Your Heart And My Heart Are Very, Very Old Friends.

Fear is the cheapest room in the house

I would like to see you living

In better conditions,

For your mother and my mother

Were friends.

I know the Innkeeper

In this part of the universe.

Get some rest tonight

Come to my verse again tomorrow.

We’ll go speak to the Friend together.

I should not make any promises right now,

But I know if you pray

Somewhere in this world-

Something good will happen.

God wants us to see

More love and playfulness in your eyes

For that is your greatest witness to Him.

Your soul and my soul

Once sat together in the Beloved’s womb

Playing footsie. Your heart and my heart

Are very, very old friends.

– Hafiz

It's funny to think that I was born when Millie was 59...And She knew me from practically the beginning of my life. I had my first birthday in the house across the street from hers. And if I think about the possibilities of who I have yet to meet and love in my life, it is kind of amazing. I could be like Millie one day...and one of my dearest old friends might not even be born yet. They might not even get here in the next two decades. -Kind of amazing when I think about it.

Know When To Hold 'Em, Know When To Fold 'Em: Two Basic Rules For Knowing When It's Time To Let Go

Imagine a color, that you've never seen before. Something new. Something that is not blue, red, orange, yellow, green purple, pink, black, white, brown, or gray. Something else entirely. My mind starts to think of textures when I do this exercise...but remember, you are not thinking of a texture you've never seen before, you are thinking of a *color* that you have never seen before. It's impossible to imagine. But every once in a while I like to try and see what I come up with.

Likewise, trying to imagine a feeling or a way of being, that your parents never taught you is kind of hard and sometimes close to impossible. Sometimes we need help. Another person who can model that behavior, or help teach us how to do things. 

Growing up with a mother who didn't stand up for herself very much, meant that I never really learned how to do it very well. I was always taught to turn the other cheek, and to always work toward peace and an accord. To always be looking for ways to improve a situation. But in some situations, with some people, approaching conflict like that will only lead to more and more conflict. Sometimes, you need to stand up for your right to be treated with kindness and dignity. To honor your basic humanity and self-worth you have to have limits on what you will allow in your life. What kind of treatment is OK, what kind of treatment is not OK (but still a resolvable situation), and when it is healthiest to call it quits and walk away. Kind of like the lyrics to The Gambler said "You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away...and know when to run!" 

To me the rules on when you should simply disengage and walk away are simple: 

1. If further contact is likely to cause harm to yourself, it's time to go. 

2. If you are not dealing with a reasonable and rational person, it's time to go. 

This has been a hard lesson for me to learn in life because I like to imagine that everyone is capable of having a heart-to-heart dialogue and of resolving conflict in life. But the simple truth is we are not all capable of that. And those of us that are, are capable to varying degrees at different times in our lives, depending on what is going on. It's hard to walk away from people or a situation that you may have a personal stake in or emotional investment. But sometimes it is for the best. 

Before we can love others, we have to love ourselves. We have to be good to ourselves and lift ourselves up with words and thoughts of kindness and self-love first. Otherwise we will not have anything genuine to give. You can't give away emotions that you do not possess for yourself. If you've never learned how to love yourself, then authentically loving others especially in the stormy parts of life is infinitely harder.  

Relational Aggression...Or As I Like To Call It: "Bitch Please!"

Every Flower Must Grow Through Dirt

Relational aggression is when a person commits intentionally hurtful acts, that can damage another person's standing among their peers, and their feelings of acceptance or self-worth. -Think Mean Girls. Often times it is subtle, sophisticated, and easy to miss; which is why many people aren't aware of it. In the adult world, it can manifest as cruelly judging and putting-down a friend or co-worker; or alliance building with the intent to exclude one person from the group, etc. There are loads of ways that it can manifest. And in honesty, it's not limited to just women. Men do it too, but in my experience to a lesser extent. 

