Challenge the CPSIA Act: it likely affects *you*!

If you think you're not affected, guess again. Odds are, you are.

Recent Forbes article: Scrap the CPSIA

I see this as another form of big business using our fears to wipe out the competition. Odds are you don't remember the Consumer Product Safety Commission's warning against co-sleeping. At a basic level, they are responsible for products, not the use of products. Add to that, they skewed the statistics (like so many to when they have an agenda). Oh, and the JPMA co-launched the campaign. Who, you might ask, is the JPMA? Juvenile Products Manufacturing Association. No conflict of interest there. They couldn't possibly have an interest in crib sales, could they?

We're seeing this conflict again with the CPSIA: Consumer Product Safety Improvement Act. It is intended to assure that all items meant for children under 12 years of age is tested for lead and other safety issues. Toys, books, clothes, even my small corner of the world, one of a kind baby carriers. Oh yes, they want to keep our children safe. Unfortunately, they are applying a blanket law when a targeted act would do better. Most of the items that caused concern were manufactured in China. Most of the products being affected will be small companies, including crafters and thrift stores. Eventually, you won't even be able to give something away that hasn't undergone hundreds to thousands of dollars worth of testing. Be careful handing down that Christening gown or old rattle- it could open you up to a world of trouble.

The big manufacturers are on board. This is a blip in their manufacturing process. With the high volumes they manufacture, it will not break the bank to get the tests done for every batch. Every component of every batch. For a hobbyist (like myself) or a small business? Some are closing up shop now rather than to be left with stock they can't even give away. Personally, I have a stock of carriers in various stage of decoration being held back, praying common sense will prevail.

Not only are the large manufacturers not financially burdened by this act, it actually benefits them. Wiping out the cheaper competition from China? Check. Bringing mom and pop competitors to their knees? Double check! Bonus- if even used items must be tested, more people will have to buy new!

This reminds me of a lesson my father tried to teach me about writing laws.
"Think of a law you think everyone should follow," he told me.
"Everyone should wear their seatbelts."
"Ok, what about motorcycles?"
"Everyone in an enclosed vehicle should wear their seatbelts."
"Ok, what about cars that were made before seatbelts existed? Do we install seatbelts for the law? What if it devalues the antiques?"

And so on. Laws should be well thought out. They should benefit the maximum number of people while impeding the least amount of people possible. To me, the CPSIA is just another of those acts that might as well be called what it is- a gift to big business. Just like the CPSC campaign against co-sleeping and the Ad Council being forced to water down the National Breastfeeding Campaign. Where was our concern for childrens' health then? Seems to me offending the parents was more important than informing them of the risks...yes risks associated with formula feeding. It's not that breast is best, it's that formula is inferior. Those with the interest, power and money wanted to keep that from the public. Just like they want to keep the option of local or handmade goods off the shelves. After all, ethics and ideal rarely ever make enough money to reach the bottom line.

I share with you with a series of items that, if I held strict adherence to the act, I would not be able to make as gifts for my children or any others again.





What can you do to fight the death of creativity? Check out the Handmade Toy Alliance. Take action. It may seem a small thing, but it affects you too.

Relapse

I'm writing this because the purpose of the blog is to share the truth of struggling with depression. It's hard for me to deal with this still.

I had a relapse early in the week. I suppose there's irony there because I had just been to a therapy session and we decided that it was ok we couldn't find a two week appointment to fit into both schedules, this time a month would be fine. I could call if there was some emergency. Mr. C. told me I was dealing very well and the only unhealthy thing he saw was the usual- beating myself up over every mistake. Then towards the end of the session, P. called me.

I called him back as I was walking out, he totally floored me by being angry over something I had told him about months ago. Given our current situation, I understand, but the strength of the anger floored me. First, I felt crushed because I had talked to him about it months ago. Then I was angry, then I started to feel guilty. I must have really screwed up for this anger and yelling, right?

I was home before the situation was settled.

