What has been on my mind...

The following is actually an excerpt from a short essay I wrote for school, in response to the following quote: “…one of the great errors in most policymaking maps is the false assumption that systems can produce care. Care resides in the domain of the associational community.” It just appeared to me to be the most succinct, fluid and personal words I have been able to describe for the way I see the world. Enjoy.

"Often in hard times, people attempt to identify a scapegoat. It is very tempting, especially knowing macro-practice theory and the inequalities of the social system in this country, to place blame on the system as a whole. We can find faults at the neighborhood, city, county, state and federal level. However, the when we operate on this “assumption that systems can produce care,” we are dehumanizing the people that make up the system. We are forgetting the individual and collective power of community residents, and we do it to our detriment. It may feel satisfying to accuse the system of all our problems, but at the end of the day, the problems still exist. We remain unhappy and disheartened by the social issues we have to face, especially is a field as challenging as social work.

When McKnight uses the term “associational community” he is referring to our human power, as individuals and in collectives. When the Dudley Street Neighborhood Initiative began, it was proposed from a top-down approach to the problems faced by the community. Outside experts and sponsors came into the community and said, “We see poverty, we can fix it. Just follow our rules.” What they didn’t realize was that their intent to offer support and resources was invaluable, but their desire to create the terms and conditions ignored the needs of the community. They were assuming that they knew what the community needed and took action accordingly. No neighborhood resident, who might have been viewed as a “real” expert on poverty, was consulted.

Accusing the system of failing and then getting angrier when the system attempts to correct itself through its own idea of laws and regulations, does nothing to mobilize our sense of agency. It leaves us feeling powerless. The Dudley Street Initiative reorganized to become successful by using a simple, logical principle that a classmate of mine brings up in discussion regularly: two heads are better than one. In the world of community organizing, the more different the heads are the better. I think by minimizing the macro, we remember that we are all people; individual, different and human. We look at each other less in terms of who represents the system and who represents the people, and we focus on what we can bring to the table. We focus on the issues, not on agendas, ideologies or inequalities. We care for each other, and we see our humanity in one another. And we make change."

Spiritual Food

I have been thinking a lot lately about what spirituality means to me and how I am fitting it into my life. It seems that I am increasingly aware of how much it bothers me that living life (i.e. keeping track of kids, cleaning house, going to school, keeping in touch with my husband, etc.) seems to get in the way of maintaining contact with my spiritual self.

This seems innately ridiculous to me. I believe that I am, at the core, a spiritual being. We all are. It is our spirit that is always intertwined with our physical selves as we move through the world. As we form and maintain relationships. As we love and nurture. And so, finding myself constantly engaged in these actions, but feeling unconnected to my spirit, or stagnant in my spiritual growth, is contradictory.

How do you stay connected to your spirit in this material world?

What drives your spiritual growth?

What feeds your spirit?

I am asking for some soul food!

Walls

I am just continuously creating walls to run up against.

Wall after wall after wall after wall.

Oh, these walls have names. Names like Fear. And Shame. And Trust Issues. Etc. Etc.

My poor husband. He is so stoic. Sure he has his difficulties, his bad days, those little habits that get on my nerves (like leaving his sock trail through the living room). But these are far and few in between. Mostly he is just this amazingly sturdy, trustworthy, calm and deeply-loving man. And my walls just keep driving "wedges" between us.

I guess I would like to say that it takes two people to put up a wall. But mostly I think that's not true. Mostly, one person puts up a wall and the other has to struggle to figure out some way to get over it or under it or around it. All the while the wall-builder sitting isolated on the other side, trying to figure out exactly how the wall got there and why they can't see their lover's face anymore.

So, I am in the place of trying to figure out why and how I am building walls. I know their names but I can't figure out why they have multiple lives. Do walls reincarnate themselves? Do they clone? It seems like every time I knock one down (with the help of many others, but mostly my husband), I build the same bloody wall right back up in a new place.