My first memory of relational aggression was in elementary school. I remember third grade, Mrs. Shane's room. There was a new boy who was transferring in partway through the year. Many of the other kids in class had already known him from past years, and there seemed to be a consensus that he was not liked. He was a bully. But the way that our class "welcomed" him seemed to be a bit of the same. -Someone put a thumbtack on the seat of his chair and he sat on it. I'm sure it hurt both physically and emotionally. From the first day, he was marked as an outcast. It was strange to see these normally friendly, kind, and inclusive children gang up and turn their backs on the new kid. 

In fifth grade I spent a period of two months, after my mother's divorce, as a mean girl. It was how I handled the pain of losing my family. Of going off to summer camp, only to get a letter informing me of the divorce. I never saw my house, my dog, my brothers and step-father, my friends, my school, my happy suburban family-life again, and it was devastating. If there is one lesson in life that keeps repeating for me, it is the importance of being resilient. To roll with the punches of life and just keep going no matter what. But back then, I became a mean girl. It was empowering in a way and I "meaned" my way to the top. Crushing sweeter and kinder children with a simple look. At that age it's easy. You withhold approval. You *don't* smile when someone smiles at you. You act as though they are lucky to have you as a friend, and mean it. See how subtle it is? No teacher, no adult was going to call me on that. In fact I think most of them didn't even notice. I was still technically "polite". I still followed all the rules and made sure to get decent grades. I was part of a very small group of children who had been singled out for "Gifted and Talented" classes. So as far as the adults were concerned, I was a good kid. Little did they know, the poison that was festering inside of me. I made friends with the most popular kids in school, and proceeded to push one of them out of the group. -What a jerk. To this day, I feel bad about that. In a way though, I'm glad that I went through this phase because I can honestly say that I know what it feels like from both sides. I can understand it more, and I know that unlike what many parents like to think, there are no kids who are wholly good or wholly bad. Even a bully, can change and probably has many times. Our limited narrative on what a bully looks like is kind of like bad Hollywood writing. Totally one dimensional. We have these archetypes for bullies. But I think it would help if people realized that when it comes to relational aggression, often times the victims of it at different times in their lives, with different people, may be the perpetrators of relational aggression. This kind of dynamic is very fluid. 

Instead of focusing on making people bad or evil, it would be more *useful* to focus on teaching our children (and adults) the following:

1. Conflict is normal and OK, bullying is not. Conflict is a part of being human and interacting with other humans. As long as you are alive, you will have moments in life where you won't see situations the same way as others, where you won't agree, and where you will have conflict. The fact that there is conflict does not mean that anyone is "wrong", or "bad", or "mean". And I think that if people (adolescent girls in particular) understand that conflict is normal, and not a big deal, it would make it less scary when it happens. I've seen a lot of girls and women try to avoid conflict in ways that can be damaging to themselves (ie. Always playing the part of the good-girl, or sweetheart, when inside they are angry. Or people-pleasing, when you would rather do something different than what is requested of you.) -this kind of stuff always comes out, and it's better and healthier to be yourself and deal with it calmly, logically, and openly. Bullying is different than conflict, and if you need a deeper explanation of how, check out the link below for Part 2 of Holly Pederson's talk on relational aggression. 

2. We need to teach our children methods for resolving conflict, and then practice them. I include the practice part because sometimes people may have acquired knowledge (ie. through reading a self-help book, taking a class, or through advice from others) but if you don't put that information into action and consistently practice it in life, you will never master that skill. Mastery only comes from trying..and usually messing up a bit...but then you just keep going and try some more until you get it right. 

3. We need to teach people the value of being inclusive. I got this one from my grandpa. He was a kind and gentle man with a wisdom about people and human nature, that I have not seen to that extent again. He could make people feel special. Known. Loved. Part of the group. He was one of the adults who saw what I was going through during my stint as a mean-girl, and he loved me through it. Brought me out of it through kindness and just *showing* me every day, how to live, how to love, and how to treat people. How to lift them up. Who we choose to accept as "one of us" is entirely up to us as individuals. But I tell ya, this world would be a much better, happier, and more peaceful place; if we stopped putting everyone who was different into the automatic "other" category. We cast a vote in essence, with our praise, and with our warmth. I think about things like equal rights of minorities, women, and the queer community as key examples of things that would be vastly improved, if we only learned as a culture the value of being inclusive. You could easily chunk that up to a global scale and think about human suffering that way too. When we stop thinking in terms of us/them, and learn to be more inclusive, it will be harder to distance ourselves and *not care* about the suffering of others. 

