Thursday, April 24, 2014

Wait a minute, Miss

Lydia is a live wire.   A bit of a 24 hour party person.   A law unto herself.

She was born at 4:44am on a nice Wednesday morning.   She was born with her eyes open and has barely closed them since.

I have several friends with babies who sleep nearly constantly.   A gentle stroll in the pram will result in blissful deep sleep for many hours.  

Babies who sleep right through the night, or who drift back off peacefully after a feed.

Babies who can sleep anywhere and for whom time is quite fluid.

Lydia laughs in their faces and laughs in ours too.   She has plans, big plans, and they don't involve sleep.   We don't know what her plans are, and doubtful if she does either, but either way: sleep is not part of it and never has been.

The Diva and Bigger Diva, Feb 2014
From birth she didn't nap.   I tried all the tricks I had up my sleeve which successfully resulted in 3 hour daily naps for Adam.   She resisted, we fought, and she won.   Oh how I used to smirk to myself, pat myself on the back and think I was such a great mum for how well Adam slept.   I thought I had this whole motherhood thing sussed.   I repent now.

Adam used to be set in his cot when sleepy, with a bit of a gentle rub of his back and his lullaby teddy he'd be fast asleep and I'd sit downstairs watching a DVD, cleaning or having a nap myself.

Napping in a cot was not on Lydia's agenda, no matter how hard I tried she just cried harder.   Cried till she vomited so I just waved my white flag and stopped.

I didn't own a pram until she was nearly 6 months old, and even if I did there was no way she'd sleep with a gentle stroll and my 2.5 year old wouldn't have been able to walk the 50 miles needed to get her to drop off.  

50 miles?  Yep, that's about right.   As it got into winter I took to driving to get her to sleep.   Often it took around 30 minutes of driving to even get her to close her eyes, then I'd park the car in the driveway and be able to watch her from the house.   Lifting her out of the car and up into her room was a no-hope idea.   Sometimes even turning off the engine, unclicking my seatbelt and opening my door was enough for her eyes to ping open.  

So after a year of driving while entertaining a 3 year old Adam, he started nursery and I had a bit more peace with the napping plan.   She napped after a drive while he was at nursery and woke in time for me to pick him up in the afternoon.   Bliss... Or it was until it started to mess with her bedtime sleep and just wasn't working anymore.

By about 15 months of age any daytime sleep would result in partying till around 10pm.  Totally overtired, but totally hyper.    Reminded me a bit of someone on ecstasy.    I'd tell her to lie down and close her eyes and she'd stand up with her eyes closed la la la-ing with a teddy bear on her head.    Then she'd pass out asleep around the time that I go to bed.   A nice evening that didn't make for.

So at 16 months the daytime nap stopped.   It didn't bother her in the least during the day, she just kept soldiering on and I started to suspect she might actually be a robot.  

Once the daytime nap stopped I saved a fortune on diesel which was nice.   Also no daytime nap meant an earlier bedtime of 6pm for Lydia which gave me time with Adam in the evening before his bedtime (7:30pm) and with Andrew when he got home from work.    Incidentally he doesn't return from work until after Lydia's new bedtime, which isn't great, but tough luck.

6pm she falls alseep like a dream and for a while she was sleeping 6pm until nearly 8am and I was over the moon.   Didn't last longer than a few weeks but it was lovely.  

Now most nights are a bit like a twisted version of Cinderella at the ball.   Lydia sleeps great from 6pm until midnight (when I'm just starting to have a deep sleep) and then she wakes up to party, sometimes for up to 3 hours, and then she'll fall back asleep until 6:30am.  

Now she's in a bed she is mobile and can move.   Often she creeps out of her room and appears beside my bed, almost at eye level and says "Hiya Mummy!"  Cute, but spooky too.

Musical beds is still the order of the night in our house.   Often she only wants to sleep in with me once she's wakened during the night, or maybe with her daddy in the big bed.   Most nights one of us adults is to be found with about 12 inches of our legs hanging out the end of her toddler-bed.    But it's sleep so we'll take it.

Not a great sleeper, but lots of fun.   Never any chances to catch up on sleep during the day with two active kids around, and no chances of overnight babysitting.   Would pay good money for that, seriously.

But in reality we'll just wait and hope she grows out of it after the next growth spurt.   Surely it must be coming and surely it can't be long.


Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Warm Son

I have too many thoughts to record.  

