New Bandwagon: Redirecting Hate in an Effort to Feel Good About Oneself.

There are new photos sweeping facebook that are shared to express larger women as beautiful (just as thinner women are). And I agree with that. I’m all for it. Larger women should be shown as beautiful in the media. There needs to be an evolution of media images, for real. (How about even putting a stop to airbrushing, and revealing humans as humans and not digitally altered, flawless 2-D monsters! But thats another topic...)

The narrow-focus of thin women in the media is both damaging and insulting to women everywhere. Women any shape, size, color are beautiful (same goes for men!)

Though, sadly, this new facebook bandwagon is a misguided attempt, left to ignorant people to redirect their self-resentment. It’s “misguided” because some of these pictures, and a lot of the comments, are insulting thin people. Making comments about bones being uncomfortable and larger being “more attractive”. A lot of it is very sickening to me, a thin woman.

No one is helping anyone by insulting other people. I understand that there are a lot of insults and judgments around being “fat” and that it needs to stop. But is insulting thin women going to help that?

If you are someone who made any of those comments, I ask you: does insulting another sized woman really make you feel good about yourself?

Lets try to make everyone feel good about themselves.

Stop the hate—don’t redirect it!

How do you look at people you see?

Isn’t it remarkable how you can subtlety feel when someone is judging, either, you or someone else?

It’s almost as if there’s a stuck-ness, a clogging in the air. Something is messing with the flow. Some kind of preconceived theory is getting in the way of natural rhythm—the conversing, creating, the being.

It’s hard to be yourself around people who think you are something and hold you to it, refusing to let you show yourself to them. They are too busy assuming they know everything about you to listen to you.

They might even be starting at you like you aren’t worthy of their time or energy, or even air!

Some just look at you like you are purely an interruption to the awesomeness that is their lives.

Some people just sit there, as you talk, judging the shit out of you. About things they “know” about you, things they “think” about you and things they are thinking about you right now as your talking- I don’t know about you, but when I feel that from people, it throws me way off- sometimes causing me to forget what I was even talking about (yet, usually, keeps me nervously rambling— giving them something more to judge-no doubt!)

Isn’t it worse when you sit, uncomfortably, in front of someone who you think is judging you, ridiculing you, when in fact they aren’t and it’s all in your head?

How do we know the difference between an intuition and a made-up story in our minds?

Furthermore: isn’t amazing how you can feel when someone is looking at you without one ounce of judgment? Just total love, acceptance and encouragement?

That feeling when people smile at you with a knowing of how great you really are.

I like that feeling.

I like to stir that in others, by looking at them with utmost admiration- no matter who or what someone is, they deserve to be looked at like they matter. Listened to because they are important. And loved because they are love.

We all must give each other the freedom to make mistakes, to learn from them, to move on and to create amazing things in life—no matter how much we may have messed up in some other phase of our lives (or how much we will at some other phase!)

How will you look at the next person you see?

A White Girl Talking About Black People.

After reading Jackie Summers’ article on the elephant journal: Black Boy in a White Land: Urban Safari & the Elephant in the Room about his experience as a black man in white cultured surroundings. I was inspired to write about my little perspective of black people and my first meeting of a black family.

 I grew up in a small, rural town in Newfoundland, an island on the east coast of Canada (translation: I am pretty damn white). I think there were maybe 2* black people in all the 7 adjacent small towns, and I had never seen either of them. I only heard about them (without saying much) from other kids. In sentiments resembling stories of haunted neighborhood houses, without fear or distain involved, just a sort of foreign, intriguing, ghostly concept. Most of us had not yet met a black person—only saw them on TV and in movies.

 I don’t remember a lot of racism when I was young—either because there weren’t enough black people around to be the brunt of it or no one was really racist at all. I don’t really know for sure.

But I give full credit to the Cosby Show, Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and my mother for developing my love of black people, or any color people! (My mothers saying: “I don’t care if someone is purple!” is one that made me giggle and want to meet purple people!)

 They Cosby show was my first experience of black people. Revealing only several aspects of culture: the upper class of NYC to the humorous life of students to glimpses of the culture that stem from the heart of Africa (revealed by colorful, ethnic clothing, and songs, stores, poems and accents) Also, it showed black and white people interacting and smiling—no sign of hate! From the show, I may not have learned the full scope of all black cultures but I loved that family (it seemed more functional than mine!). They had a dad (an awesome one, I might add— I still love Bill!), they were funny, loved each other, dealt with stress in a healthy way and were always involved in things— what more could you want from people!?

 The Fresh Prince of Bel Air played a huge roll in my love for black people guys. It’s true. I had the hugest crush on Will, he was my first interracial crush. Back then, I would’ve dropped my 11 year old life for him!

 These shows did the complete opposite of racism for me. I wanted to BE black. My skin was all pasty, white and boring, or so I thought back then. I remember wanting to be black so bad it bordered on being a disorder! The people were so different from everything I’d ever seen, and I liked different.

As I got further along in my little life I realized something called “racism” existed. I could not at all grasp why someone would “hate” someone for the color of skin. (There were white people I didn’t like, reasons nothing to do with skin color!) It didn’t make sense to me! It confused and angered me.

 I started watching movies, shows and reading books with themes of slavery, racism, and the KKK. I started to hate the history of white people more and more. (Is there a word for racism against ones own race?)

 For a short time, a part of me seemed to personally take on the guilt of white people. I felt so bad that it happened, and that white people caused so much pain. Mostly American white people, those were the people who were mentioned the most regarding mistreatment of slaves (Did every American family who employed black workers mistreated them as badly as was portrayed in some things? Surely couldn’t be all?!) Thankfully, I matured and I don’t hate on white people as much anymore. But I am still disgusted at mistreatment of people (any people!)

 And after reading/watching so many things, I had developed an irrational fear that black people would think I am racist— simply because I am white. I have always been so against racism that I knew I’d risk smiling a little more, saying “hi” a little too loudly, and staring, captivated, a little too hard, all the while telepathically sending out strong vibes of love to any black person I would ever meet. So I always feared coming across as an indirect racist person, like “why is she trying so hard, what’s her white-ass problem!?”

 It wasn’t until I was 18 that I met a black person in real life.

 I just moved to Ontario, Canada, in a basement apartment. I was there maybe 3 days when I heard a knock at a door. I opened the door to a very tall, thin, dark skinned, brightly dressed woman with a thick, foreign accent “HI! I’m Royette! Me and my family live up stairs” *she held out her hand*.

 I stood there, staring, flabbergasted at having a long-time dream finally come true. I wanted to touch her beautiful face, hair and hands so badly, but I didn’t- because that would be weird.

 She broke my gazing with a “Helloooo?! I said, Hi to you!” (In that amazingly delicious Republic of Dominican accent). I snapped out of it, giggled, stammered and spewed: “Uh. Well. Hi. Um. I have to say, you are the very first black person I’ve ever met and I hope you don’t take that wrong because I love black people I have a crush on Will Smith and just think black babies are the cutest!” (Can you sense my excited awkwardness?? Oh yeah.)

 In reply: “HA-HAA! NO SHIT!! You are funn-neeey!” With a big pearly white smile, to boot! I released a sigh of relief and thought, “Thank goodness she knows I’m not racist!”

 I was so happy. We were friends right away. Her and her 3 beautiful children, ages 3,6,9, and her hardly-ever-home husband, too. We hung out around the house and chatted a lot, went to Wal-Mart together, and she showed me how to make the best damn fried chicken I ever had! (She laughed at my ignorance of fried chicken—I didn’t even know it was used as a racial slur!)

