A little seedling sits in the middle of a beautiful garden, waiting for her turn to grow. She is scared to come out too bright. What if the sunflowers get jealous? Will the daisy’s still want to be her friend? She is not sure if she knows how to grow straight. What if her stem is not sturdy enough? Will she just wither and droop? She thinks she can never be as stunning as the blooms that open so near. What if she makes the garden look plain? Will even the bees come to say “Good morning”?
A grand Magnolia tree hangs over the seedling’s spot in the grass, giving shade to the poor soul’s pondering. As the wind picks up and spreads the leaves on her branches like the billowing hair of a pony’s mane, she bends just a little to whisper over the soft soil’s spread.
“Hello, precious. Welcome to the world.”
As surprised as she is that she is even noticed, the voice of the towering tree does not startle her. It intrigues her and she glances into the sun’s glare to get a closer look. My, it is a beautiful sight. Long limbs and a mighty trunk are softened by the perfect, taut and shiny leaves - reflecting the blue sky above her and the clouds all around, with the sun playing peek-a-boo between these deciduous digits. From the concave cup of one of the leaves, a drop of shining water splashes to the ground, quenching and feeding a thirst the little seedling never knew she had. Before she even knew what it was, the seedling now knew she was loved.
She was still just a small little thing, but she longed to be magnificent. She saw how the other flowers grew under the tall tree’s shade. She saw how the proud Magnolia nurtured her personal garden, and wondered if she would ever stand out from the crowd. She treasured every tending touch and grasped the glittering giggles they shared. Her fears as a withering seedling faded and she soon sprouted blooms so colorful and soft, happy to see how happy it made her wonderful tree.
Then one day, she thought it might be nice to be out in the open - out away from the safe, warm spot snuggled upon the trusted roots of the magnolia, and into the sunlight that made the grass seem so much brighter and under the open sky which made the other gardens seem so much closer. And the tree, sad to see her go but wanting to make sure she was there to help pick up any petals the flower would lose on the way, reached higher into the sky and stretched out her limbs as far as they would go. And she was never alone.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Forever
The Popopotomous lived forever with Nanny, his beautiful Puma. Their little family grew until there were not only the two of them, but a collection of different animals who changed the group as they came along - they had a little bird who had q huge heart, a crazy monkey with four hands to hold, a fuzzy earthworm who always spoke of joy, and a turtle whose soft underbelly was protected by his beautiful shell. There were days when the forest would sound off with their scuffles, or light up with their fireworks, or explode with their laughter - but they always seemed to cause
a commotion that others wished they could join. Over the yearsl they opened their home to four more little creatures - a sly, beautiful fox, a brave, tender tiger, a goofy, lovable koala bear, and a teeny, hungry mouse. Each nuzzled their own place into the warm, happy home, and made it glow brighter and laugh louder and made the puma and the Popopotomous prouder and happier than they ever could imagine.
Popopotomous was a great builder of dreams - he made his own a reality and helped others see what theirs were. He told stories with lessons and made teaching an art. He grew a flock of followers, but didn't let too many back to his marsh - it was full enough with ones he loved and they were all that he needed. He lived many years like this and helped the others grow and fly away, but always saved a place for them to come back. And he made that place beautiful - a fitting sanctuary for him and his love.
One day, a man called from a faraway land. He needed popopotomous to come share his stories with him and his people. Popa (as the little ones called him) did not want to go. He was happy where he was and had so much more he wanted to do, and he knew once he went to this man's land, he could never go back to his marsh, he could never see his family again. But the man was an old friend, and popa knew he wouldn't call if it wasnt the time. So, Popa rounded up his family and told them he would go soon. Everyone was angry and confused and sad, but He would show them how to be strong and how to love like there's no tomorrow. He grew tired and wary of his long journey ahead, but made time to share more stories, more laughter with his brood. When the time came for him to leave, he lifted his head up high and kissed everyone goodbye, holding on tight to nanny and promising to meet them all in their dreams. He turned to take his first step and fell onto his knees. He felt Nanny raise his chin for a kiss and she held his head in her hands, then each leg was carefully lifted by his kids. The little ones danced under his belly, and they all carried him on as far as they could go.
a commotion that others wished they could join. Over the yearsl they opened their home to four more little creatures - a sly, beautiful fox, a brave, tender tiger, a goofy, lovable koala bear, and a teeny, hungry mouse. Each nuzzled their own place into the warm, happy home, and made it glow brighter and laugh louder and made the puma and the Popopotomous prouder and happier than they ever could imagine.
