Kittens At Play Here... Please Excuse the Mess.

Well, everyone, the times they are a'changin'. Kittens With Mittens is relaunching in the New Year with an updated look to share the same old snark with you.

In the meantime, hold onto your mittens and mind the mess... Oh and if you are jonesin' for some of the old content, head on over to the new "archive" site, Squidgy Kitty's Memory Box.

See you soon, kitty kats!

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A New Day, A New Kitten

Hello friends and family and lurkers!

This site is essentially serving as an archive site to www.kittenswithmittens.come, which has be relaunched with new content and focus and snark.  I didn't want to throw out the kitten with the bathwater, so the speak, thus, this site.  So, poke around.  Relive your memories of being bored the first time.  Wallow in our lost friendship.  Most importantly, get your ass over Kittens With Mittens and get with the times!

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5 Years to Grief

Well, it's been five years since "the day it all changed," the day I witnessed my Grandma die suddenly.  Every year at this time,  I'm a wreck.  Okay, let's be honest, for the first several years after, I was a wreck!  And each June 1st, I would mark this day by crying at home, becoming a blob of emotional wreckage, and sometimes writing a post about how much it affected me, about how shitty post traumatic stress disorder is, about how my whole life shifted with one afternoon...

This year, however, I haven't been upset about how she died.  In fact, I've worked really hard on the what/when/why/where part of the whole ordeal and can, to some extent, accept it.  This anniversary, I've still been a wreck, though, consumed with sadness about the loss of my grandmother.  A loss that feels like a horrible, crippling cavity in my chest, empty because she's no longer filling it up.  I know that pain is normal to feel after people die.  But this isn't the dull ache of a family member now gone yet always missed.  This is grief.  Minutes-after-it-happens, bone-shaking, wailing-to-the-universe grief.

Which is actually amazing to feel.

Let me explain.   See, I've spent the past five years feeling the trauma that came with how my grandma died and the part I played in it.  Feeling responsible.  Feeling guilt.  Feeling isolated.  And yes, feeling sad that my grandma wasn't here anymore, but those feelings were either so small compared to the nightmares and the guilt, or barely dwelled on because all thoughts of her led to images of that day...

And now?  Well, now I can see my Grandma's face.  Her deep wrinkles.  Her smile.  I can hear her full belly laugh.  And her rapping her knuckles on the mustard yellow formica island while her beloved songbird clock tweeted every hour on the (wrong) hour.  I can picture her gold stud earrings.  And her "old lady" t-shirts with embroidered flowers on them.  And her tweed slacks that always had to have deep pockets and usually mismatched her many pairs of socks.  I can taste her chili, which she always had supplies for in case one of us kids might drop by.  And her cornbread, made in the same perfectly seasoned skillet every time and still the best cornbread I have ever eaten.  I can smell her, a mixture of something uniquely-Grandma and Dior's Dune.  And I can feel her hugs.  And her unwavering support.  And her love, imperfect as she could be at expressing it.  I feel that love, for me and my dad and my grandpa and my sister and her brothers and my aunt and cousin... I can feel it so keenly now that it has almost erased all memories of that horrible, horrible day.  Almost.

Sure, she wasn't a perfect parent or grandparent or wife or human being.  Sometimes she was codependent.  Sometimes she made racist or ignorant comments.  Sometimes she got really, really sad. She almost never cleaned.  And, as much as I loved the food she made me, it was usually just this side of burnt.

But everything she did, she did with the best of intentions.  For every slur she would use, she was making friends with anyone and everyone, sometimes to the point that we'd spend an hour just trying to get into the grocery store.  And for every time she didn't support her children in the way they had hoped, there were the millions of times she had food ready "just in case," even if no one showed up.  For every time she was depressed and anxious, there were the times that she picked us up at school, or took us shopping, or babysat us no matter how she felt.  And for every time she was ridiculous about something, there were all the times she let us spend the night and never failed to rub Vicks on our chest when tucking us in.  For every time she was petty or shallow about someone, there were all the times she treated her children-in-laws better than their own families sometimes treated them.  And for every time she didn't understand me, there were all the times that it didn't matter any-which-way because she loved me for exactly who I was. 

She loved the best she could.  And based on how terribly I miss her, she loved me a whole, whole lot.

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Forgetting to Remember

I woke up in a funk today.  It took me a while to realize why I was feeling sad when nothing sad had happened to me--turns out that today is the six-year anniversary of the passing of a dear friend, Cathy Fleming.  It's crazy because I actually spent today's therapy session talking about how lucky I've been to have amazing friends like her, who are so diverse in their beliefs and perspectives and self-expression.  And I'm especially lucky because I've gotten to this place of openess and thankfulness after spending years wanting to be accepted and giving my energies and time to people who weren't the types who could ever appreciate me, my friendship, or, in some cases, what it means to be a decent human being.  And yet, though I thought about my friend during therapy, it didn't even occur to me that perhaps I was suffering her loss today and that's why I was in a funk.  It's amazing how the body can remember our emotional trauma, even when our worries about day-to-day minutae push out the more important thoughts.  Like, for instance, how friendship is a gift and should be cherished, nurtured, and valued.  Or how life doesn't always turn out how we planned.  And (perhaps the most important lesson I learned from Cathy) how, even when things feel crappy, that doesn't mean we have to act crappy. 

