I felt a lot of fear, as though I was stepping out on my own, rejecting the people I loved, rejecting the world…but also fear that they would in turn reject me. Think I was crazy. Think I thought they were crazy.

I also felt a deep passion, a desire to share what was changing my life for the better, a desire to hang onto what I’ve found and a fear of losing it.

I felt this conflict within myself when I moved toward holistic health: It seemed as though I had found something that made so much sense to me…but very few were interested.

How do I share what I love?

The same happened when we decided to withdraw Zeb from school: So much of our family was supportive, and many weren’t.

How do I find my footing without support?

And absolutely, positively I felt that challenge when we began to parent organically, trusting myself as a mother, trusting my son as a whole and autonomous human being, moving away from the fear or control that had ruled our relationship before.

How do I learn to give them the same that I wanted to give my son – unconditional love?

I’ve experienced it in big ways, like deep discussions and even arguments with people I loved, from friends to family to in-laws. And I’ve experienced it in smaller moments, like encountering strangers in the grocery store who shamed their child for a mistake made.

How do I honor others while standing up for my Truth?

I’ve felt the fear, the knots in my stomach, the pain of rejection of something that is such a part of Who I Am that it felt like rejection of me. And I’ve felt the hurt when the rejection of what I love turned into rejection of me.

I’ve been in both arenas, of feeling as though I had to scream my Truth from the mountaintops and then hide it in a bubble, avoiding anything that might pop it (I’m still in that one sometimes).

But neither of those is my goal.

My goal is to be grounded in what I know is real in my life, all that that is and means.

And I’m not going to pretend it’s always easy.

Or always cut and dry.

But it IS possible to remain grounded in our Truth, despite the confrontation or fear or anger it may trigger in others. Despite the confrontation or fear or anger it may trigger in us.

It’s most definitely possible to remain centered around what we know and love when others question or criticize…or worse.

Would you like to join the conversation?

Being Organic Around Conventional Wisdom is the topic of our next
Organic Tribe call.

The call is this Thursday evening, and we’re going to discuss this very tender, very sticky situation in depth together.

This is your opportunity to ask the questions you have and get the answers and support you need.

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Are you ready for this? I sure hope so. I hope to hear your voice on our next call.

There were quite a few gaps in our relationship, some as wide as three years of silence. Others were smaller, missing pieces that you only come to miss when someone’s gone. It is the history, the connection to his past that I crave.

Based on what he spoke about I know exactly four things about his childhood:

1. That any good dentist could tell where he was raised, because the water there was known for the stains on his teeth.
2. That he moved away from his hometown and to Las Vegas when he was about 12 or 13.
3. That he developed diabetes when he was 13 years old.
4. That he and his friends used to cruise Fremont St before it became the “Experience”.

After he passed away, I found that he was born in Odessa, a bit of history he never really spoke about (he always just bragged about being Texan). I also found I had an uncle I never knew about (I searched all the Harold’s I could find and ended up meeting him and my beautiful cousin a day before the funeral; they never stayed in touch though). I also found a letter from his biological father just after he was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes and a photo of him that I still own that looks eerily like my dad.

How strange is it to know so little of my dad before he was My Dad? My mom used to tell me stories about her and her siblings. I would visit her childhood home every summer until my grandparents finally moved. And I’ve watched home videos of her growing up. There is a history there, an ancestry I understand. I know my mother’s mother and grandmother and great-grandmother and their stories. But for my dad it’s almost as if he sprang into existence sometime in his 20′s.

So I went to Odessa, in hopes of drawing some map in my mind of who my father The Baby or The Toddler might have been. I guess in the back of my mind I was hoping to stumble across someone who had known my grandparents before they were grandparents, when they were still young and wide-eyed and bringing home a newborn baby boy. I was hoping to sit beside some old lady and hear stories of how my dad, The Baby, would cry or laugh or play with a toy truck while the adults ate together and drank ice tea in the heat.

Instead we found a directory that told me my grandfather was a truck driver, an address of where they lived when my dad would have been two, and a birth announcement with the address of his first home.

That home was gone, replaced with a concrete slab. The neighbors said it was a boarding house torn down in the 70′s, giving me more questions than answers.