Popopotomous was a great builder of dreams - he made his own a reality and helped others see what theirs were. He told stories with lessons and made teaching an art. He grew a flock of followers, but didn't let too many back to his marsh - it was full enough with ones he loved and they were all that he needed. He lived many years like this and helped the others grow and fly away, but always saved a place for them to come back. And he made that place beautiful - a fitting sanctuary for him and his love.
One day, a man called from a faraway land. He needed popopotomous to come share his stories with him and his people. Popa (as the little ones called him) did not want to go. He was happy where he was and had so much more he wanted to do, and he knew once he went to this man's land, he could never go back to his marsh, he could never see his family again. But the man was an old friend, and popa knew he wouldn't call if it wasnt the time. So, Popa rounded up his family and told them he would go soon. Everyone was angry and confused and sad, but He would show them how to be strong and how to love like there's no tomorrow. He grew tired and wary of his long journey ahead, but made time to share more stories, more laughter with his brood. When the time came for him to leave, he lifted his head up high and kissed everyone goodbye, holding on tight to nanny and promising to meet them all in their dreams. He turned to take his first step and fell onto his knees. He felt Nanny raise his chin for a kiss and she held his head in her hands, then each leg was carefully lifted by his kids. The little ones danced under his belly, and they all carried him on as far as they could go.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
blah.
Ten years ago, I got a call from my sister. I was in my basement apartment in Merriam, KS. She told me to sit down.
“Dad was in an accident…”
In the seconds before she breathed the next words, and before I could fathom taking another breath in, life took a pause – you know, one of those pauses that turns minutes into seconds and a blink into a dream – a pause that helps you contemplate the right answer for Jeopardy, or strategize the correct angle to hit the car that just pulled out in front of you, or the one you ignore when you jump in to finish someone’s sentence and it turns out you’re not so good at that after all. I thought in that nano-moment that I was getting that call. That call that they capture so well in the romantic comedies, or the war movies – that call that is going to change your life. I thought that I had lost my dad.
In that brief amount of time, I thought about all the awful things I had said to my father, and the even more awful things I had thought. I thought about the dinners at Krystal after dance class and the couple times he forgot to pick me up. I thought about the night he surprised me and picked me up from work my senior year of high school to take me to dinner and a movie – a night that was his way to say sorry, even though he didn’t know how to say those words. I thought of his stories he would tell – the ones of his long-ago past, and also the concocted tales of characters he made up just for us. I thought about the many pieces of wisdom he served to too-cool a set of ears. I thought about trips to the haunted house where he held my hand as I cried, and scared away the actors more than they could ever scare me. I thought of the many shopping trips with my fashion-forward dad and his unfortunate love of the color brown. I thought of my life spent trying to make my dad proud.
In this stretched-out set of seconds, I pleaded with my dad. I prayed that he give me one last gift. Just one last present that he always picked so well. Please, oh please, give me one more day. One more moment to say thank you. One more story to share. One more hug. Heck – one more lecture.
As my sister continued and time gained back its meter, I found my gift in her words. Dad was not dead – but he was broken. Completely. He ended up being in traction for 8 weeks and his burly body gained some pins and screws and his knees now froze in the winter.
But I got my gift. Every day, I opened a new one, sometimes forgetting they were there, but always happy to get them. Well, there were some days I would have liked to take back for a refund – or at least an exchange – but I am grateful for every one. Especially the ones that brought him to my wedding day, days that featured him in his best role EVER – as a grandpa, watching my favorite television shows with him on the other end of the telephone, my first time coming into the house that he worked so hard to build, having him tell me how proud he was of me, holding his hand as he fell asleep, getting to be the one to tell him that it was all going to be okay.
And now, like a greedy child watching the dwindling piles under the Christmas tree, I am totally wishing I had taken more time to cherish the ribbons, been careful to slip my finger under the tape just right as not to tear the paper, opened each present slowly to hold it in my hands and inspect it and try it out and taken a picture and wrote down how I felt to own every single one.
But life doesn’t let you do that. The tree sits there for a while and the presents still surround you like they just were opened. But soon, the needles lead a path to the curb and the gifts will be just a memory.
There are still packages to open. I’m not sure how many, and they may not shine the brightest, but I am thankful for every single one. Thank you, daddy – you always showed us your love in the gifts that you would give, I’ve never felt it more than today. I love you.
