Yeah. It's been a bit.
Here's why.
Pneumonia.
I had it.
I'm still recovering.
I spent a week sick. I went to the doctor who sent me to the hospital for nearly another week. I came home and was barely able to move for falling asleep.
It's hard to explain how it feels to be so weak. How it feels to tell my daughter that mommy can't right now and needs to nap. The fear in her eyes as she saw me in the hospital. I'm still not back at 100%, I'd say I was about back to 70%.
What else is going on.
My oldest niece got married.
The less said the better.
The ceremony was beautiful. The reception was not.
And I'm looking at my oldest niece and wondering what became of the little girl I adored. In her place is this bridezilla who managed to hand out emotional gut-punches at her wedding the way I handed out Milky-ways on halloween.
Since then I invited her to Thanksgiving to try to set a new tone to our relationship. I have since been ghosted. No answer. No response to my many queries. So I'm assuming she and her new husband won't be here. After a long talk with my husband I realized that I don't miss the person I just saw--I miss the one who I watched grow. And to be honest, I'll be missing her father, mother, and sister--my youngest niece who has a good head on her shoulders, kindness in abundance, and a boyfriend who appreciates both--more than I will miss the older one. But family shifts are like earthquakes and they aren't fun.
More later--the 70% is almost up.
Monday, November 12, 2018
Monday, October 8, 2018
Where I rage
"They weren't killed with guns but with hate. Well now I have hate!"
--Maria, West Side Story.
I forgive the author of my #MeToo moment because he changed. He changed into someone who could never do that again. But the person has changed and this jerk didn't.
I was the same age as Dr. Ford.
So when Senator Collins said that she didn't believe her and voted this prick bastard onto the Supreme Court. I raged.
I am still raging.
An open letter to Senator Collins,
I hope they haunt you.
The women who will die because of your vote.
Not only the women who will die when Roe is overturned.
Not only them.
But the woman who was raped and was told, by you, by your vote that if she comes forward no one will believe her.
Some will die inside as they hide away from the world.
Some will die because you have given people the idea that rape is somehow a woman's fault and they will commit suicide.
Some will die because they don't go to the hospital because you told them they will not be believed. You told them that they will be laughed at. Not only that but it is all right that they are laughed at. I hope those women haunt you.
I hope you see their faces, white, brown, Asian, when you try to fall asleep and you can't.
I hope you hear their screams in your nightmares.
I hope you don't sleep.
I hope you know that because of you, that part of them have died.
I hope you get that.
I hope you suffer with this choice.
Moreover I hope you do not retire in 2020 and you get voted out on your ass.
I hope you don't suffer alone.
I wish the same on Senators Flake, Graham, and Grassley. I would wish it on McConnell but I don't believe he has a soul to be tormented.
I believe you do. And I hope you do. I hope you live a long life so you see what your actions have wrought. I hope you feel remorse then.
Until then, I hope you suffer as we are suffering now.
--Maria, West Side Story.
I forgive the author of my #MeToo moment because he changed. He changed into someone who could never do that again. But the person has changed and this jerk didn't.
I was the same age as Dr. Ford.
So when Senator Collins said that she didn't believe her and voted this prick bastard onto the Supreme Court. I raged.
I am still raging.
An open letter to Senator Collins,
I hope they haunt you.
The women who will die because of your vote.
Not only the women who will die when Roe is overturned.
Not only them.
But the woman who was raped and was told, by you, by your vote that if she comes forward no one will believe her.
Some will die inside as they hide away from the world.
Some will die because you have given people the idea that rape is somehow a woman's fault and they will commit suicide.
Some will die because they don't go to the hospital because you told them they will not be believed. You told them that they will be laughed at. Not only that but it is all right that they are laughed at. I hope those women haunt you.
I hope you see their faces, white, brown, Asian, when you try to fall asleep and you can't.
I hope you hear their screams in your nightmares.
I hope you don't sleep.
I hope you know that because of you, that part of them have died.
I hope you get that.
I hope you suffer with this choice.
Moreover I hope you do not retire in 2020 and you get voted out on your ass.
I hope you don't suffer alone.
I wish the same on Senators Flake, Graham, and Grassley. I would wish it on McConnell but I don't believe he has a soul to be tormented.
I believe you do. And I hope you do. I hope you live a long life so you see what your actions have wrought. I hope you feel remorse then.
Until then, I hope you suffer as we are suffering now.
Monday, October 1, 2018
I'm still here
Shit--not since August?
I've been writing.
A lot.
I got a new idea and I'm 10,000 words into the novel.
I'm revising the other novel.
And I don't always have time to do what I want to do with writing.
I'm also tutoring. More in another post. I'm job hunting and trying to find something full-time or at least part time to help us with the bills.
My daughter started first grade.
My father is 91.
My niece is getting married. Yep. To him. In a month.
I'm disgusted by what is going on in the senate and seriously considering looking for a job in another country to move us to that other country. Even as I meet new people as part of my child's school community and set down more roots. I am scared.
And that's about it. We're all caught up.
I've been writing.
A lot.
I got a new idea and I'm 10,000 words into the novel.
I'm revising the other novel.
And I don't always have time to do what I want to do with writing.
I'm also tutoring. More in another post. I'm job hunting and trying to find something full-time or at least part time to help us with the bills.
My daughter started first grade.
My father is 91.
My niece is getting married. Yep. To him. In a month.
I'm disgusted by what is going on in the senate and seriously considering looking for a job in another country to move us to that other country. Even as I meet new people as part of my child's school community and set down more roots. I am scared.
And that's about it. We're all caught up.
Monday, August 13, 2018
Writer's Digest Conference 2018--things that I learned
So.
What a weekend I had!
I went to the Writer's Digest Conference.
I was surrounded by writers.
I was surrounded by people who create.
I saw someone having a spirited conversation with herself. She saw me staring at her and she said, "I'm having a disagreement with my main character." and walked off.
I totally understand this.
I learned that other writers are not my competition. Nor am I theirs.
I don't read just one writer in any genre. Why should I assume my readers will? There is room for all of us on the bookshelf. (and if there isn't--we just build more shelves.)
I learned that if you are a female writer, you are not given as many chances to succeed as a male writer. Not nice--but it seems to be true. Women are more likely to be told to stop writing where men are told to write something else. (It was a fantastic discussion after one of the breakout sessions.)
I learned that there are many different opinions about writing a character who is not your race and culture. All of the opinions are valid. For myself, I know I could never write a story like The Hate You Give or Children of Blood and Bone. I couldn't.
That being said, no one else could write the story I'm writing with Shawn, a young black man as one of the ensemble characters, because I know Shawn. I hear his voice in my head clearly and I can't change his race or one thing about him. I will be getting (more) sensitivity reads, but he is who he is.
If we limit ourselves to what we know, we don't grow. Not as authors, not as readers. That being said there is a fine line between admiration and appropriation. Staying on one side of the line is safer. But don't bust through the line like a winning runner breaking through the tape. That isn't winning. The best line about this came in one session--"You can do it--just don't fuck it up."
I learned that for every "rule" you can name a book that successfully breaks the same rule. Which means that I can do--as long as I do it incredibly well.
I learned that stillness is power. On the page between characters and sitting with agents pitching them. Four out of six want to at least look at my work. Two of them want complete manuscripts. I attribute this to good pitches, and a good story. I also managed to quell my tendency to babble and be still after my pitches--that's when they said--I want to see more.
I also learned I have a lot to do. A lot of writing and growing--but I'm running towards the path--not trudging my way to it. And That has more to do with the people I met there!
Thanks Writers Digest for an amazing conference!
To all who have come here from my twitter link--welcome! So glad to see you! Let's write the next chapter, shall we?
What a weekend I had!
I went to the Writer's Digest Conference.
I was surrounded by writers.
I was surrounded by people who create.
I saw someone having a spirited conversation with herself. She saw me staring at her and she said, "I'm having a disagreement with my main character." and walked off.
I totally understand this.
I learned that other writers are not my competition. Nor am I theirs.
I don't read just one writer in any genre. Why should I assume my readers will? There is room for all of us on the bookshelf. (and if there isn't--we just build more shelves.)
I learned that if you are a female writer, you are not given as many chances to succeed as a male writer. Not nice--but it seems to be true. Women are more likely to be told to stop writing where men are told to write something else. (It was a fantastic discussion after one of the breakout sessions.)
I learned that there are many different opinions about writing a character who is not your race and culture. All of the opinions are valid. For myself, I know I could never write a story like The Hate You Give or Children of Blood and Bone. I couldn't.
That being said, no one else could write the story I'm writing with Shawn, a young black man as one of the ensemble characters, because I know Shawn. I hear his voice in my head clearly and I can't change his race or one thing about him. I will be getting (more) sensitivity reads, but he is who he is.
If we limit ourselves to what we know, we don't grow. Not as authors, not as readers. That being said there is a fine line between admiration and appropriation. Staying on one side of the line is safer. But don't bust through the line like a winning runner breaking through the tape. That isn't winning. The best line about this came in one session--"You can do it--just don't fuck it up."