 I also baby-sat her kids a few times. Her very-shy 3-year-old son had the deepest, darkest eyes I had ever seen. And the most adorable dreads imaginable. When she brought him to meet me, I asked her, sheepishly but respectfully, “Can I touch them!?” She got a kick out of my timid, yet fearless way and screeched in a sing-song, “Oh yeah! You can! haha! You are so funn-neey!” (I think “fun-neey” was her word for “weird” for me. And I liked it.) The boy looked at me oddly as I told him how amazing his hair was. He shot me a ‘haven’t you ever seen hair before, lady?’ look.)

 Her girls were also adorable. The 6 year old was full of questions and life force. She had such energy and reminded me of Rudy! The oldest, who seemed to have more experience behind her, was the shy, reserved one of the 3. She seemed to have deep stories behind those dark eyes; only I never got to hear them.

 We were there less than 2 months when Royette got deported. Taken right from her home, right in front of her children (who were born in Canada, so they were safely allowed to stay here, her husband because he was working.) I heard screaming and crying upstairs. I knew they were having stressful moments at the time, but this was different. I didn’t go up. I waited for her to come down. I waited the next day. Nothing. I waited another day. Still no word.

 Finally on the 3rd day I met her husband outside and asked him how he was and where Royette was. He said with tears in his eyes and hate on his tongue: “She has been deported. Back to Dominican. Where she shouldn’t be. Her family is here. It is so unfair! It is not safe for her there! We just needed more time!” I had no idea what it all meant. But I felt for him, for her, those kids. I looked up and noticed all those deeply hurting, dark eyes peering out through the window. They were so lost. They were all hurting. I told him if there were anything I could do, I would do it. I was then 3 months pregnant; there wasn’t a whole lot I could do. I babysat the kids a bit more. I helped them with homework. I wish I could’ve done more. I wish I still had contact with them, but they moved shortly after.

 How someone can hate someone for the color of skin is something that will always elude me.

 How a country like Canada can rip a mother from her children to put her back in harms way of a Country they fled to start a better life is also something that will elude me.

 I don’t know much about the rules of immigration and what leads to deportation— but I do know people deserve time and understanding.

All people deserve love and safety. No matter what country. No matter what color. No matter what socioeconomic situation.

"Racism isn't born, folks, it's taught. I have a two-year-old son. You know what he hates? Naps! End of list". ~Dennis Leary

 *If anyone from my home town reading this knows exactly how many black people lived along the Southern Shore, if you could ever so nicely leave it in a comment below, I’d really love to know! (I said 2 for comedic effect and to emphasize the low number ;)

 UPDATE: After beginning this piece I started to watch episodes of the Cosby Show, for research you see, and wow was that show ever filled with a lot more than just color and humor! For examples: gender issues, stereotypes, relationships, addictions, as well as heavy focus on parenting and being children were all thickly themed throughout. And the parent/child relationship is pretty picturesque on the Cosby show. The kids are good and the parents are good. And more importantly, they show that conflicts of interest and egoic tendencies will occur, but it’s all in how you react and deal that matter: emphasis on love, understanding, trust and humor, a lot of humor! Life would suck without humor.

The Want-to-run-through-the-woods-naked Urge. Like grass peeking through the pavement.(as appeared on elephant journal)

Out for a late night walk.

That primal, want-to-run-through-the-woods-naked urge strikes as I notice grass peeking up through the cracked pavement.

I am that grass.

I am struggling to rise above the layers of asphalt covering my raw earth.

All of me is striving to blossom, to unleash my potential into a full open field of tall, green grass.

But so far, like the earth under pavement, only pieces of me have found cracks in the hard, grey layering.

Glimpses of my truth are peaking out in clusters of fighting, bright green blades of pure, earthly grass. More and more everyday, every season.

Unlike me, the grass did not weep when the hot asphalt was poured over it.

Nor did the grass seeds underneath become stricken with despair over the defeat of the last blades that were covered.


They gracefully bowed down to the destruction.

And the seeds continue to be dormant, patient until the pavement cracks and bestows the required elements for growth: the right amount of water, the right amount of air and the right about of sunshine. No emotional bullshit attached.

My own dormant character aspects work in the same way (albeit, they had/have their fair share of emotional bullshit attached!). They’re waiting for the proper elements to line up, to aid in my growth. My required elements may not be as simplistic as water, air and sunshine. Though, maybe symbolically they are.

Maybe my three elements are: the right amount of truth, the right about of forgiveness, and the right amount of love. Perhaps when those three elements combine in areas of my psyche, is when growth is stimulated and potential is reached.

My road differs from the paved road in another way.

I am the one who controls whether or not city workers come to add more layers, covering up my protruding grass. Unlike real roads, I have the conscious ability to not let anyone, city worker or not, destroy my freshly grown greeneries—the freedoms I worked so hard to bring to the open air. I have the conscious choice to stop asphalt workers dead in their tracks: DO NOT ADD ANOTHER LAYER— OPEN FIELD IN PROGRESS!

I have evolved enough to know that it is, ultimately, my choice to become buried and destroyed.

Realizing I have choice and control over my road, my spirit, my potential is in itself a cluster of grass protruding from my road, my path. Revealing another simple, yet profound, truth that has taken years to escape through the cracks.

The Secret of the Secret!

It takes more than just thought: you have to put work into it!

Yep. Sorry to break it to you. The bearer of bad news, I am.

When I first watched the film “The Secret” I was captivated. I was enthralled at the power of creating abundant lives for everyone in the world!

What!? Human thought can make things happen!? I can attract things in my life!?

Does everyone know this!? EVERYONE HAS TO KNOW THIS!
I wanted to football huddle the global community and shout “THREE-TWO-ONE WE GOT THIS! HUT!” (hut? Do they say that then? I digress)

But seriously, I was all: HOLY SHIT! What power!

OK! I want this-this and this and I wana go here-here and here and I want to spread this love and empower everyone in the world!


No results.

What the--? ← was my reaction to my lack of money and travel and spreading of world peace (and I may or may not have tried to "think" those few pesky stretch marks off my ass… wouldn’t YOU like to know!)

So what was the missing link to all that think-wanting?

I mean, most of the things I “desired” were things that would help myself, my family, my friends, and thousands of other people connect and live joyfully and explore the world for all it’s wonder… “Is the secret bullshit?” I wondered. (and shouted at times of stressful events: THE SECRET IS BULLSHIT!!)

But what I didn’t know: before I am able to receive and spread all those gifts of abundance: I need to get into a place of receiving, in my mind, in my heart.

I need to dig out the blockages of what is actually hindering me from living the life I want and imagine (for if there weren’t any blockages, wouldn’t I already be living that life?)

The Secret movement is powerful. It was powerful for me. It got me to really look at what I truly wanted to attract in my life. Which is its true message. We can have all the things we want in life! We just need to decide what we want, take steps towards making it all happen, and work on ourselves to make sure we are open and ready to receive all those possibilities! (so, it’s not just hold my breath, think it and wait for Fedex to drop it all off? Boo. —though who knows, maybe some people are naturally that blockage-free and receptive!)

With the work I have been doing with Yoga and Enlightenment studies, I have begun to see the mess of blockages that are deep within my subconscious. With studying my own mind and my relation to my world around me, I see that I wasn’t in a position to receive all the things I still desire. I would’ve only scared them all away back then!

