Activist Mama

Activism Parenting. One cause at a time.

[actvistmama-blog]

When Enough is Enough

Today another child left this world with the violent bang of a home owner's gun. Tragically, nine month old Corbin Wiederholt was shot in the head while napping in his playpen. The trigger-puller was none other than his five year old brother who had reportedly found the weapon while Mom was doing some housework.

Although I do appreciate the old stand-by "it was the gun owner's fault" I must be quick to point out that there is an epidemic of gun violence running rampant in our society. It has taken over our whole American culture. This is certainly not the first instance of a child accidentally killing someone. We're in a tail-spin of recent incidents that include a four year old killing her cousin at a sleep-over, a nine year old killing her weapon's instructor during a lesson and a two year old who killed his mother while in the shopping cart at Walmart. This particular Missouri shooting really hits home for me as this family mourns their baby just 4 short hours from where I  now drink my morning coffee. 

Yes, I'm certain that the immediate blame will and should fall with whatever adult loaded a weapon and then left it in such a position that it ended up in the hands of a child. However, at some point we must look at the bigger picture. The epidemic.

When I first read about the story of the nine year old girl who accidentally shot her weapon's instructor in the head with her Uzi machine gun I was obviously horrified. My emotions were thick with confliction. On the one hand, I was wondering who in their right mind would take a nine year old to a gun range, let alone allow her to fire a machine gun. It is maddening and hard to fathom. On the other hand, I was absolutely sickened at the thought of her life from here on and the lives of her family having witnessed the awful event. After hearing way too many comments from people on both sides of the gun issue it finally occurred to me what nobody out there was saying out loud. We are all so far removed from the root of the problem that we can no longer see the facts that are dangling right in front of our faces.

Spoiler alert: It's not about the 2nd amendment and it's not about self protection. It's about industry. 

By the time I'd read about the young mother who was recently shot and killed in a Walmart store, I was throughly fed up with the "gun owner is to blame" mantra. This young lady was shot in the head by her two year old baby who found her firearm in a concealed pouch in her purse. The child was strapped into the cart and the purse was within arms reach. The immediate "blame" according to the vast majority of media and comment-makers fell on the dead mother who had the loaded weapon within arms reach of a child. She was, by family accounts, a nuclear research scientist and a loving and caring mother. This time I did not have the same judgemental conflicting feelings that I've had in all these years past. I immediately felt the tugging sadness of lives lost, ruined forever. I felt immense empathy for this baby and his long, motherless journey ahead. And I felt pissed. Seriously pissed that we've been tricked, duped, brainwashed and boxed in by decades of shifting propaganda and an industry full of greed  --- and we're still in the dark.

"The general population doesn’t know what’s happening, and it doesn’t even know that it doesn’t know."  -- Noam Chomsky

The problem we face is not accidental. It is not this young, unsuspecting mother nor the parents of these dead or involuntarily murderous children. It's time that we stop pointing fingers at the ignorance or neglect of the victims and lay the blame where it really belongs: at the feet of the gun industry. 

Our society has long been influenced by the lobbyists and propaganda sent to our eyes and ears by the corporations who want our money and our power. In this instance all it takes is a few famous movie stars to be the face of the product, a brilliant marketing scheme to bring kids into the fold and an insistence that, as helpless Americans, we need to protect ourselves. Men were made to feel that they needed these weapons to be big and strong, to protect themselves and their families from the government. Women were made to feel that they needed these weapons to protect themselves while out alone without their big strong men. Meanwhile, they marketed to the children in the form of toys. Isles and isles of toys, made more realistic as each year passed. The stationary gun made way to the BB, the air soft and the paintball. The NRA was taken, hijacked and manipulated into the abhorrent organization that you find today. The same organization that now would encourage parents to take their nine year old daughters to the Uzi store is not the same as the one founded in the generation of our ancestors. 

The gun violence stats are astounding with our country leading the charts year after year. Children are shot down by police while playing "guns" at the park. Mothers are murdered accidentally by their own babies and our babies are killing each other. They've been raised to think they're un-American if they don't wield the products of this massive industry. It's all they've ever known.

We should consider the very real fact that these children, these mothers never had a chance.

[actvistmama-blog]

YOU MIGHT BE A BIGOT

"big·ot (noun) \ˈbi-gət\ : a person who is obstinately or intolerantly devoted to his or her own opinions and prejudices; especially : one who regards or treats the members of a group (as a racial or ethnic group) with hatred and intolerance"  -- merriam-webster

I was recently told by someone I love that the LGBT community should stop flaunting the fact that they're gay and start acting like "normal" people. 

