Friday, March 25, 2016

Holding Space

This may be a difficult post for some to read, but it's one that has been percolating in my mind for a few days and one that I needed to write. Writing helps me sort through my thoughts, and this was something I needed to sort. So I hope you won't mind reading.

In both birthwork and bereavement work we often do something we refer to as "holding space." It means that there is not anything particular we are doing or saying (sometimes not anything we can do or say) in the situation, but we stand as sentinel over the space. We protect the peace, the calm, the energy, the emotions, and the simple right to feel.

Over the years I have held space for grieving mothers: sometimes in person but more often in virtual space, via phone or instant messages with someone geographically distant but emotionally close. Similarly I have held space for friends and family members as they labor through the delivery of a child or through any difficult time.

I have also held space for my children on many occasions; holding a small one on my lap and surrounding him with the calm of my arms and my breathing, and giving him permission to feel what he feels, and also giving my support in getting through it.

In recent days I have come to recognize the need--and value--for holding space in another way.

My paternal grandfather's health declined sharply a few months ago. He moved in with my aunt so that she could help care for him, and we have all been aware that he would not live much longer. Early last week we learned that he had stopped eating, so we knew to count time in days.

Meanwhile, my maternal grandmother has been dealing with multiple health issues for many years, and in the last few years her hospital stays have increased in frequency, duration, and complexity. A couple of weeks ago she entered the hospital, and within a few days it became apparent that this time was more severe than others had been. Last Thursday her doctor said she probably had a week left.

Last Friday my grandfather passed away. His funeral was on Wednesday.

On Tuesday my grandmother came home under hospice care, to spend her last few days with her spouse in the home they had built and lived in together. My mother was there with her, and said that grandma sat at the window and looked out at the trees that they had planted and raised together, and seemed to be at peace. She had some good hours, and got to spend her 58th anniversary in the arms of her sweetheart and with family by her side. Today she passed on.

I had neither the money nor the scheduling flexibility to visit my grandparents in their final days, nor have it now to attend their funerals. I think they will not mind, seeing as how funerals are for the living rather than the deceased. I had time to send letters, call and communicate my love, and I am grateful for the time we had to do that. Now their spirits are free of the worn out bodies that had held them back, and all I can do is hold space.

This is a different kind of space-holding from what I have done before. My grandparents are no longer here, and do not need me to hold the space for them; instead I must hold it for myself. I must allow myself to feel--whatever I feel--without judgment or guilt. I can hold their memories, carrying them onward by sharing them with my family. I must allow myself to be quiet, to rest, to think, to cry, and to be not-my-best-or-brightest at some things for a while. I must also allow myself to laugh and play and carry on, because the cycles of life continue always.


Sunday, January 31, 2016

Choosing My Peace

We all make choices every day. Some are bigger, some are smaller, some have long-term consequences and many do not. Sometimes we make smart and thoughtful choices, sometimes impulsive ones. Eventually, our lives (and our selves) become the sum of our choices.

Sometimes we make a choice that seems like a good idea at the time, but which soon reveals itself to have been a poor one for whatever reason. I recently made a choice which I felt strongly was the best thing out of my options. I am not exaggerating when I say that within a few days I began to feel physically ill over it. I pondered the situation and the choice. I counseled with my husband (who can be a goofball sometimes, but is also thoughtful and wise and often can see perspectives I hadn't thought of). Over the course of a couple of weeks I concluded that the decision I had made--which I thought I had made so carefully--was a poor one. I forgave myself and made a new decision. Almost instantly I was flooded with inner peace, and felt certain that this new decision was the best thing for me and my family. It is fraught with complications of its own (complications I might have avoided with the original choice), but the peace and serenity I have over this decision give me certainty that it is better.
In my experience getting sufficient peace
can make up for a lack of sleep;
but no amount of sleep
can make up for a lack of peace
We all make mistakes, probably every day. Some are bigger than others. Some have bigger consequences than others. But in almost every case we can take steps to undo those mistakes, or to repair the consequences of those non-ideal choices. We can apologize--to ourselves as well as to others--for the choices we've made. And we can make new choices. Choices that are better for us or our families or communities or whatever is applicable. Life is a pretty transient state. We can fix a whole lot of things if we are willing to be humble enough to say "I was wrong" and "I'm a work in progress" and then change tracks and do something different.

