Mommy Moo Moo's Blog

The Incident in the Tent

We moved into our new house on Parma Road before my brother Doug began school in the 1st grade in September 1968. Doug was 6 years old and I had just turned 5 years old that August. Kindergarten wasn’t available in Henrico County public schools back then. Our best friends in our new neighborhood were Bobby and John who were one year younger than me. John had an older sister named Sarah who was two years older than me. Sarah and I didn’t play together a lot, because she was best friends with a girl who lived across the street from her named Vay. Vay and Sarah were the same age. They seemed untouchable and unreachable as potential friends. They didn’t want anything to do with me. Sarah and John also had an older sister named Tara Lee who had special needs.

I remember playing with Sarah 2 times when we first lived in the house. Maybe there were other opportunities, however that is all that I can remember. At first I thought this incident happened when I was 5 or 6 years old, however after much reflection, it could have happened when I was 7 years old. I was a Brownie and 7 years old in 2nd grade. My mom used to drive me, the Brownie, and Sarah and her older sister Tara Lee, the Girl Scouts, to a church for our Brownie/Girl Scout meetings.

One time when it was warm outside and all the leaves were out on the trees, Sarah and I were with our brothers, Doug and John, and our friend Bobby playing at the woods. The woods were down the street from my house. Our home was 3 houses away from these woods, but as a young child the woods felt much, much further away. This large, rectangular patch of woods was next to a heavily trafficked street called Parham Road. We lived on a street parallel to Parham Road called Parma Road, so the woods were nestled in between these two streets.

Sarah and I were creating a home in a large, deep ditch made out of dirt right next to Parma Road in our quiet little neighborhood with 4 lanes of traffic raging up and down Parham Road on the other side of the woods. Doug, Bobby, and John were running in and all around the woods while Sarah and I played in the ditch. I remember feeling happy and joyful playing with Sarah and making this little home together. We were sweeping the dirt with bunches of loblolly pine needles which made perfect little brooms. I had a friend and I was outside playing. I was in 7th heaven.

There were three teenage boys in a tent in the middle of the woods. Doug, Bobby, and John somehow interacted with these teenagers and the teenagers kept asking our brothers to bring Sarah and me to their tent. I remember feeling pestered and annoyed at our brothers nagging us to go to this tent. I was happy playing house and didn’t want to go. I think that Sarah felt the same way. Even though she was 2 years older than me, Sarah was an attractive petite girl with blonde hair and cat-eye shaped glasses. She was very prim and proper. Since Sarah was older than me, I followed her lead. After much badgering from our brothers, we finally, reluctantly, gave in to some baited promise and went to see these boys in the tent escorted by our brothers. We stepped into the tent and immediately 2 tall teenage boys zipped the doorway closed and acted like guards trapping us inside the tent. Our brothers were shocked. We were shocked. We had all been tricked. The 2 guards had their arms crossed in front of their bodies and disturbing grins on their faces. They felt very threatening to me and they looked very proud of themselves. The 3rd teenage boy was inside a sleeping bag acting very strange.

Apparently, the teenager in the sleeping bag was naked. I remember seeing his bare arms, shoulders, and part of his naked chest. He was acting so weird, it was frightening. I remember a rope or something being wrapped around the outside of the the sleeping bag so that it looked like he was bound in the sleeping bag and couldn’t move very well. We were reassured by “the guards” that we were safe or something bizarre like that. None of this behavior made any sense to me. I didn’t know what to do, so I watched Sarah, and followed her lead. The teenager in the sleeping bag wanted to do something to us. It seemed like he wanted us to touch something or he wanted to put something on us. I’m pretty sure he pulled his penis out to put it on our hands or wrists. Every time they asked a question, I remember Sarah acting scared with her shoulders drawn forward, her head and eyes cast downward, her hands together in her lap, saying, “No.” I copied Sarah and responded in a similar way. This back and forth exchange lasted for what felt like an eternity. Who knows how long we were in there.

Meanwhile, my brother was outside the tent trying to help us. He, Bobby, and John were challenging the guys in the tent to no avail. Eventually, I remember hearing Doug calling from a distance, “I’m going to get my daaa-ddy.” The guy inside the sleeping bag freaked out and told the other two guys to get us out. He was squirming and scrambling as fast as he could to get out of the sleeping bag. In the hustle and bustle, Sarah and I were shoved outside. By the time we got back to our ditch, I remember seeing my Dad hauling ass running down the street to the woods chasing down and catching one of the guys. Dad lost one of his slippers in the chase. Later, I remember my dad talking to one teenage boy at our driveway. The conversation felt serious and heavy. My parents never talked to me about any of this incident. They didn’t explain anything about it to me. All I knew was this experience felt awful and the teenage boy got in trouble by my father. In the end, although I didn’t understand what happened, why it happened, or anything else, I felt scared by the incident and protected by my brother and my father.

Fast forward to June 2018. I sent my parents and my brother a heavy, detailed email concerning a lot of the problems I was still addressing at age 54 from being sexually abused by my father from the age of 8-20. A while later, I spoke to my parents over the phone following up on the email. I typically talk to both of my parents at the same time. The primary detail I remember from the phone conversation was my dad saying, “This all started because of the incident with the boys in the tent [in his mind, he was trying to educate me about “boys”]……and then you were very curious about sex and you were very interested in my Playboy and Penthouse magazines. You used to bring them to me so that I could explain them to you…” I felt totally stunned and said, “Whhaaatt?!?! No, Dad, that’s not what happened.” Forty-seven years later, my dad was blaming me for the sexual abuse. My heart sank and I realized that my dad was in major denial or an alternate reality.

