Welcome to the Idiocracy

I didn't really want to write about this but anything else feels inauthentic right now. I feel sick and sad and angry when I think about who this country voted in as president. I also feel embarrassed and ashamed when I think about what this choice says about our populace's priorities, understanding of our relationship with our fellow humans and the hate and fear present and driving what seems to be most of the decisions in our society.

This country knowingly elected an unapologetic, aggressive, hateful sexist and racist to our highest office. And I don't know how that happened unless the people in this country think those characteristics are not only acceptable but to be rewarded. It cannot be because people actually liked his policies, because he did not have detailed policy statements to speak of. I can probably count the number of grammatically complete sentences he used on one hand, so it cannot be because anyone voted for who they thought was the most intelligent candidate. He had no experience for the job he was applying for and his opponent possessed a resume any candidate would have dreamed of having...so it could not have been that voters thought he was qualified for the job. I have heard some people say that people voted for him because they wanted a change...someone from the outside to shake things up. To that I say that his voters are as ignorant about the inner workings of our country's political system and relationships as he is. The discontent with our government is largely systemic...and one man will not change a system that is fueled by corporate dollars. Real change might come when we start dismantling the havoc that rulings like Citizens United have wrought. I think some of the wealthy who voted for him did so for selfish reasons. So, at the end of the day, I am left faced with the fact that this election demonstrates the people in this country at the least, do not care about sexism, racism, ignorance and greed, and at the worst, revel in and revere these things.

As a woman, it was a slap in the face to me that we elected a man who so clearly views women solely as beings for male sexual gratification and when they're not doing that, taking care of children and doing housework. I knew women were not equal in this country before he was a candidate...the slap in the face came from the toleration and defense of his demeaning, aggressive statements about and to women. Women are not equal and it has now been legitimized on an international stage to shame, denigrate and dismiss women.

When that video came out, I was sure it would be the long awaited for nail in his coffin. Oh, there were the obligatory expressions of outrage, quite often couched in patronizing paternalistic rhetoric. The outrage lasted about a weekend, if that. And then, I heard people defending his "locker room" talk. Everybody talks like that, was the message I heard from people defending him. NEWS FLASH: IT DOES NOT MATTER IF IT HAPPENS IN A LOCKER ROOM, AMONG ONLY MEN, IN A SOUNDPROOF ROOM. WHEN IT COMES TO SEXISM, LOCATION DOES NOT MATTER. CONTENT DOES. That this behavior is tolerated and defended is abhorrent to me. It makes me sick. It makes me angry. And we just solidified this platform at the national and international level. That is a big fuck you to women everywhere, whether said women are too stupid and brainwashed to know it or not.

One of my friends told me a story that happened where she works. The day after the election, one of her coworkers had to leave work to pick his child up from school. Her coworker is from Ethiopia and his wife is from Iowa. The day after the election, this gentleman, who became a citizen before they were married (this should be irrelevant as to how we treat people but I guess this is the world we've allowed to be created), had to leave work to pick up their son from school because some boys from his class were upsetting him so badly with their relentless taunts stating that now that Trump was elected, he would be sent out of the country. I'm not judging them on the merits of their statements...they are children and obviously this boy and his whole family are US citizens and would not be deported. My point is that this is the racist culture and environment we've allowed not only to flourish, but as I believe this incident clearly demonstrates, we have allowed to metastasize. This is the result of electing a leader who espouses these hateful, racist positions. Children clearly see this as acceptable behavior because it has played out before them by adults in positions of leadership and prestige.

I received a blog post from someone that stated that we should not worry about our leaders behaviors because it is the responsibility of the family and local community to instill morals in our children. The argument was that if you parent morals, it doesn't matter what our leaders do. I agree it is the family, first and foremost, who impart morals and appropriate behaviors to our children. However, it is ludicrous and naive to think that children are unaware of people in positions of power, how they act and how that behavior is rewarded. And that is in the best case, where a family is actually taking the time to engender loving belief systems. Go ahead and stick your head in the sand, if you think our leaders do not impact the culture of the society our children grow up in. Stick your head in the sand (or somewhere else) if you think kids do not internalize messages about behaviors that are acceptable and rewarded from outside the family, particularly from clips they see running constantly on TV and the internet. Meanwhile, we're living in a country where violence is glorified in our professions, pastimes and government and we now have a leader who has specifically given direction as to where to direct that violence, hate and fear. (PS...why would a country elect a leader that we have to teach our children to be opposite of?)

I've heard the phrase that a country elects the government they deserve. I guess we'll see what happens when a country elects an ignorant, narcissistic, sexist, racist as its highest leader, with the privilege of appointing like minded folk to "advise" him and administer major arms of our government. Welcome to the idiocracy.

What It's Like to Work for Hospice

November is National Hospice Month!!! In honor of it being national hospice month…I want to write a blog post about what it’s like to work in hospice.

I’m fairly certain that I have received only TWO types of responses when I tell people what I do for a living.

“I work in hospice- I’m a chaplain doing bereavement care.”

Response 1:

“Hospice? Yuck. Now, why would you want to do that? Don’t you get depressed?”

Response 2:

“Hospice? Oh my goodness. You must be an angel. It takes a SPECIAL person to do what you do.”

One of the reasons I’m writing this blog post is because I want to describe what it’s actually like working in hospice. For those of you that may not know, hospice is a form of health care that takes care of people at the end of their life. To qualify for hospice, you need to have a life prognosis of six months or less. So yeah- my job evolves around death. Wah wah.