So with each day, with each meditation, with each yoga session, with each reading, with each conversation, with each stressful event: I am discovering my truth, revealing my power, and attracting all the beautiful things I can harness in this world… stay tuned, world peace coming up in about 9-12 months!

(I am glad to say, I have collected some of the beautiful things through my thinking and opening: another beautiful child to love, finding my way to yoga and meditation, meeting and connecting with more and more people, a car I love, and true love for myself ← that last thing is HUGE! (oh and a wicked vacuum, too ;) (inside joke!)

(I wanted a bird so badly when I was a child. One that would land on my head, wash my dishes and help put my clothes on, like the ones in Cinderella and Snow White... Well here's my Bella, she lands on my head, has yet to master the other talents ;)

What abundance do you want in life? And what can you do to start attracting it?

(for more information about the Secret and the Power, go here:

The Best "Random Toy Find" of Summer 2011:

Clothes-pin-chip-bag-closure-birds!!! (huh?)

I don't really like to buy many toys... especially flashy, blink-y, noisy, plastic-y, overprice-y toys....
so when my kids get drawn to random, inexpensive things that are toy-ish enough to play safely with.. I like to get them for them!
Like these birds the 2 yr old freaked out about (and the 10 yr old likes them too!)...

They are SUPER cute!

What are they, you ask? I have no idea... I think they may be clothes pins, ones that would no doubt leave deep, awkward shaped dents in your wet clothing (the beaks open!)

Some have guessed chip bag closures (but would 6 really come in a set? Does anyone ever have THAT many open bags of chips around? I should hope not!)

Do YOU know what they are!?

I'm not sure, and I don't particularly care, because they kept the 2 year old happily using her imagination for no less than 4 hours that day and loads of total hours ever since! (These birds have taken baths with her, road tripped with her, swam with her, jumped on the trampoline with her, and have gone for rides in anything in the house that can bring 6 lil random birds for rides! These were totally worth the dollar I spent on them!)

Check out the joy on this kids face, with her clothes-pin-chip-bag-closure-birds: in a cage!


Telling my babies to “heal” the boo-boos.

Today, the 2 year old has bitten her mouth 3 times, in the same place.
There’s a big chunk of skin that is irritating her a lot.
I told her to say, “heal mouth, please” (and she says it in the cutest way!)
I can tell by how she holds her cheek every so sweetly that she understands what I’m telling her, that she already understands the power of communicating with her body.
I tell her: tell your body to heal and go to sleep and sleep all night and when you wake, it will be all better, the pain will be all gone.

She delights in this possibility and runs to her bed and cuddles her blanket to her chin, she reaches out for kisses and hugs, and as I walk away I hear her softly say: “heal mouff, p'ease”.

This makes me smile on every level possible. (And I cant wait to find out what she thinks and feels in the morning!)

She believes.

I’ve learned a lot about the bodies healing ability this past year.
I’ve been going on and on about “healing meditation” and how darn easy it is!
And I would never go on and on about something that I didn’t first test on myself, successfully.

I had back pain for most of my life, as well as knee and hip pain.
But now, since learning the healing meditation technique, I haven’t had many issues with either!
And if I do, I quickly do a meditation on it and it vanishes, either instantly or the next day (some serious pains require a deeper meditation before bed- some may even take a few days.)

I want my children to be aware of this power, harness it as early as possible. I want them to know that the body, as well as its self-regulated functions, also takes instruction from the mind, we can speed up the healing process by believing we can! (You must fully believe!)

I tell my 10 year old about it all the time, she’s does it whenever she’s hurting.
Now that my 2 year old understands, I will remind her during every pain she has as well.

It's empowering to feel your power!

How I “Combat” Depression…

The place I started was removing the idea of “combat” or “fight” or anything that will add defense and resistance.

Years ago, I would start out with the idea of fighting it… I’d threaten it: SCREW YOU DEPSRESSION I WILL FIGHT YOU TO THE DEATH (Its or mine? I could never tell.)

Even more years ago, I would hide the fact (ok, completely deny the fact…) that I was depressed.



NoooOOOOOooo!!!!....................... yes I was.

I tried so hard to pretend to be “normal” (whatever that is!) Act as if feeling like killing myself is a normal occurrence in everyone’s life and being angry at the state of my world was my “thing” … that it didn’t mean that I was depressed, I was just edgy! (pfft!)

Then one year I finally gave in and admitted there might be a problem. (I had a daughter, I needed to get out of bed and stop crying!)

My next question was: what the heck now?

For the first week or 4 I cried.

I cried and cried and cried.

I felt (almost-but not quite) every ounce of pain and despair that I had bottled up over the years.
I gave in to the tugging of my depression. Let it consume me. Went into it.

And soon enough, my tears were dried up… but I was still sniffling.
I sniffled my way to a doctor I didn’t know and sat as a lump on his chair and stated: I think there is something wrong with me.

The typical list of questions ensued and my answers poured out.

The honesty, which I had been hiding from any one and every one, started driveling out in snot and tears and gasps for air to this Doctor who had never seen me before.

He smiled (?) and decided I was depressed and had “Generalized Anxiety Disorder” (in other words: I was freaking out about everything and had no sense of who I was!)

He prescribed me pills. At first I was reluctant. I didn’t want that. I wanted someone to talk to, who would fix my thoughts.

I asked him could he refer me to a psychologist. He kinda brushed his hand and said the pills should be enough, but I could talk to Dr. So and So when he gives me the prescription, if I wanted.

Ok, I sobbed. I felt a little excited to be able to FINALLY talk about all the pain I had been carrying.

The next day I went to Dr. So and So and quickly felt uneasy when I walked in the door.

The environment was old and outdated and not welcoming (not a place that cared about my pain AT ALL!) There were people just handing him paper and he’d give them pills in return.

No one was talking.

My thoughts: WTF!?

I finally saw a real-life pill pusher! Sketched-out, lost people were lined up, not wanting to talk, waiting for refills.

THIS was NOT for me. But I took my pills and left. I decided to take it in to my own hands for a while. Just pills. Lets see if they work.

I was on them for 3 months, 3 long, shaky months. At first I thought they were working, but I began to realize I was just numb.

I went to talk to two other psychologists, both of which felt much too sterile and stuffy for me. I did not feel comfortable so I didn’t talk and didn’t go back.

I decided that pills were not helping and I didn’t want to be pumping myself full of the crap. So I stopped them. No easing off. Just stopped. By the end of the first day I had to call my mom to come take my daughter. She had her for almost a week. I lay in the fetal position and cried and didn’t eat and smoked and shook. (I gave up smoking after this ,too!) It was one heck of a week!

When I finally got back to a normal I could handle, my daughter came home, and I started reading. And sadly, starting using my friends as psychologists. I would talk and talk about all the pain, all the suffering, and all my analysis of myself, my life.

That got old. And didn’t help as much as I was hoping (and I’d say it annoyed the shit out of the people in my life at the time.)

The reading helped, and I read a LOT. But it still wasn’t enough. For the next couple of years I started hunting for someone or something that I could release to. Searching obsessively for someone I could feel comfortable and safe with.

My first year of university I got excited about one of the schools psychologists I had met during an exam, he was babysitting us. He seemed so nice, so real, funny and he looked like he cared! I was excited. But sadly, it was a university, with thousands of stressed out students needing advice and listening to, he was much too booked up and I needed much more time than once every two weeks- MUCH more (...a lot of pain in there!) My hunt continued.

It took a long time. Luckily I was dealing quite well with the ups and downs of depression. I was a little bit more aware of it and all the readings were giving me tools to use when it hit, so it wasn’t as devastating as it used to be.

