It amazes me how alike and yet how different my monkeys are. They are both undeniably my daughters in so very many ways. Personality-wise, there is almost nothing of their father in them. Trust me, that’s not a bad thing.

Both are strong and feisty in their own right. Lilest is my rebel, bold and proud of who she is and will defend herself and her sister in less than a heartbeat. Eldest monkey is equally proud of who she is, will womp an army if they even look at her sister cross-eyed, but will not stand up for herself. Both willing to bend, to change, to break for no one. Yet one remains silent when faced with someone who feels it is okay to diminish her feelings or bully her. She will merely stand silent and take it. I used to think she had inherited the trait from me. I will take a lot of shit from people before I finally say I’ve had enough and snap. Mess with someone I love though and it’s on like Donkey Kong. And over before you know it.

Yesterday, I realized I was wrong.

Eldest came home from school Monday and told me one of her classmates (I’m gonna refer to him as Eddie, cuz I swear he’s the bastard son of Eddie Haskel) pushed her at recess. Huge step for her. I asked to her tell me what happened. Turns out Eddie kept telling her to kiss another male classmate (Eldest’s BFF actually) and she refused to. So the little shit pushed her. Each time she said no to giving BFF a smooch, Eddie would push her down. When I asked her what she did, she replied “I just kept getting up.” When I asked her why she didn’t go get one of the teachers at recess, she said she didn’t want to be a “tattle tale.” Grrr… the guidance counselor had talked to them last week about “tattle tales.” One of the guidelines to when you should tell was only if someone was getting hurt. In Eldest’s head, she wasn’t physically hurt from the push, therefore she shouldn’t tell. Good job guidance counselor.

So we had a chat. I explained right off the bat that NO ONE has the right to hurt or to push her. That just because the push wasn’t physically hurting her, it still hurt her feelings and her feelings were even more important than her body to some extent. A scraped knee heals quicker sometimes.

We formulated a plan.

First push- she points at him and in the biggest voice she has says “NO! Eddie that is NOT OKAY! You do NOT have the right to push me!” Even if he stops, she tells her teacher what happened.

Second push- she goes to get a teacher.

If he tries to push her or stop her in any way from getting a teacher, I told her to push his ass back. That’s right. This is a point I would end up fighting with her teacher on. My point, bottom line- my children will know that if ANYONE tries to physically restrain them from getting help, they have the RIGHT to physically defend themselves. Period. Cuz one day it may not be lil Eddie. It may be someone bigger and far more dangerous. So, yeah, kick his lil ass monkey.

Tuesday she comes home. And yup, Eddie pushed her again. She stuck her finger out and she stated her case. Then he pushed her again. Then she forgot what number two was. So, we went over it again. I also made it clear that while I wanted her to address this with her teacher and would giver her the opportunity to do so, that I as going to step in if it happened again. On the way to school Wednesday, we went through the steps again. This time at recess she forgot all of them. So, yesterday morning I stepped in.

And then it hit me. It wasn’t that Eldest had inherited this trait from me. She had LEARNED it from me. It was all my fault.

This week there has been a situation going on in my life that has echoed some things that have happened to me in the past. Wednesday night I had made the realization that I was allowing myself to react to them in a similar way as I had and it bothered me. I had made a plan to change that. While writing Eldest’s teacher, the realization beat me over the head that some of her earliest memories of me are what has caused her to be the way she is right now.

While Eldest monkey was only two and a half when I finally got the courage to end my marriage, she was a very smart two and a half. And she remembers it quite clearly. In fact, no one is allowed to use the word stupid around me because of that. You see I say my ex was an asshole of epic proportions. What I have yet to mention is that he was a huge bully and incredibly abusive. One of his favorite things to do was invent new ways to call me stupid. “What did you eat a big fucking bowl of stupid for breakfast?” Despite that fact that I worked full time and did literally everything around the house, “useless bitch” was one of his favorite pet names. He couldn’t even wake up for work on his own, I was his “alarm clock” and he was a mean man in the morning. If he was late, it was my fault. Everything was my fault. I will spare you all the gory details.

He was constantly yelling and screaming at me and in my defensive mode, I kept thinking “don’t fight back.” At the time, in my head, I didn’t want the girls to see us fighting. I thought if I just stood there and took it, it would end quicker. And it chipped away at me day by day. Little by little I began to lose who I was. Something I’d swore I’d never do. Then one day Eldest came into the kitchen and says “Mommy, what’s that noise?” I say “It’s daddy, he’s home and outside snowblowing the driveway.” She FREAKED. Eldest became hysterical and yelled “I DON’T WANT DADDY TO BE HOME!! I HATE IT WHEN HE’S HOME MOMMY!!” And that was it. It took a couple more weeks for me to formulate a safe “escape plan” and get him out of the house.
But in my attempt to shield them from giant, ugly and potentially very frightening , violent fights, I had taught Eldest that it was okay to take that. It was okay to allow someone to treat her that way. To bully her. To not stand up for herself.

And you have no idea how much it hurts to know I have done that.

So, I have a brand new plan. It is up to me to lead by example. To be the change. To end the cycle. To stand up for myself. To acknowledge when people are treating me in a way I do not deserve and to vocalize it and back it up with actions. To cut ties with those that feel it is okay to bully me. To diminish my feelings. Or use me as an ego boost when no one else is paying them attention. Those that are used to getting away with things because I allow them to.

One of our Monkey Family Rules is “If you’re having a bad day, you can still turn it around. You can take a deep breath, a step back and yell ‘FLIP IT!’ And start it over and do it right.”

I am using my “FLIP IT!”

They say in every career in health care you experience one major event. Something so messed up that it stretches way out of the norm. Of course, I like to throw off statistics. I have had a couple of them already. Each one, while Hell at the time, taught me so much. There is indeed a lesson in everything in life. The most recent of these taught me a couple of things. It cemented my belief that treating your staff with respect and nurturing a true team environment will allow you to accomplish anything. It reminded me that even when people make incredibly poor decisions (and are too dimwitted to hide the evidence of it), they can still rise above it and turn themselves around. It proved to me that there are people in this world that really do care about others more than they care about a paycheck. It showed me that the Milwaukee Police Department (specifically District 7) seriously leaves A LOT to be desired. And finally, you have not truly lived until you’ve had a one-legged schizophrenic over your shoulder at 3:30 in the morning.