The incident in the woods happened when I was 6 or 7 years old and Dad began abusing me at age 8 when I was in the 3rd grade. I used to sneak the Playboy and Penthouse magazines out of the bottom of mom and dad’s closet to try and understand what dad was doing to me. Ultimately, these magazines reinforced the concept that women are sex objects and exist primarily to please men sexually. On an exponential level, I felt even more trapped, more doomed, and more confused.

What may have started in my dad’s mind as an altruistic teachable moment was no such thing. You don’t educate your 8 year old daughter about boys and sex by pulling her into your bed on a Saturday morning, breathing weird, feeling her private parts, telling her that “This is another way that people love each other,” and threatening her to not tell her mother about this “other kind of love.”

Match of the Century: Kavanaugh vs. Ford

It’s raining again in Richmond, VA. It feels like it has been raining for 2 weeks straight. Maybe Mother Earth and the heavens are crying for the aftereffects of #HurricaneFlorence – the catastrophic damage done to people’s lives, homes, communities; the loss of lives including the millions of dead animals from the mass production of animals in factories located in the flooded areas; the damage to the environment; and, the Kavanaugh/Ford hearing. People are suffering. Nature is suffering. Our environment is suffering.

I watched the Kavanaugh/Ford testimonies today for 9 hours with my three daughters who are 16, 14, and 12. The benefit of homeschooling is watching history and herstory in the making. I prefer to watch important events myself so that I can form my own opinion about what I experienced rather than hearing soundbites about the critical event after the fact through various media sources. Today was interesting.

First and foremost, I do not like Sen. Chuck Grassley. He came across as grumpy, highly irritable, and continuously reminding himself that he needed to be kind and respectful to Christine Blasey Ford who has accused U.S. Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh of sexually assaulting her when she was 15 years old and he was 17 years old. These allegations are serious and need to be investigated by non-partisan investigators to verify the truth. People are human beings. People make mistakes, however people that sit on the Supreme Court need to be held to the highest standards of our society. No one is perfect. But if you screw up, it’s important to take responsibility for your actions and be truthful about it. Rosalina, age 12, stated today, while she was creating a full size coffin decoration for Halloween, “Why do they make them take an oath to tell the truth when people are going to lie anyway?”

The next comments are going to be a stream of consciousness rather than written statements:

Christine Blasey Ford:

believable

credible

likeable

intelligent

nerdy

sweet

vulnerable

child-like

people pleaser – too nice and too accommodating to Chairman Chuck Glasser

honest in how she answered questions – if she did not know an answer immediately, she seemed to want to get the answer right and give an answer as quickly as possible – very accommodating

classic behavior for someone who has experienced sexual assault at a young age – speaks from the child’s voice – the age at which she was attacked – when talking about the assault; tears up with her face full of emotion when people are kind and expressing supportive comments and/or giving feedback to her about her heroic action to come forward; speaks from her adult voice when asked questions about current day timing and schedules; speaks as an adult with conviction about her struggle with when and why she came forward to share this very personal traumatic experience

The most compelling details of her story for me were 1.) She was pushed into a bedroom from behind 2.) The guys locked the bedroom door  3.) Two guys were laughing maniacally at each other while Brett Kavanaugh had his hand over her mouth to keep her screams from being heard 4.) She made eye contact with Mark Judge several times hoping that he would help her 5.) Mark Judge did nothing. 6.) She bumped into Mark Judge by chance approximately 6 weeks later while he was working at Safeway and his face turned white.

The venue and/or strategy for questioning Christine Blasey Ford, Ph.D., was highly publicized and chaotic which was the worst set-up for allowing a person who was sexually assaulted to discuss such a personal, private, embarrassing, uncomfortable, traumatizing experience.

The Republican Senators hired a female Sex Crimes Prosecutor, Rachel Mitchell, to act as a shield and the high inquisitor for all of their inquiries toward Christine Blasey Ford. It was bizarre to say the least. First of all prosecutors are the ones that fight and dig and attack people who are being accused of something. They are the devil’s advocate. This was not a trial, it was a hearing to share information. People are supposed to be innocent until proven guilty. Yet this set up felt like Christine Blasey Ford was presumed guilty, period. Every Republican Senator on this Judicial Committee was a white male. And most of them were elderly with white hair. It felt like the white old male patriarchy was looking down at Christine Blasey Ford pointing their finger at her saying, “Sit. Shut up missy.” And then they hid behind the female hired assassin Rachel Mitchell who looked like an overweight version of Professor Umbridge in Harry Potter. At times Mitchell smiled, chuckled, and giggled with Ford as if to establish trust – a girl bond. The High Inquisitor Mitchell had a stack of 8.5″ x 11″ paper in front of her at least 8-12 inches high. Every time she asked a question of Ford, she emphatically slapped a piece of paper on the stack as if saying, “Doomed.” building a mountain of white paper damning this potentially credibly witness. The move was intimidating. The visual was unnerving. Her goal was to appear to be an expert in power and she was effective.

The set up of the hearing alternating questions from Democratic and Republican Senators was disruptive and absurd. Each Judicial Committee member had 5 minutes to ask their questions. The chairman Sen. Chuck Grassley looked and acted like the worst version of Ebenezer Scrooge. Christine Blasey Ford went from receiving affirmations of her traumatic experience and over the top accolades of heroism from the Democratic Senators to questions about specific times and places from the High Inquisitor for the White Male Republicans slapping white papers on her towering stack in front of her like a death sentence. Ford’s brain had to quickly switch from receiving warmth and support to “come here my pretty” every 5 minutes so that her emotions bounced up and down the entire session like they were on a pogo stick.

