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I need to calm the fuck down and organize my thoughts.

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I have been researching educational theory and child development for nearly twenty years. In that time I have come to some very firm opinions. It is never appropriate to refer to a child as deficient. Deficient is a very final word. It means not good enough. When you describe a child this way, even when you feel you are describing behavior and not the personhood of said child, you damage the child’s sense of self. I’m not even saying self esteem; the child learns that who they are is not good enough. When you tell a child that they are deficient they learn that there isn’t a lot of point in them working hard to improve because they are not good enough.

All human beings have areas where they struggle. Everyone has strengths and weaknesses and areas where they could improve if they worked hard enough. If you shame people for this natural variation it does damage that can be permanent. They can learn that there is no purpose in attempting self improvement because they are simply less than.

When you tell a child coming from a different culture that the way that they are, based on their culture, is rude you are shaming them. Shame does not motivate change nor improvement it teaches a child to shut down and feel wrong.

It is absolutely possible to work with children who come from varying backgrounds and encourage them to change in ways you feel are appropriate. The best way to do this is through emphasizing where you see them behaving or reacting in ways that are in alignment with your values and praising them. Telling them that they are rude Americans and correcting them is not actually helpful. If you must correct them saying things like, “Ah, here we really like hearing _____ instead of ______” is both more effective and more kind. You do not need to shame their culture of origin to encourage them in how to change. It is unhelpful and harmful. They cannot help being American. Telling them that being American is wrong, less than, or rude is damaging.

I home schooled my children because I spent a lot of time and energy researching best practices for educating children while knowing that very few educators actually believe it is worth the time and effort it takes to do it right. When I was a teacher I worked 70 hour weeks because I stayed late with my students who needed extra help. If they hadn’t learned something yet it was a failure on the part of the teachers not a failure on the part of the students. All of my students made substantial progress, often multiple grades in one year. It is not that hard to help students learn if you get them to feel like you care about them and you genuinely believe that it is worth your time and effort to help them.

If your mannerisms, tone, and words convince a child that you do not care about them then no matter how much you profess to “caring” a child will not learn from you. That is not a failure on the part of the child.

At this point my children believe that if they breathe wrong the teachers are going to reprimand them. Middle Child in particular thinks that the teachers actively dislike her.

This is not becoming an atmosphere in which my children are going to be able to make much learning progress. They are going to stall. I have touched base with the local home education community and I believe we would be able to get to know the community pretty well through those people. There is a lot going on.

I would prefer to have my children in school. I really would. I am tired. Educating little people takes a lot of time and energy and effort and frankly I would like to turn it over to people who are being paid to provide such a service. If my children are going to suffer because the people who are being paid to provide such a service are not able to work with my kids, then it doesn’t matter what I would prefer I will educate my children.

This is a time of great potential for my kids. They could be growing by leaps and bounds. They could be massively expanding their abilities and skills. Or they could deal with adults who want to focus on their few weaknesses and decide that those weaknesses mean they are deficient and subpar.

I am not going to allow my children to suffer because of the stereotypes, biases, bigotry, and judgments of adults. Not when it is fully legal for me to withdraw them and just see to it that they have what they need to be successful. I am not trying to raise compliant, obedient children. I am trying to raise successful adults.

Too many thoughts.

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I am having trouble falling asleep again. I am thinking about gardening and book shelves and how very stressful it is having our things on the boat still. By the time they arrive it will have taken over four months. I don’t have perfect recollection of what is on the boat and I am at the point where I really don’t want to buy duplicates of things because that is a waste of money so I just kind of… fuss because I don’t even know what I am waiting for but I can’t buy things to fill my needs. It feels horrible.

Deficient: (in something) not having enough of something, especially something that is essential; not good enough

Retarded: less developed mentally than is normal for a particular age

I am having a lot of feelings about both of those words. Anger. Rage. Fury. Sadness. Despondency. Anxiety. Frustration. Defensive.

There is a strong idea that home schooling harms children. That it makes them unable to develop “normally”. This idea doesn’t come from one person or one place, it comes from many places. I find it utterly infuriating and enraging to have to deal with this idea. I’m not feeling very rational about it. If it were coming from one place or one person I think I could cope. I think I could parse my feelings down into a little bucket and figure out how to talk about them. But it isn’t coming from one place it is coming from many and I feel like instead of being able to process it with any of those places I am engulfed in a tidal wave of upset and I utterly cannot engage with why this is such a motherfucking insulting concept.

I need to find a way to wrap my brain around useful words though. My kids need me to. They need me to be able to advocate for them in a way that does not include just saying “Fuck off” to authority figures. I have to find eloquent words to go through why it is utterly unacceptable to use such words and I am failing. I am fucking failing.

Because those words are a contemptuous indictment of me as much or more than my children. Because I home schooled them and if they are deficient it is my fault. That was literally the point of home schooling. There is no one to blame but me. But are they deficient or are they different in a way that would have been true no matter how they were schooled? Are they struggling more or less than they would have if they were put in school when they really didn’t want to go and it would have been a daily fight? I have no crystal ball. All I have is documentation from Stanford that the way I home schooled is the ideal learning environment.

But in Scotland all home schooling is termed interrupted learning as if home educating means that all learning was interrupted.

My kids were going to be weird no matter what. Look at their parents.

Be bitchy nice. That was the advice of the mom I talked to on the playground. Demand that the school change the words they use. My experience is that schools are abusive and the only thing you can do about it is leave. Take your football and go home. But I don’t want to yank my kids out because of one fucking cunt. I need to find words that are effective and clear and commanding.