I was running a 42 bed assisted living facility for those with chronic mental illness. Illness to the point where no one else would take them. When I first started I had a social worker I’d known for years be like “this place will take anyone.” At first I was offended. But, then I decided, damn right we will. EVERYONE deserves a home. We had 36 residents that made up quite the motley crew. But it worked. Damn well at that. The building was an old ass nursing home in a neighborhood most call a “ghetto.” The staff were just as diverse in personalities as the residents. When I began there, those that survived the lunatic bitch that ran the place before were emotionally beat. She was beyond hard on them and you could tell. Morale sucked, but they toughed it out because they loved the Hell outtta those residents. The owners hated the building, the residents and everything to do with it. We were the bastard stepchild. Like flaming red hair, missing digits, cross-eyed, had Tourrettes with a lisp kind of stepchild in their eyes. Not only were we the complete underdogs, but combine the owners’ refusal to put any kind of money in the place, the aforementioned crazy boss and yeah social workers, doctors and even State pretty much hated us when I got there. But, WE worked our asses to change all of that.

And one night we proved every naysayer wrong. There’s not much I love to do more than prove people like that wrong.

It was roughly 3:00am on February 12, 2007 when my work cell rang. Calls at that time of night weren’t all that rare, but this one was way different.

Third shifter: “Umm..I think we’ve got a pipe burst up in the smoke room.”
Me: ”You think?!?”
Them: ”Yeah, there’s some water leaking down into the 1st floor living room.”
Me: ”Hmm….some??”
Them: ”Yeah, that’s what I said. Some.”
Me: “Like how much some?”
Them: “Like dripping some.”
Me: “Ok. Well, keep the residents out of the smoke room and I’ll get a plumber out there right away.”
Them: “Ok”

So, I call around until I find a plumber that can go out in the middle of the night and send them on their merry way over there. I call the staff back to let them know help is on the way. “Cool. Thanks.”

Roughly two minutes later (3:12am) my phone rings again.

“Hi, this is JT from the Milwaukee Fire Department. We’re going to need to shut the power off and you’re going to need to start getting these people out of here miss.”
Me: “WHAAAAAAAA?????”
“Miss, this building is flooding.”
(insert stream of cussing that would rival the dad in The Christmas Story)

It took me approximately 14 minutes to get dressed and haul the 12.9 miles to get to the building.

On my way, I called my boss in Chicago who told me she would “rally” the other buildings’ Administrators and have them grab their facilities’ vans (my facility wasn’t good enough for one) to come help. I then spent the rest of the ride on the phone with my building talking them through what to do. It was all of 12 degrees out that night, snow everywhere, ice lurking. When I pulled up to my building, my heart swelled sooo much with pride. EVERY staff person I had showed up. Most in their pajamas.

I will never forget walking into that building, a place we all called our second home. Water was halfway to my knees and raining down from the ceiling. The only light came from flashing emergency lights. One of my staff described it later as what she pictured the stairwells of the twin towers to be like that fateful day. I’m not sure that I would describe it as such, but the images will never leave me.

We immediately divided the residents up by medical needs. The ones with the most would go to our facility that had a nurse on staff. All charts, medications, treatments and cigarettes (trust me, they lived for smoke time) were grabbed, bagged by resident and ready to go. We assigned residents to each staff per vehicles (who could get in a car vs. needed a van) and started loading.

All of this was done before a single Administrator from another facility showed up.

Through every step of this, all of the residents (you know the ones “too crazy” to “belong” anywhere else) remained perfectly calm. Well, except for Mr. M. when he started some drama over not riding with me. But, he was a bit of comic relief “ If I can’t ride with baby girl, y’all can just leave my ass here to die!” So, I loaded him in his assigned car and gave him a smooch on the cheek. Rumor has it he cussed the whole way to his evacuation spot when he figured out it wasn’t my car.

As I sat worked on loading residents and walkers and wheelchairs and charts (oh my!) I kept noticing police car after police car just drive right on by. The officers would look, but just keep going. I admit after I got my one legged friend in my van and saw the sixth squad car roll by, I was pissed. They ended up stopped at the light right by our facility. Yeah, I admit it was unprofessional, but I couldn’t help it. I yelled “What do you think we’re going on a fucking field trip?” No response from him.

By the time the sun started rising, every resident and all of their necessities were safely relocated to their temporary home. I made the rounds visiting them and my staff that went with them to care for them and it was the only disheartening part of the whole experience. The staff at our “sister” facilities were rude to our residents and our staff. They were completely put out by us invading their space. Which I can honestly understand in some aspects. But knowing what they have been through and knowing the staff that understood them best was there to meet their needs, wouldn’t you have some ounce of compassion?? Had the tables been turned, I know we would have welcomed the newcomers with open arms and made sure they knew they were welcomed.

The company felt no need to move the residents from their evacuation areas. “They can just double up with the residents there for a bit, they’ll be fine.” They were far from fine. They were miserable. Tossed in a new location was hard enough. Yanked from their regular routines was beyond hazardous to triggering behaviors they fought to control. Most importantly, they had bonded with each other and the staff in a manner where we really were a family. One that truly put the fun in dysfunctional. And, we were they only family most of them had. So, I pulled out the big guns. I went through the HFS 83 State codes we were governed by and pulled out every single potential violation we could be sited for. The company HATED me. I was proud. By the end of the day, our entire facility, med cart and all, was moved into our own floor of a hotel.

It took the restoration company an entire month to repair all the damage that had been done and bring the building back up to code. It proved to be one of the longest months of my life. I worked literally every single day. The smell of mold will forever bring back a nauseating feeling. I also know much more about abatement and dealing with contractors than I ever thought I would.

During this whole time, the initial conversation I had that night with third shift bugged me incessantly. Coupled with the fact that the two who were on duty that night were magically transformed into amazing employees, picking up shifts they never would have before and actually charting in a manner they never had and yeah, something stunk in Denmark. Yet, neither would spill. I had investigated to the point where I knew, without a doubt, that they could not have prevented what occurred in any way. There was no way I would tell them that though. But “some” water versus a veritable waterfall weighed on me.

Then one day I was cleaning at the facility, getting it ready for our family to come home, and I just happened to check the DVD player in the first floor living room. The very living room that lay directly under the smoke room. I could have smacked myself for not thinking to do so earlier. In it was a bootleg copy of Hustle and Flow. Oh the irony.