I learned that for every "rule" you can name a book that successfully breaks the same rule. Which means that I can do--as long as I do it incredibly well.
I learned that stillness is power. On the page between characters and sitting with agents pitching them. Four out of six want to at least look at my work. Two of them want complete manuscripts. I attribute this to good pitches, and a good story. I also managed to quell my tendency to babble and be still after my pitches--that's when they said--I want to see more.
I also learned I have a lot to do. A lot of writing and growing--but I'm running towards the path--not trudging my way to it. And That has more to do with the people I met there!
Thanks Writers Digest for an amazing conference!
To all who have come here from my twitter link--welcome! So glad to see you! Let's write the next chapter, shall we?
Monday, July 23, 2018
Finishing the hat- Microblog Monday
Yeah, I've been quite for a month.
I had to finish the hat.
My novel which is technically the second in a series but I hope will be published first is finished.
Well except for the rewriting.
And I'll be sending it to agents.
And I had to finish the hat.
I had to hide from my daughter, my husband, my father, my friends.
I hated it. I wanted to go out into the sunlight.
I wanted to hug my daughter--and I did--and then I told her "Go play."
I talked over the story with my husband. I woke in the middle of the night to work on it. I worked on it deep into the dark hours.
My schedule is all fucked up.
I finished it.
I have done more research.
I have to tweak it. I have to get it more ready. I have to edit it.
But the first draft is done.
And it's beautiful. Warts and all. Typos and all. Mistakes that make the editor part of me cringe and all.
People don't understand.
Sondheim, in Sunday in the Park with George understood and put it into words.
Look I made a hat!
Where there never was a hat!
More to come
I had to finish the hat.
My novel which is technically the second in a series but I hope will be published first is finished.
Well except for the rewriting.
And I'll be sending it to agents.
And I had to finish the hat.
I had to hide from my daughter, my husband, my father, my friends.
I hated it. I wanted to go out into the sunlight.
I wanted to hug my daughter--and I did--and then I told her "Go play."
I talked over the story with my husband. I woke in the middle of the night to work on it. I worked on it deep into the dark hours.
My schedule is all fucked up.
I finished it.
I have done more research.
I have to tweak it. I have to get it more ready. I have to edit it.
But the first draft is done.
And it's beautiful. Warts and all. Typos and all. Mistakes that make the editor part of me cringe and all.
People don't understand.
Sondheim, in Sunday in the Park with George understood and put it into words.
Look I made a hat!
Where there never was a hat!
More to come
Monday, June 18, 2018
Children do not belong in cages
When I was little I watched this miniseries called Masada.
If you can find it it is good to watch.
It starred Peter O'Toole and Peter Strauss.
There is a line in it where Peter O' Toole, as Flavius Silva screams "This is not Rome!"
This is not America.
This is not who we are.
This is not who we should be.
Children do not belong in cages.
Children do not belong in concentration camps.
This is not who we are.
Or, I should say, this is not who we should be.
People are saying this is right. If you see a child in a cage and your question is about their immigration status, you have a moral problem.
If you are not calling your representatives and telling them that this is disgusting--then do so now.
I always wondered why I would have done during World War 2. I mean I'm jewish, I would have died. But would I have died fighting? I don't know.
But I have a daughter who does not look like me. I keep her COC (Certificate of Citizenship) on me at all times when we leave the house. D. keeps her passport card in his wallet. I am scared that someone will say she's not a citizen. I am scared that they might revoke her citizenship. I am scared.
But this is my daughter. This is my country. I will use my voice.
Will you raise yours?
Oh, and Flint, Michigan still doesn't have clean water.
There is a large percentage of Puerto Rico without power.
If you can find it it is good to watch.
It starred Peter O'Toole and Peter Strauss.
There is a line in it where Peter O' Toole, as Flavius Silva screams "This is not Rome!"
This is not America.
This is not who we are.
This is not who we should be.
Children do not belong in cages.
Children do not belong in concentration camps.
This is not who we are.
Or, I should say, this is not who we should be.
People are saying this is right. If you see a child in a cage and your question is about their immigration status, you have a moral problem.
If you are not calling your representatives and telling them that this is disgusting--then do so now.
I always wondered why I would have done during World War 2. I mean I'm jewish, I would have died. But would I have died fighting? I don't know.
But I have a daughter who does not look like me. I keep her COC (Certificate of Citizenship) on me at all times when we leave the house. D. keeps her passport card in his wallet. I am scared that someone will say she's not a citizen. I am scared that they might revoke her citizenship. I am scared.
But this is my daughter. This is my country. I will use my voice.
Will you raise yours?
Oh, and Flint, Michigan still doesn't have clean water.
There is a large percentage of Puerto Rico without power.
Monday, June 4, 2018
What I learned - Microblog Monday
Sorry for the radio silence.
I was trying like crazy to finish my book before the writing conference this weekend.
I didn't.
I'm about 6000 words out--a little more because the conference made me see a glaring error that I did two chapters ago and I have to fix now.
One of the breakout sessions I took was about storytelling--oral and written.
We were to write about times in our life when we needed help.
This is what I wrote.
My goddaughter turned one.
A year after her mother's four-day labor. A year after my eyes caught my husband's as I held her. We went home and cheerily threw out the birth control pills We joyfully went about the business of adding to our family. It would be easy, right, I mean I'd spent so long hearing that it only takes one time. It had been a year full of periods that were always on-time. I wasn't worried-much.
My goddaughter turned three.
Three years of hearing "great news!" from my friends until we were the only ones of our group who wanted a chid and were without. Three years of worry and once a month depression. Two years after sitting in a doctor's office answering aseptic intimate questions and hormone shots that made me question my sanity and reason for living.
My goddaughter turned six.
A year after we started the process to "Just Adopt." Social worker--a lovely one who would become our advocate--came to our house to decide if we were worthy to parent. We had to ask our friends to write us recommendations. We had to ask other people to help us become parents. No one else seemed to have this trouble. I had been losing friends who told me horrible things. Some forever.
My goddaughter turned eight.
No one invites us to baby showers anymore--nor should they. Mother's Day has become a landmine of epic proportions. After waiting to adopt for three years and realizing it could be another three we decide to try IVF. It doesn't work.
My goddaughter turned ten.
People tell us to get out of the line for China. We say no--that's where she is. We've been waiting for five years, We see ourselves getting closer. But the wait is still so long. We renew our paperwork and pray.
My goddaughter turned thirteen.
She joyfully swings my daughter in her arms. My goddaughter laughed and my beautiful little girl giggles the way only a one-year-old can with her whole body. After the laughter my daughter reaches for me.
My goddaughter gives me boxes of her old clothes, that her mother saved for me. Her mother, my heart-sister never doubted that we would watch our two children playing together.
Our child lights up our world and, even today, I don't know that the joy would be as much without the struggle and the help.
I was trying like crazy to finish my book before the writing conference this weekend.
I didn't.
I'm about 6000 words out--a little more because the conference made me see a glaring error that I did two chapters ago and I have to fix now.
One of the breakout sessions I took was about storytelling--oral and written.
We were to write about times in our life when we needed help.
This is what I wrote.
My goddaughter turned one.
A year after her mother's four-day labor. A year after my eyes caught my husband's as I held her. We went home and cheerily threw out the birth control pills We joyfully went about the business of adding to our family. It would be easy, right, I mean I'd spent so long hearing that it only takes one time. It had been a year full of periods that were always on-time. I wasn't worried-much.
My goddaughter turned three.
Three years of hearing "great news!" from my friends until we were the only ones of our group who wanted a chid and were without. Three years of worry and once a month depression. Two years after sitting in a doctor's office answering aseptic intimate questions and hormone shots that made me question my sanity and reason for living.
My goddaughter turned six.
A year after we started the process to "Just Adopt." Social worker--a lovely one who would become our advocate--came to our house to decide if we were worthy to parent. We had to ask our friends to write us recommendations. We had to ask other people to help us become parents. No one else seemed to have this trouble. I had been losing friends who told me horrible things. Some forever.
My goddaughter turned eight.
No one invites us to baby showers anymore--nor should they. Mother's Day has become a landmine of epic proportions. After waiting to adopt for three years and realizing it could be another three we decide to try IVF. It doesn't work.
My goddaughter turned ten.
People tell us to get out of the line for China. We say no--that's where she is. We've been waiting for five years, We see ourselves getting closer. But the wait is still so long. We renew our paperwork and pray.
My goddaughter turned thirteen.
She joyfully swings my daughter in her arms. My goddaughter laughed and my beautiful little girl giggles the way only a one-year-old can with her whole body. After the laughter my daughter reaches for me.
My goddaughter gives me boxes of her old clothes, that her mother saved for me. Her mother, my heart-sister never doubted that we would watch our two children playing together.
Our child lights up our world and, even today, I don't know that the joy would be as much without the struggle and the help.