I realize I'm "vagueblogging" here, and that is intentional. I don't want this to be a commentary about me and my choices, but more of a musing about the bigger picture. (Remember when this blog used to be "Musings of Mommy Bee"?!) I am hoping that these thoughts will be helpful to someone else contemplating choices that lie ahead (or behind) and that they will be able to apply them in some useful manner.

Take care of yourself. 
Trust your feelings. 
Be honest and authentic with yourself and with others. 


Don't be afraid to say NO to things that bring you down instead of lift you up. 
Don't be afraid to say YES to the things that sustain you, 
even if they were not the things you expected.

Sunday, December 13, 2015

Finding My Place


Today was the fourth annual "wear pants to church day."
I know, I can hear you saying "she hasn't blogged in almost two years, and now she's back to blog about this?" Yeah, I am. And if that bothers you, well I guess you know where I will tell you to stick it, right? Because (in case you're new here or something) I don't see a point in beating around the bush. If you don't like what I write, feel free to go read something else. Nobody is making you stay.

But if you are here, and reading, I thought maybe you'd like to know some of my thoughts about why I do this, and what it means to me.

I participated the first year, and the second, and if you are scratching your head and trying to figure out what on earth I am talking about, please go read the posts that I wrote about those two days.   I didn't participate last year, actually, because I didn't attend church on that day. I don't remember why. I do know that I wore pants on the first day I attended my ward here in Kenai, and no one batted an eye that day (just as they did not today). No one minds here.
And it's not as if wearing pants is dressing down. (In fact, due to my body deciding that metabolism is not a thing we do anymore these last few years, I've had to rebuild much of my wardrobe, and actually my 'best dressed' mostly IS pants because it's my work wardrobe. But I digress.) This year my sister lives with me, so she joined in.
The obligatory 'pants picture'
The point of pants day is to stand up in a visual representation of fulfilling the calling--the covenant--to love. To comfort those who need comfort. To be a light for those in darkness. To say loudly and clearly to everyone "I am here, I accept you as you are, and I claim you as my sister or brother."

Over the last few years my relationship with the church has changed. I've written about it here on and off under the tag 'my faith journey.' I know my journey is troubling to most of my family and probably to some of my friends. Others of my friends are supportive and even wholly understanding as they travel or have traveled journeys of their own. I don't know that I have figured out everything, but today I made some decisions.
Let me try a metaphor. It may help.
Water sustains life; it can also kill you. It all depends on the specifics of who you are and the situation of the water around you. 
They always say that if you see someone drowning, you should not go out to them. You should keep yourself safe, and toss a life preserver or something to them. You should never jump into the water with them. 
But what if that person is a tiny child who is not able to understand about grabbing onto the life preserver? Or what if you are are a lifeguard. Then you are supposed to jump into the water, because you are able to be safe even as you save that person who literally needed you to be right there. 
Some people cannot jump into the water safely. We do not blame them for the fact that they cannot swim, or have not been trained for this task. They do what they can from the shore.
Some people can jump into the water safely. And therefore it seems to me that perhaps they have a responsibility--a moral obligation--to do so.

With that in mind, I return to my story:

Within Mormonism I am disenfranchised now more than ever. My spouse is no longer a member of the church. My children prefer to stay home with dad. I, myself, have only attended sporadically for the last year or so. It was a sabbatical, I suppose. Time I needed for pondering over many things. 
It has been a long time since I felt like I got much out of my relationship with the church. I have felt like it was a very one-sided relationship, where I gave and gave and gave, and was asked to give always more, but was not receiving even the little that I had been promised (peace, hope, support, or inspiration). I could find those things in other places--and I did--but it was not coming from church sources. So I took a break. I stopped giving so much. I took care of myself.
I work in behavioral health, and when someone is in a one-sided relationship like that, the typical advice would be to move on. Leave it behind. Find someone or something that gives to you as much as you give to it. So, naturally, this is something I have contemplated.