Not all of us improve greatly, past the cafeteria mean-girl tactics of adolescence, but it's never too late to change directions. Below are some links to speakers who discuss this topic. These are some of the best speakers I've found relating to this topic. 

Holly Pedersen of Parents Place. (Ms. Pedersen is an expert in relational aggression who had developed programs to address the issue of bullying in schools): 

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Shane Koyczan's Ted Talk

High School Girls Discussing Relational Aggression 

Three Year Anniversary

"What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; 

what we have done for others and the world 

remains and is immortal."

Albert Pike

Dear La Suprema,

It's been three years since you've died. And I miss you every day. But things are going well. I'm learning to make my way in the world without you. It's been filled with a lot of hard and painful lessons. I had no idea how truly wonderful you were when I had you. Mainly because that was all I knew. I made the very silly assumption that the world was filled with people like you. -I was very wrong about that. You are irreplaceable. (sigh)

But! I am learning more and more, what it means to be an adult. It takes a lot of grit and determination. I think the nature of life is struggle. Rising and falling...and rising again. And learning to trust in one's own self. To believe in your greatness. I remember my whole life, I believed in you and rooted you on. And I couldn't understand how someone so wonderful and capable could ever second-guess their talents and abilities the way you did. But now I'm an adult. I'm in the "driver's seat" so to speak, and I get it. When you're in charge, and calling the shots, you also have the burden of risk and failure. And you have to learn to master your fears, and humbly keep going forth. Loving you has taught me how to stay the course when things are dark, when times are hard, and there's no *reasonable* reason to believe that things will end well. You've taught me how to become comfortable in the struggle. To laugh while falling and learning. And I am so grateful that you were my mom. I love you La Suprema. Every single day.

Much Love,
Your Daughter

Life Lessons on Handling Criticism

"To escape criticism, do nothing, say nothing, and be nothing." 

~Elbert Hubbard

What I know to be true...

That when you're too concerned with making a good impression, you almost never shine your true light. But rather, the act of being overly-concerned about other people's opinions, actually diminishes your light, and the clarity of one's thoughts and message becomes diluted in a people-pleasing-sea-of-nothingness. It is what I think of, when I think of the thin-plastic veneer...the cheap facade of the businesses world today.

That not everyone is going to like you. -And who cares! It is not your business to make everyone like you. It is your business to be clear, honest, and authentic. To take into account other people's feeling and to be fair and kind. But to always be *yourself*. As André Gide said: "It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not."

That the world is filled with critics and people who will tell you how to do what you're doing better. That's not necessarily a bad thing. The true art of improvement begins with the ability to filter criticism and extract the *valuable* data, while leaving the *baloney* behind. Remember that you are a work in progress, and the limits of what you achieve are only set by yourself.

That *everyone* has a talent. Several talents actually...

That everyone faces obstacles in the course of their lives...and to just persevere and push forth.

That great leaders do not discourage, intimidate, or chastise; but rather teach, build, encourage, and inspire. The mark of a great leader, is the legacy of happiness, confidence, and flourishing growth that they've inspired in others. -The leaders that they've produced. In my many years, I've worked for great leaders and weak leaders. The best examples of leadership were those, who cheered on their worker's and encouraged them to develop in the direction of their dreams and personal goals; even if it meant, eventually, that employee would move on to a different company or position. Great leaders can share in your joy and growth, and welcome it whole-heartedly.

Your happiness will always be worth the struggle it takes to achieve it.