Too many worries about how they will be perceived, or misunderstood.

Too many distractions with real life and daily living.

But I think about posting often.   

*

The whole family is excited about an upcoming visit home my brother is making from his army base.   We can't wait to hear his stories, and update him on the slow-changing lives we have.   

A friend told me that the first home visit her son made from the army was like welcoming home a stranger.   She said she met him at the gates and wondered who the tall, strong man was.   He'd matured so much from his experiences, albeit brief, and she had to 're-learn' him all over again.   She said that happened each time she saw him, especially as the visits home became less frequent.

I'm scared of that.   I do love my brother, but I moved out of home when he was barely a teenager, so in my head he's still 12 years old and kicking a football in the front garden.    Him working, having a girlfriend and driving always made me tic a bit, and I had to remind myself that he was an adult just like me.

But now he's gone so far away and his experiences are so vastly different from mine I'm scared that he'll be unrecognisable when we meet again.   I think I'm being paranoid, as any texts or letters we've had have been good.

I'm not sure what I'm worried about really: him or myself.   Partly I feel like I need him to stay as I remember him so it doesn't challenge my own view of myself.    I'm the oldest, I'm the bossy one, I'm the smart one.    

Anyway, it doesn't make much odds.    The home visit will be nice, the kids will be delighted and it will be a short, sharp glimpse back into what used to be his reality.   

Watch this video.   Watch this video.  LISTEN TO THIS SONG.   I have always loved the band Bush.   Gavin Rossdale is a particularly lovely piece of eye-candy, and I've thought so for half my life.   Admittedly the video is a bit meh, doesn't really match the song or maybe I just don't understand the art.   Who knows?   Either way, it is a classic song.   

Thursday, February 20, 2014

I Hold Photographic Memories

I've had plenty of people leave me in my lifetime.   On the other hand, I've also turned on my heel and left many others behind too.   

That's the way life goes, eh?   No one really stays still for long.   We're all seemingly here for a good time, not a long time.   So I've learnt to not get too comfortable with the presence of anyone, because I never know when that security will be insecure.

People are fluid in their thinking and the world is so wide.   Northern Ireland is so small, and our parochial 'us' and 'them' outlook isn't much of a worldview at all.    I understand why people would want to leave.  Sometimes anyway.   Love, work, the promise of grass being greener - all good reasons to seek new adventures.

But please don't ask me to leave here.   Too many roots and not strong enough wings.   Happily I can burn bridges with those with displease me, I can live with less friends quite happily.   I've never needed a 200 strong posse of people I barely know.   I've never been sucked in by that part of the social media bug.

I'm happy to have allies in other countries.   Good to visit, good to follow maps, good to learn about.   But sometimes people go where I can't visit and where information cannot be followed.   Going away to the army, going away to a life of mannish secrets that sound too loud for me.   

I've never been close to my extended family.   I don't believe blood is thick.   But sometimes it is... and I could make a joke here about the thick blood of my siblings, but I won't.... Ha!   Anyway, we're going to be down in number come next week and I'm sad.   I will miss my brother, and I'm stung when visiting the family we do have and I see them cry for him while he's still stood in front of him.  

He might not return.   Or if he does he might be held up as a war hero.   Who knows, I don't know, and neither does he.    Suffice to say that worst thing about being left behind will come into play - he will be different and so will life lived here.   We'll all be different and the kids will be totally leaping up their milestones and won't remember someone they once loved so much.    Each time will be a re-introduction and I hate that.   

I could cry about it now.   But then I feel selfish, so don't bother.   Also, if I think about the army too much I could cry about lots more than the fact my brother has gone off to join.   Abuses, guns, terror.   

I haven't asked him how he feels about leaving us all behind.   He's following his dream and for that I'm proud.   I don't think he feels selfish and I don't blame him for that.

But then who is selfish: the one leaving (possibly never to return), or the one left behind crying about being left?   I don't know, although I've been both in my time.   

Sometimes a person 'leaving' another by cutting contact can be much more of an abandonment despite geographical location being close.    Sometimes a friendly face waiting at the airport in a faraway foreign place can feel so comforting and a small glimpse of home.  

We'll offer him home when he returns and hope beyond hope that he does return each time.


Monday, January 13, 2014

Like a ray of light

So, it's a new year.

