The Kind of Mom I Want to Be

This afternoon I went out to the barn to check on our momma goats and their Fab 4 kids.  I needed a dose of cuteness.  The moms, tucked safely into our two kidding pens, were doing exactly what I expected to see them doing:  loving on their kids.  Cricket and Ivy are great experienced mommas, and they know exactly what to do with their babies. (We built the kidding pens a couple years ago to provide mom and babies some time away from the herd to bond and establish nursing while accessing free and plentiful food without competition.  The pens also give us a chance to monitor mom and kid health for a few days.)

While I was out there, I decided to check in on the ladies in the barn and noticed that Astrid, a first time momma expected to kid any day, was in active labor.  We only have two kidding pens, and they were both in use, so after a quick conference with my two Sapplings, we decided that Cricket could easily handle her kids in the barn.  She is, after all, the one all the other momma goats count on to help with childcare when they are grazing.  She'll fiercely defend anyone's kid from a perceived threat, and her girls were already thriving after just one day in the kidding pen.  So we moved Cricket and Opal and Bea to the barn and moved a very panicky Astrid to the empty kidding pen.

Once we got her settled, I went back into the house to give her some time.  When I returned an hour later it was to find Astrid really distressed.  Labor is HARD and PAINFUL, even when you are goat.  Especially when you are a goat, maybe, because you have no idea what's going on and there's nobody to give you ice chips and rub your feet.  Astrid was struggling.  I felt so bad for her, and despite my best efforts to calm her, I knew she just had to go through it.  That's when Ivy poked her head through the little crack that separates the two pens and "talked" to Astrid.  I don't know what she said, but Astrid calmed after that for a bit.

When Kid #1 (Thunder) started crowning, it was clear that he was REALLY big.  Strain as she might, this guy was NOT moving.  Thankfully, he was positioned correctly and I was able to use a little pull and the force of gravity to assist in his birth.  His teeny brother Kid #2 (Storm) appeared shortly after with no issue.  As I vigorously rubbed down the kids to get them clean and dry and breathing, poor Astrid just stood there, forlorn.  Can you imagine?  WHAT THE HECK ARE THESE THINGS THAT JUST CAME OUT OF ME?!?  WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THEM?  I would have been forlorn too.

When you have farm animals, one of the first things you want to do with new babies is get colostrum in them.  This life-giving substance is so important to newborns.  Sometimes with new moms they are so freaked out that getting a kid to nurse is a fight.  Sometimes you have to hold the mom and force her to let the kids eat.  Sometimes the kids are too weak and can't latch on.  Sometimes they are stupid and can't find the teat.  There's a lot to worry about, especially with new moms.

So there I am, sitting on the floor of the kidding pen, babies just getting dry and alert enough to stand, trying to get Astrid to agree to let them nurse.  She's nervous, and does NOT want me to put those things under her.  The babies are dumb and weak, which means that not only are they not finding the teat, but they can't even hold themselves up to look properly.  We've got the makings for a super frustrating moment. 

Then Ivy did that thing again.

She put her nose into the crack separating the pens and she "talked" to Astrid.

I don't know what she said, but here's what I saw: Astrid calmed down.  She started licking her babies.  She let both of them nurse.  She started momming.

I've honestly never seen anything like it. 

I know I'm a weirdo, but at that moment I totally thought of all the moms in my life who have talked me out of being crazy.  The moms who were there for me during the newborn phase.  And the ones who talked me through scary medical stuff.  And the ones who stood with me during life's most stressful moments. Those moms were with me.  Not judging.  Not comparing.  Just present and talking.

I'll admit I've had moments where I was the judgy mom.  I'm not proud of those moments.  I remember thinking that *my* kid would never...whatever the thing is.  Or that my kid was a better...whatever.  In those moments I isolated myself and my kids, and we lost out.  We were the family standing there scared and alone and not knowing how the heck to do the next thing.

I'm glad those moments didn't last long.  I'm glad I had moms who loved me and my kids anyway and were there for us anyway.  And I'm glad they showed me how much nicer it is to be a part of a whole tribe of moms who support and care for each other.

I want to be the kind of mom Cricket is--the mom other moms trust with their precious treasure.

I want to be the kind of mom Ivy is--the mom who quietly and patiently advises and coaches without judging.

And I want to be the kind of mom Astrid is--the one who has no idea what the heck is going on, but has a tribe of strong and powerful women she knows she can trust and rely on.

Cheers to you, awesome moms!  I'm glad you are part of my tribe.

What Does Support Look Like?

I've been thinking a lot about this question over the last two and a half years.  In the victim's statement I gave at the sentencing last March (and shared here) I mentioned to the judge that we were not surprised (and were even glad) that the defendants had a support system, but that they way those people chose to support the young men they loved was way different than the way we chose to support Chelsea.

When we first heard about the crime in September of 2015, we simply circled the wagons and figured out what Chelsea needed.  We didn't have all the details, but as discussed in my statement, she needed lot, so we focused on that.  There were the nightmares and panic attacks to deal with, and the friendship issues to navigate and support through.  Figuring out how to deal with school staff and their varying degrees of information was a challenge. There was the line of boys (including some who had seen the videos and others who had heard about them) who suddenly saw her as some kind of challenge to conquer.  Then there was the very real biological response to stress.  She stopped eating.  She started vomiting.  She lost twenty pounds in a week.  She was so weak she couldn't open a water bottle. She cried in pain.  We took her to the emergency room.  They evaluated her and sent us home with instructions to come back if it got worse.  She got worse so we took her back to the emergency room.  They evaluated her and sent us home with instructions to come back if their was blood in her vomit.  There was blood in her vomit so we took her back to the emergency room.  They said, "Unless she's vomiting a cup or more of blood or is unconscious, don't come back."  Then, a nurse pulled me to the side and said, "Take her to a pediatric ER in Portland.  They might be able to help."  So that's what we did.  They admitted her and we stayed there for a week while she recovered.