And so I am here, typing out my thoughts in a slightly wittier prose than they actually occur in my mind, to try and decipher the clues to this not so new mystery.

I was recalling today in a conversation with my husband what we might call a "schoolgirl crush" that I had on a much older cousin of a friend when I was in high school. It was one of those crushes like you might have on a teacher, or a friend's brother or something. You know, the kind that you know will never go anywhere. And so it is safe and silly. You might look forward to seeing your crush when they show up to your friend's house, but that is all it ever amounts to. Well, in this particular case my friend and her cousin were part of a very large, very social family. And everyone and anyone who even met a family member was treated like family. So, I began going bowling with them (a family ritual) and a few other people from my school, once every few weeks during my senior year; total maybe about 5 times. The particular cousin was about 10 years older than us, and very silly and flirtatious. (In retrospect, I think of how immature he must have been, flirting with a bunch of high schoolers.) In any case, one week bowling was canceled (I don't remember why), so we decided on an in house movie. I sat next to this crush. We were the only two on the couch and he felt a little too close to me. Ok, way to close. I remember beginning to feel nervous because I realized the situation I was in. Usually we were in a public environment, not the dark den of the family house. I was never this close to him. All of a sudden, the fun flirting-with-the-older-guy turned into something a little more...concrete. I was so nervous that I started shaking and I couldn't breathe (lucky asthmatic that I am). I faked that I was just cold, so he pulled a blanket off the arm of the couch. About five minutes after I sat under the blanket, practically cuddling with a grown man, I thought, "OK, this is crazy. I'm out of here." And I actually got up and left. I think I said something about it being late, parents worrying, blah blah blah.

Ok, let's be real. We all knew the potential for something going waaaayyy wrong. Dark den + movie + late night + blanket = trouble. Luckily, I was smart enough to get myself out of the situation before anything happened. But, had he wanted to take advantage of the situation, he could have. It didn't really matter that other people were there. We have all heard about things happening at parties full of people. My point is, I felt bad about it then. And I didn't feel any better recalling the incident to my husband over 7 years later.

But why?

Well, I think it boils down to the bricks that I use to make the walls. I felt ashamed because I knew, even at 17, that staying for a movie probably wasn't a great idea. My dad has always made me aware of the "safety" of public places. You never really know the boundaries that people set in their homes. I felt ashamed that I sort of fell into that doe-eyed, ego-boosting crush and allowed that to override my judgment, even if only for an hour or less. I feel the same shame now as I did sitting on the couch, convincing myself that getting up didn't make me look like an idiot. Or, more accurately, that I didn't care if I looked like an idiot. Actually, I think the fact that he let me get that comfortable shook me of my crush. I lost a bit of respect for a grown man that would encourage a high schooler to get that close.

So, I walked out of the situation unscathed, unharmed. But, it doesn't ever make me feel good to admit my dumber moments to my husband. Those situations where, if someone told me that they had done the same exact thing, I would have said, "WHAT where you THINKING?" or "Man, we are so silly when we are young aren't we?"

It has led to this habit of me holding my tongue when I randomly think of something that perhaps my husband doesn't know about me. Something that makes me feel a little less strong or capable or smart than the woman I would like to be. I hold it in until my stomach hurts and my heart aches and I practically burst from anticipation of the moment of divulging.

There is really only one solution. And that is to speak uncensored. To let my words come as they need to, with tact of course. To trust that my husband knows I am far from perfect, and to accept that he will love me no matter how stupid I was at 17. To trust that my choices in life have led me to this moment and that recalling that path gives me strength in my now. And to hear the words "I love you" and let them soak into my skin.

To my dearest Courtney. This was for you. And for me. I love you madly.

Writing Joy

I have a tendency to write sadness. It isn't that I am always feeling sadness, but it seems that is when I feel the urgent need to express my emotion, above and beyond its vocalization. And so it comes out on paper or via this intangible intergallactic network we are all hooked into, in a stream of woes. It is usually depressing and angry, and I often never want to read it again.