2013 went quite well, all things considered.   Once I squint my eyes and ignore the haze of my low mood, I can see that actually God moved a lot and I grew a lot.


  • Andrew's application to Ministry is coming along nicely.   
  • I'm developing some friendships with like-minded lovely people.
  • Adam is doing well at nursery and will be starting Primary School in 2014.   
  • Lydia isn't a baby anymore, but a funny feisty little girl.
  • I can see more opportunities coming my way with regards to potential work, and with things I do on a voluntary basis.

Overall I'm positive about the start of this new year.   The end of 2013 passed in a mix of Doctor's appointments about my mood, and in several visits to and from family and friends to celebrate Christmas/ New Year.

A week before Christmas I had a farcical consultation with my usually-lovely GP about my low mood.   He laughed, joked and dismissed me outright.   My initial feeling of worthlessness morphed into irritation then anger.  So on New Year's Eve I had another  appointment and told him that actually I was serious and wanted things to change.

As per the medical model he threw pills at me.   Two months worth, nonetheless, and off I was sent.   I took one of the pills that night and spent 24 hours vomiting, shaking, sweating, in tears.   A reaction to the meds that I probably didn't need.

Irony is: my low mood was caused by a bit of a fear I developed after having 8 months of hyperemesis, and from feeling trapped being in the house so much being a housewife.   And the 'cure' was a pill that made me vomit, and had me bedridden for a day.  Ha, ha, ha.

So the pills are now in the bin, and I've spoken to the GP on the phone and told him off for putting a scud on me.   I'm due to see him tomorrow, will have the kids with me, as Andrew is working, so I'm curious to see what he says.

What I'm going to say is to advise him to save the NHS some £ and keep the pills in the pharmacy.  I don't want them, I just want an out.   

But I think God's given me an out....

Andrew's course means we're going to be tight for household income, so the solution seems to be me working part-time and balancing it with Andrew's uni hours.   He gets more time with the kids, and I get to engage my brain outside the house.   

My pride about being a stay-at-home mum has taken a bit of a bash, but I'm coming round to the idea of sharing the load with Andrew and not claiming that I am the one who should/could do it all regarding house tasks and childcare.   (It's one in the eye for the patriarchy and a small "hurrah!" for equality.)

So we're moving on, into a new year, into a bit of a new era.

Bring it on!

Thursday, December 26, 2013

Shut your eyes

So following on from my last blog post I'd been doing lots of thinking.   Maybe too much thinking.

I had a GP appointment booked for a health issue related to my post-natal physical state.   In the waiting room I looked around, saw only 3 other patient.   Was called for my appointment on time... Good signs that the GP wasn't overly hassled and wasn't running behind schedule.    With that I decided to mention how I'd been feeling and see if he clicked on to offer me help.

I took a deep breath, and opened his door.

Appointment was progressing nicely and I told him that I am finding life hard to deal with at times, and in all honesty I'd be suicidal if I had a 3rd pregnancy.   I also said that Lydia is now 16 months old and I've had shockingly low mood since her birth.    I didn't go any further, and he didn't really pick up on it, so I shut up.  

Once the appointment was wrapping up - is always the doctors choice to wrap it up - he stood, moved toward the door and smiled.   Told me to have a good Christmas and that if I ended up in the local mental health hospital then he would certainly come visit me...

My heart sank, then hardened.   Who the feck did he think he was?

I looked at him, told him I'd been an outpatient for 2 years as a teen in that mental hospital and I had no intention of ending up back there.

Then I left.   What other choice did I have?    He had the door open and I knew my 10 minutes was dust.

I walked back to the car, doubting in my head whether or not I'd spoken out loud.  Maybe he just hadn't heard me.... but he had heard me.   Maybe he just didn't care.... maybe I'm just not worth caring about.    Yeah, that'll be it, best just go hide somewhere.

Once in the car I rang home and cried to Andrew.   The person at the rough end of my post-natal issues.   

I just felt what is the point.  What would change?   How could I get things to change?

For a few days I felt like the GP's levity was reinforcing my worthlessness, that I was past the point of being important.

As long as the kids are fed, clothed, thriving then maybe I've just ceased to exist as a separate human?   That's the impression I've been getting.

After those few days passed I started to get angry.   Not just the same old post-natal anger I'd been feeling, but angry at him.   Is it any wonder people slip through the nets?   