It is not something I am choosing at this time.

Remember the part of the story about having a moral obligation to go into the water if you are able to do so safely?
The Mormon church is flawed. There are imperfect people and beyond that there are policies in place within the organization which are hurtful and damaging. I will be honest and say that I do not believe in the literalness or infallibility of many things which I once did. But I also do not forget that this is my heritage and my culture. That doesn't go away, even when I am deeply troubled by some of the things happening right now. 
I am also aware of many people who do believe in literalness and infallibility, and who are hurting (even to the point of suicidality) at the situations they find themselves in because of it. That is where the metaphor comes in. Because there are some people who cannot swim in the waters of Mormonism safely, even at the same time as there are those who need it to sustain life. Some people will choose to exit the water (with or without help) and they have every right to do so. Some people need the water, even though they are literally dying by being in it. 
And here is me. I can swim these waters. I may no longer feel the need for them as I once did, but I am safe within them nonetheless. I can help others learn to swim (or get safely to shore, if they prefer). I can do it safely and without judgment toward those others, regardless of which path they choose.

http://papersashay.com/product/rainbow-hands-pendant-brown-hands/I can be what I have always been--what I have always felt called to be--a teacher, a healer, a helper. I can be that person who makes the comment in sunday school that was inclusive instead of exclusionary, or the comment that makes everyone think instead of just repeating the status quo. (I've always done that; might as well carry on!) I can be that person who has the knowledge and credibility of being an insider, but who also boldly wears this necklace week after week, or who wears pants to church, thus establishing myself as someone who is not entrenched in habit or closed-minded. I can be a safe space for those who feel they are drowning, or for those watching others drown and not knowing how to help.
I do not know what the future holds or where I may go next, but this is where I choose to be now. So perhaps it is not accurate to say that I am finding my place, but rather to say that I am choosing my place.





I'm Still Here

Hi, it's been a while, I know. I haven't posted here in nearly two years because my life has moved into a new season and I simply don't have the time. But I will catch you up a little on my life these last 21 months, and at least tell you where I've gone.

I finished graduate school in August of 2014 and shortly thereafter began working full time in behavioral health as a case manager. I enjoy it and (at the risk of sounding not humble--which is fair because I'm not) I will add that I am really darn good at what I do. With that said, work now consumes 40 or 45 hours of my week, and when I am home I try to put my attention and energy toward my family.

Also in the spring/summer of 2014 my depression reared its head again. It has done this periodically over my life, but certain spells are worse than others. This time however there was something that helped. It was unexpected, but it was the right thing at the right time and has made an enormous difference in my life: Glee
Yes, I do mean the TV show. I had started watching the episodes on Netflix that spring, and yes it's a cheesy dramedy and sometimes the writing is terrible, but the musical and dance performances are amazing. And more than any of that, Glee reminded me of something: It reminded me of my own love for music and dance. Somewhere along the way I had forgotten how much those things mean to me. Somewhere along the way I had stopped singing and dancing around the house (or anywhere else). I had gotten so busy with the many things I had to do that I had forgotten what it was that drove me to major in theater only a decade ago. 

I started singing again. I downloaded music and I started singing along with it. I had fallen out of touch with the arts so gradually that I hadn't realized how far I had moved. But now I sing again. I dance again. I feel more (dare I say it) glee than I did for years.

The other thing that Glee did for me--or helped me to do for myself--was writing fiction. For years I've said that I'm a good writer, and a good storyteller, but that I didn't feel that I had any original stories to tell. (So much for writing a bestselling novel, right?) But then with Glee--because it was impacting me so significantly, and because I wanted more of it--I learned about the phenomenon that is fanfiction. And lest you be too judgmental (because I was too at first), I will clarify: Fanfiction is original stories--sometimes really impressive ones--that just happen to borrow characters. But do you know how helpful it is to be able to practice writing with borrowed characters? Without having to create everything from the ground up? Did you further know that authors do it all the time? Shakespeare hardly wrote anything original, and how many novels or movies are "based on" or "inspired by" another story? Yeah, so everybody writes fanfic. And, for me, Glee fanfic was a gateway. Reading it was a gateway to writing it, which in turn was a gateway to something else... Because dabbling around with borrowed characters gave me confidence to build my own. And now I'm writing my own fiction (working on two different novels actually). The practice with fanfic helped me build up my writing chops--I can write longer things than I ever used to. It also gave me the chance to get feedback on my writing from readers and other writers, and that's invaluable (and good for the self-esteem too).