Now, this has become a problem because I love to both read and write. And to reread what I have written. There has been so little writing in the baby years, that I find most of it has been out of frustration or a moment here and there in awe of my little ones. To be one who loves writing so much, and who needs that form of expression to really evolve (seriously, I think my spiritual, mental and emotional growth might be stunted without it), no writing is really just out of the question.

So, I have decided to write joy. Not to escape sadness altogether (could you imagine?), but to allow myself to focus on the joy. Not to miss it. Not to deprive myself of it. And to share it with others.

Akeem and the Monsters

The year Akeem turned three, he began dreaming of monsters.



He woke up one morning and ran into the bathroom looking for his mama.

"I'm here, Mom!" he said. "I'm here!"

"I see!" said Mama. "Good morning, baby. Where did you go?"

"The monster came and took me away and I woke up and I was looking for you, Mama."

"Ohhhhhhhh," said Mama, nodding. "That was just a dream."

"Yes," he said. "That was my dream."

"You know," said Mama, leaning in real close, "anytime you have a bad dream about a monster, you can just wake up and come in my room. I will always be there."

Akeem snuggled her. "Can I have a popsicle?"



Sometimes, Akeem woke up at night because of the monsters. He went to see his mama, just like she said he should. She snuggled him until he fell asleep again. The monsters stayed away when his mama was around. Mostly.

When the monsters didn't stay away, Akeem's mama said, "You can tell me about the monsters if you want. What happened in your dream? What did those monsters do?"

Akeem told his mama that the monsters tried to take him away from her.

He didn't want to go. but they made him go.

He would run and hide, but they found him.

One night at bedtime, Akeem had enough. "Mom," he said, "I am gonna dream and see that monster and if that monster tries to get me I am gonna find you and I am gonna KILL that monster!!!"

Akeem's mama was not pleased by this.

"No, Akeem. We don't want to kill the monster, honey," she began.

"Yes! We are gonna beat him up!" he insisted.

Well! Mama thought for a minute.

"You know what, Keem?" she said. "You don't have to worry about those monsters. Do you know why? Because you are strong and tough!"

"Now if you see a monster," said Mama, "you just say, 'I'm not afraid of you because I am tough!' And that monster will say. "Uh-oh, you are tough? Then I had better run away!' And off he'll go."

Akeem did not have to think twice about his mama's words. He knew she was right.

"That's right," said Akeem. "I am gonna see that monster and say 'I am tough!' And that monster will run away!"

"Mmm hmm!" said Mama. "And if you see another monster, you say, 'I am tough and my mama is tough!' And that monster will say, 'Uh-oh! You are tough AND your mama is tough?! I better run away!' And off he will go."

Akeem giggled. "And if I see another monster, I will say, 'I am tough and my mama is tough and my sister is tough!' And that monster will say, 'Uh-oh! I better run away!'"

"That's right!" said Mama.

"And Mama," said Akeem excitedly, "if my friend sees a monster in his dream, if my friend from school sees a monster, I will tell him, he he will tell the monster....!"

"Ok, Akeem, no more monsters," said Mama.

Akeem flopped around for a minute in his covers.

"But, Mama," he said, "If a monster comes in my dream, can I come in your room?"

"Mmm hmm," said Mama. "Because we are tough and strong."

For Ali and Our Rolls

Last night I asked Courtney to take pictures of me. I have been looking in the mirror lately, actually taking to time to look at myself before I hustle the kids out of the door in the morning, and I began realizing that the image I see is different every day. It so often depends on my mood or my self-esteem on that particular morning. Just as frequently, my reflection seems to determine my mood. You know what I am talking about. It is impossible for you to gain 15 pounds in one day, but you and I both had days last week when we swore that was the case. Or, we looked in the mirror and admired that same body, those same curves that we cursed the day before.

The more I noticed these drastic changes from one day to the next, I wanted to see a "real" image of my body. One that was removed. That didn't turn with my own movements as in a mirror, but one that I could post up on the wall like a cover girl. Hence, the pictures.

