When There Are Nine: RBG, my mom, and then me

 

Photo Credit

Current Vibe:  Devastated by the loss of RBG, this amazing woman who impacted our lives so much.  Listening to this wonderful podcast about her life from NYT’s _The Daily_.  

RBG’s life was a slow and steady path towards progress and institutional change, especially with regard to gender equality. She paved the way for a more just world, where my mom’s career in science and engineering could exist and for my own as a financially able, working mom of two.  When RBG was a young woman, teachers were fired if they were just beginning to show they were pregnant.  If someone tried to do that ridiculousness now, they would be sued. 

I played that NYT’s podcast in the car when picking up my daughter and her BFF from their first day of blended pandemic back to school.  When I explained that fact about teachers, they couldn’t believe their ears, literally their mouths were hung open in shock.  I was like, yes girls, can you imagine if your teacher was fired because she was pregnant?  It’s insane! And…it’s not that far away from us. 

I’m grieving for the loss of such a light in the world.  I’m raging at the white men in power who are doing everything they can to scrap and scrabble for their rights over other human beings, throwing their hypocritical remarks into the wind for millions of campaign dollars.  I’m so freaking depressed about minority rule in this country.  How dare they attempt to walk back decades of progress.

I’ll admit it—I’m scared, terrified, that now I have to be the one to stand up.  Or maybe I’m tired.  But I don’t get to be tired, I have to be strong.  I better stand up, because without Ruth on the highest court of the land writing for today and tomorrow, then we have to do the writing and the standing. 

This is going to sound really strange and weird, but I feel like I’m grieving my own mom all over again.  Maybe because I saw her as a beacon of strength, no matter how hurt I was as a young girl (I have a high E.Q., my mom has a high science I.Q., and maybe they just don’t match so well…), I knew she always did what she could, her very best, to provide for her family.  She was a single working mom, married to not the best of men until her third marriage. 

When a teacher yelled at me as a second grader, I can’t even remember for what—maybe something about dropping an eraser at the chalkboard?  My mom marched in and called her out on it.  I didn’t witness that, but one of the things my mom shared with me was this:  my mom never stood up for me if any teacher treated me unfairly, saying that’s just how it was.  So I vowed that when I grew up, I would always go in and do something if that happened to one of MY kids… 

My mom’s sense of fairness—was pretty black and white in her thinking, not many shades of gray for her, which with my fragile and passionate heart, had trouble navigating until I was an adult.  Mom broke her own barriers in education and workplace, an undergraduate biology major, then as a single mom of two, earning her master’s degree in industrial hygiene, and then embarking on a career in employee safety and later migrating to engineering—all male dominated fields, but she carved a successful career, traveling the country and sometimes bringing us with her when we were young, otherwise always home with dinner on the table by 6pm, and then later traveling the world for her job.  At the same time, I’m pretty sure she voted republican and deferred in her later life to my brother about legal decisions (glossing over any opinions I may have shared).  I was her emotional comfort, I guess, and my brother, being “the man” while at the same time emotionally distant with her, simply was more respected for all things real world.  Perhaps internalized patriarchy, but all the same, Mom broke barriers just by breathing and living. 

When she passed, I was broken for a month, and then I picked myself up and started running, out of the blue.  (I’ve now completed two half marathons, and would have done a third if not for the pandemic.) Because somewhere in the back of my foggy drink-addled head after her passing, I could almost hear her pragmatic voice: well, get on with it already.  You’ve got two kids to take care of and a job to do. 

So I guess I kept on keeping on.  Somehow RBG’s spirit and my mom’s spirit resonate similarly with me—the former bucking tradition and taking mini steps to change the world at large, the latter bucking tradition and taking mini steps that changed my very personal world.  And now they’re both gone, and it’s left my heart breaking at the edges, the middle, and inside. 

I vacillate between overwhelmed with depression and at the same time, rage against the world that would leave me (and women) behind and out of the rooms where decisions are being made.  I can’t stand the unfairness—something my mom instilled in me and one that RBG challenged and defeated time and again—unfairness on the basis of sex, gender, race.  