So yes, back in 2015, we circled the wagons.  We didn't post about the crime on social media.  We didn't make jokes about it.  We didn't brag about getting away with anything (though we heard the defendants were doing this).  We didn't talk about the defendants--we let them go through their senior year of high school without interference from us.  We just quietly cared for our kid.

At the beginning of 2016 I remember having a conversation with the DA.  They'd investigated and had enough to go forward.  We agreed with that decision.  We didn't see the police reports at that time, and didn't go over the details of them with the DA, so we didn't know yet that the crime hadn't been the "practical joke gone awry" the defendants were telling everyone about.  At that time we still thought that Mr. Jones (still changing the names, as we're not looking to get even here, just looking to educate) was just as unaware of the filming as Chelsea was.

In June of 2016, after the grand jury indicted the defendants and they were arrested, we still weren't clear on what had actually happened.  What we did know was that the local newspaper ran a big article about it and it was on the local news stations, and things got ugly.  The newspaper is how we learned that it had been planned, but we didn't understand the details.  What we did understand is that having your name and picture on the front page of a paper for committing a sex crime must have been really really embarrassing (not as much, maybe, as being filmed without your knowledge or consent and having it shared, but embarrassing nonetheless).  We understood that the parents of the defendants must be heartbroken and sad and scared.  So we did what we thought everyone should do:  we started praying for them.  I posted daily quotes and reminders about kindness on my social media accounts, hoping to remind my friends and family that despite the incredibly ugly situation we found ourselves in, the best option was kindness. We continued to not discuss the crime or the defendants on social media or in public.

We were not prepared for the ugly storm headed our way.

It was just a few hours after the local newspaper ran the story that it hit.  At first, the adults supporting the young men were just angry at the system.  They still believed that this whole thing was just a harmless prank gone wrong, because that's what the young men had told them.  Mr. Jones had recently had his eighteenth birthday, so an assumption was made that the DA and law enforcement had stalled until then so he would be prosecuted as an adult (this is a false assumption for a whole lot of reasons, but mostly because Oregon law requires they be prosecuted as adults starting at age 15 in crimes like this, but I get the anger).  The first bashing was definitely towards the DA and the newspaper, which they believed had published lies.  Those angry outbursts in public and on social media were uncomfy, to be sure, and understandable, even if they were misguided and misinformed.  What happened next was unfathomable.

I can't pretend to understand what shifted in the minds of the defendants' supporters, but there was a clear shift, and it clearly started with adults.  It started, at least from my perspective, with someone on Facebook saying something like, "Stop saying bad things about Matt and Josh.  It was just a prank and just a few seconds and none of you know anything."  I think this was in response to people sharing the newspaper story on their pages.  In the comments of that post, one of the defendants' parents posted that since Chelsea's face wasn't visible, and she seemed fine at school, and she wasn't raped, this wasn't a big deal at all.  I think that comment is what opened the floodgates, because shortly after that, I saw kids posting the same thing.  When that wasn't enough and people said, "But it's still a crime," they (I'm talking about all of the defendants' supporters in general as a group now, and understanding that not every person did each of these things, but that they supported each other as these things were done.) took it a step farther and called Chelsea a slut and other awful names.  They said she had lured the boys in and that it was all her fault.  They said she wasn't the victim.  They said she deserved to be in jail too.  They said we (her parents) should be coming forward to explain ourselves.  A woman who used to babysit my kids and LOVED them even joined in, probably unaware of who she was talking about. Someone revealed Chelsea's identity, ensuring that she would continue to be at the center of everything.  I remember going to the bathroom at least twice during that time and actually vomiting after reading some of the comments.  The behavior was SO counterintuitive and SO different than what I was trying to promote that I couldn't grasp it.  It made me physically ill.  I'm including one example here.  There are more on my March 13, 2017 Facebook post shared above.

During that time I got a couple of messages from friends.  They told me how sorry they were and encouraged me to not go on social media.  Mostly, though, as a family we felt under attack.  People who had approached us in a friendly way in public before made obvious attempts to avoid us now.  We didn't understand why.  Others messaged me and talked about how they hoped Chelsea had learned something from all of this.  I was so confused by what they meant I usually didn't respond.  There were a few people who messaged me and said something like, "Please know that I think what is happening is awful, but I can't say anything because I'm afraid of what they'll do to me."  I understood that.  Looking at what we were facing during that time, I can't imagine anyone else seeing that and wanting it for themselves.  Some of the supporters approached us and Chelsea's closest friends when we were out in public, resulting in really uncomfortable moments where Chelsea actually worried about her safety.  Some people messaged Chelsea, saying things like, "You do know they were joking, right?"  The whole situation was so crazy at times it felt like a bad movie.  We started changing our habits:  picking a new favorite family restaurant, implementing safety procedures, limiting Chelsea's time out alone.

We read the police reports and were shocked and horrified.  The story the young men had told everyone about the reason why they had done this horrible thing, and the extent of its seriousness, was very different than what we'd heard.  They'd planned it.  They had the goal of doing this, and they carried out their plan.  They worked together to get it done.  They conspired against Chelsea.  It wasn't a SnapChat.  It was a lengthy video and some shorter ones.  It was shared more widely than we were first told.  The whole situation was more disgusting than we had imagined.