Monday, May 14, 2018
What I signed up for
So another Mother's Day has passed.
It's hard to be a mother without a mother. I never had a Mother's Day where I was both parent and child. I miss my mom. On Mother's Day I would cook for her. I would be with her. I miss that.
Yesterday kind of sucked.
Lotus woke up coughing and sneezing. I have my mother's superpower that I can touch a forehead and be within .2 of the fever.
I got frustrated with the pediatrician's office. I adore my pediatrician and it's a group and every doctor there has been amazing. But there's a few people in the office that aren't as nice. I touched Lotus' forehead and knew that she had a fever.
For Lotus, normal body temperature is 98.0. If she hits 99.5, she is sick. Don't tell me that it has to be 100.4 (which they did) because the doctor told me that temperature is an average and if Lotus hits 99.5 I should consider it a fever. I should not let her go to school. I should start Tylenol/Motrin if she goes over 99.5.
But they kept saying when she is below 100.4 it isn't a fever. I pushed and got her a sick appointment yesterday. When she got there (D took her since I had to tutor) her temp was 98.6. I though that the diagnosis was going to be "worried mom" but since the Dr. knew her and she wasn't acting herself, he took a strep test.
Bingo.
So then all the nice Mother's Day plans we kind of had went pfft.
I had a sad Lotus on my lap watching a lot of inane tv.
But I thought of all the Mother's Days before when I just wanted a kid.
And she rested her hot forehead against my cheek.
This is what I signed up for.
I rocked her and gave her medicine and candy to "get the taste out".
I held her trying to ignore the fact that I'm almost certainly going to get it.
This is part of the mothering stuff.
And Thank God for it.
It's hard to be a mother without a mother. I never had a Mother's Day where I was both parent and child. I miss my mom. On Mother's Day I would cook for her. I would be with her. I miss that.
Yesterday kind of sucked.
Lotus woke up coughing and sneezing. I have my mother's superpower that I can touch a forehead and be within .2 of the fever.
I got frustrated with the pediatrician's office. I adore my pediatrician and it's a group and every doctor there has been amazing. But there's a few people in the office that aren't as nice. I touched Lotus' forehead and knew that she had a fever.
For Lotus, normal body temperature is 98.0. If she hits 99.5, she is sick. Don't tell me that it has to be 100.4 (which they did) because the doctor told me that temperature is an average and if Lotus hits 99.5 I should consider it a fever. I should not let her go to school. I should start Tylenol/Motrin if she goes over 99.5.
But they kept saying when she is below 100.4 it isn't a fever. I pushed and got her a sick appointment yesterday. When she got there (D took her since I had to tutor) her temp was 98.6. I though that the diagnosis was going to be "worried mom" but since the Dr. knew her and she wasn't acting herself, he took a strep test.
Bingo.
So then all the nice Mother's Day plans we kind of had went pfft.
I had a sad Lotus on my lap watching a lot of inane tv.
But I thought of all the Mother's Days before when I just wanted a kid.
And she rested her hot forehead against my cheek.
This is what I signed up for.
I rocked her and gave her medicine and candy to "get the taste out".
I held her trying to ignore the fact that I'm almost certainly going to get it.
This is part of the mothering stuff.
And Thank God for it.
Monday, April 23, 2018
My girl
A little about Lotus.
She's turning six soon.
She has her personality, her likes, her dislikes. She is proud of her Chinese heritage but she also knows that some people don't like it.
A few days ago she was asked where she was from, she told me she pointed at our house. (We're in sight from the school.) She said they wanted another answer and she wasn't sure about that.
My child has her butt firmly on smartass island.
Sometimes she laughs and covers her mouth. I don't know where she learned that and I've been working on breaking her of the behavior. Her smile is too pretty to be hidden.
She still sleeps on her own bed in our room. Generally she can go almost a week before climbing into our bed to snuggle up.
Speaking of which she just climbed onto my lap for snuggles. I love that she still does this.
She prefers TV over most other screen time. We're strict about devices and not as strict about TV. She loves My Little Pony.
Her hair is long and she loves me to style it differently. She has her own sense of style and it lovely.
When she walks into school it reminds me of Norm on Cheers. Everyone yells her name in greeting. She doesn't do drama. And she has enough moxie that she sometimes disobeys her teachers. I kind of like that, even if it isn't always easy.
She's kind and she doesn't like it when others aren't. She makes me smile and gives me hope for the future.
She's almost six.
Seven years ago around this time I had no idea that my waiting was coming to an end. Seven years ago I was in Infertility hell.
Six years ago I had redone my home study and paperwork in hope.
I don't forget how it was living with infertility. I still feel pangs when her friends moms are pregnant. I feel bigger pangs when she asks for a brother or sister.
I wish all who wanted to, could know the love of a little girl like mine. Or a little boy. Or twins. Or. Or. Or.
Just know you have an ally. You have someone in your corner.
Me.
And my daughter.
She's turning six soon.
She has her personality, her likes, her dislikes. She is proud of her Chinese heritage but she also knows that some people don't like it.
A few days ago she was asked where she was from, she told me she pointed at our house. (We're in sight from the school.) She said they wanted another answer and she wasn't sure about that.
My child has her butt firmly on smartass island.
Sometimes she laughs and covers her mouth. I don't know where she learned that and I've been working on breaking her of the behavior. Her smile is too pretty to be hidden.
She still sleeps on her own bed in our room. Generally she can go almost a week before climbing into our bed to snuggle up.
Speaking of which she just climbed onto my lap for snuggles. I love that she still does this.
She prefers TV over most other screen time. We're strict about devices and not as strict about TV. She loves My Little Pony.
Her hair is long and she loves me to style it differently. She has her own sense of style and it lovely.
When she walks into school it reminds me of Norm on Cheers. Everyone yells her name in greeting. She doesn't do drama. And she has enough moxie that she sometimes disobeys her teachers. I kind of like that, even if it isn't always easy.
She's kind and she doesn't like it when others aren't. She makes me smile and gives me hope for the future.
She's almost six.
Seven years ago around this time I had no idea that my waiting was coming to an end. Seven years ago I was in Infertility hell.
Six years ago I had redone my home study and paperwork in hope.
I don't forget how it was living with infertility. I still feel pangs when her friends moms are pregnant. I feel bigger pangs when she asks for a brother or sister.
I wish all who wanted to, could know the love of a little girl like mine. Or a little boy. Or twins. Or. Or. Or.
Just know you have an ally. You have someone in your corner.
Me.
And my daughter.
Monday, April 9, 2018
Dear China Mommy - Year 5
Dear China Mommy,
Our daughter will be turning six in a few weeks. She decided she wants a bowling party and put her foot down about who will be invited.
Her whole fricking kindergarten class.
I had said, you have one person more than you are old, but she talked me around. She said she wanted these people and then Hilly.
"Who is Hilly?" I asked.
"You know her, she's the one who doesn't sit and she wanders around the room and hums a lot."
Oh. I thought. The autistic girl. I looked at her face.
"I don't think she gets invited to a lot of birthday parties, mommy. I think it makes her sad. She doesn't hurt anyone and she's not mean and I want to invite her, even if her mommy says no." I nodded. I couldn't speak, you see, because I had this lump in my throat.
Did she get this compassion from you? Did she get it from me? Did it mingle together from both of us?
So why are we inviting the whole class when she wants to invite Hilly? So she doesn't feel singled out. Or that's what I think she was trying to tell me. Sometimes I don't understand what she's trying to communicate, but most of the time I do.
Our daughter is about three and a half feet tall. She is so graceful -- definitely your influence. Her smile can light a world.
She's lost her first tooth and the permanent one has come in crooked. Orthodontia is in our future.
She's learning to read and she says how "Words just pop out at her." as she looks around.
She asked why you left her to be found. She asked if she was bad. I was driving and I pulled over so I could stare into her eyes and tell her that it was not at all because she was bad. I told her that we would likely never know the full reasons but I had some guesses.
I think it was because she was premature. I think you were scared as hell that her lungs were underdeveloped and took her to where she could be treated. Even if it meant never seeing her again. I sometimes wonder if it was not you who took her to that place, if it was a family member who you have yet to forgive.
Her school is far more white than the daycare and pre-K she attended. She notices that. I think she's been made fun of, but if she has it's rolled off her back as our daughter does not start fights. She does tend to finish them.
Our daughter takes stalling to go to bed to an Olympic sport. But she knows that if she asks for more hugs we will give them.
Our daughter has an incredible capacity to love. She has an empathetic quality that is rare in 60 year olds, not only 6 year olds. But she has it. I believe it was put there by you, nurtured by me and her father.
Today she asked, for the n-teenth time, for me to tell her the story of when we first met. I told her again. But today she asked, Why did I stop crying when I heard you sing.
I gave a few suggestions and she kept shaking her head.
"Okay, Lotus, Why did you stop crying?"
