Times like this make me so glad that I [...]]]> I told my kids I was going to bed a few hours ago, and I did, I swear. I was up early and it was time for my body to rest. They tried to make me stay awake, but I needed to lay down.

Times like this make me so glad that I know I can just go to bed instead of forcing myself to stay awake while tending to the house or the kids. I can not imagine what it would have felt like to stay awake and try to be nice while reading bedtime stories or otherwise ignoring my body’s needs.

We live in a very old house and unless it’s locked, my bedroom door pops open spontaneously. The light and noise rush in and I lay there patiently. If I get up, they’ll see that I’m “awake” and have something important to tell me. If the light or noise bothers me, I can throw a blanket over the top half of my head. Without me having to ask, eventually one of the kids will come shut the door for me. Sometimes they’ll tell eachother go do it. Someone else always volunteers if they disagree. But I know that eventually someone will come and slam the door shut. It won’t shut at all if it isn’t slammed.

So I’m not catching any deep REM sleep, but it feels good to “check out” even though I can still hear their little-voice conversations and I love that they’re “taking care of me” by shutting the door and yelling at each other periodically to “Be quiet, Moms sleeping.”

After a little while, Evie comes. she had to open the door to get in (which is just as loud as closing it) and she makes her way across the room slowly in the dark. I assumed she was coming up to snuggle with me. I play sleep and I feel her little self climb over me. Instead of cozying into my side, she climbs over me again. Maybe she wants to snuggle with the other side of me. Instead, I can feel that she’s hanging off the bed and her little puckered mouth is pecking at my face to give me a kiss. My heart melted and I “woke up” enough to say “Goodnight sweetie, I love you.”

She shuffled out and slammed the door shut behind her. I snuggle in, listening to the girls playing outside the door, thinking I’m the luckiest mom in the world. But I’m laying on something weird. I realize Evie has tucked a Teddy bear under the blanket with me. My heart melts again. So that’s why she climbed over me.

There was a time- thankfully many years ago- when I would have barked at her to “shut my door” before she even came in. I might have said “What are you doing in here, I’m trying to sleep” or “You can snuggle with me, but don’t talk or play” and there was a time when I wouldn’t even have bothered trying to go to bed because the kids were awake. I would have ignored what MY body needed because of some self-righteous belief that they would drown, choke, burn down the house or kill one another without my conscious presence.

I’m so glad for all the different “ways of being” that we’ve experienced as a family. I know it’s hard for my teenagers sometimes, having witnessed our early days as a more rigidly-disciplined family and wondered why the littler kids have “such a better life” than they did. I hope what they learn is that people can and do change, we each manage our own experience and that when we make sure our own needs are met, we can allow for magic little moments like getting “tucked in” by a 3 yr old.

The “added bonus” here is that one long day didn’t snowball into an entire week of sleep troubles. Years ago, I stumbled around constantly tired thinking that “this is life” because I’m a mom. But that doesn’t have to be true. YES- there were messes to clean up the next day, as a result of leaving them “unattended.” But there would have been messes anyway. Taking care of myself is the best way to make sure I have the energy it takes to clean them up and the mental resources to participate in the constant chatter of conversations that little girls require. Years ago, I would have felt guilty for going to bed at such an early hour. I would have guzzled a pot of coffee or even an energy drink to fight it off. Today, I just go to bed. I hope when Evie grows up she never feels guilty for making sure her own needs are met.

I woke up this morning and thought I saw the dog laying by a rather large mouse. We get teeny little field mice in the house and she loves to catch them, [...]]]>

Grace loved her little brown turkey

I woke up this morning and thought I saw the dog laying by a rather large mouse. We get teeny little field mice in the house and she loves to catch them, but this was HUGE.  When I got closer, I realized it was a little black chick. In my 4am mind-fog, it took me a while to look around the room and see that the floor was covered in lifeless little chicks. I was sad for the birds but mostly sad for my girls. I wanted to wake them up and tell them.  I wanted them to sleep all day so I didn’t have to tell them.

Chicks like crushed corn

baby turkey

Chick mass grave

Anyway, I’m just impressed with their gentle little hearts. They’re so compassionate, so sweet, so full of love and so ready to love again even after a loss.

baby robin the kids found

next generation of baby chicks

The [...]]]> So I’m here at my Grandfather’s funeral and my world is a bit rocked. Funerals often make people resolve to change something. “The thing that hurts the most is________.” I have several ways to end that sentence and each of them ends with a personal commitment to not ever feel that way again.

