The Weirdness of Love

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Love is weird. We experience it in so many different ways, whether from whoever we choose to be with, or with our children, pets, family or friends. And because all of those versions of differ from one another, we really have all very unique ways of experiencing this very complicated human emotion. Do we really fall in love with someone? Or is it more about finding a person and mutually agreeing to accept one another for life because we as a species don’t like being alone? I’m willing to bet everyone’s definition of love is different, making it still such a strange and extraordinary thing.
It still baffles me that my husband and I have been married for five years. That may not seem like such a long time, but the way in which we began our relationship was so unconventional that there were plenty of people with plenty of doubt. When I first met him, as cheesy as this sounds, I felt like I was “meant” to know him. We were instantly inseparable, and a few months later, when he asked me if I wanted to drive to Las Vegas at 11:00 at night and get married, I didn’t even hesitate. We drove 25 hours, through a true blizzard that stopped us on the interstate multiple times, and it was then that we realized that surviving that trip was obvious proof that this was meant to be. In a black dress that was nowhere near bridal attire, I married my husband in a tiny ceremony just steps away from the Vegas courthouse.
But it hasn’t all been a fairytale. If you’d ask me if you should run off and get married to someone you technically barely know, I’d tell you to run like hell (My husband has a longstanding joke that he “tricked me”) but I WILL say that being married helped us push through issues that otherwise probably would have ended us. And helped us grow into better people, both individually and together. It turns out we are actually two very different people, but somehow we’ve made it work. He may never care about Hunter S. Thompson or like my tattoos, but we get each other in a very real way, which to me, is definitely love.

 
Do I regret not having a ‘real‘ wedding? Sometimes. When we first came back from Vegas, we told my family we were only engaged so I could have an actual wedding. I started planning, bought an incredible gown, and even sent out save the dates. But after drunkingly spilling the beans to my mom, and my husband growing tired of not telling everyone, we just let it go. I imagine that someday we’ll renew our vows so that I can wear that dress and have my dad walk me down the aisle, but I’m happy knowing that we did something seriously awesome; something most people would only dream of. And now we have a seriously cool story to tell our son.
And now, five years later, after such a non traditional marital journey, we’re actually living a VERY traditional life. My husband works and I stay home, and our roles as breadwinner and housewife are the ultimate 1950’s cliche. But I’ll never be Betty Draper, and my husband will never be Don. But my son will grow up remembering that he never had to leave his mom’s side, which brings me such a lovely sense of comfort. If I ever needed to remind myself what love is, I need to look no further than his tiny, gorgeous face.
So is there really a universal way to describe love? It’s truly a different experience for everyone, and engrained so deeply into our human psyche that I’d almost consider it part of what actually makes us human. A kiss from my dog is obviously different than one from my husband, but it’s all love, just the same. So spread it: whatever it is that you consider love. And all of us, as humans finding our place on this planet, should be willing to find it. Maybe then, as happy, loving beings, we will finally understand one another and enjoy a bright, peaceful, and open hearted world.

  

Pregnancy and Pot: The Magic of Mixing Motherhood and Marijuana

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First thing’s first: There’s no denying that my love affair with marijuana began long before I’d ever even considered having a child. While my high school friends were always searching for a place to get drunk, I was the girl perfectly content with driving around on the (supposedly) haunted backroads of my hometown, puffing on some green leafy magic and feeling like that very moment was the happiest of my life and that the universe was alive with wonder just for me. Sure, I’m sure part of that was knowing I was young and alive and had no real worries in the world. But my almost instant realization that this substance that everyone treated like a terrible drug wasn’t really a drug at all but a miraculous product of nature, was instantaneous and everlasting.