"Because I recognized you. You weren't China Mommy, you were my mommy." She sighed as she saw my eyes fill. "Happy tears?" She asked--she's used to this by now. I nodded. We cuddled. Then she asked to send some love to you. And we hugged and sent some of our love to you.
I hope you feel the love that our daughter feels for you.
I hope you know the love and unspeakable gratitude that I feel for you.
God be with you, wherever and whatever you need,
Love
Your daughter's mommy.
Our daughter will be turning six in a few weeks. She decided she wants a bowling party and put her foot down about who will be invited.
Her whole fricking kindergarten class.
I had said, you have one person more than you are old, but she talked me around. She said she wanted these people and then Hilly.
"Who is Hilly?" I asked.
"You know her, she's the one who doesn't sit and she wanders around the room and hums a lot."
Oh. I thought. The autistic girl. I looked at her face.
"I don't think she gets invited to a lot of birthday parties, mommy. I think it makes her sad. She doesn't hurt anyone and she's not mean and I want to invite her, even if her mommy says no." I nodded. I couldn't speak, you see, because I had this lump in my throat.
Did she get this compassion from you? Did she get it from me? Did it mingle together from both of us?
So why are we inviting the whole class when she wants to invite Hilly? So she doesn't feel singled out. Or that's what I think she was trying to tell me. Sometimes I don't understand what she's trying to communicate, but most of the time I do.
Our daughter is about three and a half feet tall. She is so graceful -- definitely your influence. Her smile can light a world.
She's lost her first tooth and the permanent one has come in crooked. Orthodontia is in our future.
She's learning to read and she says how "Words just pop out at her." as she looks around.
She asked why you left her to be found. She asked if she was bad. I was driving and I pulled over so I could stare into her eyes and tell her that it was not at all because she was bad. I told her that we would likely never know the full reasons but I had some guesses.
I think it was because she was premature. I think you were scared as hell that her lungs were underdeveloped and took her to where she could be treated. Even if it meant never seeing her again. I sometimes wonder if it was not you who took her to that place, if it was a family member who you have yet to forgive.
Her school is far more white than the daycare and pre-K she attended. She notices that. I think she's been made fun of, but if she has it's rolled off her back as our daughter does not start fights. She does tend to finish them.
Our daughter takes stalling to go to bed to an Olympic sport. But she knows that if she asks for more hugs we will give them.
Our daughter has an incredible capacity to love. She has an empathetic quality that is rare in 60 year olds, not only 6 year olds. But she has it. I believe it was put there by you, nurtured by me and her father.
Today she asked, for the n-teenth time, for me to tell her the story of when we first met. I told her again. But today she asked, Why did I stop crying when I heard you sing.
I gave a few suggestions and she kept shaking her head.
"Okay, Lotus, Why did you stop crying?"
"Because I recognized you. You weren't China Mommy, you were my mommy." She sighed as she saw my eyes fill. "Happy tears?" She asked--she's used to this by now. I nodded. We cuddled. Then she asked to send some love to you. And we hugged and sent some of our love to you.
I hope you feel the love that our daughter feels for you.
I hope you know the love and unspeakable gratitude that I feel for you.
God be with you, wherever and whatever you need,
Love
Your daughter's mommy.
Monday, April 2, 2018
Reaching out my hand
My friends list and twitter feed have exploded about the Roseanne reboot.
I watched it. I enjoyed it. I will likely watch again.
A lot of my friends are furious as to what happened to the star. They are furious that she voted for Trump. They are furious that Roseanne Conner is a Trump supporter.
They will not-EVER watch this show.
I will.
I don't believe all Trump Supporters are Nazis. Though I believe all American Nazis are Trump supporters. I am curious how a character who, in the '90s brought an extra kid into her family because she witnessed a horrible scene between the kid and his mother, could vote to take away the protections of these kids. It doesn't sound so impossible because the man is the President. Enough people voted for him. Not all of them were evil and horrible.
I have a friend--really an acquaintance who I grew up with who supported, and supports the current president. I don't understand her. I really don't. But I won't unfriend her, I won't turn away from her. When my mother was dying, she came. A lot of my friends, some of whom I am very close to did not. Two of the people who I would have called close friends didn't even call, email, or write. But this person who supported the current president--she sat and read to my mom. My mom's hands shook too much to hold a book and this woman came and read to her. I will not say all Trump supporters are evil because this woman is not.
I know some people who will be angry at me for giving that much. I understand. I acknowledge my privilege. I am Jewish, and we are being persecuted. There has been more anti-semitic incidents since 45 came into the White House. But others are being persecuted worse, and I need to be an ally. Part of being an ally is to learn why people voted for him. If it is simple racism and fear of others then that is one thing. If it is something else... well then I have to find this out.
Why? Because at some point hopefully sooner rather than later this jerk will be out of office. At the very latest in January 2025, we will have a new president.
What happens then?
Do we keep on hating each other? Distrusting each other? Did you know that we now view our political opponents as enemies? Seriously this has got to stop! Somehow we have to view each other as fellow humans and fellow countrymen.
If you voted for the current occupant of the White House, yes, I distrust you, but you are not my enemy. You are a human being. You are a fellow American and I believe there is some common ground between us.
There has to be.
So, I'm going to keep watching Roseanne. Not because I like her, but because I need to understand her. Because if I can understand how one person changes, I can understand how others change. Then I can reach out my hand and say we disagree but we can find common ground.
I watched it. I enjoyed it. I will likely watch again.
A lot of my friends are furious as to what happened to the star. They are furious that she voted for Trump. They are furious that Roseanne Conner is a Trump supporter.
They will not-EVER watch this show.
I will.
I don't believe all Trump Supporters are Nazis. Though I believe all American Nazis are Trump supporters. I am curious how a character who, in the '90s brought an extra kid into her family because she witnessed a horrible scene between the kid and his mother, could vote to take away the protections of these kids. It doesn't sound so impossible because the man is the President. Enough people voted for him. Not all of them were evil and horrible.
I have a friend--really an acquaintance who I grew up with who supported, and supports the current president. I don't understand her. I really don't. But I won't unfriend her, I won't turn away from her. When my mother was dying, she came. A lot of my friends, some of whom I am very close to did not. Two of the people who I would have called close friends didn't even call, email, or write. But this person who supported the current president--she sat and read to my mom. My mom's hands shook too much to hold a book and this woman came and read to her. I will not say all Trump supporters are evil because this woman is not.
I know some people who will be angry at me for giving that much. I understand. I acknowledge my privilege. I am Jewish, and we are being persecuted. There has been more anti-semitic incidents since 45 came into the White House. But others are being persecuted worse, and I need to be an ally. Part of being an ally is to learn why people voted for him. If it is simple racism and fear of others then that is one thing. If it is something else... well then I have to find this out.
Why? Because at some point hopefully sooner rather than later this jerk will be out of office. At the very latest in January 2025, we will have a new president.
What happens then?
Do we keep on hating each other? Distrusting each other? Did you know that we now view our political opponents as enemies? Seriously this has got to stop! Somehow we have to view each other as fellow humans and fellow countrymen.
If you voted for the current occupant of the White House, yes, I distrust you, but you are not my enemy. You are a human being. You are a fellow American and I believe there is some common ground between us.
There has to be.
So, I'm going to keep watching Roseanne. Not because I like her, but because I need to understand her. Because if I can understand how one person changes, I can understand how others change. Then I can reach out my hand and say we disagree but we can find common ground.
Monday, March 26, 2018
Maybe I'm amazed
I was about the same age as my daughter is now.
My brother turned on the tv because a Beatles movie was on. It was called Yellow Submarine.
It was a cartoon with the most incredible music I had ever heard. I sat on my older brother's lap transfixed by the music.
After it was over he started playing his Beatles records for me. A part of my life clicked into place. I became a Beatles fan. I wrote to the Beatles inviting them over to my house. My brother, ten years older than me, saw that the letters got mailed. Who knew, he said. Both John Lennon and Paul McCartney had children around my age. Maybe they'd visit a weird little kid. I actually got a response from somewhere saying how they had no plans to tour but I was on a mailing list if that would change. I found it when I was cleaning out stuff after my mom passed. The year was 1977. All four Beatles were still alive.
I remember the morning of December 9, 1980. I was up very early and was listening to my father listen to the radio. I heard that John Lennon had been murdered. I ran into my parents room. We listened to the rest together. He had been killed by a fan who shot him in front of his house. I remembered that he had a son who was about a year younger than me. My mom had tears in her eyes thinking about how Yoko Ono had to tell her young son that his father was never coming home. I went into my brother's room, woke him up, and told him about John Lennon. It was the first time, and one of the only times, I had ever seen my brother cry.
As I grew older music came in and out of my life. But my love for the Beatles only grew. Ask me on any given day what my five favorite songs are and one of them will be Nowhere Man. Often another would be Eleanor Rigby.
I read things about the Beatles. About the rocky friendship between John Lennon and Paul McCartney that created and disbanded one of the best accumulations of talent in the world.
