choosing to be tattooed, revisited.

I find it fascinating that in over two years of blogging, primarily about my small daughter, my third most popular post of all time is "On Choosing to be Tattooed." My guess is that a great number of people are curious about my choice to become heavily tattooed and are interested in my reasons for doing so. Tattoos are far more widely accepted in our society than ever before. No longer only for bikers, sailors and carnival attractions; statistics state that currently, one in five Americans has a tattoo. A meaningful phrase on the wrist, or a symbol on the ankle are widely worn by modern women. However, a woman with a large tattoos is still very rare and most often still viewed as taboo.

I had expected to receive numerous glares or comments such as "how could you do that to your body?" I can't even count how many people have come up to me asking who made my tattoos and proclaiming how beautiful and detailed they are. I will never forget the first comment that a stranger made to me in public. On a day trip into Luxembourg City, Marius, Iris and I were sitting on a patio with some friends, having a beer and chatting. An older woman, dressed very well  with white hair and easily in her 70's, passed close by and said directed to me, "votre décoration est très chic. (Your decoration is very chic.)" Caught by surprise, I mumbled a, "merci madame," and proceeded to blush furiously with unexpected delight.

To share a bit more about why my tattoos are so meaningful to me, I'll share the symbolism behind one of them - the one which is yet unfinished and needs color. This piece is a reference to a Cherokee story called The Wolves Within, first shared with me by my grandmother when I was a teenager.

My unfinished thigh piece by artist Sebastian Brade - Germany.

The old wolf on my leg symbolizes the angry wolf, a part of my life full of pain and rage. He wears an eyepiece to symbolize that his way of thinking is flawed. The woman represents the positive wolf of benevolence and empathy. She has grown in character to take human form. She silences the old wolf with her hand as he glares up at her, just as I silence the negativity in my past. However, the woman also wears a sheep's head, or "sheep's clothing." This is a purposeful symbol for questioning and examining my own behavior, motivations and choices. The tattoo represents that idea that I must remember to consider what emotions and pathways I give power to in my life.

While I have received only positive feedback from strangers and friends, I know that many members of my family do not understand why I would ever be tattooed and may even resent me for doing so. In fact, the only negativity I have received was during a recent phone call with my aunt, who told me I was "going to regret doing that when I'm older." Since I respect my aunt, regardless of her occasionally contrasting opinions, I merely responded with "mmhm" and waited for her to move on.

While her comments were a bit hurtful, unsolicited as they were, they certainly do nothing to sway my appreciation for tattooing. After spending countless years hating my body and doing irreparable damage to it, I can say that I find my body beautiful. I am proud of the fact that I am no longer afraid to be myself.  I put the things that I love on my body, and each piece has very deep personal meaning. The ink may fade and distort with age, but the representation of important things in my life will always remain. 

love.

Sometimes I look back through my blog at all the old photos and descriptions of Iris and I quickly become teary eyed. 

My little baby has grown up and oh, so quickly it has all gone by. 

I wish I could hold the tiny, helpless kitten that was my newborn, one more time, 

to savor her scent and the way her little squirms against me made my heart so full to bursting with new love. 

I wish I could hear her soft coos, fresh and breathy against my ear, 

as now they've become echoes to strain for in my memory. 

I hope I never forget those first moments, weeks, months - I hope I don't forget the ones currently unfolding. 

I wonder - what Iris will be thinking, when she sees this many years from now? 

No matter what happens in the future, will she see how much I loved, love and will love her?

I hope so, my sweet baby.

I do love you.

Ready to go for a walk with her seals. 

on choosing to be tattooed.

This is a post that I've been ruminating on for a long while. I've spent many moments at the sink washing dishes, or in the shower, or building block towers with Iris and wondering... what is it that captivates me so much about the art of tattooing?