It was only one year ago that I found a true outlet. A place lead by a wonderfully receptive, supportive, and caring woman, Meranda Squires.

She ran the YES program (Yoga Enlightenment Studies). It was through the inner work and the sharing with her and the others in the group that I went deep into the roots of my depression and deep into all the reading I had done and finally got in touch in ways I had been searching for.

A place where I felt safe to share, to open up and to love myself. It helped me be honest with myself and others. That when I am feeling depressed, I’m not going to hide it and act as if I am a super hero. I’m going to go into it. I’m going to cry when I need to cry and I’m going to tell people that I’m crying and know it’s ok.
Being open about the truth of it all might help other people be open about their own pain and discomfort.

However, the YES program has ended for this year. And after going so deep into so many things, apart of me feels like I’ve picked old scabs and they are still bleeding from the edges now.

This time, this last month, when depression hit, I went into it.

I went in deeper than I have in years. I am missing my YES weekends, if I had a YES weekend this month I could've released so much of it there. But I don’t. I can’t. So I released it by driving for 6 hours on the highway, at night, in a rainstorm and fog, with moose crossing signs, a million transport trucks AND I was texting- without a seat belt on! And I didn’t die. (This proves to me that we die when we are ready to die, circumstances aren’t always the cause.) I felt a sense of risk, which helped. I felt a sense of being in the moment, in control- which also helped. I felt a sense of love for my family and pets sweep into my heart and dry up some of those tears. I meditated. I wasn’t scared and I cried and I stopped crying. And the next day, I felt much better, tired, but much better.

This September I start Yoga Teacher Training at the Lotus center. I’m excited. I think this will be a beautiful way to connect with my inner self and become more centered and better equip to deal with depression when it hits (and much less dangerous than late night highway driving!) I know yoga will help, it helps me now and I hardly have a clue what I’m doing yet!
It will also help me help other people, which is apart of my life's purpose (which I discovered with truth during YES).

I’ll end by quoting a family member: depression is not a choice, and we have no say in when it comes and goes, all we can do is cope with it while its here.♥

Truer words were probably spoken, but these are pretty true as well ;)

I also have a (newly formed!) green thumb!!

Check out the start of my new passion-- growing things!

I have always loved plants and had futuristic dreams of being able to not kill my own garden-y things and actually grow things to eat! (There was a time when I thought: growing food to eat only happened on big farms and by supper market suppliers--not in my own house or backyard!)

I have always wanted to grow my own food, and after doing the Yoga Enlightenment Studies program last year, which taught me about the importance and the power in growing our own foods on our own lands, I decided to get at it, more seriously, once and for all! (I already had my apple, pear and pomegranate trees started before I started the YES program, it just strengthened my passion!) I hope to have enough land someday to grow miles (and greenhouses full) of food and flowers!

For now, I will start in my kitchen (while waiting patiently for my love to build me a greenhouse this week (right!? this week!? ;)

Here is a table full of things:

There are lots of different things here: 2 tomato plants, a hot pepper plant, 10 or so cucumber sprouts, rattle snake beans, carrots, an apple tree & a pear tree (both grown from seeds from an apple and a pear I ate!) and a couple of flowers and plants (not good with their names! lol Though, one is a 3-leaf clover!).

And here is my pomegranate tree (also grown from a pomegranate i ate!) (And I'm certain this must be the 1st pomegranate tree in Newfoundland, if someone else knows of one, please let me know! :)

(much taller than a gatoraide bottle...the bottle is a little bit out of scale because it's further up the table, but you get an idea!)

The following pic is a plant we bought that pretty near died after I re-planted it in a larger pot (it only has little roots, so it dehydrated in the soil, unable to reach its water! i felt bad.. poor lil thing!) BUT! With high hopes of saving it, I repotted it in a smaller pot (while expressing much love and hope for it while doing so!)

And here it is! The last elder of the bunch (hung-over from exhaustion of trying to stay alive for so long!) & the 1st little newborn sprouting up to show me: its LIFE WILL GO ON!)
(I swear, seeing these 2 teeny-little leaves poking through the soil today sprung forth emotions resembling the ones that I experienced by frist seeing my two newborn daughters faces... it was that: "OH MY BABY! IM SO GLAD YOU ARE HERE!" feeling... ;)

I love growing things! I cant wait to eat the ones we can eat (the ones that actually grow things edible!)

This is only the beginning... <3

green thumb? maybe...

But i certainly had a blue thumb for a while...

blue thumb?...


Awesome black-now-blue patio chairs and table?...


(ok, so this was originally a "thumbs down" shot, I flipped it to show the love for the blue chair ;) *love*
(note: the spray paint came off with a lot'o scrubbing and a lot'o dish detergent!)

love summer days of at-home projects!

spider pics

I wrote a piece a while ago called: i dont kill bugs... (here:

And, in it, I mentioned that in order to rid my fear of spiders I had to first begin to look at them "from A distance and on the internet"... from there, I realized, I had to also begin taking pics of them... so I could view them up-closer and see them in real life, while at the same time completely eliminating the possibility of one of them jumping on my face and laying thousands of eggs in my nose (they can't do that from a photo I'm CERTAIN! It's a good place to start!)

Bees and spiders are my favourite bugs, spiders because they were something I once feared intensely (insanely!) and, to me, they represent the ability to evolve past my own irrational fears... if I can love them after despising them for so long, then I can evolve past my other limiting thoughts and fears!

I took a few pictures over the last few days, and wanted to show the spiders some love and acceptance...(as if letting them live anywhere outside (and for the most part:) inside my house wasn't enough!)...

The first 5 photos were taking of a spider that was hanging in our entrance way.. (and yes, after taking a couple of pics, I let it go wherever it wanted (I didn't squat it, nor did I shoo it outside ;)

(Can you find it? It climbed really far away... Its web started at the bottom step- it took over the entire stairs!)

(Lookit the speck ;)

(Wonder how long it was in that fixture?)

This spider was in the window, caught it mid-climb...

(To me, there is something so inspiring about this picture, I think it's beautiful.)

I am so confident in my physical ability, that I jump rocks on a beach with a 2 yr old in my arms. (yes this is one long title.)

I am confident in my ability to do that and do it safely and efficiently while looking at it for what it is: a beautiful bonding moment, a nature-ful meditation (for both of us!), as well as a great workout and a chance to be next to the ocean with my family!

How can that not be safe?

I know it’s up to me if it’s safe or not. I just have to stay conscious and mindful of my body and trust its reflexes (and watch out for wet rocks, slimy seaweed, protruding drift wood, and make sure I’m wearing hiking boots with wicked-awesome traction: CHECK, CHECK, CHECK AND CHECK!)

Most people, or at least, some people, would say that jumping rocks while holding a two-year old is much too “dangerous” and “totally crazy” and “wtf is wrong with that mother??”


It seems like anything is deemed “crazy” if it is different and more difficult from what is considered “the norm” of how people should react and interact with a two year old. If it appears dangerous and poses risk of injury or death, then some people expect others to: AVOID AT ALL COSTS!


Though, that’s a pretty good rule of thumb, for like car seats and maybe babies on motorcycles, or for anyone in a situation where they think, yeah: I could hurt the 2-yr old or myself, doing that, so I shouldn’t do it. (like if it was a rainy day, I wouldn’t jump rocks with her in my arms… because then the risk is something slightly out of my control… I haven’t figured out how to maneuver the human body to not slip off a slippery rock while jumping at a pretty significant speed---—yet.) And putting her on a motorcycle or holing her in my arms while driving also poses possible events out of my control: other drivers and vehicle malfunction!