My specific ministry within hospice is bereavement care. This means that I provide support to people after their loved ones are dead- I facilitate support groups, I offer one-on-one counseling, I provide grief education to the Des Moines community, and I coordinate large scale events.

What is this like?

1)     It’s Meaningful. 
I honestly never doubt the necessity or the value of the work I do. Oh sure, I doubt my own effectiveness at times, but I never doubt the need for bereavement support.

2)     It IS Sad.
I can’t tell you how hard it is to hear someone intensely grieve for their loved one- to cry over and over again how much they miss this person. To say that they would give anything to be with him or her again. And there is nothing I can say or do that will come remotely close to fixing their problem for them- they have lost something that they will never have back again.

Someone once told me that the best grief gets for them- as good as their life will get after their loved one is dead- is that they figure out how to “mark time.” They find ways to keep active and engaged in their life, but ultimately, they are still marking time until they die and join their loved one. It’s incredibly…heart wrenching to think about all of the people we lose in life and the toll this takes on us. It’s devastating to think that sometimes the best life can get is to tolerate it until it’s over.

3 )    It’s Fun. (WHAT? Working with death is fun!?!?)
Yes! Actually, I have a really fun job. The people I work with are awesome- they really care about the work we do, but they also know how to have fun. (One of my coworkers just hosted a Halloween party this weekend that resulted in me painting my entire body green for a witch costume). Additionally, my job is fun because I have a LOT of variety in what I do. I lead support groups…I give educational presentations….and I’m always traveling all over the city of Des Moines. Moreover, some of our events are quite engaging and enjoyable. We have a yoga workshop coming up….we have an annual movie night…and we have a social wine and canvas painting event every spring. Additionally, one of our support groups is at a different restaurant every month, and another one of our support groups gives me the opportunity to color. (It’s a crafting support group). I get paid to do some pretty awesome things!!!

4)     It’s Surprising.
I am continually surprised by the variety of people, lives, relationships, family dynamics, and lifestyles that I encounter. You know the nuclear family? Well, statistics have debunked that mythical notion, but my experience in hospice has definitely deconstructed it as well. I’ve met people that are divorced but still living together. I’ve met people that have never married but live with their mother. I’ve met people who have no one that care about them and so their body ends up unclaimed. And I’ve met people who have touched so many lives that their funeral is bursting at the seams. I’ve met rich people, and I’ve met people who live with insects in their homes. It’s a little bit of everything.

5)     It’s Connecting.
I listen to people when they are at their most raw and when they are at their most vulnerable. Do you want to experience some real intimacy? Hold someone’s hand while they are bawling hysterically and sobbing that they are not sure if they can go on living. Look into their eyes as they tell you that the only thing they want is their loved one back, even though they know that it will never happen. That level of connection is one of the most profound and personal ways that I have ever been close to another human being. It’s as close to touching someone’s spirit as you can get.

Additionally, I’m strangely connected with my coworkers. I think that professional boundaries are more porous when you work in hospice because you are dealing with such an emotional subject. I never thought I would be someone that had good friends at work, and somehow, some of my very best friends are the people I work with. My coworkers have seen me laugh hysterically and sob uncontrollably. They’ve seen me on my ‘A’ game when I just nail bereavement support, and they’ve also seen me completely miss the boat. They really have seen me in all of my complexity and sides of my identity. In any field, shared experience is significant. Hospice is no different- my coworkers are the only ones that know what it’s like to have your entire career evolve around death.

6)     It’s Disconnecting.
It’s hard for me to type this (because I think it can sound a bit condescending), but sometimes I feel disconnected from some of my friends and peers because I’ve had to confront many intense questions and issues that they have not. Many of my peers are in a stage of life where everything is still new and exciting. They finally have a worthwhile career, they are in serious relationships/marriage, and they may have even had a kid or two. I’m not saying their lives are perfect or without difficult issues, but I don’t think many of them know what it’s like to have your entire world completely blown up. They don’t know what it’s like to question everything you have ever known because you have experienced a loss that shook you to the core.

On the other hand, I’ve had…some pretty intense experiences. I’ve had a bereaved client die from suicide….after he sent me the final suicide note. I’ve held a baby that was born after only 20 weeks gestation, and I still remember the precious, tiny features that were only half-formed. I’ve talked to people who lost their spouse after being married for over 60 years. I’ve witnessed people in their 30’s die from cancer, even though they had so many dreams that they still wanted to accomplish. And overall, I’ve seen more dead bodies, blood, and excretions than I really care to remember.  I’ve witnessed and experienced the darker side of life, and most of my peers have not. Their naivety about life- that it's mostly sunshine with a few clouds- feels really disconnecting to me.

Additionally, I also feel disconnected from my peers because they don’t get that this is my daily life. That death, pain, love- the intensity of what makes us human- is my EVERY day. And so sometimes, I get impatient when someone complains to me about the fact that the office mixed up their dental appointment. Yup, that’s annoying, but I just don’t have much energy to listen to you complain about that. You see, a couple of hours earlier, I had to hear someone talk about how they would give anything to have one more hug from their mother. And so not only am I drained from listening to that person, but it’s also hard for me to not look at your problem and trivialize it.