At one point, Rachel Mitchell had a helper appear out of the wings with a large map of the neighborhood in question for the house party where the assault occurred to verify the distance which Ford at age 15 had to travel to get back to her home after the attack. Ford was trying to verify the information and looked somewhat rattled, because I sensed that she wanted to answer questions as accurately and truthfully as possible. STOP RIGHT THERE. I was sexually abused and assaulted at age 8 by my father. I remember SIGNIFICANT details of what he did to me at that time (pulling me into the bed, what nightgown I had on, it was morning, my mom sent me in to wake him up, my parents bedroom was dark, my dad said, “This is another way for someone to love someone,” “don’t tell your mother,” his breathing was weird, he acted like he was possessed, he didn’t act like he was the father that I knew and loved, he touched my 8 year old nipples, he touched my 8 year old vulva and/or vagina that did not have a name that I was aware of other than being a hidden, unmentionable body part, etc. I felt terrorized, petrified, scared to death, horrified, screaming out loud on the inside, confused, etc.) I can remember all of these details vividly since the event happened, however I CANNOT tell you what a did after I was assaulted. Did I go cry in my room? throw up in the bathroom? break things in my room? hide in the closet? curl up in a ball and cry? hit my brother out of anger? tell my mother what happened? go watch TV and escape? I DON’T REMEMBER THOSE DETAILS, BECAUSE I WAS TRAUMATIZED. I WAS SEXUALLY ASSAULTED AND MY BRAIN KEPT CERTAIN DETAILED MEMORIES AND BLOCKED OUT OTHER DETAILS. People like Christine Blasey Ford and me were in moments of fight or flight trying to survive the experience. It’s not the best moment in your life where birds are singing, the sun is shining, a cool breeze is blowing on your skin, and you feel blissful and happy. It’s life or death. How do I cope with this shit that does not make sense? How do I survive or manage this trauma and information that I just experienced (which is more traumatic the younger you are when you are attacked)?

The hearing broke for lunch and I could feel a shift in the atmosphere afterwords. Every time that the hearing took another break there was a shift in the energy. The Democrats and Republicans were strategizing behind the scenes and executing plans A, B, C, etc.

Then Brett Kavanuagh entered the room all alone. The backdrop to his questioning was staged with attractive females flanking him on both sides in the front row. He organized his space. He was in control, but he was also very intense. He had a lot of water bottles in front of him. He looked stressed. His face was tense, intense, and white with splotches of red. He claimed that he wrote his speech himself and he read it with intensity.

My stream of consciousness of Brett Kavanaugh:

angry

tense

aggressive

rageful

sad

pain

guilty

embarrassed

vulnerable when talking about his parents, friends, and 10 year old daughter

childish

lonely

I was overwhelmed with Kavanaugh’s anger and rage. He was like a rabid tiger fighting for his life. He was pissed off. How dare anyone accuse him of anything! How dare anyone tarnish is reputation! How dare anyone make him reflect and evaluate his life and actions.

Most of his answers wavered between a defiant teenager caught in a lie and well rehearsed talking points – in other words a script where you don’t answer people’s questions, you just restate the information that you want to cement into the public airwaves. He was incredibly disrespectful to the Democratic senators and he was overly polite and grateful to the Republican senators.

Defining moments in Kavanaugh’s questioning:

The Republicans fired Sex Crimes Prosecutor Rachel Mitchell after she had Kavanaugh read a definition of sexual assault on a white piece of paper to himself. To me, Kavanaugh seemed somewhat surprised at some of the information. It felt like a “Shit. Really?” moment to me. And then he regained his game face to fight. It felt like Trump and/or Republican strategists said, “Time out. Pull the prosector. Bring in the offensive line.”

Since these accusations have come forth, it feels like Kavanaugh has for the first time ever possibly reflected on and evaluated his past behaviors and actions. “The unexamined life is not worth living.” ~ Socrates

Kavanaugh’s wife sat in the front row to his right, the camera’s left, during his questioning. Her face and body language were fascinating. She looked pissed off, angry, sad, and stone faced the entire questioning. The only time her face shifted was when Kavanuagh shared that their 10 year old daughter told them to, “Pray for the woman.” She teared up slightly.

Kavanaugh teared up and fought back many, many more tears than Christine Blasey Ford did. During those tears, I felt his vulnerability as a human being. Again, it seemed like the past 2 weeks were the first time this man has every truly reflected on his life, his past friendships, his behaviors, and his actions. Maybe he has been a stellar adult, but his formative years as a teenager and young adult look and sound like drunk obnoxious characters in Animal House.

Time will tell how these two conflicting stories play out in our society. Herstory. History. Reality. Truth. Spin. God help us everyone.

 

 

Not Created Equal

Recently I wrote, “I wouldn’t have to be a feminist if women were created equal.” A friend of mine texted me the next morning, “Check your FB post, typo. Treated. Not created.” I panicked and took the post down. I rechecked what I wrote and my quote was consistent among all my social media writing. After reflecting on it, I realized that, yes, this quote which came from my intuition is my intention, because the issue of equality goes much deeper than “treated equally.”

Women and men are both human beings and we share significantly similar things – bodies, feelings, heart, organs, appendages, teeth, brains, etc., but women are not created, as in designed, equally to men. Men are more muscular, therefore typically physically stronger and men have testosterone, but more importantly men have a penis which can be used as a weapon. I’m not an expert, but I would venture to say that more men rape women and males have many tools enabling them to rape women (and other men): size, muscles, strength, testosterone, high sex drive, and social values and norms that support this type of behavior. Physical strength aside, men are encouraged to rape women and other men, because of the violence we allow and support in our culture which is perpetrated by fighting, wars, weapons, religion, video games, movies, pornography, drugs, alcohol, poor parenting, brainwashing, lack of education about human sexuality, etc.

