. I honestly couldn’t understand if he was being serious or ironic, but my stunned reaction was going to work in his favor for now. 

Me to my daughter: “Hey girl, let’s get your project started.”

Eye roll.

EYE ROLL?!!?!?!

There it was. The literal straw that broke this camel’s back. 

My two kids are everything to me. Admittedly it took me some time to deal with leaving work to become a full time mom, but when I could see that having me there for them full time was necessary, a luxury my husband and I could afford, and better for them in general (my daughter is dyslexic and my son on the spectrum), schoolwork and teaching them life skills became my work. They go to school, I take a couple of hours to focus on me (like exercising, writing, reading) before having to run errands and prepare for them to come home. I like to think that by now I’m ready for anything. My parenting method is calm and honest, age appropriate, direct, but I don’t sugar coat anything. I won’t nag. I hate yelling. I think silence speaks more than raising my voice. I try to think of everything they can throw at me. Positive words and actions are my weapons. Fun and laughter are the best reinforcers. 

Their accomplishments are theirs alone. The scores on their tests. Making friends. Dealing with conflict. Learning to look after themselves. Earning recognition at school. Lots of praise. Lots of love.

But this eye rolling thing? That sent my logic and reason out the door and ignited this anger and rage in me. How I was being taken for granted. The only thing going thru my mind is - what happens to them if there is a zombie apocalypse?! Here I am trying to prepare them for this world and what might come at them, and i get an EYE ROLL?!

AW HELL NAW!

My son doesn’t even drink milk. The zombie would win.

That moment, I went on strike. I was angry. They knew it. My friend’s daughter had a healthy start on her project and had worked diligently on it for two hours. My daughter had only guiltily begun hers, but was not paying attention. My son was playing Fortnite!

Okay, other parents would have turned off the electricity, burned down the house, screamed yelled, pleaded, bribed, no dinner - whatever they usually do to get their kids to do what they needed to. And they are not wrong. They know their children best. More power to them.

But I resented my kids for making me lose my patience. For disappointing me. For choosing poorly when they had the option. But this was bigger than just a homework assignment. There was something bigger at play here...

Sure I could have gotten them to do their project. I could have forced them with any of the methods listed above. i was angry enough. I can yell if provoked to be - and dammit, I was provoked! But this was a bigger opportunity for me for getting a course correction. A bigger revolution to work in my favor. A teachable moment. I held all the cards to this poker game, and my kids thought they were playing Jenga.

Oh no. Not this mom.

I calmly went to my room. There would be no snack preps. No reminders to get ready for dance class. Nothing from me. I went to my room, and I plotted. I told my husband what had happened, and that I was going on strike. He supported me, but my anger had changed the energy in the house and between us all so much that he honestly didn’t know what to do. I told him to stay out of my way and let me fix this: this was between me and those kids. He agreed - at least it wasn’t directed at him!

So, friend comes to pick up her daughter. i heap praise on her. She stayed focused and did her work with all the materials I had on hand. Her mobile was looking glorious. Really great job.

After they left, I went back to my room. it was the only safe place to vent. Kids came - the eye rolling one wants to know what is for dinner. I shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps since you know everything, you should sort it yourself?”

Off she went. Not to sort it for herself, but to put something in her tummy.

My son knew something was up. He ate a banana and some cookies and wanted to go to bed hungry, preferring to not engage me at all.

Husband comes home and kids are pawing at him. So he begins, “So, what have you both done, or not done, that made your mother go on strike?”

Empty, clueless faces.

Meanwhile, I had appeared to fetch a glass of wine and retreat with no word to my children at all. (Silence! It works!)

My husband continues, “You made your mother so mad she’s on strike. Do you know what that means?”

Blank looks.

“She’s not going to be mom right now. She’s not going to wash your clothes or clean up after you, or make you do your homework. You should be helping do these things on your own. It’s up to you to apologize and do better. And maybe if you are doing better, and make better choices, mom will stop her strike.”

Guilty looks and hung heads.

They went to bed. My hubs and I prepare our dinner and go about our routine. I wasn’t mad at him, he was great for supporting me. But now the ball was in the kids court.

The next morning I got up early with a simple goal in mind: change. I wanted change. I wanted more attention from them to their chores - which were severely slacking. I wanted more effort. More appreciation from them of what they had. My son who is on the spectrum, tends to stop progressing if he’s not constantly pushed. How do I give him that drive to achieve things on his own? My kids would rather do nothing than do something. They had both stalled. And for me, it was alarming.