So I've booked another appointment with him for next week.    He's going to hear all about it then.    All of what's been happening for the past 16 months, just what I think of his previous ignorance.   I am so curious to see what the next step is.

I hope the only way is up, because I'm scared of getting lower.

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

....can't see the wood for the trees... My experiences with postnatal depression? Or postnatal something bad.

Anyone who knows me will know I complain a lot, speak my mind too much, push people away and my tongue can start many fires.

"A quarrelsome wife is like the dripping of a leaking roof in a rainstorm."  Proverbs 27:15

"...and the tongue is a fire, a world of unrighteousness... For every kind of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature, can be tamed and has been tamed by mankind, but no human being can tame the tongue.   It is a restless evil, so full of deadly poison.   With it we bless our Lord, and with it we curse people who are made in the image of God..."  James 3:6-9

I have caused those rainstorms and barely stemmed the damage as it flowed.   I have spoken hatred and wished my life away.   

After Adam was born my head did a total about-turn.   During pregnancy I'd imagined popping out this baby, leaving him in the care of whomever was available to do it, and heading straight back to my social work degree and dreams of a career.    When he was in my arms it was a different story.    I went into labour with the idea that the birth would be natural (which it was), that I'd gain a messy vagina for a while (which I did, most certainly), and that he'd be fed by me and be by my side for a time as yet undefined (I breastfed for 11 months and in the almost-4-years of his life I'm still at home).


Adam, 4 months old
I started to have a few visual hallucinations when Adam was around the age he is in the above picture.   Not straight away, and likely caused in part by the hectic and soul destroying 4 month sleep regression.   This regression is very common - basically it's around that age that the baby is going through so much of a growth spurt that their sleep just is a mess.   Adam fed and fed and cried and cried.   I was tired.   

During the days, but not everyday, I'd see insects on the walls.   Just out of the corners of my eyes.   Like shadows or stars you can't see when you try to focus on them.  I ignored it as best I could.   Then I started to struggle with opaque food - I'd imagine insects hidden but alive inside the food.   I became adverse to some innocuous foodstuffs I normally loved.    But still I assumed it was because I was tired.

Andrew did his GP routine and asked me some questions about these hallucinations - could I hear anything strange, how did I feel?  Etc etc.   His conclusion was that it was so mild it didn't interfere with my daily functioning so it was 'ok'.   I was never asked by anyone about it and I'd never even known it was a possibility until it happened to me.

It passed after a number of months itself, although I have flickers of it still at times of intense tiredness or upset.


Adam, around 18 months.  I realised around this stage that I wanted him to have a sibling.  I was pregnant by the time he was 22 months.
Lydia's pregnancy was difficult, actually traumatic to me.   Telling people that your pregnancy was traumatic will not do much for your social life, so I tend to not bother.   However, I will once again state: hyperemesis is a nightmare lasting 9 months (in some cases).   The long-term consequence of hyperemesis is that my inner ear is banjaxed and I get dizzy and loose equilibrium quickly.    During the last fortnight of my pregnancy I was in some sort of depression - weepy, just wanted to get a cleaver and give myself a c-section.  I just wanted it over.   Lydia was lying in a terrible position and hurting me.   I felt like a snake after it has eaten a goat.   

I cried easily from the physical discomfort and the fear.   I had a big sense of fear.    Andrew was working 60 hour weeks in work, and I had a 2.5 year old and very little outside support.  Maybe a couple of hours help a fortnight from my parents when they weren't busy at work.   

When Lydia was born it was a blessed relief.   Yes, her position had been terrible, and yes she was on the larger side of comfort for a size 12 woman, but she was here and I'd done it.   I loved her, wanted to pour myself out for her.

Over the months of her first year I fought with her to fit the sleeping, eating and being patterns that I remembered from when Adam was a baby.   But she's got a Hamilton family female spirit and just didn't want to do it.   She didn't want to sleep, and she did want to feed from me all the time.   

I started to descend into a quiet frenzy of despair.   I wanted to hurt her.  I wanted her to stop crying.   I wanted to jump off this merry-go-round and in front of a train.   I wanted to get in my car and never come back.   

At her 3 month check the health visitor came to our house as is normal procedure in this country for all mothers.   I admit I've never put my faith in health visitors, and have heard many poor reports about them.    They are overworked, spread too thin, and really just a signposting role to actual professionals.  Yes, they are nurses, but injections seem about the height of it.   