“Dad was in an accident…”
In the seconds before she breathed the next words, and before I could fathom taking another breath in, life took a pause – you know, one of those pauses that turns minutes into seconds and a blink into a dream – a pause that helps you contemplate the right answer for Jeopardy, or strategize the correct angle to hit the car that just pulled out in front of you, or the one you ignore when you jump in to finish someone’s sentence and it turns out you’re not so good at that after all. I thought in that nano-moment that I was getting that call. That call that they capture so well in the romantic comedies, or the war movies – that call that is going to change your life. I thought that I had lost my dad.
In that brief amount of time, I thought about all the awful things I had said to my father, and the even more awful things I had thought. I thought about the dinners at Krystal after dance class and the couple times he forgot to pick me up. I thought about the night he surprised me and picked me up from work my senior year of high school to take me to dinner and a movie – a night that was his way to say sorry, even though he didn’t know how to say those words. I thought of his stories he would tell – the ones of his long-ago past, and also the concocted tales of characters he made up just for us. I thought about the many pieces of wisdom he served to too-cool a set of ears. I thought about trips to the haunted house where he held my hand as I cried, and scared away the actors more than they could ever scare me. I thought of the many shopping trips with my fashion-forward dad and his unfortunate love of the color brown. I thought of my life spent trying to make my dad proud.
In this stretched-out set of seconds, I pleaded with my dad. I prayed that he give me one last gift. Just one last present that he always picked so well. Please, oh please, give me one more day. One more moment to say thank you. One more story to share. One more hug. Heck – one more lecture.
As my sister continued and time gained back its meter, I found my gift in her words. Dad was not dead – but he was broken. Completely. He ended up being in traction for 8 weeks and his burly body gained some pins and screws and his knees now froze in the winter.
But I got my gift. Every day, I opened a new one, sometimes forgetting they were there, but always happy to get them. Well, there were some days I would have liked to take back for a refund – or at least an exchange – but I am grateful for every one. Especially the ones that brought him to my wedding day, days that featured him in his best role EVER – as a grandpa, watching my favorite television shows with him on the other end of the telephone, my first time coming into the house that he worked so hard to build, having him tell me how proud he was of me, holding his hand as he fell asleep, getting to be the one to tell him that it was all going to be okay.
And now, like a greedy child watching the dwindling piles under the Christmas tree, I am totally wishing I had taken more time to cherish the ribbons, been careful to slip my finger under the tape just right as not to tear the paper, opened each present slowly to hold it in my hands and inspect it and try it out and taken a picture and wrote down how I felt to own every single one.
But life doesn’t let you do that. The tree sits there for a while and the presents still surround you like they just were opened. But soon, the needles lead a path to the curb and the gifts will be just a memory.
There are still packages to open. I’m not sure how many, and they may not shine the brightest, but I am thankful for every single one. Thank you, daddy – you always showed us your love in the gifts that you would give, I’ve never felt it more than today. I love you.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Gimme a K, Gimme a C, Gimme an MSD!!
Elections are games. They have winners, they have losers. They have brutal plays that leave players injured and the better-trained and naturally-talented are usually the victors. With only the press and community as the referees, some really dirty games get played. Depending on which team you are cheering for, you are either dejected or elated as victory is declared. But in the upcoming April 6th election for the Kansas City Missouri School Board, because the kids in the stands deserve the best, because this game has a few more viewers as a result of some busted brackets of its own, and because the future of my city and the future of my own kids' education depends on it, I want to make absolutely sure that I am rooting for the right team.
Like all games, some players are playing for the love of the sport, some are playing because it gets them through school, some are playing because they want to go pro, and some are playing for the endorsements and fame. They all get fans in their own way. Elections are different than regular games in that their fan base determines their success. So, I'm going to cheer from the sidelines and hope like hell I can get the stands to call back . . .
The most important race going on is the one for the 2 at large seats. Its a cage match between the Black United Front School Board Slate with Cokethea Hall and Kenneth Hughlon and Freedom, Inc - endorsed Kyleen Carroll and Crispin Rea. Carroll and Rea have also been endorsed by KCU4EA (Kansas Citians United for Educational Achievement). The other 2 people running for the seats are Rose Marie Bell and Robert (Bob) Peterson.
Like the full court press brought out 6 minutes too late in the KU/UNI game, things are getting heated and fouls are a-flying with the election just a couple weeks away.