I comfort at the RBG tributes here,  here, and here. 

And I remember that we are not alone, even if we feel like it.  My daughters can’t imagine a world where a teacher would be fired for being pregnant.  Yet that was “the norm” when RBG was a young lady, and would also have been just passing by when my mom embarked on her college career.  I will not forget and I will keep fighting as long as there is air in my lungs to breathe.  Even when I feel beyond tired and want to cry.  We can do this, if only in our hearts, then our minds, then our words, then our actions: 

p.s. Rage donating to campaigns to support flipping seats Blue via Actblue.  Specifically donating to: 

Amy McGrath, KY (polls are all over the place, but would dream a dream if she could win)

Mark Kelly, AZ (he can sit right away if he’s elected, because it’s a special election)

Sara Gideon, ME

Jaime Harrison, SC

Pat Timmons-Goodson, NC (Obama judge appointee that the Senate blocked, now carries a lead for US Congressional Rep) 

Apparently, I’m not alone in doing this—record breaking donations poured in last Friday night.  Thank goodness.  

p.p.s. women's rights are human rights and human rights are women's rights

02022020: Superwomen win the superbowl

Shakira and JLO

I spent palindrome day catching smooth fun ocean waves and then catching up with old girlfriends—one who’ve I known almost 23 years and another girlfriend whose birthday just passed last month.  This was my way of filling up my cup as I’ve been struggling with grief and the girls were with their dad for the week end.  I was determined to do beautiful things and surround myself with love on 02022020, because apparently a palindrome day won’t happen again for 101 years, and I won’t be around.  (Which, now that I think about, any day won’t happen again ever…so…okay…cue the music to make the most of your every day life.  Umm…is that inspiring or pressure-inducing, lol?)

Of the Superbowl, I was able to catch the halftime show—a showstopper of a performance by Shakira and JLO and I was loving it!  Two ladies being awesome, singing, dancing and entertaining, including the kids and kicking ass, yes please.  I was actually perplexed by the backlash—my kids couldn’t watch it, there was a (gasp) stripper pole?  Really?  That’s what you took away from that amazing acrobatic performance?  Did you miss the beautiful kids breaking free from cages to sing born in the USA and a wink with the Puerto Rican Flag morphing into the US flag?  The kids were great—in appropriate attire, and if the hot mamas were dancing salsa in fringe and shaking it, isn’t that their right?  Isn’t it also JLo’s right to use all that athleticism that she’s been trained on to take on a movie role and morph that into one of her biggest performances of her career?  Let’s turn stereotypes on their heads.  Let’s have two Latina women killing it on stage to a hundred million people.  More please. 

By the end of the day, Hubby and I found ourselves outside walking our puppy (not a puppy anymore, she turned 5 last Friday) around our neighborhood, up against a backdrop of beautiful green, rainforest mountains, and I breathed in how lucky we are to be alive right now.  To have these momentary, little problems – hubby’s work stress, puppy taking a dump and having to clean it up, a sore back from exercising in the ocean, lol.  I felt the distant drama, but will give myself an A for making the most of my day off without the girls and all the usual emotions that come with being away from them.

I just want to close on this note—in my carpool on the way to school drop off this morning, I heard the young teenager girls in the back seat singing along to Taylor Swift’s _You Need to Calm Down_.  This made me smile.  I don’t remember growing up listening to songs leading with lyrics like:  and I see you over there on the internet, comparing all the girls who are killing it, but we figured you out, we all know now, we all got crowns…

I pray my girls will grow up strong.  If they want to dance, dance.  If they want to sing, sing.  If they want to be themselves, they can just be themselves.  Yes, please.

Lives are Sacred and Precious

Gilead

Status: Baffled.