I’ve gotten a lot closer lately to someone in my life. We’re bonded by the understanding of similar relationship types. There are so many other awesome things in common, but emotional understanding is a unique one. Just knowing that someone knows what you are going through or have gone through sometimes makes all the difference. Especially when one is male, the other female.

We were checking in with each other for the day and the ole emotional roller coaster came up. You know the one. One minute they love you and it feels amazing, the next they tell you how replaceable you are or just appear to completely bail. Yup, those.

And then I remembered. I remembered a time when the mention of a roller coaster brought a ridiculously huge smile to my face, instead of a sinking feeling in my stomach. The bad “this is gonna hurt” kind of sinking feeling that is, not the “look mom no hands” kind. Anyway, you know what I mean. Some of my way early blog posts touch a little bit about a time when I ran a group home for Autistic children in California. In many ways that home, that time, will always feel like home to me.

One of the oldest residents, J, was 16 and had Asperger’s. He was obsessed with weather and all his emotions were given as a weather report. “How was school today J?” “Sunny in the morning turning cloudy and windy shortly after lunch.” In his eyes, I was one of the coolest people ever because I had seen a tornado “live.” When he started to fly off the handle, me telling him of the times I would stand at the end of the driveway watching the tornado come then running in the house and down into the basement for safety, would calm him down.

Being the 2nd oldest in the house and having the least communication impairment was hard on J. Even harder was the fact that his parents were complete fuck ups. What saved them from epic level was the fact they finally had the sense to put him in the group home. Though, I suspect Social Services had more to do with it than they did. Every couple of months I would get a call they were visiting and J needed me. Standing there looking at them, knowing where every scar came from, emotional and physical on J’s body SUCKED. What made it even worse was knowing all he wanted was for them to love him, to accept him and he was met with cold expressions. It was the only time J actually wanted to be touched. Just my hand on his arm. Like I was anchoring the tornado. Or I was standing there watching it with him and my hand would tell him when to run to the basement for safety. Or maybe my hand was the basement. There were so many times as they sat there coldly uttering some sort of resemblance of idle chit chat that in my head I would literally picture screaming at them. Telling them everything I thought of them. It went against everything in me to not actually do it. But, I knew if I did, they wouldn’t come back. While not coming back may be a really good thing for J, it wasn’t my decision to make for him and I guess the sappy me still had hope.

We had a routine. They would leave, J would go directly to his room. I would give him some time while I charted the visit, then go check on him before he left. See what the weather report was. After one of these visits, I walked in and my eyes locked on the posters of roller coasters he had next to all his meteorology ones. J’s second favorite thing was roller coasters. But, J had never actually been on one. When I got in my car that day, it occurred to me that we lived maybe 15 minutes from Great America. So, I took a detour on my way home. After an hour with the manager of the place and the low price of $100, J and I became season pass holders. And J had his own “front of the line pass.” The next morning I walked into the home, told J to get dressed that I had a surprise for him and our new ritual began.

From that weekend on, every Saturday morning, J and I had a date. We’d get there right when Great America opened and ride all the roller coasters he wanted to. You could pack a lot in when you got to walk to the front of the line every time. Watching him close his eyes and just scream and let it all out was well it was its own lil roller coaster of emotion. Proud he was letting it all out. Relieved I’d found a way for him to do so. Happy because he would walk around that park with the biggest grin on his face. Yet, still so sad that it wasn’t just a kid having fun getting that rush from rides, but therapy. I’d wished so much it could just be fun for him. When J had enough, he would stop, look at me and say “I’m done Lolli, let’s go home.” (Lolli was what one of his house brothers called me because he couldn’t say “Natali.” J thought it fit me pretty good.) Like every good date, well great date in this case, the ending is key. Each time I pulled up to the house to drop him off, I got a hug. You’d have to know J to know how much it means. To me, it meant the world.

One of my favorite movies is Parenthood. There is a scene where the sweet, yet senile, lil ole grandma talks about a date. On a roller coaster. She compares it to the merry go round and life. Like life, some people prefer the merry go rounds, they are safe, they are predictable. But roller coasters, though they are scary, offer so much more. Me, I’ll forever take the roller coasters.

And thanks to wise advice from my wonderful new friend, I will always remember to raise my arms at the top of the hill.

You can watch my favorite clip of Parenthood here.

All below text was from an email I received from Loop. There was no way to post a link, so I’m passing it along this way. Knitting takes balls and heart. Spread the love. 🙂

KNIT A LOOP OF LOVE AROUND HAITI

Calling all who knit and crochet and who want to make a difference in the immediate medical needs of Haitians injured during the earthquake.

Join children and teachers who knit and crochet at the UWM Children’s Center in a knit-a-thon!

Do quick knit/crochet projects for children, adults, and college students (e.g., hats, gloves, scarves, shawls, toys, etc.) to be sold to raise money for much needed medical supplies.

These projects will be sold in a fundraiser organized by the children of UWM on Feb. 12th to support the Haitian Community Hospital (L’Hôpital de la Communauté Haïtienne), located in Petionville, Haiti (www.haitihosp.org). Drop off your donated projects at the Loop Yarn Shop (2963 N. Humboldt, 265-2312, next to Alterra) between Jan. 21 and Feb. 8th. For information or questions, contact Liz Drame at liz.drame@gmail.com .

So, I had me a lil moment on Twitter Friday morning. Ok, it was more like a Falling Down moment. I was Michael Douglas and I’d had enough. Now I know #twitterisalotlikehighschool, but my faith in humanity felt like it was being flipped off. And I snapped… just a touch.

You see, I logged in that morning and the number two trending topic was #getwellgaga. #Haiti was barely clinging to the bottom of the list. Admittedly, that was enough to bother me. Then I pulled up my faithful buddy Google to find out what exactly the well wishes were for. For a number two slot, I expected to find a diagnosis of cancer or, at the very least, a car accident or shot by a crazy stalker fan. I’d have MAYBE settled for a trip to rehab. Not that I’m wishing any of these on her. Instead I read “Lady Gaga cancels performance due to exhaustion.” You’re kidding me- right? Exhausted from cancer treatments? Exhausted from running from crazy knife/gun-wielding stalker fan? Exhausted from saving the world from certain doom? Jeebus give me something here!! Nope, just “exhausted.”