Anyhow, I am linking to last year's post about Cathy.  Please read and also considering donating to a good cause.

In closing, here's a video to say "thanks" to all my friends out there!  I love you and couldn't navigate this life without each and every one of you!

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I'm Still Here! I Promise!

Okay, I haven't posted anything since January...  Wowza.  What in the heck has happened to me, you might ask?!  Normally, I'm rantin' ready.  In fact, I had a life-changing moment and I haven't really been to put it in writing yet... I mean, I've certainly verbalized it.  Non-stop.  To anybody who'll listen and join my pity party.  But writing requires a whole other level of energy I just don't have yet.  See, I just found out the reason I've been exhausted and tired and fuzzy and depressed and gaining weight and having itchy skin for the last, well, ten years.  Apparently I have hypothyroidoism, which isn't fatal, but really affects quality of life.  Like, stuff that makes you unable to remember anything, cry all day, and be so bone-tired you weep when the alarm goes off.  So, I'm on the medicine now and attempting to recharge my little thyroid battery.  I'll have to take a pill every day for the rest of my life, most likely, but that's okay.  I know what's wrong, have a plan of action, and I'm already feeling better.  It's all going to be okay.  And, hopefully, that means that I'll be back to writing and analyzing and bitching and moaning and laughing and snarking until all of our little hearts are content very, very soon.

Until then, everybody, rest up, don't be so hard on yourselves, and, last but not least, get your thyroid checked.

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Blog for Choice Day: It's the Meaning That Counts

Today marks the 37th anniversy of the Supreme Court ruling on Roe V. Wade, which finally allowed safe and legal access to a reproductive choice long practiced in back alleys, with dangerous medical complications. I'm not going to get into the myriad of reasons why I think women have a basic medical right to access safe and legal abortions, other than to say, My Body, My Choice. Oh and also, Trust Women. And perhaps I should also add, Don't Like Abortions, Don't Have One. Oops, mustn't forget, If You Can't Trust Me With a Choice, How Can You Trust Me With a Child? And, perhaps my favorite, Every Child a Wanted Child.

Maybe some other time I'll break my support down for you in more detail, but honestly, though these slogans are pithy and catchy, they really capture the deeper meaning of the movement for me: the complex (and personal) decisions women make in their lives, the value of having protected reproductive choice in this country, the struggle for gender equality, the lack of resources and care that many born children face. One day, I sincerely hope that anti-choice people can start caring as much about the infants and children out there in this world as they do the fetuses in women's bodies. Furthermore, I hope that they can also realize that women, with the help of doctors and counselors, are perfectly capable of making up their own minds.

Keep Abortion Legal.

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What's Happenin' Here?

So, as you all know, I've started a new blog project to chronicle my give back: Ten Thousand Minutes. I'm trying really hard to keep that blog up-to-date and that might mean that I post less here (like that's even possible!). The two blogs are totally different--this one is more of a political, social platform and the other is more of a diary. It would be nice if writing in one made me want to write in the other, but let's face it, I only have so much time in the day. In fact, I only had time to post right now 'cause I'm home sick from work.

But... I hope y'all keep checking back here (and there!) every now and then, as I really enjoy sharing my snark. And let's face it, every minute of the day gives me something new to criticize, as long as Fox News is still on the air. Ha! I crack myself up!

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Surprise, Surprise

Thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of people, died yesterday in Haiti due to an earthquake. Thousands more will die because of lack of water, medical attention, and other basic services. The world, including the US, is answering the call for help. As we should, because it's the right thing to do. But what do conservative "Christian" pundits go and do? That's right, they spew off ignorant vitriol that I'm sure would make their Jesus cringe in embarrassment.

Pat Robertson: (my paraphrase of the video below if you just can't stand to hear the ignorant asshat speak) The Haitians were punished because back under their colonial rule of the French, they made a pact with the devil in order to get the French out. But, because of this pact, they have forever been cursed.



Me: Riiiiiighhhttt! Obviously the Haitians haven't had trouble after colonization cause of, well, the effects of colonization. It was *totally* the Devil. Oh wait, that was redundant.

Rush Limbaugh: (again, my paraphrase if you are physically unable to stand this dude's voice) 1) Obama is only pretending to care about Haiti because he wants to look good to black people. Both the light and dark variety, might I add. 2) Why do you have to see where to donate through whitehouse.gov? It's a conspiracy! We already give Haitians money through income tax (har har har). Oh yeah, and no one is allowed to complain that we don't do enough for Haiti 'cause some church missions here and there go over and try to help.