I remember that as a child, I received the impression that tattoos are disgusting and only trashy and criminal people get them. I remember the raised eyebrows and the noticeable disgust. I remember my father once telling me that he thought about getting a tattoo at one point in his life, but then he saw an old man whose tattoo was just a messy black splotch on his arm. My father thought that it was ugly and said he wouldn't want something like that on his body. I can relate to these points of view, I see why they occur and I don't wrong anyone for feeling opposed to tattoos. However, I do find error in the idea that a human being, a subculture of human beings no less, can be judged as good or bad based solely on their appearance.

If you ask Marius, he will tell you that I have an interest that could almost border on obsession with tattoos - the designs, the styles, the execution. I, myself, have two small ones currently and have made an appointment with a local artist to have my first larger piece done on my arm in November. I know that this is something which will surely disappoint or sadden certain family members. I don't intend to be disrespectful to them, it simply comes down to the fact that I made a commitment to myself. A commitment to free myself from the part of my personality which above all desires approval from those closest to me.

I rarely, if ever, mention my childhood on this blog, as I think it's important to respect my family by not over-sharing. However, I do think it is appropriate to share that until only recently, I felt terrible, agonizing guilt for not being the child that I felt my parents wanted. This guilt created a certain level of self-hatred which trapped me at every turn. It is a self-defeating prophecy for most people, the desire to fulfill others in the hopes that it will fulfill the self. The older I get, the more I realize that I can claim life and existence as my very own; that my happiness is not dependent on those around me but on myself.

Many years ago, my father shared a piece of writing with me about attitude, and how one's attitude dictates life experience as positive or negative. At the time, I was old enough to understand the concept, but I rejected the word "attitude" due to the negative connotations implied. To this day, I prefer referring to this concept as "choosing your perspective."  The more I learned how to choose a positive perspective, the healthier I became as a person and the more I began to understand who I am and who I want to be.

You may think I am getting off the subject of tattoos but in actuality, this is the root of why I no longer have reservations about decorating my body with the things I find beautiful. I am being tattooed now because at 18 years old, I had the wisdom to realize that I lacked the maturity and foresight to choose tattoos that I could grow old with. At almost 25 years old, I feel confident that I have the self-realization and emotional sophistication necessary to make such a decision. I am content with who I am as a person, and the criticism which may come from others has very little significance. As a respected blogger I follow has put it, tattoos are a filter. Someone who would make negative or hurtful comments based on my appearance is likely not someone I would be interested in having in my life anyway.

Tattoos have always held meaning and significance for me, and I no longer feel shame for that. I find it fascinating that they can tell stories, bare someone's soul, or simply be a piece of art to enjoy. I view them as a form of self expression. 

the story of Santa.

I haven't been around my sweet blog very much lately. I actually have a lot of posts on my mind, including thoughts on my marriage and how motherhood has changed me... I've just been busy doing other things around the house and with Iris! It's a little early to be talking about Christmas, but this was inspired by a long-time friend of mine asking how I feel about Santa. If you don't know, there is a revolution of people who are proclaiming that encouraging your children to believe in Santa is cruel because you're lying to them. While I think this is a bit silly, I can also sympathize. My opinion is slightly mixed.

(Note: I should take this opportunity to share that our family is atheist. We respect the values taught by Jesus, as well as many other teachings from religions around the world but we do not believe in any kind of external deity.)

I know that both Marius and I both want to raise Iris to be self-aware and questioning of the world around her. We want her to feel confident in forming her own opinions based on what she experiences. But I also want her to realize that things aren't always as they seem, and that magic may indeed be real. I would hate to deprive Iris of the magic I felt as a child - I believed that Santa was a real person until around 10 years old! On the other hand, I can appreciate just viewing him as "The Christmas Spirit." 

If Iris asked me whether Santa was real, I would tell her, "yes, Santa is real. He is a spirit of giving who reminds the world to be thankful for what they have in their lives, and to give unto others with kindness - to treat others as you would want to be treated." As for why he brings presents, I would explain that it's a "you receive but what you give." I think that being a model for kindness and elective charity (ie. donating food, working at a soup kitchen, bringing used clothes/toys to a women's shelter, etc) is a great way to show your child how helping others can be beneficial both physically and emotionally for everyone involved. Warmth and kindness in general is wonderful too. 