Then something unexpected but lovely happened.  A very small group of people started publicly correcting and supporting Chelsea.  It started with Meisha, a young woman who had just graduated from high school that summer of 2016.  While in high school she had been the victim of a sex crime and had loudly and proudly taken a stand for herself during her high school graduation speech.  Meisha said, (and I'm paraphrasing here) "The time for boys will be boys is over.  We can't excuse crimes like this."  She was immediately attacked.  People called HER a slut.  They told her she was just looking for attention.  They called her a traitor.  They threatened her.  Because she was so young, I honestly expected her to crumble and hide.  She didn't.  She stood her ground, and continued to be threatened and name-called by her community.  We watched the whole thing play out in front of us.  It seemed ironic:  the attacks against Chelsea started with adults, but the stand for Chelsea began with a person most would consider a kid.  Meisha's stand emboldened others to take a stand, and provided an opportunity for people unaware of the situational specifics (former teachers, adult friends, etc.) to support her and Chelsea.

Meanwhile, two moms privately connected with me and offered support.  They asked what we needed.  It was different than the standard "let me know if I can help" so many of us offer friends during difficult times.  I could tell they meant it.  I told them we couldn't go to the hearings that summer because of how ugly things were, and they offered to go to them for us.  Amanda and Christal took time off work and rearranged their schedules to go to every hearing they could:  quietly observing and collecting information for us.  Because of their presence at those hearings, they were gossiped about.  They were accused of just looking for entertainment and harming the process.  Yet they kept going, quietly attending the hearings and sharing information with us.  Christal began countering some of the social media posts with facts, and asserting that she stood for the victim.  She explained, without naming Chelsea, what Chelsea was going through, and asked people to be kind.  She was attacked.  Her parenting skills were called into question.  She was accused of looking for attention.  She was accused of lying.  These moms'  faithfulness to support Chelsea and our family through that very ugly time was like a beacon of light.

Sometime during that summer I was approached by another mom in the grocery store.  She was someone I would consider an acquaintance.  I honestly remember feeling terrified as she approached me, because I'd had some hostile interactions in public that summer.  As I was bracing myself for what she was about to say, she told me, "I just want you to know that I'm with you."  I was so overwhelmed I cried.

As the summer ended and the defendants were released on bail, things calmed down a little bit.  There was a brief fundraising attempt on a crowdsourcing site for a defense attorney for one of the defendants.  People still seemed to avoid us in general.  The defendants were told to have no contact with Chelsea, but she still saw them everywhere:  at stores, at high school games, while she was showing her animals at the county fair, and around town.  One time we were at Costco and she had to use the restroom.  She called me after she was done, telling me that one of the defendants and a large group of friends were blocking the pathway she needed to take to get back to me.  I had to go get her and walk her by this large group of people and the anxiety and panic were so real.  When we asked for help from people to limit exposure it was like they didn't think it was that big of a deal.  It felt like people were annoyed with her and us for bringing it up.   She chose to miss many of her senior year activities because she was afraid of running into them and not having someone who would protect her from them.

As sentencing approached in March of 2017, Chelsea knew she wanted to attend, and she knew she wanted me to make a statement for her.  I started reaching out to strong women I thought might be willing to support Chelsea at the hearing.  We asked them to wear purple, Chelsea's favorite color, so that she'd be able to spot her supporters in the courtroom.  The response was overwhelming.  This group of people, who we dubbed the Purple Posse, took time off work or out of their schedules to come to the courthouse not once, but twice, after the original sentencing hearing was postponed due to a technology issue.  They filled the courthouse with faces of support and strength and encouragement.  They said nothing--they just sat there and were physically present for Chelsea and our family, and it made all the difference. Their presence gave me strength when I was giving Chelsea's statement and the defendants' supporters were laughing and scoffing.  Their presence gave Chelsea encouragement to know she wasn't alone.  Their presence calmed Mike, who was so upset about what had happened to his little girl. Just being there--physically taking up space in a room, wearing purple, and having calm and supportive faces made a difference.  

Months later I wondered how things might have been different if the defendants' supporters had been more like the Purple Posse.  What if they had said things like:
* We're having a really hard time right now, but we love and support our sons.
*  We understand this is serious, and we love and support our sons.
*  We feel like the newspaper got it wrong.  Having that article published was really hard on our families.
*  We won't talk about the victim.  She deserves privacy and respect.
*  We don't understand why the process took so long, and that's frustrating.
*  We're going to work with these young men to make sure they have good outcomes.

What if, instead of liking or commenting on or ignoring some of the worst social media posts, the friends of the people attacking Chelsea had said things like:
* Wow.  This really stinks, but you probably shouldn't talk about the victim that way.
*  I'm on your side, but let's not make things worse here.
*  I don't really understand what's happening.  Let's focus on the facts.
*  This isn't going to help your son.  Why don't you try...

Maybe I'm being too hopeful and optimistic here, but do you see the difference?  It would have been entirely possible to express support and frustration and confusion and hurt and disappointment without further hurting Chelsea.  As a teacher, I spend a lot of time on the power bystanders have in bullying situations.  I teach students that when they stand by and let someone get hurt, they are part of the problem.  I think most adults can imagine a bullying situation with kids at school and understand this idea.  I think most parents would want their kids to stand up in situations like this to support another kid who was struggling.  If that's true, I just have such a hard time understanding how adults would allow their friends--other adults--speak so unkindly and so viciously about a child.  It baffles me.  Were they afraid of losing these people as friends?  Were they afraid of losing business connections?  I really believe that if someone close to those who were being the most awful had privately expressed concern about the direction things were taking, Chelsea's experience would have been so much different.  It just makes me so sad.