Sometimes the Best Quality People Go Unappreciated by the Crowds

My Grandma wasn't the kind of woman that everyone could appreciate. In a lot of ways, she was a hidden treasure. Not because she hid herself...but more...because the culture we live in doesn't tend to gravitate towards the quieter ones. She was amazing, smart, funny, and cool. When I feel the pressure of life pushing down hard on me, I think of her and try to emulate her. Sort of like "What Would Jesus Do?"...only it's more like "What Would Grandma Do?" (no offense JC...you're pretty cool too...it's just this old lady really had it going on).

Grandma was one of the younger children. She grew up in the southwest, on a farm. She had a bunch of siblings, most of them older than her. Her mother, was a notoriously hard woman. She was known for her fits of temper and rage. Her father, was a quiet man. Kind to his children. But submissive to his wife's anger. Cacimira had a right to be angry. Life had not been fair to her. She was smart. And as a child held much promise. But one day of acting out in school...a school where her father was the headmaster, shamed him so much, that he punished her forever. She was never allowed to go to school again. Never allowed to learn. To grow. To become what she could be. To become what she knew she had in her. Cacimira was robbed. And forced to live a life of hard physical labor. -Lack of education will do that. She was married off to a man (Santos) who would be kind to her, and who loved to read, but was also destined for a hard life of labor. They worked in the fields of many different farms. Bringing with them, their children, to work as well. School was a luxury. My grandma loved school. She told me stories of walking in the frozen, icy desert...walking in the dark for hours, so that they could go to school. In the Winter months, there was no agricultural work. So that was her time for education. She and her siblings would each get one hot potato for breakfast, and they'd carry it in their hands or pockets to keep warm on the way to school.

When Grandma was a teenager, her older sisters Nellie, Irene, and Gloria would go to the local dance hall on weekends. Compared to my Grandma, her sisters were glamorous women of the world. They wore makeup, and had shoes with 1" heels on them. -Not the farmer's work-boots my grandma wore. But one night, they took pity on her, and brought her along. Lord knows why!? They made it a game to make fun of Grandma usually. They called her "Piano Legs" because her legs were so long and skinny. She was skinny growing up. And she didn't have a very womanly form. Grandma speculated that perhaps one of her older brothers made them...or maybe it was their parents... for whatever reason, they took her. It was her destiny to be there that night. Because that was the night she met Henry, my grandfather. For him, making friends and being social came easily. He was a charmer. Everybody loved Henry. He spotted my grandma sitting alone at a table, in a back corner of the dance hall. My grandpa was the kind of man who always imparted to me the importance of being inclusive. So it's no surprise to me what came next...he crossed the room to go talk with my grandma. He lured her out of her shyness and asked her to dance. He didn't care that she didn't know how. He'd teach her! The main thing was, he didn't want her to feel alone. That night, he walked her home. It didn't matter to him, that there were at least a dozen other *prettier* girls there that night, all of whom could cut a rug better than grandma. -he liked her. And she liked him back. Theirs is the closest, I've ever seen to a "love at first sight". They spent the rest of their lives together. Very much in love, and dear friends, the whole way through. I hope that one day I will feel that kind of connectedness with my mate.

When Grandma got older, she had struggles with racism, and illness. No matter what came her way though, she was the most determined woman I've ever known. She kept her head high, wrote her goals down, prayed for god to watch over her and her family and friends, and for god to bless her with the right opportunity to change things. Most of the time, her prayers came true. All of the time they were answered. 

Finding Your Mom in a Box of Small Details

I'm finally emptying my storage units, and delving through all of my family stuff. I spent tonight going through some of my mom's old things. One box in particular had a bunch of old papers. Now I know some people would just trash it immediately...and believe me, I'm tempted to, but it just isn't in my nature to do so. I have to read it and go through it, and make sure that I'm not getting rid of something *important*. Now how I define *important* and how another person defines that term is definitely going to be different. But I'll tell you some of the things that I found tonight, that I don't want to forget (bear in mind, this does *not* mean that I will keep these things forever)...just that I have to figure out how to move through the physical stuff, and be able to keep the happy feelings and memories in my heart and honor them in a very real and tangible way in my daily life. Anyhoo...on to the things I rediscovered tonight:

