And so it has begun. The tantrums. The complete meltdowns upon having things not go her way which leaves her lying on the floor screaming like a banshee. The hesitance to use her words the majority of the time although she sure as hell says the word "NO" clear as day. Usually over and over, like "no no no no no nooooooo". The utter disregard for my repeated attempts to stop her from what she's doing. The intense eye contact and defiant eyes as I'm saying, "Monkey, do NOT do that" while she continues on her way. The "I want what I want and I want it now" attitude commonly referred to as "the terrible twos". (sigh) I knew it was coming. But you're never really prepared are you?

I should state up front that I do not believe in strict discipline. I also do not believe in withholding love and attention. I would never feel comfortable with shutting her in a room and allowing her to cry herself to calmness. To me, that seems that it would illicit the exact opposite reaction of what I'm going for which is for her to always feel loved, secure and able to express herself - even if they aren't warm and happy emotions. I realize this acting out is just part of her development and a lot of it stems from frustration that she is unable to express any other way.

Many people, I'm sure, would think "Okay, fine, then you'll raise a brat". I do not, however, believe in "giving in" to what she wants. I will not allow her to get her way but I will grab her and hold her tightly and express that I realize she is upset at the moment but I'm not going to let her go until she calms down. And I will get down to her level and make eye contact and attempt to soothe her. And even though it doesn't always work I don't walk away from the interaction feeling guilty or feeling that I didn't truly hear her or allow her to feel that she was heard.

And as I was struggling with this over the past few weeks I began thinking back to the our travels. I remember so clearly seeing women in Southeast Asia and in Africa with babies tied onto their backs who were walking along the side of the road and working in fields and standing in crowded buses and not once did I see a toddler have a tantrum. Nor did I see a toddler squirming to get down or doing anything except being mellow and watching the world for a passenger's point of view. I even commented to Mr. Egg from time to time - how are these kids so well-behaved??

I stumbled across this interesting article which really made a lot of sense to me. It was written from a sociological viewpoint about an indigenous tribe in South America. Basically the gist is that most cultures (i.e: not Western culture) are not child-centered. Meaning, although they do keep their children is close physical contact they do not spend much time giving their children direct attention. The children are allowed to go through life as passive observers until they begin to walk and then explore the world on their own. The parents will occasionally give them attention in the form or a hug or kiss or singing songs but for the most part the parent goes about his or her business while the child is simply along for the ride.

Now, I have always subscribed to the idea of wearing Monkey. Ever since she was born. Even now although she's nearly 2 I still wear her instead of using a stroller. So I thought, what's the difference here? I've worn her when I was doing dishes or starting on dinner or hiking through the forest or wandering the aisle of the co-op. But I realized that a lot of the day - I just don't have that much to do. Sure there is some stuff to do. But unlike most people all over the world I don't have to work from dawn until dusk to simply provide the basics. I, we as a society, have it pretty damn easy. So we have more down time. Idle time. Time in which our kids are wondering what to do with themselves because we're wondering what to do with ourselves.

So we busy ourselves and take them to parks and kids museums and gymnastics and this or that and try to cram so much into a day to feel "productive". When maybe the simple answer is that we're just out of balance. We have strayed so far from what nature intended that it's spilling over into areas such as our child's behavior and development. Maybe, although our way of life is decidedly easier, we are doing more harm than good for our kids. Obviously there are many positives to a more modern world. But do those positives outweigh the negatives? I'm not sure I agree with that. Thoughts?

The first time I met her I admit I was intimidated. Although she had a sweet and welcoming smile and a surprisingly soft voice she had short spiked hair that was tri-colored and a face full of metal. She wore the same tan colored Carhartt overalls every day, the shoulder straps covered in political and band buttons, with a various nearly threadbare t-shirt underneath. She was an outspoken dyke vegan activist who was into whisky, poker and punk rock. We worked together at a drop-in center for homeless youth and as the months slid by we became friends and hung out often. Most of our time was spent playing drinking games at her kitchen table while we flirted openly. Even in front of my girlfriend at the time. Yeah, I'm an asshole.

There was always a tangible attraction to her even though she was not my usual "type". She was also very aggressive and open about her sexuality. Since her teen years she had been heavily involved in the SMBD movement in San Francisco. Her previous lover wrote a book about, and held workshops on, fisting. And Aliah was her "model". Aliah was involved with a group up here which held monthly sex parties in random warehouses. Although I nearly went once, it fell through. My girlfriend wasn't down with the idea. Well, actually, she agreed to go but wouldn't let me go by myself. And, honestly, that would prohibited me from playing so I said we weren't going. A fight ensued but in the end it was best.