Even long after the days of typical rebellious teenage behavior had run their course, I was still very much ‘proud to be a pothead’. I didn’t really know when I was young, but my love for marijuana didn’t actually begin with me. In fact, it seems to be in my blood: there’s more relatives that use cannabis in my family than there are that don’t. I didn’t exactly ever have my parents’ ‘permission’, but I know they knew what their oldest daughter was up to and were actually much happier knowing I wasn’t out drinking and driving. But it makes me think back to one particular incident when I was 17 and was pulled over and ultimately found to be in possession of a small amount of pot. Looking back, I was beyond lucky (they confiscated my stuff and called my parents) and understood why my daddy yelled at me from the front seat “WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS IS, SARAH? THAT 70’S SHOW?! YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS JUST OUT GETTING HIIIIIIGH?!” in his best angry tone. But no matter what the situation, I just didn’t see things that way. How is it possible that anyone could see anything wrong with getting high? Or with using a resource provided to us by nature, with zero chemicals (or destroyed livers)?! I knew my choice to use marijuana was the right one and I’d tell that to anyone who asked (which is EXACTLY what I’m still doing today!). I truly believe I found cannabis for a reason, as did so many others, and it hasn’t left my life since, and never will.
I mentioned my younger self’s brush with the law because it makes me think of what the future might be for our children. Fast forward ten years, and here I am with a husband and a child of my own, something that I wasn’t exactly sure would ever be in my future. My family teased me for years about my lack of maternal instincts (all because I hated babies on airplanes and constant annoying questions!), but learning I was pregnant really was incredible. I was a different from other typical expecting mothers from the start (that’s just how I roll!), like finding the need to make a ‘birth plan’ utterly ridiculous and reading my unborn son Hunter S. Thompson while I felt him kick and wiggle in my belly. But I did the obvious: took my prenatel vitamins, stopped all alcohol consumption (which was basically nonexistent anyway), and tried to eat and sleep better than usual. But what about smoking weed? The thought of stopping literally NEVER crossed my mind and I felt no shame in it. I know pregnant women who would never admit to using cannabis, but I was proud of my choice and I’ll tell anyone who is willing to listen. 

My pregnancy was literally the perfect example of why EVERY woman should have cannabis in their arsenal: I had no morning sickness. I actually had an appetite. I was chill and happy literally all the time. I slept like a champ and I had no postpartum depression issues afterwards, which can be so heartbreaking and scary.

Unfortunately, because the only information out there on marijuana’s affects on growth and development of a child and/or mother during pregnancy is almost never relevant or even factual. Information online ranges from old school, moral biased ‘preaching’ about fearing the reefer, to articles basically shaming any expecting mother for even thinking of using a *gasp* illegal drug (that we all should accept is classified incorrectly by now!) When my doctor asked me the normal questions about my lifestyle, I didn’t lie. Instead, I told her outright that I use marijuana on a daily basis and have for basically over 10 years. I expected a look of judgment at the very least, but to my surprise, she embraced me and said that telling me to stop outright would be much harder on my now ever changing body and that I should keep doing what makes me the most comfortable. If I had previously had any sort of doubt in my decision, it was now dead and buried. 

Fast forward nine long months and my husband and I were blessed were a perfect, healthy, beautiful baby boy, weighing in at a whopping 10 lbs 11 oz (so much for all that nonsense I read about the dangers of underweight babies with cannabis use!) with big bright eyes and dimples identical to his daddy’s. From the moment we brought him home, he blessed us with his forever happy demeanor and love to sleep, even through the night. All that shaming I read about pregnancy and weed? Nonsense. My baby was healthy, happy and would only continue to do so. He didn’t get a cold till he was almost eight months old, barely cried and would eat and sleep like a grown man, all without that gross spit up phase most babies go through. Then, before we knew it, he was a year old and walking, absorbing every word and place we went, all while always maintaining such a pleasant and sweet personality.

My only slight point of questioning myself was earlier this year while I waited for what seemed like months for my son to really talk. He said lots of single words, but would never string them together or fully express himself. And because all moms seem to love to torture themselves by comparing their child to others, I was worried that somehow something I did or was doing was contributing to his lack of speech. I read to him everyday, and tried my best to speak slowly on his level, often naming every object in a room. My family always reassured me, explaining that my husband and I talk so much that Carson didn’t really need to speak much (truth!), or that all those crazy noises he was constantly making were the verge of a ‘word explosion’. And just like they predicted, he literally woke up one morning and decided to show off all those conversations he’d be saving to have with us. And now we can’t get our friendly little chatterbox to stop talking, he’s even been known to show off his singing skills.