So the time that used to go to writing nonfiction (blog posts and then grad school essays) has now turned to fiction. I plan to submit my novels for publishing when I finish them, but I also know that now I'm not going to stop writing either. Writing (along with dancing, music, and knitting) are my antidepressants, and they are working pretty well so I'm sticking with them.

At first I felt silly, saying that a TV show had changed my life. (Sounds crazy, no?!) But it did, and it does, and I'm better off for it. And you know, I'm not going to be shy about saying it either. Because maybe it will help someone else.


So no, I haven't written here on the blog in a long time. The truth is that I don't know how often I will write here in the future either. I am spending more time in the real world and less in the digital one. I do still see comments that are left, here, and I will reply to them and to emails. I'm also on facebook fairly regularly. I don't know how much I will post here, but I am not going to take it down because I believe that the archive here can be useful to others. I know it is useful for me: both as a reference, and as a reminder of where I've come.

Shalom.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Being an Instrument

When I was first married there was a series of visiting teaching messages (for the women of the church to share with one another during monthly visits) that were centered around the theme of being steadfast and immoveable. I remember one lesson in particular which had the title of "being an instrument in the hands of God by being steadfast and immoveable." I talked with the other woman I was with about the idea, and she said that it confused her. How could someone do anything if they were being immoveable? So I shared what had come to me when I read it. A sculptor, potter, painter, or writer needs a tool (chisel, brush, pen, etc) that will not move on its own. The artist needs a tool that will be reliable and still, so that s/he can guide it and have it go where s/he wants. If the painter's brush droops the paint will get in the wrong place. If the potter's tool bends then the clay will not be crafted in the way s/he wanted it to be.

In order to be a tool in the Lord's hands, our job is to be available, and to be steady, but not to try to do everything ourselves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Somewhere in my late teens I started singing in church. Or rather, I'd been singing musical numbers in church for years, but somewhere in my late teens I got up the confidence to start singing solos. I liked singing, I liked performing, but I also have always known that singing in church is not a performance or a recital. Singing in church is about bringing the Spirit into the space. And so before I sang I always prayed that I could be a conduit for the spirit. That the Lord would use me and my voice to speak to the members of the congregation.
It has always worked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Recently I moved to a new city and a new congregation. I had called ahead to find out when and where church meetings were, and so someone had my name...and even before I had moved the compassionate service leader Sister J had called me. She is a woman of generous size and spirit, who knows everyone's business and everyone's needs (because she calls and asks) and then she doesn't take no for an answer in taking care of people. Two weeks after my arrival she called me again, to see how we were getting settled in, and whether we needed anything. She apologized that she had not called sooner, but explained that she had been called upon to help arrange a very unexpected funeral and that that had consumed much of her time. She mentioned, almost in passing, that the one thing she still needed was a musical number, and that she was not sure what she would do for that. I responded instinctively, almost without thought. "If you can find an accompanist, I can sing."
"I can play," Sister J said. "Is 'How Great Thou Art' ok?"

And with that it was decided. I was going to sing at a stranger's funeral. Now truth be told, this was not the first  nor even the second time I have sung at a funeral where I did not know the deceased; but it was the first time where I really did not know anyone.
Especially in the context of this funeral, where a young father had died unexpectedly, I knew the grief at this funeral would be extra acute, and that music is a powerful medium. I felt awkward and I felt pressure and nervousness that I have not felt about church music in a long time. 