I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be surprised when I'm baffled by Governor Ivey's remark that every life is sacred and precious with re: to her abortion ban. Because:

1) There are 15 million children living in poverty in the United States. http://www.nccp.org/topics/childpoverty.html

2) 1300/children die every year due to gun violence; additionally 5790 get treated from gunshot wounds, according to _Pediatrics_

https://pediatrics.aappublications.org/content/140/1/e20163486 (some other folks argue more; this is from a 2016 study)

3) There are 276,000 uninsured children in the United States.

https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2018/11/29/671666280/number-of-u-s-kids-who-dont-have-health-insurance-is-on-the-rise

4) There are 437,465 children in the foster care system, with 117,794 "waiting to be adopted," according to the Children's Bureau, see their report: https://www.acf.hhs.gov/cb/faq/foster-care4

(And please note that disrupting families causes effects that are felt by all parties--adoption for me may have been a 'happier' ending, but I've learned it is not so for many and comes with trauma and a healing journey).

So, the thing is, these children are sacred and precious. But not sacred and precious enough for folks to care about to protect, help, support, and solve problems for, because they'd rather concentrate on banning women's constitutional right to healthcare and revoke women's agency re: family planning. What in the literal f.

Two Moments in the Life of a Little Girl Growing up in the World Right Now

(World Clouds)

I don’t know wtf is going on with media messaging in the world where my third grade daughter is worried that she’s fat.

I’ve tried responses that concentrate on what our bodies can do (can I run? Can I swim? Can i climb the monkey bars? Can i play tennis with my friends? And karate too? Yay! I’m healthy!) and how our doctor says she is perfectly healthy every year at her physical. That honestly our DOCTOR is the person who can tell us if there’s an issue about weight, and no one else. She’ll agree for a few days but then it’s like she doesn’t hear it at all, she comes home saying my belly is fat or my belly is big. That this girl or that girl at school says her belly is fat (as in talking about herself, not my daughter’s; it’s the self loathing talk that’s bumming me out—and i know these girls they are little growing toothpicks).

I’ve tried to normalize that bellies are just bellies and bending over makes our bellies look different, to no avail. I’ve monitored the way I speak about my body around her to make sure I’m not passing along negative body imaging to her. I say I exercise so I can be healthy and live a long life (not that I’m trying to lose weight or trying to be skinny, and that’s fine if those are personal goals out there in the world, just not trying to put those world’s expectations on her). Urggggg.

So in the moment, I resorted to: I can’t stop you from saying negative things about yourself DD2, even though I know the words aren’t true. I need you to say some different words for yourself though. So from now on, any time you say something negative, like my belly is fat, I want you to say something positive, too. Like, I can read chapter books. I can swim all afternoon. She half heartedly repeated these words. And was like

awwww, do I have to?

And I was like: if I catch you saying negative things about yourself without saying something positive, no playing games on the IPAD.

Her (eyes as big at saucers): For how long?

Me: FOREVER.

Her: OKAY MOMMY.

...

FFS

I recalled going through this a little bit with DD1, but not to the constant repeat loop that seems to be with DD2.  And, she still bounces around and plays with her friends, like today she swam for two hours straight in the pool, just venting about the negative body talk that she’s taken on. Is it parroting? Does she really think this? Probably a bit of both.  And IPAD threatening was not my best moment, but I fail all the time so just add it to the tally of shit I do wrong.  Tomorrow is another damn day.

------

Day 2: So after a somewhat good night's sleep, I felt a little better about this being a marathon type of conversation/issue and not a here's a few steps to solve the challenge type of situation.  So okay, life, I'll take this challenge, dang it.  One of the silver linings out of the conversations of late is this:  she actually talks to me about it.  she feels safe enough with me to tell me her worries and fears, so I need to be less judgmental about her worries and fears and more supportive of how to be a positive force in her life.  I'll keep up with positive talk and will lesson the IPAD threats, and understand that if we still struggle with messaging as a 20, 30, 40  year olds (my goal is that by 50 i just wont gaf, i'm pretty close to IDGAF, but i've been conditioned by the same media messaging), then of course this is going to seep into an 8 year old's realm, whether i like it or not.  p.s. she brought it up again this morning when i was braiding her hair.  she was hesitant to say the word 'fat,' i think in part because she didn't want me to harsh on feminist theory at 6am?  LOL.  so i said, honey, i realize you have your thoughts and feelings about this, and the world is going to say one thing, and we have to say other things back.  so what would you like to say back?  i can swim?  she said yes.  i can read all the books?  she said yes.  and i said, anything else?  and she said: i can run.  ❤

And…my heart melted.