Rape is not just about sex. Rape is about aggression, rage, power, and dysfunction. Rape is not gender specific. There are women who rape men (and other women), because our society is sexually dysfunctional and ignorant about sex education combined with stereotypes about what everyone thinks is “normal” sexual behavior. I know personal stories that males have shared with me about aggressive women who pushed themselves onto these guys to have sex and the guys were really not interested. In other words, the sex was not consensual. Maybe these women were highly sexual, but they could have been misguided, misinformed, or acting out sexual aggression from somewhere in their own life experiences. For example, a woman with poor self-esteem may feel desirable, liked, or seeking attention forcing herself onto unwanted sexual partners, because she does not feel good about herself. We can flip this script for men as well.

Women are not created equal to men, because women begin menstrual cycles (on average) at the ripe age of 12. Our bodies bleed once per month for 7 days for the rest of our lives which is on average 3,360 days (unless we are derailed by something) until we go through menopause which is its own special kind of hell. These menstrual cycles affect our emotions, our bodies, our daily activities, our self-image, etc. Then we women are the lucky ones to get pregnant (planned, unplanned, coerced, or raped) and carry babies for not 9 months but 40 weeks if we are lucky. Those pregnancies change our bodies, challenge our health, and affect our hearts and souls for the rest of our lives. Once those children are born, women are expected to be the primary caregiver for those offspring which is exhausting and then expected to turn off the mothering gene and turn on the seductive wildcat energy. Meanwhile many women are not sexually satisfied, because their wiring and parts are not easily jump started and it takes a woman’s desire and guidance (from self knowledge and/or a healthy appropriate education) along with a patient, willing male (or female) partner to figure out the great mystery of each woman’s unique sexual wiring. Sign me up! I want to be a woman!

Men in power have had the upper hand for centuries advocating that women are the weaker sex in every way. For whatever reasons, men in power feel like they have to control women, therefore we have politicians, laws, governments, organized religion, police, legal systems, prisons, etc. set up to oppress women. This message is becoming stronger with the upcoming Ford/Kavanaugh hearing (which affects our psyches, our social norms, our laws, our governments, etc.) and how men (not all men – the ones who are misguided or brainwashed to act this way) overpower women to have sex, control them, shame them, etc. I would think that most men and women want to be in a healthy relationship where they are loved, respected, appreciated, and they get their emotional and sexual needs met while feeling safe. It’s a tall order, but it can be achieved. You have to be awake, conscious, and be able to think in order to make wise choices for yourself and our society.

So yes, I have to be a feminist, because women are not created equal, but I also have to be a feminist, because women are not currently treated equally in our society. But ultimately, I am a humanist fighting to raise awareness about human behavior and suggesting how we can do things better. As a parent, equality between females and males begins with having discussions with our children about our similarities and our differences. It’s tough work, but the results are worth the effort.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kavamas (Kavanaugh+Thomas) vs. Hillford (Hill+Ford)

Here we go again. I will NEVER forget Anita Hill and the hearings for the nominee Clarence Thomas as a potential Supreme Court Justice. I was in graduate school at the time. The televised hearing occurred in October 1991. Twenty-seven years ago Anita Hill said that Clarence Thomas sexually harassed her while he was her supervisor at the Department of Education and the EEOC. During 3 days of testimony, Anita shared one of Clarence’s disgusting, inappropriate, unprofessional comments to her which was, “Who has put pubic hair on my Coke?” Those disturbing words burned into my soul and have stayed wedged into my conscious memory ever since.

My childhood sexual abuse came out 7 years prior to this Anita Hill/Clarence Thomas public hearing in 1991, yet this public story tapped into another level of pain in me that ached to be healed. The Hill/Thomas hearings distracted me from my classes, my work, and my existence. I was hurting so badly that I told my new friend Carrie my backstory, because this public story was eating at me on every level of my being. I felt consumed by the sexual assault energy like it was front and center in my life and nothing else could be attended to. The sad news is Clarence Thomas was approved, because once again in history, a woman’s voice is not important. A woman’s mental health and safety is irrelevant. A woman should accept and expect to be sexually harassed in the workplace, because women don’t matter. Men are superior and they are supposed to run the world. The U.S. Senate voting to approve Clarence Thomas as a Supreme Court Judge swept sexual harassment and women’s rights back under the rug for almost 3 decades. For me, as a survivor of sexual assault, this ruling discounted my own story, my own experience, and made me feel more powerless at that time.

Twenty-seven years later, we have an opportunity to get this shit right, but we have some unique twists in our story. First of all, the Republican party decided that Donald Trump was the BEST person to represent their party to run for President of the United States even as women came forward sharing their stories about him sexually assaulting them along with proof on an Access Hollywood tape. Now this man who sexually assaults women and can’t control himself is the POTUS and he has nominated Brett Kavanaugh to be the next Supreme Court Justice to sit on the bench and judge the most serious cases in our country for 30+ years. Enter the protagonist Christine Blasey Ford who’s name will now become synonymous with Anita Hill’s. Christine has accused Brett Kavanaugh of sexually assaulting her when she was 15 and he was 17 at a house party. This time the stakes are higher, because physical contact was involved. Thus far we have heard through the grapevine (the news media) that Kavanaugh pushed Ford into a bedroom, turned rock music up blasting in the room, groped Christine’s body, tried to take her clothes off, and covered her mouth with his hand to keep her screams from being heard. And she thought that Kavanaugh might kill her. Sounds like a classic story of unwanted sexual advances from a male pushed onto a female, but in this case on aggressive steroids.