When I was rehearsing with Sister J, she started singing along at one point. Then she apologized. "I got caught up in it," she said, "this song moves me so much. I don't mean to steal your thunder if I start singing along at the funeral."
"Singing in church is never about thunder" I replied.
She hesitated, as though she had not thought about it that way. "You're right," she responded, "it's not." 

The rehearsal was ok, but particularly with the high note at the end I felt like I was not singing it very well. I knew this funeral was important for all the family who would be bidding a premature farewell to their son, brother, and father, so for a day and a half I did what I always do. I prayed that I could be a conduit for The Spirit...but something still felt off. I couldn't quite place it, but I knew that what needed to come through me at this gathering was not like most meetings.

As I pulled into the parking lot with ten minutes to go until the funeral, I still felt shaky. I took the key out of the ignition, bowed my head, and murmured one last prayer...and the words came to me "Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace."
An instrument of peace. That was precisely what I needed to be. Calm came over me.
So I prayed St. Francis' phrase over and over as I walked into the chapel. When my turn came I walked up to the podium and started to sing...and then I gripped onto the side of the podium and just held on as the music poured through me with the words and notes all where they should be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An instrument is a still thing. I played the flute for a couple of years as a tween, and I can tell you that no matter how shiny that flute was, it couldn't do anything unless I held it, pressed the keys, and gave it my breath.
Yesterday I was an instrument with endless potential but little possibility except in the hands and with the breath of Someone else.
I am grateful for the opportunity, and touched by the experience. Because as much as I (hope I) gave the family the peace they needed yesterday, my own soul was filled too.

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Winter Gear Storage

I am currently adjusting our family of five into living in an apartment that is a little under 1000 square feet. We were already pretty minimalist about our possessions after several major moves and having to fit everything into storage. However one thing I'm still refining is fitting everything into a small space AND still being able to find what we need.

One thing we need pretty often is winter gear such as mittens, hats, scarves, and so on. The thing about this type of gear is that when a four-year-old goes out to play in the snow, his mittens get wet, so when he wants to play two hours later, he needs a second set of mittens... this makes for lots of mittens. Not to mention things like "cold weather" gear or "I'll be outside for 15 minutes" gear versus "obscenely cold weather" gear or "I'm going fishing in twenty-below" gear.

Needless to say, there is a lot of this type of gear around our house.  And for the last three or four years it has basically all just ended up in a plastic bin or box... lots of harried looking for the other mitten in the set, lots of "but I need the other hat because this one is his" and so on.

Then inspiration struck.

$11 and five minutes of effort later we have everything where we can see it. Mittens are paired with their mates, scarves, hats, earmuffs, and everything is easy to reach.


Most of these seem to be "over the door" style organizers. If you have a regular closet door, perfect! Or maybe you can hang it on the back of your entry door. If not, three little nails and a little wall space (as I did here) works pretty easily too.

Greene's "Plan B" in the Trenches

A few years ago I wrote a review of Ross Greene's "The Explosive Child" and in that I explained about Plan B. (Yeah folks, this is a parenting post, not a birth control one.)
Dr Greene discusses 3 plans: Plans A, B, and C.
Plan A is where the Adult forces his will on the child...
Plan C is where the adult capitulates and just lets the Child do what he pleases...
Plan B is to utilize what Dr Greene calls "collaborative problem solving" (CPS) to find solutions that will solve the concerns of Both adult and child.
This last weekend I had a chance to use collaborative problem solving to find a Plan B with my thirteen-year old Wolf.
The scenario was thus: I have established a household policy that food and drink (with the exception of closeable water bottles) remains in the kitchen/dining area. More especially, food is definitely not allowed in bedrooms. Wolf is well aware of this policy, and breaks it repeatedly. (I only catch him actually eating in his room occasionally, but there are often empty wrappers or crumbs in his room, so the evidence is obvious. And this has been going on since he was four. When he was little I tried to focus on teaching him better, as he got older I started punishing...the behavior has never changed.) Of course in addition to breaking the rule, he also is sneaky about it so as to be able to get away with it, so he's adding deceit to disobedience, and sometimes lying on top of the whole pile. Last week he did that (lying on top of it all) and I lost my temper at him. I decided it was time to step back and bust out some CPS about this.
oh look, he's not the only one!