I got wind of an email circulating around parents from my daughter's school, Academie Lafayette. AL is a charter school that is busting at the seams and the parents there want to make sure the schools that the district is going to lose because of the Right Sizing plan will be available for purchase by the 'competitor' schools in the district (i.e. charter and private schools). At a forum held in the school's auditorium last month, 4 of the at-large candidates were there (The Black Front was United in its absence). The big question was if elected to the board, would they vote to sell unused school buildings to charter schools . . . I was keeping time for the forum and paying close attention to my stop watch, but I got the gist of what was said, and the impressions that each answer gave.
The 5 candidates and one board member on the panel that night pretty much agreed - in their own language and bound by their own campaign message - that the school board would have to sell their buildings. Some, out of naivety or maybe keen political sense, were a little more enthusiastic to the crowd of mostly charter parents. But, there was nothing said or implied (that I was aware of) that would have urged someone to send out a message with this quote:
"If you want Académie Lafayette to have a new building (possibly buy one of the unused KCMSD buildings) then it would be advised not to vote for either Kyleen or Crispin. They do not want to sell buildings to charter schools.
At the recent forum that was held at the school, 2 of the at-large candidates in attendance did support selling KCMO school buildings to charter schools.
Those two candidates are Rose Marie Bell and Robert Peterson."
So, therefore, there are 3 options for sources of this email:
1. Strong supporter of either Rose Bell of Bob Peterson. Both are very great candidates and wonderful people that would be great on the board. If I knew either personally, I would believe that they could do great things for the school district. I would send out an email to all of my friends to get them to vote for them, especially when the big endorsements are headed in other directions.
2. A pro-charter parent who thinks that their child's education is the most important issue when it comes to the school board. A parent that wanted to hear 'yes, duh, of course we'll sell you whatever building you'd like' without thinking about the repercussions on the community or the impact it has on the district as a whole, or even the feasibility of the proposition. A parent to whom 'right now' is not quick enough.
3. Someone who wants to split the vote. Not being a fan of running the clock, or intentional fouling - just play the game, folks! - I hope this is not the case. But I can not help but suspect that this is a keen political move on the Black United Front's part to take a big, voting constituent - the politically-active Brookside choice-school parents - and split the vote between the 4 opponents to their candidates.
I personally support Kyleen and Crispin, two totally different candidates, but both strong enough and flexible enough to be great team players. Please spend some time looking into the candidates yourself, because this is one game we can't afford to lose!
Email lists for the candidates and campaign managers.
Pitch article on Kyleen Carroll
Pitch article on Crispin Rea
Pitch article on Ross Bell... I like Rose Bell.
Pitch article on Robert Peterson
Pitch article on Cokethea and Kenneth These two candidates highlight what the Kansas City school district can turn out when they get the job right. They have already accomplished great things in life and will go on to do even better. Their alignment with the Slate and resistance to the superintendent gives me great reluctance to support them in this election.
Tony's post on Freedom, Inc's endorsements
Dan Ryan's post at KCFreepress on the 6 at-large candidates
Like all games, some players are playing for the love of the sport, some are playing because it gets them through school, some are playing because they want to go pro, and some are playing for the endorsements and fame. They all get fans in their own way. Elections are different than regular games in that their fan base determines their success. So, I'm going to cheer from the sidelines and hope like hell I can get the stands to call back . . .
The most important race going on is the one for the 2 at large seats. Its a cage match between the Black United Front School Board Slate with Cokethea Hall and Kenneth Hughlon and Freedom, Inc - endorsed Kyleen Carroll and Crispin Rea. Carroll and Rea have also been endorsed by KCU4EA (Kansas Citians United for Educational Achievement). The other 2 people running for the seats are Rose Marie Bell and Robert (Bob) Peterson.
Like the full court press brought out 6 minutes too late in the KU/UNI game, things are getting heated and fouls are a-flying with the election just a couple weeks away.
I got wind of an email circulating around parents from my daughter's school, Academie Lafayette. AL is a charter school that is busting at the seams and the parents there want to make sure the schools that the district is going to lose because of the Right Sizing plan will be available for purchase by the 'competitor' schools in the district (i.e. charter and private schools). At a forum held in the school's auditorium last month, 4 of the at-large candidates were there (The Black Front was United in its absence). The big question was if elected to the board, would they vote to sell unused school buildings to charter schools . . . I was keeping time for the forum and paying close attention to my stop watch, but I got the gist of what was said, and the impressions that each answer gave.