Don’t. Insult. Children.

If you cannot talk about children without using insulting, rude language do not work with them or discuss them at all. Your nasty opinion is utterly unhelpful and can in fact be damaging.

Children can have areas where they struggle. Children can have areas where they need extra help. Children can require extra support to be successful.

THAT DOESN’T MAKE THEM FUCKING DEFICIENT YOU PIECE OF SHIT MOTHERFUCKER.

Not good enough.

Go straight to hell you presumptuous cow.

Clearly something is going on and clearly I am not going to be direct about it. BUT I’M HAVING A LOT OF GOD DAMN FEELINGS.

My children are articulate, self-aware, sensitive to the emotions of others, expressive, have incredibly large vocabularies, can figure out how to play with people across social classes, can eat at fancy restaurants around the world with perfect table manners (no matter what table manners mean for that country), and they have unreal memories for data. But yes, they have things they aren’t perfect at. So. Fucking. What.

I am so angry I could spit nails. And I have no choice but to deal with this. I have to be the adult. I have to advocate. I have to ask for meetings and use my big girl words and not swear at all. Even though I want to say a lot of incredibly rude words. Even though I want to break things.

I would much rather think about gardening.

For the record: I am only interested in discussing difficulties in communicating with professional educators if you are in fact a professional educator. I have no desire to speak to other parents about this whatsoever. There are a myriad of reasons for having this boundary. I don’t need to share them all. Or any.

I still fucking hate school.

And yet I consider going back to university. I would like to work with kids who have emotional problems. I want to research incest. I think it will require more schooling. My ass is going to be in the special needs office saying, “Hi I’m Autistic, I have ADHD, PTSD, GAD, and arthritis. I absolutely require the use of a computer; it is abusive to require me to hand write.”

Fuck hand writing. Fuck hand writing being the fucking measure of someone’s motherfucking intelligence. Why don’t you fuck yourself with a fucking chain saw.

Maybe my kids need to be allowed to type as well.

Maybe it is time to find a game that teaches touch typing.

Maybe I should just think about gardening instead. I want a subscription to the lovely gardening magazine Jenny gave me a bunch of old copies of. That thing is detailed and fantastic. Over the winter I am going to sit down and start planning all the things I can do once I’m allowed to plant. I can get started in September! There’s lots to plant in September! Given the budget we want to follow next year we are going to be doing basically everything in cash. So at the end of the month I will be able to put the money I save from the hoped for budget into a jar for gardening. That’s my gardening budget. I’m not in California anymore with a tech salary. I can only buy things as I can afford them on a fairly tight income. I am choosing to make my budget much tighter than I think we will fully maintain. Hm. That sounds not-right. I always budget as if we have far less money than we do. Because I will fuck up and go over my plans. I am aiming for a really really low figure. Much lower than I think we will manage. Because then when I go over it I am still at a reasonable level. And I am going to do this partly by limiting myself to cash. Easier to say “We have no cash in the envelope” than “I don’t want to use the credit card”.

Gardening is not going to be a big part of the budget. I am probably going to become that lady who asks if I can take clippings. I only get to buy plants/hard scaping stuff once I have saved up enough money. I’m not planning to travel any time soon. Well, we have to go to Edinburgh for official stuff. But the whole trip is going to be in the neighborhood of £300. Lodging and train are costing £140 and I plan to bring snacks/meals for the train. We aren’t staying long. We aren’t going to fancy restaurants nor Do All The Things. We will get passports taken care of and notarize the sale papers for DVC. Then we will come home.

We will only be awake and available for entertainment for like 9 hours total in the city anyway.

I’m tired. I don’t want to hang out. I really don’t.

I’m tired so why the fuck can’t I sleep? Because I have to be bitchy nice with officials and the idea makes my stomach hurt. I feel sick.

Gardening. Gardening is fun to think about. Book shelves will be paid for out of DVC profits. After the book shelves are paid for the rest goes into investments.

Paint will have to be saved up for.

It occurs to me that I don’t want to get rid of all the cardboard boxes. I want them for gardening and painting. Hm. For gardening: it will be a great way to kill a bunch of the lawn so I can plant more interesting things there. For painting: tarps ain’t free and if I can put cardboard several layers deep over the carpet I don’t need tarps. Hmmmm. Ok. I convinced myself.

Before I kill lawn I need to see where things come up in the spring. I hear there are bulbs out there. I will have to mark the lawn somehow to protect the bulbs when I rip out grass. I’ll figure that out.

We’ve gone out and done some winter pruning as a family. It was really fun. I love how much my kids love working with me. I love watching them take pride in their growing abilities. They are quite competent at a wide array of skills.

NOT GOOD ENOUGH MY AUNT FANNY.

Fuck petty educators.

Gardening. Book shelves. Stop ranting in your head, Krissy. It won’t help.

I am scared I won’t be able to help.

I feel bad about myself.

I feel like I must be a shitty teacher. Only I know I am not. Only I feel like I am. All home schoolers have experienced “interrupted learning”. I want to puke. I am so fucking mad.

Dogma. Fuck your fucking dogma.

Just keep swimming.

Draw a picture or some shit.