The thing that hurts the most is that I can never make things right again.

My PopPop and Grandma in the 70's, I think

Before I left, I told my husband “I don’t know why I’m so upset about this, I haven’t seen my PopPop for years, it’s not like his death is going to affect my day-to-day life, 3000 miles away, I can just pretend he’s still there… far away and alive. The same way I can pretend they still live in the same house they had when I was little. They lived in that house for over 50 years. My Dad and my aunts and uncles grew up there, it was like a family historic museum. The place was saturated with memories; every wall, window and doorway witnessed generations of King family’s milestones, setback, celebrations and struggles. That house knew my parents when they were dating. It’s ancient and my childhood memories all take place in that house. They call it “The House on The Hill” and it’s now a freeway onramp. Even the hill it stood on is gone. Fill dirt. It was a magical land of Christmas decorations, summertime swimming and Grandma’s love. In my mind, that house is as real as my back porch. Just because I’m not standing in it, doesn’t mean that it’s gone. It can’t be gone, it’s always been here.

Of all the files I lost when my laptop was stolen, the video I made walking through the rubble was the one I cried about the most. The day we filmed it, I wrote an essay and sealed it away in an envelope because it hurts too much to read. The envelope has been on top of my fridge for 5 years or so and every time I see it, I cry. Please don’t tell me Grandma’s house is gone. Where in the world is home, now?

Oh shit, my Daddy lost his father. I remember when my husband’s dad died. I think I’d be a basket case if I lost my own Dad. It ripped my heart out to imagine my Dad hurting like that. I just had to go to him. I can’t let my Dad suffer alone. I don’t know what I can do to help, and I don’t want to say goodbye to Grandpa and I don’t want to spend the electric bill on a last-minute flight, but I can’t fail to show up when my family is in need.

For the past few years I’ve been thinking thoughts like “My PopPop would like that, I should send it to him” or “My PopPop’s birthday is next week, I should send him a card” or “I should call my Grandma and PopPop” or “I should have my kids make pictures for Grandma and PopPop” “We should film a video for Grandma and PopPop.” But did I do any of those things? No. And Pop Pop noticed. Last time we visited, he pointed out that he didn’t have my current address. I resolved at that point, to mail him a note so he’d have it. 2 years later, I haven’t mailed him a note. I am a snail-mail-failure. I have had 4 nephews and 2 nieces come into the world over the past few years and I haven’t mailed any of them anything. I’ve bought cards, I’ve written notes, I even knitted a few blankets. I just haven’t mailed them. I have failed as a granddaughter, as a daughter, as a mother, as a sister and as an aunt.

When my PopPop died, one thing I lost was the opportunity to make amends. Before he died, I planned a better future. Since I suck, though, that future is gone. He’ll never have my address, now. I hope he knows I cared. He’ll never know how often I think of him.

As we walked through his new house, I noticed it smelled just like the house on the hill; 2 parts moth balls and 1 part cheap coffee. There were photos lining every wall, in frames on every shelf and countertop. There were framed wedding photos, graduation photos, old black-and-whites, and Sears studio photos for every generation, portraits and casual photos. He wasn’t an art collector, he collected love and every photo staring back at me was someone I loved. someone Pop Pop loved. The few wall hangings that weren’t art were grandma’s needlepoint work, framed. Some would be put away with the Christmas decorations, the Norman Rockwell needlepoint will stay all year long. That was enough art for them. With six children, you’d think my kids would be everywhere, but I fail to send photos. Someone loved PopPop (and us) enough to print a few photos and they were displayed in the house (Thank you, Dad). To me, they were painful reminders that I failed to keep in touch and that my kids will never know one of the greatest men in my life. And he never knew his great-grandchildren, the greatest kids in my life. And it’s all my fault. They would have loved him. He would have loved them.

I wonder if I’m smart enough to use this pain to make sure the rest of my faraway family knows I care.

Grandma had 3 kids when she met PopPop. This was in the 40′s or 50′s or something, when divorce was uncommon and single mothers were scandalous. Grandma’s first marriage ended badly and PopPop fell in love with the beautiful girl with the beautiful legs. Grandma would wash my mouth out with soap if I ever thanked her for the “milf gene” but she was a hottie. He became an instant father to three children and in no time, their clan grew to 7 kids. Every time I find myself overwhelmed with my 6 girls, I remind myself that Grandma had 7 kids. If Grandma can do it, so can I.