The 5 candidates and one board member on the panel that night pretty much agreed - in their own language and bound by their own campaign message - that the school board would have to sell their buildings. Some, out of naivety or maybe keen political sense, were a little more enthusiastic to the crowd of mostly charter parents. But, there was nothing said or implied (that I was aware of) that would have urged someone to send out a message with this quote:
"If you want Académie Lafayette to have a new building (possibly buy one of the unused KCMSD buildings) then it would be advised not to vote for either Kyleen or Crispin. They do not want to sell buildings to charter schools.
At the recent forum that was held at the school, 2 of the at-large candidates in attendance did support selling KCMO school buildings to charter schools.
Those two candidates are Rose Marie Bell and Robert Peterson."
So, therefore, there are 3 options for sources of this email:
1. Strong supporter of either Rose Bell of Bob Peterson. Both are very great candidates and wonderful people that would be great on the board. If I knew either personally, I would believe that they could do great things for the school district. I would send out an email to all of my friends to get them to vote for them, especially when the big endorsements are headed in other directions.
2. A pro-charter parent who thinks that their child's education is the most important issue when it comes to the school board. A parent that wanted to hear 'yes, duh, of course we'll sell you whatever building you'd like' without thinking about the repercussions on the community or the impact it has on the district as a whole, or even the feasibility of the proposition. A parent to whom 'right now' is not quick enough.
3. Someone who wants to split the vote. Not being a fan of running the clock, or intentional fouling - just play the game, folks! - I hope this is not the case. But I can not help but suspect that this is a keen political move on the Black United Front's part to take a big, voting constituent - the politically-active Brookside choice-school parents - and split the vote between the 4 opponents to their candidates.
I personally support Kyleen and Crispin, two totally different candidates, but both strong enough and flexible enough to be great team players. Please spend some time looking into the candidates yourself, because this is one game we can't afford to lose!
Email lists for the candidates and campaign managers.
Pitch article on Kyleen Carroll
Pitch article on Crispin Rea
Pitch article on Ross Bell... I like Rose Bell.
Pitch article on Robert Peterson
Pitch article on Cokethea and Kenneth These two candidates highlight what the Kansas City school district can turn out when they get the job right. They have already accomplished great things in life and will go on to do even better. Their alignment with the Slate and resistance to the superintendent gives me great reluctance to support them in this election.
Tony's post on Freedom, Inc's endorsements
Dan Ryan's post at KCFreepress on the 6 at-large candidates
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Trust Me.
I trust people. A little too much, but I do. I like the freedom it affords me. I like being able to leave my house and not worry that all the windows are locked. I like not having to gather all my belongings when I go to the bathroom at the library. I like being able to look at and listen to people without cynicism. I have been burned a couple of times, and it hurts like hell, but it has honed my Street Smarts and I can be a little more cautious, yet remain steadfast in my carefree, trusting ways.
So, this past summer, when I was pulling into the Wendy's to get some late night snacks before a marathon of t-shirt making, and a lady in the parking lot flagged me down - I stopped. It changed my life forever.
Her name was Sandy, just like mine but spelled differently. She had three kids and just wanted to get back to them. She didn't want money, she just wanted a ride.
It didn't feel right, and anyone else would have just continued to the drive thru with a "Sorry" and a "Good Luck". But her name was Sandy. She was middle-aged and overweight. I was pretty sure I could take her in a fight - I definitely could have won a Indian Leg Wrestling match (I size everybody up for a good ILWM). She had sad eyes and I thought I could give her something that would make that go temporarily away.
I should have known when I smelled the alcohol as soon as she took the front seat, but she was homeless and I was taking her back to the shelter, so that would be unfair. I should have known when the look of relief that I was expecting just continued as a look of despair, but who wouldn't be desperate when forced to rely on strangers? I should have known when my stomach lurched as I drove onto the unlit highway, but that would've let fear control me. So, I drove on to a shelter I knew existed with a woman who needed my help - whose kids would go to bed hungry, but they'd at least have their mom to tuck them in.
It was about a 15-20 minute drive to The Anthony House. I tried to fill the time with chatty banter that I have never been good with. I was picking Elle up at the airport the next day so I was telling her that I couldn't wait to see my baby. My other baby.
"Oh, you have more kids?" Sandy asked.
"Yeah, my 3 month old is in the backseat."
She started crying.
It was the scariest moment of my life. I knew then that I had been scammed. Wasn't sure how, but I needed to take control of this situation.