"He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows if you've been bad or good so be good for goodness sake" may be viewed simply as a child learning to be accountable for their words or actions. I would tell her there are no good or bad children, but you do know what things are acceptable and make you feel happy, and what things aren't. 

I really feel as though the story of Santa is special and magical. I remember feeling that fire of joy in my belly on Christmas morning when I saw that Santa had come to eat the cookies I made for him, filled my stocking and brought me something special because he was a kind man who existed to bring joy to children around the world. I don't view Santa as "a lie," but then I did not experience any kind of emotional trauma involving my parents telling me to grow up or anything of the like. If Iris asked me about any of the other technical details, I would probably agree that Santa lives at the North Pole, comes down the chimney, eats cookies, etc, but continue to reinforce the idea that Santa is "the spirit of Christmas" so that when she does find out or decide that he is not real in the physical sense, she will have a deeper understanding of what Christmas is really all about - the spirit within all of us that has the capacity to be excellent to each other. 

wonderful autumn!

Autumn is my most favorite time of year. There is something to savor about each season - flower buds peeking out from under the muddiness of spring rain; the salty, tanned skin of summer; the bright crispness of freshly fallen winter snow. But autumn somehow seems to roll all of my sweet excitement for life into a cozy woolen ball of delight.

Iris and I woke up around nine this morning, ate a breakfast of toast and coffee for me, and then headed outside for our morning walk. We stepped out and immediately, the cold breeze felt so freeing on my face. The grey sky seemed not bleak, but quiet and flat like a smooth stone against my fingers. Iris toddled around for a while, surprised at the harshness of the "ruh-ruh-ruh" cold before retreating to my legs and raising her arms to be picked up. There's something wonderful about feeling her tiny, cold hand in mine, and holding her close to my protective warmth.

I love dressing in cozy layers and pulling on a pair of boots. I love the complexity of mulled cider and the smell of homemade pumpkin bread baking in the oven. I love cuddling cold feet together under a blanket. I love watching the animals getting ready for the winter. I love curling up on the couch with my baby, and feeling her little hand pat my arm lovingly as we watch a movie. The kitty snuggled up to my feet just makes me so happy. Maybe it's the genetic drive to prepare, store and create a place of warm comfort which leads me into a deeper contemplation of myself every autumn. It certainly does explain the cozy, homemaking feelings!

Here is my fantastic little toddler, Iris - partially bundled up and very ready to go for our walk this morning!

Welcome to the south, Autumn!

this is how I am real.

I do my best to keep this blog positive. The downside to this is that some may consider this one-sided, always-happy story to be "not real". I feel that I can sometimes come across as a perfectly pulled together mother, potentially even as a "tiger mom". I talk a lot about how cute Iris is, about all the things she is learning, and I post a lot of pictures. I never talk about my frustrations with being a parent. I never talk about my self-doubts or about my own childhood. I never talk about our bad days. 

This is partially because I don't want anyone to read this blog and think that I am complaining about my daughter, or whining about my life as a stay at home mom. I don't want to come off as selfish or as though I'm heading for parental martyrdom. I fear that writing about my bad days and my negative feelings may be loathsome or hurtful to read, not only for you but for Iris when she reads this one day. I read some mother's blogs and feel that they do these things. I've even had to stop reading a few blogs that I once loved because they became so profoundly negative and almost hateful towards their children through their writing. I never want to be that. I certainly allow myself my emotions - my anger, frustration, exasperation - but I don't feel the need to share that with the world. 