An old receipt from the Sonoma Mission Inn...my mom, Grandma and I would go there a couple of days before Christmas. It was our tradition, to escape the usual hectic wind-up that everyone else was doing right before the holidays. We would say "If it didn't get done by the 22nd...then it's OK. Now it's time to go and relax and remember that the real treasures in life are ones of the heart...and we're going to spend some time together as a family, and enjoy just being together." And we would. We would take yoga classes, and relax. Go swimming at night in the artesian mineral water pool, breathe in the eucalyptus vapors in the steam room, get massages and order room service. We had so much fun. And after a couple of days of relaxation, we would come home and enjoy Christmas *without* the stress. It was a great tradition. One that I fully intend on reliving with my family.

I also found appointment cards from an expensive hair salon that my mom used to take me to. She always had great hair. It was one of the things that she shared with me. I was lucky to have such a giving and fun mom.

But I think the best thing I found was a notepad of my mom's. She had her basic "to do" list kind of stuff in it. Phone numbers. Appointments. Broken things that she had to fix, and what her monthly budget was. ...but then she also had her thoughts written here and there. Hopes, fears, goals, and even challenges. She was a young woman, much like I am today. It's kind of weird to see your mom as a *person* more than your mom. And I realize how much my mom sacrificed to have me. To raise me, and do right by me. She was not perfect. But she gave it her whole heart and she gave up a lot. So much of me is echoed in that notepad. I see things so much more fully now compared to how I was as a teen. But I remember how I used to believe in my mom, and encourage her...I just have to keep doing that for myself now. I miss you so much mom. I know I'll see you again one day. But tonight, I just want to say thank you, for raising me and loving me. I know it wasn't easy. But I appreciate how hard you worked and how much you loved me and just kept pushing yourself to be a mom but never lose yourself. Thank you for that. 

Millie Meets Mr. Piccolo and The Cute Boy

I got to see Millie yesterday! And it was so good for my heart. It felt like coming home. Isn't it funny how the people we love the most in life, have that wonderful feeling of *home*. Just holding them, smiling, and being in their presence, is like a thousand home-cooked meals, Christmas mornings, and fires in the fireplace all wrapped up in one simple hug.  The Cute Boy and I went to the dog park with Mr. Piccolo 

and afterwards, we stopped by the nursing home that Millie is in. We brought Mr. Piccolo in to meet her, and immediately, all of the old people in the living room perked up when they saw "the puppy". There were so many smiling and eager faces. Even the woman who runs the place, came out to see him. We went to Millie's room to visit. And she sat down on the bed and cradled Mr. Piccolo. He didn't squirm or try to get away. In fact, he just relaxed and settled in. He was tuckered out from all of his running and playing at the dog park. And there's something about the energy of old people. It's sweet and safe. Calm and comforting. Ceci knew that Millie's arms were a safe place to be in and rest, so he closed his eyes and took a nap. 

"I want a puppy." Millie said. It's a universal truth shared between children and old people -everyone wants a puppy. When you let down your guard, and are open to what your heart really wants...at the end of the day, don't be surprised if "Puppy" is on the list. 

I told Millie that I would bring him back to visit again. Some time this week, I'm going to go back and paint her nails. She was really excited about this prospect. I realize my nail colors are a little limited right now. I just got 3 awesome O.P.I nail colors from a makeup artist friend of mine who was clearing out her stash. But they're all unusual and youthful colors like blue and milky white, named things like "Club Scene Queen". "Club Scene Queen" -that would be perfect for Millie wouldn't it? ;) I'll bring all of my colors and let her pick whatever she likes. She's getting up there in years now; in her upper ninety's. I think a little metallic disco blue would be nice. 

Overcoming Obstacles: The Foreclosure & Being Robbed

So many things have happened to me since I last posted. I'm surprised that the blog has kept a fair amount of readers coming back. To those of you who just kept coming back, and perusing my older posts...thanks.