But that sunny day, the rocks were dry and the sky was blue. Safe enough for me!

We had so much fun and got lots of fresh air and had lots of bonding time! (I ignored the one puzzled look I got from a person walking “safely” on the path. ;)

OverZealous Wedding Shoot! {Rachel & Damien}

It really took a lot of pressure off having the bride herself say: Oh don't worry too much, as long as you get one or two good shots, we'll be happy! (that's really a photographers dream, at least, for me it was!)
I was worried, this was my first semi-professional shoot... what if I didnt get ANY good shots for them!?
I worry too much.
They are beautiful people! Full of love and smiles! How could I NOT get any good shots!? (Plus the backdrops were stunning, a lot to work with!)

Here are some of my fave shots of the day:

(The beautiful couple!)

(Just the girls!)

(A full family shot!)

(Love the ocean-themed shots!)

(Gorgeous couple by the water!)

(I made them kiss a lot ;)

(Wedding party by the beautiful rock wall.)

(Hovering over them on a 4 foot wall was worth it! lol)

(This photo looks so old fashioned.. I love it!)

(Her bouquet was beautiful!!)

{Thank you Rachel and Damien! I had a wonderful time with you and your family! Congratulations!}

What's the opposite of "riot"?

This kind of mob-insanity kinda scares the crap out of me.

That people can get so swept up in freaking out that they destroy a part of a city.
How does that happen!? Why does that happen!? (But really, it’s no worse than paid-for-by-the-government wars, though is it?)

Maybe it’s because of the amount of forced control they feel over their lives.
Maybe the rioters were trying to overtly take back some of their freedom, maybe they were driven to do it.

They may have reacted in an unnecessarily violent way… but I’m guessing, it’s societal and personal pressures, mixed with the lack of control exercised over their own lives and their lack of true, ultimate, joyful freedom that could be the significant causes to such mob lash-outs. A few people react in ways that look and feel just like real freedom and self-control, and that leads other people wanting in on that pseudo-freedom wave.

Who the heck doesn’t want to feel like they are in control and have full freedom? I know I do- all of the time! But I’m not going to burn a car over it.

Or would I? *cue slight paranoia over the state of the human mind*

How does mob-mentality work, exactly? I remember discussing it in Psych classes, but I never really dove into the workings of it. (This is where I make a note to go back to my psych book—and yes, I still have it!)

Let me see what google has to say…

On the website, it says: Social psychologists who study group behavior tend to prefer terms like “herd behavior” or “crowd hysteria.”

Yeah. Not really the depth I was hoping to quickly stumble upon (and because I told myself I was going to write tonight, I’m not going to get into researching it just yet, but maybe I’ll do another post like that later).

I’m sure we all know what mob-mentality is… but do we know what it IS?? The root and cause of it? Why it happens?

Brings me to questions and paranoia’s like: Do only people who are similar in personality, or intellect, or blood alcohol level, or some other factor, react together in a mob? Or should unsuspecting people be wary of getting swept up, as if in a spontaneous tornado? Like, what if I had been on that street at that moment, might I have ended up smashing out a window or kicking a puppy or something?

(Not sure why my mind is comparing a riot in the streets of Vancouver to a mud slide in a rain forest (do mud slides even happen in the rain forests? OH there are SO many things in this world that I just don’t know for sure! Can we ever know it all!?))

And to completely contrast everything I just wrote:

I guess mob mentality offers a subtle, promising hope. If a mob of people can get so railed up over something like losing a hockey game, maybe mobs of people can spark spontaneous bursts of joyful evolutions over the streets of the world!

It shows that people really do have the potential to group together as one and completely change and take over a section of the world.

Can we create a mob-evolution? One where we over-throw all the things that don’t seem to “work” in society? Can we group together enough people working on their personal evolution to make everyone else on the street work on their own?

And instead of burning cars and robbing electronics, we plant vegetables and trees and use no cancer-causing chemicals!

It will take everyone together to create a world beautiful for everyone; natural, sustainable, full of love and animals!

Yes. I am a utopian. (but take that lightly… remember I don’t know what causes mob-mentality or if they have mud slides in rain forests, do you think I know the complete definition of a “utopian”? ;)

You Are What You Think, Especially if It’s Ugly You’re Thinking.

I know it’s best to not think about the past. But there are times when it’s useful to go back there, to try and find out a little about how my mind is working now and to make sure I align my mind with the present moment, to be sure it’s not merely running from a subconscious, false belief.

All this thinking was brought on by finding old pictures of me that I dislike looking at. I was 18, in Niagara Falls with my family and I was so unconscious it was scary. (So unconscious, in fact, that I had my hair slicked back in a self-loathing pony tail with two pieces of “bangs” hauled out on either side, which resembled a handle-bar moustache…. placed on my head. Yeah. I hadn’t a clue!)

I hated myself and my life back then; and I hated how I looked, I hated people, I hated how lost and confused I was. I was dorky and ugly with not one ounce of Self developed. I had no idea who or what I was, I was alone in my internal self-war.

Back then, I was living in the past everyday. Going back to things bullies said to me years and years before, and what felt like every day after. I believed everything they said because I didn’t have a sense of who I was or what I could be. I sat desperately alone inside my self-loathing for the entirety of my teenage life. Spent much time and energy in seeing all my faults and believing all the crap people said about me, instead of building who I was and creating who I would be. (I was also very dumb ;)

An older boy I knew back then said to me a few times: you are going to be beautiful…when you’re older. This reconfirmed my notion that I was indeed ugly at the time, but it also planted a seed inside me. I’m not sure if he planned it that way, in hopes of saving my deteriorating appearance, or if he saw beauty in me that I hadn’t yet. Whatever way he meant it, it planted that seed, one that made me start looking for beauty inside myself.

Though because I was 16-18 when I heard that, I figured: I have a LONG way to go before I’m “older” (I'm there now, 30 is the beginning of "older" haha). So, it wasn’t until I was about 23-24 that I started to see some kind of beauty poking through, which correlates well to when I started hearing it from other people a little more (when I would hear someone tell me I was “beautiful” before those ages I would scoff at the lies they were trying to convince me of.) But during my mid-twenties, I started to pause, and Thank someone who would say that (instead of accusing them of being senile liars.)

I didn’t always completely believe them (even still, I have moments of doubt). But thanking people, instead of dismissing them, was my first step in becoming beautiful, like the boy from my past said I would be.

I hear it all the time from people now, that I’m gorgeous, beautiful, natural, etc. I still battle with my inner scowl, which tells me I’m the ugly duckling I always was, but luckily that voice is getting smaller, loosing its power. And the truth is coming forth, that all humans are beautiful.

I do see the beauty in this human form I have, I see the beauty in every human form around me.

So I’m guessing it has been my efforts to create my inner beauty that has slowly been releasing an outer beauty, and my quest to see the beauty in each and every person I see, all of which is what other people are seeing.

I always thought I would be made fun of if I spoke of being any sort of beautiful (people in my past also didn’t take well to other people being confident in any way, you would get ridiculed for “thinking too much of yourself”), therefore I always felt uncomfortable telling myself I am beautiful. It has only been lately that I see how important it is to tell myself that, that I am honoring, not only myself, but the Creator. And after being so negative for so many years, I feel I owe the universe some good vibes!

