TW: Eating Disorders, Mental Health, Eating Habits, Inappropriate Comments

I have been treated for mental health - with counseling and then medication - from the time I was 7 years old all the way up until current (I'm 33 right now). As with a lot of people with mental health issues, treatment was helpful, but when I hit teenage years, I started to struggle with emotional regulation (of course) and an eating disorder. 

When I was in my sophmore year in high school, my mom had my hospitalized because my emotions were out of control. What she didn't know at the time is that my mind was under attack because of hormone changes and *NEW* mental health issues cropping up and exacerbated by an eating disorder that I'd been hiding from everyone for years. No one would have thought it, because I wasn't overly thin and I didn't look unhealthy, so the fact that I rarely ate in front of people was brushed off. While I was hospitalized, they started counseling me for the eating disorder and medicating other mental health issues that had cropped up. By the time I left, I was more confident that I was going to be ok - mentally, at least. I still struggled with eating, but Mom had been told about the eating disorder, so she was watching for it now. She also made sure that I didn't participate in fasting on the first Sunday of the month (an LDS thing) since I was already not eating enough she was concerned that I would slip back into old habits if I participated in that part of the religious tradition. (So everyone is clear: the LDS church says that if you are pregnant, breastfeeding, or have medical reasons that say that you shouldn't skip meals, you absolutely should not participate in the traditional monthly fasting.)

Fast forward to 2018. I'm 30. I've had three children - including a set of twins. I've been with the same psychiatrist for three years and I'm comfortable with them. They are treating my mental illnesses and I seem to be doing well, but I start gaining weight. By the time February of 2019 rolls around, I've gained 100 lbs. I'm miserable and I hate the way I look. I try diet after diet, exercise, even diet pills with the hope that something will stop the gaining. And, with the weight gain comes the nagging voice in my head telling me that I'm fat, ugly, worthless, and that no one could possibly love me (though I have proof that this isn't true). I go into my psychiatrist's office for our regular appointment to make sure that the meds are doing what they are supposed to. The doctor looks at my chart and says, "you've gained a lot of weight. You shouldn't be gaining weight while taking [insert medication]. Are you exercising?" Embarrassed and hurt, knowing everything that I've tried I tell them, "yes. I do yoga just about every day, I walk, and I go to the gym several times a week." The doctor then says something that makes my eating disorder rear its ugly head and my self-confidence plummet even further than I thought possible: "you're eating too much. You need to eat less."

I walked out of that office in a fog. I was hurt, ashamed, and I had to fight not to cry on the way out the door. I said nothing.

At every appointment (in-person every three months), the doctor tells me that I need to lose weight. If I've lost weight from the previous visit, they tell me to lose more weight. I start to dread every in-person visit because I leave the office feeling like I've been beaten down and feeling worthless because I "weigh too much for a woman [my] age." Thankfully, in March of 2020, COVID shut everything down and I didn't have to be weighed at my appointments (they were virtual instead), so my doctor didn't mention my weight or eating habits. Of course, the restriction didn't last and, in October of 2021, I was told the doctor wouldn't be doing virtual sessions any longer and it was time to come back in the office. 

Cue anxiety and a depressive episode. Trigger an uptick in my eating disorder. Between my last in-person appointment in 2020 and October 2021, I've lost 79 lbs. I'm still too big, though, and the doctor says, "you're losing weight! That's good! Eat less! Lose more!" and then sends me on my way. I say nothing to him, but I cry when I get back to my car. 

I tell my husband that I need help, because I'm not doing well. I tell him that I have been avoiding eating because I'm fat and because my doctor keeps reminding me that my weight and the size of my body are important factors in deciding my worth. I tell him that I feel so worthless that I just want to die. I'm tired of feeling like the only way I will matter to anyone is if I lose weight and the only way for me to do that is to eat less. On average, I consumed less than 1,000 calories in a day. I usually eat a single meal - if that. I am obsessed with how much is going into my body because I feel like I'm being judged by everyone - not just the doctor, but my husband, my children, my partners, my family, strangers on the street and in the store. I stop eating in front of people because I feel guilty when I eat because I'm "too fat." 