I wasn't exactly sure where to begin, with what has been going on with my life. And that initial "not knowing where to start"  quickly became overwhelmed and just deep-bone-tired. I didn't want to look back at what I had just gone through. It was too painful and too fresh. I just wanted to move forward with my life and just keep going. But even those intentions seemed to befuddle me. I've been waiting to write, so that when I did, it would be something positive. Something useful. I didn't want to seem like a sad or broken person. Or like someone who whined a lot or was constantly down. So I waited. I waited for the wisdom and the beauty of life to occur to me. I waited to see the deeper life lessons that could be gleaned from tragedy. I know they're there. But honestly. I am a little wounded. The things that I've been through *did* hurt. A lot. And they still do. Don't feel sorry for me folks, 'cause I'm making it through just fine. But denying the pain of it, just isn't helping me any. So it's time I just get back to trying to be real. The real me. With everything that entails. -Including being hurt and sad at times. So here it is: my childhood home, a place which should be mine today, was foreclosed on. The bank refused to speak with me, after my mother died, and refused to acknowledge me as the rightful owner. They wouldn't accept any payments from me. And in the end, stole my family home. A place, where my grandparents lived and died. A place where my own mom, lived and died. A place where in some ways I have lived and died a little too.

I never thought I would see this day; when my home was not my *home* anymore. The word "home" has so many connotations. And I've been struggling with it ever since the move. When my mother died, I struggled with it then too. I didn't feel like that house was home anymore, without her there. It was hard coming home to an empty house, with no one to greet me, and no one to love. The place that I live in now, is so different. The people are very different, and not very warm in the way my family was. So it's hard. I miss that. I miss feeling like "I belong" here, and that "this is my home" because my heart tells me so. My heart keeps telling me that this current place is not my home. It's just a temporary place. A tent in the desert..but not the promised land. I know that I should be grateful for what I've been given, and I am. I just also, feel very alone and adrift right now. And I *want* to feel that wonderful feeling of *home* again. The feeling of love, and warmth, and comfort. It has very little to do with the actual house really, and so much to do with the people. -I miss my family. Deeply. Every day.

I am loved. I know that. And I do experience joy, and happiness. But not in the same quantities or frequent daily occasions that I used to. Not to the same depths either. It's a hard adjustment to make. And I get stuck on how to appropriately express this grief, while not insulting those who actually do love me and are here for me. -I don't want to hurt their feelings, but I know that I do. Just by being sad, I do.

Somewhere in this whole ordeal, I was robbed. The robbers took everything of value. It's been several months since this happened, and the things that they stole that I was most upset about (my grandparent's wedding photo's) -which I'm sure they weren't *trying* to take, but unfortunately were stored with other things that they did want; have luckily been replaced! How can a wedding photo be replaced you ask? Well I'll tell ya! Luckily for me, in an old antique chest in the garage, my grandparents had ONE duplicate copy of their wedding picture inside the church

...and to my surprise...ANOTHER photo that was taken of them *outside* the church!

YAY! Awesome discovery!!! Also...since my mother was adopted, I thought for sure I would never get another copy of her birth parent's wedding photo...but because it was an adoption within the family (the woman I know as my grandma was biologically my great-aunt) there was a copy of that photo given as a gift to my grandparents. :)) YES!

So the most priceless things have been replaced. The diamonds, the gold, the money, the china, the furniture, the antique silver, my photography and computer equipment are all replaceable. Sure it won't be the exact same pair of earrings that my mom gave me, to remind me always that "you are special".  But it doesn't need to be. I know I'm loved. I know I am special. And I know that I will make it through this period of my life and onto greater things. And when I do...I am getting myself a pair of diamond earrings to celebrate. In the mean time...I'm back, I've got my fighting spirit back, and I'm ready to enjoy what there is to enjoy about life.