Lastly, an extra:

Gillette embraced the Be the Best a Man can Be to mean more than brawny, uninformed masculinity, and I actually teared up.  Of course there’s backlash from the trolls and threats to boycott, which means it struck a nerve.  You can see it here.

I know, I know, I teared up at a SHAVING commercial.  But I teared up because this mainstream, commercial (usually money-grubbing and not giving a f!@$) world has embraced the idea of a BETTER way to be.  I imagined how different my experiences would have been if I had grown up in this one, and maybe that’s why I teared up.  A hope that the world can be better.

Because world, I **need** you to be a better place for my two little girls who are growing up fast.

A New Day

Image

Well it’s a new day and Jane Thrive is still alive.  Lol.  It’s kind of amazing how fast life can change, one minute you’re jogging across the crosswalk, the next, you’re flying through the air and knocked out cold.  Apparently the Ford Explorer was going 35-40 mph according to the firemen…they don’t know for sure.  The driver says he had the green light, but I know I had the light crossing the highway.  (I’m letting the insurance company deal with all this, because I have to concentrate on healing and being a mom and working and all of that!)  I’m just lucky to be alive.  So much has happened since the summer, so I’ll try and do a quick catch up!

My mom’s memorial was beautiful and compelling and just everything I was hoping for—about 80 people came from five different states to remember my mom.  The girls recited Psalm 23 together which pretty much made my heart burst, and prior to the ceremony, with the help of one of my mom’s BFFs, big sister helped decorate a posterboard with pictures of mom in all her walks of life.  It was just so sweet having everyone be there together and I was able to share my speech about mom’s life—people were very kind and hugged me afterwards and some of my mom’s later in life friends said they were so glad they got to know more about mom’s early days.  Which also made my heart burst.  My BFF also rendezvous-ed with us, and I got to spend time with her babies and the kids could hang together for the week end; my nephews had a sleepover with us at the hotel—it was just a week end of smooshy family love!  After the memorial we spent some much needed relaxation time with the hubby’s family, which was so important to me, as I don’t have much family left now that mom is gone. 

And then we came back home and I attempted to come back to work in mid-August.  On the morning of 9/11, driving to my orthopedist to deal with my wrist fracture, I had another run in at an intersection—car collision, and my airbags went off and I about cried myself silly with the PTSD of the first accident.  Oh my goodness, what in the world is going on?  The good news about this accident is that while I have whiplash, the other driver was unhurt, I was able to get a referral to a concussion specialist.  After returning to work in August, I’ve been experiencing daily headaches, and up until the car collision, I wasn’t able to get a referral to a neurologist.  No one wanted to take me because the origin of the medical issue was related to a car (welcome to health insurance nightmare 101, and I feel fortunate to have insurance in the first place, but the 6 specialists I reached out to wouldn’t take it, because no, it’s car-related!).  At any rate, thank goodness for the second ER visit, because the trauma team recommended a concussion specialist—who did a battery of vision/vestibular (fancy word for balance system) tests on me and my headaches are just part of a normal post-concussion condition.  Which is fixable and treatable, hurray!

So now I’m in PT for my wrist/shoulder (pedestrian hit), back/neck (car collision), and brain (post concussion from the pedestrian hit).  Suffice it to say—I’m a mess!  LOL.  But a positive mess—in that I’m so grateful and thankful that all of the symptoms I’m currently experiencing, while a huge PITA, are considered ‘normal’—I’m on the healing path—and at least there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.   For those who want to believe—believe it when I tell you I think my mom had everything to do with my being still on this earth.  A Ford freaking Explorer had barreled down the highway, and just 114 lbs me —and I walked away from it with a banged head and fractured wrist…?  I get kinda teary eyed thinking about it.