In the summer of 2017 I was approached by someone who I know is friends with the defendants' families.  The conversation was almost surreal.  There was some expressed disappointment over kids in general making bad choices, and no real understanding of what had actually happened.  When I tried to explain, I was cut off, "Well, I don't know anything about that.  It was all just too much."  It was almost like the person was intentionally trying to NOT KNOW how bad things really were, because not knowing is easier than knowing and having to make a decision.

Here's the thing:  we can't go back in time.  What's done is done, and somehow, miraculously, Chelsea got through this storm and came out a stronger, braver, and kinder person.  But as much as I want for Chelsea to be the very last girl something like this happens to, I don't think she will be.  We have a long way to go in shifting our culture to value and respect every human being, including girls.  I'm just not convinced it can happen.  I think what CAN happen, however, and what SHOULD happen, is good people standing up for what's right:  refusing to allow victims to be blamed and shamed. That's why I won't shut up about Chelsea's story, and why I hope you won't either.  No young woman should ever have to go through something like this.  If enough of us agree to stand against victim shaming, we can shut it down.  We really can.  I hope you'll join me on this mission.

An Open Letter to Gregory Salcido

Dear Mr. Salcido,

You've made quite a name for yourself this weekend.  I first heard about your rants when my husband, an Air National Guardsman, sent me a link to a news article.  The headline was so astonishing, I really thought it was going to be click bait.  It wasn't.  As a fellow educator, I'm so disappointed and frustrated and disgusted by your behavior that I have to address it.

Let's begin with where your rant began.  A student, a minor child you are responsible for educating, walked into your classroom wearing a shirt that said "Marines" and you decided it was time to go on a tirade.  Is this for real?  You used instructional time not to instruct, but to single out a student who was wearing a clothing item you didn't like.  I'm so appalled by this.  At my school if a student's clothing does not comply with the dress code, we approach them privately and quietly, treating them with respect, and asking them to change.  We don't stop teaching to address student clothing.  Teachers are responsible for creating a culture of respect and rapport.  Even if you had ONLY publicly called the student out on his clothing, regardless of the reason, I would be disappointed.

Next, you openly disparaged other cultures, referring to people who wear "robes" and "throw rice" in an effort to establish that those cultures are not people to be respected and valued.  Do you not have a variety of cultures and backgrounds in your classroom, Mr. Salcido?  How on earth can you call yourself an educator when you are blatantly racist towards your students?  I'm completely baffled.

In your rant, you called members of the military dumb shits.  You said the ONLY reason they went into the military was because they couldn't do anything else.  You called them the lowest of the low.  Mr. Salcido, do you even know any military members?  Your ignorance is astounding.  Our military universities are some of the most elite schools in the United States.  Only the best of the best are admitted.  The training and education provided to our military is rigorous and intense.  Our military members are some of the finest citizens our country has.

You also told your students (again, we are talking about minor children) that if they went into the military it was because their parents didn't love them enough to support them academically.  How dare you?  One of my most favorite young men just joined the Marines.  He decided at a young age that he wanted to be a Marine, and he pursued that dream with passion.  His parents got behind him and supported his decision, helping him meet the rigorous physical and academic requirements.  His parents love him fiercely.  That's what good parents do, Mr. Salcido:  they help their kids meet their dreams.  That's what love looks like.

Mr. Salcido, my husband has served our country his entire adult life.  He has worked tirelessly in training exercises.  He has supported this country during domestic emergencies and natural disasters.  He's served honorably  overseas, sacrificing time with his family.  Of my daughter's 19 birthdays, he's missed eight of them in service to our country.  When he's home, he volunteers in his community.  He helps with 4H.  He coaches track and basketball.  He helps neighbors with big jobs.  Mr. Salcido, my husband, and the men and women like him, proudly serve our country so that you and your family can sleep well at night.  They defend your right to spew racist, bigoted, ignorant bullshit.  The reason you get to speak like an idiot, Mr. Salcido, is because of this country's military members who protect your right to do so.

Mr. Salcido, I have many hopes for you.

I hope you lose your job and your seat on your local city council.  No one who speaks to children the way you speak to children should be allowed to spend that amount of time with them.

I hope you stop, and think, and get it.  I hope you really get it.  I hope you apologize to your students, your community, the large groups of people you sweepingly disparaged, and our country's military community.  I really do.  I hope that you take the time to realize how ugly and ignorant your comments were, and I hope you start to work towards making things right.

I hope you raise your child to do better.  I hope you teach your son about kindness to everyone.  I hope you show him how to not abuse power he has been gifted with, and to instead use it to lift people up.  I realize this is a really big hope, and so I hope that if you don't get it, your wife does, and that she works to counter the harmful impact you are surely having on him.

Mr. Salcido, to stand in front of a group of students is a gift.  It is a privilege.  To be entrusted with someone else's child is not something to take lightly.  The weight of this responsibility overwhelms me sometimes, as it does all excellent educators.  It is clear, based on your comments and the comments of your former students, that you have never taken this role seriously.  As a professional who works so many hours making sure my students get exactly what they need to have successful and fulfilling lives, however they choose to do that, it crushes me that you will, at least temporarily, be seen as the voice of American educators.  You do not represent me.  You do not represent my colleagues. You are a disgrace, and you do not deserve to stand in front of students.

I Made This T-Shirt Quilt, and You Could Totally Make One Too

Kids collect t-shirts.  Every camp they go to gives them away.  They get t-shirts for their sports teams and clubs.  They get t-shirts to show school spirit.  They win t-shirts for being awesome.  There are t-shirts everywhere.