...Just for good measure...I'm including another awesome photo I discovered in the trunk:

This is my Grandpa when he was a little boy. The year is 1922. The woman with him is his mom, Edith. From what I've been told, Edith was a very loving woman. She used to make fresh whipped cream (whipped by HAND in those days!) EVERY DAY to go with whatever dessert she made. Talk about love!

Day Fourteen and Fifteen of the Juice Fast

Day Fourteen and fifteen...Well... I took a couple of days off. I had an IUD inserted yesterday. After being in a monogamous relationship for a while, and deciding that I really *don't* want kids any time in the next couple of years, I decided to go ahead and get an IUD inserted. 

IUD's have come a long way since the sexual revolution of the 70's, when they were relatively new in this country and the kinks weren't completely worked out. I recall my mother warning me to never get an IUD because they could cause infertility and all sorts of problems in a woman's uterus. -A truly horrifying place to have problems! 

When I went to my primary care physician and requested an IUD, she told me that I would have to sign up for a class about long-term contraception, be tested for Chlamydia (don't ask why that specific STI test is administered...It's just standard issue for getting an IUD, they want to make sure that you don't have *any* STI's but especially that one, as I hear it can cause inflammation in your uterus which is a particularly bad combination with an IUD.) And lastly, I had to make sure I wasn't pregnant. Then, once all of that was done, I could schedule the insertion for the tail end of my next period. They like to put them in then because a woman's cervix is most dilated after her period, which makes for a slightly easier insertion, especially among women who have never had a child (me!).The procedure only took about 15 minutes, but was one of the most uncomfortable few moments of my life to date. When the Dr. actually pushed through my cervix, I had to grip the table. There was this very sweet nurse who kept telling me to relax...that tensing up would make everything tighter and therefore more painful. She asked me what I liked to do to relax...I told her I liked to get a massage. So she suggested that I imagine that this was just like getting a massage. HA! That idea was so funny to me, I couldn't help but laugh. Yes...this is *exactly* like getting a massage...in my uterus...by a stranger...with a speculum, and an IUD insertion tool. Yep. Just like a day at the spa. ;p For the briefest of moments, I thought "Geeze if this is how painful it is to have something as small as a pea go through your cervix, I don't want kids!" I mean, I cannot imagine how painful that would be. When it was done, the Dr. did an ultrasound to make sure that the IUD was in place, and then I was free to go. I felt nauseated and crampy. On our way out to the car, the Cute Boy held my hand, and said he really felt for all of the pain and stuff that women had to go through. "You women do a lot. You have to go through a lot. I'm thankful for all that you do.". Hearing that made me feel better. It was comforting to have a teammate who appreciated the physical sacrifices and responsibilities that women go through. I know, I have a good man. 

When we got home, I made some horribly inedible tortillas and had a small bowl of beans. Then I fed my hockey puck of flatbread to the dogs, and relaxed with a heating pad. I could feel the tissues around my uterus were inflamed and hard, and I marveled at the fact that my uterus (an almost imaginary thing to me...like unicorns, and the tooth fairy) was actually real...AND it was exactly where they had always told me it was. I've never had a baby, never felt anything grow. or push. or stretch there...so to actually feel it (my ute) was kind of amazing and cool. 

So I took yesterday off from the juice fast and just recovered and relaxed. That extended into today, as I was still feeling a bit crampy and tired. But tomorrow, I'm back on it. At my weigh in at the doctor's office, I discovered that I had lost another two pounds. Which is all pretty encouraging. I'm finally beginning to poop normally and feel better from the inside. So progress is still coming along, and I feel pretty good about that. 

Things I learned today:

1. It's OK to take a break to take care of yourself.
2. The Cute Boy continues to impress me and I feel very happy with him by my side in life.
3. If I didn't have health insurance, getting an IUD would have cost me somewhere around $1,000 -for something that is little more than a small piece of mass produced plastic with a little string attached! I think it's completely crazy and just flat out wrong that women often times have to inequitably shoulder the expense, the responsibility, and the pain of contraception, childbirth, and child rearing. There needs to be a cultural revolution to change this.