But Grandma can’t do anything now. She has Parkinson’s disease and requires 24 hour care. She cannot stand, she can’t take herself to the bathroom, she can’t reposition herself if she’s slipping or leaning to the side. She can’t swallow her own saliva or feel her own nose running. She often can’t hold up her head. She speaks sometimes, and sometimes you can understand her. She mixes stories and people from her life history with jibberish, things she saw on TV, things she read in books and methodist hymns. It’s difficult to listen to, but this weekend I’ve found myself trying to memorize the sound of her voice and clinging to every word I recognize. “My cousin is Billy Barnes..39 pounds that baby weighed…..Are you coming over for Easter…..He was the nastiest old fool you ever saw……what time is my Doctor’s appointment… 42…… bababababababab…If it’s not hot it’s cold……they had a house fire….How great thou aaaarrrrttttt, how great thou arrrrrrtttt….it wasn’t chocolate, it was a candy bar…..I auditioned for the play but they told me I had too much talent…. don’t go looking like a streetwalker….go tell that boy to stop running up and down the hallway like that….your father had one, too…..” There’s very little in the way of complete stories left. My aunt explained it well when she said “All your life, you file away little bits and pieces of information. Grandma’s file cabinet has been dumped on the floor and she’s picking up one random thing after another.” We all have a way with words in my family.

Still, my PopPop cared for her 24 hours a day. Since he’s been gone, it’s taken 5 or 6 people to do what Grandpa did. PopPop would actually style Grandma’s hair, dress her up and take her out to lunch every now and then. It took 2 or 3 people to get her to the bathroom. My poor cousin said “Your perspective in life changes when you’re wiping your Grandma’s ass.” Boy is she right. I never want to be that old.

For the past few years, my aunts and uncles have been telling PopPop that he needs to find someone else to take care of Grandma. He refused help. He said “I love her and I am going to take care of her.” I remember talking to my father several times and he’d be so angry that PopPop was trying to do it all himself. Everyone thought it would be too hard for him, and that he’d end up killing her. No one expected PopPop to go first. And no one realized exactly how much work that stubborn old man was doing.

Seeing how much he loved her hurts. I don’t ever want to be that old. I never want to be in Grandma’s position. I don’t want my husband to carry me to the toilet. I don’t want to be unable to communicate. Their life, as sweet as it was, looks like an absolute living hell to me. Pop Pop did all of the cooking, all of the laundry, and most of the yard work. He decorated the Christmas tree, fed her every meal, dressed her, bathed her, and spent every minute of every day tending to her needs. And he couldn’t hear her, either. So they would sit on the couch together, holding hands. No matter how much I try to picture it, the idea of “growing old together” is one of the most repulsive, horrible things I can imagine. I’ve seen “growing old together” and I think I’d rather opt out.

PopPop donated to charity, he volunteered his time, he kept an elderly widow’s medicine up-to-date, he served his country, he put his kids through college, he overcame a violent temper, he collected junk cars and broken things, he went to Church, he loved his family, his friends and his neighbors. He worked hard for each of his 85 years and taught us all some powerful lessons. Pop Pop taught us about hard work. He taught us that no matter how mean and nasty you are, you can change. Can you imagine raising 7 kids on $34 a week? My father slept in the bottom dresser drawer when he was a baby. They had an outhouse. He used to walk to work with patched-up shoes in the winter. My PopPop was a strong man.

The thing that hurts the most is saying goodbye to Grandma. I’m afraid she’ll die of a broken heart. Sometimes she knows what’s going on. I heard her cry to Aunt Susie “I can’t do anything for myself now, who is going to help me?” and we don’t have any answers for her, except to tell her not to worry about it. Other times, she talks to him as if he was in the kitchen. “Can you bring me a cup of Coffee, Dave.” Another time, she asked my Aunt Mary Ann “Where is your father?” “He’s resting right now, Mama” she says, and looks to us all as we share the moment. Where’s the manual for this? So maybe experiencing dementia isn’t as difficult as watching it. In Grandma’s mind, her mother will be back in a few minutes. Sometimes, she hasn’t lost anyone. Sometimes, she’s just reading from an old file for a while.