"Look at me, I have sex with the same gender and I'm better than you!", is an actual direct quote.

This mentality had me completely boggled and turned upside down; I began to ponder ...

Do those who see this as "flaunting" also believe that straight people flaunt sexuality or is the flaunting limited to the gay community? 

When a heterosexual groom kisses his bride on the wedding alter, are they flaunting their sexuality to the congregation? Is this kiss an announcement to the guests that they will later be having sex?

How about the couple in the park? As they kiss on a blanket, under the glorious sun, next to a wonderfully packed picnic basket - Are they screaming with their actions:

Look at us! We have sex with the opposite gender and we are better than you!

Of course not. So I find myself feeling that if a person happened upon a wedding kiss or a couple in the park, and allowed his mind to wander into the sexual privacies of that couple's bedroom, the fault lies within the voyeur.

Let me explain what the bigots call the "gay agenda" in just three words.

It doesn't exist.

Every LGBT person I have ever met wants all the same things as anyone else I've met. However, there is an agenda growing in the gay/straight alliance community.

NORMALCY. EQUALITY. 

In a society where sexuality is flaunted at every turn within the music, the clothing, the movies, the medications, the advertisements - the alliance's agenda is to make bigots understand that all of us are exactly the same. Each of our lives matter. We are all equal.  Discrimination is wrong and everyone deserves equal protections from discrimination. 

The problem that I seem to run into when I encounter a bigot is that they are completely oblivious to their own bigotry. These people often profess to NOT be bigots although their beliefs and ideals constitute the very definition of the word. Most of these folks have plenty of "reasons" why they feel this self-denied bigotry, whether moral or delusional but they none-the-less have the same common trait of ignorance to the bigotry of their own beliefs. 

YOU MIGHT BE ---

If you believe that the PRIDE parade is a flaunting slap in the face to you, as a heterosexual, you might be a bigot.

If you think that gay people have an conspiracy-driven, coordinated agenda to corrupt the youth of America, "turning" as many as they can into an LGBT member, you might be a bigot. 

If you believe that equal protections legislation will result in overwhelming numbers of high school boys manipulating their way into the girls bathroom, you might be a bigot.

If you believe that equal protections legislation will result in frivolous lawsuits that will bog down the local court systems, leading to city-wide bankruptcy, you might be a bigot.

If the idea that a gay, lesbian or transgendered individual will be receiving "special privileges" with enacting laws for equal protections, you might be a bigot. 

If you think that gay people need to start acting like "normal people", you might be a bigot. 

If you believe that a business owner should have a legal right to refuse service to someone because they are gay, you might be a bigot.

If you believe that a land owner should have a legal right to refuse housing to someone because they are gay, you might be a bigot. 

If you believe that God hates gay people and that your sins are somehow better than their sins, you might be a bigot. 

If you are willing to turn your back on your loved ones rather than set aside your bigoted ideals, you might be a bigot. 

Maybe you're a bigot and maybe you're not. Either way, there is good news. You have a choice. Once a bigot is not always a bigot. Search your heart - make a change. NORMALCY. EQUALITY. The choice of bigotry is yours alone. 

[actvistmama-blog]

Keeping Them Safe

49%  -  What makes them wander? I don't think anybody knows for sure. Maybe it's their inadequate sense of danger. Maybe it's the loop that gets fixated in their minds of what it is they want, a toy, a certain place they wish to visit.

The first time Judah "disappeared himself" we where all at home. It was a few months back. He is 3 years old. He's always been one to dart away in a store but this was the first time we actually panicked. Judah was in the living room, confined in with baby gates. Until he just wasn't. 

"Where's Judah?" I suddenly noticed.

What ensued was a frantic ten minutes that left me screaming his name in the front yard and crying my eyes out with relief when we found him "hiding" upstairs in his brother's bed. I had my phone ready to call 9-1-1 and I was jumping into the van when my oldest son found him under the covers. 

I began to read up about Autism Wandering and what I found horrified me. Countless deaths due to wandering, mostly drownings as children with Autism are drawn to the water. Much the same way Alzheimer patients or people suffering from dementia have a tendency to wander, children with Autism are at a great risk. 

I've ordered Judah a medical bracelet. It has his name, our names and telephone numbers on the band. It says: I HAVE AUTISM and PLEASE HELP ME. I ordered it several weeks ago but it hasn't yet arrived. I did this after I LOST him to wandering at Target. Don't judge. It's much easier to do than you can imagine. It's not as simple as "keep your eyes on your child." Sometimes he just -- runs. And he's fast. VERY fast.