Fast forward 5 years. When I moved back to Humboldt during my pregnancy with Monkey a friend and I went out to the beach for some driftwood collecting. We strolled along the beach for half a mile or so before finding a spot to set down our blanket. As we were talking about various friends we'd known since our days at the drop-in center she kept referring to Ali this, Ali that. "He" said this or "he" did that. After the fourth or so time I stopped her and said, "Wait. dude. Who are you talking about?". "ALI!", she said. Pause. A light seemed to click on in her head. "Oh yeah! You've been gone through all of this. Well, Aliah is now Ali. And a he. Well, he wanted to be "they" but too many people had trouble with that. So. "They" is what is preferred. But "he" is okay. just not "she"." I think I stared at her with my mouth hanging open slightly as I tried to process what she just spoke. Hey, I'm one of the most open-minded person when it comes to such things but I'll admit it threw even me. It took nearly a year before I could remember to not refer to Ali as "she". I even still slip up sometimes though never in front of him, thank goodness! I have another transgendered friend out here as well, the ex of another friend from back in the day. But I've known him as a "he" so it wasn't a difficult transition for me.

I mention this because as I was lying in bed last night I started thinking about sexuality and the restrictions so many people like to place on it. I, personally, don't really understand what it would be like to feel that I'm "in the wrong body" but it doesn't mean I can't attempt to imagine what it would be like. Luckily I live in an area that is extremely accepting of transgendered people but I think of youth growing up in small towns of righter-leaning viewpoints and it's no wonder so many kids end up killing their self.

One of the things I always loved about Thailand was the acceptance and inclusion of the "lady boys". They're everywhere. In big cities and small towns alike. And they are just accepted by Thai people. It's not even an issue. It just IS.

When I see a transgendered person I wonder about them. Their lives. Their family and friends. What their experience has been like and how much courage it took to live the way they feel more comfortable. I wonder how many people look at them in disgust and shock and obvious judgment and what it does to their souls. Have they just learned to ignore it or does it still hurt? Each and every look. I wonder if the smiles or nods counter the other stuff. Do they have a family to go home to every night? A partner to love them as they are?

What do you think when you cross paths with transgendered people?

"There are very few human beings who receive the truth,
complete and staggering, by instant illumination.
Most of them acquire it fragment by fragment,
on a small scale, by successive developments,
cellularly, like a laborious mosaic." - Anaïs Nin

4 years. 4 years I have carried his ghost around with me. 4 years he has invaded my head, my heart, my life, reaching around every corner and lingering in shadows. Even during periods when I felt his hold over me losing its power I could still feel him weighing heavily on the part of me that usually remains hidden and guarded. My inability to release the memories have infiltrated my relationship with my partner and in some ways even my relationship with my daughter. Because as it's affected my relationship with myself on so many levels it has bled over into other areas. Not only have I carried this around with me but, by association, Mr. Egg has as well. He has seen me struggle and was more supportive than most yet imagine how devastating it must be to witness the love of your life trying to move past the love and passion she had for her previous lover. I never fully got that. I was so immersed in my own pain and grieving that I never fully understood what that was doing to him. To us. Nor did I realize how much of this was suppressing my love for him or, more specifically, my ability to allow myself to feel it.

Sometimes epiphanies occur spontaneously. They come seemingly out of nowhere to rock your world into a new direction. But sometimes they are proceeded by years of searching...questioning...actively seeking the truth. I have wrestled with those several months I spent living with D in Manhattan. I have turned every word, glance and action inside out. Flipped them upside down. Over and over and over again. Answers came slowly. My ability to see the truth came even more slowly. Piecing it all together, little by little, I finally arrived at the end. It was sudden on the one hand, releasing something that has held parts of myself hostage for so long. Something that I thought I would never, could never, move beyond. But the more I look at it from a distance I see how this was certainly a long time coming.