Over 3 MILLION people have just been severely affected in a nation that was already struggling with some pretty serious issues and people are more focused on sending get well wishes (that she’s never even going to see, let alone respond to!) to some goofy bitch that just needs to eat a sandwich and take a night off from partying?? Yeah, I went from bothered, squealed right on past pissed and landed firmly in Superfly TNT.

As I’d already blipped my morning love song to my coffee my second tweet of the day was:

“What the fuck kind of world do we live in that get well wishes for some obnoxious wannabe who is merely ‘exhausted’ out trends #haiti?!!??”

Followed by:

“Seriously. You know who is EXHAUSTED? The 3MILLION people affected by Tuesday’s quake and all the volunteers in #haiti trying to help.”

And I hit the ground running from there. I also refused to call Lady Gaga by her name as to avoid adding anything to the already trending hash tag. Then I went after the number one hash tag #OMGfacts. I kept it there so any of the people looking for their tweets may actually end up receiving a bit of education. I tweeted several facts regarding the issues facing those in Haiti. I am happy to report that MANY of my tweeps backed me. With comments, with RT’s, with DM’s, they supported my anger. My disappointment. My sadness.

I think people’s obsession with celebrity worship is disgusting. Believe me, I’ve met more than my fair share of celebrities and they are assholes just like the rest of us. In many cases, even worse. What have they truly done to earn such admiration and blind lust? What value does that worship truly add to one’s life? Actors and actresses may have done a performance that moved you. Ok, but that performance was written by someone else. That character is not THEM nor their creation. Furthermore, most of the time, that character isn’t even REAL. Musicians may be talented, but their music often isn’t written by them and they aren’t singing that song to you. Really, I hate to break it to you, but they aren’t. There are hundreds of thousands of wonderful, highly musically talented people in this world that will never be noticed. Are they just as worthy? Is it for the sole purpose of looks? There are beautiful people everywhere on this planet. Most of which are beautiful INSIDE AND out. Do they not beckon the same then? Don’t even get me started on the Paris Hiltons of this world. I think you’re getting my point.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not shunning all you fanboy and fangirls out there. I get digging a show, a character, a game, a movie and collecting stuff that goes along with it. Hell here in monkeyland we have a tank with a fish named Wonder Woman, a frog named Princess Leia and a snail named Chauncey The Wonder Snail. I’m not picking on you. Not at all my dearies. It’s the chicks that get the vapors and bawl for weeks on end because their favorite so and so is engaged. It’s the guys that wallpaper their room with posters of their favorite so and so and name their designated self love hand after them. It’s the people that all went suicidal when Michael Jackson died. It’s the people that take it to that whole other level. Like sending get well wishes to Lady freakin’ Googoo on Twitter.

< / rant>

Just like life, Twitter doth take away and it doth also give. While it flipped off my sense of humanity on Friday, this week it gave it a big ole wet smoochie. And it did so in #geekswithheart. Power to my geeks! Two of my absolute favoritest sexy ass sisters in geekhood @GeekGirls and @GeekyClean have come together to form Geeks With Heart, a fundraising effort to help Haiti. And yup, I just wanna hug ‘em.

All proceeds raised go to Mercy Corps. Mercy Corps mission: “Mercy Corps exists to alleviate suffering, poverty and oppression by helping people build secure, productive and just communities.” Their motto: “Be The Change.” I LOVE that! Just some of their efforts to help survivors in Haiti to recover include “ ‘Comfort for Kids,’ a trauma-counseling methodology for children that (they) co-developed and deployed after 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, the Sichuan Earthquake and other disasters.” Currently, they are “focused on immediate humanitarian needs: water and sanitation, trauma support and job creation.”

For those in doubt, while Geeks With Heart is small (for now!), Mercy Corps is big. This is what they do and they are good at it. They will know how to properly handle and disperse all funds raised to assure that they meet the greatest needs first. They’re pros y’all.

So, please, show some support. Show some geek love. Show some nongeek love. Just show the love. To do so…

Visit Geeks With Heart here.

Visit The Geek Girls Network here.

Visit Geeky Clean here.

Follow @geekgirls

Follow @geekyclean

Add a Twibbon here

Do me proud folks! This is the kind of moment I LIKE having!

I genuinely love this time of year. Like mad, crazy love it. For sooo very many reasons. The snow. The mistletoe. The twinkling lights. The little old ladies with obnoxious sweaters that play jingle bells and ho ho ho at you. The cocoa. The giant catalogue of music devoted to it. The old school, new school, cheesy as all get out Christmas programs. Most of all, I love the love. The spirit of giving that commercialism and society has done it’s best to bastardize. I refuse to allow them to ruin it for me and everyone that I come in contact with. Yes, I am the woman that smiles and says “Happy Holidays!” to everyone. With all honesty, I confess that if any one of the mythical wish granting creatures came to me and said “You have one wish, anything you want, what’s it gonna be girlie?” I would say “I wish that on Christmas morning everyone on this planet, everywhere, no matter what faith they embrace, no matter what beliefs they hold dear, no matter how naughty or nice they are, would wake up and find the one thing that would make them truly happy wrapped with a pretty bow waiting just for them.

All of this should be all year round though. Ok, maybe not the snow. But, that love. That feeling of genuine good will toward others that this time of year reminds us all is so important. Yup, the love. I so wish that would remain all the days of the year.

If you know me at all, you know that our lil monkey family motto is “We’re all about the love.” Not just love for each other, but love for everyone else. So, this is our time of year so to speak. All year long we give love to those whose paths cross ours, but this time of year, people are much more receptive to it. The monkeys have fully embraced the mission and are so good at it. They love to smile at everyone and yell “Happy Holidays!!” And it never fails to bring a smile. Their absolute favorite thing to do though, is accost every bell ringer, every red bucket keeper. My laundry quarter supply has already long been exhausted and if they even remotely see a single in my wallet, they claim it. When they are done gleefully putting whatever I have in the bucket, they always hug the person with the bell, thank them and give them the big ole “happy holidays.” I love that about them. Of course this means that I need to really start budgeting for a “bucket fund” every year now, but where it goes, what it does and the monkey cry “MOMMMMMY THERE’S A BUCKET!!!!” is so worth it.

Even though I love all of this, it’s not easy. There are days when I have to struggle to feel it. To remember why it’s so important. The motto exists, in part, not just to teach them an important life lesson, but to remind myself as well. In some ways, I am selflishly creating my own little cheerleaders.