What I saw when I looked at my body from different angles was the same self image I saw reflected in the mirror. Changing with each shift in perspective, my body seemed to project the self that I felt most connected to at the moment the picture was taken. Now, what does that really mean? What do we see when we look at ourselves in the mirror? In photographs?

Now, let's be real: I have had three babies. I am about 20 pounds heavier than my before-baby weight. I need a hair cut. I AM A PARENT!!! And a wife, and a student, and a latte addict. Self-professed, all the way. That all being said, I don't expect to see Sophia Loren or Iman when I look in the mirror. But looking at those photos, I didn't focus in on my physical imperfections, but rather on the disappointing and inhibited attitude that my face and body displayed.

My sister recently told me that she remembers seeing an art exhibit, painting or sculpture I think, when she was just moving into adolescence, in which the renderings of beautiful women focused on their ample waists and hips. I don't mean curvy like a perfectly smooth curve, I mean curvy like love handles, creases in the skin of their waists, little ripples of fat that accentuated the shape and appeal of their bodies. It was at this moment, when viewing these women who she saw as both beautiful and real, that my sister decided she loved "rolls."

Do you love your rolls? I don't, not every day. Courtney does, every day. More importantly, my body is a part of who I am. By expressing it with confidence, I change the way that I feel about it. I change the way that I am perceived.

Look in the mirror tomorrow and make a conscious decision to LOVE what you see. For yourself and for those around you. We love to see you smile.

One soy turtle latte, a baby sling, a soccer ball and three dog bones

"Hold my juice, Mom. I need to get some doggie treats."

This is my three-year-old, Akeem. We had just dropped off big sister at school and managed to drive ten blocks, park the car, a get all three of us, my two boys and myself, into the coffee shop. Baby in sling, soccer ball tucked under Keem's right arm, I am in pursuit of the morning latte.

"Akeem, wait for mama," says Mary. "She needs her soy."

Mary, bless her, is the lovely owner of Audubon Coffee, a just-the-right-size, kid-friendly, wireless, art-infused coffee oasis on Johnson Stree NE and 28th Avenue in Northeast Minneapolis. And of course, she is accomodating not only of moms and babies and wireless internet scavengers, but she is also equipped with a stash of treats for the dogs in the 'hood. More importantly, the stash sits on a table just high enough to keep the dogs out of it, and just low enough to allow curious three-year-olds to rummage the contents.

"We don't need any doggie treats, Keem," I say to my son. "There are no dogs here today."
"But, Mom, I'm just gonna hold it." He looks up at me as I get ready to go out the door.
"Okay, just one," I say, heading out, a large soy turtle latte in hand. I prop the door open for him and notice he has three, stacked neatly in his tight fist. I smile.
"How are you going to carry your soccer ball, with the dog treats in your hand?" I ask. I can see him working through this, looking first at the treats, and then at the soccer ball that I am holding.
He replies, "Here, Mom. You can hold them."
I start to phrase my rebuttal, and then I decide to cut him a break. What's the harm in a couple of dog snacks, right?
"Okay, guess what? I have a pocket in the sling, and we can put the doggie treats in there."
"A pocket in the sling?" he says. I don't think he quite believes me. He watches as I flip over the end of the wrap to reveal a small zipper pocket. I slip the treats in and zip it up. Magic.
"There," I say. "All done."
Keem smiles, clearly satisfied.


I have been enjoying my boys lately. Leila too. But the particular stress I was feeling from managing the needs of the three-year-old and the ten-month-old has seemed to dissipate. I think I all of a sudden realized that there really was no need to rush through the day. I mean, what are we rushing for? If we don't enjoy the process, there really isn't a point. And whatever huge accomplishment we are seeking, in the end, doesn't seem so grand if we haven't enjoyed the path that lead to it. I have spent less time lately trying to be present, and just being present. I am finding that the path is the accomplishment. That how I navigate through life is what matters.