In the late hours of yesterday evening I arrived at the end of a trail that ended long ago. I see how I allowed myself to trip through that forest long after I lost my way. I continued to wander deeper and deeper in. But in that wandering I learned a lot about myself. The way I love. The way I hide from love. The walls I erect and smash into time and again. And, not to take away from the heartbreak I experienced, but maybe a large part of me clung onto this "lost love" for so long as a way to avoid opening to my new love. My true love. The love that exists with the man I share my bed with every night and wake to every morning and fight with and talk with and stress with and laugh with and cry with. The father of my child who has seen me through my worst moments as well as some of my best.

And when I woke this morning, and sleepily shuffled down the hall towards the light of the bathroom I heard Mr. Egg brushing his teeth and knew instantly that Monkey was on her stool trying to stick her hand under the faucet as she giggled with glee, I felt lighter. And joyous. And as I stood in the dark hallway gazing into the bathroom at my family I felt tears in my eyes. It was almost as if I was seeing them for the first time and the love in my heart was overwhelming.

I will not say that I will never again feel a twinge when I think of D. Or that the heartbreak I experienced wasn't strong and real and life-altering. But the memories no longer reside with such fullness. They are filed away with the many other lessons I have had in this life which have left me a bit more battered and bruised. They exist side by side now, the various shapes fitting together to form the bigger picture. No more and no less.

Steven H------ Finds the acts of anti-semitism occurring in Europe disgusting. Did the memory of the Holocaust fade?

Mr.Egg: don't confuse anti-Zionism with anti-Semitism

Steven: Mr. Egg, stop reading about the suffering of Gaza and take a look at attacks on synagogues occurring in Europe.

Random guy I don't know: Mr. Egg, when the Dutch are chanting "Jews to the gas," it has nothing to do with Israel or Zionism. It is anti-Semitism. When the Belgians are firebombing Jewish homes in Antwerp, it is anti-Semitism. When Jewish graves, synagogues, and institutions are vandalized, it is anti-Semitism, not anti-Zionism. Israel is the *excuse* for European and Islamic anti-Semitism, not the *reason*.

Me: this is a really good article. I think though, that keeping things in perspective, Muslims face much higher levels of prejudice in this day and age. And in Europe especially, the anti-Islamic vibe is much stronger - most clearly in Holland and France. And even you, Steven, have made many comments that are blatantly anti-Islamic. So it's okay for you to be anti-Islamic but not for others to be anti-Semitic?

That is just the tip of the iceberg. My Facebook has been blowing up in comment sections and responses to statuses and generally everywhere since Israel launched their offensive against Hamas. It's reached the point where I am getting angry.

I have no patience left for Jews defending Israel simply out of some sort of sense of entitlement or being "chosen".

I have no patience left for fundamentalists who consistently choose to exclude themselves from society then turn around and bitch that said society treats them as outsiders.

I have no patience left for being labeled an anti-Semite just because I disagree with Israel's policies and have issues with the exclusionary attitude of most Orthodox Jews or even the many completely secular Jews I know who will defend with their last breath their "nation".

I am tired of having the Holocaust card played time and again in conversations that have nothing to do with the Holocaust (as the guy did above). Yes, it was horrible and sickening and no we never want it to happen again. But you're going to bring it up now, 60 years later, when we're discussing a flaming car which was driven into the gate of a synagogue causing no harm to anyone? How is that logical?

I realize this sort of mentality is not exclusive to the Jewish people but people all over the world, no matter the reasons for division it is pervasive and encapsulating.

I understand being proud of your culture and your ancestors and in no way do I mean to take away from that but at what point are people going to start coming together as simply human beings? When will we finally be able to strip away religion and nationality and ethnicity and sexuality and all the ways we choose to categorize ourselves; allowing us to cling to these cloistered groups which make us feel safe and comforted while providing haven for a separatist mentality rife with hostility, partiality and elitism?

I truly believe that is the next evolution for humankind, we either evolve into harmony with one another or we will kill ourselves dropping bombs and turning this planet into a war zone. We are on the precipice here and I don't know which way we will go. For every time I am beginning to feel hopeful there is something else equally abysmal.

In the spring of 2006 Mr. Egg and I flew from South Africa to Israel. We were hassled and questioned like terrorists and had our luggage searched and nearly missed our flight. Why? Who knows. Maybe because Mr. Egg could pass for an Arab. Maybe because we looked like dirty hippies. Maybe because I blinked my eyes one too many times. I had heard that El Al's security was tighter than any other airline in the world but didn't quite get it until I experienced it firsthand. It was a rather hostile introduction to our arrival in Israel.