HOWEVER. I’m also chastising myself while writing this because I think it is SUCH a dick move to trivialize someone else’s pain and irritations (that’s like pastoral care 101, yo!) I mean, it’s completely ineffective and patronizing to tell someone that their concerns aren’t valid because they don’t deal with death and dying on a routine basis. And the fact is, I know I personally still complain about trivial things (remember how I broke my foot this summer and it was like the only thing I could talk about for 2 straight months?) Everyone complains...and it’s a part of being human…and it’s one of the ways that we connect with one another in our relationships. And so I recognize it in myself and I recognize it in others. But sometimes…it’s still just hard. It’s hard for me to have the energy to listen to someone bitch about a mundane problem when I listen to people who are struggling with the most difficult questions of human existence. It’s hard to go from exploring questions like, “Why do we die” and “How can I live knowing that I will never see my loved one on this earth again?”…to questions like, “OMG, how could they mix up my dental appointment?!?!”

It’s definitely a balancing act for me, one that I need to continually renegotiate and navigate every day. It’s a balancing act for how much energy I can give to others after working all day…how much I can validate my other people’s concerns and empathize with them…etc. One of the (many) reasons that TGR –my gym- has been a godsend is because it allows me to be social, but I don’t have to actively listen to people in order to connect with them.

7)     It's Not very Anxiety-Producing.
For those of you that know me at all, you know that I have high levels of anxiety. I’ve learned to manage it quite well, and I can often use my anxiety to work for me as a form of energy (definitely a topic for another blog post!!!) Regardless, it’s still a part of me that I have to constantly navigate. A lot of my anxiety stems from a desire to be perfect and be in control. However, hospice actually makes me feel less anxious because I’m working with grief and death. Even I have the wherewithal to know that I cannot be perfect. This knowledge- that I'm working with problems that cannot be fixed or solved- melts away much of my anxiety.

8)     It's Boring. There ARE some boring parts.
It’s easy to wax poetics about how meaningful and beautiful it is to work for hospice. Well, there ARE definitely some boring parts. Anything involving charting and documentation is extremely mind numbing. Sometimes phone calls are boring- either the person really didn’t give a shit about the deceased, or the person simply isn’t open to talking. Or sometimes the person has NO self-awareness whatsoever and he or she talks my ear off- usually in rambling circles. Additionally, there are still meetings that I have to attend that I find unproductive or uninspiring. There are still definitely those mundane components to the job.   

9)     It Restores My Faith in Humanity.
People talk about how terrible the world is now…how everyone does awful things…and how scary it is. I can understand that…AND…I also see the most beautiful side of humanity. I see people grow in ways they never thought was possible after their loved one dies; for example, one woman may join a barbershop chorus after wanting to sing her whole life. She only was able to do it after she was forced to challenge herself to find new ways of connecting with others after the death of her spouse. I see people support one another in the most incredible ways. For example, someone may drive patients to chemo as a means of honoring their loved one’s legacy and assisting with others that suffer from a similar disease. One of my other favorite experiences is when I see people make new friends in support group. I LOVE that something as beautiful as a new connection can come from the darkness of death.

10)   …I Love It.
I really do love my job. From the time that I was in grade school until I finished graduate school, I was VERY worried that I would never find a job that I liked. I had SUCH a negative connotation with the word “job” itself. The word “job” meant boredom, stifled, and trapped. And now? I don’t even think about my job as a job. Yes, I’m one of those super annoying people that thinks of her job more as her “calling” or her “vocation.” It’s…honestly kind of a natural extension of who I am. I’ve always been compassionate and enjoyed hearing people stories- I’ve been doing that since I was a child. And now…I’m doing what I’ve always done in a more intentional way. Again, I don’t mean to say that I don’t EVER get bored, irritated, or frustrated. BELIEVE me, I DEFINITELY have those moments. But overall…I genuinely love my job.

So, there you go, folks! That’s my experience of working in hospice as a chaplain providing bereavement support. I’m not some weird goth person obsessed with darkness…nor am I an angel sent from God. I’m Anne. I’m Anne, and I’m doing what I feel I am called to do. And I hope that you are too.

Just Mom

It will probably come as no surprise to anyone that knows me that things have been a bit chaotic lately. I completed a masters degree in September, found myself volunteering to be my son's head soccer coach, completed a military school and enrolled in another one, began training for my 8th marathon, drove nine hours with two kids in less than 24 hours to attend my cousin's wedding, and am currently on a plane to Virginia.  Meanwhile, John has been gone so much that Sister Anne and Sister Amy joked last weekend that they hadn't seen the guy for a year. I'm kicking my own ass for allowing things to get so crazy. My point, in telling you all this, is not to make it seem like I'm the best time manager in the history of the world. In fact, I suck at time management as most people who know me well can attest to. I'm routinely, no, chronically 10, ok if I'm honest, 15 minutes late. I joke sometimes with the people I recruit that if you were to think of a stereotypical career military person, I would not be it. I hate mornings, I'm always late, I hate being hot and I'm female. But my point to my applicants is that just because you may not fit the stereotype does not mean you won't find success in a military organization.

I think the same is true for being a parent. And that's really what I want to write about. By some standards, I'm a real asshole of a mother. Example 1: I'm in Scheels trying to buy a soccer ball since my son's ball somehow was coming apart at the seams. My 3-year-old is out of control throwing balls and running behind cash registers. The usual crap I normally use to obtain compliance isn't working. She doesn't give a shit if she doesn't get a prize today. She is not deterred by the three count. The stink eye has zero effect. I can only contort my face in so many different forms of disapproval and none of them stopped the madness. I pick her up and she goes exorcist on my ass. So finally, I hear myself telling my three year old she is grounded. I'm laughing as I'm writing this because it is the most ridiculous thing. I don't even know how to ground a three year old. And the worst thing is, it totally backfired. She started screaming like I told her she was going to have her arm cut off. The ladies in front of us looked at me disapprovingly. Thanks, gals. I needed that extra kick in the nuts as I held my head high carrying the exorcist child with a neon yellow soccer ball being bounced off my rear by my 8-year-old.