As for the co-parenting?  The pedestrian hit actually gave me a really amazing, embrace-the-world hit of adrenaline, and I was determined to turn over a new leaf and extend love to the whole world—even to the father of my children, lol.  I say lol and this is why—after greeting him when he was dropping the kids off after the accident and he refused to acknowledge or even meet my eyes, I realized oh right, he never did ask if I was okay or offer to help in any way...topped off with slightly nasty texts he accidentally sent to me later that afternoon, but were meant to his girlfriend (! I didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry!) I had a different sort of epiphany…in my time together with him, there was always someone…his mom, his brother, a coworker who once was his BFF, someone who always WRONGED him.  And as his partner back then who went along with him, I remember thinking, oh right, that’s so uncool and unfair of x or y or z.  The epiphany I had was:  oh yes, now I’M the x or y or z.  And likely will be unless there’s a miracle of changing his ways.  So why am I wasting my time thinking he will suddenly be cordial and kind and cooperative?  Yes, I will be civil, especially in front of the kids, so they can see their mom being kind to their dad.  Yes, I do have love in my heart for the father of my children because he is the father of my children.  But no, I will no longer expect kind or cooperative in return, and that’s just how it is.  I don’t know why it took getting hit by a car to get me to this place.

Also, Houston we have news!  There is a girlfriend—and from what the girls say, she is nice and they like her, and she’s really kind to them!  And while the place I have in my heart for women-kind worries about any woman who may become involved with him, I’m relieved to learn that she has a great career (good role modeling for the girls) and is kind to the girls.  Apparently it is a long-distance relationship, so she will only see the good side of him—we know he can hold it together well.  The absolute best case scenario is that he will get his !@#$ together and be a good person, heal and move forward from the anger issues, and maybe this relationship will help him see the light for that.  However judging from past behavior and even his behavior towards me…the odds are not leaning that way and it’s not my responsibility, nor hers, to ‘fix’ him…we shall see what happens.

The other news that I’ve learned is that he didn’t move out to his own place at his own behest.  Apparently, his mom asked him to leave.  From what I understand, she did this because it was too much stress with him and his brother and his mom in the same house and in a weird way, I feel both relieved (relieved for her, and as for me…validated...in that i'm not the only who had to make a change for my personal health) and also much sympathy and empathy for my ex mom-in-law.  From the violence of my ex’s dad, to my ex inheriting the anger issues, to my ex’s brother and the conflict of having him testify about my ex’s anger issues…it hasn’t been an easy life for her, and for her take a stand and make sure her house is one that can be more peaceful—it must have taken a great deal of strength to get to that conclusion and further, to see it through.

So lots of information bombs and healing and working through thoughts and emotion happening over at chez Survive, Live, Thrive.  I am so thankful my girls are doing well and growing up and big sister is embarking on her middle school years in a new school and thriving and doing well so far.  Little sister is now out from under her sister’s shadow at her elementary school, so I’m just wishing and loving and praying we are on good footing for a great school year.  I had some challenges with my mouthy tween being really rude and unkind with her words to me last week end, the result of which she is not allowed to have electronic time this week at mom’s house.  I thought she’d throw a hissy fit, but she is taking it in stride and talking with me with more civility.  I simply told her that girls who are mean to moms (while it’s okay to be angry and irritated and upset, it’s not okay to be mean and nasty), do not have privileges like electronics, and I know she could do better as I know she can behave.  So let’s see how this week pans out.