While dealing with the heart of infertility I thought about Yoko Ono often. She had a very public battle with secondary infertility. She and John Lennon suffered three miscarriages before Sean Lennon was born. I once read on an IF blog that Yoko Ono deserved her infertility because it was her punishment for breaking up the Beatles. I left a blistering comment and never went back. No one "deserves" infertility. Besides, Yoko did not break up the Beatles. That suggests that John Lennon had no autonomy, and that was simply not true.
I'm going into all my history with the Beatles to talk about Paul McCartney. He was always my favorite. The best concert I ever went to was Paul McCartney at Citi Field. Not only for how amazing it was. But, out of the concert, all of the New Yorkers were on the subway platform singing Beatles songs.
On Saturday, Paul McCartney marched in New York's March For Our Lives rally. When asked why, he pointed to his T-shirt which said in bold letters, WE CAN END GUN VIOLENCE. He said that his best friend had been a victim of gun violence not far from where they were and he wanted to do something. It took people a very short time to connect that he meant John.
You don't think of Paul McCartney as a victim of gun violence. But where people mourned the life of John Lennon, Paul mourned the man. While there were a lot of teenagers who didn't know who Paul was, the adults around them quickly informed them. Some wondered why he didn't lend his name to the big concert. At this I can only surmise that he wanted it to be from the teens and he wanted to pass the torch.
But he couldn't stay in his very posh residence so he went out like millions of us did to march and to protest. To be there to support the cause, and his friend. And I respect him even more. And I offer him my very belated condolences on the loss of his best friend.
My brother turned on the tv because a Beatles movie was on. It was called Yellow Submarine.
It was a cartoon with the most incredible music I had ever heard. I sat on my older brother's lap transfixed by the music.
After it was over he started playing his Beatles records for me. A part of my life clicked into place. I became a Beatles fan. I wrote to the Beatles inviting them over to my house. My brother, ten years older than me, saw that the letters got mailed. Who knew, he said. Both John Lennon and Paul McCartney had children around my age. Maybe they'd visit a weird little kid. I actually got a response from somewhere saying how they had no plans to tour but I was on a mailing list if that would change. I found it when I was cleaning out stuff after my mom passed. The year was 1977. All four Beatles were still alive.
I remember the morning of December 9, 1980. I was up very early and was listening to my father listen to the radio. I heard that John Lennon had been murdered. I ran into my parents room. We listened to the rest together. He had been killed by a fan who shot him in front of his house. I remembered that he had a son who was about a year younger than me. My mom had tears in her eyes thinking about how Yoko Ono had to tell her young son that his father was never coming home. I went into my brother's room, woke him up, and told him about John Lennon. It was the first time, and one of the only times, I had ever seen my brother cry.
As I grew older music came in and out of my life. But my love for the Beatles only grew. Ask me on any given day what my five favorite songs are and one of them will be Nowhere Man. Often another would be Eleanor Rigby.
I read things about the Beatles. About the rocky friendship between John Lennon and Paul McCartney that created and disbanded one of the best accumulations of talent in the world.
While dealing with the heart of infertility I thought about Yoko Ono often. She had a very public battle with secondary infertility. She and John Lennon suffered three miscarriages before Sean Lennon was born. I once read on an IF blog that Yoko Ono deserved her infertility because it was her punishment for breaking up the Beatles. I left a blistering comment and never went back. No one "deserves" infertility. Besides, Yoko did not break up the Beatles. That suggests that John Lennon had no autonomy, and that was simply not true.
I'm going into all my history with the Beatles to talk about Paul McCartney. He was always my favorite. The best concert I ever went to was Paul McCartney at Citi Field. Not only for how amazing it was. But, out of the concert, all of the New Yorkers were on the subway platform singing Beatles songs.
On Saturday, Paul McCartney marched in New York's March For Our Lives rally. When asked why, he pointed to his T-shirt which said in bold letters, WE CAN END GUN VIOLENCE. He said that his best friend had been a victim of gun violence not far from where they were and he wanted to do something. It took people a very short time to connect that he meant John.
You don't think of Paul McCartney as a victim of gun violence. But where people mourned the life of John Lennon, Paul mourned the man. While there were a lot of teenagers who didn't know who Paul was, the adults around them quickly informed them. Some wondered why he didn't lend his name to the big concert. At this I can only surmise that he wanted it to be from the teens and he wanted to pass the torch.
But he couldn't stay in his very posh residence so he went out like millions of us did to march and to protest. To be there to support the cause, and his friend. And I respect him even more. And I offer him my very belated condolences on the loss of his best friend.
Monday, March 19, 2018
Seeing the future
My grandmother had a gift. Maybe a curse.
She could attend a wedding, engagement party, even watch a couple who were dating and know, know as an undeniable truth that they would not work out.
I remember going to a cousin's wedding. Big fancy wedding. Bride and groom made lovey-dovey faces at each other. When we came home my mom said what a nice wedding it was. I said that it would have been nicer if I thought for even ten minutes that the happy couple would work out. I watched my mother's face pale. It seemed that I said my grandmother's exact words with the exact tone that she had used about this cousin's parents. My grandmother had been proven correct seven years later. My cousin's marriage didn't even last that long.
I haven't always been able to predict it. Some friends split up and I really thought they were going the long haul. But right now, I'm watching my niece start on the road to the wedding and I know, I know, she's going down the road for heartache. Other people have told her and she just doesn't care.
I don't get this.
Her "fiancé" asked her to marry him, with a ring and everything, at the end of 2017. But--she's not allowed to tell anyone on social media. He wanted to wait to tell his family. Then he wanted to wait to tell someone else. It's March now, and she's still not allowed to tell people on social media. This means most of her friends don't know.
When her father got engaged, I remember that he was so proud and happy that he stopped the mailman and pointed out my soon to be sister in law. "Isn't she beautiful! She's the most amazing woman inside and out and she is marrying me!" They've been married over 30 years. Not without bumps, but still.
My niece has been dating this guy for a while. about six years or so. They broke up when she wanted to become engaged and he didn't. Then he charmed and wheedled and she took him back and she told him that if she didn't have a ring by the time 2018 came she'd be gone. So he got her a ring and forbid her to tell anyone about it.
When it comes to wedding planning he refuses to get married near where her parents live and where she wants to be married. There is an elderly aunt who can't travel and my niece wants her there, but he refuses so that's it.
He insists that she must formally convert to Judaism. Her father is Jewish, her mother is not. She was raised Jewish. She teaches Hebrew School. But it isn't Jewish enough and he belittles her hard-won Jewish knowledge. Their relationship is filled with his micro-agressions towards her.
Yet when anyone tells her that this is not the way a loving man treats his bride-to-be, she dismisses it. She loves him. She wants him.
So I wait with my heart hurting. I know that at some point she will see him for what he is. Maybe he'll change, but I'm not holding my breath. I wish so much that she could see him the way we do. I wish that she would stand her ground. She's a strong woman. Or she was.
But her biological clock is ticking. She's worried she'll have problems getting pregnant. She wants to be a mother and she thinks that this guy is the only way that can happen. I worry that if she has problems getting pregnant he will blame her and come down on her. I worry.
I wonder if she really doesn't see it, or if she's using her heart to override her head. Has anyone ever dealt with this kind of thing--if so what did you do?
She could attend a wedding, engagement party, even watch a couple who were dating and know, know as an undeniable truth that they would not work out.
I remember going to a cousin's wedding. Big fancy wedding. Bride and groom made lovey-dovey faces at each other. When we came home my mom said what a nice wedding it was. I said that it would have been nicer if I thought for even ten minutes that the happy couple would work out. I watched my mother's face pale. It seemed that I said my grandmother's exact words with the exact tone that she had used about this cousin's parents. My grandmother had been proven correct seven years later. My cousin's marriage didn't even last that long.
I haven't always been able to predict it. Some friends split up and I really thought they were going the long haul. But right now, I'm watching my niece start on the road to the wedding and I know, I know, she's going down the road for heartache. Other people have told her and she just doesn't care.
I don't get this.
Her "fiancé" asked her to marry him, with a ring and everything, at the end of 2017. But--she's not allowed to tell anyone on social media. He wanted to wait to tell his family. Then he wanted to wait to tell someone else. It's March now, and she's still not allowed to tell people on social media. This means most of her friends don't know.
When her father got engaged, I remember that he was so proud and happy that he stopped the mailman and pointed out my soon to be sister in law. "Isn't she beautiful! She's the most amazing woman inside and out and she is marrying me!" They've been married over 30 years. Not without bumps, but still.
My niece has been dating this guy for a while. about six years or so. They broke up when she wanted to become engaged and he didn't. Then he charmed and wheedled and she took him back and she told him that if she didn't have a ring by the time 2018 came she'd be gone. So he got her a ring and forbid her to tell anyone about it.
When it comes to wedding planning he refuses to get married near where her parents live and where she wants to be married. There is an elderly aunt who can't travel and my niece wants her there, but he refuses so that's it.