The second home was there, though, and I tried to imagine my dad, The Toddler, playing in the yard. I tried to hear some child laughing or see some ghost of history there, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t picture what he looked like before the age of 29 or a grandmother who wasn’t in her 70′s.

Did I mention my grandmother died in June? No one called me to tell me. My other grandma found the obituary and my mom broke the news to me. And all I could do was sigh with the sadness of it all as that ancestral gap widen in my heart.

I didn’t know until now that I didn’t know the man I called Dad. I loved him and he loved me. But there was always something missing. Connection. History. Maybe he couldn’t give what he didn’t have.

But I can. I can love my dad for who he was, even if I’m not sure who that is. I can love the family I didn’t understand. And I can take what he didn’t give me as a gift, one of understanding just how important it is for your child to walk through the streets of your hometown and know where you once stood.

They all did the best they could with what they had. I have the chance to do better.

We’ve been here in Nashville, staying with my aunt and visiting with my great-grandma, for a few weeks now. Shortly after we arrived my aunt had the idea of guilting sweet-talking my mom and step-dad into a visit. Mentioning their grandson always works well. They came for the 4th of July weekend and we spent the time chatting, eating, playing, swimming and tourist-ing.

It was good to see them again, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be for Zeb. He came to eat with everyone Saturday night but sat with his head down for only a few minutes before retreating again. When I went to find him he was curled up on the couch.

I’ve found my role in these moments tends to follow the same pattern: 1) Help him articulate the feelings he’s experiencing and 2) Listen and validate his experience. This time it looked a little something like this:

Me: Hey, what’s wrong?
Zeb: [No answer; he just looks at me. This is my cue to find the words for him.]
Me: Are you angry over something?
Zeb: [Shakes no.]
Me: Are you disappointed?
Zeb: [Pause]
Me: Maybe that no one was ready for the fireworks before dinner?
Zeb: [Shakes no.]
Me: Are you sad?
Zeb: [Nods head]
Me: Are you sad that Grandpa has to go home tomorrow? (He had to leave before Grandma because of work.)

As soon as I articulate the right words the flood gates burst open. It broke my heart to see him sobbing with homesickness. He told me how much he misses our family and friends, how he hated the RV right then and how he wishes we could be in Vegas.

I held back my thoughts and the urge to say “You were just telling us how much you loved being on the road!” Instead I listened and validated the place he was in. I rubbed his back and reassured him it was okay to feel this way. I agreed how hard it was and how much it sucked to be away from the people we love.

Justin came in and sat down beside us on the floor and fought his own battle not to justify or rationalize. Zeb just needed to be heard in that moment, so we did our best to listen.

As is our pattern though, once he felt heard Zeb slowly drifted toward discussion. He told us how torn he felt, wanting us to have our old life and our new one; wanting to stay on the road but not miss everyone; wanting our old home without losing his Dad to a full-time job again.

Sometimes it amazes me how much validation helps him. In the past we would try to talk him out of his feelings or even distract him from them. (at our worst times, we would even tell him he was wrong for feeling that way.) It was little wonder he responded by keeping his emotions to himself. Now he trusts he can express himself without fear of our reaction; our family powwows are his safe place to let go.

With our validation he goes through a rhythm of expression slowly working his own way toward a place of peace. And then he said he wanted to enjoy the rest of his time with his Grandpa, instead of feeling sad while he was still here.

And we did. We set off fireworks, wrote our names on the ground with sparklers and enjoyed our family. And early the next morning before the rest of us were awake he and Grandpa set off on their second walk of the weekend to Waffle House for an early morning breakfast by themselves.

We didn’t and still don’t have any answers for his feeling homesick. Being together as we are and traveling full-time is an amazing opportunity with gigantic sacrifices. How do we weigh such big decisions and know with certainty we’re on the right path for all of us? One day at a time, I suppose.

Another big round of goodbyes yesterday. My mom threw us a Bon Voyage party and it was wonderful to spend the day with family and friends (especially when the Life Learners hang out late, as we always do).