My initial reaction was actually the new me- calm and trying to deal with the crisis. No change. Then I got angry, again no change. Then that guilt started in and I accepted all the words he was saying about me. Here's where my relapse came in. Instead of my new attitude of dealing with pain through my 'moment by moment' attitude, through prayer and breathing, I started the old tapes again. This will always be like this, I will always be in pain. My body went into flight mode, but P. insisted I stay. I just sat on the floor and cried, ready to accept anything he said. Around this time he began to soften. His normal behaviors changed. He told me he had intended to handle this calmly, but for some reason just didn't. P. said he over reacted and I really hadn't done anything wrong. He apologized and said everything right.

The problem is, by that time the old tapes were already re-playing: Bree, you are such a fuck-up, you never do anything right, you bring this pain on yourself and you will always feel this pain.

How did I handle it different? This time, I told P. what I was feeling instead of drawing into myself. I told him my body wanted me to run and because of the pain, I was believing all these bad things about myself and I might as well commit suicide. I did not do this as a guilt trip. I did it because for so long I have held my inner self, feeling it was too intense. P. held me and comforted me. He apologized for being the one to bring me to this relapse. He told me how proud he has been of me, how well I am doing. How I am changed. Well, not really changed, but back to the sassy woman I used to be.

I asked him if he thought I should make an appointment with a provider I recently found who might be able to put me on anti-depressants. P. said to hold off, I had been doing so well and been so strong, let's see how I deal with this first.

And I am dealing. Those self-hating thoughts are coming back now and then, but their power isn't so intense. It helps to have someone to reach out to...and have him reach back and gather me in his arms.

road blocks, bumps and dips

Here we are, in the last weeks of P. being gone and I find them harder than even the first weeks. The kids are great, it's just me. I know what it's going to be like to be together again after three months and then I don't know.

There's a roadblock I can't really put a name to. It's a pitiful roadblock really. If I was at another place in my life I would look at it more as a speed bump. Or rather more like what they had when I was growing up in California, dips. I remember the big yellow signs, cautioning: DIP. Yeah, I can see that in conjunction with this road block. Too bad it's still a roadblock because of how I am feeling right now.

It's leading to my feeling of unrest and uncompleted business. I want to laugh at it, snarl at it, release my bile at it. Anything to get past it. But my hands are tied because I don't exactly know what to do, what I should do even.

I'm tired of crying. I wish I could see the strength in myself that other people say they see in me.

When we were talking about being back together yesterday, P. told me he was looking forward to seeing his best friend again. The smart, funny (if sarcastic), sexy woman he married but sometimes forgot to appreciate for who she is. Only, I didn't recognize that person. A few months ago, I felt so strong. Then how come now, when the waiting is almost over, the answers are in front of me- how come now I am feeling so weak?

Maybe just because I can.

The Moon

So, last night we spent time as a family looking at the moon. I noticed something. With the naked eye, there is a huge contrast. There are definite shadows and areas of light. Through the telescope, you see more. You see the trenches and the craters and the gouges, marks of events that changed the landscape of the moon. But you don't see the dark and the light.

I feel like the moon sometimes. When I am right with myself and letting God in, moment by moment, I can see the gouges and craters that have made me. I can appreciate them for what they are, even see a small shadow here and there. But there's not the huge demarcation between light and dark. I've been feeling that evenness for almost two months now. I've been amazed at how much of a change there has been. I have also, frankly, been on the verge of terrified that my old self will come back. Knowing that it is likely is why I have been putting my support network into place. The pieces are lined up, but the slowness of life during the holiday season has dictated that they aren't actually in place yet.

So the contrast came back Friday night. I kept trying to hold onto the areas of light, but the shadows kept creeping up. I began feeling like I hated myself. I began to feel a hurt so bad it was physical. At one point, I scratched my arm to try and distract myself. Usually there's a sting and a dull ache after that. It went away too quickly. By the next morning there was no evidence, until I took a shower and the dull sting was there when the water hit. I was relieved to be reminded, but more relieved that while the pain had been just as intense in my heart, my reaction had diminished. I focused on the whole of my landscape, not just my shadows. I went there and managed to come back, maybe not unscathed, but certainly not battle scarred as was so often the case before. My fear had been realized and I moved through it. I walked it out. And that will give me strength the next time. The shadows will always be there, it is just in how I see them and respond.