He insists that she must formally convert to Judaism. Her father is Jewish, her mother is not. She was raised Jewish. She teaches Hebrew School. But it isn't Jewish enough and he belittles her hard-won Jewish knowledge. Their relationship is filled with his micro-agressions towards her.
Yet when anyone tells her that this is not the way a loving man treats his bride-to-be, she dismisses it. She loves him. She wants him.
So I wait with my heart hurting. I know that at some point she will see him for what he is. Maybe he'll change, but I'm not holding my breath. I wish so much that she could see him the way we do. I wish that she would stand her ground. She's a strong woman. Or she was.
But her biological clock is ticking. She's worried she'll have problems getting pregnant. She wants to be a mother and she thinks that this guy is the only way that can happen. I worry that if she has problems getting pregnant he will blame her and come down on her. I worry.
I wonder if she really doesn't see it, or if she's using her heart to override her head. Has anyone ever dealt with this kind of thing--if so what did you do?
Monday, March 5, 2018
I wanted to help
We were in another town last night.
D has his general doctor's appointment and we met a friend for dinner.
We were looking at dessert when my friend's phone went off. She answered and I saw all the blood leave her face.
Her father had been in an accident and was taken to the hospital. D and I split up. I went with her. D took Belle and we went to the hospital. On the way there, my friend was told her dad didn't make it.
I sat with her for the first hour of so of the surreality of a loved ones death. We didn't talk a lot. There was nothing I could say or do. Also she's an old friend, we've filled silences in college and after. We've traded authors that we love. This wasn't the first time we've cried together, it won't be the last.
I wanted to hold her and let her cry. I wanted to tell her that everything would be okay.
But of course it won't. She has a dad-shaped hole in her life now.
I wanted to wave a magic wand and make it all go away. Moreover, I wanted to wave a magic wand and give her her father back.
People ask, "what can I do?" when someone dies. What I wanted, more than anything was for someone to give me my mother back and that's the one thing that can't be done.
The rabbi who taught me when I was growing up said that there were three great mitzvoth that were the most important.
Visiting (and cheering ) the sick.
Gladdening the heart of the bride and the groom.
Comforting the bereaved
I don't think that these mitzvoth are so important because they are easy. In fact I think these are the most important because they are hard.
Visiting people in a hospital is not easy. It reminds you that you can get sick. It reminds you of the frailty of life. It's scary. To see someone you care for, strong and vital--not so strong and vital.
Gladdening the heart of the bride and the groom, is easy--and not so easy. I mean there are groomzillas, bridezillas, and a whole lot of change that you have brought on yourself. While it is (or should be) a happy time, friends who cheer you--well then they are good friends.
Comforting the bereaved.
I am getting too much practice with this. Since 2018 began, my heart-sister lost her father--equally suddenly as my friend did today. My father's lady friend, the one who helped him through mom's death passed away. And my friend's dad. There are people who don't call or visit because they don't know what to say. So don't say anything! Let your friends and loved ones hold you and be held by you. Feed them. Invite a widow or widower out to dinner. The world is so filled with couples once you've lost your other half people sometimes act as if it might be contagious.
I wish I could shield her from the stupid things people will say. I wish I could shield her from the sounds of mourning. I wish I could shield her from the reminders of loss which will be so sharp for the next 365 days. After the first years the reminders are still there. The sharpness is still there, but it isn't so frequent, and it is a microscopically amount duller.
I wish I could help.
D has his general doctor's appointment and we met a friend for dinner.
We were looking at dessert when my friend's phone went off. She answered and I saw all the blood leave her face.
Her father had been in an accident and was taken to the hospital. D and I split up. I went with her. D took Belle and we went to the hospital. On the way there, my friend was told her dad didn't make it.
I sat with her for the first hour of so of the surreality of a loved ones death. We didn't talk a lot. There was nothing I could say or do. Also she's an old friend, we've filled silences in college and after. We've traded authors that we love. This wasn't the first time we've cried together, it won't be the last.
I wanted to hold her and let her cry. I wanted to tell her that everything would be okay.
But of course it won't. She has a dad-shaped hole in her life now.
I wanted to wave a magic wand and make it all go away. Moreover, I wanted to wave a magic wand and give her her father back.
People ask, "what can I do?" when someone dies. What I wanted, more than anything was for someone to give me my mother back and that's the one thing that can't be done.
The rabbi who taught me when I was growing up said that there were three great mitzvoth that were the most important.
Visiting (and cheering ) the sick.
Gladdening the heart of the bride and the groom.
Comforting the bereaved
I don't think that these mitzvoth are so important because they are easy. In fact I think these are the most important because they are hard.
Visiting people in a hospital is not easy. It reminds you that you can get sick. It reminds you of the frailty of life. It's scary. To see someone you care for, strong and vital--not so strong and vital.
Gladdening the heart of the bride and the groom, is easy--and not so easy. I mean there are groomzillas, bridezillas, and a whole lot of change that you have brought on yourself. While it is (or should be) a happy time, friends who cheer you--well then they are good friends.
Comforting the bereaved.
I am getting too much practice with this. Since 2018 began, my heart-sister lost her father--equally suddenly as my friend did today. My father's lady friend, the one who helped him through mom's death passed away. And my friend's dad. There are people who don't call or visit because they don't know what to say. So don't say anything! Let your friends and loved ones hold you and be held by you. Feed them. Invite a widow or widower out to dinner. The world is so filled with couples once you've lost your other half people sometimes act as if it might be contagious.
I wish I could shield her from the stupid things people will say. I wish I could shield her from the sounds of mourning. I wish I could shield her from the reminders of loss which will be so sharp for the next 365 days. After the first years the reminders are still there. The sharpness is still there, but it isn't so frequent, and it is a microscopically amount duller.
I wish I could help.
Monday, February 26, 2018
I Believe The Children Are The Future
According to Facebook today is the day that my publishing job was "eliminated."
That was four years ago.
Since then I have done contract work. I have done freelance work. I have become a tutor. I have spent valuable time with my beautiful daughter.
While I no longer have any anger towards my former boss, I do have a bit towards the changes at the company that eliminated my job. I'm working on it.
Without it though I wouldn't be hopeful for the future. You see, I tutor.
I have a bunch of students ranging in age from 9 through 17. There's not one I dislike. They are all very different. Except this past week.
They all wanted to talk about the shooting in Florida.
The 9 year old had been shielded from the news, until that morning when her teacher talked about it with the class.
"Why would you allow someone who wants to shoot people to buy a gun?" she asked.
"Protection."
"You can protect yourself with a revolver." She said--using one of her vocabulary words. "You don't need an assault rifle."
One of the 16 year olds said, "I'm scared. I mean I'm seriously scared. I'm supposed to take the SATs in a month. What if someone comes in with a gun there? I mean seriously what if someone comes in to the SATs with an assault rifle? Fuck the NRA, I shouldn't have to worry about this when I'm studying all night for the SATs!" If she expected me to scold her use of the "F" word, she was wrong.
Three of the kids are, at their respective schools, organizing the walkouts and marches on Washington. (March for Our Lives, National School Walkout, and there's another one on April 20) They are asking me if the colleges I've heard about will have issues with them walking out. I checked with my alma mater and they said absolutely not--as long as they will be peaceful.
We've been talking about the constitution. We've been talking about the amendments--all of them.
I'm so stinking proud of these kids. I'm so honored that they talk to me and ask me questions. They like it when I don't pull my punches. One of them said, "You know, I thought when you grew up and became an adult you had all the answers." I shrugged and said that wasn't the way it is. My student grinned widely, "It's kind of nice to know that you guys can really screw stuff up too. I mean I figured it out since Trump was elected, but still--damn you know!" I couldn't have said it better myself
Were going through a dark time right now politically. Our leaders have lost their souls. Our leaders like the money they get from the NRA more than they like children's lives. Our leaders respect the right of people to own things that can kill them, rather than our right to exist. I think that these kids will be voting differently in November.
I watch these kids and I have hope.
That was four years ago.
Since then I have done contract work. I have done freelance work. I have become a tutor. I have spent valuable time with my beautiful daughter.
While I no longer have any anger towards my former boss, I do have a bit towards the changes at the company that eliminated my job. I'm working on it.
Without it though I wouldn't be hopeful for the future. You see, I tutor.
I have a bunch of students ranging in age from 9 through 17. There's not one I dislike. They are all very different. Except this past week.
They all wanted to talk about the shooting in Florida.
The 9 year old had been shielded from the news, until that morning when her teacher talked about it with the class.
"Why would you allow someone who wants to shoot people to buy a gun?" she asked.
"Protection."
"You can protect yourself with a revolver." She said--using one of her vocabulary words. "You don't need an assault rifle."
One of the 16 year olds said, "I'm scared. I mean I'm seriously scared. I'm supposed to take the SATs in a month. What if someone comes in with a gun there? I mean seriously what if someone comes in to the SATs with an assault rifle? Fuck the NRA, I shouldn't have to worry about this when I'm studying all night for the SATs!" If she expected me to scold her use of the "F" word, she was wrong.