One of the reasons it’s not easy is I’m waging this lil happy love war on my own. When I say I’m a single mom, I mean single. Their father is an ass of epic proportions and for many reasons. He sees them four days a month at most. Of course he made it a point to have joint custody on paper so he wouldn’t have to pay child support. He’s yet to actual uphold the “joint” in any way, shape or form. In fact, he doesn’t even talk to them the weeks in between visits. All of that I just can’t fathom at all. But, every time he breaks a promise, every time he takes them for a weekend and ignores them while they are there, every time one has a birthday and he completely fails to acknowledge it, it’s me that has to make up for it. To try to explain to them that it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love them. They’re getting smarter too and it’s becoming so much harder to come up with answers. All I can do is do the best that I can and try not to remember that they deserve so much more. Ironically I am like the Grinch. My little Cindy Loos look at me and sweetly say “Why are you taking our Christmas tree, why?” And I attempt to cleverly spit out a convincing reason they will buy, knowing in my heart, it may not be right.

This is something I know I am not alone in. Not even close. This time of year is said to be for the children. Those of us, no matter what our circumstances are, with children want to make it the most magical time ever for them. The pressures of life as an adult don’t go away at all so we can do so. In fact, sometimes they are more glaringly obvious this time of year. Whether it’s broken relationships, financial stress, that pang of hurt that loved ones lost are not around to celebrate with you or any of the myriad of struggles we are all facing in this crazy thing called life, this time of year can amplify them. So we bobble back and forth and sometimes just fight to keep our heads above water some days. Which makes that little smile, that little “Happy Holidays” so much more important.

Besides the red bucket rampage, we have developed another monkey family holiday mission. We find something to do as a family to help other people. Last year it was picking a name and item for a child in need and going shopping for it and wrapping it together. This year, I have been lucky enough to be drawn to something I feel embraces exactly what we all need this time of year. We as in not just the monkey family, but ALL of us in the area. Yup, all us lil human creatures, great and small.

I had the really good fortune recently of being introduced to an amazing woman named Bernadette Xiong, or Coach Bx as you may know her. She is all about making a difference in peoples lives and that in and of itself is a reason to love this woman. This holiday season, she has come up with an event that is a two-part bundle of wonderful. It takes place on Saturday, December 19th from 2pm-5pm and not only offers so much for those that attend, it continues to give that on to one of the amazing sponsors of the event.

It’s called “Healing Your Heart: A Hopeful Holiday Event.”

Earn a smile while giving one to a child.

Challenging finances, marriages, relationships and family are all difficult subjects to handle alone. This event will provide parents and children fun ways to heal the heart by channeling that energy through artistic and creative means including:

Arts & Crafts
Santa Claus Toy Drive for Charity
Bake Sale & Cookie Decorating
Face Painting, Balloons and Games
Complimentary Gift Wrapping for Those That Donate a Toy
Words from the Heart by Coach Bx

The sponsor I mentioned that will be receiving the toys to distribute is COA Youth and Family Centers. COA Youth & Family Centers helps Milwaukee children, teens, and families reach their greatest potential through a continuum of educational, recreational, and social work programs offered at its urban community centers and rural camp facility. They have been serving children, strengthening families and building community since 1906.

To top it all off- it’s being hosted at Independence First. Another sponsor who is making such a difference in peoples lives. Are you sensing a theme here? IndependenceFirst is a non-profit agency directed by, and for the benefit of, persons with disabilities, primarily serving the four county metropolitan Milwaukee area. Their agency mission is to effectively facilitate empowerment of individuals with disabilities through:

Education, Advocacy, Independent Living Services, and Coalition Building

They promote diversity and multicultural participation in our operation and services.

The four “core” services offered are: independent living skills training, peer counseling, advocacy, and information and referral services to persons with disabilities in the counties of Waukesha, Washington, Ozaukee, and Milwaukee. IndependenceFirst provides services to persons with disabilities of ALL kinds, throughout ALL age groups.

Topping off the list of incredible sponsors is MilwaukeeMoms.com. If there is anyone that understands the good, the bad, the ugly and the bliss of being a parent, it’s MilwaukeeMoms.com. When MetroParent and MilwaukeeMoms.com say “making life just a little bit easier…” they mean it! They are a resource and fountain of sanity for moms and dads alike.

To say the monkeys and I are beyond excited to be helping out with the arts and crafts for this event is an understatement. And because we are indeed all about the love, we have a challenge for you. That’s right. We are challenging YOU. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to join us in our holiday mission this year. Be a part of something great. Any part you can. Ultimately, my hope is you will all come to this event. Stop by and FEEL the love. the healing. Give a smile. Can’t make it? Sponsor someone who can! Read this and pass it on. Follow @CoachBx. Retweet, repost, reblip. Come up with your own posts that include the links. Add the twibbon to your avatar. Use the #HealYourHeart .

I don’t ask a lot of the people around me. I’m not one of those please RT or repost all the timers. This time I am though. I really believe this is important.

So, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to show me the love. Spread it wide, spread it far. And by gosh by golly, Happy Holidays everyone!

Important links:

Space is limited for this event, so you MUST register in advance. To do so, please use this link.

If you are on Twitter- let other tweeps know you are coming! Respond to the Twitvite here.

Better yet, whether you are able to make it or not, add a Twibbon to support #HealYourHeart here.

Our lovely sponsors:

For more information on COA Youth & Family Centers, please visit their site here.

For more information on IndependenceFirst, you may visit their site here.

For more information MilwaukeeMoms.com and to help make your life a little bit easier, visit their site here.

If you have any questions, comments, concerns, witty antidotes or toys to share, please do not hesitate to contact me. You should also definitely start following @CoachBx cuz yeah, she rocks. While you’re at it, check out her site here.

The monkeys were on a Black Eyed Peas kick last week. “It makes us giggle and makes our booties wiggle” is their reasoning. Can’t argue with that! We actually bravely ventured out for a bit on Black Friday. We were so not the early birds though. We were like the 9am birds. Our first stop was breakfast, then on to pick out Christmas mornin’ jammies (our lil tradition), various fun deals (hello Goonies for $3.99) and then ultimately our Christmas Tree (it’s up and lit, no decorations yet though).