Accountant. Housewife. Chef. Triage nurse. Nanny. Housekeeper. Babysitter. And all I got was this lousy sign.

So when my kids woke up in the morning, I was ready for them. There were whispers of the word “strike” at school already b/c we are in Arizona, and the teacher’s walkout was inevitable. Rumors of school being closed were running rampant among their friends. I had yet to address what the chatter was about. My son was awake first. He’s like me, a morning person. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, he sat before me with his cute little eyes opened so wide, “Mom, are you still on strike?”

Me: “Yes I am baby.”

He screwed up his little elven face at me, “What does that mean?”

So I tell him. I am refusing to work until my conditions improve and I get cooperation. I am refusing to “mom” until my children recognize my authority and begin to act like members of this family, and not take me for granted. If i go back to work, who is going to fold the clothes? Who is going to put dishes away? Who is going to pack your lunch? Mr. iPad?!

I pushed a piece of paper towards him. A contract listing out my demands and what he can do to help improve mom’s working conditions. I meant parts of it to be funny. 

This was the first time i got him to read something that long with such intensity!

I gave him a pen, “Sign it if you understand. This will be a binding contract between us both. You hold up your end of the bargain, and I will do mine. Do you understand?”

Ewan: “I understand. i’m sorry mom.”

“I love you baby.”

He signs. After a moment, he peeks at me again, “Does this mean I will never get my iPad back?”

iPad. God blessit - shaking my fists in the air. The hubs and I have accepted the necessary evil that is the iPad. It helped open Ewan’s mind to mind boggling social constructs that define our species yet eluded him, and pop culture. He even learned to better communicate with us by using it. It is the tool of his generation. It also had slowly consumed his life lately.

But no more! Now we had the leverage we needed to turn this iPad thing into a tool we parents could use to get the necessary behavior from him, for the bigger picture. To get him to start taking the steps to succeed on his own.

I made him his breakfast, as was stipulated in his contract. My daughter came downstairs. She also signed. They went to school. 

Now the real work was about to begin.

[theproseccopalace]

Red For Education! - Arizona edition

A letter to my kids’ teachers.

Hello and good morning. I trust you all had a great weekend spending time with your families and loved ones. I hope the memories you made were pleasant and fun, weaving them into the fabric of your lives as you also have to prepare for this momentous week - April 23-27, 2018.

I am a parent. I have never been a teacher. I have followed the news as best I can and with all the information and propaganda to weed through, i admit it’s tough. Especially these days with how inexplicably there is a deranged suspicion of facts, and distortions to the truth. 

I grew up in a household that valued the facts above all else. But how to understand them was a subject of some debate. We always understood that there were three sides to every issue - A side, B side, and the truth, which is somewhere between the two. My father, a lifelong Republican, was passionate about educational opportunities available to his children, and made sure we had healthy talks around the dinner table about history, current events, and how to interpret them. As a robust family of seven, you can imagine these were usually  spirited discussions. There were rules: no speaking out of turn. No harsh language. No getting up from the table. Winning a debate was never an assumption. And if a topic was revisited, chances were the opposite side might present new evidence and would win. As we were raised in a small farming community in the middle of Texas about 30 years ago, you can believe that educational options were limited, and opinions were plenty.

However, there was one thing we all had more consensus on - and that was the kids needed a decent education. No one could agree what exactly that meant, or how to give it. And the community faced lots of opposition from those who could not see that investing funds into the school meant better opportunities for the kids and their future - in fact, the entire communities’ future. So there were plenty of battles over budgeting. Over directions. Over values.

I see that today, in another state and decades later, things have not changed so much. Even in the years I have spent overseas, the arguments are the same. The stakes are just as high. The passions just as inflamed.

When my son was born, educating him became my next challenge. Not only would it open doors to his future, but I was excited to share my world with him - my experiences, all that I had learned in all my travels, and how my schooling helped me make sense of it all. When he was diagnosed as autistic, access to different and focused education became paramount. The teachers he had were specialized in their fields, and got him from a non verbal, no eye contact, no touching child, to a socialized, verbal child who was ready to enter kindergarten in America in EIGHT MONTHS.