Also, big sister has been watching the Kavanaugh hearings.  Having been a huge fan of Justice Ginsberg and writing a report about all that she’s done last year for her class project, I thought this was a good opportunity to understand the craziness of our current judicial selection process—but also a good segue in talking about consent.  Over the years, I’ve been candid with both sisters about the changes our bodies go through when growing up—I figure having the words takes away some of the fear of our changing moods, hormones, periods, body parts, etc.  So lately I’ve been meandering our conversation more and more into the realm of how our bodies are our own, that no one is allowed to touch them unless we give our consent.  How the unfairness of the world when Justice Ginsberg was growing up, that once upon a time it was very rare and frankly discouraged for women to even attend or exceed in higher education, that the march of time leads directly to today where women are less likely to be believed than men, period.  And while that is unfair, unfortunately that’s the world we live in.  That unlike Judge Kavanaugh, Dr. Ford and her family had to go into hiding from the people in the world who do not believe her and are harassing her for sharing her truth to the point of death threats.  And that no matter what, if big sister is ever confused about anything that has to do with her body or someone touching her, to please always come to me.  (In her very tween way, she was like I KNOW MOM, and I loved that she was irritated with me to the point of not believing that something like that is a danger for her, that her world is not yet marred by this !@#$).  She actually told me that she would tell her friends or SOMEONE (specifically not me in that moment), and I said, okay honey, be sure to tell me, especially if that someone reacts in any way that is upsetting, because not everyone has the ability to react in a way that’s helpful.  And she grudgingly agreed.  (Dear world, if you are the person my daughter turns to, please be a good, just, trustworthy person).

In fact that leads me to my prayer of the day:

Dear World,

Please let us make this world a better, more just, civil, kinder world than the one I grew up in (as a child of the 80s).  Please let it be better for my daughters than the one where my mom had to struggle to make it into the workplace, where my grandmother had few opportunities for education and/or financial independence.  Please let us be better.  Please let us be the love we want to see the world.

Love,

Jane

p.s. so this pretty much sums up the summer and into the Fall at Chez Survive.Live.Thrive.  Healing, more healing, and healing some more.

Once Upon an Anxiety: One Woman's coping while mid-lifing and co-parenting

Mutu's Forbidden Fruit

An interesting discussion on women in their 40s in America, experiencing mid-life challenges and anxieties unlike the women who came before them, and likely afterwards, from Oprah.

There are times where I’m overcome with joy about this new life I’m building for my daughters and me, life with my hubby, my career that is going well (or not so well on some days).

There are times where I come to work and nestle safely in the retreat from the anxiety of my personal life,  where I feel confident in the choices I’m making because work choices are so much easier than personal life choices, because it’s not personal, it’s work.  (Or so I thought.)

And then there are days that as soon as I open my eyes, my stomach is filled with anxiety and I can barely get out of bed (like the women in the article), a holdover PTSD reaction to the stressors of an ex-husband who finds fault in everything I do, with my growing daughters (especially the tween), who I fear has fallen into a pattern of emotional care-taking with her father, with my elementary aged little sister who is still learning to manage her emotions that she wears so openly and lovingly and frustratingly on her sleeves.

That I’m not making life better, but worse.  That even though I know it’s a marathon, I’m losing the race.  That I’m screwing up, both at home and at work.  I’m barely hanging on with my fingernails.

And then something sweet will happen; like a cat will come knocking at our door, and for twenty sweet minutes, the girls and I drop out of the busy morning routine and show our furry friend some love and kindness and milk (lactose free, apparently is okay for visiting cats).  Who nestles us with meows and walks among our legs like she belongs there. Who settles down watching for our return (and who hasn’t come back, but we’re still hoping, lol).

Or big sister is home from school with a fever, but when the drugs kick in, she’s okay and decides to carefully meld a pair of earrings out of wire and fancy pliers and beads and crystals, which she gives to me, and I wear them the next day.

Times where I’m able to cradle my anxiety-ridden baby self who thinks mom, dad, sister, brother, anyone close will disappear, and recognize that is the root of my anxiety, and I’ll figure out how to take a big, giant breath, and soothe and comfort and relieve the fear deep inside.

Times where I’ll stand proudly in my shoes, knowing it’s okay to struggle, that women in my place and my peers have been afforded opportunities the likes of what hasn’t come before, my mother working as a single parent in a male-dominated corporate structure, paving the way for me, and now I’m paving the way for my daughters.  That these lumps of anxiety are part of the course (at least my course), that going to the moon was never going to be easy, and it’s okay to ask for an oxygen mask or three.  Or some shots of whisky.  That huddling up to anxiety part of the days is actually a normal reaction to the complications and challenges that I’ve faced and continue to face. 