Example 2: It's picture day at my three year old's daycare. She has curly hair that is difficult to manage. It's cute as hell but it's hard to comb through and style. Most days, my daughter tells me, "I want it wild, Mom." This means she wants me to minimally comb it and leave it at that. See photo for reference. Straight up Medusa, but a cute one for sure. Due to the number of other demands I have on my energy, I often don't fight her. So what if she likes her hair messy? It's a battle I choose not to fight. However, it's picture day. And she wants it wild and I don't. The fight brews and ensues. What to do?  Maybe a better mom could have pulled it off. I suppose I could have held her head in some kind of a vice grip with my forearms and got the job done. But I just didn't see how what I wanted-her picture to look perfect-warranted such a battle of wills. So, unconventionally, I took her to picture day looking like Medusa. Whatever. It's just a picture. Maybe she should get to have a say in how they look. Which, by the way, they turned out decent. John didn't think so, but he doesn't have to try to put a ponytail on a three year old with uncommon strength, rigidity and flexibility.

Example 3: As I mentioned, I coach my son's soccer team. One of the other parents is the assistant coach thankfully because he knows way more about soccer than I do. After one of our games, I was talking to Sister Anne. I thought the assistant coach had left already. So I was a little blunt when I told my sister that my kids were being dicks that morning. All of a sudden, I hear laughing. The assistant was right behind me and heard every word. Oops. Now I will probably always be known as the mom who called her kids dicks.

Last example, although I could go on. We are having Direct TV installed. There is a mix up and I call John who has a quick piss switch when it comes to cable and satellite issues. He becomes enraged for reasons that are not entirely clear to me. We get off the phone and I find myself saying the F word three times in frustration and then realize the tech has come up from the basement and heard me so eloquently express my emotions in the presence of, yes, some of you will be appalled, my kids. Yes, my kids have heard curse words. I do try to limit it but especially at family gatherings or when the cable causes my husband to go ballistic, I do occasionally, okay, more than occasionally, say it. Fuck. I sound like a real asshat. Anyway, we have taught the kids that swearing is like drinking. You can choose to do it when you are old enough but you aren't allowed to do it as a kid.

And that's how it is in my house and in my life. Beautiful, ugly, bat shit crazy, harmony. I can't spend a lot of time worrying about if I'm making all the "right" decisions. I can't spend my time fighting each and every battle. I would have no energy left if I did that especially on top of everything else I'm juggling. I'm not saying I'm right or wrong but I'm saying this works for me, unconventional as it may be. Am I bad Mom, a good mom, a busy mom,  a tired mom, a crazy mom or an asshole mom? Maybe I'm all of those things but I prefer just mom. Screw the adjectives because they are all right and wrong at different times.  Being mom means different things to different people. To me, it means showing my kids what it looks like to embrace the suck while living the dream. It means that they see I'm not perfect and that they learn to embrace chaos instead of avoiding it. It means the ladies at the daycare may think I suck because I fucking forgot fucking share day again this week, but they also see that my daughter runs into my arms and kisses me the moment I walk into the door regardless. I could drive myself nuts beating myself up about the way the school pics turned out or wondering if I should have stayed home with the kids, although I think we all can agree that had I stayed home, the kids would probably be cussing at a 10th grade level by the time they were in preschool. My point is that each parent has to find their own way. My kids like to be at home and prefer it but they also can exist outside the home. They don't sweat the small stuff and are pretty resiliant. They can make friends easily unlike their asshole of a mother. These are all good things that I hope will outweigh the number of times i have dropped the F bomb in front of them. I try to remember what I tell my recruits...that just because you don't fit the stereotype, doesn't mean you won't be able to find success. Perhaps creating your own  reality around your individuality is success enough. For today, I'm going to go with that.

Jennie From the Blog

Hey ya’ll. I’m back on the blog again after having taking last week off because of the hectic chaos I was living in which I currently call my life. I am writing this blog after just getting done planning for the school week so I am now able to relax, reflect and post my thoughts on paper. This week’s blog is going to be a little different than my usual post, as it will be a joint blog post between my roommate and close friend, Jennie Smith. Jennie is also a 2^nd year corps member in Memphis, TN and is an inclusion teacher at a middle school in Memphis.

One thing you need to know about Jennie and my relationship is that we will give each other hugs when they’re needed, but also give each other a swift kick in the ass where it’s also warranted. We have known each other for a year and a half now and our relationship has blossomed into one where we can be genuine and authentic without hurting the other person. Needless to say, we are brutally honest with each other (usually in a respectful manner with the exception of one time). I appreciate Jennie’s friendship because she often times grounds me and isn’t afraid to put me in place, which for those of you who know me, isn’t always easyJ. Our joint blog post is about a recent conversation we had and our reflections afterward.

Kristen: I don’t really care that he didn’t text me back because he’s a douche anyway.

Jennie: Okay valid, but you really need to stop calling all men douches.

Kristen: But all men are douches or at least the men I’m attracted to.

Jennie: And that’s part of the issue. You can’t call an entire gender that just because you’ve met a few who haven’t been the best.

Kristen: Why?

Jennie: Well, you really shouldn’t call anyone a douche, but that’s not the point here.  The point is that just because one girl messes up doesn’t mean all women are terrible. Well… just ‘cause a few men screw up it doesn’t mean the entire male gender is horrendous.