So, here, I’ll say it, I’ll mean it, and I’ll ignore the inner voice that’s disagreeing with me: I AM BEAUTIFUL! (And so are you ;)

One of the main problems in our society? (Canada)...

Our society hasn’t adopted the siesta!

A regulated 3-4 hour national rest time!

I’m willing to bet it’s the main reason stress levels are so high, depression is so rampant and volcanoes are erupting all over the world! (Sure, why not!?)

When I was in Southern Italy, walking the busy streets, seeing people everywhere, shops and cars and businesses all running at a steady pace, I hadn’t witnessed a siesta at that point. So, as the streets became less busy, the shops emptying, and the businesses flipping to the “close” side, I wasn’t sure what was happening!

I’m surprised my first thought wasn’t “OH CRAP, IT MUST BE A TERRORIST ATTACK!” but I don’t really think like that (and does that even happen in Italy?) and I was lost in a meditative state of joyful, exhausted, semi wine-drunk bliss- there was no sign of fear in me. In fact, I was so sedated, I’m pretty sure someone could’ve ran at me with a knife and smiling would’ve been my reaction before flinching in fear.

Then our tour guide explained it: it’s siesta time! Everyone goes home, prepares food, spends time with their families, or has some alone time, and then everyone takes a nap together! (Sounds BEAUTUFUL to me!)

My thought: WOW! How come your culture does that and ours doesn’t?! (Another reason I am convinced I have been born on the wrong continent! I totally have culture envy. Even though I love Canada- mostly.)

The tour guide continues to explain that it can get really hot during those ours of the day, so spending it at home, resting, ensures that people’s energy will be conserved. Which also ensures more productivity and positive energy for the evening, while everyone gets on with their day.
So, even though our climate doesn’t really get THAT hot... it can be annoyingly cold, even in summer months (especially Newfoundland!)- so it’s still fair and we would totally benefit from it!

I can see how it would make for a happier, more efficient society. An afternoon nap has a LOT of power!

They seem to have it figured out in Italy and the other siesta countries (Latin American countries (except Brazil), as well as in the Philippines, China, Vietnam, Bangladesh, India, Southern Italy, Greece, Croatia, Malta, the Middle East and North Africa.)

Prime time, middle of the day, you get to hang out with your loved ones, take sometime doing things for yourself, and then napping!? Awesomesauce.

Now. How to get the Canadian government to regulate this!?

Who’s with me!?!!? ;)

Random Blog Alert (home, life, parenting and personal evolution)

Sometimes I get so overwhelmed by housework I have thoughts of burning the house down and moving into a clay hut in the woods. Well, ok, everything but the “burning the house down” part… I would just give everything away and leave the house for the next poor shmuck who wants to live in such a “modern” house (and I’m not using those quotation marks loosely there! Wtf is modern anyhow? I like huts. There’s nothing wrong with a hut! (ok. Maybe it’s not perfect, but at least I wouldn’t have to do laundry… because well, if I live in a hut I might as well not wear any clothes, right? Sounds good to me. Though, my hut will need internet connection.)

NOTE TO SELF: answer my child right away when she runs to me saying “mommy look, mommy look, mommy look, mommy look” …because, note: responding on the second “mommy look” is the only other acceptable “mommy look” to respond to.

It’s rude to ignore people! -even IF they are disrupting the best sentence the world has ever seen to untangle a peace sign necklace from a piece of fence from the horse play-set. DO NOT CHOOSE TO IGNORE THE CHILD! Because by the time she gets to the 9th or 10th “mommy look” it will be rage-filled screams of urgency.

Ok. So I exaggerate sometimes.

And exaggerating may go against the “yogic” way, but it makes a more entertaining read.

See? Right there! I justified my use of exaggeration! Thereby, justifying a reason I am not fully living up to the yogic lifestyle I have been learning about for the past 9 months. (RANDOM ENLIGHTENMENT STUDIES OBSERVATION!)

At least now I am more awake to moments I do that. (Well, ok, awake to MOST of the moments I do that.)

Anyhow, after that random interruption, back to whatever it was I was saying or something completely different, I'm not entirely sure:

Attempting to work and study at home, during moments of harvesting creativity and independence in a 2 year old through alone playtime, is quite the juggling act, which, from many time to many time, leads to dropping the flaming torches, or balls or scarves, whatever one feels safer juggling. (NOTE: For anyone who isn’t a parent: even though the child is “playing alone” she is in the same room, right next to me, and I am giving her a lot of my attention, hence the reason I can usually only focus on something for a short amount of time, and why I end up writing about her interrupting me in the middle of a blog post.)

The movie “Motherhood” (Uma is AWESOME in it, btw!) totally reminded me of so many times and things in my life (some “times and things” a little more than others!)
Especially, the part about choosing to stay home with baby, while putting other types of dreams on-hold, well not really “on-hold”, so much as decreasing the amount of hours put into those dreams, and not killing myself in the process.

The millions of new tiny little things (and big humongous things!) the mind starts running with after the babies are born, takes up quite a lot of space and energy in the mind and hours in the day.
All minds are different remember, so for some people, the shift is easy, natural, smooth, and they don’t think about much else, they have the benefit of being able to comfortably not do or worry about much else. Which is great for those people!

But I am totally not one of those people.

And I would’ve been more envious of those people years ago, but yogic belief reveals the harm in it- and I can’t afford any more energy leaking!

My mind needs to process, analyze, evolve, try as many new things, and connect with as many new people, as possible! Therefore, my parenting style reflects this: lets do as much as we can together, with other people, and during our alone times. (That is a summed up version of how I’m living right now.)

Which leads me to point out one of those things in life I’m currently dealing with: the undying feeling that I could be doing more! I need to do MORE! WHY AM I NOT DOING MOOORRRREE!? Which can cause impatient feelings during my days (sometimes feeling suffocated, like a pillow firmly placed over my face (oh yes, and I am NOT exaggerating there!)

Also, this “need to do more” curse, can usually lead to a trail of unfinished projects (and dishes) and drop in confidence, but more on those defects later. ;)

Even though I am doing a lot of study and working and exploring new things, while aiming to be the best Mom I can be- I still battle with the need to DO MORE- MAKE MORE MONEY-BE MORE GODDAMIT!

Luckily, a thing about children: with a surprise hug, giggle, moment of trust or a homemade card, they snap that pillow off my face and remind me of the importance and love with which I brought them into the world and all feelings of impatience about certain things are replaced with feelings of importance of other things yet. (Yes, I tend to write very 16th century poetic sometimes. It’s a flaw readers and natural born editors will have accept about me;)

My kids are the reason I am a mother, the reason I have been able to feel love at its highest capacity. They are the reason I dedicate so much energy into evolving my own mind and life and ways of thinking about the world, in order to love them and support them as much as I can, in as many ways as possible.

Though, I still screw up and get stressed out at times. Because, they, my sweet little love forces, are also, at times, my biggest sources of stress. Which just affords more opportunities to learn and evolve! Thank you my stressful little precious children!)

Meh. I’m not perfect----yet ;)

Now, back to that darn pile of laundry.

I swear to gawd my stomach just said "yellow".

It totally did.
And it sounded like a man in one of those barbershop bands,
where they raise the next voice just a notch higher. "yellooow.. YELlooow.. YELLOOOOOOWWW.."
My belly is a soprano.

Breast cancer is annoying.

And I don’t just mean because of the pain and devastation it causes- because that part really could stop!

But these new “facebook awareness status” ploys ARE SO ANNOYING.