CPS can be hard for a parent, because it means that *I* have to be willing to compromise too. But it's also a recognition that I can still get what is most important to me, while still giving my kid a chance to have something that is important to him, and give him some practice in collaboration, problem solving, and compromise. (Yes I like and still use the Oxford comma, bite me!)

I began by clearing the air about my outburst the other night. I asked him why he'd lied to me, and if he'd really thought he could get away with it. He said no, he was pretty sure I knew, but he knew that lying would get yelling, whereas if he had only gotten caught with the soda can--and not lied about it--then he would have gotten a lecture. He just wanted it over fast so he chose lying/yelling.

Ummmmm.

My concern
Alright. So, I had already considered my position, and I knew my most important concern in this conflict. I am concerned about mess. I don't want crumbs, or spills, or sticky spots, or wrappers, or garbage in his room. I'm concerned about it attracting insects or vermin partly, but I also just think it's really gross to have crumbs in your bed and wrappers on the floor.
His concern
Wolf considered, and concluded that he really only wants to eat in his room when he is playing games on his computer because he doesn't want to be interrupted. (The computer is only a few months old so I don't know what his excuse was for the last nine years, but we'll work with this for now and re-evaluate as necessary.) He has no problems leaving his room for a snack when he's supposed to be doing homework! But he plays some online real-time games with his cousin or other friends, and if he's absent from the game for five or ten minutes his character could get booted off the server.
Our collaborative compromise
I will get him a garbage can for his bedroom--he hasn't had one, but promises to utilize it if one is present. He will handle emptying it as well.
He is considering purchasing an anti-tipping or spill-proof cup (with his own money) to use in his room.
He has to ask an adult before taking a snack--to ensure that the food he wants isn't earmarked for something, or that dinner isn't imminent, or that sort of thing.
With those criteria met, he may take food to his room when gaming. This may be a weekends-only thing, or (depending on his homework load) an after-homework thing.


When I raised the point of having to have homework done before playing, he asked if we could adjust that a little "perhaps one late assignment per week?" I gave him a full-blown stink eye and told him I wasn't going to go for that idea. Then I nudged him to articulate his desire in a different way, and he was able to explain that after six hours at school he just wants a little break before diving into the homework. Now THAT I can support. His school day lets out at 2:30, so we've agreed that he has to get started on homework by 4. (Of course, if he is really eager to get to his games, he may change his mind about this schedule, because I'm still thinking no games before homework...but maybe that will be another Plan B for us to play with.)

Saturday, January 18, 2014

The Proper Fit

(Public Service Warning--for my two male readers, go ahead and invite your wives to read this post, but it probably won't hold much interest for you... I certainly don't mind if you read it, but it's one of those extra-girly sorts of posts, so proceed at your own risk. ☺ )


Over Christmas break I had a professional bra fitting.

Can I just say wow, and I wish I'd done it years ago?!



For the last *ahem* years I've always carefully followed the measuring directions, and for all these years I've been getting bras that more or less fit...some more, some less... Two bras of the same size would fit differently, and I had a hard time judging how well a particular style might fit until I actually tried it on. The problem is that I wore a size that is not carried on most store racks--I have a small band but a large cup and it's difficult to find a bra in my size, let alone enough options to be able to choose the one that fits the best. For most of my life I have bought bras via catalogs because that was the only place I could find my size, and as I said, some fit, but some did not. The problem with catalog ordering of course is that if you decide to send back the bra, then you have to wait weeks to get a new one, not to mention that the new one may or may not fit any better...

Four years ago I went to Victoria's Secret and had a bra fitting there, and they told me that I had been wearing the correct size all along (but gave me some help with finding styles/fabric types that would be better for my particular breast shape). I was so proud of myself, look, I've been wearing the right size all along... They say that 80% of women wear the wrong bra size, but look at me, I wasn't one of them!

Except that I was.