Teachers can do what some of us parents cannot - reach our children. They have attended years of instruction to be able to present in front of a class of sometimes unruly, tired, mood swinging kids - and not only cram information they need to know into their minds, but to hold their attention, to inspire them to read, to get them to pass standardized tests, to care about this world and their place in it. This is not an easy job, and the fact that many people seem to think it is, is a testament to the teachers’ skill in making it appear that way.

And some of these teachers are doing it with LESS supplies or current technology and textbooks than what our kids deserve - in this country, with our resources. And yet some lawmakers, parents and even corporations DEMAND that this be done with inadequate funding. How now, say wha-?

I have heard the naysayers. With the advent of the internet, how can you NOT hear them?

*30+ kids in a class? So what?

*My kid is a senior and how can you do this to them? Now prom is canceled!

*I went to school with less/same and I turned out just fine!

*Teachers signed a contract! Why can’t teachers just shut up and teach?

*Teachers don’t teach for the summer. They are technically part-time!

My kid doesn’t need anymore teachable moments!

Oh. Dear.

See, this is where I can’t understand how anyone can be opposed to BETTER funding and access to resources and materials for the teachers and kids - at any stage of their development. I want all these kids to not just be educated to live in the Arizona world of opportunities, or even the broader United States. I want these kids to be competitive in the global marketplace. Because whether you can see it or not, our world is becoming very small. The education we give our kids casts a wide net that can prepare them for what’s shifting in the winds of the world, not just as near as their own backyards and communities.

I threw in the comment about my father being a Republican because I don’t think this is a partisan issue - and he doesn’t necessarily either. We should not let it devolve into one. Both parties have parents and educators that care equally and deeply about our public education. When this becomes an issue of arguing for argument’s sake, as our social media has turned many people into, we lose the ability to listen, and to think critically without the temptation to try to color this issue a red or blue one, or to find a solution. After reading the worst and least constructive comments on the various posts I follow, by far I’d say our greatest challenge is simply being heard, listening without judgement, understanding when our point is wrong, or of least importance, and moving forward together constructively.

I support #RedForEd Arizona. As professionals, teachers should have everything available to them that the great state of Arizona can provide so they can be successful in their goals, because they then pass those resources on to our kids. It should be a source of great pride for us all! I see the three sides at play here in this battle: the state’s, the teachers’, and the inevitable compromise that is to come.

Let us hope that the thing being compromised is not our children’s futures.

I support you. I’m here for you. I support my kids, their classmates, and their opportunities to come.

Thank you, and I look forward to the future.

Cheers.

PS: See you at your rallies. Red just happens to be my favorite color. <3

[theproseccopalace]

Just Hang In There

Today has been a particularly trying day.

Nevermind the weird dreams. Nevermind the waking up from sleep in the middle of the dream. Nevermind the tripping over my own feet all morning until I could conjure my first cup of coffee. Nevermind the fact that my own son, beloved blood of my blood, says “no” to everything i ever offer him to eat.

As the mom to a child on the spectrum, some days are great. But days like today are tiring. Especially when he yells at me. I feel every creak in my 42 year old bones. I feel more of my hairs turning gray. I feel my appetite smothered by the old anxiety that he will not progress beyond being 9 years old, or eating nutella sandwiches forever.

If only the nutella habit made me THIS happy.

Today what set him off was chicken pot pie. It’s on his menu for today. It’s not like it was a surprise. But oh! The screaming... It went on and on and on. My son is orally defensive, so that means he’s NEVER put anything even remotely resembling anything but his own nails in his mouth. Not even a pacifier when he was a baby. He accepted one when he was teething, but he was laughing so hard at the squeaking it made when it scraped around on his teeth that he never actually sucked on it. But he did succeed in drooling all over it. Alot.

Not pencils. Not straws. No sippy cups. And definitely not anything that even remotely resembles something edible. So of course a mom is gonna worry when her kid is on the 10% range of the growth chart for weight. Or 20% for height for his age. I worry constantly that he’s not getting enough nutrition.

I have tried many approaches, experts, and baby whisperers. It turns out that when he’s being assessed by these strangers, he’s an angel. It’s only with me that he’s going to throw all of his toys out of the pram.

But despite his “Damien” style raging at me today, I stayed calm. My face did. But in my chest my heart was sinking more and more. It’s like being a child again myself being admonished by a parent. I felt small, and so sad. He’s not understanding that its my duty to give him good homemade food. Cooked with love in my heart and the hope that it will nourish him at the least, if not give him joy in eating it. 