Ford and Kavanaugh both deserve to share their side of the story with the public. I will be listening and observing this hearing on Thursday, September 25th. I will also be sending positive energy to Christine Blasey Ford to speak her truth with strength, power, and conviction. For those who do not understand sexual assault trauma – it takes YEARS and COURAGE to speak truth to this shameful, disgusting, dysfunction in our society. And to those who are working through the LAYERS of sexual assault memories and trauma – seize this opportunity to speak up and speak out; tell your story to a trusted friend or relative; heal yourself; and, express your complete voice. YOU are worth it. Goddess willing, the truth will come out, justice will prevail, and the highest good for our people (females and males) and our country will benefit from this Match of the Century.

P.S. I wouldn’t have to be a feminist if women were created equal.

 

 

High Anxiety and The Three Little Pigs

Although I grew up being sexually abused as a child by my father, I always felt safe and secure with him in every other aspect of my life especially during natural disasters. He always knew what to do. He’s always prepared and he’s intelligent about so many things. He can fix, repair, prepare, retrieve, recover, etc. He grew up on a farm, spent 3 years in the Army, and we camped when I was growing up. Those skills translate easily into disaster preparedness and the “what if’s” that happen along the way.

In contrast, I am now in a family system where my husband and I are COMPLETE opposites when it comes to hurricanes and big winter storms. He wants to “flight” immediately from our home in RVA and I’m more, “Let’s get more information and prepare. We’ll leave if we have to.” He would rather be in our concrete and steel condo building that survived Hurricane Hugo than be in our “stick” built house in RVA. Trust me, I will never be on the SC coast for any level of hurricane. Our condo building is now 29 years old and who knows if it could hold up to another hurricane. Anyhow, this contrast in strategy, coping mechanism, or sense of safety creates high anxiety for our already anxious kids. Fireworks were exploding this morning at the breakfast table. And we’re not even in the danger zone! But who the hell knows what’s going to happen until we get closer to Thursday. The storm can shift. Our community in Richmond, Virginia has been saturated with rain this past summer, therefore there will be flooding and trees will be toppling with high winds. We live in wetlands aka a low level swamp. We are also near a man-made lake where the 100 year flood plain comes up on the corner of our property. Should we build an ark?

I try my best to keep my new highly anxious family grounded, but it’s tough especially since I am exhausted and depleted in day 6 of processing a stomach virus. I called my 79 year old parents today and said, “We might be heading to your house for Plan B.” They live in a ranch style brick home in southern VA and we live in a 2 story house with vinyl siding and lots of windows. Great opportunity to enlighten the kids today about the message in the Three Little Pigs.

Timeline for Mommy Moo Moo®

March 2008

While rocking, breastfeeding, and reading to Rosalina, Mommy Moo Moo received a message in her head, “You could write books like this.” and she thought, “Yeah, right.”

July 2008 

Mommy Moo Moo experienced the Coxsackievirus which created 20+ ulcers in her throat plus many other areas of her body. As a result of this virus, she “woke up” and wrote three short children’s stories known as “Slices of Life” for each of her 3 daughters: Ashlee, Rachel, and Rosalina.

October 2008

The story for Loblolly, Loblolly, You’re So Tall came forth as if it was downloaded to Mommy Moo Moo from the ether. She quickly wrote down everything that she heard as if someone was dictating the story to her. She realized afterward that the story represented all of her thoughts about loblolly pine trees throughout the years from walking in her neighborhood. Prior to this download, Mommy Moo Moo had been gazing out the window of her home office looking at the beautiful loblolly pine trees in her backyard.

4/9/2009

Mommy Moo Moo, LLC was established.

5/4/2009

Damara Publishing, LLC was established.

4/13/2010

Registered the words “Mommy Moo Moo” with the U.S. trademark office.

9/13/12

“America the Beautiful” percolated up into Mommy Moo Moo’s consciousness during a writing retreat.

3/21/2013

“America the New & Improved Beautiful” bubbled up into Mommy Moo Moo’s consciousness during a writing retreat.

5/06/2014

Created Mommy Moo Moo Pinterest account.

10/27/2014

Published first WordPress blog entry called “Big Mother.”

1/28/2015

Launched www.mommymoomoo.com and www.damarapublishing.com websites.

6/02/2015

Launched Mommy Moo Moo Facebook account. This task was daunting for Mommy Moo Moo, because she had never used FB before. She began this loose knit community with 8 FB friends, no relatives, and no experience.

10/13/2016

Published Loblolly, Loblolly, You’re So Tall as an ebook on iTunes and Amazon.

10/15/2016

Launched Mommy Moo Moo Instagram account on a wing and a prayer.

11/04/2016 

Published Vegetable Chatter as an ebook on iTunes and Amazon.

3/17/2017

Launched Mommy Moo Moo YouTube channel. (I know. I’m still laughing at this one. No clue how to manage it or use it.)

4/24/2017

Received registration mark for Mommy Moo Moo® from the U.S. trademark office.

10/11/2017

Sold the first 6 advance copies of Loblolly, Loblolly, You’re So Tall to Yardbirds in Richmond, Virginia.

10/28/2017

First shipment of 12,500 First Edition copies of Loblolly, Loblolly, You’re So Tall arrived to Shipvine warehouse located near the James River in Richmond, VA.

11/15/2017

Began selling Loblolly, Loblolly, You’re So Tall board books through our website.

 

 

Trumptinstiltskin

Holy shit. I watched the Trump-Putin summit this morning. I like to watch things happening live to form my own opinion about world events. I am not shocked at what I witnessed, because it confirmed all of my feelings about this bizarre new and improved relationship with Russia. I don’t like Putin. He rubs me the wrong way. He looks like a combination of a fox, a snake, and a cold blooded lizard. He resembles Voldemort. He appears arrogant and authoritarian and he lies. He became a billionaire by allowing the gas and oil companies to drill for oil in Russia along with his other nefarious business dealings. Putin’s goal is world domination. Russia #1. Essentially, the gas and oil companies and Russia bought the 2016 U.S. Presidential election. For heaven’s sake, Rex Tillerson, former CEO of ExxonMobile, was the first Secretary of State appointed by Trump!