Later today, I have an appointment at the same psychiatrist. I have decided to try to keep the same doctor and simply setting boundaries (much to my husband and sisters' chagrin). I plan to tell them that talking about my weight - "good" or "bad" - and my eating habits will no longer be tolerated. I will be reminding them that I have a history with an eating disorder and that they trigger at every appointment that they bring up my weight and spout their advice to "just eat less." If they don't want to stop commenting on my weight, then I will request a different doctor that will listen to my firm boundaries. 

I'm nervous. I am really bad with confrontation. Especially when that confrontation is will someone in a position of power over me. But I have to do this or I will end up in the hospital or dead. 

Love and Gratitude

I grew up with a wonderful mom. She was a great example of charity and a good, Christ-like woman. She wasn't perfect, but I always wanted to be like her when I grew up. I thought that she was the most beautiful woman I have ever known and I wanted so badly to make her proud. Mom was a great advocate for the mental health of all of her children and pushed to get us the medications and support that we needed so that we could thrive in the world. 

When I was a sophmore in high school, there had been a mistake made when they enrolled me in classes and they put me in a sophmore-level class that I had taken my freshman year. Same teacher and everything. Mom called the school when I told her that my class schedule had me going to the same class that I had taken and passed the year before and was told that I couldn't have possibly taken the class my freshman year, because they didn't assign the class to *anyone* at a freshman level. Lo and behold, when the first day of the new school year rolled around, I *had* been in that class the year before and the teacher recognized me. It was only then that the office said that they must have been mistaken and that they would get me in a different class right away. Unfortunately, since the school year had already started, they only had openings in the remedial history class, but at least it was a class that I would be able to get credit for.

Near the end of the first half of the school year, that history class decided that we were going to be watching several rated R war movies (including We Were Soldiers and Saving Private Ryan) and we were supposed to complete worksheets and essays on the movies. Now, I get nightmares really easily and can't handle movies that are violent in nature, so I'd never been able to watch this kind of movie = and didn't want to. The first day of the Movie Marathon Week, I went home in TEARS because the movie had been so violent and grusome. Mom called the teacher and explained that these movies were bad for my mental health and trauma-inducing for me. The teacher wouldn't be moved on their stance though and told Mom that I would either watch the movies and do the work required, or I would fail the class. I was a good student and had never failed anything before, so I wasn't willing to just "fail the class." So, to help mitigate the trauma and the strong emotions that these movies invoked in me, Mom came to my history class every day while we were watching these movies and she would talk me through what we had watched that day after I got home from school. It helped. A lot. I still had nightmares, but she was always there to comfort me.

At the same time that I was in this history class, I was also placed into a general English literature class where they were reading Lord of the Flies (mostly aloud in class). After the first day, I was struggling to cope with the reading material. Mom was quite familiar with the book and so she talked to my teacher. Instead of forcing me to participate in the reading of this particular book (which would be making up most of the mid-term), my English Lit teacher provided me with another book to read and a mid-term that was about this other book instead. I don't remember the name of the book, but I do remember that it was not a terrifying read like Lord of the Flies and I was very grateful to my teacher for allowing me to read something that was less scary. 

I am grateful that my mother cared about my mental well-being that she took the time to talk to these teachers and advocate for me - even if it meant that she had to work odd hours the entire week that we were watching those movies in that history class so that she could spend the time with me in the classroom to make sure that I felt comfort and safety and security. I will remember that week fondly and, even though I am not able to watch those movies, I will think about them fondly and remember the love and affection that Mom showed me by being there for me.

Mom, I love you. I miss you so much and I wish that you were still around so that your grandchildren could make memories with you and learn about you straight from the source. They would have loved their Nama as much as I did and do.