How in the HECK does making pseudo-sexually explicit statuses make any difference whatsoever to breast cancer awareness? Most people know about breast cancer by now, this crap isn’t helping anything.
It’s just making people look foolish, if you ask me, which you didn’t, by I’m telling you anyhow. (and I use “foolish” to tone down what typed first.)

The term “slacktivism” doesn’t accurately cover this phenomenon. This is worse than doing little. This can, in many ways, cause damage. Why all the sexual innuendo?

How about make your status something like: make healthy, positive choices and find out more about preventive measures to stop breast cancer…

OR MAYBE: donate to the breast cancer foundation… and, men, we aren’t trying to deceive you with this, we want you apart of it as well. (that’s a status sweep I could handle!)

Maybe I’ve grown into a prude, but stating where “I like” my purse and listing my shoe size as inches is NOT something I would ever be comfortable doing, nor does it tickle my funny-bone in anyway.

Why?! Just tell me why, goddamnit!

And, maybe accompanying the pretty pink ribbon, we start adding pictures to reveal true devastation of it, to maybe wake some people up to how serious this really is...

This is an early sign to look for (while also feeling for lumps):

So please, the next time you're about to get swept up in that sweep, change your status to something a little more classy and proactive maybe? Or write a blog to bitch about it? Or follow along, and know I (and other people) may be judging you a little bit ;) haha

Take care of yourself <3

(question mark ribbon found at:
(the other two images found at: (who wrote a piece about awareness, that didnt include anything sexual- YOU GO GIRL!)

It’s OK to be GAY.

In order for that belief to be the norm in society, we must start referring to homosexuality as normal and acceptable, early in children’s lives.

When my first child was very young (daycare age!) someone asked her: do you have a boyfriend yet?” To which I quickly added: “or girlfriend” (and gave a supportive smile to the question asker- didn’t want to offend. And she actually said to me later, how great that was to say, that she never thought about it that way before.)

It was the first time (and not the last!) my daughter had been asked that question, so I was very happy I was quick to the draw on it. I wondered, what if she was gay!? What if she wanted a girlfriend? Wouldn’t being asked “do you have a boyfriend” make her feel she couldn’t have a girlfriend, or that there was something wrong with wanting a girlfriend? Or if she wasn’t gay, wouldn’t it make her think that having a boyfriend is more “normal and acceptable”? THAT was not the type of thinking I wanted her to develop. I want my children to be open to any possibility and accept people for their differences, and be free to choose for themselves.

So, it’s either scrap the question altogether, or get real about it… some kids are gay, don’t make them feel bad about it or make other kids judge them for it.

I also give my kids the longwinded statement: there’s: boyfriend and girlfriend, girlfriend and girlfriend, and boyfriend and boyfriend- everyone is different! :) ← never forget the smile!)

In order for the teasing in schools to stop and more acceptance to evolve, everyone needs to be asked the question that way: ‘boyfriend or girlfriend’, just so they stop for a moment, think, and are made to see the normality of the fact that it IS possible to be gay—and that it’s OK!

(photo: these are peace-rocks i tend to make whenever i go on a hike.. if you see one, let me know! ;)

What has our society done to breastfeeding?

Better yet: what has our society done to the female mind!?

I believe, the societal thought surrounding breasts is so perverted that some women struggle with the idea of breastfeeding. Women’s breasts have been THAT over-sexualized in the media (and by other people!) that, to a lot of women, their true function seems foreign, unnatural and “rotten” (according to a woman that used to be on my facebook.)

How can someone refer to feeding a baby, the way it was intended, as “rotten”? Would this same mother be terrified to change a poopie diaper? Baby poop (especially bottle-fed baby poop!) is much more “rotten” than an infant suckling a breast for nourishment.

I just don’t get it.

(babys first breastfeeding moment, my second baby.)

I was 19 when I had my first baby (I planned and prayed for 5 months for her!). Right from the start of wanting a baby I knew I was going to breastfeed, because well, really, I was in-tune with the natural life force of my body, it was the most natural thing to do.

I was lucky that I had an aunt who breastfed her baby.

I was around 10 when I walked in the living room and saw a babies face reaching toward her breast. (I can still see it in my mind after all these years, this kind of transcendental moment sticks with me!) It was the first time I had ever seen breastfeeding. I don’t even know if I hadeven heard of it before that moment! I was mystified. I was overflowing with love and joy at this new, delicate sight before me (as I turned my head away real fast, because I didn’t want her to think I was weird for wanting to stare (again, due to societies pressures and effects!)
It was at that moment I finally realized the point of boobs. That they weren’t just proof that God was a perverted old man who violated women’s bodies by putting those multi-sized bags of fun on the front end of us—they actually served a purpose! A beautiful, once-in-a-life-time purpose!

I couldn’t wait to have a baby to breastfeed.

Breastfeeding is as natural as the heart pumping blood. It’s a bodily function. The same mentality that would crack up laughing at multiple fart jokes reminds me of the mentality that makes fun of and is uncomfortable about breastfeeding.
Breastfeeding is the human thing to do! Our bodies do a lot of strange things, a lot of things that could be considered ‘disgusting’.

For example: breastfeeding is as natural as, and much more beautiful than, puking up your guts. And I get that some people don’t enjoy puking and wouldn’t choose to do it 5-10 times a day everyday for a year or more, but there is a purpose in puking—it saves our lives! Therefore we should do it!

Thank you Creator, for giving us the beautiful functions of purging and breastfeeding!

Breastfeeding can have moments of discomfort, like many bodily functions. But that’s no reason to write it off and never do it.

It is truly a joy, once you get passed the week-long nipple burning/stinging hump, when the sight of a towel is threatening and you have to bite your knuckles or punch yourself in the face when the baby latches. (I wonder, does every mother endure that part? or just some?)
However, after that week, that scary painful week, it is amazing! Natural! Relaxing! And full of loving bonding moments! (and "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger"? After that week, your skin pretty much turns to cast iron, strong-GER!)
(NOTE: there will probably be more random, overwhelming moments throughout the duration of your breastfeeding career— don’t feel bad for wishing you could rip your boobs off just once! Just once!! To give to dad, or someone else, to fed… or you could just pump a bottle ;)

But breastfeeding is easy! It’s sooo easy! There’s no way I could manage doing laundry while safely bottle-feeding! But strap my baby in a snuggly- front on- and I have two free hands to sort the clothes!

(----> dont lemme hear you say breastfeeding limits you! This is me and my 2nd daughter breastfeeding during a 4 hour a hike! ;)

It’s also much cheaper than bottle feeding (provided you spend money on ensuring you are eating healthy, which also benefits YOU and BABY! Two for one babeee!)

It also includes all the necessary health factors for baby and for mom. (Reducing risk of breast cancer, ovarian cancer and a truckload of other benefits!)

Also, if you are concerned with getting rid of the extra baby tub you’ve gathered over the last 9 months (or the tub you’ve had most of your life!) then breastfeeding is better than spending 5 hours at a gym EVERYDAY. It burns about an extra 500 cals… minimum-to-no exercise required!

If you are pregnant, or plan to be someday, I suggest you educate yourself on the topic, instead of shying away thinking it's not for you. Read things, watch things, and try to find mothers who are breastfeeding who don’t mind being starred at or being asked a hundred-million questions.

It is your (and your child’s) natural birthright! Your breasts have an evolutionary purpose! Fulfill it! (pun intended…they get REAL FULL!)

i dont kill bugs...