That was two weeks ago and I found him quickly enough down the isles in the toy section. That time, he wasn't actually trying to hide. He was out in plain sight, crouching on the floor, playing with some toys. Today was a whole other ballgame. 

Husband called from inside the store while the baby and I were waiting out in the van.

"You need to come in RIGHT NOW!" was all he said and he was panicked. I knew something was wrong as I grabbed Lew out of the seat and darted into the store. My heart sped up and I felt a knot in my stomach as I was running up because I saw several white-shirt employees running across the store over towards the produce section. 

"Oh my gosh, somebody's been hurt!" I thought immediately, fearing it was Judah. 

And there he was, my baby, surrounded by a sea of white. Crouched down, hiding a toy that his Dad had previously told him he could NOT have because he had already gotten a toy earlier in the day. He had run away in en effort to conceal this toy that he wanted to keep. Alex was on one side of the store, Judah on the other. The Hy-Vee employees had surrounded him and, maybe even, saved his life. 

What if he had darted out of the store into the parking lot? What about... the cars? The bracelet I ordered is not going to help for that kind of wandering situation. THAT is what's keeping me up at night. I need to figure this out. I need to know that I can keep him safe. 

And how long will I have this dread? How long until I can feel that the wandering danger has passed; that he'll no longer be in danger of himself? There are no answers to that question. Maybe after some specific ABA therapy, maybe never. Until then, I need to breath and find a way to cope.

So the next time you see a wandering child, a frantic parent, a tearful reunion in a grocery store produce section - don't judge. I assure you they're doing the best they can. All of them.

[actvistmama-blog]

Sibling Autism - May the odds be ever in your favor

So here we are. We always knew our middle child was special. We couldn't put our finger on what, exactly, was "wrong" but there was something. Something off. 

AUTISM. You think you know about a topic until it's actually in your face, choking the very breath from your throat. Only then do you really start to learn. 

Our concerns began with the standard speech delay. "Oh, it's because he's the baby," everyone would say or "It's just because he doesn't have any need to speak."

By 12 months we began to concern ourselves with his head banging. Our pediatrician told us that this behavior is perfectly normal for a child his age. We bought him a helmet. 

By 18 months we were still concerned about the head banging but now we were also concerned that he was falling behind in his speech. It seemed that his previous ability to say certain words like "kitty" had gone away and he wouldn't ever speak on demand. We had his hearing rechecked and even went to the oral specialist to have his mouth checked for the condition known as "tongue-tied." Both of these efforts proved fruitless so we were left back at square one with "Don't worry. He'll grow out of it."

At 24 months we requested a referral from our pediatrician to see a speech therapist. That did NOT go well and our sweet boy completed less than a dozen sessions before we discontinued that service. We didn't really know why things weren't going well at speech therapy but later, we were able to discern the differences between the evaluators at the Thompson Center for Autism who worked with our special boy compared to the one that worked with him through the local speech therapy office. The difference was patience. The evaluator at the local office was never inappropriate with Judah, nor did she abuse him physically or verbally but there was a certain air of frustration - for both of them. She treated him more like he was a bad boy, rather than someone with special needs. The evaluator at the Autism office clearly had more experience working with someone like Judah and their time together went quickly and, even when he would wander, she would quickly and efficiently get him back on track, unflustered. 

It took a long time to get the formal diagnosis. Judah is three and half years old and we've just now received our diagnosis, making our way to the top of the mountain that is also know as The Waiting List. We've found ourselves on a lot of these mountains lately, digging in precariously at different levels and stages in so many different areas. We're tired and cold but we're not letting go. We are strong, my husband and I, and we're going to scale this monster and get Judah every single opportunity to succeed. He deserves no less.

We made it this far, navigating ourselves in this new world of Autism and holding on to each other for dear life as we struggle for answers about our sweet boy when we are suddenly and fiercely struck with an enormous Autistic blow. 

We can't say what exactly causes Autism nor whom it will strike. But with current research we know this much: Who has a statically high probability for Autism? The brother of someone who is Autistic. 

Our mending hearts, re-shattered with news we would NEVER have guessed. This horrific disease, this complex neurological disorder, sometimes referred to as a "snowflake" because of it's insanely unique characteristics is most likely to strike the same family - AGAIN. 

Lew Timothy (Lew-B) is a mere 13 months and he already exhibits the same characteristics that made my motherly instincts dance butterflies in my tummy watching Judah when he was a new toddler. HIs sweet face, as he looks into my eyes for moments at a time and a little off-center, his inability to say Mama or Dada when asked. He has the most beautiful smile of anyone in our family with all those little teeth poking through his pink, fleshy gums and we don't want to believe the worst. But as I watch my sweet little boy pound his little baby fists in frustration over miscommunication I feel I die a little inside. A piece of me knows what they will tell us in November. That is our newest "The Waiting List". This is when Lew will be evaluated for the same disease that afflicts his brother. 