Writing is creation

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When I don’t write for a while I get super agitated. It’s complicated. There are many layers of things going on and I can’t write about a bunch of them and that’s really bothering me. I’m contemplating picking people I can write letters to because that at least allows me to talk to someone about what I’m thinking, but that feels loaded too. There are so many things happening. On one finger: I write because it helps me organize my thoughts and feelings. On another finger (because this is way the fuck more than two hands, yo): I write because I am leaving this documentation in the ether for my children. On another finger: I write because it helps me connect with really interesting people. On another finger: I write because it is so much better than self mutilation. On another finger: I like doing it. Writing about myself allows me to create who I want to be.

I am absolutely brimming with feelings because moving here allows all of us a fresh start. In so many ways we are leaving behind who we were and we are becoming something different. I like something different. But Noah and I created selves in the bay with great effort and work over many many years. Leaving all of that behind to start again is incredibly hard. I don’t get to walk into a room and have my reputation precede me. I have to introduce myself. I have to decide what I will say about myself.

I went to a fantastic lecture the other day about migrants and boundaries and borders. I said thank you to the speaker and she asked me a little about myself. I said her lecture was making me think a million thoughts about my own experience of moving 60+ times in the US before traveling the world and landing here. It made me think about all of the things I saw in immigrant neighborhoods in California. It made me think about all of the people I know who have crossed borders. She asked me to email her so we can continue the conversation. I haven’t yet, I was cooking and then flopping in exhaustion in between medical appointments.

I saw some really interesting looking ink at a craft fair and while I was browsing and trying to decide if I wanted to buy any I heard the creator telling another customer about how obsessed she is with painting trees. Me too.

I met a nice young man at the local shop. We got to talking and it turns out he is into D&D and he’s a literature major at the university and we exchanged phone numbers and we’ve been talking about books and comics and things.

I have been to the local munch a couple of times. I have met some really interesting people there. I am saying loudly and clearly when cute people flirt with me NOT POLY. CAN’T DATE. PROBABLY NOT EVER. I am not available, no matter how my stories about the past make me sound.

I feel bad that I haven’t been going to as many of the baby classes/events but they use half a day and utterly wear me out. I don’t get much else done on days that I go and I have had appointments and deliveries and Noah was gone. I can’t do everything. And just doing the mommy-of-a-toddler thing is… not where I am as much anymore. I am that, clearly. But it’s not my whole identity and I have to actively create a whole new identity again.

I have to be a balanced person. I have to be many things. I have to figure out how to talk to people and ask them questions that don’t revolve around tech and I have to have a self that is not defined by all the communities I have bumped into. I have to be a whole new creature.

I wanted this and I’m doing it.

On the days when I get to go ride my bike through the city I feel intensely alive. I think of Mrs. Whatsit and I have shouted, more than once, “Wild Nights Are My Glory!” No I am not over the rain or the weather. It makes me feel alive. It makes me feel brave and determined and willful. Riding my bike in pouring rain makes me laugh and grin and sing loudly because I am just so happy I get to be out in it. I get to do this. I get to be here. I… do want some waterproof trousers though. I feel a bit awkward sitting places with a soaked bottom.

I love this city of immigrants. I may be in Scotland, but a fair number of people here were not born here. Hm. Ok, I can only find data showing 7.7% of this city was born outside of the UK. A lot of the folks living here are not from Inverness, the city has doubled in ten years and that’s not because of birth rate, but they are not all international migrants. Lots of them are UK internal migrants. The city feels alive and growing. I love that most people I ask tell me their immigrant story and they tell it with great pride. When I find the rare Invernesian who was born here I tell them, “Do you know how lucky you are that you got to be born here?” They always laugh and ask me why. When I start telling them why this is my favorite city in the world the response is always, “Wow–I’ve never thought about it like that. I’ve always just wanted to complain.”

I think about it like that.

I feel lucky to be here, even with the hiccups. Even with the complications. Even with the things that are hard and aren’t going to get easier any time soon.

Life is not easy anywhere, not for anyone. Not really. Life is suffering. Life is a trial and full of tribulations. Life hurts. Life will insult you and knock you down and cause you pain.

But at least here I get water and wonderful walks up the hill where I get to come down and see a glorious hillside so beautiful that I know I am going to paint picture after picture of it before I die.

I am going to be an artist here.

I remember, years ago when we were in Rotorua New Zealand we went into a little art gallery. The artist was present working as he minded the shop. He was from the US. We asked what made him end up there. He said, “I came here on vacation and I couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

I understand, man. I understand.

I love the fog here. I love the cold, crisp air. I love that I am winterizing my garden for the first G-D time in my life. It’s fun. It’s an adventure.

I’m exhausted to the marrow of my bones. I want to do more and I really really need to do less. Noah commented that maybe we should have moved to Edinburgh, there would be more services there like therapists and specialist doctors.

No. I will learn how to manage my mental health here. I have never had solutions for my medical problems, I am just grateful that now I have names for them so I can find peace in my heart with knowing that “Yup. This is a problem. It exists. I’m not making it up. It sucks. Yup. Moving along.”

I don’t want to be in a bigger city. Maybe in 20 years when this city has grown too big for me I will want to move out to an island so I can run from people again. Who knows.

Who knows what the future will bring. Who knows what identities I will get to create. Who knows how I will spend my time or how much functionality my body will still have. I guess we’ll see.

My accent will continue to drift. I will always be a Californian. But I drop a Southern drawl into conversations when it feels fitting. I can pull up a few words that sound Australian. I can confuse people with whether or not I am Canadian, apparently. I’m sure I will pick up Scottish phrasing too.