There was a time, many years ago, when I'd scream "KILL IT!" at the sight of anything crawly, except for maybe babies or drunk people, some drunk people. Anything with more than 4 legs would creep me out to the point of begging someone to end its life. What a waste of energy that was! (Not to mention the waste of a lil life force!)
Then one day, about 6 or 7 years ago, I asked myself: wtf is my problem? Why do I act like a sociopath at the sight of a bug? Why do I imagine these things crawling in my orifices, laying a billion eggs that will hatch a billion babies that will chew through my skin to escape? Why? It's irrational! Completely!
SO then I started to love them... from a distance and on the internet, at first.

Then I got closer, in real life. (--> check out the beautiful detail of this spider that was in my mothers window for an entire summer! IT'S GORGEOUS! And builds its house from its BUTT!)

One day, sitting on a back deck, an ant, an inch worm, and a fly all started to crawl toward me (no doubt testing my pledge of love!). I forced myself to suck-it-the-heck-up and let them crawl on my feet (while clenching everything I could clench!) and LO AND BEHOLD I didn't die and there was not one egg laid inside me anywhere! WOW! I fell in love (for real time!) right then and there! Wherein, began my protest of not killing bugs and never allowing anyone else to do it around me (if someone wants the bug gone, I'm happy to escort it back outside).

I even express the rule in my house: no killing bugs in my house! (I've wanted to make a sign that reads something witty like: if you kill a bug in my house, I will kill you. But that's not "witty" so much as it's "threatening" and a lil crazy.)

Me and my partner fell madly in love with spiders one early morning, laying for hours, wired on love. We let a teenyweeny baby spider crawl around our hands, letting it explore from my hand to his. I had been letting them live in random places in the house for a while at that point, but when I noted the remarkable contrast of that itty-bitty bug on his big strong human hand, it really warmed my heart! Bugs (as well as humans) are truly amazing beings! They have purpose and beauty just as anything does. And they are defenceless against us. Which is why I take a stand against the unconscious cruelty of random bug killing (Tho, I still eat chicken? yeah. I'm working on it. It's helping to picture chickens as big feathered vegetables).

(For the record: if your house is being infested with bugs to the point of them crawling on your children and eating all of your food, then yes, a lil genocide might be called for. But be sure to do it from a place of love in your heart, no anger on your tongue... or maybe let them have the house and you move? (Tad overzealous with that last thing?-maybe.))

'no, mom, dont take a picture of my berry-juice face!'

(raspberries, cherries, and strawberries: and it didnt stain her face, wow! lol) (it's even on her nose) ♥

caterpillar go potty too?

she thinks: if i gotta do it, the sprinklers gotta do it too...

sister action shot!

when you lay on the floor, it's an open invite to be POUNCED ON!
(see the fear in the big sisters eyes? ;)

a fish named zen...

she naps in the strangest of places...

the face of an evil sand-throwing baby:


OverZealousBlog: the end scene of the zeitgeist film...

OverZealousBlog: the end scene of the zeitgeist film...

I realized I’ve been traumatized by the media.

We learned an exercise called Trauma/Addiction Clearing in the Enlightenment studies group. (*British accent*: For to learn how to help others, one must help ones self first…*end accent*: which is why we do all the work on ourselves.)
We were asked to choose something from our past that was traumatizing, something that is affecting us somehow in the present moment, and intend to feel it directly. I went into my list of traumas (most of us have a list, right?), but nothing seemed deep enough (and I had already cleared some of the “big ones” earlier in the year). So I kept pondering…

Then we were asked to focus on something we are addicted to today. And the process was to seek the trauma that is at the root of the addiction (all addictions have a root cause).
I didn’t think I was addicted to anything anymore. After giving up smoking and other things years ago, and completely changing my eating habits (which means: my addiction to junk food was broken (or ok, loosened a great deal ;).

We were then told it could even be a thought or an idea, some kind of mental pattern we were addicted to.

That’s where I found mine.

The preoccupation I adopted at a very young age: my obsession with my appearance. (which I contest: started when I began watching TV and became in contact with other media (which is why I have cable, radio and magazines banned from my house, my quest to save my children in some way.)
Namely and initially (when I was young) it was feeling ugly and inadequate compared to the rest of the world, the people in my real world and the people in the fantasy/media world (actually: mainly the people in the fantasy world!)
Thankfully, that obsession no longer has the strong hold over me it once did, even though there are still issues surrounding it.
Today, it has slowly evolved into repeated questions in my mind: am I ugly or am I beautiful? And what does it mean to be either?

I am addicted to that thought. That’s my addiction.

I obsess over it at times. I really don’t know the answer, or if there is even one answer. Because I, logically, know that beauty is subjective and it really matters none what this exterior vehicle, the human body, looks like; and that it is all in what one feels on the inside that radiates out that is important… blah-blah-blah... I know this “intellectually”, but it doesn’t change the fact that I still have that obsessive thought.
How do I stop the dysfunctional thoughts? How do I evolve my mind from brainwashing that ran so deep in my youth?
Will there always be a shadow of it or can I completely remove the imprint and release the hold it has had on me for so long?

My trauma lies in my distorted perception of what “beauty” is.

All the images and messages I have seen in movies, on TV, in magazines, on websites; things I hear from other people (who are no doubt twisted on some level of thought by much of the same dysfunction!), things in music and even in radio ads! It is truly EVERYWHERE. A distorted idea of what it means to be and look like a woman.
(DISCLOSURE: I am not saying women have it worse than men, or that men don’t have some of the same issues, or that women are better than men. No.
I’m not saying anything to really “compare” women and men. I am merely stating a female perspective of the affect of all the images and ideas of women (and men) I have gathered over the years, from the media and also from the people around me. So don’t get all defensive about it. NOTE: the only people that will be upset at that last comment are the people who are feeling a little defensive about it ;)

I was a lonely, self conscious, unguided youth. As much as there were many people coming and going through my life, none seemed to let me in on the self-esteem secret, and I always felt lonely and different from everyone else.
It seems this loneliness really solidified in 5th grade. When my feelings of being separate really sunk in to my existence and became the norm for me; when I really started noticing other people, and myself in relation to them, and when other kids started picking on me and making me feel hideous.

This seems to correlate strongly with my increased viewing of television, movies and other forms of media. (To use a fitting cliché: which came first, the chicken or the egg? Both sides have great arguments.)

Now that I know all of that: how do I change it? How do we fix broken thought patterns or beliefs? Is it even possible? Or are we doomed to think the way we first learned?
I don’t believe that last thing. I believe we are supposed to evolve the messy mind and its distorted beliefs it developed in its younger days. And that hardship builds character in the human mind. So: the more trauma, the more character? Lets hope so.

During the Trauma/Addiction exercise, I released a lot of charge in relation to the trauma of being brainwashed by the medias portrayal of women and its effects on me as a young female. I am now in the next phase: watching my minds daily reactions and noting anything that may seem to stem from the past trauma and then release it, mindfully, with the intention of letting it go and seeking the truth.
Like yesterday, I felt much too “ugly” to go out in public (that’s normal right? *looks around for someone to agree, I mean, validate*), but I shook that off and went out anyhow and realized the world didn’t end when it saw my face. What a relief.

(kill your tv image found here: )
(fakebeauty image found here: (national organization for women)
(the other two are my own)

has proven evolved, without a doubt...

that one can change ones thinking about spinach and can actually start to enjoy it, to the point of which one used to enjoy a bag of chips! that's evolution baby! ;)

(We mostly use Raspberry Vinaigrette salad dressing as a sweet, refreshing dip!)
(see all the different sizes!? mmmm!)