Three of the kids are, at their respective schools, organizing the walkouts and marches on Washington. (March for Our Lives, National School Walkout, and there's another one on April 20) They are asking me if the colleges I've heard about will have issues with them walking out. I checked with my alma mater and they said absolutely not--as long as they will be peaceful.
We've been talking about the constitution. We've been talking about the amendments--all of them.
I'm so stinking proud of these kids. I'm so honored that they talk to me and ask me questions. They like it when I don't pull my punches. One of them said, "You know, I thought when you grew up and became an adult you had all the answers." I shrugged and said that wasn't the way it is. My student grinned widely, "It's kind of nice to know that you guys can really screw stuff up too. I mean I figured it out since Trump was elected, but still--damn you know!" I couldn't have said it better myself
Were going through a dark time right now politically. Our leaders have lost their souls. Our leaders like the money they get from the NRA more than they like children's lives. Our leaders respect the right of people to own things that can kill them, rather than our right to exist. I think that these kids will be voting differently in November.
I watch these kids and I have hope.
Monday, February 19, 2018
I'm hoping this time it is different
Another school shooting.
I've talked about my feelings here and that was nearly three years ago.
I'm heartbroken for the parents. I'm heartbroken for the kids.
But I have to say that this time I have hope.
The students of the school have decided that they are tired of waiting. They are organizing walkouts. They--the ones who will be old enough will be voting this November on an anti-gun platform. I'm quite proud of them. I'm hopeful that maybe this will change.
I've talked about my feelings here and that was nearly three years ago.
I'm heartbroken for the parents. I'm heartbroken for the kids.
But I have to say that this time I have hope.
The students of the school have decided that they are tired of waiting. They are organizing walkouts. They--the ones who will be old enough will be voting this November on an anti-gun platform. I'm quite proud of them. I'm hopeful that maybe this will change.
Monday, February 12, 2018
Valentines and Consent
Wednesday is Valentine's Day.
My five year old has diligently written out 25 Valentines to everyone in her class. She also wrote one for her teacher and her father and I.
She will likely receive 24 Valentines as is right in Kindergarten land.
But when does it stop being right?
Look at this school which tells all the girls (and the boys we assume, but it is unclear) that they have to say yes if asked to dance. They must dance with the person who asked them. This bothers me. Even in middle school if I had been asked to dance by some of my classmates, it would have been to somehow humiliate me on the dance floor. Should I have given the mean girls Valentines?
Are the kids still supposed to hand out Valentines to everyone? At what age do we just say, you do what you want. At what age do we tell them that yeah, Valentine's is kind of a crock. I mean if you're with someone who only tells you they love you on Valentine's day is that a good thing?
At the high school where D teaches, the kids have singing telegrams and carnations delivered, similar to my own high school experience. I remember well the Valentine's day when all of my friends had something and I had had nothing. I remember the Valentine's Day when I got a carnation from "your secret friend." To this day, I don't know who sent it, but it made my day.
As much as we want our children to be a part of things and to fit in sometimes they will be excluded. It's our job, as parents and people who help raise these kids to cushion the blow--not make it so the blow never lands.
As for us now, Valentine's Day means that I will make a yummy dinner. Then on the day after Valentine's Day my husband will get chocolate that is on sale.
That's love.
My five year old has diligently written out 25 Valentines to everyone in her class. She also wrote one for her teacher and her father and I.
She will likely receive 24 Valentines as is right in Kindergarten land.
But when does it stop being right?
Look at this school which tells all the girls (and the boys we assume, but it is unclear) that they have to say yes if asked to dance. They must dance with the person who asked them. This bothers me. Even in middle school if I had been asked to dance by some of my classmates, it would have been to somehow humiliate me on the dance floor. Should I have given the mean girls Valentines?
Are the kids still supposed to hand out Valentines to everyone? At what age do we just say, you do what you want. At what age do we tell them that yeah, Valentine's is kind of a crock. I mean if you're with someone who only tells you they love you on Valentine's day is that a good thing?
At the high school where D teaches, the kids have singing telegrams and carnations delivered, similar to my own high school experience. I remember well the Valentine's day when all of my friends had something and I had had nothing. I remember the Valentine's Day when I got a carnation from "your secret friend." To this day, I don't know who sent it, but it made my day.
As much as we want our children to be a part of things and to fit in sometimes they will be excluded. It's our job, as parents and people who help raise these kids to cushion the blow--not make it so the blow never lands.
As for us now, Valentine's Day means that I will make a yummy dinner. Then on the day after Valentine's Day my husband will get chocolate that is on sale.
That's love.
Thursday, February 8, 2018
Mitzvot
My mother was big on mitzvot.
For those who aren't Jewish, mitzvot is the plural of mitzvah.
Mitzvah means a meritorious or charitable act according to Merriam-Webster.
That covers it, but it doesn't.
Mitzvah is doing something to help someone else.
Listening to a friend go on and on and on and on about the ex that she now wants back.
That's a mitzvah.
Helping someone move.
Cooking for someone who is sick or bereaved.
I can't count the times I would come home and see a (former) mayonnaise jar of soup on the kitchen table with a post-it telling me where it was supposed to go. Before I drove it was for a neighbor I could walk to. After I learned to drive it could be for a relative. Mom believed in mitzvot.
Today I did a mitzvah. One of Lotus' preschool teachers is battling breast cancer. She put a call out on Facebook asking if someone could drive her to chemo. I said yes.
It made me think of the times I sat with my mom at chemo. Lotus went with us and charmed the other people. I told her that she had done a mitzvah.
The thing that I want to talk about this is that for the time I was with her, I didn't think of myself and my lousy job prospects. I didn't think of the occupant of the White House and how he and the Congressional Republicans are ruining the country. I was there. Listening. I was present.
I think I need to do more good deeds. Then maybe if I do more good, the people I do good for will do more good deeds. Maybe we could talk about the good that we do and maybe it can be more than the sh*t that the congress does.
Maybe.
In the meantime I think that I will be trying to make this little corner of the world better. It can't hurt.
What is something someone has done for you?
For those who aren't Jewish, mitzvot is the plural of mitzvah.
Mitzvah means a meritorious or charitable act according to Merriam-Webster.
That covers it, but it doesn't.
Mitzvah is doing something to help someone else.
Listening to a friend go on and on and on and on about the ex that she now wants back.
That's a mitzvah.
Helping someone move.
Cooking for someone who is sick or bereaved.
I can't count the times I would come home and see a (former) mayonnaise jar of soup on the kitchen table with a post-it telling me where it was supposed to go. Before I drove it was for a neighbor I could walk to. After I learned to drive it could be for a relative. Mom believed in mitzvot.
Today I did a mitzvah. One of Lotus' preschool teachers is battling breast cancer. She put a call out on Facebook asking if someone could drive her to chemo. I said yes.
It made me think of the times I sat with my mom at chemo. Lotus went with us and charmed the other people. I told her that she had done a mitzvah.
The thing that I want to talk about this is that for the time I was with her, I didn't think of myself and my lousy job prospects. I didn't think of the occupant of the White House and how he and the Congressional Republicans are ruining the country. I was there. Listening. I was present.
I think I need to do more good deeds. Then maybe if I do more good, the people I do good for will do more good deeds. Maybe we could talk about the good that we do and maybe it can be more than the sh*t that the congress does.
Maybe.
In the meantime I think that I will be trying to make this little corner of the world better. It can't hurt.
What is something someone has done for you?
Monday, February 5, 2018
We evacuated - Microblog Monday
"We evacuated."
That was my husband's simple text. I didn't even hear it come in, I just glanced at my phone and my whole body went rigid.
My husband is a High School chemistry teacher. The last time his school was evacuated was due to faulty chemistry equipment. But this wasn't anything wrong in the chemistry department.
It was a suspicious package in the students bathroom.
I tried to not think about it. I tried to make it simple--like the kids who were enjoying the break from normal school stuff. I wasn't too successful.
People seem to be belittling others for wanting safe spaces. I don't understand that. Do you want to go somewhere that you don't feel safe? Kids should be allowed to feel safe at school. I should feel safe sending my child, sending my husband to school. I don't. I worry where I didn't before. Schools should be safe, damnit. Schools should be safe from bullies--in the form of teachers or students. They should be safe that the kids aren't drinking contaminated water.
They should be safe from guns. They should be safe from bombs.
My husband is home now. Exhausted. The kids handled everything amazingly well--especially the kid who saw the suspicious package and went out and reported it. The teachers were calm and collected. They made the best of bad situations. We count on our teachers to keep our children safe and then decide that they don't deserve any respect for it. We act like they are "only in it for the money." Yeah. Right. And to be fair why shouldn't teachers get a good salary. We don't say about a doctor who saves our life that "he's only in it for the money." Teachers are valuable.
Especially the one I'm married to.