And all of it will be me. It will never sound like just one thing. I will always be more than one thing. I will always contain multitudes. I will always be influenced by all those dead white guys writing about their walks in the woods.

People keep asking me if I have a job. I say, “Well I do a lot of work. I’m a writer and an artist and a mother of three who is overly fastidious about house work. I garden and read and try to learn as much as I can about a great many subjects. I don’t have a job, but I do have many vocations and I am lucky enough to have a partner who supports me.” Sometimes if I am feeling cheeky I say that I don’t have a job I am a burden on my partner.

My ridiculous partner who thinks of himself as a failure because he is not in the top 1% of absolutely everything he ever tries and does. We match. I know why he worries about money. I am not worried about money. I think we have all the money we require for 2020 in the bank. I think we have most of 2021’s necessary money too. I think that by the end of this contract 2021 will be covered. So in 2020 he will be trying to earn 2022’s income. I’m not worried. Cause for one thing, the bank shares payment we get for 2019 and 2020 and 2021 is probably actually enough to pay for 2022 just on its own. So really he’s shooting for earning more like 2023’s income in 2020.

We will be fine. Yes, yes we should invest some of it which makes the math look different but good grief. That’s not even touching the bank account with US dollars sitting in it (probably another year of run money) nor any investments. We’ll be fine.

That’s what we do. We make things work out. We are tremendously lucky. Noah was born on third base. I have a natural ability with budgeting and saving. We also both work like dogs. We’ll be fine.

That’s one piece of the work I do: I manage a pretty obscene amount of money. We are looking into all of the moving pieces involved in US citizens investing in the UK. We have a bank advisor and a lawyer and an accountant (two accountants, really–including a US one who used to work for the IRS on international tax returns). This shit is complicated. No advice, please. I’m already paying for the advice of quite a few experts.

The amount of money we manage is work and sometimes I feel fussed about how many layers there are… but I’m not afraid we won’t be ok. I am genuinely not. If we took out $50,000/year from investments and didn’t earn another penny we would have at least 20 years of run rate and that’s not even right because things would still grow in the meantime and the bank shares would still come and… We aren’t going to touch the investments for a long while. When we do we will have enough to get old with. We will be fine.

You have taken care of me, Noah. Someday it will be my turn to say, “See what I have done. You are safe forever.” And when we die all the money that is left can be paid forward into the world. I’m not hoarding it for my kids. Sorrynotsorry, kids.

I only had one grandparent who made it into their 80’s. I only had one great grandparent who lived into their 70’s. I am not from a long lived clan. I don’t need another 60 years of run money.

It’s weird to think about. How long do we really have left?

Long enough. And I’ll get to hold Noah’s hand the whole time.

The NHS is pretty rad so far…

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I really like my doctor. She’s pretty rad. I went and saw her again today. We talked about anxiety, sleep, cancer follow up, exercise, and diet recommendations. She is dancing around the hint that she thinks it might improve my general health if I lost some weight but she has not said it directly and I appreciate that. She thinks that heading in a vegan direction has the strong likelihood of improving general inflammation so it might improve pain stuff but she sees no point in it for cancer prevention in my case. She also implied it might make managing my weight easier but she is just hinting.

In this country they don’t like giving Lorazepam for sleep the way I take it, they prefer Diazepam and she stressed that in general any doctor here is going to be very hesitant to give it to me on a long-term basis. Here they dislike any sleep aid for longer than a 2 week period. But given that my problem isn’t staying asleep it is getting my racing thoughts to calm down enough to go to sleep… she sees why I like Lorazepam and she is comfortable bending the rules somewhat in my case. She said “If I had had your life I would have trouble going to sleep too.” (For the Americans, she wants me off Ativan and on to Valium instead.)

She wants to see me again when my medical records arrive so we can discuss my specific drug history and what she might like to try for anti-anxiety going forward. I told her I would be happy to trial drugs that are available here and not in the US once we are able to go over the gene testing report together so we can have a solid idea of what I am likely to have a strong negative reaction to. So far I am really impressed with her. I have gotten far less push back than I do from US doctors. After our next visit she would like me to meet a psychiatrist here but she assumes I won’t be seeing them on a regular basis.

She asked how much I exercise already and said, “That’s really great! It sounds like it might be nice to do some of that in a group so you make friends but you don’t really have to stress about upping the amount.” She has already given me a list of places/organisations for group exercise so I can work on general fitness stuff and community building at the same time. That’s pretty rad. This area has a pretty big focus on trying to increase exercise for general health. She even said she doesn’t think I need to eliminate alcohol. She told me that depriving myself of things is going to super negatively impact my mental health and that will probably be a bigger problem than what damage I will do to my body with alcohol/sugar/meat products. She stressed moderation.

For a 15 minute visit I felt that was about as good as it gets. She gave me a ‘scrip for Diazepam that will probably last me 6 months. She said that if I only need a new ‘scrip every 6-8 months she thinks the NHS will deal with the fact that it is usage that doesn’t follow their general recommendations because I am clearly not abusing it. I just have severe long-term mental health concerns where I do require a level of usage than is different from the “norm”.

I will be calling for an appointment in January because hopefully my records will arrive by them. I see the dermatologist on the 2nd of December. That’s really not a long wait…

Finally paid off.

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I have a lot of “loyalty” points for various travel websites. Tonight I booked two nights in a place in Edinburgh in December for $38. I’m excited. We have to renew kid passports (turns out I couldn’t get it done in the states because [insert long story that isn’t interesting] and now we have to get it done remotely) and get a document notarized so we can sell our Disney time share property. We are getting not quite twice what we paid for it back.