Merrily cruising along on the way home when track #17 of the BEP CD I made them comes on. It’s “Where is the Love?” Thinking they’d passed out because they were actually quiet, Eldest Monkey screams “STOP! PULL OVER MOMMY!!” scaring the absolute shit outta me. To the point where I actually throw on my blinker and pull over on the side of the road, my heart thumping louder than the bass in the song. I slam it into park and spin around to ask EM what is wrong, doing a quick scan for blood or some proof of silent mayhem. She replies “You gotta call them now mommy.” “Umm…. Who am I calling and why baby?” “The Peas mommy, you gotta call them right now.” I know I should be PISSED because she’s screaming for me to pull over and they are both fine, but instead I’m just staring at her all perplexed. Deep breath.

“Well honey, I don’t have their phone numbers and why would I be calling them? “ Her lil eyes started to tear up as she fought to explain. “You just have to find their numbers mommy. You have to! They are so sad and they can’t find the love because of all this bad stuff that is going on in the world. They need to know mommy. They need to know that people care and help each other. They need to know that there are people out here that care about EVERYONE and would always help them and not hurt them. You taught us how to smile and show love to EVERYONE no matter how they treat us or where they are from or what they look like. Even when they are super grumpy. And especially when we don’t even know them. They need to know mommy that we got their love right here. No one loves more than we do. You taught us life is all about love. That we are all about love and the monkey family does give really good love mommy. You taught us how to. You just gotta call them and tell them that mommy. ”

Yeah, halfway through that I started tearing. It killed me to look at her and say “Baby, they are famous and famous people don’t put their phone numbers out there for everyone to see. “

Then the lilest monkey plucks the thumb out of her mouth and with such conviction says “It’s easy mommy, you just email them mommy and say ‘Yo! I got your love right here!’ Yup. That’s what ya do. You can google that.”

I freakin’ love my lil monkeys. And they’re right. We do give good love. ☺ So, to the Black Eyed Peas and everyone that’s ever wondered just where is the love? We say Yo! I got your love right here!

So, the other day I had to venture in to Petco. This time for a beefier replacement for Princess Leia before the monkeys returned home. Cause of the demise of Ms. Leia? Uncertain. But, if you ask me those damn little snails staged a coup and are in cohorts with the dark side. And to think I was going to put on some Barry White for them while they were getting it on. Ungrateful bastards.

As I strolled through the automatic doors, I stood, paused in front of the giant white board on the easel boasting of the “Pumpkin Spice” treatments in the puppy spa. Pamper your pooch with a Pumpkin Spice shampoo and Pumpkin Spice conditioner treatments and they’ll throw in a splash of Pumpkin Spice puppy perfume or cologne for free. I still haven’t figured out what’s worse- the fact that someone would pay $40 to do that to their dog or the fact that the poor dog has to walk around wreaking of a food they can’t eat. You wanna smell pumpkin, go buy a fucking candle.

Sighing, I shake my head and continue through the second set of automatic doors and on with “Operation Help Me Obi Wan.” What’s the first thing that smacks me in the face? A ginormous Christmas display chocked full of holiday goodies for all the creatures in your life. Never mind the fact that it is merely November the 1st. Children all over are still in borderline diabetic comas from the hordes of Halloween candy obtained less than 24 hours ago. Makes me wonder when the puppy spa is going Egg Nog with their special.

I venture onward through the store, avoiding the urge to glance at anything that is not directly involved with my task at hand. Mission accomplished easy enough and before I know it, I’m on the way to the register with our new Leia (this one looks like she may be able to throw down a bit if need be). This time I allow myself to look around.

It started with a giant tank with two painted turtles in it. They were laying side by side, their short little necks intertwined with each other, blissfully slumbering with I swear little turtle smiles. In a tank next to them were a pile of lizards all cozied up together. Birds, guinea pigs, hamsters, rats all snuggled together in pairs or groups looking so peaceful. So content. At the end of my journey was the ferret home. A pile of four laid wrapped up all wonky-like with their lil ferret smiles. All breathing in unison. I watched two sitting together eating for a while. They stopped for a bit and one randomly smacked the other one. For all I know he told her to slow down she was starting to get a little chunky in the thighs. Then two seconds later their arms were on each others shoulders and they were making out. Ok, so they could have been trying to lick food off of each others faces, but it was so damned cute.

Eventually the new princess and I made our way to the car. I sat there for a while thinking. Behind that crappy wall of pumpkin scented, Santa covered commercialistic bullshit lay a lesson. Inside the many bars of metal and glass full of balls of fur, scales, shells, feathers, you name it, was a whole lot of love. You can insert your argument regarding some theory that it is based solely on the fact that they are out of their natural environments, trapped in cages and merely trying to survive under the unnatural glow of florescent here. You know what though? They are doing it together. There was no renegade gerbil threatening to go all prison warfare on another one over space and food. As for that ferret, well you tell a girl she should stop eating cuz she’s plumpin up and you’ve kind of got it coming and she totally loved him up right after. There were no games, no manipulations. No fur pulling over the rabbit version of Flavor Flave. No uttering I love you then disappearing. No turf wars. No giggling at the odd critter out because oh my gosh, she’s not pure bred.

You may not know this about me but while I am a pretty openly caring, person and freely give of myself, I keep my heart guarded tightly. Like Fort Knox on crack tightly. I have a large capacity for love with a thick wall around my heart. Once someone sneaks in there, they have the ability to do a lot of damage. I’m a tough girl, but once a chunk of my heart goes, I tend to not ever really get it back. The deeper I let them in, the bigger the chunk they can take with them when they leave. Again, don’t get me wrong, I am all about the love, but I try very hard to keep personal collateral damage to a minimum. I’ve never had to worry about that with my cats. Seriously, animals are way fucking cool like that. They see the good, the bad and the ugly and not only still love you, but many would lay down their own lives for you. Zen maybe not so much, he’s old, fat and spoiled. But he always knows when I’m hurting and he always knows how to make it hurt just a little less. He always has time for me. He may love up another human, I still know I’m his favorite. He can wander the house all day but religiously at night he’s there by my head while I sleep. I always know he loves the hell out of me. It’s one thing I’m never given cause to question. It’s a constant I can always count on.

Sitting there in my car, I made an important, life-altering decision. I’m going to be the first ever crazy cat AND ferret lady. Yup. A girl’s gotta have goals. Proud of my new realization, I start my car only to hear Beck’s “Loser.” I couldn’t help but laugh with a tear or two in my eye. At least Princess Leia II is still alive and kicking. For now. Damn Dark Side Snails.