Somewhere inside Grandma’s pile of files, I know she must remember me. And somewhere in that pile, we’re all having Christmas Dinner, with her old lady linens, her fried chicken, and PopPop by her side. My cousins are there; grubby little boys, instead of the big (balding) old men I visited with this weekend. My aunts and uncles are there and they’re young and energetic adults eager to take us fun places, instead of aging, retiring old fogies with health issues and grey hair. (I love y’all to pieces, but this is my story and I can tell it my way) And I’m still me, somewhere inside of me I will always be a little girl at my grandmas’ house, waiting for Santa and wishing I was as worldly as my Aunt Mary Ann (away at college in A-la-ba-ma), as busy as my Aunt Susie (sports, school and social commitments) and as beautiful as my Aunt Donna (yes, that beehive was beautiful when I was 6)

So I’ll fly home, 3000 miles away and mourn both of my Grandparents, even though Grandma’s still alive. My kids never knew Grandma’s house. The best parts of my childhood reality are stuck in her pile of files. God, I wish I could go back.

It’s so much easier to just pretend it all still exists.

Every cell in my body plans to mail photos to Grandma, write notes to my Aunts, uncles and cousins and never ever ever let a day go by without telling my parents how much I love them. I hope Grandma can hang on long enough for my kids to visit again. I hope my Aunts and Uncles are able to see that in the end, PopPop’s parenting skills weren’t hereditary or contagious, he didn’t kill Grandma and each one of them is just as stubborn as he was, and maybe not be so hard on themselves for not realizing how hard he worked, how much he loved them or how much we all need each other.

Thank you, Old Fart. I love you more than you will ever know. You’ll always be in my heart and in my files.

I'm the one in the yellow bow. I bet my Aunt Bonnie tied it.

I love going to the park and [...]]]>

Meagan took this picture

In the unschooling community, there’s a great respect for children’s inner wisdom. This week, for me, has been filled with confirmation that I need to follow my kids’ lead more often and to value their life’s experiences and authentic reactions.

Be fearless 

I love going to the park and often, when we’re waiting for kids to finish their dance, drama or singing classes, we wait at the park where we swing, skate, climb, run or just do gymnastics in the grass. Yesterday, Maddy and I were doing tricks and she said “Can you do a front flip?” I said “no, can you?” It didn’t look like she even had time to think about the answer, she just did it. When she was done, I clapped my hands and said “Oh my goodness, I didn’t know you could do that, wow” and to my surprise, she said “Neither did I, I just did it.” I said “have you ever done it before?” and she said “no, I just did it.” WOW. OK. SO I did it. I was amused at my inner dialog, wondering whether or not she had mentally talked herself into it or if it really was as simple as she’d made it sound. In the end, I took a deep breath, pictured myself doing it a few times and just DID it. She was so excited for me, which was sweet. It was easier than I thought it would be and we both spent the next few minutes perfecting our front flips. I just thought it was funny, though, that I tell people “just do it” all the time and here I was being “schooled” by my 7 year old. Thank you, Maddy.

Flipping, for the fun of it

Love and conflict aren’t opposites

When my kids fight with each other, I don’t always handle it well. Over the years, I’ve gotten better. By stepping back and letting them work it through, I notice they end up fighting less. By discussing anger management techniques and communication skills during peaceful times (rather than in the heat of the moment) we’ve all learned how to avoid conflict or resolve it quicker, finding win-win situations and making allowances for one another’s preferences sometimes. But sometimes, I fail. The other day, Gabriella and Madelyn were fighting and Gabriella lowered her voice to a scary tone and threatened Madelyn. I snapped and made my own voice scary and told her to get out of the room until she could communicate without being mean (Ironic and pathetic, I know) Gabriella left the room and Madelyn looked at me with the sweetest face and said “It’s OK, Mommy, she can talk to me that way. She just wants her Barbie back. We were working it out. I’m not giving it to her until she gives me my doll’s dress back. I planned it this way.” I felt about half an inch tall. I brought Gabriella back and apologized for sending her out, I apologized for using a mean voice and I explained that I am still learning how to handle things nicely and I get upset when I think someone is being mean. I should have asked if they wanted my help first. Then I thanked Maddy for helping me understand the situation.

