Loads of Quiet

It's been hard to know what to write in the last several weeks. I live in an area where most of the adults (and children) were supporting Hillary Clinton, and we all spent more time than I think any of us individually expected recovering from her stunning non-victorious winning of the popular vote in the election. There are so many ways that people are saying that we can get involved, but after all the fake news, it's hard to know what's a real opportunity, and what may be distracting propaganda.

And it's all propaganda, isn't it? The PEOTUS is making "decisions" that seem arbitrary and certainly not in the best interest of the country, so to distract the electorate from that, he's tweeting wildly about SNL, China, Russian hacking, that's he's smart enough not to need daily intelligence briefings, Vanity Fair magazine, Chuck Jones, etc. Then , the media veers off the report on those distractions, and he nominates oil barons who have been awarded the highest non-citizen honor from RUSSIA to be our SoS. What? WHAT?

WHAT?????????????

I just...I just can't. Meanwhile, we hurtled through the first Thanksgiving as a country as divided as 1860, and now on to the holidays of Hanukkah and Christmas. and we're still pretty tentative. I worry about violence popping the bubble around my home, even though it seems hilariously far-fetched. You know what else sounded far-fetched? Donald Trump winning the Republican nomination for the presidency. Also, Donald Trump winning the election. And yet, hilariously, both those things came to pass regardless of how hard he seemed to be trying to NOT be president.

So what now? When I was a child, we watched the news nightly as a family. I am not sure I want my kids to watch the news because what if it isn't actually the news? How will they grow up learning to be citizens of the United States, and of the world, if I can't show them reliable information about the state of the country and the world? They are already children of the internet - how can I show them that most of what they find on the internet is wildly inaccurate?

And how can I do all these things, on top of the already Denali-esque pile of things-to-do I have daily anyway?

So, while these rocks tumble around in my head, I've been quiet. Because I'm pretty sure we ALL wonder how to parent and live and survive this spectacular showcase. It is, in fact, tremendous. Never once in my life did I think I would live in a time of such division and anger. It forces me to consider - will we ever be post-racism? Post-afraid-of-people-not-like-us? Post-anything? Or ultimately, are we all more closed off than we ever considered, and at the end of each day it's are MY people safe?

I dunno. It's a lot to consider. For now, mostly, I just try to be nice to everybody. Except at the people who drive poorly. Them I yell at.

It's Mourning In America

This morning I woke up with the same feeling in my body and my soul that was present on February 2, 2014.

How can this be reality?

But it is. And I despise that there is a trap door here. I was truly not expecting this one. I thought it would be close. I know how much people hate Hillary. It's clearly beyond reason. But I was not expecting this trap door.

And when I got home from an appointment this morning, I found this rebellious bloom in Connor's garden. A November blossom.

Keep the faith, friends. Connor came back to visit me today and helped dispel that feeling I woke up with.  I'm giving myself today to recoup my strength. As you know, I have practice at that, so now that I've done it, it will be faster this time. It will bolster my desire to do good. To be good. To practice compassion. To remove complacency. To remember what this country is about, what I am about, and what power lies in me.

Being the Best I Can Be

I am so lucky.

I was raised in a family where the gender dynamic was not even close to even. We weren't just female-heavy in our ratio. Females are dominant in our family. Not only in my nuclear family, but in my extended family of cousins too. It was a matter of fact that we are strong women. We were raised by strong women.

I was also raised by a strong man who believes to be very depth of his being that each of us can be anything we want to be. ANYTHING. I cannot think of a single time in my life when my father treated me differently than my brother. Want to play sports? Great, let's get your geared up so you can play your best. Need to practice? Let's hit the driveway. Tough spot in school? Let's sort it out. You have rehearsal? Let's get you there and home again safely. It wasn't only him, but when I think back, as far back as I possibly can remember, I never had my father say "you can't..." to me except in two instances:

1. When I wanted to wear my Emory University shorts inside out to the state finals in my senior year for basketball. My reason - the shorts were the only red shorts I owned but I was there supporting my team, not Emory. His reason - just no. Turn em back out. I glowered, I muttered under my breath (hm, wonder where THAT trait comes from) but I did it because I tested him completely throughout my adolescence and that was the first NO he gave me.

2. In my third year of college, when I became enamored of clowning (yes, clowning) and decided that once I completed my degree I would join the circus as a clown for a year. That got a big fat nope from him too.

I am so lucky.

I was so outspoken, sassy, strong, pick-your-synonym if you don't like mine when I was in high school that it inspired fear in boys. I attended an all girls high school, but the first day I had to go to the boys high school, 4 times the size of my own, I walked down the center of the hall there, between rows upon rows of lockers and hundreds of boys, with my head up, my eyes open and ready for a challenge. Many, many times I was challenged there. Every time, I refused to back down. Even to the point of being escorted to their office for a conversation with their Dean of Students whose responsibilities included handling the problems students. I wasn't even one of his students.