We used to just pass these on when the kids grew out of them.  I mean, what do you do with a t-shirt you'll never wear?

Then a few years ago I noticed that people were making memory QUILTS out of these things!  Stop!  Hold the presses!  Don't put that in the Goodwill bag!  I'll save it!  We'll get a quilt made!

So when Chelsea graduated last June, my intention was to send all of those t-shirts into a company that makes these things professionally.  I mean, I can sew a straight line, but I didn't have a working sewing machine then, and even if I did, there's no way I could do the quilting part.

Then I got a new sewing machine for Christmas this year, and  I walked by this quilt that I made for Micah in my young-kids-don't-leave-the-house phase and had an idea.  Why not make a rag top t-shirt quilt?

I googled it and realized it had been done before.  I read a couple of blog posts that weren't exactly complete, but put the pieces of them together and decided to give it a try.  It worked!  It's amazing!  My goal is to convince you that you, too, can make this awesome quilt, explain how to do it, and share some things I learned.

Here's what you need:
*  A sewing machine
*  Straight pins
* A good seam ripper
* Two spools of thread (I used white)
* Good fabric scissors (although the crafty ladies in my life are telling me a good rotary cutter would be better, but I can't tell you how to use it)
* An extra needle for your sewing machine
* Basic sewing skills (you need to know how to turn on your machine, cut fabric, sew forward and backward in a straight line, thread the needle and bobbin, and pin patterns to fabric)
* Enough t-shirts/hoodies to give you 40 pieces that have patterns on them
* About 13 yards of flannel in colors that you like.

Here's what I did:

1:  I figured out how big I wanted the quilt to be.  I decided I wanted it to fit on Chelsea's bed at school, which is a twin xl, so I googled the measurements of twin xl comforters.  Based on that, I figured that I wanted a quilt that was about 5 feet wide and 8 feet long.  Knowing that I could probably get squares that would finish to 12X12 inches, I decided I needed 40 blocks for the front of the quilt.

2:  I went through Chelsea's shirts and started counting out forty designs.  She had regular t-shirts, hoodies, and shirts from track and cross country in that stretchy/slinky fabric (Note:  if you are relatively new at sewing I'm going to strongly recommend NOT using the running shirts.  They proved to be trouble later.).   If one shirt had stuff on both the front and back, I counted it as two squares.  She had a long sleeved shirt from a run she did with a design down the sleeve, and I decided I could probably use that as well.

3:  Once I had the shirts picked out, I found the SMALLEST shirt in the pile to see how big of a square I could get from it.  It was a kids-sized shirt from Jump Rope for Heart, and I realized I could get a 13" square from it.  I made a 13" square pattern using a piece of newspaper.  Just to be sure, I placed the pattern over the t-shirt that I thought had the BIGGEST design and it fit! Cue mini celebration.

4:  I started taking the shirts apart.  I cut the collar and sleeves off at the seams.  I separated the front from the back by cutting up the shoulders and down the sides.  I discarded any pieces that wouldn't be a part of the quilt.  (Side note:  some very crafty ladies pointed out that I could have saved the scraps and done something like make a crocheted or braided rag rug, but I'm not quite there yet.)

5:  Using my newspaper pattern, I pinned the pattern over the design of the shirt and cut out the square.  This took a long time.  I seriously wanted to figure out a way to speed this up by doing multiple squares at once but decided against it because every pattern was centered on shirts differently. For the sleeve design, I cut down the sleeve opposite the design and then used the pattern to cut out the square.  It totally worked.  I should point out here that I actually ended up using 3 newspaper patterns total.  When my newspaper square started getting rough on the corners where I was pinning, I made a new one.

6:  With forty t-shirt squares made, I took Chelsea to the fabric store and we headed to the flannel section.  She picked out 7 different fabrics she liked:  two solid colors and five patterns.  I got 3 yards each of the solids, 2 yards of the two "favorite" patterns, and one yard of each of the remaining three patterns.  We took the flannel home and used the newspaper pattern to make squares.  There were some leftover scraps from the edges, and I'm sure there's some brilliant mathematical formula to reduce this, but I just embraced the process and went with it.

7:  I had Chelsea create a 5X8 design of both the t-shirt squares and the flannel squares for both the front and back of the quilt, and carefully picked up the design in rows, labeling each row in a very sophisticated way with paper and a pen. 

8:  Taking the square from Row 1, Block 1 from both the t-shirt pile and the flannel pile, I made a "sandwich": t-shirt square, followed by "extra" flannel piece, followed by "back" piece (for a total of three pieces of fabric) and pinned them WRONG SIDES TOGETHER.  That is, when I looked at the t-shirt design and flipped over the "sandwich," I saw the design that was supposed to be on the back.  This is important:  normally in sewing you are putting right sides together, but you aren't doing that here.

Also important to note:  you want to make sure if there's a printed design on the flannel that has a "top" and a "bottom," that you are making sure the top on your t-shirt design is on the same side of the square as the "top" of your flannel design.  For example, one of Chelsea's prints was a pirate design ('Sco Bucs!) so we made sure the tops of that square and the t-shirt square were facing the same direction.

For the squares that were made of sweatshirts, I didn't put a middle piece of flannel in the sandwich.  Those squares were JUST sweatshirt square on one side and flannel on the other.

For the squares made from the dreaded silky/slick running shirts, I added another piece of flannel.  Those squares were t-shirt square, middle flannel, middle flannel, back flannel.

I used the lighter colored flannel as lining/filler for white t-shirts.  I tried to mix up the colors/patterns I was using for the filling flannel to ensure the fringe would look fun.