They say every family has a black sheep. Well, my aunt Carol was the rainbow colored one. To me she will not only always be my favorite aunt, but one of the best female role models I had and will ever have. Aunt Carol redefined original. You can walk to the beat of your own drum, she had her own five piece band. If Lucille Ball, Betty Page and Audrey Hepburn had a lovechild, maybe, just maybe, you could come kind of close. Funny as hell, yet equally graceful. Ladylike manners when she was telling someone to go to hell (and believe me they had it coming). Dancing forward through life bold and brave, yet always thinking of others first.

She was the oldest of five siblings in a household that saw many rough times. My grandfather died young, barely in his 50’s at the time thanks to the working conditions he was in day in and day out. No matter how bad things were, she always made sure all of her brothers and sisters had a present beneath the tree on Christmas morning and every lovingly wrapped present was from “Santa.” Oh how she loved Christmas. Trips to her house in Minneapolis were my favorite times ever growing up. Second only to their trips down here. Trips, I am very grateful to say, that happened pretty frequently.

Aunt Carol was also my very first official Partner in Crime. Many of you know that I inappropriately grope my coffee mug every morning. What you don’t know is how deep my love of coffee goes. Ever since I can remember, I have loved it. I would bug my parents incessantly when I was little for some. As it would “stunt my growth,” it was off limits. Bless Dannon’s heart though, they made a coffee yogurt that my parents would get me. When we visited aunt Carol, she would sneak it to me. She was so slick about it too. When she made me hot cocoa, she’d use coffee instead of water. We called them “Cocoa Mochoas” and they were our little secret. They were so delish. That’s right, screw you Starbucks. I still make them for myself during the winter. And it still brings tears to my eyes on the first sip.

I have a million great aunt Carol stories. But damn it, I should have a million more. My monkeys should have their own arsenal of great aunt Carol stories forming. OMG she would so love them. And she would so be their favorite. But, Cancer felt otherwise. Fuck you very much Cancer. I swear one day you will wreak the just desserts you deserve. If only it were a person we could torture for decades day in and day out.

It was roughly the late 80’s when she was first diagnosed with Breast Cancer. A time when little was really known about it and old people whispered “Cancer” as though anything louder would summon it like a beast from the deepest bowels of Hades. No one wants to wake that beast. Doctor’s didn’t really do mastectomies. Radiation and chemotherapy were their sole weapons of choice. “It’s not the Cancer that kills you, it’s the treatment” we’d hear over and over. WTF does that mean?? Then why do it?? She beat it over and over again. A tumor would pop up and she’d ride it out until it was gone. Then I guess it got really pissed. It came back with a vengeance and it spread. At one time she had a brain tumor the size of a golf ball on her brain. Oh the grin on her face when she looked back at the baffled doctors when she lived through the treatment for that one and it had completely disappeared. Eventually, the beast decided to devour her entire body at once. No holds barred, spitting in the face of all the prayers and hopes for recovery. The last 3 1/2 months or so of her life, my mother lived there so she could take care of her. Every Friday after school, my dad and I would make the somber trip up. Every Sunday, the dreaded ride home. No matter how bad she felt,, even when she was down to 84 lbs and you could SEE the tumors all over as she lay in her hospital bed, aunt Carol was always smiling. She never once complained, never once screamed “why me?!?” and she always asked how you were doing right at first sight.. Not out of a point of formality, but because she truly cared.

I was 15 when she was taken from us. Her funeral is still vividly etched in my mind. I sat paralyzed at the back of the funeral home at her wake, praying repeatedly that it was just a nightmare and I’d wake up any minute in my own bed, back in Wisconsin. That is until I noticed my grandma alone in her own little corner with the same desperate look on her face. My ever constant personification of strength sat there looking so small and fragile. Like the weathered depiction of heartbreak. It pained me to hear her “no” when I asked her if she’d gone up yet. Everyone was so busy surfing their own overwhelming tide of pain that she got lost in the proverbial shuffle. So, I took a deep breath, grabbed her hand and up we went. Our slow and heavy stride in unison, the closer we got, the tighter our grip to each other. When we got there, both of our breaths were held as we looked down at our own version of an angel knowing each other well enough to know that we wouldn’t be uttering the typical “they did a really nice job on her” or “she looks peaceful” bullshit. Nope. We were both thinking “ fuck you, I want her back.” There is only so much heartbreak even the strongest of people can bear and grandma, though tough as nails, was no different. She lost it. Yup, grandma literally tried to climb into the casket with her. I thought she was just going to hug her goodbye. I should have known better before I saw her little leg hike up over the top of the casket. It’s ok, you can laugh at the image. I can giggle a bit about it now. Knowing I was about to get my ass kicked, I proceeded to pull grandma up off of aunt Carol and the casket. I swear to you she was laughing her ass off up in heaven looking down at the scene. Everyone else stood there dumbfounded. It didn’t sink in until I had struggled/dragged grandma half way to the exit door of the funeral home and by then she was in no mood to be coddled by them. I am proud to say I had the sense to grab her purse on the way out and not just for the possible need for self defense should she try to turn and make a run for the casket again. When we got outside, I shoved a cigarette in her mouth, lit it, did the same (not many can say they smoked their first cigarette with their grandma nor that it was a Pall Mall straight) and said “go ahead and hit me for saying it, but someday, this is all going to be ok. It’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch and that pain will never really go away, but it will be ok.” She took a long deep drag, looked at me and said “You’re right, I do wanna punch you and it does hurt like hell. But, no one loves you more than I do. Thank you Carol Ann.” For months she would repeatedly call me Carol Ann. For years after she would still slip and do it on occasion. You know what, it was the best compliment I have received. That I will ever receive.