Because of how I was raised, it never occurred to me that I needed to be quiet, or unassuming, or demure. Naw, screw that? I was female, I was human, and I would not be denied my rights as a human.  Before anyone ever made the astonishingly simple relation that human rights apply to all humans, I believed that and tried to live it. And I was never punished for living that way, not even by the Dean of Students of the boys' school.

I am so lucky.

I went to college without a single concern about being safe. I have always been safe, even when I made stupid choices of epic proportions. I'm certain I made them. I probably have friends who can verify them! But I stomped out of college unscathed, and I know so many women who did not. I wish I had done more for them.

I am so lucky.

I worked at a wonderful place for a decade. While there, I was promoted to an executive position in my office, and a male partner asked me after the announcement if it made sense that I was an executive since I wasn't even 30. My response, carefully stated since I'd learned to be wiser with words as I matured, was to say, "Why not? No one else was clamoring for this."

It never came up again, and he was one of my greatest champions while I worked there.

I am so lucky. And it's time for me to start pushing that luck out of me and into those who will come. My sons, who have privileges so deep they cannot even begin to fathom them, and whose interest in social justice inspires me. My community, which has much of what it needs but can always make room for improvement. My country, which has suffered terribly in the last 15 months in an ugly electoral cycle that is certainly not the first of it's kind, but without question the most televised one. I may write Ryan Murphy and tell him that next year he needs to do American Horror Story: Election.

But I am so lucky. And tomorrow, I vote.

Well, That Was Interesting

The boys and I just returned home from delivering a congratulations card, balloon and small floral arrangement to their teacher whose first baby arrived yesterday. It was our first non-emergency visit to the hospital together ever.

As we left the building, we talked about when they could meet the baby (we dropped everything at the nurses' desk at the ward, not wanting to disturb her) and that they had to be healthy so their good health could protect the baby, etc.  As we drive out of the parking garage, Tucker asked, "Does everyone who dies come to the hospital?"

No, I said. Not everyone. When Connor died, they brought him here. They wanted to know why. So as I drove home in the blinding late afternoon sun, I tried to explain about resuscitation, and why their brother was brought to the hospital. They seemed to understand immediately why the EMTs took him straightaway, which was a relief.  But I had to explain to them why their father and I had decided years prior to not resuscitate their brother should he suffer a lack of oxygen. To their eternal credit, they seemed to understand. They both said, how sad it would be if he could have done less than he did.

And then Tucker, who cannot be pessimistic it seems unless it relates to me being "the worst", said, wouldn't it have been amazing if they HAD resuscitated him, and he was all fixed and could do everything?

Yes, my man. It would be, in fact, miraculous.

They were both on board with this miracle, and much of the rest of this ride home was a discussion of how cool it would have been to have Connor come home and be the most amazing big brother.

Good Lord, they try me most days, but my kids are pretty amazing. I'm a lucky Mom to have them here with me.

What Makes A Long Life?

Lest you think that last week's post would predict a continued rough patch, we had a really great weekend.

But today is actually one of the biggest days, and one of the biggest trap doors, even though I knew it was coming.

By the end of today, Drew has officially lived longer than Connor. This year will be a series of 10th birthday parties for Drew, and his friends, and every time I will celebrate the amazingness of those roughly 3654 (thanks, leap years!) days. Inside, though, the realization that the decade, the double digits have been breached and it will make me sad to know that with all the things Connor did accomplish in his short life, that wasn't one of them.

But, he did live roughly 3280 more days than they told us they expected. That's a pretty good over. If I were better at math, I could interpret that better. But I'm not, and have accepted that.

One week until Drew is 10. He's very excited. Which means that he won't see anything from me except for huge smiles for him.

Kids

This week has been especially trying for the boys, and I cannot figure out why. But on two consecutive days, they seemed to have lost their damn minds.

Day the First - Tucker's turn. Instead of listening to his soccer coach, Tucker spent most of his practice roughhousing with teammates. I personally adored it when one of them (who mostly Tucker ignored) said to him, "Tucker, why are you doing this, stop it!" AND HE DID. That showed me that my kid can in fact hear. I eventually had to tell him that soccer is a no hands sport and if I saw him put his hands on another teammate during practice I would send him to military school.

Yes. Military School.

Now, I think we all know that I will most likely NOT send my son away. His response was, "You know what? You just need a vacation. You should just go away. We'll listen to Dad and then when you come back we'll be good." So I asked where I should go, and his immediate and emphatic response was, "Minnesota."

??????????????????????

Anyway, I then explained that military school meant going and living elsewhere without us. He broke down in the saddest tears I have even seen him cry. Now he's terrified of me. But at least he's being more compliant and doing what we ask without it becoming a threatdown every time.