Being Mom

I have three children - J (10), M (6), and G (6) - that all love to snuggle with me. They ask to snuggle just about every night at bedtime and I *LOVE* it. Since the beginning of the new year I've had a schedule for our snuggles: the twins and I will snuggle in my bed from bedtime (20:00) to 22:00. Then I will get out of my bed and go to snuggle J in their bed from 22:00 - 22:50 when I have to get ready for work.

The twins settle pretty quickly without their older sibling making a bunch of noise and asking a lot of questions and it gives them a chance to talk to me about their day. Then, when I move to J's bed, if they are awake, they tell me about their day. We talk about what they think they did really well and what they could have done better or differently as well as what they think tomorrow will look like for them. J isn't always awake when I go to their bed, so we don't have these little talks every day, but they make me feel really proud of the person that J is becoming and the progress they've made in their social/emotional development. When I go to their bed and they are asleep, I lay down next to them and put my arm around them. Usually, even in their sleep, J will snuggle into my body and it brings back memories of when they were a newborn and snuggled into me in their sleep. The memories flow over and around me and I can't help but think how lucky I am to have this little person love and trust me so completely that they instinctively curl into me when they are most vulnerable. 

Being a mom hasn't been an easy road for me and I sometimes worry that I'm doing more harm than good and that I will completely ruin these little people that rely on me because I'm just not the parent that they need or deserve. But when they curl up against me in their sleep, actively choose to be near me - even if I have to work, and when they show that they want to be near me, I feel like I am doing alright. If I can only do one thing for them, I want to provide them with a mother that they want to be around not because they *HAVE* to be, but because they love and enjoy being around.

Leaving It Behind

I was born to parents that had converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and were married in the Chicago Temple. I was raised in the church and with their teachings and beliefs. I had a strong testimony and believed everything that the church teacher and leaders taught me. I wasn't always a "good" LDS girl, but I was a believer and loved my family - both the family I was born into and the family that was our church. I felt safe, loved, and wanted within this faith. I always thought that I would grow up and marry a return missionary in the temple and be sealed to them for all of time and eternity.

My husband and I met through church. We were friends for a very long time and enjoyed each other's company. We drifted apart for a while because I had moved out of state after my parents divorced, but reconnected after I had moved back not too far from where he lived. I had made questionable choices in partners before reconnecting with him, and I had drifted from being a hardcore believer in the church and it's teachings to being more blase about religion in general. When we got back together, though, we both started going back to church and talked about getting married in the temple.

Our bishop didn't think that we were worthy of a temple marriage, however, and we didn't want to have a long engagement, so we had the bishop marry us in another church (we had chosen a church that we found beautiful not too far from our own ward building).

During the two and a half years that we were married, we would end up drifting into and out of the church as our ideas and lives and personal beliefs that we were growing into changed us. In 2010, he drifted further from the church and I clung to the family and support that I'd grown up with. Even as I made choices that would ultimately lead me to leaving the church and feeling as far from that community as I could possibly be. 

In 2011, my oldest was born. He was a happy, healthy, wonderful baby boy and I was determined to raise him in the church to be surrounded by the same feeling of family and community as I'd been raised with. It wasn't to be, though. Every time that I came to church with my son, they would ask me to leave the chapel because he was either disruptive or I was nursing him. Since the building in the was a third-word building, there was no speaker system to the other rooms of the church. So asking me to leave the chapel meant that I was literally hearing nothing that was being said and I felt ostrasized, unwanted, unloved, like a lepar in the very same community that I had come to rely on as a youth and teenager. After about 6 months of this treatment, I stopped coming. 

For a while, I still believed and read my scriptures and prayed. When my mother came to stay with me for several months, I would study and pray with her and even go to church with her (though I still ended up in another room during sacrament meeting). The longer I spent in another room of the church, though, the less I held onto my belief or the community that I had so desperately tried to reclaim as a newly divorced, single parent in the LDS church. The only person within the church that I felt like had my back and best interest in mind was my saint of a mother. 