There is no joy for him at dinnertime. Unless it’s one of the four or five acceptable foods that he prefers. Rice and chicken. Or rice and beef. Mac n cheese and corn dog. Or a goddam nutella sandwich. These are the items that will give me an easy dinner with a chatty boy. But I’m not willing to give up on him, or to give up my attempting to keep him even minimally healthy. He makes it hard. I’m not going to lie.

And I’m also not going to allow him to bait me. I know he gives me the hardest time. I also know I can’t budge when the angry wolf in him huffs and puffs. I have to be the house made out of stone. And not blow away when he crushes me with his screams.

Tonight, after he walked away from the table for the nth time, I calmly got up, wrapped his food up for later, and my daughter and I walked away. She was finished and had to go shower, but its hard not to let him destroy the dinner vibe we try to set for him. We both want to give up.

But this only made him scream more. And panic. Because I’ve changed the parameters of his game by not playing it, he doesn’t know what to do now. I tell him - eat. Or don’t. It’s his choice.

I called my husband as my son raged in the background. It sounded like I needed a priest with all the growling and raging from him. But I told my husband what happened, why he was screaming... why I was calling. Just keep me calm, I tell him. What I really want to say is, “Keep talking to me so I don’t spiral away into this black hole I’m currently being sucked into.”

And he understands. He’s done with work anyhow, just waiting on the final go ahead so he can come home. So he listens for the umpteenth time. I have no idea what he’s feeling when I call him like this, which isn’t often, but has happened before. Does he feel as powerless as I do? Does he want to fix it all? Or just want to shrink away and thank his lucky stars that it’s me and not him going through this trial again? I dunno. Because I’m not thinking about him. Not thinking about myself. Just thinking of my boy. And I’m waiting...

Waiting for the screaming to stop. Waiting for his rage to be spent. Waiting for it to sink in that I’m not trying to hurt him. Waiting for the lightbulb to go off in his mind that - oh! My mom isn’t trying to poison me! Because that’s what I feel like, and he’s even said it to me.

Sigh. Finally his raging stops. But I’m off the phone now. And I’m putting the laundry away. And my son comes to me, in my room where I am putting things away, and looks at me with his angel eyes. His doll face. He still smells like a baby - all maple syrup and cookies - though he’s almost ten years old. He bats his long lashes at me - the kind of lashes no boy should ever have the business of owning because small breezes stir when he blinks. “Mom.” He says.

But I ignore him.

“Mom. I’m sorry I got mad.” In his little boy, not yet a young man voice.

I drop what I’m doing, sit on the bed before him, and pull him into my arms so he can’t see me cry.

But he doesn’t hold me back. He just stays squished against me. And I wish and wait for the crushed feeling to leave me... but it stays. I say, “I just want you to understand me.” The dearest wish of my heart.

But he doesn’t understand. He says he does. But I know he doesn’t. Not yet. So i let him go... and he stands in front of me. And I let him see the tears running down my face.

I always show him when we get in a battle of wills, one I get pulled into against everything I am, and I’m sad. He understands sadness now - he’s seen me cry before. And this time, like all the others, he stares at me in blazing curiosity. Deeply in my eyes, when I’m at my most vulnerable, and he watches me. He wipes at his eyes too, but it’s only the stinging of tears to come, but he’s impatient with them b/c he doesn’t know why the tears are coming to him now. 

He tells me, “Mom, you should get a tissue, you are sobbing.”

But I’m not sobbing. Just sitting quietly. I nod at him. “Are you done being angry?”

“Yes. I’m done. I’m going to eat now.”

And just like that, the battle is over. I let him go, and he’s off to eat (a cold dinner by now), and I’m off to grab a tissue... and sob where he can’t hear me.

Is it really over? For now yes. It will happen again, but hopefully not anytime soon. All I know is this might be a war I will never fully win. But I have to keep trying... one day, maybe he’ll understand. But that’s not the point, is it? I don’t require him to understand me, but to understand himself, and that he needs to trust me. To let me be the mom. To trust me to guide him. Because right now, it’s always a battle. 

Sighhhhh....

[theproseccopalace]

Introducing... Grace Anderson

I’m a writer.