We spent a week in Tel Aviv with my former roommate from NYC, Liba. When we packed up and left our apartment on Manhattan's Upper East Side Mr. Egg and I took off for Hong Kong and Liba left for Israel. She had spent a year there after high school and always longed to return. The plan was for her to get there, find a job, make some contacts and then return to the US and then make aliyah. As it turns out she never officially made the move, she's still there working in a bar and making her art and going back and forth between Tel Aviv and NYC in order to keep her status there legal.

Although I was excited to be in Israel, a land I had always wanted to see, I couldn't help but feel out of place given my views concerning the Israeli and Palestinian conflict. I tried to keep my thoughts to myself, not wanting to offend anyone. And, given my personality and passion about things I believe strongly in, it was only a matter of time until I could hold it in no longer.

One day when Liba and I were having dinner at this trendy little sandwich shop on Lilenblaum St. I could no longer keep silent about it. She made some offensive comment about Palestinians which broke the dam and it all came flooding out. I tried every reason I knew to be logical to show her why Israel was in the wrong;

The HUGE fact that Israel is illegally occupying Palestine and has been since 1967. Maybe that has something to do with why so many Palestinians consistently turn to violence. They feel it is their only option to fight the oppression.

How would you react if your home was demolished right before your eyes? and you were starving because funds have been stopped to your people because you voted in a way the Israelis did not agree with? and you held your child in your arms who was bleeding to death from getting caught in the crossfire and the ambulance that was trying to reach you to save his or her life was fired at and blocked from reaching you?

The Palestinians have been made second-class citizens in their own land and are living under oppression daily.

Israelis have annexed their land, built illegal settlements, build Israeli-only roads between the settlements and even are given priority to the natural resources in the areas, i.e.: water.

I asked Liba how she would feel if she was faced with that. She claimed she was, every day, simply by being Jewish. She knew oppression, her people had been oppressed since the beginning and they persevered. And now you think it's your turn to be the oppressors?, I countered.

I seem to have these same conversations over and over with the majority of my Jewish friends. Even those who aren't religious seem to have this intense support of Israel, no matter what the state's crimes are. I cannot wrap my head around the idea that it's a good idea for the US to provide aid to a nation that is in violation of the UN's Resolution 242 but also that the we are in violation of our own laws: The US Foreign Assistance Act (FAA) and the US Arms Export Control Act (AECA) strictly forbid the government from giving military assistance to any country that violates internationally recognized human rights. Or that by giving money and arms to Israel, who then turns around and sells billions of dollars worth of arms to India to fight Pakistan, the US is essentially funding two nations on the brink (or over the edge as the case may be in Israel and Palestine) of war.

What is the answer? I'm not sure what the answer is. A second state? Quite possibly. And it's also possible that there is nothing to be done and the violence will continue to escalate until there is a complete genocide on either side. But until Israel makes that first step of discontinuing their illegal occupation nothing else matters.

Until the Palestinians have their land and their rights back they will fight to the death for it. I would like to think everything could be achieved peacefully but to be honest, I'm not a pacifist and although I think peaceful means should be tried first if they don't work I understand the desire to grab a weapon and fight for what it yours. For your basic human rights. I realize it just perpetuates the cycle but what are you other options when you have tried everything?

The night before we were to head down to the Bay Area Mr. Egg called his sister to confirm the time of our arrival. From where I sat in the living room the call from his end sounded like this:

Yo' sis, you ready? (pause) Yeah, we're not leaving until after I get off work so don't expect us until 10-11. (pause) How's the unpacking coming? (pause) Is J already at mom's? And Auntie? (pause) -I interject and say, Dude, remind her we're bringing the dog- Yup well we'll see you tomorrow, we're bringing our dog and our baby. (pause) Oh, uh, I thought this was already talked about. (pause) Yep, well we'll figure something out, bye.

Wtf, I ask? Turns out her husband said "no fucking way" to the dog coming. I assured him I had informed her of this over a month ago. But in the midst of their moving just before the holidays it was forgotten amongst the madness. And at that late point our options were what? Nada. So we spent the rest of the night scrambling and trying to find a cheapish hotel to stay and thought we were going to have to just blow it off and stay home. Plus and minuses to both going and staying. Mainly the staying option caused guilt for Mr. Egg as his mother was so excited to have all her children and grandchildren there for Christmas. Stress levels were running high. By the next morning his sister had emailed to say they'd work it out and 2 hours before we had planned to leave his BIL called to explain his side and that it would be cool and we should come down as planned. By the end of our first evening there? He loved our dog so much he was offering money if we would leave him there.