As I was making my flannel sandwiches, I was still keeping track of where each square went in the order Chelsea designed.  I separated them into eight stacks of five.

9:  Now that all of the sandwiches were pinned, I celebrated that I had enough flannel (phew!  just 10 extra squares!) and started sewing an X through each sandwich.   I made sure to reverse at the start and stop of each line sewn to keep things solid.   I noticed that this went MUCH easier if I sewed with the flannel side facing up.  The t-shirt fabric and slinky fabric were less likely to move and pucker and look weird.  I still had to pull out several seams and redo them, but doing the flip to flannel side up saved me a lot of time and grief.  I didn't worry if the Xs were a little crooked, but did worry if the fabric didn't lay smooth.

10:  I took a break for a couple days.  This next step made me super nervous. Starting with Row 1, I pinned squares FLANNEL SIDES TOGETHER and sewed them using a 1/2" seam.  It's important to note that the finished product had raw edges on the t-shirt side.  That's what I wanted.  I followed this process for all eight rows, keeping them in the right order.  As I completed each row, I also sewed a 1/2" seam at the edges of the quilt (that is, anywhere that wouldn't be connected to fabric).  For rows 2-7, that was just the outside edges.  For Row 1 I had to sew the top and for Row 8 I had to do the bottom.

11:  Now that I had eight rows, I started combining rows, again pinning flannel sides together and using a 1/2" seam.  For this part, I had to be sure that I was pinning the bottom of Row 1 to the top of Row 2 so that nothing would turn out upside down (it did once, and that was a giant pain to rip out and redo).  Now I had 4 strips that were five squares long and two squares tall.

12:  Following the same process, I combined my double rows to make quad rows, then the two halves to make the entire quilt.  This step was the most challenging because at this point the sheer weight and thickness of the quilt made it difficult to sew through and move.   Somewhere in here I broke a needle, and that was a super fun side adventure figuring out how to change it.  The end result was pretty awesome to look at, raw edges and all.

13:  I used scissors and snipped little tabs on all the raw edges.  This took forever and really hurt at some points, so I did it over several sessions.  Someone told me I could use a rotary tool to do this, but that idea freaked me out so I didn't.

14:  I washed and dried the quilt, which created a nice soft fray on the tabbed rag top, and got rid of the extra fuzzies.  The result was amazing, and Mike immediately went to our bedroom and started finding his old t-shirts so I can make him the next quilt.

Overall, this project was fun, just the right challenge level, and turned out pretty stinking awesome if I do say so myself.

Your Words About Teen Girls Matter

Several schools in my area celebrated Homecoming this weekend, and my social media feeds were full of photos posted by proud parents and excited kids.  It was so much fun to see kids expressing their style and confidence in the clothing choices they made.  I saw pictures of fancy strappy heels and Converse sneakers.  There were bow ties and suspenders and patterned sports jackets.  There was an AMAZING pink faux fur jacket and solid and floral dresses.  Young women chose everything from little black dresses to longer formals.  Some girls chose high necklines, and other girls chose low necklines.  Some girls chose form-fitting dresses, and other girls chose dresses that poofed out in tulle.  I loved them all.  Dances are such a fun part of high school.  It's a chance for students to dress up, try different styles, and practice at some aspects of adulthood.

Unfortunately, my feed was also full of comments about the girls' clothing choices.  In the last three days, I've seen adults (usually moms) using phrases like "slutty," "that dress is an open invitation," "she doesn't have the right body for that," "reminds me of a hooker," "reminds me of a strip club," and "clearly asking for something."  I'd like to take some time to address these comments, try to explain why these comments are harmful to young women, and offer alternative ways for adult women to share their beliefs without causing harm.

First, we live in a culture that too often excuses sex crimes based on women's clothing choices.  This display at the University of Kansas shows that pretty clearly.  When we use what a woman is wearing as an excuse for devaluing her as a human being, we are perpetuating rape culture.  When our sons and our daughters hear us say things like "it was an open invitation," and "clearly asking for something," we are TEACHING them that we believe it is okay for sex crimes to happen.  When we throw around words like "hooker" and "slutty" in reference to girls' clothing, we are taking a human being and demeaning them to something perceived as "less than" and as someone who doesn't deserve the same common courtesies other humans deserve.

Next, it's clear that it it doesn't matter what girls wear when we talk about inappropriate sexual comments and contact.  The girl in the project linked here is clearly not wearing what most of these moms would consider "slutty," yet she had daily unwanted contact from men who felt it was their right to comment on her body, follow her, and sometimes touch her.  When we make comments about what girls are wearing, we are using it as an excuse for this kind of unwanted behavior, somehow making it seem like it's the girl's fault.   The reality is it doesn't matter what a girl wears.  My daughter is catcalled wearing pretty casual (and what most would deem modest) clothing.  Here are some examples of clothing she's worn that has drawn unwanted sexual commentary, attention, and unwanted touch from men:

The top picture shows her in a favorite casual outfit, the second is her ready to head to work as a busser at a restaurant, and the bottom is her in typical casual work-out clothing.  All three outfits are examples of clothing that drew unwanted sexual comments and attention from men.  The third drew unwanted physical touch when a man she didn't know stopped her while she was jogging and grabbed her in a "hug," making sure she noticed his erection.  I think even the moms who disapprove of the homecoming dresses on their Facebook feeds would agree there is nothing revealing about any of these outfits.  MEN DON'T BEHAVE BADLY BECAUSE OF THE CLOTHES WOMEN WEAR.  They behave badly because they believe they have a right to.  When they are caught, they defend themselves by making comments about the woman's clothing.