I hope I can figure out how to help my daughters be strong and confident in their choices, opinions, thoughts, feelings.  I hope I can help them navigate our complicated world full of pain and beauty, equip them with decision making skills, with love, with boundaries to protect them from harm.  My wish for them is to not feel debilitated by anxiety, like I am. 

I wish there was a magic wand.  I wish I could make anxiety-laden troubles magically disappear.  I guess the only way through it, is through it.  I guess I have to accept the crazy and ride it to a better place.  I hope doing our best is good enough.

She's a Wonder, Wonder Woman!

I’ve been walking a tightrope of co-parenting and work stress lately, but I’m so excited to share that I took a big break from all of that by taking the girls to see Wonder Woman, in full costume, with our lady pals!

Okay truth time, the little sisters and the moms dressed up, the tween and her BFF reluctantly wore one Wonder Woman glove each, but then later discarded them, to little sister’s delight, since then she could wear the “real” Wonder Woman wrist armor, ha ha ha.

I’ve cropped out some pics, but I hope you can feel the Wonder Woman love.

Sometimes, it’s just nice to share some laughter and love for an afternoon.

Sometimes, it’s okay to be silly.

Sometimes, it’s okay to let go of the stressors.

Sometimes, I have to breathe in this moment and love that my daughters get to see a feature movie with a superhero woman saving the world, directed by the first woman to command a 100 million dollar budget, to hear that love wins, and to have this experience be one that is “normal” to them.  That’s pretty dang amazing in my book.

-----

Now for the downside—after we left the theater, little sister was crying, because she didn’t want to say goodbye to her BFF.  She rallied after some theater goers were waving at us, saying bye Wonder Woman and baby Wonder Woman!  Which made her laugh and wave at them.  On the way home, on her daily phone call with her father, she mentioned going to the movies, then having a hard time leaving, and she said, I’m glad it wasn’t in front of you, because you’d say cut it out, or knock it off.  Straight out the mouth of babes.  (I hope she doesn’t get in trouble for saying that later.) L

And this morning, on the way to summer fun, we talked about how Exie’s birthday was coming up and I asked the girls if they wanted me to get a card for him; then the girls wanted to go shopping and I said, well, maybe you could talk to grandma (Exie’s mom) about it and she could take you this week end.  And both girls said, NO, mom, that won’t work, because Grandma and daddy fight all the time, and he’d never let her take us.  L

Ugh, what the heck is going on?  So I said unfortunately we didn’t have time to go shopping after school because of all of our after school stuff, but I could pick up a card for sure, and big sister said okay, please get a fancy chocolate bar, with no nuts!  LOL.  So I’m putting this out there in the universe—doing kind deeds for the purpose of helping my daughters.  I hope this doesn’t come back and bite me in the a$$, but if it does, oh well.

Because today, love wins.  !  And no one can take that away from us.

Women's March: Love

Image credit (here)

My mind, body, and heart are still percolating with thoughts after participating on the Women’s March on Washington this past Saturday.  I’m so excited and happy that my daughters and I could be a part of it.

The last protest I’d been a part of was in Washington, DC in 1992, which has been lost in the fuzzy memory of time, but let me tell you, once the cars started honking their support on Saturday, it all came back in a wonderful, lovely, energetic frenzy!  I was whooping it up and hollering, the girls were proudly wearing their signs!  I saw various messages from “A Woman’s Place is in the Resistance” from some lovely princess leia bun wearing protestors to two college-aged women carrying a “T supporters can Eat !@# and die” (of which I steered my daughters away—I get the sentiment, ladies, I was there once about 20 years ago, lol, but dodging the 1^st and 5^th grader eyes away from that).  I saw numerous pu$$y posters, which I let my 5^th grader discuss with aunty l, who was marching with us, while I carried my first grader on my back a little further off (one day she can have the pu$$y talk, too, lol).  We did explain what a “uterus” is from someone else’s sign to both girls, because knowledge about our bodies is just fine.

I loved the “Scientists Believe Climate Change is Real” and the “Keep your Policies off my Body” on a women’s figure. 