So the week played out as most family holidays do - plenty of food and LOTS of alcohol and not enough sleep and excited children and healthy sprinklings of bickering and reminiscing and frustration and contentment and everything in between. Monkey had her moments of sheer terrible toddlerdom as well as those in which she giggled and smiled and wrapped everyone around her finger. Overall it went better than expected and although at times tensions ran high we came away feeling glad we went (I think).

We also managed to sneak in some time with friends, though not as many as we would have liked. We departed from the family festivities Saturday afternoon and drove south to spend that night with friends. Monkey and M played and we all talked and talked and talked some more and ate food and drank beer and wine and stayed up talking some more once the girls were asleep. They gave up their bed for us and slept horribly because of it and when morning came we drank some coffee and I took away a box of their things they are trying to find homes for and we all hugged and said our goodbyes and best wishes and by the time we reached the end of their road I was in tears. Because though I am happy and excited for their beginning chapter I think the reality of it hit me and there is a mixture of joy for them and sadness a bit for me because although I know we will meet again when and where are unknown and it may be longer than I would like. But as I have traveled and moved and traveled and moved again and connected with people on deep levels I have learned that we weave in and out of each others stories as the timing fits and it's never really goodbye it's just see you around the Universe in the most unexpected places.

On our way back home that Sunday morning we stopped in Berkeley to visit friends Mr. Egg has known and loved for over 20 years. We had brunch on their back deck in the beautiful sunshine while Monkey and their son ran around the yard with the 4 dogs and played in their sand pit and fort and time was short, as it always is, and the couple of hours passed by much faster than we would have liked but it was time to hit the road for our long journey home.

And as we arrived home last night as dark was setting in and we unloaded the kid and the dog and the presents and dirty clothes we were exhausted and drained. And this morning it's back to our usual day to day stuff and with that it's time to change a poopy diaper.

"I know we're doing Christmas this year with your mom and family since last year we were with my mom in London for Monkey's first Christmas but what do you think about not celebrating Christmas anymore after this year?"

"Uh....What? I don't want to talk about it."

"Why, though?? It makes no sense. We are not Christians, we don't even believe in God, in fact. And we both despise the consumer aspect of it. Strip that all away and what do you have?"

"DUDE. I am NOT going to talk with you about this right now."

"I don't get it. What are we supposed to tell Monkey it's all about? Little baby Jesus? It's speculated he was born in the summertime anyway. And buying shit just for the purpose of buying shit? We can celebrate a holiday, why don't we just do Solstice. It's about the winter season and family and love and giving, etc. Christmas was just Solstice co-opted by the Christians as an attempt to convert all the Pagans!"

"C, puh-leeze! I told you I'm not going to talk about this!"


"Fine, dude. Night." (I stormed off the bed)

The next morning when I woke Mr. Egg was in the kitchen pouring boiling water into our French press. When he saw me stumble into the living room, sleepy eyed in my robe, he said, "Are you over it yet, grump?". I responded I was only trying to have a conversation with him about an aspect of our family's future and don't understand why he wouldn't have a conversation with me about it. "Because, dude, it's not something you talk about just days before Christmas. It's very un-Christmas-like. It's decidedly Grinch-like. You want to talk about this, fine, but we'll do it after Christmas."

It's not as though I didn't have wonderful childhood memories of Christmas. Every year, the day after Thanksgiving my mother trekked into the attic or basement and pulled out our boxes and boxes of decorations. The stereo pumped out Christmas carols nearly 24/7. We went to midnight Mass (we only went to church on the big holidays, mainly Christmas and Easter, at times Ash Wednesday). The air was filled with the smells of my mother's yearly baking frenzy. We decorated the tree as a family, always one of the biggest trees on the lot that left barely enough room to place the angel without scraping the ceiling. I believed in Santa until I was about 8 and although it was a crushing blow when I discovered the truth I had enjoyed the years of magic and mystery. A part of me will always hold a special place in my heart for the Christmas of my childhood.