Kristen’s reflection:

I have recently thought a lot about Jennie’s and my conversation. Since moving to Memphis it seems that the men I have been attracted to carry a lot of baggage and when I use the term baggage I mean they’re full on packing for a 6 month trip to Europe. They’ll have multiple kids with multiple baby mamas, struggle to hold or find a decent paying job and don’t necessarily have the time or energy to make me a priority in their lives (rightly so with that much baggage). I’ve pondered over and over again as to why I am constantly attracted to these types of men and it wasn’t until my most recent date with a man that I was able to somewhat put a hypothesis on this.

This past weekend I went out with a man that I met via Tinder (yes, I know my generation is using this app and although there are conflicting opinions about it, I do believe that it isn’t all bad). I went and got drinks with Tinder dude at a bar. We casually drank, ate and talked. All in all, I had a decent time and enjoyed the conversations we had together. However, I left the date immediately coming up with reasons as to why it wouldn’t work out and why I shouldn’t see him again. I told Jennie that because he was dressed nice, spoke eloquently and was in general a very nice man that he must be gay. There MUST be something wrong with him. (Jennie’s remark: To which I reprimanded her for saying that being gay is wrong)

This in general is an issue with me. Every time a “nice” guy likes me I immediately shut him down. I’m not sure I do this because I like the “chase” of a bad boy or if I do this simply because I don’t think I deserve a nice guy or if I’m actually not ready for a committed relationship so I go after something that I know will not turn into anything serious. Like I said, I’m not sure why I do this, but I will admit I definitely do this and am currently in the process of trying to figure out why because I don’t actually want to do this. I do want to find someone I can settle down with, I do want to find someone that will make me a priority and I do want to find someone that likes me for more than what I can offer in the bedroom.

Jennie’s reflection:

So first thing’s first, last year I forced Kristen to watch my all-time favorite movie with me  (okay, okay, maybe one of my favorites, I can’t choose just one!), Perks of Being a Wallflower. Don’t wanna spoil the plot for you, so brief synopsis: It’s a coming of age film about a boy named Charlie and his friends and family and all the baggage that comes  with life. Charlie’s sister is abused by her boyfriend and Charlie goes to talk to his mentor, his English teacher to ask for advice.

Charlie: “Mr. Anderson, can I ask you something?”
Mr. Anderson: “Yeah.”
Charlie: “Why do nice people choose the wrong people to date?”
Mr. Anderson: “Are we talking about anyone specific?”
(Charlie nods)
Mr. Anderson: “We accept the love we think we deserve.”
Charlie: “Can we make them know that they deserve more?”
Mr. Anderson: “We can try.”

See that quote speaks volumes to the problems Kristen and so many in our generation are having. We tell ourselves we deserve less, even if we don’t voice it. We tell ourselves that we deserve what we’ve gotten and there’s nothing better out there. We tell ourselves this and you know what? That’s exactly what we get.

No not all guys are bad, not all girls are great. But we tend to view them as less if we think we deserve less. We tend to view guys as having an agenda other than trying to get to know us, ‘cause we don’t think we deserve someone who genuinely wants to know us. Truth is, we are scared to let anyone in and let them truly know us. It’s terrifying. We know ourselves, we know our strengths and our weaknesses, we know our deep dark secrets and they terrify us. We are afraid that if anyone else finds this stuff out they will go running and we will be left broken waiting for someone to save us, but we don’t really want to be saved.

See, I have this amazing example of a healthy, loving, not perfect, and constantly growing relationship. My parents have been married for 30+ years. They are awesome. They have truly lived out their marriage vows. They make me want that. But you know what, my parents don’t have the cookie-cutter-met-in-high-school-sweetheart story. They both went through a lot of crazy and a bunch of heartache before they met. And you know what? They didn’t start dating immediately. They were friends for a few years before dating. And you know what? Since they’d taken the time to figure out who they were as single individuals and pursued their careers and worked their hardest to make a difference in this world, they each found someone with the same drive and the same passions who could work alongside them in their mission for the rest of their lives.

My parents show me daily that love and relationships aren’t meant to be easy, and they aren’t meant to be perfect. They are meant to be dynamic. More than that, if you’re too scared to be yourself, it’s not gonna last.

There is one thing to remember about every relationship, as the great lyricist wrote: “It’s gonna be forever, or it’s gonna go down in flames.” (TSwift)

Currently, Kristen thinks the latter….don’t worry, I’m gonna keep calling her on it!! J

Currently, if any of you were wondering, I (Kristen) keep going on random dates with people I’ve met from every which way and Jennie, is single but keeps her options open for the one man that shares her passion for making this world a better place or whatever you want to call it. If any of you were also wondering, Jennie is currently sitting on my bed eating some janky Polish dish she concocted a few minutes ago (shout out to Pittsburgh history) and I’m about to kick her out so I can go to bed. Night ya’ll (yinz for the Pittsburghers out there).

It Pays to Compromise

It pays (literally and metaphorically) to compromise.

I did something last week that I’ve been a bit private about. I’m still trying to reflect upon why I was so quiet about it- I think it has something to do with my reticence with conflict. Additionally, I think I felt a bit embarrassed as it was difficult to explain to people in a few short words what was going on. Nevertheless, despite the clandestine nature of this event, I AM rather happy that I pursued it.

Now that I’m finished being super vague, let me explain.