I asked her about her kids. She told me she was a bad mom and didn't know how she was going to go on. I told her that I would give her my 6 dollars that I had so that she could put gas in her car and take them to Orlando the next day. There was a shelter there that would help her. We all have hard times that challenge us, but we humans are strong and us moms are even stronger.
She told me she couldn't take my money, then what would I use to eat with. I told her I had friends and family in town and they would take care of me. It was late, I could just go to bed. Didn't I have a debit card, she asked.
I started crying. She asked me why I was crying. I told her it was because I couldn't do anything more to help her. But I was crying because I was the bad mom. I put my baby in danger. I was scared as hell.
I took my phone out and pretended to look at my map. I wanted to call for help. I wanted to type out a note to Elle and my mom and my sisters and my husband. I wanted to push the Ejector Seat button and get this lady out of my life. We were 2 minutes away.
I kept calling her by her name and telling her a story which was far from my reality, but probably much closer to hers. I told her I had come from a bad place and had finally started my ascent from the deepest hole - the one where you don't think you can escape from. But I had done it - and she could, too. I talked about a God I hadn't much thought about in 10 or more years.
We got to the shelter. There was a house right before it where her kids were sleeping, and the car she described as being the one that was out of gas. As I was pulling into the open parking lot, I remembered a bag of food that I had left over from our road trip from Kansas City just a few days before. I handed it to her and told her that her kids didn't have to go to bed hungry after all.
She thanked me and got out of my car.
The wave of relief that started with the slamming of the door was frozen solid as I watched her walk towards, not the house with her supposed kids, but a large man in the middle of the darkened street. She was waving him off, which distracted him enough to allow me to squeal out and back on to the open highway - with just a glance of her hitting him in the chest in my rearview mirror.
I sobbed the whole way back. I sobbed because I was stupid. I sobbed because I was sad. I sobbed because I was angry. I sobbed because I was scared. Because I'm not sure if I wouldn't do it again. What if it was all like she said? What if my fear was just born out of other people's insecurities? What would I do if I was truly a mom who couldn't feed her kids? What would I be willing to do?
I'm just thankful today that I'm not faced with those decisions. I'm also thankful to have yet another reason to avoid Wendy's.
So, this past summer, when I was pulling into the Wendy's to get some late night snacks before a marathon of t-shirt making, and a lady in the parking lot flagged me down - I stopped. It changed my life forever.
Her name was Sandy, just like mine but spelled differently. She had three kids and just wanted to get back to them. She didn't want money, she just wanted a ride.
It didn't feel right, and anyone else would have just continued to the drive thru with a "Sorry" and a "Good Luck". But her name was Sandy. She was middle-aged and overweight. I was pretty sure I could take her in a fight - I definitely could have won a Indian Leg Wrestling match (I size everybody up for a good ILWM). She had sad eyes and I thought I could give her something that would make that go temporarily away.
I should have known when I smelled the alcohol as soon as she took the front seat, but she was homeless and I was taking her back to the shelter, so that would be unfair. I should have known when the look of relief that I was expecting just continued as a look of despair, but who wouldn't be desperate when forced to rely on strangers? I should have known when my stomach lurched as I drove onto the unlit highway, but that would've let fear control me. So, I drove on to a shelter I knew existed with a woman who needed my help - whose kids would go to bed hungry, but they'd at least have their mom to tuck them in.
It was about a 15-20 minute drive to The Anthony House. I tried to fill the time with chatty banter that I have never been good with. I was picking Elle up at the airport the next day so I was telling her that I couldn't wait to see my baby. My other baby.
"Oh, you have more kids?" Sandy asked.
"Yeah, my 3 month old is in the backseat."
She started crying.
It was the scariest moment of my life. I knew then that I had been scammed. Wasn't sure how, but I needed to take control of this situation.
I asked her about her kids. She told me she was a bad mom and didn't know how she was going to go on. I told her that I would give her my 6 dollars that I had so that she could put gas in her car and take them to Orlando the next day. There was a shelter there that would help her. We all have hard times that challenge us, but we humans are strong and us moms are even stronger.
She told me she couldn't take my money, then what would I use to eat with. I told her I had friends and family in town and they would take care of me. It was late, I could just go to bed. Didn't I have a debit card, she asked.
I started crying. She asked me why I was crying. I told her it was because I couldn't do anything more to help her. But I was crying because I was the bad mom. I put my baby in danger. I was scared as hell.
I took my phone out and pretended to look at my map. I wanted to call for help. I wanted to type out a note to Elle and my mom and my sisters and my husband. I wanted to push the Ejector Seat button and get this lady out of my life. We were 2 minutes away.