The WHY is something we can't comprehend. We can't bother ourselves right now with the why. It drives me absolutely crazy to try. Genetic abnormalities. Maternal age. Pesticides. It's all too much. Why is a concept that will have to come at a later time when treatments are underway, insurance companies are cooperating and hearts are mended. 

We hold one last strand of hope that "It's because he's the baby", that "It's just because he doesn't have any need to speak" and that "He'll grow out of it."  We tell each other that daily he's just mimicking his older brother.

For now, we just need to get through to November.

[actvistmama-blog]

Bikinis & Gas Masks

There's nothing worse then feeling betrayed. Well, some things are worse but feeling betrayed is pretty high on the list of things that feel bad. 

Several years ago my husband and I made a big decision for our family. We decided (after much research and personal soul searching) to go organic. 

We started out slow by first cutting out boxed meals and chemically preserved foods, sticking mostly with whole and fresh foods. 

After we got more proficient without the boxes of junky stuff, we moved on to phase two; the meats. We scoured our local farmers' market in search of just the right vendors to fit our needs. We were now looking for cows, chickens and pigs that were also fed whole organic foods, free from genetically modified organisms and from a source that we could relate and trust. This proved easier than we imagined and within 2 or 3 weeks we'd found two separate vendors that had exceptionally tasty food and personalities that instantly clicked with our own. 

Around the time that we found our new lifestyle, our local farmers' market was having internal crisis. A well-known developer had purchased a plot of land and was working on the ground-breaking for a new, "improved" farmers' market. This new market was touted to be equipped with air conditioned booths, actual restrooms (as opposed to the porta-potty at the other market) and had all of the flare of a new, modernized shopping experience.

Some of the issues surrounding this new, modern concept came from the vast differences in regulations at the two distinct markets. One, having been in business for 30+ years in the parking lot of our local shopping mall, had very strict rules regarding what types of produce was allowed to be sold through their vendors. They pride themselves as being the only "growers only" market, meaning that they require that each farmer / vendor at their market has physically grown and/or prepared the food that they are selling out of their booths. Whether green beans, cupcakes or fresh raw milk, each vendor must be the actual "grower" of this product. 

On the other hand, at the new, progressive market, supplementation is allowed. This means that if a farmer has an issue with his own crop (say tomatoes), he is able to "supplement" by purchasing his tomatoes from another source and then re-selling them through his booth.

Some people immediately disagreed with this new-fangled idea of "farmers' market" and the market split in two with half moving over to the new market and half staying behind. The battle lines had been drawn. 

What ensued was chaotic, messy and childish to say the least. Grown men and women slinging mud and turning the wheels of the rumor mill faster than anyone could keep up. Social media networking sites blew up and the newer, more progressive market seemed to be pummeling the life right out of the older one. 

This is how our family got involved. Both of our favorite vendors (mentioned above) were knee deep in years worth of building customer relations at the older, Greater Springfield Farmers' Market. Our hearts were broken to see how quickly things were sinking into a place they wouldn't be able to crawl out from. It got to such a point that they were deleting every comment posted to their FB page and that, as you can imagine, was inciting the virtual crowd to post more and, in turn, the newer market was "winning."

I found my way to our "friends" at the market by way of the telephone. After quick discussions, I was invited to meet with a few of the board members that evening at the local library. Our meeting proved to be more important for them than I originally imagined because I was now learning that these older gentlemen were all generational farmers who had absolutely no social media experience and I could quickly see that they were way into the deep end and the water was over their heads. A quick tutorial on my laptop and a few bullet points later and I was asked to help them with their FB page and PR issues. At this point I had two children and a husband to care for and I declined their offer in any official capacity but told them that I would be more than happy to push their market on social media and to "help" them with strategy. This did cause a rift in my personal life as my own father was upset with the "old" market and wanted to boycott / set up social media against them, etcetera. He felt the politics were strongly in favor of the new market. There sure were a lot of fires to quell during those few weeks after the split!

Eventually and with much promotional work, the older market was back and as strong as they ever were. Now fast forward a year ---

Our family had become stronger as well. We were now growing as much as we could in our own backyard, making our own foods from scratch and even baking our own bread daily. We were becoming more upset yearly at the lack of legislation to regulate Genetically Modified Organisms (GMOs) and were very much on board with the ideals and concepts behind "Occupy Monsanto" and "March Against Monsanto", feeling betrayed by our governmental representatives, the FDA and the corporations controlling our food supply.