I took someone to small claims court last week. Ay yi yi yi. Here’s the deal: I moved out of my former apartment on February 29^th (leap day!) I gave my landlord the requisite 30 days notice. Additionally, I let him know when I was officially moved out. I also gave him my forwarding address. And so….I waited for my deposit to be returned.

I waited. And I waited. And I waited. Finally, after a month, I decided to text him. It’s Iowa law to have your rent deposit returned within 30 days, and so I knew it was time to check in with him. It was a very polite text; I simply inquired about the status of my deposit. He said he would get it out within a couple of days.

And so I waited. And I waited. And I waited. Two weeks go by, and I text him again. Again, I try to keep it lighthearted.  He informs me that he “mailed it a week or two ago, but it must have gotten lost.”  Consequently, he tells me that he will write me a new check. And I inform him that I will personally come pick it up as I have grown weary of waiting for my deposit to be returned.

I go pick up the check from his mailbox, and I’m incensed to see that it’s for half of the amount of my original deposit. I’ve waited for well over the requisite time (per Iowa law) to receive this check, I’ve been given the run around about why it hasn’t arrived, and then I finally see that the amount returned was for half of the original deposit.

I take a couple of deep breaths, and I decide to let it go. It sucks, but life will go on. I just want to go cash this deposit so that I can move on with my life. If any of you have followed the Dissident Daughters for awhile, you will know that my move from my apartment was highly symbolic. And at this point, I just want to cash the damn check so that I can officially close that chapter of my life. It’s not ideal, but hey, it’s only money.

I drive to the bank, I go to cash the check, and the teller tells me there is a problem. This half-assed check that I’ve been given- it’s not signed. So I can’t even cash this piece of shit check!!!

At this point, I’m furious. I hate feeling like someone is screwing around with me. I was given the run around about getting the check in the first place, it was for half of the amount, it was late, and now it’s not signed. I immediately get out my phone and text my landlord. I inform him of the lack of signature, and I also ask him to please reconsider the amount due to all of the aforementioned events. Again, I kept my tone civil in my message even though I desperately wanted to use profanities.

He responds and tells me that he will sign the half-assed check, but he will not give me any more money. He tells me to just deal with it.  His tone was not as civil as mine.

At this point, something in me snaps. I really can’t explain it. It takes a LOT for me to snap. I’m pretty level headed, I’m ridiculously empathic, and I really hate conflict. As a result of all of this, it’s pretty easy for me to let things go. I’m definitely not a door mat, but I’ll usually say my piece and move on. It’s just not worth my time and energy to fixate on something or expend a lot of effort dragging it through the mud.

This was different, however. I had tried to let this whole thing go, but I had reached my breaking point. I just felt so strongly that someone was taking advantage and trying to exercise power over me.  I really can’t explain the feeling, but it was a feeling like I was being squashed. And that I was being forced inside myself to become a mere shadow.  And I have worked SO HARD to not give people so much power over me. And this landlord- he was using all the power he could over me. And he wasn’t even apologetic about it.

And so I snapped. I went home, and I immediately started researching Iowa rental laws. Iowa law clearly states that a deposit must be returned within 30 days or else the landlord forfeits the right to retain any part of the deposit. My deposit was definitely NOT returned in 30 days; therefore, my landlord should not have retained any of the deposit.

I talk to my sister, a lawyer, and she agrees with my assessment. We start talking about our course of action.

Meanwhile, a couple of days later, my landlord texts me. He tells me that he has now signed the half-assed check, and I can come pick it up. I inform him that I appreciate him signing it, but that I am looking into my rights with an attorney, and I believe that he forfeited his right to retain part of my deposit. He sends me back an angry text telling me that I’m ungrateful and that I need to “take or leave” the deposit.  I decide it’s best to stop texting him.

And so my sister and I pursue legal action. First, I write him a letter explaining my reasoning and my intent to pursue legal action if he doesn’t respond. I don’t hear anything from him. Next, my sister sends him a letter as my lawyer. He doesn’t even open the mail, and it is returned to her. Consequently, after attempting to connect with him and hearing no response, she files a claim with small claims court.

All of this takes place over the course of several months; I moved out at the end of February, and we are granted a hearing in small claims court in September. Other than those first initial text messages, my landlord refused to talk to me or my sister, and he WOULD NOT COMPROMISE.  This lack of engagement and acknowledgment- it simply fueled my fire. We tried to compromise and talk with him, and he would not even engage.

Finally, at the beginning of September, we go to our hearing in small claims court. Now, before you go before a judge, they have you attempt mediation. We went into mediation with my landlord, and we tried to compromise. We said that if he simply paid me a bit more money (on top of the original half-assed amount), then we would let the claim go.

He wouldn’t do it. He refused to budge. He would not give me one more cent than the original half-assed check. At this point, I think both my sister and myself were about ready to hit something. It wasn’t about the money- it was about this bastard’s unwillingness to engage and compromise.

So…we go before the judge, we present our case…and she rules in my favor. We kind of figured that she would rule in our favor- as the judge herself stated, Iowa law is pretty clear that a deposit needs to be returned within 30 days.

Now, get this. This is the insane part. As a result of going before the judge, my landlord was ordered to pay me the full amount of my original deposit, plus legal fees, PLUS court costs.

And this, my friends, is a perfect example of WHY it pays to engage and compromise. Let’s go back to the very beginning of this long winded scenario. If my landlord had simply offered me a few more dollars back when he originally forgot to sign the check, I would have let it go and moved on. Heck, if he had even been nicer about everything, I may have just let it go! But he was not civil, nor did he compromise.