Eventually, I admitted to Mom that I just didn't believe anymore and that, the longer I interacted with the members of the branch that we attended, the less sure I became that I belonged anymore. I still studied with Mom, but I stopped believing it in my heart and soul and was only going through the motions for Mom. When I got to the point of not believing in the Heavenly Father that I'd talked to, prayed to, and believed in with all my heart, I broke down in tears because I didn't want to disappoint my mother, but I simply couldn't live a lie anymore. I didn't know where I was going to fit in with my "spiritual" needs, but I started talking to the Universe or Mom when I would have previously prayed to Heavenly Father.

This was the first nail in the coffin of my LDS life. 

I started searching the internet for the language that I needed to convey what I believed in and what my spiritual path would be most closely associated with. Along the way, I learned that polygamy (which is no longer practiced by the mainstream LDS church and is illegal in all 50 states) was not the only relationship type that out there outside the monogamous lifestyle that I had practiced, but never felt fulfilled in. At first, I'd been looking into polygamy (for lack of a better term at the time), because I wanted to give my son a village that loved and cared for him. And the village that I'd grown up with had turned its back on us. 

One day, I stumbled across an article that quoted a passage from More Than Two. That lead me to find and read More Than Two and search for more articles on polyamory and other forms of ethical non-monogamy. This spoke to me. It felt like it was what I'd been searching for in a way that polygamy never had. I spoke to my live-in boyfriend about opening up our relationship because I believed that polyamory was right for me. He was not on-board at first, so I gave him things to read to understand better than what I could convey with my own words and told him to think about it. Eventually, a couple of weeks later, he came to me and agreed that we would open up our previously monogamous relationship and practice polyamory. 

That was the second nail in the coffin of my LDS life. 

Shortly thereafter, I reconnected with my ex-husband and we agreed to try having a relationship again. We'd both grown and matured since we'd divorced. We'd both been on the dating scene and had a better idea of what we wanted out of a relationship or life in general. Mom was both pleased that my ex-husband and I had started dating again (she'd loved him since we had started being friendly way back in the stake building's hallways when I was 12 and he was 17) and distraught that I was committing a sin by practicing polyamory and exposing my own child and my boyfriend's older children to my sinful lifestyle. But I was content with my relationship dynamic for the first time in my life and I didn't feel like I was always looking and calculating relationships and jumping from one monogamous relationship directly into another because "if you are lusting after someone other than your partner, then you obviously don't love them and should leave the relationship."

I still had not found my spiritual outlet, though, and that bothered Mom more than polyamory ever could, but she tried very hard not to push me on the matter and left me to find my own way. I spent years saying that I was Agnostic, because I didn't know if deities were real or, if they were real, whether they gave two shits about the mortals on Earth. So, I kept searching. 

I remember watching an episode of Bones with Mom during this time of indecision and searching. During the episode, Brennan says to Booth on the matter of her own disbelief, "can't you just accept that if I'm wrong I'll burn in Hell?" I remember turning to Mom and asking her this. I don't think I have ever seen her look so sad in all my life as she said, "no, I can't. I don't want you to burn in Hell. I want you to be happy and at peace when you die, not tormented for eternity." The thought and emotion behind her statement caught me off-guard and I thought about it for several days before I went to her and apologized for upsetting her. I told her that I couldn't believe in a "kind and loving Heavenly Father" who lets all the evil of the world happen. Especially to innocents. It didn't make sense to me that He would allow it all to happen - to let all the bad things that had happened to me and my sisters, the abuse that came from my father throughout our lives, and all the pain and hate that so permeated the world. And how He could support all the hypocracy and mean-spiritedness of so-called Christians in His name. It just didn't make sense to me. But, knowing that this was going to be a tough topic for us to broach, I agreed that I wouldn't say or do anything to show my lack of faith while she was staying with me. I still took her to church, but I rarely went in anymore and didn't attend any of the activities or invite the missionaries to come to dinner. 