We spent every Saturday at the Greater Springfield Farmers' Market shopping and visiting with our "friends", discussing these issues as well as playing catch-up for the week on who's kids were doing what and how things were going in our own personal lives. We were so happy to have these friends and to know that we were supporting good, like-minded farmers. We felt that our work with protest groups such as March Against Monsanto was not only for our own benefit but was work that fought for them, their farms and their livelihoods as well. It was bliss ... for a while. 

When the opportunity fell upon me to lead the city's first March Against Monsanto protest in May, 2013, I was stumped for what to do. By the time I took over as coordinator, there were only a few days until the actual event and everything had just fallen apart. The original coordinator had fallen ill as the venue was pulled out from under her in the eleventh hour. It seems that she had coordinated with the newer, more progressive market to have the march end at their shopping complex where she believed they had offered booths, tables, a sound system for educational speakers and even donated fruit and water. These promises proved fruitless and she wasn't aware that everything had fallen apart until literally a few days before the event, which was scheduled at the time to have 400+ marchers for the cause. When she called to ask me to take over (as she was very ill and unable to proceed), I quickly jumped into action and made my list of priorities, the first being a new venue. 

When I approached my friends at the Greater Springfield Farmers' Market about ending our March there, things got a little weird. They had legitimate concerns regarding the logistics of the protest like how to ensure that this particular event didn't hurt their business, rather than help. What was hard to manage about this particular event was that this group of protesters didn't really have a "group" that they belonged to in Springfield so there weren't any long-standing ideals or guidelines. It was just a globally coordinated event with a volunteer Springfield coordinator AND it was the first annual event of it's kind in our city. 

I worked long and hard on a nice concept of compromise with the Greater Springfield Farmers' Market on our event. It was hard to do because, being frank, the protestors didn't NEED any kind of permission to end their march at the intersection that the market is located. However, I felt an obligation to my friends at the market to be sure that this event did not hurt their farms or by shining a poor light upon their business. 

I was able to successfully map a plan that included endorsing the market to the group in an incredibly favorable light, all the whilst, "helping" the market by disclosing certain aspects between the two markets that would make my market friends look bad-natured to say themselves. I also set up certain guidelines for the group to follow including to stay off of the specific corner that the market was located and asking protesters to deposit their signage into a secured location (or at a minimum to keep their signs down at their sides), before entering the market to shop. And mostly, I encouraged them TO SHOP. It says a lot that I stood in front of what was later counted to be over 250 like-minded people and told them of how this market supports our efforts and how this market believes in us so we should believe in them. I was open and forthcoming about the benefits of shopping at this particular place and pressed firmly on my belief that the Greater Springfield Farmers' Market was a place we should support to our fullest extent. (There was talk of doing a Cash Mob - Support Local Business event there later in the year.)

In a matter of a few short days, with the help of a co-coordinater (who became a dear friend through the experience) and several other participants, we were able to pull together a very successful event and "March Against Monsanto - Springfield" was born. 

That's me there in the bottom right with my back to the photographer, wearing the purple maternity shirt. Did I mention I was 9 months pregnant with Baby #3 during this period? I was a tired Mama!

The march was 100% successful. After the protest there was a HUGE influx into the Greater Springfield Farmers' Market. Every vendor ran out of bottled water and there was a wave of red MAM t-shirts that washed over the crowds. I can't go on enough about how great the day went and it was the talk of the market (at least with our family) for months to come. Everyone seemed pleased with the outcome and the market folks continued to indicated support and understanding for our cause. 

Now fast forward another year and thousands of dollars later. Our family had continued to support our friends at the market and the market had continued to lean on us for "political agenda" support. What I mean is simply that our friends at the market continuously told us about their position against the other market and/or other events and community activities in town. They gently reminded us that they were not in a position to "oust" these corporate giants or to pull-the-veil, so-to-speak on the mis-doings or inappropriate behaviors of the various competition. We didn't feel put out nor did we feel backed into a corner. We felt more like it was our duty, as friends of the market, to uphold our side of the relationship and to post, blog, and speak to whomever we could about these issues both personally and on behalf of MAM. 

A little more fast forwarding to May, 2014 with the understanding that on several occasions GSFM (individually through our friends and vendors) worked with MAM - Springfield to bring awareness to the improprieties of the competition and/or to bring money and customers to the market though promotion and endorsement. 