Barbies in my house are almost never this dressed or this well-behaved

 

Forgive, forget and whistle while you work

My 2 year old LOVES to put her own laundry away. There are other household tasks she likes to do, too. She likes to scrub the kitchen table while I load the dishwasher, she loves to help push the clothes into the washing machine, she loves to help carry groceries in, she follows me around all day “helping.” Well the other day, I put her clothes into her drawer for her. She was so angry with me. She can’t reach her drawer, so when she puts her clothes away I have to lift her up (while she’s holding the folded clothes) and she puts them into the drawer. It seemed like more than I wanted to do at the moment. She was taking her shoes off and I didn’t feel like waiting until she was done, so I just put her clothes into her drawer. You would have thought I’d stabbed her with an ice pick. she grabbed her belly and screamed at me “You puttid my clothes away, I wanted to do it MYSELF.” Her little angry yell was adorable, her face was red and filled with tears. I snickered a little bit because she’s so tiny and so sweet and I loved that she was so passionate about it. I took the clothes OUT of the drawer and scooped her up to apologize (I really should have known better) Then, I helped her put her clothes away, like normal and she went on about her business, without the slightest sign of anger. Later on, she said “Mommy, I sorry I freaked out about my yaundry” and I apologized for putting it away. I really do love that she values her “work” and enjoys helping around the house. I have to remember that it’s ME who secretly wishes someone else would do the laundry, not her. I’m also proud of myself for not teaching her how to hate housework, when we clean, we sing and dance and have a very good time together. If I keep this up, she will gladly take over the responsibility one day. (not that I have any coercive ulterior motives, right)

Being in tune with my kids, communicating honestly and respecting their preferences and desires is a very important part of what goes on in our house. I am, by no means, perfect at this. Clearly, I screw up. We all screw up. But I guess we’ve been doing this long enough that we’ve established an open and constant dialog that they’ve mastered faster than I have. I will continue to be impressed and amazed by their pure love and sweet dispositions.

Great opportunity to discuss germs

 

“Oh sweetie, it makes mommy so sad when you _________” or “Come on, give grandma a kiss, you’re hurting her feelings” or “Please ______ honey, it would make me so happy”

Here’s a newsflash- Your [...]]]>

2 comments to Emotionally Manipulating Children from before I switched this blog to a new hosting account

• Fluffy

  September 26th, 2009 at 7:48 PM

  Woo woo! Yeah! *Applause*

  The amount of emotional abuse our society puts onto our children makes me want to vomit!!

• Emily Marshall

  October 11th, 2009 at 8:30 AM

  Did I say it? I hope not. But, you know, sometimes crap just comes out. And the phrase “you make me sad” is kind of a joke around our house. It’s from a movie–Adam Sandler I think? Making it a high chance I said it. Email me if I did and I’ll relinquish the imaginary good parenting badge I have been picturing on my lapel ever since I gave up the timeout addiction.

   

  And Emily- it totally wasn’t you, but since your comment is like almost 2 years old now, you might not be wondering anymore anyway. I miss you, Em <3

   

I feel [...]]]>

I’m in the first group.

I feel the need to post a coherent statement about my experiences at the Rethinking Education Conference in Dallas, but the reality is that I’m not done digesting it yet.

In one way, everything I experienced resonated with deeply held beliefs that hadn’t yet been validated by anyone outside of my own mind, with the exception of those books I read such a long time ago.

Years ago, I read everything by John Holt, Magical Child by Joseph Chilton Pearce, the Continuum Concept, the Teenage Liberation Handbook, everything by John Taylor Gatto, and they definitely influenced my parenting. But this was over 10 years ago, when my oldest was a baby, and at that point, the only practical skills I could have come away with were babywearing, limiting the amount of crappy toys in favor of real things, not duplicating a classroom in my house, and the intention of one day not being such an idiot when it came to my kids.

So, ten years have passed and the deeply held trust I had for babies and toddlers has lent itself well to my family, and my total ignorance about the older child development has made me an idiot when it comes to my kids.