But for me now as an adult? Christmas represents so much of what I want to leave behind. And even more I've become increasingly bitter about how pervasive Christmas is, for months beforehand now it winds its way into every aspect of every day and it's unavoidable. I met my friend at the bar the other night for a couple of drinks and as we were in the middle of a discussion about Christmas and how annoyed we are that it's constantly shoved down our throats a group of carolers wound they way through the bar, complete with reindeer ears and Christmas lights wrapped around their bodies, and they were loud and obnoxious and Sprout and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes, like, SEE!! It's the assumption by the majority of Americans that everyone celebrates Christmas. I'm not hating on those who love Christmas and want to celebrate, awesome, do it. But don't push it on me or my family and don't give me those awful looks like I'm depriving my daughter. I was in the market with Monkey the other day and this woman comes up when she witnesses Monkey throwing a tantrum (because I won't let her play with the delicate glasses on the shelf) and leans down to her level and says, "You should be a good girl or Santa won't bring you any presents!". I eyed her in disbelief and said, "We don't do Santa, especially not as a fear tactic". She looked at me like I was the worst mother in the world.

And in a couple of days we're driving down to the Bay Area for the week to spend the holiday with Mr. Egg's family. He has family flying in from as far away as Montreal and it will be the first time in years that his entire immediate family will be together for Christmas. I will bite my tongue and smile and eat the food and drink the alcohol and enjoy watching Monkey play with her cousins and try to keep my political and spiritual ideology to myself. But come next year? And the years after that? We will be celebrating the winter season in a new way.....if I can just get Mr. Egg on board with it :)

I swore I wasn't having any issues at all when Mr. Egg came home yesterday and said, "Dude, you're in total freak mode" as I flitted about our home cleaning crevices and pacing nervously. And today when we drove the 20 miles to our tiny joke of a county airport I played it cool. And dudes, I drove in my minivan (which I LOVE, but that is a post for another day) to pick her up and Monkey fell asleep en route and once I pulled into short term parking my dad offered to run in and check the arrival board. I offered to do it while he waited in the car with the sleeping child. As soon as I put the van in park I knew I wanted to go into the bar and have a beer. So I offered to go in, that was my logic although it wasn't shared.

I went into the airport and headed straight to the bar. I ordered a beer and downed it in less than 5 minutes. Luckily the bar was set up with windows overlooking the runway so I could see when the plane landed, it's such a small airport there are only a few flights a day. I saw a plane land and guzzled the rest of my beer and headed downstairs to the one arrival gate. I waited as the tiny jet set up their stairs and the people began to file off. My eyes were searching for an old, short, round lady but nobody was fitting that description. It turned out this was not the flight I was looking for, the one I was waiting for was arriving a few minutes later. My first thought? Dude, I could totally be having another beer right now. Less than 10 minutes later I see my grandmother. She is not walking towards the arrival gate but being pushed in a wheelchair. My heart drops a bit. It hasn't been that long since I've seen my Gram. Over two years, to be sure, the last time was when I was in my first trimester with Monkey. But to see her in a wheelchair? A shock. She was wheeled through and we made small talk as we waited for her luggage. We all piled into the van and headed home, picking up my step-father along the way and all had lunch at my house. My dads left to return to work and I spent the afternoon with my Gram.

Monkey stole her heart and climbed all over her and I did my best to entertain the both of them and refrain from getting too intimate or political with her. As the hours passed my tongue loosened. I began cooking dinner and opened a bottle of wine and then Mr. Egg came home which broke the ice a bit more.

It's complicated with my Gram. I always felt like a disappointment. I've always been unconventional and she's very mainstream. She's very conservative and Catholic. She was a nun, dudes. For a couple of years in her late teens. We are coming from such different places. She shops at Wal-Mart on a daily basis. She lives off of pharmaceuticals, carbonated sugar water and boxed meals filled with msg. She nearly hyper-ventilated when we told her there wasn't a Wal-Mart here. And when she made the comment, "Oh you must be behind the times up here" and we responded "No, it's a choice. They wanted to build here but the community successfully fought them out", she just couldn't wrap her head around it.

I made a beautiful, fresh meal made with mostly organic and local ingredients (four cheese polenta with a salad of red leaf lettuce with walnuts, feta, apples, dried cranberries and apple gouda sausage) and as I set the plate before her she said, "I'm definitely trying something new tonight". She enjoyed it and I loved that she expanded her palate and maybe it expanded her world a bit.