It was now time for our second annual March Against Monsanto. A global event, we were set to do our part in Springfield and had presented the same route information on our marketing materials as well as on our FB page. I coordinated with both the President and the Market Manager of the Greater Springfield Farmers' Market to work out the specifics of having a booth at the market for that particular Saturday. We had the exact same situation worked out the year before (but decided at the last minute not to do the booth) and it was as simple as filing out a form declaring we were non-profit and then paying them $1 (to make it all official). Lastly there was the matter of getting it worked out by the board of directors, which I was later told was a done-deal. 

Things were right on track for the march and I was feeling pretty great about having everything in order and ready to go much earlier than the previous year. The route, the final venue, the rules and guidelines, the photographer; everything was right in place - until...

I got a telephone call from the President (and friend from the market) the morning before our march. He explained that the previous night the board had met and voted about MAM - Springfield having a booth at the market. He apologized profusely and indicated that he had done everything he could do (as well as the Market Manager) but that the vote just wasn't in our favor. I was busy at the time (with 3 kids I'm always busy) so I thanked him and hung up, trying to plan my next course of action, an appeal to the board. In my mind, if I could just sway a few select members our way, we could continue on as planned. 

Next, I called another friend of the market, then another, then another and by the time I was done, I'd had just about more than I could take. (It was also my oldest son's debut performance of Abraham Lincoln at the middle school for the annual Civil War Reenactment, so my level of busy was off the charts.) 

When it was all said and done I'd had an earful of 8 different versions of the same event and it was heartbreakingly clear what was happening. The GSFM had apparently had another moment of internal combustion and the mud-slinging was high. Several members were calling impropriety of other members and so-on and these members (on both sides) were not only our friends but our family's primary food source. You can imagine that my husband and I had immediate concerns of what we had been feeding our family if some of these accusations were true as well as who we had been supporting with our dollars and our honor. 

It turns out the there would not be any changing the vote to reverse the decision on the booth. The vote had been unanimous AGAINST allowing MAM - Springfield to participate in their market. I was later told this vote wasn't personal and that it shouldn't be taken that way. That might be the most egregious idea of the whole situation. Not having the booth didn't really hurt MAM at all. We were still strong on our march and reached a ton of people with our action. We were able to pass out flyers and information about GMOs and about the declining population of the bees and the monarch butterflies. We had an amazing day and although our numbers were smaller than the previous year, (there was a rain-storm that began our day), our resolve was high and our mission was accomplished. 

When I inquired about the specifics of the vote and why we were turned down I was told that the Greater Springfield Farmers' Market wanted NO association with March Against Monsanto. I was told that they were NOT happy about how it had came about last year and that they had been glad when it ended with no incidents feeling they had "dogged a bullet on that one." I was told that the Greater Springfield Farmers' Market had NEVER been on board with supporting MAM and that they were all highly offended when "the girl with the bikini and the guy in the gas mask" shopped at their market after the march the previous year. (We did have 2 or 3 people who's dress-up or clothing went a bit outside the "norm") 

"You're everything we like, Crystal McHale. You're an apple-pie American Mom" --- This was a statement given to me by one of the 8. It has stuck with me over the past few days as I have tried to process this journey that our family has embarked upon and the many adventures we've had along the way, including the ultimate catestrophe we've found ourselves in at the GSFM. It's been a sad lesson for our hearts to learn of the one-sided realtionship we've had with a lot of our "friends" at this market, but a necessary one.

I guess we'll have to re-evaluate our situation and take our new-found information to heart. It's a sad feeling to overcome, having to sort out in your brain who you can count on and who you can't. Either way I think I'll tip my hat tonight to every bikini-wearing, gas-masked "villian" out there making a difference to protect us all from poison in the world's food supply. 

[actvistmama-blog]

When Local Business Sells You Out

When choosing our family pharmacy we wanted to stay away from the "Big Box" chains. There's a lot of reasons why but I'm sure you can guess most of them without my saying. They sell your information. They use collective marketing. They make you sign up for a discount card to be able to get the regular price for  an item that without the card, you will be forced to overpay. You get the gist. So when we found THIS guy...

...we were totally excited to get the win-win; be treated like real people AND support local business.

Conveniently located just 5 minutes from our home, we felt so lucky to have such a friendly, local store to put our faith and trust in and to know that our family medical needs were going to be met in such a safe and protected environment.

And they had a cow.

Two weeks ago, a FB friend had a post that totally grabbed my attention. Her words gutted me to the core in more ways than one. It went something like "There's nothing better than coming back home from vacation to find out that you're unemployed and your boss has closed the store."

Husband and I were floored! Mostly because we felt really sorry for this poor girl who had just lost her job. Also because we felt really sorry for whatever tragedy had bestowed our pharmacist that he had to close the doors so abruptly. I mean, surely it was a terrible fate that had devastated his family. His precious children? His loving wife? We were immediately sorrowful for this awful situation that had now affected all of these great people. Except...