Tillerson went out to pasture months ago, but we still have the bromance between Trump and Putin. Trump initiated the private meeting which was scheduled for 90 minutes with only two interpreters present. What leader of the free world would meet with their largest adversary for over 70 years all by him or herself with just an interpreter? Stupid is as stupid does. What the hell did they talk about? Well, Trump likes to talk about himself and how great he is, therefore I figure he talked about:

beating Hillary Clinton
Trump hotels and when they can move forward to break ground for several huge ones in Russia
building golf courses in Russia featuring gold plated golf balls decorated like Fabergé eggs
how great his run was with The Apprentice
the Trump brand
how hot the Russian models are
the awesome perks of being the U.S. President

I can’t imagine that he would talk to Putin about:

his relationship with his wife
his children
that he’s in way over his head at his current job
creating world peace
helping those who are less fortunate than him

No one except the two interpreters, Trump, and Putin will ever know what was discussed during this private meeting which was stupid and dangerous for the United States. How the hell did Trump’s people around him let him go through with this meeting? Do they see the writing on the wall? That Trump’s days in office are soon coming to an end? Did they say, “Oh what the hell. Let’s see how this plays out. He’s got great instincts.”

Here is what I observed about the Trump-Putin press conference. Immediately before the news conference began, a gray-haired older male news reporter was almost tackled by “security” agents and removed from the room very forcefully. He was holding up an 8.5″ x 11″ white piece of paper saying, “Nuclear Weapon Ban Treaty.” I’m sure that tensions were high concerning this U.S.-Russian summit, however this brute show of force set the tone for controlling the room and the environment.

Trump scored big points for being taller and larger than Putin. Beyond that, Putin won the strong-man contest. I sensed that while Putin was thrilled with this coup, he was also nervous, because this was his largest world stage yet. Putin spoke first, therefore it showed that he was in control of the event. He read from pages and pages of 8.5″ x 11″ papers. He went on and on and on. I’m an intelligent person and tried very hard to listen to what he was saying, but I was also packing to leave my writing retreat, therefore I couldn’t focus 100% like I wanted to, but Trump was his true self. He tried to look presidential and powerful. He acted like he was listening to Putin, but I could tell that he was bored. I’m confident that he had a wire in his ear and was being coached or corrected by someone on his team. At one point during Putin’s speech, Trump look uninterested and looked in the opposite direction of Putin with his eyes floating upward into the sky like a little kid with his mind somewhere else. Then it seemed like someone redirected him and said, “Look at Putin. Nod your head. Keep your attention on Putin. This is a big moment. Stay focused.” For a man like Trump who has a 3 second attention span, I know this Putin speech was incredibly boring.

Although I listen to what people are saying, body language communicates much more than words do. There were a limited amount of questions from reporters and they seemed pre-selected and controlled. When Putin was responding to questions, he was consistently slightly shrugging his shoulders as he spoke. Putin, a former KGB agent, not being able to fully control his body language while he lied through his teeth on world-wide television. I’m sure the FBI enjoyed watching this show. And the piece de resistance was Trump’s response when a reporter asked, “Do you believe your 17 intelligence agencies that have proof that Russia interfered with the 2016 election or do you believe Putin?” Trump, the tall, towering man next to Putin looked and acted like a small child and said in so many words, “I believe Putin.”

The transcript of the words spoken during the press conference are telling. The first question from a Russian reporter focused on natural gas aka fossil fuels. Hmmm….. then Trump describes Putin as a “competitor” concerning this global commodity. It becomes more obvious every day that Putin had to have Donald Trump win the U.S. Presidential election, because if Hillary Clinton or any Democrat had won, the U.S. may have shifted laws and policies toward sustainable energy, thus leaving Putin’s gold mine in the dust over the next decade. The shift away from fossil fuels is bigger than gas and oil companies can manage, but between the three leaders – Big Oil (which includes gas and coal), Putin, and Trump – their days are numbered and they are doing everything in their power to hold on to old paradigms and greed.

The other important information to note from the transcript, is the contrast of what Trump read which was written for him to say versus his inability to answer questions in his own words. This man’s thought processes are limited, his vocabulary is limited, his grasp of knowledge is limited, etc. It’s frightening to watch the U.S. President which used to be one of the most powerful people in the world fumble the ball consistently on the home and world stage. It’s time for the people of the United States to say, “Trumptinstiltskin, you’re fired.”

 

 

 

King Trump visits The Queen

I like to watch news events live so that I can interpret what I see happening. I’m not an expert. This is my experience.

I watched Trump’s much anticipated visit with the Queen of England yesterday. I was stunned to see Queen Elizabeth, age 92, standing the entire time once she entered the courtyard. She looked fabulous in her royal blue dress and matching hat. There were 3 chairs sitting on the stage underneath a white tent canopy. The woman never sat down. She didn’t lean on a cane or on one of the black umbrellas available hooked on the back of the gold chairs. I couldn’t believe it. She chatted with some dude dressed up in his Royal uniform. She smiled. And she waited and waited and waited. I thought that the Queen of England would be the one people waited to meet. I don’t know royal protocol and etiquette, but obviously Queen Elizabeth has a lot of experience and fortitude to go through these rituals.