Mr. Egg bounced to bed early and we stayed up talking about family stuff and secrets and motherhood and birthing and varying lifestyles and religion and anything else you can think of. I listen quietly as she tells me of my cousins back home on the Gulf Coast and instead of the usual disdain I feel over things like a cousin who shot off the leg of his mother's fiance or the cousin and his wife who were both arrested for domestic violence while their daughter is dealing with neuroblastoma or my favorite aunt who was so traumatized by Katrina that she can't leave her home and is on more than a dozen medications which still leave her unable to function properly. All I thought in these moments of her relaying details, although most of the time I write them off with barely a shrug of my shoulders, is that regardless of how much I find their lives disdainful they are my family and I love them and a part of me will always miss the connection we all had in childhood.

I come from a large family. My father was one of 9 and my mother was one of 7. I have 26 first cousins. All of whom lived near me whilst growing up. We had large family gatherings during holidays and although I have no siblings a couple of my cousins fill that role. But since I branched out on my own and left Louisiana I rarely have much contact with any of my family left behind. To be honest, I often feel better than the majority of them. And when I have returned home to visit I know they have felt that although I have tried my best to hide my feelings of superiority. It's not just because they live in trailers. It's not just because they live off of food stamps. It has to do with that fact they most of them continually act in ways that bring to mind Jerry Springer guests. The white trash lifestyle has absolutely nothing to do with money. People who have all the money in the world can still act in ways that place them in the decidedly shallow end of the gene pool which seems to render them unable to function in a rational and evolved manner.

I actually managed to get my Gram to admit these faults, for the first time in my life. And as we spoke about mothering and the various aspects of how much it affects one's self and life I felt, for the first time in my life, a real connection with her. One that ventured far beyond anything I had felt for her before. The older I get the more I find our relationship deepening.

She spoke at length about her more-than-poor Cajun upbringing in the Louisiana swamp with 11 siblings and a drunken father who died when she was 5. She told me about sharing a bed with four of her sisters and how cold it was in the winter, that if they left a glass of water by their bed it would be frozen by the time they woke up because there was only one heater in the house and it was the stove on which they cooked in the kitchen. She persevered through days where there just wasn't enough food to eat and when she married my grandfather they had 9 kids and managed to do well for themselves. She lacked patience and wasn't the best mother, she admits that, but she did the best she could with the tools she had at the time. She also wasn't always the best grandmother, she's been harsh with me plenty of times and never hid her dislike for my mother.

But, through all of the bullshit and the family drama? She is the only grandmother I've known from my dad's side and she has a good heart. She loves us all and would do anything for us. If I ever turned up on her doorstep she would take me in without a second thought and hug me hard before cooking me up some food. She is here for the next week and I'm absorbing every moment I can. She is 77 and having some serious health problems. She recently got out of the hospital and is basically living with congestive heart failure. I realize this may be the last time I see her. And I know this is most likely the only time Monkey will meet her great-grandmother. So I will soak up this next week and make the most of every moment.

Since I've become a mother the idea of family seems to resonate on such a deeper level than before. And I want to honor that. Regardless of how much our politics differ, I am able to be honest with her, completely, and even if she doesn't agree she listens. And what more can I ask for?

Yesterday afternoon Monkey scaled the bookshelf to retrieve a large jar of lavender buds which she proceeded to carry to the couch and dump over her head. She didn't stop there but spread it around with her little hands, in every crevice and nook. Where was I? I was doing dishes and oblivious to her stealth-like ability to climb and carry in absolute silence. As I rounded the corner around the bar which separates our kitchen from our living room I stopped. I stood there, mouth hanging open, for a good 15 seconds as she sat up straight and barely moved a muscle as she stared at me with wide eyes. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1....I screamed, "MONKEY!!! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING, DUDE??" as I stormed over and lifted her from the couch and sat her in her chair on the floor. I began cleaning up the mess, hands shaking and she walked over and tried to watch what I was doing. I yelled at her again saying NO NO NO over and over. I didn't even know what to say other than that and eventually I said, "Not cool, dude, not cool!". I was very conscious not to use the word "bad" because it really disturbs me. Like when people say, "No! Bad girl!" - it reminds me of something you say to your dog or something, not your kid. Just because she does something I don't like doesn't make her, or even the action, "bad". It's just not a word I want to incorporate into my disciplining repertoire. She sat back in her chair quietly and waited until I was finished cleaning up to run over and dive into the sofa head first. She sat there and started giggling. I thought to myself, does she even get that I wasn't happy with what she just did? Or did she already accept it and move on and I should take a cue from that?