I’m having approximately 9,382 feelings about various things going on in my life. I was thinking, while out walking tonight, how I no longer have the freedom to word-vomit them on my blog without fear of consequences. I wonder if this is a sign I am getting old. Maybe my super-ego is too developed. I fear the consequences of talking about my feelings.

I have been giving just about everyone I meet a little pop quiz, “Do you find it offensive if someone tells you that they are having a terrible day when you ask ‘how are you?'” So far the overwhelming majority says, “If I didn’t want to hear that I shouldn’t have asked.” My faith in humanity is restored. I take it too seriously when someone on the internet says “90% of people who say that will think you are rude if you answer honestly.” My on-the-street pop quiz is finding more like 10%-15% would find it rude. And I am never going to please everyone. That’s alright.

We continue to settle in. I am trying to rest more, with mixed success. What that means is I bought a 1,000 piece puzzle and put together 75% of it in 24 hours. I’m trying to savor the last bit.

The boat stuff isn’t arriving until mid-December. We are going to Edinburgh in mid-December.

I’m still having a lot of feelings about the cancer stuff. I don’t know how much changing my whole life I should do. The majority of cancer risk is genetic and if I went 100% vegan, gave up drinking and sugar entirely, and exercised like a triathlete… I wouldn’t change my risk profile by very much. If I did squeeze out a slight increase in quantity of life it would be at what sort of cost?

I don’t know what to do. I am feeling a little better about having written the book. I know I censored the shit out of myself and I don’t like that part. If I knew I was going to die in six months and I didn’t have to deal with the long-term consequences to some of my friendships… that chapter would be very different. Maybe just maybe I should write a “real one” and keep it in a drawer. Maybe. If I didn’t have to accept the consequences of my actions I would write a lot more about the cost of silencing yourself for the sake of a friendship.

I am a coward.

I don’t want to feel like I am letting other people down but I’m starting to think I need to focus way more on whether or not I am letting me down. Other people need to do what they have to do for their happiness and I need to stop worrying about their happiness over my own. I need to be happy too. I spend an awful lot of time being unhappy and sometimes that is absolutely the result of my choices and I could make different choices.

Recently someone said to me that they aren’t trying to conform to their new environment, they are looking for co-existence. I am not sure I will ever really be Scottish. But I would like to joyously co-exist. A friend likes to say that after living abroad she feels more “American” than she used to. I feel Californian in my bones. I don’t feel American. I have seen enough of the country that I really don’t identify with it as a whole. Part of what I love about the city of Inverness is how much it reminds me of California in some ways. There has been a massive amount of immigration and the basic culture has had to shift to tolerating co-existence in a way that feels good and natural to me.

I do love California. I will always miss California. The necklace you gave me of the state flag hangs on the wall in my room where I can see it every day. I will always miss you. I do love you. Yeah, I think you stalk me too. I haz data.

I don’t know how we will find our place here, but I think it will happen. Piece by piece. We will have to build a new network and we will. I am not complete just coming here with the small bit of threads I carried with me. I need to build a new web.

Sobonfu told me to build my own community. I have rarely had the privilege of knowing a wiser human being than her. I need to listen. That means I have to be brave. I have to put myself out there. I have to not be content with just what I already have. I have to keep trying and growing. Even though it is going to hurt. Even though I am afraid of the consequences of being me and speaking my mind.

Today I got to talk to a lady. After chatting for a while she laughed and said, “I feel like you are me, with children. I am so happy I got to talk to you today.”

When I have given people the pop quiz they always say some variation of, “You glow with wanting to know the real answer.”

I am broken, open.

I will always be a little too raw. A lot too judgmental. Way too intense. Extra. And that’s ok. Not everyone has to understand me or like me or want me.

I don’t have time for everyone anyway. I’m still trying to figure out how to carve out space for myself. I’m still trying to figure out what that means. I am still so very tired.

I am really enjoying watching my third child blossom. She is getting more intense and verbal by the day. She is going to have no trouble keeping up with my chatty little family. She names everything she sees all day long. If she has something she still cries because she wants it and why don’t you give it to her already. She’s passionate and organized. She knows her routines. If I haven’t scooped the kitty litter by bed time she tells me to go do it. She knows what needs to be done.

We are all settling in.

School… well… it turns out that schools in Scotland are schools. But hey, no guns!

I don’t identify as “American” in large part because when I think “America” I think of guns. California has guns but it is not defined by them.

It’s all so complicated.

And so it goes, on and on and on.

Third time, done.

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50,129. I wrote for 90 minutes today and now I need to stop before my wrists explode into flames.

I’m sure I will add more in the future. But I’m walking away from the higher word count goal for right now. There’s a lot more I want to flesh out in some of these chapters but I am declaring NaNo done for the year and I’m going to take another break.

Maybe it will be another multi-year break like the second break. Blurgh.

I love this part

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Whoa. Holy saucebuckets. The new upgrade of WordPress looks weird.

Today we sat down and divided up the weekend so that everyone gets to have one on one date time with each other. I get two hours to work on the book. I might finish NaNo this weekend, I’m close. Today I get to write the chapter on friendships. I may never publish this book if I want to keep my friends.

“Risk Aware” Consensual Kink

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I’m having some feelings about how stupid I was as a young person. I consented to things I shouldn’t have consented to. I was coming from a background of really extreme trauma. My normal meter was so fucked up it politely can be described as not existing.