That was my husband's simple text. I didn't even hear it come in, I just glanced at my phone and my whole body went rigid.
My husband is a High School chemistry teacher. The last time his school was evacuated was due to faulty chemistry equipment. But this wasn't anything wrong in the chemistry department.
It was a suspicious package in the students bathroom.
I tried to not think about it. I tried to make it simple--like the kids who were enjoying the break from normal school stuff. I wasn't too successful.
People seem to be belittling others for wanting safe spaces. I don't understand that. Do you want to go somewhere that you don't feel safe? Kids should be allowed to feel safe at school. I should feel safe sending my child, sending my husband to school. I don't. I worry where I didn't before. Schools should be safe, damnit. Schools should be safe from bullies--in the form of teachers or students. They should be safe that the kids aren't drinking contaminated water.
They should be safe from guns. They should be safe from bombs.
My husband is home now. Exhausted. The kids handled everything amazingly well--especially the kid who saw the suspicious package and went out and reported it. The teachers were calm and collected. They made the best of bad situations. We count on our teachers to keep our children safe and then decide that they don't deserve any respect for it. We act like they are "only in it for the money." Yeah. Right. And to be fair why shouldn't teachers get a good salary. We don't say about a doctor who saves our life that "he's only in it for the money." Teachers are valuable.
Especially the one I'm married to.
Monday, January 29, 2018
Tired of being tired of stuff - Microblog Monday
I stared at the computer screen for a while before writing this blog posts.
There are a bunch of things I felt like I should blog about.
The US Senate wants to ban abortion.
The occupant of the White House is making a speech.
I've read some good books.
Lotus is growing.
But I'm tired right now.
I'm tired of being angry a lot.
I'm tired of my husband being angry.
I'm tired of robocalls.
I'm tired of watching how much money we don't have.
I'm tired of worrying that some maniac with a gun will shoot up my husband's school or my daughter's school.
I'm tired of worrying in general.
I'm just tired.
I miss my mom.
I miss the way I used to think that people are nice and kind in general. I don't know that I believe that anymore. Yeah, Anne Frank lived during the Holocaust and believed that people were really good at heart. But she was better than I am.
I'm just tired.
There are a bunch of things I felt like I should blog about.
The US Senate wants to ban abortion.
The occupant of the White House is making a speech.
I've read some good books.
Lotus is growing.
But I'm tired right now.
I'm tired of being angry a lot.
I'm tired of my husband being angry.
I'm tired of robocalls.
I'm tired of watching how much money we don't have.
I'm tired of worrying that some maniac with a gun will shoot up my husband's school or my daughter's school.
I'm tired of worrying in general.
I'm just tired.
I miss my mom.
I miss the way I used to think that people are nice and kind in general. I don't know that I believe that anymore. Yeah, Anne Frank lived during the Holocaust and believed that people were really good at heart. But she was better than I am.
I'm just tired.
Monday, January 22, 2018
Some Walk By Night - Microblog Monday
I loved these theme songs.
Lotus is sick. I'm sure I'm getting it. I'm watching older TV shows. I'm loving the theme songs.
I think TV theme songs are a lost art and just when I think that we're not going to get any more good TV theme songs Cable and Streaming TV got in the action.
or
What TV theme songs do you like?
Monday, January 15, 2018
Not the day I wanted--Microblog Monday
I was excited when I went to sleep.
I was hopefully going to get Hamilton tickets from a presale. Yes we have seen it but I wanted to see it again very much and we planned to do so.
My car was in the shop from a check engine light.
We had a day off.
I had been feeling better from a stomach bug that I hadn't been able to shake. The night before I had the first real meal in a while.
I'd had a successful "Our Tree is Still Up" party.
Good mood.
This morning I woke up and ran to the bathroom as the diarrhea came back with a vengeance. (I don't care if it is TMI, it is my blog and I'll share if I want to.)
I slept.
I woke up for the Hamilton pre-sale and was seriously shocked at the prices. The cheapest seats--rear mezz were $200 - each. I know for a fact I didn't pay that much before. Maybe it was close but I know it wasn't that much and I got really annoyed because I could not justify paying more when I had seen the show.
D was in a mood and that's his stuff and I don't get into it here. Well with the exception that after 21 years of marriage his stuff is my stuff and well, stuff happened.
The car in the shop cost over $900. (It would have been over $1000 but I found a coupon.)
I slept some more because I felt like crap.
It's Martin Luther King day and I live in a country where when one of the 50 states were panicking
the man elected to the office of President thinks that the best use of his time is tweeting about a book.
I'm down. Today sucked.
Bad mood.
I hope tomorrow is better.
I was hopefully going to get Hamilton tickets from a presale. Yes we have seen it but I wanted to see it again very much and we planned to do so.
My car was in the shop from a check engine light.
We had a day off.
I had been feeling better from a stomach bug that I hadn't been able to shake. The night before I had the first real meal in a while.
I'd had a successful "Our Tree is Still Up" party.
Good mood.
This morning I woke up and ran to the bathroom as the diarrhea came back with a vengeance. (I don't care if it is TMI, it is my blog and I'll share if I want to.)
I slept.
I woke up for the Hamilton pre-sale and was seriously shocked at the prices. The cheapest seats--rear mezz were $200 - each. I know for a fact I didn't pay that much before. Maybe it was close but I know it wasn't that much and I got really annoyed because I could not justify paying more when I had seen the show.
D was in a mood and that's his stuff and I don't get into it here. Well with the exception that after 21 years of marriage his stuff is my stuff and well, stuff happened.
The car in the shop cost over $900. (It would have been over $1000 but I found a coupon.)
I slept some more because I felt like crap.
It's Martin Luther King day and I live in a country where when one of the 50 states were panicking
the man elected to the office of President thinks that the best use of his time is tweeting about a book.
I'm down. Today sucked.
Bad mood.
I hope tomorrow is better.
Monday, January 8, 2018
Oprah 2020
So, this was Oprah's speech at the Golden Globes yesterday.
I've heard a bunch of people saying that this might have been a speech to launch her presidential campaign for 2020.
I would vote for her.
Unfortunately that doesn't quite pack the punch it should. I mean if it turns out that the current occupant of the White House doesn't get impeached or resigns or something I would vote for Oprah's cat or dog before I would vote for him.
I am concerned that it will take generations to restore the country to what it was.
But I will be kind.
I will listen.
I will be the change I want to see in my country.
I hope.
That being said, when Oprah Winfrey can deliver a speech that makes me cheer. I would definitely like to see her more politically involved.
Monday, January 1, 2018
Microblog Monday - 2018, the blank page
Happy New Year.
I'm up way too fucking early because my darling daughter climbed into our bed and had decided that I was snoring too loud. I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep.
Last night we did our typical New Years Eve thing. This involves me cooking a 5-star dinner (though I will admit it was a 4 star one as the 5 year old had no desire for much of it.), putting child to bed and then watching the ball drop.
Oh, and for those who were bitching about Mariah Carey--I live 50 miles from Times Square. It is fucking cold here and last night it was 8 degrees. There is no one on the planet who can sing amazingly when it is 8 degrees. But I digress.
I'm not making resolutions. They don't generally work. Hell, I was looking at the things I wanted to do at Rosh Hashanah and I haven't gotten on top of that. I read this article about resolving a month at a time. I think that might be the way to go. So I'm going to list my goals for January, February, and March here.
January
Set up a working Work-From-Home routine.
As Lotus has half day kindergarten, and I've been out of work, I decided to work from home (tutoring and free-lancing) until at least June. Some days I'm good, some days I'm not. I will figure this out and work on it.
February
Fitness
This is the month to join the Y. Let's hope it works.
March
Social Media
Tame it to normal levels.
I think one a month might help. I hope so.
Wishing you all a happy 2018.
I'm up way too fucking early because my darling daughter climbed into our bed and had decided that I was snoring too loud. I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep.
Last night we did our typical New Years Eve thing. This involves me cooking a 5-star dinner (though I will admit it was a 4 star one as the 5 year old had no desire for much of it.), putting child to bed and then watching the ball drop.
Oh, and for those who were bitching about Mariah Carey--I live 50 miles from Times Square. It is fucking cold here and last night it was 8 degrees. There is no one on the planet who can sing amazingly when it is 8 degrees. But I digress.
I'm not making resolutions. They don't generally work. Hell, I was looking at the things I wanted to do at Rosh Hashanah and I haven't gotten on top of that. I read this article about resolving a month at a time. I think that might be the way to go. So I'm going to list my goals for January, February, and March here.
January
Set up a working Work-From-Home routine.
As Lotus has half day kindergarten, and I've been out of work, I decided to work from home (tutoring and free-lancing) until at least June. Some days I'm good, some days I'm not. I will figure this out and work on it.
February
Fitness
This is the month to join the Y. Let's hope it works.
March
Social Media
Tame it to normal levels.
I think one a month might help. I hope so.
Wishing you all a happy 2018.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)