A few days before the march, the girls discussed what our signs should say.  Mine was “Choose Love,” DD1’s was “1 Family,” and DD2’s was “Girls Rule.”

I loved being swept up in the positive, hopeful, loving energy that dammit, we are not going to let anyone hold us back.  I’ve been assaulted, survived abuse, lost members of my family closest to me when I was young, and I’m still standing.  There is no way I’m going to let the “assaulter of women”-in-chief prevent my daughters (or me) from achieving our goals, dreams, acheivements.  So I wore black on inauguration day, and the girls and I wore our Women’s March t-shirts on Saturday, January 21^st, and we marched for our rights to be alive and present and here.  That’s for damn sure!

The best part?  Overhearing my daughters talking about it later that evening, and hearing them say, “guess what?  We were part of history today!  We were in the march!” 

Leaving on a Jet Plane

An impromptu ladies trip has come up--my sister from another mother is getting married. And actually, two other close sisters, the bride, and two moms, plus me, will all be together for the week end, which is so so so awesome and a balm to the heart, considering what's been going on in the country.  Looking forward to a week end of #nastywomen celebrating love, kindness, and hope for the future.  Hugs!

Why I'm crying--reasons big and small

Photo Credit: here

The little boy who washed ashore, trying to escape violence and fear with his family.

The father who thought that when one son was alive, went swimming to another son, only to find him drowned, and when he returned to his first son, learned that now both sons were dead.

The girl who was raped and then her elite perpetrator was convicted of a lesser offense.  We should be celebrating that he was held accountable at all, I suppose, which also make me want to cry.

The deck, in general, stacked against the veracity and character of women, simply because we are women, simply because our credibility is always at question.  See any domestic violence case news coverage, there are so many to choose from.

You know, some of these tears are for sorrow and pain.  Others are in frustration and anger.  I’m so upset and it’s okay to be upset, I suppose.  This world is awful.  Why do I even bother?  Why do I even have hope?

Yesterday, DD2 told me “I’m dumb.” 

A couple of weeks ago, coming home from her dad’s house, she started crying, telling me that when “Daddy gets angry” with her, “he calls me dumb.”

I gave her a big hug.  I told her that was definitely not a good word to use, and that when people are angry, they can sometimes say mean things, but it doesn’t mean it’s true.

Lots of hugging and more blubbering ensued—relief (maybe?) on her side, inside tears of concern on my side.  I made a note of this and let the play therapist know.

Cut to yesterday, when the girls came home from dad’s house, DD2 repeated, “I’m dumb.”  Like it’s no big deal.  Like it’s normal, a fact.

I said, “Honey, I don’t know why you’re saying that, but I think you’re really smart and if someone is calling you dumb, you tell me right away!”

She repeated, “I’m dumb!”

I said (realizing after the fact, not the best thing to say), “gosh, I know you just came home from dad’s house and I hope they aren’t saying that over there."

Then DD1 jumped in all defensive about it, “oh no, mommy, if daddy said that, he was talking about if maybe you hit your head, you could get hurt and get dumb.”

So I responded, “well, the most important thing to know is you are both smart and NOT dumb.”

I realize that there are many possibilities about what they’re telling me—perhaps they’re hearing things at dad’s house, then interpreting them, then I hear them, then I interpret them.  That’s advice from the play therapist, to take a step back, and at the same time, to remain vigilant.  And I do take their reports with a grain of salt, my DD2 is excitable and much more inclined to fantasy play than my DD1 who is so staunch in her seat in reality and the concrete world, it’s kind of amazing.

Yet at the same time, I think—am I doing enough to help them?  Is just being positive and upbeat enough?  We say it is, we moms co-parenting with someone who used to abuse us.  I believe it on my good days.  I know I can’t control what happens at his house, I can only control what happens at mine.

I know I have to be “the good parent” who puts the kids first.  Do you ever feel like you’re doing everything you can think of, and it’s still not enough?

On some days, I feel oh so strong.  On other days, I just feel like crying.  Especially because I feel so powerless to change the very big things that are wrong in the world, I at least want to change the things in my little world…