Finally, every woman, young and old, should be able to feel confident and beautiful, including girls who wear larger sizes.  If a size 16 girl wants to wear a short dress that shows off her legs, or cap sleeves because she likes the style, she gets to.  If a large-busted girl wants to wear something that is form fitting because the idea of a wearing a baggy sweatshirt is unappealing to her, she gets to.  Why on earth do we as moms believe it is our job (or even our right) to tell other people's daughters what they should wear?  We have a mental health crisis amongst teens in America.  They need to feel confident about who they are, and they should be able to stand tall in the clothing choices they make.  There is absolutely no reason girls should be getting unsolicited "advice" about what they are wearing.  Frankly, it's just plain mean.  As the mother of a curvy girl, I get that there are some moms who would likely be unimpressed with my daughter's senior year homecoming dress: 

Yes, it's short.  And yes, it shows off cleavage.  But look at her face.  What do you see?  I see a beautiful, confident young woman who is having a wonderful night.  And you know what?  NO ONE catcalled her.  No one followed her.  No one grabbed her.  This dress would likely be classified as "an open invitation," or "slutty" by some moms, but she was treated respectfully and kindly all night. That's probably because her date was a respectful young man.   What women wear is not the problem.  The problem is men thinking they have rights they don't have.

When we as a society continue to blame clothing for inappropriate sexual behavior, we are supporting that behavior. 

Moms, you get to decide how to coach your daughters in their clothing choices.  You can decide whether or not you are comfortable with clothing that is tight, or clothing that is low cut in the front, or clothing reveals a midriff.  Those are all choices you get to make for and with your kid.  And that's totally okay.  And, when you post a picture of your daughter dressed up for Homecoming in a dress that she obviously feels beautiful and confident in, I'm going to "love" it, because every girl should feel beautiful and confident.  You can even say on social media that you prefer your daughter to wear clothing that doesn't have a low cut top, or doesn't reveal her midriff, or isn't tight.  That's your right.  But when you start using words and phrases that put blame for unwanted sexual comments and contact on what girls are wearing, that's just not okay.  You are teaching your kids and their friends unwanted sexual contact and assault are the girl's fault because of what she's chosen to wear.  You are making the problem worse.  You are giving sex offenders a free pass, and you are telling girls that whether or not they are harassed or assaulted is on them.  That makes coming forward after a sex crime all the more difficult. 

Girls, you rocked your homecoming dresses. It was SO MUCH FUN to see your style shine through, and I can't wait to see what you decide to wear for Prom.

My Mom Broke Up With Me Last Week

She sent me an email telling me she wouldn't be contacting me again. 

You wouldn't think from looking at the family in this picture that a disaster was on the horizon.  That baby in the picture is me, in my mom's lap. 

It's been a long time coming, really.  When I was very young, she and my dad got a divorce.  She spent all of my growing up years putting all of her efforts into finding a man, and it didn't seem to matter what kind of man she found.  She went from one abusive relationship to another, putting my brother and I in a constant state of crazy circumstances and, frankly, dangerous ones. 

As an adult with some life and professional experience under my belt, it's easy now to see the mental illness and dysfunction.  As a child, however, I thought our lives were normal.  Leaving home in the middle of the night to pick up the latest guy from jail?  Normal.  Watching dishes fly through the kitchen while adults screamed at each other?  Normal.  A child calling in sick for her mother because she was heartbroken over the latest breakup?  Normal.   It's honestly remarkable I'm not crazy myself.

There were moments of joy, for sure.  She got my brother and me a Nintendo game, and together we conquered Mario's quest.  We watched family movies together on Sunday nights on the TV.  Sometimes, on paydays, we'd get to go to Taco Bell for dinner.

Mostly, though, it felt like navigating a minefield.  If I was good enough, got perfect grades, and didn't mess up, maybe I could escape the yuck.

There were plenty of adults in my life who noticed what was going on and stepped up and in to try to fill the obvious gap.  My grandparents did what they could on summers and breaks.  We lived with them for sporadic periods of time when she couldn't keep housing or jobs.  Teachers were especially supportive during middle school and high school, noticing my drive for excellence and baby-stepping me into college.  Family members, including my brother and dad, did what they could to mitigate the fallout of having a mom who was constantly in a state of crisis.  In college, my roommates and their parents took me under their wings and introduced me to experiences I would have never had otherwise.

Once I reached adulthood, I thought I had things figured out.  I recognized my mom's strengths and weaknesses and was able to work with them so we could maintain a relationship.  She was terribly jealous of Mike and any friends I had, making it difficult to juggle relationships, but I made it work.  Sometime in my mid-twenties, she cut off contact with my brother completely.  Again, he protected me and didn't bring me into that drama. 

Then seven years ago, we had a major family crisis.  Mike was deployed and  something terrible happened, and I NEEDED my mom.  I needed her to choose to stand by me and my family.  She didn't.  In fact, she stood in direct opposition of what we needed and then disappeared.  To be fair, she was in the midst of crisis as well, but the betrayal was huge, and real, and awful.

We didn't talk except for terse conversations via phone and email for a year.  After that, Mike and I went to her in the spirit of reconciliation, hoping to set things back on a path to a relationship.  After meeting with her for nearly two hours, we left, hopeful that we could make things work.  When I got home there was an email from her waiting for me telling me we hadn't even tried and how disappointed she was.