I kept calling her by her name and telling her a story which was far from my reality, but probably much closer to hers. I told her I had come from a bad place and had finally started my ascent from the deepest hole - the one where you don't think you can escape from. But I had done it - and she could, too. I talked about a God I hadn't much thought about in 10 or more years.
We got to the shelter. There was a house right before it where her kids were sleeping, and the car she described as being the one that was out of gas. As I was pulling into the open parking lot, I remembered a bag of food that I had left over from our road trip from Kansas City just a few days before. I handed it to her and told her that her kids didn't have to go to bed hungry after all.
She thanked me and got out of my car.
The wave of relief that started with the slamming of the door was frozen solid as I watched her walk towards, not the house with her supposed kids, but a large man in the middle of the darkened street. She was waving him off, which distracted him enough to allow me to squeal out and back on to the open highway - with just a glance of her hitting him in the chest in my rearview mirror.
I sobbed the whole way back. I sobbed because I was stupid. I sobbed because I was sad. I sobbed because I was angry. I sobbed because I was scared. Because I'm not sure if I wouldn't do it again. What if it was all like she said? What if my fear was just born out of other people's insecurities? What would I do if I was truly a mom who couldn't feed her kids? What would I be willing to do?
I'm just thankful today that I'm not faced with those decisions. I'm also thankful to have yet another reason to avoid Wendy's.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Take My Kid and Shove It.
I take my kids with me everywhere. If you know me, you are well aware of this. I take them to work - Elle was 8 days old at her first Blue Valley rehearsal, she had her own desk at my tax office, and Demi is learning how to dance by being strapped to my chest at class; I take them to lunch - I used to ask if it was okay, now I just show up, Bumbo in hand; I take them to school - my classes always started a week earlier than Elle's . . . plus, she really has a knack for coloring syllabi; I take them to fundraisers, to neighborhood meetings, to First Fridays, to Library events, to karaoke night, to the movie theaters (yep. To see Harry Potter. At the 10 o'clock show.), to blogger meetups, to football parties, to baseball games, to company picnics, to weddings, to the freakin grocery store. And sometimes, I nurse my baby, and sometimes I even - ack! - bring a stroller.
I know this annoys people - I know even WHY it annoys people - but I do it and will continue to do it unless I am asked not to.
I did choose to have children. I didn't choose WHEN to have them - but I did choose to keep them when it looked inevitable that it was going to happen (you know, when I didn't know if my feet were there unless I looked in a mirror - or saw in the same mirror that my ankles really weren't). So, yes, that was a choice that I made - that Jeff and I made - that we were going to be parents and we were going to raise our hybrid spawn among the beauty and the ugliness of this world. I don't remember in this contract signing a clause that said that my kids have to be raised exclusively in my living room - or on the playground - or in front of the horrible pizza pies at Chuck E Cheese - or at Dora signings - or in the Disney store - or in the disease-peppered, fake-food and plastic-world disPLAY ground at Independence Center.
I know I'm different than most people. I love children - not just mine, but kids in general. I love the way they talk, the way they walk, the way they justify stealing fake vomit from their friends's house (oh, haven't I told that story yet?), the way they eat, the way they love. I've loved kids since I barely qualified to be one. So I get that my tolerance began higher and has only soared since I got my own little not-always-perfect-angels. The biggest difference is that now I giggle under my breath when a child is having a tantrum in the middle of a grocery store. It's actually a little less creepy for me now that I have my own kids - tearing up at the playground is a lot more accepted when you have some of your own DNA out there playing on it.
Its one of my loftiest goals in life to not judge people. Its natural for us to believe that our actions are the best - the most worthy choice in our personal situation at a critical time - that's why we do them.
I CHOSE to have children, just as many other people CHOOSE to not have children. One choice is not more proper than the other, more deserving of praise, more liberating. But I do feel at times that some people that I am less worthy of making my own decisions on what I do with my time, who I take with me, and what I'm allowed to tolerate (yeah, my kid whimpering may be a little annoying - but dude, your discreet headset doesn't make your hemorrhoid conversation any more private, nor your un-regimented hygiene schedule and anti-personal space issues any less irritating). I don't ask you to censor your language around my children, if you are engaging in something I find offensive or dangerous, I will take myself away. If my kid shits his pants on an airplane - I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience, but its not like I'm asking you to change him. Your choice to not have kids does not make mine to have them an affront to your lifestyle, but it is also not an abdication of my right to live the same.