A few days ago, I had a short spell of depression. I was missing Marius so much that it hurt. Iris was excessively high needs, cried all the time and wasn't sleeping. I felt completely overwhelmed with the fact that I am raising a child on my own, and that I am without a way to get around on my own (for those who don't know, I don't have a driver's license.) I hadn't been able talk to Marius much at all for the previous two weeks. I was so tired. I just wanted some time to myself. No child hanging off me screaming for milk, no house to clean, no nothing to do. I wanted to curl up into myself and hide away from my life. I cried for the first time since Marius left, almost two months ago. 

I spoke to a friend and finally to Marius about it, venting my feelings a bit. Then, I cleaned the kitchen. As I cleaned, it dawned on me. These feelings were real, but they weren't accomplishing anything. They weren't bringing me to a place I wanted to be. Strong emotions, particularly anger, are often described as "consuming." What one must realize is that these emotions aren't who you are, as overwhelming as they may seem. I (the me that is not my emotions) have the power to choose my perspective at any given moment. I realized all over again, as I do shortly after being flooded by strong feelings, that I can choose to sink or swim. I can choose my own happiness or unhappiness. 

I choose to hug my crying baby. I apologize to her for lacking empathy. I look down at my hands and am thankful to have them to hold her. I breathe. I enjoy the feel of my clothes against my skin; the soft whisper of the air against my face. I feel the beating of my heart. I choose to live in the moment. I choose to be grateful that I am alive. Then, I am unconcerned with the trying moments that life can bring because there is so much more to take pleasure in. I appreciate the dedication Marius has to his job, and I know that my patience will bring him back into my arms. I rejoice in the sound of Iris' cry; I know that years from now I will yearn for that tiny, weeping child to sweep up into my arms. 

This is why my blog is a positive place. This lack of negativity is genuine. The downs of my life are cursory and insignificant in the face of the absolute excellence that is my existence. Why would I share such tiny pits of sadness when there is plenty of ripe fruit to savor? This is how I am real. I choose to fix this blog around the ever flourishing ups in my life. To those who consider such to be "not real," I wish the realization that they too could have such an experience of life, if they choose to. 

fearing for my baby.

I mentioned in this post about how Iris scared the hell out of us. Well, it all began a few days into our trip to RI. A few little reddish bumps started appearing on her arms. Marius has a long history of serious allergies, and I have grown to have them as well, so we decided that it was most likely a little allergic reaction to dog dander or something else she'd never been around previously.

The next day, there were more bumps, somewhat clustered together and slightly more irritated looking. We started to feel a little bit concerned, but we knew how prone infants are to rashes and she wasn't showing any other symptoms or signs of discomfort. By the end of the third day, there were yellowing patches on her arms that formed into blisters within an hour. My heart felt as though it was in my throat and I was choking on fear. 

I won't post pictures but know that it looked absolutely horrible. I was at the point of tears about it but by the time it looked severe, all the urgent care places in the area were closed. We decided it was in our best interest to wait until we got home the next day to take her to the doctor. She seemed absolutely fine otherwise - we suspected infant eczema which can look pretty nasty or even chicken pox, as Marius had it pretty badly as a child. We drove to the clinic immediately after getting off the plane in North Carolina. I was so scared, not soothed by her happy giggles or playing; my baby had never been sick before.

The doctor diagnosed a skin infection from an unknown cause. It could have been from a bug bite, something she caught from a person or a place, or anything really. Her immune system was probably down from lack of sleep and from all the new things going on around her. She is now on antibiotics and a steroid ointment. A week later, it has cleared up but has left some scarring. Hopefully it will clear up in time. I'm just grateful she was never in any sort of pain or discomfort from it.

I never understood the sadness, fear or pure terror that a child can strike into the heart of their parents until I became a parent myself. If for some reason I can't see Iris and I hear her start to cry in pain, everything else in my brain shuts off and I get tunnel vision. I move faster than I ever though possible until I've reached her and she's in my arms. Marius and I call it "Mommy Mode" - it's the purely primal and instinctual protective mode that there is no ignoring. 