For a smile, here's a pic P. took of the moon last night through the telescope- it's not great, camera phone pics never are. But the moon shines brightly. Today during church, I noticed during a song that so often the pictures that represent God are of the sun and sunlight. I started thinking the male and female perspective, old traditions, Apollo, the Goddess as represented by the phases of the moon...and I know that for now, to me, God is seen through the moon. The light and dark, the push and pull. The reflection of the sunlight.

Dear Mrs. Williams,

I've been meaning to write this letter for awhile now. You made my first year teaching high school harder than it needed to be. Instead of a mentor you were a tormentor.

I don't need to recount all the wrongs. They don't matter. What matters is the realization of your motivation behind them. Many mentors would say they needed to be tough to make sure a rookie teacher has a solid start. You took it to a whole new level. There were rumors of teachers before me falling apart and the teacher after me being on the verge of quitting. The faculty knew what you were, yet were powerless to stop a tenured teacher. Maybe you had terrorized them in the past, because surely co-workers that had known you for years would have spoken up as friends to point out your folly. Maybe there was fear there too. I have no idea what was happening in the county offices. They said they had many complaints about you, yet their hands were tied until a more egregious offense.

My theory about you is that you are a small person in search of power. That's why you enjoyed the horse races so much. Imagine those tiny jockeys just controlling those massive animals. You were short, you were a woman and you were black. I can only imagine what growing up in the decades before mine were like. They left you with a taste of resentment that you had to pour out on those you had power over. There was a limit to what you could do to the students, because the parents in that county had all the say. So you brandished your power over the fledgling teachers.

What did you accomplish? Did you weed those that aren't meant for teaching from the herd? Or did you do the scholastic community a disservice by leaving us with a bad taste in our mouths for teaching?

I loved teaching, and I loved the students. What turned everything sour was my experience with you and the resulting realizations about the power of the faculty. If you don't have their support, a hard job becomes a burden instead of a challenge. Teaching is indeed a career where dinosaurs rule. If you happen upon an 'old skool' school, the tenured have the power and refuse to see any new ideas as good.

Even now though, years later, I smile at the memory of what my students accomplished. I feel that it reflects on me as a teacher. And nothing pleases me more about my relationship with you than to know that the students I taught, many of them your former students, passed the Standards of Learning under my care after they had failed through you. Somewhere, I managed to give them a spark of learning you couldn't impart. Napoleon has her Waterloo, she just doesn't know it yet.

saying goodbye

One more post for the day (on a roll, huh?)

Recently I left a group I have been in for years. I got to the point that seeing interactions/non-interactions was a negative experience to me. Let me emphasize: to me. It's all about my perception and what I could handle. Individually, they are fantastic women. Even as a group, just wonderful. But the particular dynamics weren't something I could handle in my life at this point.

I didn't want to leave in a huff of drama, like I have seen others leave email loops. The melodramatic good-bye posts are often really a ploy to get others to beg them to stay. So I just quietly left, figuring nobody would notice/comment for awhile.

What was there to say? No matter how I say it, it would seem like an accusation. Ya'll aren't meeting my needs at this point and I would like to move on instead of trying to live in the past and recapture the golden years. But that reads wrong, since (as the old break-up line says) its not you (all), it's me. It's my lack of the social ins and outs that other women seem to have. It's my fear of asking for help while intensily longing to have very close connections. I don't expect anybody else to meet my needs as I often don't even know what my needs are.

I just wanted to leave while leaving was a strength for me. While I was doing it for the right reasons, to decrease the negative feelings I have. The only problem, is because I have seperated myself so quietly, and I already have a habit of not reaching out, I fear that I have cut myself out of their lives completely rather than just this aspect of it. And par for the course, I don't know how to fix it.

Newness

Growing up, I liked the moving about. I liked seeing new places and meeting new people. Even as shy as I was, I always made a few good friends. But now, moves are harder for me. It takes longer to find where I fit, and when I do and then move, it's that much harder to let go and start over. But my problem is, I have found that it's SO true. You can't go home again.