Finally, Trump and Melania arrived in their caravan. Trump got out and to my memory did not escort Melania to meet the Queen. Again, I do not know protocol and I am certain that the Trumps practiced this scenario many times to get it right. As a matter of fact, Trump looked like this was his greatest performance. He didn’t stumble. He appeared to be in his element. But he kept his chin up the entire time whenever he was not talking. To me, his posture in between talking felt standoffish and self-important. I preferred watching him attempting small talk with the Queen in between the pageantry. He seemed more real and more human. I know Trump has a heart, he’s just driven by his ego.

I wondered how the Queen and Trump could converse while walking together with their extreme height differences and her age associated hearing skills. Things appeared to go as well as could be expected.

Below are some photographs that I took of the footage from television. The first photograph is them standing while the Queen’s band (aka the Coldstream Guards) played the U.S. national anthem. Melania always looks the same. She is beautiful and looks cold, sad, and angry. She reminds me of a female villain Bond girl. In the second photograph, the Queen was hoofing it to keep up with Trump. There were some awkward “I go here, you go there” moments, but Trump didn’t notice any of them. The 92 year old Queen with her shorter, older legs was trying to establish walking beside Trump as he strode through the courtyard looking over the Queen’s dudes in their tall, fuzzy, black hats. He was oblivious to her whereabouts and reminded me of the king strutting around in The Emperor’s New Clothes. Overall, it was an acceptable performance, however to me, it looked like King Trump was visiting the Queen of England. God Bless the Queen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Declaration of Independence for American Women

It’s time to shine light on a real life outcome concerning the power of Roe vs. Wade. Women’s rights are human rights. No man, no woman, no government, no institution, no church, NO ONE should limit a woman’s RIGHT TO CHOOSE what is right and best for her unique situation concerning her own body and her own life. It takes 2 minutes or less to create a baby. A baby is a lifelong decision and affects the mother much more than the father. Women’s bodies are sacrificed for the process of carrying a baby (40 weeks for a full term baby), delivering a baby (no easy or simple task), and supporting a baby after the birth. Women and girls deserve to have control over their bodies and their destinies. Some children are created out of Love, but most babies are created from sex. Women and girls carry the burden of these unwanted, unexpected, and unplanned pregnancies. Roe vs. Wade empowers females. I am one of these females. Following is a letter that I wrote back in 2003 to a compassionate OB/GYN in Richmond, VA who provided abortions for women who needed them. Today I am Declaring my Independence as an American Woman by celebrating my right to choose.

June 18, 2003

Dear Dr. Fitzhugh,

I am writing to thank you for performing an abortion on me 13 years ago. I met my husband Nathan in January 1990. Nathan was 22 years old and a full time student at VCU and was not employed. I was 26 years old, working a full time job as an Activities Director at a retirement community plus a part-time job in the evenings barely making ends meet to live in an apartment with a roommate.

I lost my job at the retirement community in May, because my 3rd boss within 10 months did not like me which was incredibly painful for me. As a result of this job loss, I decided to move back home with my parents and go to graduate school in the fall at VCU to improve myself and my future job opportunities. I also figured out that with this new plan, Nathan and I would both be students at the same time and have more in common together.

I have a pituitary tumor which causes irregular periods and three different endocrinologists told me that it may be very difficult for me to become pregnant. I always used birth control, however the one time I did not use birth control based on unusual circumstances and this theory about my pituitary tumor – BINGO! I got pregnant. It was an unwanted, undesired, unplanned pregnancy. I found out that I was pregnant within the first month of the pregnancy around my birthday in August 1990.

I was shocked and I was stunned. I was 26 years old and I was not ready emotionally to have a baby. I barely knew my future husband to be. He was four years younger than me, naïve, and inexperienced with relationships. He wanted to get married and have the baby. We were engaged, theoretically, but I still felt like we needed more time for our relationship to mature before we got married. I also did not want a baby to be the main reason that we were getting married.

I wanted to become a mother in the future, however the timing of this baby was not fair to me, the baby, nor Nathan’s and my relationship. I knew that the only choice for me was to have an abortion. I was trying to improve my chances to get a good full time job with benefits to take care of myself. It took me 4 years of job searching with an undergraduate college degree to get a full time job and I recently lost that job after 10 months of employment due to a personality conflict with my boss. I could not imagine trying to raise a child while Nathan and I were both full time students; I was working part-time; my grandfather was helping me pay for my expensive independent health insurance policy; we were both living at home with our own parents; we weren’t married (which was the first step in having a child to me); we barely knew each other; and this was not how I wanted to create a family! Nathan reluctantly supported my decision to have an abortion.

I remember contacting my gynecologist stating that I needed an abortion and having the door SLAMMED shut on me. I was stunned. I thought abortions were LEGAL, yet my own doctor and staff would not talk to me about any options. Every health professional I spoke to treated me like a leper. How could people do this to a young woman in a vulnerable position who needed help and guidance when abortions were legal? I felt abandoned, hopeless, and helpless. All of the health professionals I spoke to kept suggesting that I go to Washington, D.C. for an abortion. That solution made me angry. I did not know anyone in D.C.! Why would I travel a long distance to a strange environment when I was already stressed out and upset about my situation? My mother was supportive about my decision, but even she did not know how to help me.

Somehow I ended up contacting the clinic at Boulevard and Grove. My former roommate used to picket for N.O.W. (National Organization for Women) at this clinic to support women having a choice about whether or not to have a baby; otherwise I knew nothing about the facility. I was told that I needed to bring $200.00 cash and be a certain number of weeks pregnant in order for the abortion to be effective.

I had had a D&C when I was 20 years old to stop a period that lasted over 45 days. I had heard that D&C’s were essentially the same thing as an abortion. The D&C never resolved my hemorrhaging, but that’s another story. I expected this abortion procedure to be the same experience as that outpatient surgery at Stuart Circle Hospital. I thought that I would be in a sterile, cold operating room, with leg warmers, anesthesia to put me to sleep, unconscious during the procedure, etc.