After the usual natter and weighing of the baby she gave me the standard 10 question questionnaire to fill in.  It's called the Edinburgh Scale and is basically a piece of nonsense that a health visitor uses to assess how stoved in the brain of the mother is.   Questions like: I think about hurting myself: never, rarely, sometimes, often etc.   At each question the mother is told to pick one answer.

From being a messed up teenager I have learnt a trick or two to fool people into thinking my brain is a land of sunshine and flowers.   I knew the smart thing was to blag and tick 'never' for all the bad answers.  

But on this day I ticked that I 'sometimes' thought about hurting myself.   I actually wanted to tick 'every hour of every endless day' but strangely enough there wasn't that option on the sheet.

She picked up on it as soon as she read it, and as I predicted her face fell because she didn't want to know.   Another thing I learnt growing up as a troubled teen is that it's quite rare to actually find anyone who wants to know about the pain or the plans.  Professionals and lay people alike just want an 'I'm super, thanks for asking.'   

She asked me how I was feeling, and why I felt like this.  I bottled it, and churned out something about how my husband was working long hours and I was struggling to settle both kids for bed alone.   I assured her that it would be okay once he wasn't working late hours.   I also blurted out that I'd self-harmed a lot as a teenager and that I'd been under the care of CAMH's for 2 years aged 16-18 as an outpatient.   She sort of tilted her head to the side and went all psychoanalytical on me and asked what it was in my history that had made me self-harm.   At that moment I just wanted her out of my house.   I didn't trust her enough to tell her another word, so I bluffed and said it was all water under the bridge and how I hadn't self-harmed since 2009 (which was true).  

She assured me that she'd ring me later in the month before she went off for her Christmas holidays to check I was okay.  A week later I was walking around the supermarket getting last-minute groceries before the Christmas period and my phone went.  It was the health visitor.   Hardly the prime place to talk about my weak grip on sanity, I bluffed again, told her I was much improved.   That was December 2012 and I haven't seen nor heard from her since.

It sort of proved my theory that no one gives a stuff.   So why should I?


Lydia, 5 months old
Despite wanting to disappear several times a day I was (and still am) a great mother.   I feed them well, clothe them well, care for their every need.   I keep all my darkness for myself and am guilty of lashing Andrew with it far too often.

I have wanted to pour myself out for and into my children.   To do everything for and with them even though it hurts me to do it.   Sometimes I see Andrew as an outsider, someone for whom freedom isn't so far away.   He comes home and messes with my routines and my territory and I get angry.   I have shouted, I have screamed.    I feel so bad about it, and he's stood there bewildered.    

On happy days I am happy.   A picture of attachment parenting at its finest.   I carry my daughter, hold the hand of my son.   I take them on trips and cook them healthy food.  95% of the time I love being a stay-at-home-mum and think it's the best thing for pre-school aged children (not going to apologise for that opinion).   

Mostly people see that part of me and just go along with that.   I mean the pictures show an ordered life, so surely there's an ordered mind it the middle of it all?  Right?   


Me, Lydia (13 months), Adam (3.5 years)
I praise God that Lydia has now decided sleep is a good thing, and generally she sleeps 12 hours a night.   I don't think my disordered thinking and sheer low-mood in the postnatal period of her life was caused by pure lack of sleep.   I think it was a mix of horrible pregnancy, and hormones that just left me wiped out.   

I'm loathe to use the term 'postnatal depression' as I do think it's a bit of a catch-all, but I'll have a look at the symptoms anyway.   And I've emphasised the ones I felt/feel in italics.

Sadness • Tearfulness • DespondencyInability to enjoy or look forward to anythingExhaustionSleep disturbance • Appetite disturbance • Feelings of isolation and detachmentAnxiety • Panic attacks • Racing mind • Feelings of worthlessnessFeelings of failureUtter despairTension • Irritability • Inability to make decisions • Feelings of guilt • Foggy brain • Irrational fears  • Obsessive thoughts • Loss of self-confidence  • Loss of libido • Paranoia • Mood swings • Feelings of changed personality • Self-harm • Suicidal thoughts 
(source: Mumsnet
   
But my social work background and textbook loving brain says that a lot of these terms can be caused by many things: domestic violence, bereavement, illness to name a few.   Was I really suffering these things as postnatal depression, or was it just my mental weakness?