I felt the need to share my personal experience because the subject is still so taboo, and perhaps with more awareness will come more acceptance, which could very well lead to that big social change in perception that the marijuana legalization movement needs. I’m a firm believer that moms are the key in the ending of cannabis prohibition: now more than ever, moms are taking matters of their childrens’ health into their own hands and witnessing incredible results with the use of medicinal cannabis. It’s use to battle some seriously traumatic health issues experienced by truly suffering children is amazing and has been known to literally reverse the effects of multiple diseases and injury, improving quality of life and sometimes curing them all together. More mothers need to support these amazing results and push to move away from the chemicals pushed on us and our families by Big Pharma. Recognize that this beautiful gift of nature is about so much more than getting high, and stop making families live in fear because they are doing whatever possible to help their children, even if that way is not yet legal nationwide. And if you’re like me, a mother and wife who discovered long ago that marijuana was just meant for me; don’t be ashamed that while other mothers drink a glass of wine or three to wind down, you simply smoke a bowl. After all, I dare anyone to say they’re more ‘in the moment’ with their kids than I am, and I dare them to claim that alcohol is safer than marijuana in any instance, kids or no kids. My amazing bond with Carson is the only reassurance I need that I’m doing NOTHING wrong.  

 

Happy mom, happy kid: from conception, to toddler, to teenager and all the years in between. Do your thing, marijuana loving mom! You’re doing it right, I promise!

First or Third Person: The Story of This Currently Conflicted Writer

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After what seems like months with nothing but dry ideas and lack of motivation, some promising inspiration suddenly hit me last night. I was up for what was probably way too long trying to plant specific story points that came to mind, hoping that by morning I wouldn’t forget all this creative gold (it had been a long time coming, ok?! 😊) and lucky for me, I woke with a head full of characters and plot lines, scenery and tone, not to mention lovely optimism towards finally wanting to write.

I do realize I am getting way ahead of myself, that this is all just still free writing and we all know that what may or (usually) may not come of that. But my main issue lately, the bane of my writing existence is deciding between writing in first or third person

I’ve played around a bit with both ways, and while it seemed I could probably go either way, atleast in the short beginning drafts I was toying with, but I worry. 

If I go for first person, am I going to be able to throughly build a good story from only one perspective? But if I choose third person, will I get too bogged down with description and struggle creating necessary dialogue?

Please tell me you’ve been there, too. I guess this is why they say the hardest part of writing is actually starting to write. 😊

Whatever It Meant.

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Any day is the right day for some HST! As obsessed as I’ve been with his work for years, I still read his words in his Gonzo style with great wonder; not before or since has a writer been able to capture a feeling, a memory, or a moment so vividly for his many avid readers.
I wonder what my son will think when I tell him I read Fear and Loathing for the fourth time out loud to him while he was still in my belly 🙂

Epic lyrics in any language..

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The musical genre of Rap/HipHop has always been a big part of my life. It’s the one style I’ve never NOT listened to; I have many fond memories of my small 13 year old self blasting Jay-Z and Nelly in my room after school, knowing every single word, regardless of my white skin or my house in the suburbs. The words of so many MCs have had such great impact on me, so I loved seeing these fantastic words from the mind of the legendary Biggie Smalls spoken in the ‘language of love’.

May your awesome lyrical gifts continue to inspire so many for decades more to come, Big Poppa…

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Late night musings under a full moon…

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The moon is brilliant tonight. The weather has finally cooled off a bit and I couldn’t be more pleased with this current late night Sunday.

Spending time with the people I love, lounging in a set of my new badass pajamas, and even a tightly rolled delight of kush 😊 , all while writing and laughing under the enormous moon.

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Lovely. Just, lovely.

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