Not in the whole - “i have a book deal” -  kind of writer. But I’m a writer in the same sense that Whoopi Goldberg’s character Sister Mary Clarence says in Sister Act [paraphrased for me, of course]. “If you wake up in the morning and all you can think about is writing... then you’re a writer girl!”

I have been writing ever since I was 14 years old. It was summer. June. I opened up my wire bound notebook (wide-ruled) and out spilled a 400 page story in two days that spanned several of these notebooks. I wrote as if I had a fever. I didn’t stop. The more I wrote the more fuel was thrown on that fire inside. I could see my characters. Hear how the spoke in my head. How conflict was thrown in their path, and how they navigated it. How they grew from it. How they suffered. My character I had created, I had intended to kill off at the end of the book. 

Then a funny thing happened on the way to that intentional murder. The character took over. Her voice in my head was strong. Her tone. She wasn’t ready to die by my hand. Oh contraire. She was going to survive. No matter the scarring to her psyche, she was going to overcome.

I learned a lot about myself while writing that first story. I realized there was a stronger story in me. The fact this character was going to survive to take on even greater challenges in her arc. So I wrote another.

And another.

Aaaaand another. 

Before I knew it, I had a four novel arc on my hands, hundreds of hand written pages, a dent in my right index finger that hurt like hell, and a character that wouldn’t die. So I kept writing. I love exploring, and I wanted to see where this character was going to go.

Thirty (!) novels later, her story arc was finally ended. She finally lost her ability to survive my and other evil characters’ (I created and threw at her) attempts to end her storied life. And the story only ended because I had run out of ideas to test her. 

Those stories now lie in a box in my attic. I can’t bring myself to throw them away. I have no idea what I will actually do with them. I don’t even read them, and I haven’t in over a decade. But still... I can’t just get rid of all that hard work, and countless hours daydreaming, and plotting, and revising... 

I started other stories. I have a three novel arc that I never finished. Another in a totally different genre... then... I started writing with my first character again.

Same character. She had been alive in my mind this whole time. Just being quiet, unless I sense her and try to kill her off again I guess. She’s clever that way. But now, my medium is my computer. Gone is that painful dent in my index finger, that previously had gotten a permanent status as well as permanently numb. And now I type like a madwoman on my keyboard.

Her name is Grace. She grew up in Riverbend, a city to the north that is not far from the Canadian border. She went to boarding school. Her parents are divorced, and her mother just recently passed away from breast cancer. Grace looks no different from others around her. She likes to work out. She’s intelligent. She sometimes sees a therapist. She keeps mostly to herself and doesn’t try to attract too much attention. But she lives in a near future, a shade off from ours. Her future has magnetic trains for mass-transit. Various types of craft that hover, either on magnetic tracks or self piloted. Cities are huge and multi-leveled. She lives in the United States, but a recent skirmish in Europe has just happened, though she was in Asia at the time and it didn’t affect her too much. She is single. Has the occasional date. Drinks coffee. Takes care of herself. 

She’s a city Protector. A leader of Streetwalkers, people that work in tandem with the police, but are separate. They have carved the city into subdivisions and are patrolled by them to keep their own worlds turning. It’s not always done legally. It is wrong, and it is right. It is a lawless and unforgiving existence. A usually short one. 

She never set out to be a leader. She set out to force her chaotic world to make sense. Because the secrets she carries, she doesn’t know she carries them. Her memories are broken and scattered in her mind. She is angry. Not at anyone. She’s angry for existing. Because every day she fights... the other Streetwalkers, the agents that work for the Society, the various gangs of the city, the skintraders, the rapists, the murderers... She’s angry because she is tired. And she’s angry because she can’t stop.

Riverbend is her home. Her trainee Brion is probably the only person who knows her best, and he would confess he didn’t know her at all. She plays everything close to her chest, and does the right thing, even if it isn’t the popular thing. Friends are a luxury. As gifted with her ability to lead as she is with directing her unrequited rage, she has murdered and destroyed lives. She doesn’t waste one day on regret. She is virtually unstoppable. 

She makes mistakes. She is sometimes wrong. She pisses everyone off that comes into contact with her. But her capacity to care, to love, is deep and unexplored. She tries to repel everyone she meets to keep her life simpler. 

Brion idolizes her. Phoebe despises her. Jake admires her. These people are regularly in her orbit, and they are all terrified of her.