I'm not sure, but my experience of them was real but not shared far beyond my nearest and dearest.   I didn't seek help, and Andrew didn't think it was bad enough to need outside help.   I was functioning, keeping the cogs of the household turning, so that was good enough.    I made a tentative mention of my feelings to my GP when I had an appointment for a health issue and he chuckled and asked if I wanted some whiskey to help me and the kids sleep.   Not helpful, so I just kept quiet again.

I didn't ask for help from friends to help with house tasks or to mind the kids.   I didn't want my perfect-stay-at-home-mum mask to fall, and deep down I feared they wouldn't want to help anyway.  (I've always been afraid of rejection, so find it easier to just stay the other side of a wall I carry around with me.)

My advice to anyone who thinks they have a friend, a daughter, a sister with postnatal something is this: don't give a vague offer to help, be specific.   Don't say, "Oh sure you look like crap, give me a shout if you want me to mind the kids for an hour sometime while you sleep/shower/buy makeup."   Instead you should put yourself out there, put your money where you mouth is and say something like, "You're doing a great job with the kids, but I'm sure it's hard too.   I'm free on Friday so I'll come round to give you a breather at 2pm."

I've never had anyone say that to me, and I would have fallen to their feet in delight had anyone shown me that love.   I've heard about some churches and community groups which pool together to cook meals for new parents and who make a practical demonstration of service by helping.   I think that is superb and I have vowed with my husband to actually practically and honestly make sure we help people in ways we weren't helped.   

I'm not bitter about it (lie), but I just am admitting that I was barely keeping my head above water.   Sometimes daily I felt like closing myself off and going under the waves.    I felt I was failing my duties as a mum and wife, so I should just move out.    Several times I considered ringing friends to beg them to visit to let me go outside alone.   Instead I sent a few texts including my feelings of despair and heard empty, "let me know if you ever need anything" replies.  

I did need something, but I learnt it wasn't the echoing of other struggling people, people who were clueless about motherhood, busy with families and work.  

I admit that during my worst period, just before Lydia's 1st birthday, I placed myself far from God.   I just couldn't focus on the Bible, I just couldn't calm myself enough to pray, I just didn't want to.

But he used that pain to teach me.   I have learnt so much over the past few years.   And I can use that knowledge of fire and danger to reach out to others.   I think I can recognise the hollow eyes and the "Oh I'm okay" lies in other people.

Andrew submitted his application to Union 3 weeks after Lydia's birthday, which means that during the worst time he was writing the application and going deep in his faith to establish what God's calling was.   

We're progressing through the stages of application now, next step is a placement, and we're learning together and refocusing our minds as a genuine Christian couple.   We don't want to be shiny happy people on Sunday mornings.    We want to be realistic.   People struggle, people sin, and we are people just like that.    But we have hope of eternal life.   

At my worst times I felt so dark and so stuck in each minute of the clock ticking.   Days dragged on for me.   But the weeks and months flew past.   I am actually shocked that Lydia is now 15 months old and at the stage where I'm getting her to try sitting on the potty while she just wants to walk around the room exploring.   Time waits for no one.   

Andrew's application to Union is about that knowledge.   He wants to learn how to preach better to tell more people that there's a time coming when they will die and then what will come next?   Where is their hope, their salvation, their resting place?

We have that everlasting hope, faith that his power can work through our human folly.   We're happy to see what God has in store for us next.   It won't always be easy, and my postnatal experiences are complex and not all positive, but we were guided through it all, and our faith is stronger than ever.   God's might being shown through our struggles then, and that'll happen again with other circumstances.

The current Bible passage our church youth groups are using is apt, and has stuck with me.   

"Have I not commanded you?   Be strong and be courageous.  Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord is with you wherever you go."  Joshua 1:9

That's become a bit of a motto in our house, as has my current go-to verse,

"For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Luke 12:34  
Our treasure is waiting in heaven, so our hearts are turned towards that time and place.   We're trying to cast off earthly desires for more money, more stuff, more flashy lifestyles.   Keeping it simple, keeping it pure, keeping our minds on what we can keep forever.

Monday, November 25, 2013

International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women


Today is the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women.

There's not much for me to say (as I have both kids climbing over the top of me), apart from to say women are still dying.

Not just names.   Sister, friend, daughter, mother.   Actual human beings.

Stop Ignoring Dead Women

Click the above link and learn more.   Don't be a NIMBY wimp.