If he had engaged with either my letter or my lawyer’s letter, we would have again taken only a bit more money to move on.

If he had compromised with us in the mediation, we would have taken some additional money to move on.

But he didn’t. And so he ended up paying a lot more money!!! Not only did he have to pay me my original deposit, but he also had to pay court and legal fees.

A part of me feels…relief about the situation. Honestly, it wasn’t really even about the money (although of course if given the choice, I would obviously want my whole deposit back over part of it!) It was about me standing up for myself when I felt someone was exercising undue power over me. It was about learning to engage in conflict. It was about addressing a situation that I felt was unjust.

And a part of me feels sad about it. I don’t like that I had to go to court to do this. I don’t like that my landlord (who probably is not very wealthy) now has to pay extra money. I feel sad that I couldn’t just have my deposit back in March and just officially said goodbye to my old apartment. I feel sad that I parted ways with my landlord on contentious terms. I feel sad that this happened at all.

And yet…I am forever an idealist. And I hope that greater beauty can and will come from this situation. I hope that this situation taught me even more about standing up for myself and engaging in conflict. Somewhere down the road, this will benefit me and my relationships. Additionally, I hope that my landlord has learned his lesson about jerking people around, and that future tenants will not be treated in a similar fashion. Good WILL come from this.

It pays to compromise. (Both literally and figuratively). And usually, it’s better to compromise before reaching a breaking point. But even when that breaking point is reached, I think there is always, always hope for beauty and growth.

Why Is This A Thing?

I really don't know what else to call this blog. Maybe people in general aren't aware of these facts...I am willing to give that benefit of the doubt. But if most people are aware of this, then I persist...why is this a thing? It makes no sense to me (in case you don't care to read the very short article from Mother Jones, the low down is that in California, agricultural workers who produce most of the food exports for our country cannot adequately feed themselves, in both the hunger and nutrition sense of the word).

I have had the fortune to be immersed in the worlds of food and agriculture as a result of my love and pursuit of all things environmental, ecological and outdoors. My winding, purposeful and not always directional road brought me to a year in Eugene, Oregon...before being a "foodie" was a concept and before most people had heard the acronym GMO (genetically modified organism). So before farmers markets and organic was hipster, I learned that as a person concerned with land and environment (i.e. ecology), I HAD to be concerned with food...agriculture is humans' largest use of the land. Hailing from Iowa, this was something that cut right to my heart...Iowa's landscape is the most altered landscape in the nation as a result of agriculture.

Anyway, I do not understand why in this country, the people who plant and tend and harvest the food that actually feeds this nation and other nations (and I'M DEFINITELY NOT TALKING ABOUT THE FIELDS OF IOWA CORN) cannot afford to adequately feed themselves. Boil this down only to the essence of what it is...the people that produce food cannot afford to eat it and do not have access to it. How is this even possible in this world where we can perform almost any function from our phone, aside from the physical acts we require bodies for (and I have no doubt there is someone, somewhere working to make these acts luddite)?

I am writing this blog because I would like someone to honestly answer me this question. And maybe I should rephrase it...I understand HOW it's possible...I understand business concepts and I understand income and costs and cost/benefit analysis and not giving a fuck about quality and actual people and reducing everything to a number. I understand how it can LOGISTICALLY occur. I'm wondering how this is acceptable in our nation-the one we laud as everything every other nation should strive for? Someone answer me that.

Oh, the workers are here illegally you say...so I guess that means they don't deserve to eat. I guess that means the corporations that hire them bear no social responsibility for taking care of their employees in only the sense of the LEAST COMMON DENOMINATOR (paying a living wage...I'm assuming that living means adequate nutrition because I do believe that should be a human right. It was before we had corporations to rewrite society and history. It is when communities are responsible for decision making).

I guess that means the we blame the player and not the game. I can write a separate blog on US agriculture and trade policies that contribute to and promote "illegal" immigration...policies that our country needs to take responsibility for as inventors of the game...and then we get pissed at the people who have to play within the rules we wrote for them. I really don't care what your stance on immigration, legal or illegal, is. Someone explain to me how it is okay in our country, where there is abundant food, for people who legitimately work long hours for other people to eat, not to be able to afford to eat themselves. And I will not accept blaming the victim as an answer...I will not accept a slight of hand directing our attention to the shell in the shell game that contains "policy" or "immigration status". The questions here, the only ones I'm addressing, is why it is okay in our nation of wealth and surplus, our nation "we" so often uphold as the paragon every other country should strive for, why is it ok that people who work hard (harder than most of us) cannot adequately eat? And why do we accept and give silent approval to that every day? Someone please answer me that.

Humbled Part II

Hello again! As promised, here is Part II of my blog from last week (simply scroll down to see Part I). Twice now, I’ve written about how I have answered the “how are you feeling” question at a particular, significant moment in my life. The first was shortly after Larry and I got married. I was happy! You can read that blog here: http://dancingdissidentdaughters.blogspot.com/2015/08/happy.html. The second was back in May while I was in my last month of pregnancy. I was grateful! You can read that blog here: http://dancingdissidentdaughters.blogspot.com/2016/05/grateful.html.