I made stupid choices like staying in a relationship with someone who broke my arm in the first two months. “It was an accident; he didn’t mean it. I can’t hold him responsible for accidents.”

I made stupid choices. Like choosing to fluid bond with someone who refused to get an STD test for years. When I was diagnosed with HPV I totally felt like it was because I was such a slut and I had slept with so many people. I apologized to him profusely for exposing him. His response? “Oh I knew I had warts.”

He. Knew.

But he didn’t bother to tell me. He didn’t think that was information I needed to know. It was “none of my business to know his private medical information.”

So instead I got to have cancer taken off my cervix with a laser at 21. Cheers.

And now, in the gift that keeps on giving I have a malignant melanoma on my back. In layman’s terms: I have fucking cancer again. Do you know what that partner used to do? Give me sun burns on purpose because it was funny to watch me be in pain that I couldn’t get away from.

Two sunburns in a lifetime greatly increase your risk of skin cancer. I chose to allow him to burn me. I was a stupid motherfucker.

So now I’m 38. I have three kids who are 11, 9, and 1 year old. I get to deal with cancer again. I probably need to change everything about how I live my life. I need to be so absolutely religious about skin exposure it isn’t funny. I will need to go in for full body checks for more cancer for the rest of my life. I will need to change my diet to decrease my risk of cancer.

It isn’t that partner’s “fault” for any of this now is it? I chose to take these risks. I will pay the price.

And he will pay nothing.

Rest

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The big kids are in school. Her Sweetness is napping on her dad. I rode my bike to the post office to send out business mail. Now I am sitting alone enjoying a cup of tea and reading a book about sexual response so I can change my approach to my love life.

I used to think being “sex positive” meant saying yes as much as physically possible. I am trying to change my thoughts. Maybe being sex positive means saying no unless I really really want to say yes.

16 days…

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16 days and 2 more international trips. First to Bangkok and then on to Inverness. Bangkok is because my partner has a business trip and we are going with him. Inverness is where we get to go home to.

Our visas all came through. We have the legal right to be in the UK for the next 5 years. If we stay in the country for enough days we will have the right to apply for leave to remain (basically a green card). If we stay in the country for enough days during leave to remain we have the right to apply for citizenship.

If Scottish independence succeeds… you bet your buttons that we are applying for citizenship. Hell yeah.

16 days till we get to go home to our big, beautiful house in the Highlands. I am so excited I can barely breathe. Our stuff is on a boat going over there now. (Thanks for the advice about how to label my boxes of porn.)

My wonderful lifelong best friend has been there for 10 years. She is setting aside furniture, dishes, linens, and as many other things as she can spare to help us adjust and find a place.

We are going to be Scottish. I am so excited.

And I have my own bedroom on a separate floor of the house from my kids so I have space for noisy sex. I have a room in the back yard that was sound proofed for a drum kit so I can scream all I want and no one will hear me.

I can’t wait!!

16 days. Just keep swimming. We are in Portland for five more days. I have plans with friends most of those days.

I will miss all the USians. Thank you for the influence you have been on my life. Thank you for your friendship and companionship. Thank you for your teaching and for your love.

Thank you for everything. I will think of you.

Falling in place.

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We got the house we wanted in Scotland. The previous owners are thrilled about how we want to add art to the space. (They cancelled showings with other families to accept our offer.)

And there is a sound proof room at the back of the property. I will finally be able to scream at my house without bothering neighbors or my kids. (They built it for a drum set.)

I am really excited. Next: finishing the visa process. The solicitor we are working with says he has never seen a more likely easy acceptance. Noah’s work history really is staggeringly impressive.

I am meeting nice kinky people so that I have friends other than my life long vanilla best friend.

Before we land in Scotland permanently I am getting to be blessed by touching base with some of the people who have inspired me since I was a teenager. I am in such a fantastic and lucky phase of life.

Did I mention that there is a self contained apartment so people can come visit us and have their own bedroom/living room/kitchen? If I love you and you know it you are always welcome.

We will be in Portland for a while next week. We will need to make a trip to California in August to close accounts and ship our stuff.

This is happening.

Therapy goals (on phone)

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I need to figure out how to have self dates stop feeling like punishment. That’s a consistent issue for me even though I literally require time to defrag my brain. I want all of my recharging to come from time with friends and that has not worked out and it is only going to get harder over the next couple of years.

I need to have a more consistent parenting plan in place. Currently I give until I crack then I get mean. That isn’t what anyone needs or wants.

I want to have better strategies for handling the fact that people routinely over promise and under deliver. This feels related to how I used to get apoplectic level angry about tardiness. I mellowed on that one. Can I learn to not take the casual “I will do x” that will never happen in a more calm way? I know it is related to my mom and that is part of why it is so triggering. (FUCK MAGIC MOUNTAIN.)

I want to stop liking myself only as much as my friends have expressed recently.

I want to have better ways of handling friends who don’t listen to my soft no’s without over the top screaming.

I want to stop pouring myself into friends who use me.

I want to stop trauma bonding all the damn time.

Being seen

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I woke up to a whole bunch of emails today. All of them make me feel a lot better. I hate how much contact with other people decides a lot of how I feel about myself. One of my neighbor said she started reading my blog. She said I don’t hold back. I tell it how it is. She says my words really get stuck in her head. I make her think. Wow, I hope that’s not a bad thing.