Mom passed away in 2013 after returning to her own home in another state. Any hold that the church had had over me and my siblings was gone. We didn't have any reason to pretend or "play nice." But we still didn't go throught the legal process of getting our names removed from the membership roster. 

Fast forward 8 years. I am happily married to my ex-husband again and we both practice polyamory. We have a total of three (living) children. One of my sisters and my mother-in-law live with us in a home that we own. None of us believe in organized religion. My husband still considers himself loosely Christian, my MIL is devoutly Christian, but doesn't believe that organized religion is the way to go, my sister is a loosely pagan witch of a couple of years, and I am a loosely pagan witch of a handful of years. Our children are being raised to believe that monogamy is not the only acceptable relationship dynamic and that spirituality is a very personal thing. I involve them in my practice and the girls enjoy making "potions" with me for my Etsy shop. My MIL teaches them about God,  Jesus, and reads them Bible stories from time to time. 

My sister and I made a resolution that we would be more devoted to our practice of witchcraft and learning about the deities believed in around the world as well as officially getting our names and my children's names removed from the membership rosters of the LDS church. To that end, we have filled out the paperwork and had it notarized and sent to a lawyer that does pro-bono work for the people that want to resign their membership of the LDS church. (Yes, it is a legal process and yes, you do need to have the forms notarized for the LDS church to accept the resignation letters.)

This has been something that has been coming for a long time. Longer for some of us than others, but a long time nonetheless. And it is almost over. The end has started and we are determined to not be beholden to the church or the measures they take to make sure that your location is known by your local bishopric. 

I'm still not 100% sure what my spiritual path will end up being, but I know that I would like to be free to worship whichever deities speak to me instead of one that wants to silence my voice (except in worship of Him) and tie me to out-dated laws and rules. I won't let my children grow up believing that they deserve abuse of any kind or that they "asked for it" through something that they said, did, or were wearing. I won't hold myself to a religion that teaches that male people do not have control over their actions if a female person is attractive or showing some skin. Such beliefs are victim-blaming and -shaming and have no place in Christianity. Jesus, the Savior of the Christian people, said that if a man was tempted by the way a woman looked, that he should pluck out his own eye rather than have it lead him to lust. (Matthew 5:27-29). But, as youth in the LDS church, we are taught that girls and women must prevent boys and men from lusting after them by dressing and behaving kindly and modestly. 

Being brought up in this church made me think that it was MY fault that a grown man raped and molested me for years as a child. That a "friend" raped me after coming to my home uninvited or announced because I had "led him on." And that the rape inflicted by a neighbor merely a month later was my fault because I shouldn't have been dressed that way or invited him in. I should have been more careful, more modest, less attractive, and less inviting (though never less friendly or kind). 

These beliefs aren't specific to the LDS church, of course. Many churches preach modesty and purity and kindness in women over the self-control of a man. It is a huge problem all over the world. My experience was with the LDS church. That taints my perception based on my experience. Just because I have a problem with it does not mean that others do. And that is fine. They are free to believe in whatever they want as long as it doesn't get forced on anyone else and doesn't hurt anyone. 

For me, Christianity doesn't fit. The way it is practiced and weilded by many does not speak kindly to me. There are exceptions to that, of course. I know some lovely, wonderful, kind, accepting, friendly, and charitable Christians - in and out of the LDS faith, but I do not believe in the existance of their God or Savior with them. I am happier believing that there are many beings that fill the roles of gods and goddesses and that the love of the Earth, man-kind, and the Universe is the important thing. I don't know that I will ever worship a specific deity in more than a passing manner, but I appreciate the beliefs that they are there and that there was a time and place for them in the world even if that time and place isn't here and now.