Even though it is now almost 3 months after we have welcomed LJ into our lives, I am still (thankfully! side note: never forget to ask about mom!) getting the “how are YOU feeling question?” And even though I generally just tell people that I’m good but tired, really I just feel humbled. And while I could go on and on with examples on why I feel this way, I’ll just give you a list of 5. I’ve got to hammer this out before LJ wakes up again anyway…

5. I’ve been humbled by the amount of visitors and support that we have received over the last couple of months. We received so many gifts for the little man that I’ll probably have to donate some and I never imagined that so many people would travel near and far to meet someone who only eats, poops and sleeps. Hell, Larry’s parents were at the hospital before I was even done pushing! My mother (who has NEVER flown on her own) booked a flight immediately and met her fear of flying alone face to face in order to meet her new grandson. Friends and relatives who have never even been to our house, made the trip to meet our new handsome prince. Most of these visitors had the misfortune opportunity to see me in some pretty vulnerable states- unshowered, body parts hanging out, etc. One of Larry’s best friends first met LJ on the night we brought him home and she walked into me bawling uncontrollably. I think that experience was humbling for both of us.

4. I’ve been humbled by what matters and that definitely does not include material possessions or outwardly appearances. One of these aforementioned material possessions includes our house. We bought our house and shortly after got engaged. Thus, any extra income we had went to saving for our wedding and not to our house. Shortly after we were married, I got pregnant so again, any extra income was not going to the house but rather to baby furniture, etc. We’ve still got some ridiculously ugly curtains up from the previous owners and in general, just don’t have a house that has every room put together. Prior to LJ, I would have been slightly embarrassed for some of my friends to visit our house as it pales in comparison to those of some of my other, more established friends. However, after LJ was born, I invited all of those more established friends with houses that are way more put together than ours right on over. Heck, sometimes I’d even let them wander the house themselves for the first time while trying to find me in the nursery with LJ. They were able to see our messy bedroom with hideous goat curtains still hanging from the previous owners and other dark, messy corners of our house uncensored and at their leisure. Oh well! I didn’t care at the time and low and behold, I haven’t lost any friends over it! As for outwardly appearances, the best example I can give for this involves the above picture taken at a wedding this past weekend. Prior to LJ, I probably would have bought a new dress for the wedding along with matching jewelry and shoes. However, this time around, I packed three dresses to choose from. Two of them were fairly nice but I ultimately ended up picking the one that was folded up in my gym bag because it had easy access for nursing and was the most comfortable. By no means am I saying that one should not care about her/his appearance. I acknowledge that looking one’s best often makes us feel better. And three months from now, I will probably resume buying new dresses for special occasions. But right now, it’s just not important.

3. Speaking of appearances, I’ve been humbled in another way regarding outwardly appearances. Despite everyone saying I looked “so tiny,” I gained about 50 pounds during my pregnancy. I still have about 25 pounds of that to lose. Yes, I know that the most important thing is that I have a healthy son and that I am healthy enough to feed him nature’s best love potion. I also know that I have been fortunate enough to spend the last 12 weeks snuggling with him and that working out has been way less of a priority for me. However, at some point, I am going to have to fit back into my military uniforms and not too far off in the distant future, I am going to have to pass a physical fitness test and meet the Army’s weight requirements. I’ve never had to lose this much weight and it is daunting and it.is.hard. It is not impossible but certainly more difficult squeezing in workouts these days. It’s also more difficult for my husband to have the time and energy to always cook nutritious meals every night like he had in the past. Yes, we still eat relatively healthy but let’s be honest, sometimes a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because you forgot to take something out for dinner or takeout is just easier. I’d like to think that prior to LJ I looked at everyone with a nonjudgmental eye (that slightly heavier woman running on the side of the road or that person who finishes last in a Crossfit class), but these days it is even more so.

2. I’ve been humbled by what I simply just don’t know. While I was pregnant, I read numerous books on caring for a newborn, parenting, etc. That’s the kind of person I am- if I’m going to do something, I’m going to read the latest research and get “recommendations” and “reviews” from the “experts.” I can remember feeling cocky after I closed the last chapter of “The Happiest Baby on the Block” thinking this mothering thing was going to be easy! I had the Five S’s down so my baby would never cry! Little did I know that LJ would hate to be swaddled (he sleeps much better with his hands by his face) which blew the first S to smithereens! While he likes to bounce, he hates his swing, making the fourth S and the swing sitting in our living room less useful and while he loves to suck on the breast, he won’t take a pacifier which defeats some of the fifth S. My fellow Mom readers will know exactly what I’m talking about but for everyone else, let’s just say everything I read beforehand was not as magical as the vignettes in all of my books made it sound. I still don’t know everything, but I’ve resorted more to just going with my own instincts along with helpful advice from friends here and there and it’s been a lot better.

1. But most of all, I’ve been humbled that I’ve been blessed with two important men in my life. I think a lot of people forget about dad in the beginning. Much of the focus is on baby and mom, especially one that is exclusively breastfeeding because they are bonded and connected not only emotionally but simply because life the first couple of months revolves around the breast. However, I’ve been blessed with a husband who tries to be involved and help as much as he can. It’s a given that he’s involved emotionally and helps as much as he can with LJ so I won’t go too much into that but I’ve been humbled by some of the ways in which he has helped and made a difference in my sanity. I remember back during the first couple of weeks when I had to use a nipple shield for a short time. Larry was better at remembering it prior to a feeding than I was and often he’d be the one to actually put it on correctly. One may imagine a lesser man who would want nothing to do with a breast lest it be sexual. He also cooks, cleans, and does laundry better than I do and (I think) he does it because he wants to do it to help out not because I make him do it. I have repeatedly said that I don’t know how single mothers do it. At any rate, together, we have been blessed with LJ and I will end this blog by saying I am humbled to have been chosen to be his mother.