Day the Second - Drew's turn. Drew has this tendency to decide if I ask him to do something unpleasant (like hang up his backpack, or walk through a room to put his shoes away) by staging a passive resistance revolt. So yesterday, done with his crap, I dragged him off the sofa by one foot. To say he was shocked and terrified is an understatement. I sent him up to his room. He stomped up screaming, "I'M RUNNING AWAY!" to which I reminded him to pack a bag. Then I sat in the office and heard him go out on the roof over the office from one of his bedroom windows. All the while, I IMed Lee to tell him that Drew was actively in the process of running away. Then, from upstairs, there was a very scared, "Help!"  Away I went.

Drew was stuck on the roof. He had also bent the screen and it  could no longer sit in the window properly. Neighbor kids came by while I struggled to remove the twisted screen so he could get back in, and he very calmly said, "I got stuck." When he got back inside, he broke down and said, "I didn't want it to show how scared I was."

THIS IS A BREAKTHROUGH. He's never once given a rat's ass about that. So, part of me is crazy proud of him for learning this skill, and part of me is horrified that he has to quash his broadly emotive personality. Truthfully, in the long run, he has got to learn to control his emotions for long term happiness. However, I love that peer pressure has never gotten to him until yesterday. 

Either way, I'm hoping that I don't have to continue to threaten to get anything accomplished. I may make them salute me to remind them that there's always the chance I will send them away to learn to follow rules.  But don't tell them I won't. 

Like a Volcano

Things have been building. Years like this are hard - politics are so present and so invasive, and it can tear people apart, people who up until now have happily co-existed.

When I was much younger, I was shown the world of campaigning and politics, and I really enjoyed it. I enjoyed helping leaders get re-elected. I enjoyed helping candidates get the word out when they were running in their first race. Of course, I wasn't given a lot of choice...I was 8, 9, 10 and some days were volunteer days at the local office, or papering the neighborhood, or whatever.

I discovered though that when you are a 10 year old girl your opinions about the greater good are not really playground material. I put it away after struggling for years with it being the first thing forward about me. Boys in high school called me a "communist" which was ADORABLE. It's a good thing, I think, that I have the quirk in my personality that gives me the power to not give a crap what people think or say about me.

Entering into adulthood, I sort of let it all go. I took care of me, I took care of mine, and I stood up for people who needed standing up for, or animals, or elements of our environment.

Now here I am, on the cusp of 43, watching my male children learn what's right and wrong, and trying to guide them to make sure they know things like when someone says stop you STOP. I do not feel as though I have a lot of support in this. The very privileged world I live in makes things like tickle-fights and other seemingly innocuous "activities" blaze with red flags around me. They NEVER stop when I tell them to stop. I have to force them. I have to find a way for them to understand.

And we have a woman running from president of the United States. A woman who, when I was younger, seemed to permit what I thought was impermissable occur in her life, which in many ways destroyed my estimation of her. Now, of course, the benefit of age and hindsight has taught me that my judging in those years was unwarranted because you never know how you will handle something until it is planted directly in your path. She's a mother, a grandmother, a politician, a statesperson, and without question fully qualified. And yesterday, she was publicly ill and now that's a THING. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Guess what, as a mother, daughter, Realtor and housewife, I am sick quite often. And you know what I do more often than not? I get up, take some medicine and get shit done. That's my job. Getting shit done is now my primary daily responsibility, and we're talking low-level stuff like laundry, bedmaking, and staying on top of contracts for clients. I stay in bed if I have a fever or am actively barfing. Otherwise, I'm on my feet, making lunches, bossing kids, and generally sucking it up.

Guess what, people? Everyone gets sick, even the president. Frankly, if I were president, I'd be sick a WHOLE lot more, because the stress and the pressure must take so much energy from you. I imagine I'd have a complete set of false teeth stemming from so much teeth grinding that the dentist would just say, "Sorry, they're all nubs and have to go. On the plus side, no more cavities!"

She's been sick all week with an infection that in fact can be cured with rest and antibiotics, and people are wasting time discussing whether or not she has "it" in her to handle the presidency?? When the alternatives are a xenophobic megalomaniac and a candidate who has almost no focus on foreign policy, we are wasting precious moments and fleeting seconds even considering them? She could destroy either or both of them together in a debate on foreign policy right now, hopped up on antibiotics and resting.  If they debated today, she'd still roast them.

Do you think that in the 4 years she was Secretary of State, she was never sick? Do you think that in her 8 years as a federal Senator, or 8 years as FLOTUS or 8 years as FL of the state of Arkansas she was never sick? COME ON. That is insane.

It's starting to boil over. All the latent feminism I've been storing inside is starting to come out. My poor kids better watch out. My poor husband too. Because I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it any more...