A different friend realized that my scheduling email had gotten stuck in their spam filter and we established contact so that we will be hanging out a little bit when I go up to the PNW.

One of my buddies on the far side of the country sent me his address because he’d love to get postcards in here for me. He wrote back to tell me about his life.

Several people have been emailing me in response to postcards. I get to hear about their joy. It feels really nice. I am glad they are finding joy. They really need it.

But most intensely was an email from Pam where she detailed all of the stuff she respects about me. She wrote about what circumstances I am in my best. It is nice to be reminded that I do have a best. I spend so much time feeling like I suck at everything. I don’t see the good parts about me very well. I see how much I fail.

There were a lot of good parts and good people to the bay. I do acknowledge that. But driving to see them was going to kill me.

Japan continues to be up-and-down for us as a family. If Eldest Child’s knee was doing better we would be having a much better time. Being housebound while she heals is really hard. For comparison, the two apartments that we are renting here in Fukuoka are about the size combined as our dining room and living room in Fremont. That’s all the space. And the space here is partitioned into four separate rooms. We are decidedly cramped.

Middle Child really needs to be taken out for long walks every day and we’re not being good about doing that. He is so much happier when he’s exercising. He is starting to really notice and that’s cool. I love seeing them develop awareness of their bodies. Eldest Child talks a lot about how eating more fruits and vegetables makes her feel better. Middle Child notices exercising increases his happiness level substantially. I didn’t notice that sort of thing as a kid and I feel so proud of them.

I continue to struggle with how much parenting requires me to put myself aside and focus on them. We are together so much that it means I don’t pay attention to me. It means I feel like I’m actively harming myself because I really don’t know or care how I’m even doing.

We didn’t do hypnosis before bed. So I had nightmares all night long. I had a few different ones last night. I could tell when one was ending and another was starting. That’s so annoying.

I miss pot. I really do need the help elevating my mood. I am miserable without it. I hate how much I blame myself for my depressed mood. “Just get over it already.”

I hate that I feel like Sarah telling me she wants to take a little break would have ended when she wanted to have access to financial resources again. I hate that I feel paranoid about money. I hate that I feel like people want me around so they can use me. It’s not always true. None of the people who have contacted me since I left want anything from me other than to spend a little bit of time with me. I know that. I mean, they may want me to help them find something on the Internet or talk to me about how to fix a problem in their life. But nobody’s asking me for money. Nobody’s asking me to come over and fix anything.

Compartmentalizing feelings about this many people is challenging.

I feel like my Discord group is becoming less useful to me. I feel like I’m spending a lot of time arguing about things that I don’t need to be arguing about. Things like, do you mothers have the right to get happy about people lecturing them about safety stuff. The non-breeder in the group had the point of you that mothers should just stop assuming that people have negative intentions and accept all advice as being kind hearted. But in my experience folks get rabid and nasty if you don’t follow their advice. And the advice from my first child to my last child took a 180. Should I have followed the safety advice in the first set of advice? Should I follow the completely opposite advice that I got the last time around? My pediatrician looked really sheepish when she was telling me the guidelines for my third kid. She said that science has found that all of the advice she gave me for my first two kids was really bad. And people wonder why I don’t instantaneously comply with new safety guidelines.

I don’t need to get into a cheerful, pleasant conversation about safety guidelines with everybody who wants to have them with me. Many of those people turn around and tell you how stupid you are if you don’t immediately comply. I just say fuck off at this point; I don’t wanna have this conversation. It would be a tremendous waste of my time if I were willing to comply with each of those conversations. She couldn’t see the parallel to street harassment. I see it quite clearly. She said that people are just trying to help. Well, maybe they are, but I’ve been doing this long enough that I understand that their advice is on a timer until it is debunked. I don’t need to spend a lot of time politely listening.

Yeah I am a bitch because I don’t carefully listen to each safety evangelical. Ok.

Why do I feel like these conversations devolve into shaming? Maybe because I’ve been doing this for over 11 years. People start lecturing you about safety the moment you know you’re pregnant and let anybody else know.

I haven’t had any other experience that parallels the level of forceful advice giving that parents receive. And I have a bunch of chronic health complaints where people like to give me stupid advice. Parenting is much more prone to prompt every idiot to tell you their opinion of how you are doing it wrong. I would get whiplash if I cared and tried to comply.

I very carefully pick who is allowed to give me advice about parenting. And unless I have come to you and specifically asked for your advice, you probably are not on the list.

In Tokyo, on phone

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Well, adventures are adventurous. Our flight left late from Honolulu and there was a major head wind so we missed our connection. The airline acted way more upset than us. They put us up in hotel rooms, with a free shuttle and dinner. Not terrible.

But we lost track of the diaper bag and that is hard on a few levels. Now we don’t have enough diapers for today and we lost a packet of wipes but I don’t care about that part. Two of our favorite baby books (First Sushi and Hello, Jalapeño along with Her Sweetness’ cuddle toy were in there. All of our bibs (we barely remember to use them) 1/4 of the jammies we have, a cute summer outfit, extra trash bags, butt ointment, my little first aid kit, a lightweight sweater, and pens. We still have 50+ pens so whatever.

Mostly it cuts like a knife because it was from Sarah. I am going to slowly lose the things from her (because that’s life) and it feels like extra stabbing wounds. A lot of how she showed me she loved me was by giving me stuff when she no longer needed it. My mom was a gifts = love person so Sarah’s tendency’s felt so much like trying to help me even though she didn’t have more time to give me.