And then there is David, who is both repulsed and fascinated by her. She wishes she could just get rid of him. But when his fascination turns to obsession, she has a decision to make. Kill him, or use him. He is his own breed of human monster, a sociopath with a love of people, and zero ability to rein in his killer instincts. But he has his uses. And she knows it. So does he, and he will use his talents of manipulation to use her for his nefarious purposes as well.

What’s a girl to do?

My first book. Self-published in 2007.

[theproseccopalace]

Introducing... Myself.

I used to use Tumblr alot. All the time. Back then I called it Model Rant/Rave, and you can still find it if you look really hard. I kind of abandoned it because life changed. It evolved. Just like it’s supposed to.

 I used to be a professional model. The kind where I got paid to use my image for marketing purposes. I’m still a bit of a snob about it to other self described “models”, and I have no real reason for it except I know that not only did I make a career of it, but I was able to evolve along with it, into a television host in SE Asia. I have so many fond memories, and every so often, when the bubbles in the Prosecco are just right... those memories come flooding out, and I realize I have an entire body of knowledge that those closest to me know NOTHING about. Some are funny stories. Some are tragic. Most will be light-hearted in some way, or at least, I will tell them that way, but they’ll always be an allegory for a point. At my best, I’m an entertainer, and when people talk to me, I’d rather leave them with the impression that they might want to talk to me again sometime. I guess I’m old-fashioned that way.

Anyway, I should really apologize to any former, or “would be” models out there that I have insulted, or that I will insult, with my writing. I can’t help it. I come from the age of polaroids for testing the lighting, for snapping entire rolls of film for one outfit, for actually having to have some prerequisites for being a model before the onset of digitization and photoshop. I traveled and went to go-sees, castings, and auditions. I’ve waited hours to be seen and interviewed, only to be dismissed on sight, or booked on the spot. I’ve been given Hollywood scripts with HUGE A-List names attached for movies that I wasn’t ready for, but my agency believed in me. I worked out to maintain my slender frame, and I ate healthy. I’ve seen some shit. I’ve LIVED.

And over the course of 25 years, I’ve changed and evolved. Like my industry, I’ve seen the value of embracing the digital world while still honoring my age, my generation, and those ideals of my parents, who are Baby Boomers. I’ve had to walk a line so fine, I should have been a trapeze artist (I’m descended from carnival folks, perhaps that could have been a viable path in a former life). That line defined me, and set me on this path that I’m on now.

I love writing. As a former model, you can imagine how hard it was to be taken seriously back in those days. People looked at me in one of two ways: with awe, or with doubt. And it was always so clear which. The former: people who wondered about my life, and how different it must’ve been from theirs (it was), or how glamorous (it wasn’t). And the latter with jealousy, doubt, and judgement. How could a girl like me: not white, not “pretty” in their definition, not from a wealthy family, could have had such luck? I get paid to be pretty, therefore, I’m not smart. Etc etc.

It’s been a real struggle for me, over the years, to actually come to terms with this label. Model. What does it mean? When I was younger, i cared more about how people perceived me. I was always professional. Always ON. My mother’s diligent instruction on preparing me for a world that wasn’t always fair, a patriarchal world, a world that would eat me up and spit me out if I looked at someone in a funny way... this was her careful instruction. And it wasn’t always kind. But it was honest. And in this I base my own code of conduct.

I’m not here on this earth to make friends. I don’t know all the answers. I’m going to say some things you might not agree with. But they will be honest. My epitaph should read, “I never did the popular thing. But I always did the right thing.” Or something like this. I think people should be happy. I think marriage as it is in its current state is not healthy for most. I think sunsets in Arizona are better than in Texas, but Texas has the better sky. I think people need to stop worrying about what others are doing and stop judging everyone. I think all new senior graduates should take a gap year - in the US this should be mandatory. I think politics makes you betray yourself, and that it’s good to challenge the status quo. It’s good to resist. It’s in you to persist at something you know is right. I think guns should be licensed and heavily restricted, as well as banned for most. I think feminism is the only way to a more fair society. I think children should play more outside. I think women should not drink as much moscato, and try a dry wine once in a while. I think fad diets are evil, but yoga is a must. I think Champagne is the only drink to have, but Prosecco and Cava are amazing too. 

So open that bottle of prosecco. Let it excite your taste buds, and calm your mind. I always have a bottle on me ready to go if you need a friend to have a glass. There is always a seat for you right here beside me.

Now, let me tell you a story...