It turns out that Mr. Pharmacy hadn't closed up in a hurry. He had actually been in the process of closing up for some time. He had struck a deal with CVS pharmacy up the street. In this deal, they were going to purchase our information. ALL of it.

So for those of you who really don't know how this works, he basically sold them our lives. Name, date of birth, social security number, address, telephone number, reproductive history and preventions, medications we're allergic to or need on a daily basis. Heart disease, diabetes; whatever the ailment, big corp now has their hands in collecting that information and selling it out to whomever they so desire. -- Let the junk mail commence --

My FB friend was contacted by her boss and was offered a job in one of his other locations. It's actually a location that is just a short 20 minute drive from my house.

She accepted his offer (as no fault of hers; I mean, ya gotta have a JOB) and promptly deleted her FB post within 24 hours of posting.

Within 2 or 3 more days, the store was closed and we received an automated telephone call from the CVS informing us (and most of his customers for the VERY first time) that our loyal, local pharmacy had closed and that we could now get our services fulfilled through their store with an address and telephone number of how to reach them. The standard automated calls that one can expect from Big Corp.

So what's the problem, right? Poor guy couldn't keep his store open; couldn't fight against the Walmart, the Walgreens and the CVS, all of which were just a few doors down from his own location. Maybe we should just give the poor chap a break!

Well...

South Oaks Pharmacy wasn't really closing up shop. They were only closing up THIS shop. The one at this particular location. This would be a whole separate matter if Mr. Pharmacy couldn't pay his bills, couldn't support his business and didn't have the means to continue on with his customers. I would still think that selling personal information is a sleazy thing to do but I could at least understand it. Half-heartedly.

The thing is -- Mr. Pharmacy could have done a number of things. He could have called his clients individually. He could've sent out a letter or even an automated call. He could've said:

"Hey there. I can't keep my store open but I want you to know that I have another location just a short 20 minutes away. I can serve you from over there or you can take this warning time to find yourself a new pharmacy."

He could've recommended some his local pharmacist friends with whom to move our business, which they DID, suggesting that we transfer our ALREADY SOLD information from the CVS over to "his best friend" who has a pharmacy up the street the other direction. (I'm guessing Best Friend just didn't have the big $$$ that CVS had to offer)

He could've offered to continue service from the farther location with a delivery stipulation of $10 per transaction. I know our family probably would've stuck with him.

But simply speaking, Mr. Pharmacy didn't do any of these things because it was never about the customer. CVS Pharmacy doesn't care about his small stash of pills, his one cash register, his three shelving units or his mini cooler dispenser with overpriced bottled water. They don't want his crappy strip-mall space, perfectly suited for small business, nor the three boxes of tampons and condoms sitting dusty on his shelves. They want our INFO. That is exactly what the big $$$ is paid out to get. It's all about collection of information.

One step forward for Big Corp, one step back for Local Biz. And all the while our hearts just break a little. bit. more.

[actvistmama-blog]

The Snack Attack

I drive to the battle with an apprehensive feeling in my belly, knowing that each time leads to the inevitable catch 22.

I am completely dreading that specific moment when each parent in the room silently judges the next based on the snack decisions being made. You suddenly find yourself getting lumped into one horrendous column or the other. You can be the awful, mean parent who opts out of snack altogether, thereby risking the toddler meltdown -OR- you can be the snooty, uptight parent that brings your own, making your child the outcast of the group and whose snack is now the distraction.

Friday morning story-time at the bookstore has never been so high pressure. When my oldest son was participating, things were simple. It was a time of ignorance. Long before I paid attention to what food my family was eating. Years prior to the research studies concluding the harmful effects of pesticides, chemicals and genetically modified organisms that are invading our food supply.

Our family tries to eat healthy. We try really hard. That's not to say that we follow the guidelines of Western culture.

Eggs are bad for you. Wait. No they're not. Wait. Yes they are.

We eat lots of eggs. We eat grass-fed beef, organically raised chickens and pork. We choose meat with no antibiotics. We grow as much food as we can and we know our farmers. We strive for clean, non-GMO produce and we eat "in season."

This is a lifestyle we strive to maintain but it is not a stead-fast rule. Unhealthy foods can not be easily avoided when dining out due to the lack of labeling laws in the Untied States where we reside. But we try.

We stay away from the processed foods and don't buy most "foods" that come in a box. This too is not a rule we follow 100% but it certainly applies to GMO-laden, artificially-colored death spheres, also known as CHEESE BALLS.