There were so many hiccups in the plans, it began to feel as if it simply weren’t going to happen. But I managed to only need one deep breath before I could let go of the expectations of perfection. Family in the hospital, sick babies and plenty of rain. But it was all so great to eat (the coolest cake ever!) and chat and take photos with the people we love.

Photo Credit: Sara Janssen

My parents gifted Justin with a GPS! He is super excited and has loved directing me to every location we already know. It’s going to be very helpful in finding nearby Chinese restaurants when we need a fill-up!

They also gave us a travel journal. Everyone signed their well wishes and we intend to take it with us to collect the words of everyone we meet.

We still have odds and ends to finish up in the next few days and a giant Life Learners sleepover to plan for Tuesday. This certainly wasn’t the last of our goodbyes since we’re definitely not leaving on Monday. It looks like Wednesday or Thursday now.

Our first stop will be Tracey’s home in Phoenix to visit and play. Then Albuquerque…a very cool unschooling family is allowing us to intern on their organic farm! Fun!!

One of my closest friends is also the mom of one of Zeb’s closest friends and when we went to pick Zeb up from their sleepover, we did our best to say goodbye to Elizabeth before she heads out of town tomorrow. She was one of the first real-life unschooling moms I met and her gentle, affirming interactions with her son helped propel my embrace of unschooling. She is an amazing, open and authentic person and her approach to life is so mindful and inspiring. She is always the person I call when I need someone to truly hear me but she has an amazing way of helping me see things clearer, as well. Never judgmental, always thoughtful and always in my heart. I love you, Elizabeth.

Then we got news that Zeb’s very best friend won’t be able to see Zeb before we go. It broke my heart to tell Zeb and it crushed him when I couldn’t offer an explanation. His friend will be sorely missed.

Then it was time to send off my grandparents. They have a one-way ticket and their sister’s estate to care for and as much as we all wish Death could work around our schedules, it’s never quite that convenient. While we are hoping to remain in Vegas until they return, we didn’t want to risk missing them and so we helped send them off tonight. It was very difficult to feel rushed; my grandma and I held each other for as long as we could hold back tears. I can’t describe how difficult it is to feel as if I’m losing any time with them at all and yet not have the time I’d like to really say goodbye see you soon.

The goodbyes are the worst part and this is only the beginning. Justin has a breakfast date with his dad tomorrow, we still have a going away party on Saturday and we’re planning a Life Learner sleepover on Sunday. I’m sure every one of those events will be difficult in its own way.

I’m so ready to leave Las Vegas, I just don’t know how to leave the people I love.

It wasn’t all sad news today, however. Justin received the veggie oil tank a day early and they will begin the final steps of the install tomorrow (if only he had time to keep up with his blog!). I got a wonderful, albeit also bittersweet, email from a friend and former client whom I hope to see this weekend (why we were never closer or found more time to hang out, I’m not sure). And now Zeb and I have our vintage suitcase packed with a few days worth of belongings and are spending the time at my mom’s.

And the days keep counting down…

When your needs are met it is easier to meet your child’s needs, too. What needs – yours and your child’s – aren’t currently being met as well as you would like?

It then went on to suggest making a list of our needs and simple, inexpensive ways to meet those needs right now.

There are a lot of things we need right now that we aren’t getting: down time/processing time, time spent together, healthier food, an unchanging plan, a bit more “simplicity”. We’re rushing around trying to get everything down by a date we chose and driving ourselves mad in the meantime.

Yesterday was my breaking point and several things have happened since to confirm what I didn’t want to hear.

First, we have a ton to do in the house and the RV and unless I suddenly get an unsuspected surge of healing energy, it just ain’t gonna happen in three days. Second, the tank for the veggie conversion will not be here until Friday, which means Benny will be lucky to make his own going away party on Saturday. Third, Zeb had a total meltdown last night over a spilled glass of water and I was so emotionally drained it was a serious struggle to be present and helpful with him and that is NOT how I want to start this adventure.

Next, in my inbox this morning was this horrible, hideous picture of me from Sara (not horrible because she took it; she did the best she could given the circumstances!) and a note:

Here is the photo I took today…you look weary, tired, beat And yet, still beautiful! I wanted to just send it to you for your records. So you can remember. That you got rid of all your possessions…and you survived.