It was really nice to be in an environment of adults whose beliefs were so similar to mine that it allowed me to challenge myself based upon my own logic. I couldn’t have predicted many of the issues that I’d be “rethinking” and education wasn’t even one of them, much to my surprise. But “Rethinking-Everything-You-Thought-You-Knew-about-Human-Existence Conference” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

The talent show was fantastic. It had all the passion and creativity of the fireplace performances in my house, with none of the contrived parent-led recitations of other kid group performances I’ve seen (I’m not naming any names.) The Thriller Dance was great, the little girls who retold the story of Atlas with interpretive dance, totally sweet, and all of the dancing and singing. One little girl, I don’t know how old she was, said “I’m going to sing a lullaby, but I don’t want you to go to sleep. It’s a song my mother sings to me” and proceeded to serenade us all. Then, there was the entire room singing Pink Floyd “We don’t need no education…” My absolute favorite performance was by some little boy in a green shirt, I don’t even know his name. He was the lead singer in a rock and roll band. He handled the microphone like a real spirited rock star jumping around saying “yeah yeah” and when he told everyone to put their hands in the air, they did.

My stand-up comedy thing was fun. I didn’t have the stage-fright I thought I’d have. The environment was so loving, accepting and fun that I really felt safe and comfortable, like I was in a room full of friends. The sound system was a bit of a challenge, it threw me off a little. I forgot the whole 2nd half of my little act but I backed off before it became an embarrassment. I don’t know. I wonder if anyone filmed it. Eek- I don’t know if I want to see. I guess I can check that one off the bucket list.

The little reconstructed action figures were adorable. I loved how creative the kids were chopping up the Happy Meal toys and rebuilding them into more imaginative things. My favorite was the Tasmanian Devil coming out of the My Little Pony’s butt. Because I’m 12 that way.

toy from Rethinking Education Conference

I made friends. It’s been years since I’ve been in the company of adults who share these beliefs. It was really really nice. I haven’t felt so relieved and relaxed in so many years. I like knowing real life people that I can learn from. I like hearing their similar perspectives and learning from our differences. I like the supportive environment that comes from everyone helping bring out the best in each other.

So what happens? I come home to a house full of angry kids, and an angry husband. In an effort to please me with an immaculately spotless house, my husband used the skills he learned as a child to get the kids to help clean. One nice way to look at this is that I’m grateful for new insights that will allow us to work together differently in the future. Another advantage we have is that he’s open minded and once he gets past the emotions of everyone hating him for the events of the week, I am sure that he’ll be a happier guy.

One thing I learned was the value of appreciating people for where they are on the path. I don’t have to go there, but knowing why someone ELSE is there helps me respond better. My kids, accustomed to questioning authority and teamwork, didn’t buy the whole “Because I pay the bills” business. There was a revolt. I’m glad I wasn’t here for it. I’m glad it happened.

Yesterday, the girls and I started making altered books. Today we’re taking the sewing machine to the repair shop, so we can work on a few sewing projects we keep meaning to do. Each day we plan to spend time creating stuff together. I have an owl purse to copycat and an article to write that involves scrap booking supplies, so I’ll have to go buy some (unless one of my readers is a vendor who wants to donate in exchange for a review/ credit in a major mainstream parenting publication)

So we’re chugging along. I plan to share the “social world of unschoolers” with the rest of my family at the Life is Good Conference in Vancouver, WA next Spring. I’m enjoying the “back-to-my-roots” feeling and I’m not enjoying the consequences of having strayed for so many years. We’ll be OK, though. It’s a process, right? You can’t just be crazy like this overnight.

 

4 comments to Still Digesting (from before the server-crash of 2011)

• Summer

  September 12th, 2008 at 4:12 AM

  I’m so incredibly jealous that we weren’t able to go to the conference this year. *sigh* I can’t wait to hear more as you digest it all.

• mama-aya

  September 12th, 2008 at 8:13 PM

  Yay!
  I’m so glad you had a such a time you even HAVE to process it! Sounds amazing.
  It sounds so fun to be in that group of great people and all the kids being creative and having fun and not stuck with their parents trying to make them out-priss each other like SOME homeschool groups.
  Well, welcome home! And I AM jealous that your husband had the house clean, even if there is emotional clean-up still to do….

• Moxy Jane

  September 13th, 2008 at 3:31 AM

  It was a fabulous experience and I’m so glad you were able to come and be a part of it. I really enjoyed meeting you and look forward to keeping in touch!

  Moxy Jane

• angela

  September 14th, 2008 at 5:47 PM

  thank you for putting into words the process of processing this amazing event that i was also very happy to have been able to attend!
  being surrounded by so many people who share similar and even challenging beliefs was at once an affirmation of self(past and present) and the root stimulant of an adventurous growth spurt. it was also sorta like kid bumpers at the bowling alley!
  it was inspiring to meet you and i hope we can become good friends!
  angela
  dandeliongirls