In case you were not aware, cheese balls can now be purchased in an economy sized barrel large enough to transport a Chihuahua. 

Now if THAT doesn't churn your belly... 

"Who here loves cheese balls?" yells the story-time girl in a very enthusiastic voice.

Some of the children begin jumping in excitement. All of the hands shoot up into the air. All hands but one. 

My child looks around in wonder. Back and forth, he studies the other children, pondering their excitement. And that is when I see it - the look in his eyes when I know I have lost him. His face lights up with wonderous amazement as he decides that CHEESE BALLS must be the most delectible snack he has ever encountered. His anticipation mounting, I have finally arrived at my destination. 

To disallow this chemical concoction I will forever immortalize it as a treasure aspired to be obtained. I fight against the societal tide and lose. I swallow my values with a meek smile and choke out a short instruction.

"Only a few, okay?"

As a down-to-Earth parent living in the real world I know that I can not win every battle.

Today I was defeated - by a cheese ball. 

[stumblesandgrace]

No matter where we go, the hairdressers always manage to talk her out of the haircut she wants. They say things like “Oh but you’re a girl! This is a boy’s haircut!” and “How about I cut it to here then you can tell me if you like it like that” and, “You don’t really want this do you? Don’t you like this better?” And the poor thing, she’s so polite, so she just smiles and nods and lets herself get talked around, even though as soon as we leave she’s tugging on my hem telling me she wanted it shorter than that and how it’s “a lovely haircut but it looks a bit funny on my head”.

Last night she said to me, “Mummy, my hair is getting berry long. May I please have a haircut?” How could I say no to that, right? So I told her we could go tomorrow, playing over in my head what I would say and how to best stamp out the hesitation that was sure to come. Then she said to me, “But I want you to do it.”

As a teenager I’d given myself many a bathroom ‘do, from layers to reverse mullet, yes, even a “scene” mullet once or twice (we all make mistakes), and nobody could ever tell I’d done it myself. So I threw caution to the wind and popped her in her sister’s high chair, took out the scissors and clips, and set to work. After that experience I have the highest level of respect for hairdressers who have to shear the heads of fidgety kids. My back ached, my knuckle was bleeding (apparently “don’t move your head” means “shake your head all about” in kid speak), and I got hair everywhere, but when she looked in the mirror her face was priceless. "Oh! Oh my god! It’s my boy’s haircut!” she exclaimed with glee. “I love it! It’s berry lovely. Oh I look so awesome!”

That you do, little one. If you’re happy, I’m happy.

[actvistmama-blog]

Circumcision. The Parent Trap.

When I had our first son, I didn’t give circumcision a second thought. 

“We’re here to take him for his circumcision.” said the nurse in a matter-of-fact voice. 

“Okay,” I replied.

I had no idea as I spoke that just one year prior the American Academy of Pediatrics declared that routine circumcision was not recommended. Nor did I think to consider what, exactly, was even happening behind those closed doors. It's just the way things were done. The year was 2000.  

When I delivered our second son I was much older. Now in my early 30’s, I took about 5 minutes to consider my options. 

“Well you and his brother are both circumcised,” I told my husband. “I don’t want him to feel left out.”

Yes, I really did say that. And these particular decisions, made a decade apart, will continue to haunt me for as long as I breathe. 

The year was 2010 and THIS time I was an empowered mother. Or so I thought. 

I did little to research the procedure. I had zero knowledge of the AAP’s position nor that it had been reaffirmed 5 years prior to my second sons birth.

So on that crisp November morning, I sent my husband on an errand that he didn’t really want to run. I watched as he carried my sweet baby away. He followed an impatient, bossy little lady down to a cruel, sterile room. There, with my blessing, they would mutilate my little wonder in such a negative way that would forever change the course of his life. 

As a result, my bouncing baby boy has experienced countless complications from this awful procedure. I also had to explain to his older brother about the male anatomy, and what was done to him all those years before.

My second child has also experienced an undiagnosed form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that manifested from the corrective procedure he endured as a toddler. We continue to struggle with this today, two years later.

But there is hope.

I delivered our third son earlier this year. He was born whole and intact in a pool of water on my bedroom floor, far from the pressures of Western Medicine -- far from the matter-of-fact voices of bossy ladies whom would  swarm upon us with their disapproving glances and their “doctor knows best” attitudes. 

My three sons will know their stories. They will know my story, and my guilt.

Ignorance breeds ignorance but knowledge is where change begins. This violent mutilation ends here with them. Their sons will have the full protection of their fathers' wisdom. 

PROTECT YOUR SON. 

RESEARCH CIRCUMCISION.