Someday, maybe I will find myself of a different mind and discovering that worship of a deity - or many deities - is the perfect fit for me. Until then, I will appreciate the idea of deities from afar. I will learn more about them. I will make offerings and introduce my children to the mythologies of the world - including Christianity. I will let them find their own path to happiness and spiritual fulfillment in a way that I didn't until I was an adult. And this is the start of that. I'm not sure that I'm right. I'm not convinced that I'm wrong, though, and that is more powerful to me. 

It is my fervant hope that leaving the LDS church officially will not mean that the people that I grew up with, loved, and considered family turn their backs on me, but I'm not willing to stay to make someone else happy or comfortable now that Mom isn't the one that I am making happy and comfortable. 

Blessed be.

Memories

I'm not quite sure why my brain visited this memory this morning, but I was remembering the last time that I saw Hope Boone in person. It was in October of 2013 and we were driving to Carbondale/Murphysboro, IL for my cousin, Erin Puffer's wedding. Becca was coming up to meet us and we'd decided to meet at the co-op shopping center in Carbondale so that we could all go to the hotel together as well as do a little shopping in the co-op and international grocery store. On the way from Havana, where I'd been living with Frank, Mom and I dropped Frank off in a little town in Missouri so that he could spend a week with his new girlfriend. The trip down was uneventful and Mom and I had chatted the whole way. She'd been visiting me to help with Julian and she'd stayed with me for several months for the second time that year. James was also coming to spend the night with me for the first time since we'd started dating again in February of that same year. Though, he drove separately since he had to leave before the wedding.

While we were waiting, Mom and I wandered through the co-op and she picked several items to try from the deli counter in the store. I can't remember everything that she'd picked out, but there was a tofu dish that was seasoned with turmeric and cumin (among other things). I am not a fan of tofu, but this particular dish was the one that I remembered the best. It was so well done and I loved it. Of all the items that she'd gotten to share and try new things, that was my favorite. It actually made me want to give cooking with tofu another shot (I *still* have not done this as I'm fairly certain that no one else will eat it - even if it turns out to be delicious).

Becca wanted to pick up Ichiban Ramen from the international grocer next to the co-op grocer, so it was the perfect meeting spot. She even convinced me to try the ramen, so I bought 5 of the Miso flavored packets and took them home (they ended up being the best ramen that I have ever had, but I couldn't find them locally).

We spent a lot of time talking at the hotel and just enjoying everyone's company. We laughed so hard that we cried (that's pretty common when Mom was involved in the conversation). The next day was Erin's wedding and it was beautiful. I am so happy that I got to share that experiance with my family.

This trip was the last time that James and I saw Mom. (The funeral home wouldn't let us see her after she was taken there, despite our requests.) It was such a lovely time and I am so grateful that I was able to spend as much time with her that year as she stayed with me from January - June and then from August to October. (Thank you to Jamie for making those trips possible and to Becca for holding down the fort in Paducah while Mom stayed with me in Havana.)

I have so many good memories from 2013 specifically because of Mom.

I hope that you all are able to love on the people that matter to you. If, like me, your best friend and confidant has passed away, I hope that you have so many good memories of them that you are able to enjoy the thought of them - even if it simultaneously makes you sad and maybe melancholy.

I hope that you never take the time you spend with people you care about granted. You never know when this time will become the last time. A lot of people say that about children, because they grow and become less dependant on you and things that they did, wanted, or needed change as they get older. Eventually, they get to the point where they don't want you to pick them up (or they get too big for you to pick them up), or snuggle in bed with them, or even kiss you. And that is the nature of the beast with children, but there are so many other things that this applies to.