Looking at this and reading what she wrote made me realize I’m practically killing myself to get out of Vegas by Monday. And for what? No matter when we leave, these last few days will fly by. A couple extra days will go by in a blink, too. Why the rush? (I know why: I’m excited to shake the dust of this town off my feet and finally feel as if I’m living Authentically. I want to go!)

Then, I woke up this morning to a message that my grandfather’s sister has passed away (I didn’t know her) and my Grandma and Grandpa are leaving town today and won’t be able to say goodbye if we leave on Monday. And that pretty much confirms it; we aren’t leaving until I get time to properly say goodbye to my grandparents.

I may not be able to meet every need of ours right now, but the simple act of slowing down and letting go of this arbitrary deadline will enable me to meet quite a few.

So, there you have it. I’m (re)learning to let go. I have no idea when we’ll leave and I may not like that fact, but it is what it is. I am NOT in control of everything. And I don’t want to control it at the risk of blocking opportunities trying to come our way. That is not what this journey is about for me. And I can’t remain open to what it is about if I’m stressing over something like this.

Less than 30 miles outside Las Vegas, Benny broke down. A puff of smoke from the dash, a burnt smell and the engine and electrical controls turned off.

At first I really couldn’t be upset. I just kept thinking it could have been so much worse – an accident, the transmission, something requiring a fire extinguisher. We could have been in the middle of the desert without cell service. And that’s what this trip was about anyway; a test run. So instead of stressing out, we played games and kept Justin from getting frustrated as he tinkered. His dad drove out in hopes of helping. But in the end, and with the help of a friend’s phone book back home, we had to call a tow truck.

That’s about the time I started to get discouraged. I feel like this damn city has a stranglehold on me and refuses to let us leave. Following the tow truck back to the mechanic was disheartening enough but as we turned onto our street I felt even more depressed. It had that foreign but familiar feeling already – like you get when you’ve been away for a lot longer than 7 hours. I know it was only suppose to be a two day trip but it felt like the beginning of something brought to a rather abrupt end. And here we are: stuck and begrudged.

I’ve spent the last several hours going through the gamut of emotions – from amused over the story we’ll someday retell to disappointed. I’ve questioned whether this was a sign we are on the wrong path…or just a sign we bought the wrong RV.

And I’ve wondered what we’ll do without the support system we had in place today, without a parent to give us a lift or a friend to make a call. Will we be able to manage when it’s just the three of us in the middle of nowhere?

And for fuck’s sake, will this RV even make it to the middle of nowhere when it can’t even make it to the state line?

Update: We picked the RV up today (the 15th; less than 24 hours after dropping it off.) The mechanic said the electrical wiring under the dash was a mess, with lots of extraneous wiring and poorly connected. Apparently, one of the wires touched something metal which fried the whole thing. The kicker: Had we known or discovered the potential problem, it would have cost us $15 for a DIY repair. I don’t even want to think about what it cost us instead. ::sigh:: Oh, well. Such is life, shit happens and all that jazz. We’re hoping to reschedule our trip within a week and are crossing our fingers all will be well!

I can’t say that I would have been as bold when I was two years old. I’m not even brave enough now to feed those chickens from my hand! Their peck is hard! But Savana wasn’t phased. She fed them, talked to them, I think at one point she tried to kiss them (that could have ended badly).

Then she helped her Uncle Justin check for eggs and was pretty happy to have found one! We packaged it up to protect it from an overzealous grip and sent her home with her very own breakfast, courtesy of Skittles and Roxy.

He’s silly and handsome. He has the best smile in the world. And when I twist up my face while I trim his (massive) beard, he tells me how beautiful I am.

He’s playful and open-hearted and engages with Zeb on Zeb’s level. He makes us laugh until we roll off the bed. And he holds us if we have a scary dream.

He’s usually tired and left with little time or energy to follow his own passions.

But as his current job winds down, and his layoff becomes imminent, and the RV gets a step closer to complete, we’ve seen a fire in him. He’s overwhelmed with the infinite possibilities that lie ahead. He’s anxious to find what it is that is calling him. And every second is filled with one more plan, or idea, or dream.