The next five years followed the same pattern:  a push-pull scenario where Mike and I made our best efforts to reconcile and our attempts were never good enough. In order to protect the kids because real safety issues were involved, I told her she wouldn't have access to them until she was able to first fix her relationship with me.  I offered to go to a counselor with her.  I offered to talk to a pastor with her.  I offered to meet again.  She didn't like those options.  She wanted full unrestricted access to our kids, and we weren't allowing her that.  She didn't talk to me for nearly a year.  Then, last December she sent me a multi-paragraph email with instructions to "forward this to Mike."  In it, she detailed to Mike every wrong she felt I had committed against her.  I replied, telling her that I wasn't forwarding the email to Mike, but that if she wanted to discuss the issues she'd brought up with me, I was willing to do that.  She never replied.

Last week I got the break-up email.  She told me that she loved me, but that she would never contact me again.  She gave that weird apology people give when they aren't really sorry:  "I'm sorry if I did anything to hurt you," and then told me she forgave ME.  She quoted a Bible verse.

I've chosen not to reply. I'm not sure what else there is to say.  Short of allowing her to be unsafe around my family, there's nothing I can do at this point to please her.

It's weird losing a mother in this way.  There's no death date I can mourn.  I can't visit a gravesite and leave flowers.  No one talks about having crappy mothers, because mothers aren't supposed to be crappy.  They are supposed to be strong.  And brave.  And present.  And trustworthy. It's strange and uncomfy to admit you have a terrible mother, because it makes you worry that people will think it's your fault for some reason, or that there's something wrong with you.

That's why I'm sharing my mom break-up story with you.  I KNOW her problems are not my problems.  I KNOW I can't be responsible for her happiness.  And I KNOW that my decisions have been made based on what's best for my family, paired with a genuine effort for reconciliation.  There is truly nothing else I can do at this point.  I feel bad that my kids have lost a grandmother.  I feel bad that my mother will likely spend her last years without family.  I feel bad that I don't have a mom to call with questions only moms can answer.  But none of those things are on me, and I know that.

I am so blessed by other women who have come alongside me to support me as I grow in my marriage, my role as mom, my career, and my spiritual life.  There are several older women who recognize that I am motherless and have stepped in to mother me.  One dear friend made us meals during a particularly trying time.  Another is always ready to step in at a moment's notice for emergencies.  Other women who are closer to my age have been a sounding board for hairy parenting, career, and marriage situations.

Friends, many of you have mothers that are mentally ill or disengaged or just plain crappy.  Please know that my heart hurts for you and I get it. To be motherless without a death is a seriously sad thing. But know also that there are people in your life who are ready and willing to stand with you and for you.  We can help fill the gap and make sure you are not alone as you walk this road we are all on together.

One last thought:  it was only because people saw the situation I was in as a child and stepped in to do something that I am able to be a successful wife, mother, and teacher today.  There are kids in your life in this same situation.  You can't take them home with you, but you can fill in the gap.  You can point to a better future.  You can help procure resources.  You can be a cheerleader.  It was people like you who literally gave a girl like me a future.  Don't be discouraged when you come across kids with absent or crappy parents.  Instead, be encouraged that the time you invest in them can make a huge difference in their lives.  It definitely did for me.

A Dipper Full of Love

As a military family, we are no strangers to being separated from each other.  In fact, of Chelsea's eighteen birthdays, Mike has missed eight of them due to deployments and trainings.  That can be hard on a kid, and hard on a dad.  Chelsea and Mike have always had an exceptionally close relationship.  They have such similar personalities that he has historically been the person she goes to for advice on a variety of topics.

While Micah and I always looked forward to phone calls from Mike when he was gone, Chelsea just couldn't do them.  It wasn't that she didn't miss her Daddy, or that she didn't want to talk to him, it's that hearing his voice and not being able to see him was just too much grief, too much missing, too much everything.  Mike had to figure out other ways to connect with Chelsea during deployments.  They'd write letters to each other, and she'd send him pictures of their favorite things.  When she was older, they'd email each other and/or send messages via social media. 

Eight years ago, before a deployment, we got a children's book about a little boy who's dad was going to Iraq.  The father and son decided they would play catch each night with the north star, giving them a chance to feel connected before bedtime each night.  This gave Mike an idea.  He took Chelsea and Micah outside and showed them how to find the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper.  He explained to them that he would be able to see these same stars from where he was on the other side of the world.  He promised that each night before he went to bed, he'd look up at the stars and he'd fill those dippers up with love, hugs, and kisses for each of them:  the Big Dipper for Chelsea, and the Little Dipper for Micah.  He asked them to look for the constellations at bedtime and take out his gift and replace it with their own love, hugs, and kisses for him.

Each clear night during that deployment, we'd look outside and think of him.  Chelsea really got into it.  That Big Dipper meant everything to her.  I remember one night I sent her out to the back yard to do a quick chore.  When she didn't come right back in the house, I started to worry about her and peeked out to see what was up.  There was my little girl, standing in the middle of the back yard, eyes to the sky, and blowing kiss after kiss and hug after hug up.  I watched her "catch" kisses from the air and put them on her cheeks, and hug herself with Daddy's hugs.  I can feel tears in my eyes now as I write this.

Graduation is tomorrow, and Chelsea will be leaving home to go to a school eight hours away in the fall.  We'll go through at least two military-related separations during her four years in undergraduate school. Tonight he gave her the most special of gifts:  a pendant with the Big Dipper on it, designed to remind her that no matter where she is or where he is, they will always have each other.  He had an identical piece made into a keychain for himself, so he has that reminder as well.

Being a military family can be challenging, but it also offers an opportunity to grow relationships in special ways that strengthen bonds.  I'm so grateful for the gifts this life has given our little family, and am so proud we've served our country while maintaining such love and unity.