The week before Mom had her heart attack, she'd been in a lot of pain because of a herniated disk. She spent a lot of time on heavy duty pain killers, so she wasn't always able to talk on the phone (which was hard for me since we'd been talking for several hours every day up to that point). Since she was still feeling out of sorts, I suggesteed that instead of going down for Thankmas on the 21st like we had originally planned, Julian and I were going to come down on Christmas instead so that she had a better chance of not being in pain while her wild grandson climbing all over his Nama. The local family (Dad and Trudy, Daniel and Aimee with Zoran, and of course, Becca and Mom) exchanged gifts on the 22nd. Mom had her heart attack that evening. Julian and I left the next morning to go help and be with Becca. The last time I had texted Mom I was asking for a recipe for her German pancakes. It wasn't what I wanted our last talk to be about, but it is what it is. 

I'm not quite sure what triggered this memory, but examining it and the way it makes me feel, I have discovered that while I still miss Mom and want to be able to call or text her, or show her pictures of the kids, or talk to her about them, this memory doesn't hurt as much as it would have in past years - or even just last month on the anniversary of her death. The memory is bittersweet because I miss her very much and I still have trouble admitting that she's actually gone and accepting that I can't share any of the little (or big) things with her and make new memories with her. She was an amazing person and I am finally to the point that it doesn't feel like someone is twisting a knife in my heart when I talk about her. There are still days that are super difficult to get through, when every memory brings me to tears, and it feels like I could die from the grief, but they aren't as frequent anymore. 

I read somewhere that grief is just love with no place to go and I find that to be incredibly accurate in this case. I have so much love that I want to share with her, but she isn't here to tell. Losing her was the worst thing that I have ever been through. I don't wish this pain on anyone, but I am so glad that I got to spend 25 years with her, learning from her, laughing with and having serious or silly conversations. Spending all that time with her that last year. I will treasure these memories until the end of my life. And I will try to live my life in a way that would have made her proud. That's all that I can do to honor her memory.

Crunchy

As the days go by and my little man grows, I find myself becoming "crunchier."  Part of my crunchiness was in place well before he was born.  They were things I had always planned on: co-sleeping, extending breastfeeding, baby-led weaning...  But there are new things.  Some of which aren't even really for my DS, but for me.  (I.E. No-Poo)

Over the past few days I made a decision to start sewing my own cloth diapers.  We have been cloth diapering for a while, but most of the diapers that we are using are on loan from a friend of mine.  I want to get them back to her asap, so I looked up different patterns, found some that I liked, and now I am looking for a sewing machine to either borrow until I buy one after the school year starts and I have a steady income, or one to buy fairly inexpensively.  We will see how this goes.  Maybe, if I get good enough at making the diapies, I'll be able to sell them.  They look pretty easy.  And it might be a good way to supplement my income.  Maybe do some to order at first.  I'm not sure, but I'm pretty excited by the prospect.

As for No-Poo, I found a website that gave lots of advice for doing it.  I'll have to update here how it goes, but I'm hoping for the best.  I have always hated having my hair look dirty and greasy, and it says that there is a transition period where this is going to be the norm for about two weeks (up to two months.  >.<).  Hopefully, I'll be on the lower end of that.  But, I'll let you know how that goes, nonetheless.

Healing

Thirty-eight weeks went by, then another fifty-five.  My little Blueberry has sprouted up and grown before my eyes.  From an embryo to a toddler, the days have flown by.  Days I was so sure would never end were there and gone.  A heart that I thought would never be fully healed is full of love, overflowing with love and adoration for my new family.  Single and thinking I would be alone forever to having a boyfriend that drives me crazy, a son that I can't imagine living without and three wonderful step-children that I love like my own little boy.  Life takes turns and comes upon the unexpected with every one.  With James I had a unicorn.  When it was lost, I thought I would never know that joy again.  Life took a couple of turns and I found a Pegasus coming out of the woods.

When Julian was born, I thought my heart would burst with joy.  But, in that day and moment, the healing that I required started with vigor.  Every smile, sleepy yawn and snuggle wrapped my heart in healing bandages.  Every day that passed drove pain from me until here I sit, with a smile on my face, my children around me and words flowing from my heart.  There is nothing in this world I would rather be than mother to these children.  Nowhere that I would rather be than right here in my home with my family.