I was resigned to the idea that no busty lady bra fits the way that the smaller size bras fit on the models in the pictures. I was resigned to the idea that bras simply aren't comfortable if you're busty. I accepted that busty ladies just can't get anything that really supports or really stops the bounce...

I was wrong.

In the last few months I've been introduced to a few things by a few friends. They pointed me to places like this (photos) and this (photos) and this (good explanations but no photos) which illustrate what a bad fitting bra looks like...and I realized that I had multiple symptoms of bad-fitting-bra syndrome.
Then they sent me here, and said to try fitting method 2. You see, the method that many of us have been using for measuring was developed in a time when bras were made of stiff fabrics (rather than the stretchy ones we have now). The method simply isn't accurate anymore. The correct method is to measure your ribcage under your bust, and then use that number (add 1 if it's odd), but do not add 4-5 inches! Then lean over so that your torso is parallel to the floor, and measure around your unrestrained breasts and see how far they hang. Then take the difference between those two measurements. When I re-measured with this new method, "my size" went down two band sizes and up five (five!) cup sizes.Yes, I had a small band and large cup to begin with: now that status was exponentially increased.
At this site you begin by entering the current bra size you wear, and then answer some questions about fit (where the underwire lies, how far the band pulls out, etc), and it will tell you what your correct size should be. The answer it gave me was the same as the measuring method on that last site.

Fantasie bra "jana" goes up to K cups

So then I found a boutique that actually carried my size. (It's hard to find places that carry J cups, but they do exist. Larger than G is pretty much only made in Europe so you'll have to find a place that imports. Use the methods above to get a good estimate of your size and then find a boutique that says they have that size...don't risk doing a fitting at a place that doesn't carry your size!!!)
These import stores will be expensive. There's no way around that. I tried on six different bras in my size (yes, those two sites above had given me the correct size). I also tried on a few that were one band size or cup size over, just to make sure. Of the six, only one really fit well. Even among bras from the same company, different styles fit differently. I confess this made me a little nervous about ordering additional bras online... and it's definitely a reason to get a proper in-person fitting.

I paid $68 for that bra that fit. (Yes this means I'm still wearing some that don't fit right because buying new bras is going to take a little time to afford...). $60-70+ is a pretty common price for these imported bras, however if you're a really busty person you're going to run into that same price range in most places online as well (and there will be shipping to boot). So you might as well go to a brick and mortar store where you can try things on.

Places that are good for fittings: Nordstroms, Dillards, and import boutiques.
Places that are not good for fittings: anyplace with a limited size range in stock (including Victoria Secret). Basically if they don't carry bands from 28-48, and cups from A-J (or at least A-G if you're not so busty), then don't waste your time there.

Always remember:
If anything gapes, or pokes, or bulges, then it's not a good bra for you. Period. Try a different one. Bra shopping may not seem like fun, but having the right bra can make you so much more comfortable that it's worth it to get a good one.
Finally, because I know not everyone is willing to pay those prices, and I know that not everyone HAS to pay those prices because not everyone has the sizing issues that I do, I will mention some places I like to actually buy bras. It's true, they are online/catalog sources, so yes, there is that risk of ordering a bra that doesn't fit well and needing to exchange it. However, at least for me, having a professional in-person fitting has taught me what features and fabrics to look for, as well as obviously what my correct size is. So I hope in the future I will have a lot more 'hits' and a lot fewer 'misses' even with catalog ordering. Because it's awfully hard to find my size on the rack, and when I do there aren't many choices and/or they're really expensive.