Me: dkjldfjkladsfjkadjkhfhjkgfjkdkajlfjkdkjfhjkgahjkajkf!!! ::head smacks keyboard::

1) Seriously?! Turning this into a race issues makes a point how? If Bush were president (God that made me feel sick just to write), even he would try to give something 'cause this is too serious to ignore as one human to another human. His giving wouldn't be about race, would it? He'd just be showing his Christian values.

2) You're right, Rush, some people in this country on days that aren't disasters do care about others and spend their time and resources and money to try to help. Sure, the cynic in me says that they also are doing so in order to convert people and get into heaven, but I'll quiet that voice for a second and say that I admire the people who, for whatever reason, take time out of their lives to care. If I believed in a higher power, I think the appropriate line would be, God Bless Them.

HOWEVER, just because a couple of hundred people try to make a difference does not negate that most of us don't! And that rampant social injustice and poverty exists all over this world and we need to do something about it not only when hundreds of thousands of people are affected by an earthquake. We need to do something now, not then. But, when hundreds of thousands of people are affected by a disaster, don't negate the giving that happens. Sure we should be better, but now is not the time to make that point. Now is the time to help our fellow human brothers and sisters.

Okay, rant over. I know I tend to wash people like Rush and Pat with the same paintbrush of ignorant and hateful, but I sometimes still can't believe the things that come out of their mouths and into their listener's ears.

Let's just hope it doesn't make it into their hearts or we're all doomed.

UPDATE: Also, putting my money where my mouth is, I would like to urge everybody to donate to aid efforts for the victims of the Haiti earthquake by either texting "Haiti" to 90999, which will give $10 to the Red Cross by charging your cell bill, or giving to this amazing health care organization, founded by Paul Farmer, Partners in Health. Since geography means I can't donate time, at the very least, let's donate some money.

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10,000 Minutes Project

Friends, for those that are curious and want to see how my resolution turns out, I've created a new blog. I'll continue to update my "opinion" pieces here, but will spend time chronicling what I do to give back over at Ten Thousand Minutes.

So, please, go check it out!

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The Minutes to Come

It's officially 2010 and I am officially relieved. 2009 wasn't my best year, nor was it my finest moment. Although I had a lot of good things in my life last year, like our house, good times with friends, a brand-new nephew, travel, great work opportunities, I feel like I was living in anxiety quicksand for most of it. I conquered a lot of anxiety behaviors this year and gained a lot of really great coping skills, but the struggle to get to today was very difficult. It's exhausting to constantly do cognitive thinking, to reframe every thought you have, to question if your feelings are anxiety-driven or just how you feel, and then to chose the best way to respond when you really want to scream, cry, or hit something. E-X-H-A-U-S-T-I-N-G. Couple that with living in an OCD nightmare of boxes, construction, and instability and we had a recipe for me, well, flipping the fuck out. I damaged my marriage, my financial future, my career, my health... I bought massive amounts of crap to feel better, I drank alcohol to distract myself, I emotionally ate to the point that I gained thirty pounds, I checked out at work, and, worst of all, I failed to support my partner while he worked soooooo hard to make our house beautiful...

But, with a lot of support from my amazing husband, my family, my friends, my mental health practitioners, and last, but not least, from myself, I finally feel like I'm ready to live, and enjoy, the life that I want, that I worked for, even as I was drowning. More importantly, I'm ready to spend 2010 fixing my cosmic balance sheet. I took a lot in 2009, now I want to give.

Instead of making general and vague promises to "give back," I've decided to do something a bit different. I've added up all of the money that I spent in 2009 on emotional purchases and for every dollar I'm going to spend one minute doing something good for the people my spending most affected: the boy, myself, and those in my community who went without while I went with too much. In the spirit of openness, I'm going to share exactly how many minutes this actually is: 10,000. That's right, I spent 10,000 dollars on clothes, books, dvds, on crap, and now I'm going to spend 3,333 minutes helping the boy paint the trim or build the headboard or work on his art or watching movies he wants to watch or playing frisbee; 3,333 minutes eating well or exercising or taking advantage of opportunities at work or learning a new skill; and 3,333 minutes volunteering at homeless shelters or urban gardens or tutoring or job training.

It's going to be hard, not because 3,333 minutes is a lot--it's only about 55 hours--but because I'm not magically "cured" of my mental illness. I'm not suddenly anxiety free, able to handle whatever, whenever. I'm still going to have squidgy days where I don't quite know what to do and don't know how to fix what I'm feeling and make an unhealthy choice. But with everything I've learned and with all the amazing people in my life who were there for me and loved me despite me being soooooooo weird sometimes, I can do this. I know I can, because I already spent 2009 doing it, and I came out on the other side.

I'm ready, world. I'm ready.

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Review of a Lifetime

Here is the beginning of my post. And here is the rest of it.

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