So, yesterday I stumbled upon @boobiewed on Twitter. I always support Breast Cancer awareness and the fight to end it day in and day out. This is our month though. What @shimmer418 and @honey_is_evil are doing is amazing, brave and yes, fun. Above all, I found it very liberating. The goal is to show your breasts on Wednesdays across Twitter to raise awareness for Breast Cancer. I’ve seen people bare their breasts for awareness before, but I have never had the courage to do it. I’ve had issues with mine for the better part of my life now. I showed up to fifth grade sporting a b cup on my (then) little frame. My maiden name ends in witz which was changed to “tits” for that whole year. And the damn things just kept growing. Teen years with a D cup was rough. By the time they hit DD, they had turned into an entity of their own to some respects. No matter how hard I tried to hide them, they were ogled. Older people would talk to me like I was stupid because I had big breasts. I know, it’s like the size 4 friend we all have that likes to complain about being fat while we all want to smack the shit out of her. It’s really not my intent. And in all honesty, I don’t have the right. My point is that I’ve got some body issues going on, which every one of us does whether we admit it or not on some level. My tatas just happen to be one of the biggest catalysts for that. No pun intended there. Even though I’ve come to terms with them in some aspects, I still always hide them. Until yesterday. I thought about it, thought about aunt Carol and my grandma and lifted my shirt, snapped a pic and plastered my polka dot bra proudly all over my lil corner of Twitter. And, I will continue to do so. Hell, I submitted it to the @boobiethon today.

I am sure I speak for all those involved when I say that if just one person learns to do regular self exams, one person learns they may be at risk, one person learns about early detection, then by god it is more than worth it. There are some of my sisters out there that have battled Breast Cancer and won that don’t have the luxury of bitching about breast size any longer. They are merely thankful to be alive. So, for them, for my aunt Carol (who was the polka dot bra in the drawer of life), my monkeys and for every woman out there I say “Yup, I have boobies. I am proud of them, I vow to examine them regularly and to remind every woman in my life to be proud of theirs and do the same.”

Please take the time to follow: @boobiewed, @shimmer418, @honey_is_evil and @boobiethon.

Please take the time to visit:

The Official BoobieWed Page

The Official Boobiethon Page

And, pretty please with bra whose underwire never pops out on top, check your breasts monthly, encourage the women and men (yes boys, while you cannot live the dream of staying home and fondling them all day, you are able to get it as well, though much more rare) in your lives to do the same. Get involved, help raise awareness and show us your tatas!

*Please feel free to e-mail me at JustNatali@gmail.com with any links or tweeps you would like added to my next post which will be a resource of information regarding Breast Cancer. Give me your touching, your funny, your painful, your medical, whatever you would like. I welcome them all. Hell, I’m even going to post a pattern on how to knit a breast. Seriously. One survivor uses them for implants in her bras. I would LOVE to start a group that knits them for survivors, so if you are interested in that, shoot me an e-mail too.

Though I am a firm believer in “everything happens for a reason” when I’m down or upset, I’ll still wanna smack ya for telling me that. No matter how much I know it’s true. So, for the last day or so, I’ve been just off. Kinda up and down and all over the place. Like more all over than usual. Life’s been chucking curve balls and so go go go this last two months, I think it may just be finally catching up. If you’ve been reading my lil ramblings, you know one of the biggest upheavals was our move back to the town I grew up in. I will never be a cheerleader for this town, but today, I found some solace.

Well, this morning was rough. Lil one is still mopey that sis is going to school. On the way home from dropping her off, lilest yelled “LOOK MOMMY A RUMMAGE SIGN!! Can we go???” I figured, sure, why not. We’re driving down the long street and not seeing anything. I’m just about to give up and I spot a barrel with two blaze orange flags sticking out of it at the end of a driveway. The house that hugs this driveway was a beautiful, almost log cabin looking house. One of those that beckons you to come inside and put your feet up for a spell. I look down the driveway and see a full working stop and go light flashing and yup, rummage stuff. The light alone was enough to tell me it was going to be fun. When I began walking down the driveway, lilest monkey in hand, I realized that this was going to be much more than fun. It was transforming. Invigorating. Comforting. Blissful. Slightly sad, but all around wonderful.

At first site I spotted two HUGE displays of hand made purses and scarves galore. I had found me a knitter. A damn good one at that. To my left, just past them, were two HUGE bags full of beautiful wool yarn. Price $5.00 each. Seriously one skein of them was worth more than that alone. Lil one spots a box of books and we start digging through. For a whopping 10 cents a piece, they have a bunch of Little Miss books and a book long packed away in my memory. Spider saves Christmas. Spider and Peanut were scholastic books from waaaay back in the day when I was little. So, I tell lilest to go nuts and pick out whatever she wants while I check out what’s in the garage.

Two steps in I stop and tears well up. There on a table before me were stacks of artwork done by Mr. Pierce. He was my first art teacher ever and was amazing. He came in to our elementary school on a special basis and I just loved him. While registering eldest monkey for school, the walls of the hallways in the school administration building were peppered with the same work of his I remember once hanging at my school. I stopped to explain to the girls who he was and how wonderful he was. I began wondering what had happened to him. Today I found out. Mr. Pierce is no longer with us. But, I now have in my collection a wealth of his work. Ink drawing after ink drawing that will forever remain priceless to me. Including many drawings of, yes, monkeys.

While I lovingly went through them all, secretly wanting to just purchase them all and horde them, lilest discovered their chicken coop. Seriously, a coop with two live chickens. One laying an egg as we lingered there. The couple that were rocking on their back porch, him smiling, her chatting with us and crocheting (she does knit too), entertained lil one with stories about the chickens. The woman, Cathy, then came over and took the male out and let lil one pet him. His name was Raven. By the time I had finished sorting through my memories on art board, lil one was in a rocking chair on the porch gleefully petting Raven and chatting about the scarf I was making her for winter.

All of my artwork, two big bags of yarn, countless books, two leather binders, a big ole box of vintage Valentines and a huge art pad cost me all of $15.00. We actually hugged our goodbyes to the couple and made our voyage back to our getter. While loading our new prize purchases in, Cathy came running down the driveway (she’s pretty spry for her age) yelling “WAIT!” She brought this giant red plastic case and told us we could have it for free, to put all the new books in. She then asked us to come back any time we want to say hi and pet the chickens. Then, more hugs all around.

It wasn’t a difficult decision, next week lil one and I are going to bake some banana bread and stop on by. And to hell with a whole knitting group, I think I found me a new knitting pal.

As I drove home, which was just a hop and skip away, I realized, I had found my spot. The spot in this town that made me cease to feel quite so displaced. A point of reference that reminded me that home is indeed where you hang your heart. The view outside your window may contain ugliness, unpleasantness or way too much Stepford for your taste, but the warmth inside remains. Outside our door may lead to Monotonous Flaws, but inside is the eastside, bay view, even the SF bay area. It is what we make it. And just down the street and up the driveway is solace, complete with a chicken coop