  • HerRoom has an excellent style guide section where you can enter information about your breast shape and size (there are drawings, not photos to refer to) and it will give you recommendations about what styles will suit you. They also have a full range of sizes, including those good import brands. Fantasie is the brand of the bra that I liked best at the boutique. (This blog post also has some guides of what styles suit what shapes, including photos comparing.)
  • Marks and Spencer is a UK store (as opposed to a US Store with european brands). You will pay a bit in shipping, however the bra prices are significantly lower than most of the import places I've seen ($30-40 rather than $60+). So in the long run I think the prices are better. They make their own products, rather than carrying other brands, however their quality is highly recommended and I plan to try them out. If you buy internationally, be sure to check the size correlations, because US sizing and UK or French sizing are all different! More info on that here.
  • OneHanesPlace is an outlet catalog--wide selection of name brand regular bras, very good prices, up to DD and some F
  • Lane Bryant's Cacique line of bras have some nice larger cups (although they don't go into bands smaller than 36). In bands over 40 they go up to J, though the smaller band sizes stop at G. They also routinely run "buy 2 get 2 free" sales, bringing the average price per bra down to $20 or so (if you buy 4). They carry a really wide variety of colors and styles though, which can be nice for someone wanting to stay away from the 'granny bra' look.
  • Birth&Baby nursing bras (I posted about them here). Also, this site has some additional info on getting a proper size nursing bra (and has some brand recommendations).
There are several more sites out there that carry the size range imports, such as Fig Leaves or Bravissimo, however I have not checked them out yet.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Rising Water

This morning I was browsing pinterest and this photo caught my eye:

http://www.polopixel.com/2014/01/glacier-national-park-montana-united.html



It got me to thinking about rocks; specifically about wet rocks...

More than once I've sat on the shore of a body of water and noticed how different a rock can look when it's wet as compared to when it's dry.

In every case, the change I have observed is that the wet rock is prettier. Its natural features of stripes or speckles or color variation (or even just its natural color) are enhanced and given definition by the presence of water.

When they are dry, the rocks all look more or less alike, but when they are wet they are unique.

My husband found a large pretty stone in a river last summer and wanted to bring it home for our garden, but once it dried out it became quite dull. He has actually decided that he'd like to put some kind of lacquer on it so that it will maintain its 'wet' look even when not submerged. Because it's a better or more appealing rock when it is paired with water.

Water is, in many senses, the antithesis of stone. Stone is simple, solid, stable, and more or less immoveable. Water is fluid and flowing, changeable, and sensitive to its surroundings.

The only way for a rock to maintain the beauty of the water is for it to be submersed repeatedly or at length. In other words, it is immersion in opposition that creates the beauty.

In longer spans of time water can change rock even more, by shaping and smoothing it through gradual erosion. I realize the metaphor here isn't perfect, but I did at least want to give a nod to the idea that it's not just about beauty or definition.

The point is that opposition, though unpleasant or even painful in the moment, can be beneficial or improving in the longer run. It can show us the best version of ourselves. It pushes us through the changes that refine us.

Thursday, December 26, 2013

Homemade "Poopourri"

First things first: If you have never heard of poopourri, please take a moment to watch this, ok?



Now that you know what it is, I will just say that it works, and is a real savior of a product for a household with only one bathroom!

However, it is $10 per 2oz bottle, and that struck us being a smidge on the spendy side. So we did a little research into whether we could create our own. (Do take a minute to look at the official website and note the amusing names for their various scent combinations though, they are hilarious!)

Test 1: putting a few drops of plain essential oil into the toilet DOES do the job. However the bottles can be a little messy or easy to spill, and it did seem like it gave more oil than we really needed...which makes me mildly concerned about pipes and so on.
Verdict: functional but not ideal

Test 2: witch hazel with essential oil. This works fabulously!
We used 4 oz bottles, filled them most of the way with witch hazel, and then added 20-25 drops of essential oil. (If you do a different size, just use 7-8 drops oil per oz of witch hazel.) You can add any oil you like, whatever scent combinations you find appealing. We did one with equal parts grapefruit and lime, and one with about 15 drops orange and 8 drops clove, and one with close to equal parts fir and juniper which my Hubby thinks smells just like a christmas tree.
Each oz is good for 75ish uses, depending on how much you use, so the whole bottle is 300 uses, give or take.

And, the best part was that this recipe cost us about $4-5 per bottle (depending on the oils), and that included the glass bottles! So that's 1/4 the cost of the commercial stuff (half the price per bottle x double the bottle size). Alaska is not the cheapest of places either, so I imagine that in some parts of the country would be even cheaper.

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