Nathan went with me to love and support me the day of the abortion which was during my second week of graduate school. We waited a long time in the waiting room together which was a surreal experience itself. The living room of this old house turned into a clinic was full of women of all ages and all backgrounds waiting to have an abortion. I was called upstairs and a counselor discussed the procedure and my decision with me using some type of plastic model. I was very clear that I wanted an abortion. When I went into the room for the actual procedure, I was shocked. The environment was nothing like I expected. I expected to be unconscious and not feel any pain. Where were the support devices that I had experienced during the outpatient surgery?

I got on the table and you began the procedure and I began crying uncontrollably from the fear of pain and how this process was being done based on what I was expecting. You stopped the procedure and told the nurse, “Get her out of here” and I was removed from the room. Nathan and I left the building and sat in the car in the parking lot while I cried and cried. Nathan reassured me that we could get married and have the baby if I was having any doubts about having the abortion. I did not have any doubts about my decision, or the abortion, I was just not mentally prepared for the procedure based on my previous experience with a D&C.

I went back in line to have the abortion that same day. This time when I got on the table I remember you commenting to the nurse, “Are you sure this is the same girl that was here earlier?” The procedure was effective and that opportunity to have a choice about my destiny and the destiny of that child, while not my ideal choice, has allowed me to mature as a person and become a mother when I was more ready. Thank you for having the guts and courage to provide myself and other women the opportunity to have safe, effective abortions in conservative Richmond, Virginia. Thank you also for being sensitive to my feelings when I started crying and giving me an opportunity to re-think and/or re-group myself for my decision.

After the abortion, I was planning to choose you as my new GYN, however when I shared my thoughts with the endocrinologist I was working with at that time, he described you as a “butcher” and persuaded me to go to another gynecologist. I regret that decision now, but I was young, naïve, and impressionable. I stayed with that gynecologist I was referred to named Dr. Maryann Kaveski for 12 years until I had a planned pregnancy. I wanted to work with a mid-wife during my first pregnancy, but Dr. Kaveski did not support mid-wives and was promoting doulas instead.

Last year I found and worked with the mid-wife Nancy Giglio to have my first baby at 38 years of age. When I first met Nancy and learned that you two worked together, I thought it was very interesting that I was being led back to you again. It felt like I was coming full circle. For whatever reason though, Nancy suggested that I work with Victoria Davis who was a fairly new OB/GYN in your practice to have this baby, therefore I did. Ashlee came 10 weeks early due to pre-eclampsia and I almost died after she was born. Dr. Davis left the room after the birth and did not return until 45 minutes after she was called once Nancy determined that there was a problem. Part of the placenta had gotten stuck inside of me and I was bleeding to death. I survived that birth by the grace of God and Nancy’s help and hold Dr. Davis responsible for that dire situation. I know that her inexperience contributed significantly to my complications. After the hospital code, you were in the room at some point talking to Nancy once I was stabilized, but I was not able to talk to you. Although Ashlee’s birth and afterbirth were a traumatic experience for me, it was also an incredible learning experience. I am very blessed to be alive and a mother today with a healthy, happy baby.

Nathan and I have been married for 10 years this month. We have a successful residential roofing company that we have built together, and we have a more mature, healthy relationship with each other that enables us to be the best parents we can be to raise our beautiful, planned, welcomed children from the Universe. Thank you for helping us to be where we are today.

I am now pregnant with our second child and would like to work with Nancy again and would like for you to be my OB/GYN. I look forward to meeting you for my first appointment on Friday, June 27th and thanking you in person for the abortion you performed on me 13 years ago. I hope and pray that this pregnancy will be less dramatic than the first one, however everything is a learning experience, and I value the journey and the process. I look forward to working with you.

Sincerely yours,

Debbie Barbuto

Father’s Day 2018

Father’s Day. The loaded gun. How to honor and celebrate the man who caused irreparable harm to my soul? It’s not easy when I’m processing conversations from this past week where Dad saw and remembered actions, behaviors, and events differently from me. I have to look at the big picture of humanity. My father was sexually abused at a very young age and he continued the cycle of abuse. Therefore does he get all of the blame for what happened between him and me? Or do we hold each generation accountable for the pieces and parts of family behaviors that are carried forward consciously and unconsciously? Unconscious behaviors are powerful. Denial is strong. The truth will set you free. But people see, remember, and acknowledge the truth differently. Sometimes our minds create stories that we believe to be true when other people disagree and know their truth.

I know for a fact that my father did not harm me intentionally. The man that harmed me the first time was not my father. He was an altered version of my father. He was unfamiliar. He was possessed. He was acting on subconscious energy, or unresolved and blocked energy, from where he was hurt as a child. But his choice to harm me is still affecting me, my husband, and our children. And my father’s actions were affected by his parent’s behaviors, his grandparent’s behaviors, his immediate relative’s behaviors, the behaviors in his local community where he grew up, the behaviors in society during the time period that he abused me (1971), and so on.

So how do we honor this masculine energy today that has attempted to destroy so many people subconsciously? We reach out and love the child within him and the child within all humanity. We love the young, innocent child in all of us that is striving to survive this strange human experiment on this planet called earth. We practice love, forgiveness, faith, and hope. We believe in a Higher Power. We believe that everything happens for a reason. We believe that we are all connected.

Life is not about what happens to you. It’s about creating the life that you want to live.

Today I celebrate my entire father – the light, the dark, the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful, the hero, the monster, the genius, the idiot, the compassionate, the distorted, etc. My father taught me a lot of great things and two of the lessons that I value the most are to help others and to have a sense of humor and laugh. Thank you Dad. Happy Father’s Day.

Love,

Debbie