So I will sit here in the dark and have a good cry and then I need to get the fuck over it. Nothing essential to life was lost. It’s an inconvenience not a tragedy. I don’t know if I will ever stop missing her like a bleeding open wound. I hope distance and time help.

Konichiwa and Arrigato are my two big words here. Doesn’t matter much how I sound them out and spell them in English. Ha. I think I am saying them close enough. And Hai. (It doesn’t sound like hi.)

Every time I leave the country I start speaking Spanish and that feels like a subconscious hint. Whyyyyy am I going to Asia and not South America? Tech conferences.

I barely slept. I should have tried the baby cot. The beds are narrow enough that my subconscious was worried about Her Sweetness flopping off so I kept an arm over her, much to her irritation. She nursed or fussed almost all of the hours I was in the bed. When I got up she finally went to sleep. Figures.

But I showered and my hair is braided and I am dressed. Yay flannel lined jeans.

In the long run I am not going to blame Sarah for the breakup. My inappropriate expectations were poison. Did she play a part? Sure. But if I had accepted her, flakiness and all I could have just appreciated a few minutes a year. Oh well. She wanted to be more than that without really having it to give. Life is full of disappointment.

It is ok to feel sad. But I need to get up and keep moving. Just keep swimming.

We want to be on the shuttle in one hour and 40 minutes. How early do I want to wake folks up?

I did buy 4 diapers at the store downstairs. Let me look up 9 kg in pounds… 19.8 lbs! Ok these diapers are fine. They are pull-ups labeled size 4; in the US we buy size 3 so I ignorantly thought these might be too big. I am excited to be wrong. Yay hotel store! I guess it works out that my kids are huge. Ha.

I opened the curtains. Oh wow the trees. We are on the edge of one of the biggest cities in the world and it feels super rural. That’s amazing. I will let the sun wake up my kids. Now I get to nurse more.

Instead of being upset about the inconvenience of losing the diaper bag I need to be grateful I had a spare diaper in another pack to handle the major poopy diaper last night before I went to the store. I am prepared for many events. That’s good.

Other great point: we showed up with enough yen to manage our needs for a couple of days. That’s brilliant. Well done, Noah, on bringing this much home last time.

Watching the sun rise here is breath taking.

I think we will all sleep hard tonight and pretty much wake up adjusted to the time zone. I am continually surprised by how adaptable my children are.

One of my friends sent me an info graphic on rejection sensitivity. It was kind of her. But way to call me out! Ha. Yeah… maybe that applies…

In Hawaii

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I miss pot. I am doing better at being nice to the kids but a lot worse at being nice to me. I am really struggling with advocating for myself. I am really struggling with feeling like I have to work until I break myself because I don’t matter. I wasn’t in pain for multiple days. It was really nice. Then today… I hurt again. I hurt because I forgot the stroller. And then I didn’t phrase the request to rent a stroller or wagon clearly enough so we didn’t. So I walked around for hours with close to 20% of my bodyweight on me. I wasn’t wearing the right shoes for that. And then the food really sucked and I was so angry about it. How can you fuck up a buffet that much?

I really liked the Polynesian cultural Center when I went when I was 21. Now it bothered me. The layers of whiteness inserted into cultures is a lot more obvious now. Now it feels really grotesque the way the Mormon church is trying to make money off of these people.

It is hard hearing about people’s connection to the land and feeling a lot of pride in who they are. My ancestors were shit. And I don’t belong anywhere. There isn’t anywhere that is strongly my home.

The boat

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I don’t care if it is a ship instead of a boat. It was an interesting cruise. The highlight was the acupuncturist. She is hands-down the most effective acupuncturist I have ever worked with. I am pretty sure she is the most effective medical provider I have ever worked with. I’m not in pain. I have a few places where I feel a little bit stiff and a little sore, but not pain. I usually have to do fantastically heavy drugs in order to feel this good. I’m really pleased with her work. And she wasn’t expensive for what she did.

I spent a lot of the trip processing stuff with Sarah. There is a lot I have not been willing to admit to myself about how bad that relationship was for a lot of years. I am really struggling with dealing with that emotionally. She used me.

I think this is going to negatively impact my ability to trust people for a long time. I have been very willfully not seeing the problems because I didn’t want to lose her.

I am feeling a little bit nervous about this perpetual travel thing. I have not been as nice to the kids as I should have been. I am struggling. For a long time I used Sarah loving me as proof that I was worthy of love and that allowed me to feel gentle and like I had some love to give. I feel like the bottom opened up beneath me. I feel unworthy of love and like I am bad. And it makes me feel mean and vicious. I don’t like me very much. That’s never good for my behavior.

I wish people wouldn’t tell me that I am inspiring. I talked to a few people on the boat about life and stuff. There was one guy in particular who was born and raised in San Francisco. He had a lot of questions about what being homeless was like. He had a lot of questions about why I hate the rich the way I do. He could not understand why I believe that billionaires are evil. After I talked long enough, he got it. It took some talking though.

I have a sore in the middle of my forehead from the acupuncture needle. It’s kind of funny, the acupuncturist constantly smacked me in the center of the forehead. She told me she was waking up my third eye so that I could accept the blessings of the universe. It’s funny that I am walking away with a scab there. It’s like my third eye really doesn’t want to open.

San Francisco is so cold. We were warm just a few days ago. And we will be warm tomorrow. I used to think that I like the cold more than the heat. But my bones ache.