He’s waking up. He’s consumed. He’s infectious.

And I’m thankful for every minute with this passionate man.

Two and a half weeks of disconnection from the Big Wide World. No TV, no computer, very few video games. It was superb. Heavenly. Beautiful. (Now that my laptop is away and taking longer than anticipated to repair and it’s now a mandatory disconnection, I have a few other choice words to describe my current time offline. But I digress…)

We had such fun: reading Dickens’ A Christmas Carol every night, playing in the additional snow that fell throughout the first week, baking cookies, sledding down giant hills, laughing with friends. Oh, if only I hadn’t uploaded all my photos to the laptop right before I took it in. I have so many things to show you, so many wonderful things we did over the holiday and all that holiday cheer will be redundant to share come mid-January!

There are two things I can share that require no photos and had none to match anyway.  That would be the “reconnect” part of the title. Here’s my story:

Two Brothers for Christmas (or The Best Christmas Gifts Ever)

Did I ever mention that I have two brothers, both named John? (That’s not to mention my dad, my uncle and a cousin who share the name.) What can I say; it was a popular name in the 70′s and I’m sure my parents had a good laugh about their first-born’s names when they met and married and later shared me. (Their favorite. HA)

I’ve been closest with my sister (probably cuz she understands that “favorite” joke) but never very close with my brothers. Not for any particular reasons, other than we have little in common and never see each other. The younger John lives here in Vegas, but we haven’t talked since shortly after our dad’s death in 2007. Probate, decisions, differences of opinion, heartache, a desire to hold on to our father in different ways: it ended badly for us the last we spoke. Well, probate is ending, decisions still needed to be made and I knew our Cold War must also end.

I was skerred. I knew I was the one avoiding communication and was the one responsible for the first move and I was worried how he’d respond. So – being the chicken shit I am – I sent him a text message. It said probate was ending, and we needed to find a way to come to an agreement. His text back was amazing. It said “Ok, let’s work this out. I love you. I’ve really missed you.” I know. My brother loves me? He misses me? I never would have thunk it. I’m still smiling about it. Since that day we’ve met and talked and agreed and are working together. We’re both amiable and forgiving and compromising. It’s so…so…amazing.

Later that day, awhile after the amazing text from the younger John, I saw the oldest John. The oldest John lives in Utah with his wife and three daughters. He came down to Vegas the weekend before Christmas for a pre-holiday celebration and we went to spend the evening with the whole family. But instead I ended up outside with my brother and our mutual sister talking with him. He’s in a tough place right now. And for the first time that I can remember, he opened up to us. He poured his heart out. And he listened. My sister and I shared our hearts with him. We brainstormed solutions. We shared what worked for us. We slapped a little sense into him once and awhile. We laughed. We cried. (Well, they cried cuz they’re sissies and my tear ducts were frozen from standing outside in the cold.) We hugged. I can’t remember the last time I hugged my brother. I can’t remember the last time – if ever – we had connected, emotionally or spiritually. And there we were, doing both.

As I was driving home that night I felt my heart melt as I thought over the day. I felt like I had somehow gained two brothers in one day. I felt the miracle of both situations and the miracle of the Christmas Spirit. How it warmed me. Slowed me down. Taught me to look around and listen and hope and trust. Forced me to disconnect from what was distracting me and reconnect with what I was missing. Asked me how it was I keep forgetting that lesson. Of everything else that happened this holiday season, none of it makes as big an impact as loving two brothers in one day.

In the two and a half weeks offline, I didn’t miss my computer or my blog (okay, my blog a little). I didn’t miss the 200+ emails waiting for me or the 250+ blogs to catch up on in my Reader.

In fact, I didn’t miss a thing. I caught each and every tender moment. Every snuggle under the quilt with carols on the radio. Every smile and laugh shared between us. Every flake of snow or carefully wrapped gift. And all those warm fuzzies that let you know that despite what’s going on in the world, we can still have a happy home. We can choose it.

Happiest New Year everyone.

With all our love,
TheCrazies

P.S. Stay tuned for a really awesome revelation we uncovered over our break and some really cool stuff coming in our future!

P.S.S. Our feed has changed. Visit my blog for the new feed!