Thing is, as of late, I've really been examining my reactions to situations. I am a yeller. It's what I do. It's what I've always done. Whenever I lose it over whatever Monkey has done in that moment to warrant an explosion from me, it brings back memories of my childhood and my mother's tendency to yell and I realize I learned it from my parents but that's no excuse, really. I've been in therapy enough years in my life to know all about breaking cycles and choosing how you react to things. I've just become lazy over time and it doesn't help that I always feel rather high-strung and my temper is always simmering near boiling point. So when Monkey does things like the lavender incident or pours her milk all over Mr. Egg's rug he brought home from Turkey years ago and then lays on her belly and tries to suck it out of the carpet (I guess it tastes better that way??) or climbs onto the table to get the pen which she then tries to write on the wall with or she gets up from her training potty in the bathroom and runs into the bedroom and pees all over the bed - I lose my shit.

There is this nagging voice in my head that tells me there are some people with infinite patience who spend all their time baking muffins with their kids and never raise their voice or lock themselves in the bathroom for a few minutes to collect their thoughts. Or at least I'm led to believe, in this society of SuperMoms, that these individuals exist though I'm not sure where they are as I haven't met any. And if they claim to be I think they are liars. I know everyone loses their patience at one point or another and I'm not the only mother out there who yells at their child.

But I've begun to worry about how much yelling is too much yelling. Maybe it's any yelling at all? I don't want to continue this cycle which began with grandparents who knows how many generations ago. Or is it simply the natural human condition, to get angry and yell? I know I balance it with plenty of snuggles and kisses and assuring words and airplane rides and lots and lots of tickles. But in those moments? The ones where I lose control and yell at her and she looks up at me with those sad eyes and quivering lip I feel like the worst mother ever.

What are your thoughts about yelling and how do you cope with it?

After nearly 10 months and over a dozen persistent and nagging pleas I managed to convince her it was the right thing to do. She, along with J & M, finally made the journey nearly 300 miles up Highway 101 to visit us in our cozy little house tucked away behind the redwood curtain. They arrived Friday afternoon, complete with a big tub of toys/books/games for Monkey that M had outgrown, a pumpkin pie and a 10 gallon fish tank containing two fish. One of which has a penchant for not only swimming upside down but simply hanging out at the bottom of the tank belly up. Er. But they swear it isn't dying. At least anytime soon. It will obviously die eventually though. And hopefully it won't be tomorrow.

Overall, the couple of days they were here were filled with good food, lots of laughter, exchanging of thoughts and ideas, some beers and two adorable little girls who forged an equal adoration for one another and went nearly everywhere together. They ran up and down the hall, splashed each other in the bath, wandered the property, took turns throwing the dog his ball and hung all over each other. Photographic evidence of their extreme cuteness? :



Jen and I had a few stolen moments without children hanging on our limbs. In the other moments we connected with each other's girls and just sort of basked in the glow that is children playing and laughing. M is a sheer force of nature, those big wide eyes of hers and crazy thick golden hair. She laughs with her whole body and is the sweetest when being super snuggly and scrunching up her nose while making funny faces. She seemed attached to my hip at times until her affections switched to Mr. Egg who she had wrapped around her little finger. Monkey learned, for the first time, what it was like to share her parents and she was not too pleased about it. Mr. Egg and J hit it off, as they have before, talking about everything under the sun. I am always amazed at how similar they are in so many ways personality-wise. Though I suppose they have both traveled extensively to most of the same places and those experiences have shaped who they are today which could explain a lot of it. They also seem to retain every piece of information they have ever read and are both natural born teachers in the way they pass that information on to other people. It's very interesting listening to their conversations.

Saturday was such a beautiful day and we took advantage of the sunshine and 65 degree weather. We wandered old-growth redwoods forests, crisscrossed a frigid creek bed several times over at the bottom of a canyon covered in ferns which felt entirely prehistoric, came across a herd of elk and ended up at the beach during sunset as the fog rolled in, creating an ethereal and almost alien atmosphere.

As the darkness of night began to set in Jen and J offered to take us to eat at a mexican spot near our house before they got on the road for their long trek home. Once we were back in the car J asked M, "What was your favorite part today? The forest, crossing over the creek, the elk or the beach?" (pause) "The restaurant!", she yelled with a wide grin and equally wide eyes. We all laughed and continued driving across the bay towards the glittering lights of Eureka.