When her arms were looking really bad, I had a pit of fear in my stomach like I'd never felt before. My worry for her health is hugely more overwhelming than for my own. I would do anything for her; it's a pretty intense experience to say the least. The only thing I can think to compare it to are the near-death experiences I've had in my life. I hope future illnesses are few and far between as she grows up. 

What is the scariest thing you've gone though as a parent? What other experiences of intense fear have you dealt with?

my babe, with the eyes of a seal.

my babe, with the eyes of a seal
inky orbs
emerging
from the dark deep
smoldering

tenderness, wild curiosity -

brimming with
subtle
wisdoms.

time, time, time, see what's become of me

I've been spending a lot less time on the internet lately. In the last two months, Marius has been away on 4 work related trips, so whenever he is home we try to make the best of the time we have. His impending deployment in September is beginning to weigh on my heart, so this blog has been put on the back burner in favor of living in the moment.

The six month deployment is approaching faster than I thought possible. In fact, time is seeming to fly by faster than I can keep up with it. Iris will be 9 months old in two days, I will be 24 years old next month, Marius will be leaving for Iraq in about 10 weeks.

Sometimes I think that tomorrow I will wake up at 80 years old and wonder, 

"where did the time go?"

what I've been up to lately.

In the last week or so, I've been doing quite a lot of reading - something I haven't done much of in the last year. First, it was the discomfort of the later months of pregnancy which kept me from sleeping properly and getting comfortable enough to fully enjoy a book. Then it was caring for a newborn who wanted to nurse for 5 hours straight, and I certainly hadn't mastered doing everything one-handed in those early days. The older she got, the more awake and active, the more attention she required... Now she is mobile and needs constant supervision! Between playing and reading with her, changing diaps and bathing, making dinner and cleaning, there isn't too much room for devouring books like I once did. I do spend time on the internet because it's easy to navigate with one hand while Iris nurses in the crook of my other arm. That is where I've been doing my reading, though it's not quite as satisfying as turning pages it makes up by being... well, the greatest  collection of knowledge in existence. I read mostly about philosophy, self improvement (not to be confused with self-help) and parenting.

This week I made the best meatloaf ever. Marius proclaimed it was "fraking delicious" and demanded that I save the recipe. I also attempted to make my own homemade granola bars, but I didn't push the mixture down into the pan enough, so they kind of fall apart easily. Though they still taste amazing!

Last weekend we tried to get Iris interested in french toast with syrup. With syrup! and she still wanted nothing to do with it, or pancakes. Or buttered toast, or juicy mango! At this point, I'll give her just about anything just to see if she'll try it. I think she is just very texture sensitive. My breastmilk will be sufficient nutrients until around a year old, so I am not concerned in the least! She's a very healthy little girl - has never been sick once (by the way, we don't sanitize but that's another post) and she is growing like a weed.

Big girl reading her "Daddy Book!"

In other news, my goals for last week were very helpful to me. I followed through with them and continue to do so. This week on Sometimes Sweet, the topic was Loving Life and Having Fun. Aside from the fact that I've been busy with other things, I really didn't feel the need to post or make goals about loving life and having fun. I do that every day! I value life more than anything else and I enjoy it very thoroughly. That post certainly would have been redundant! 

I will admit to having missed my Small Changes Saturday post last week too, but guess what... I remembered our reusable bags!! Okay Marius did, but that's not the point.

Marius and Iris!

Today, Marius and I are going to see the new X-Men movie in theaters! This will be the first time Iris has been without us - ever - and I'm quite nervous about how she's going to take it. A friend and coworker is coming over with her adorable 4 year old daughter to babysit. I'm leaving her with a list of things Iris loves if all else fails to keep her happy. This list includes: the PS3 controllers, my old cellphone, an empty bottle of 5 hour energy, and magazines for ripping up. I'm trying not to be nervous about it and just enjoy the time Marius and I will get to spend alone. Wait, alone? What's that??