As for the obnoxious kids in the restaurants - yeah, they kinda suck. But - news flash - the restaurants want them there. Of course, they'd rather them be behaved, but parents with kids are a huge slice of the population that eat out, and making kids happy make them a lot of fucking money. Unless you're eating out at Lidia's and Pierponts every night, I can guarantee that your $10 dinner is subsidized by a boat load of $2 Kid's Meals.
Whether you have kids or you don't, you're most likely going to judge me for everything I do with my own. All I can do is make sure that my kids think I kick ass and that they have the tools and the confidence to do the same one day.
I know this annoys people - I know even WHY it annoys people - but I do it and will continue to do it unless I am asked not to.
I did choose to have children. I didn't choose WHEN to have them - but I did choose to keep them when it looked inevitable that it was going to happen (you know, when I didn't know if my feet were there unless I looked in a mirror - or saw in the same mirror that my ankles really weren't). So, yes, that was a choice that I made - that Jeff and I made - that we were going to be parents and we were going to raise our hybrid spawn among the beauty and the ugliness of this world. I don't remember in this contract signing a clause that said that my kids have to be raised exclusively in my living room - or on the playground - or in front of the horrible pizza pies at Chuck E Cheese - or at Dora signings - or in the Disney store - or in the disease-peppered, fake-food and plastic-world disPLAY ground at Independence Center.
I know I'm different than most people. I love children - not just mine, but kids in general. I love the way they talk, the way they walk, the way they justify stealing fake vomit from their friends's house (oh, haven't I told that story yet?), the way they eat, the way they love. I've loved kids since I barely qualified to be one. So I get that my tolerance began higher and has only soared since I got my own little not-always-perfect-angels. The biggest difference is that now I giggle under my breath when a child is having a tantrum in the middle of a grocery store. It's actually a little less creepy for me now that I have my own kids - tearing up at the playground is a lot more accepted when you have some of your own DNA out there playing on it.
Its one of my loftiest goals in life to not judge people. Its natural for us to believe that our actions are the best - the most worthy choice in our personal situation at a critical time - that's why we do them.
I CHOSE to have children, just as many other people CHOOSE to not have children. One choice is not more proper than the other, more deserving of praise, more liberating. But I do feel at times that some people that I am less worthy of making my own decisions on what I do with my time, who I take with me, and what I'm allowed to tolerate (yeah, my kid whimpering may be a little annoying - but dude, your discreet headset doesn't make your hemorrhoid conversation any more private, nor your un-regimented hygiene schedule and anti-personal space issues any less irritating). I don't ask you to censor your language around my children, if you are engaging in something I find offensive or dangerous, I will take myself away. If my kid shits his pants on an airplane - I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience, but its not like I'm asking you to change him. Your choice to not have kids does not make mine to have them an affront to your lifestyle, but it is also not an abdication of my right to live the same.
As for the obnoxious kids in the restaurants - yeah, they kinda suck. But - news flash - the restaurants want them there. Of course, they'd rather them be behaved, but parents with kids are a huge slice of the population that eat out, and making kids happy make them a lot of fucking money. Unless you're eating out at Lidia's and Pierponts every night, I can guarantee that your $10 dinner is subsidized by a boat load of $2 Kid's Meals.
Whether you have kids or you don't, you're most likely going to judge me for everything I do with my own. All I can do is make sure that my kids think I kick ass and that they have the tools and the confidence to do the same one day.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Come away with me . . .
Jeff and I went to see “Away We Go” at the Screenland Theater on Armour Road on Friday night. Let me first say that the theater sucks and no one should go there (at least I wish that were the truth so that I could always be guaranteed my recliner in the front row). It is really a beautiful venue and one that deserves far more traffic on a Friday night, even if it was First Friays. Eat before you go, unless you want popcorn, because the bar fare that they do offer takes a little longer than necessary, but it is worth the trip up North for sure – and even though they don’t have crushed ice or a popcorn seasoning bar or Butt-kicker seats, it is way more charming than the Main Street AMC. That being said, I would still see an action movie at the AMC – they probably don’t play many blockbusters at Screenland anyway – but it was the perfect place for a long-deserved date alone with my husband. And I don’t think we could have picked a better movie than the amazingly-acted and succinctly-sweet “Away We Go.”
Following an expecting couple on a journey to find ‘home’, this movie spoke to many themes of family, life, marriage and loss. Maya Rudolph’s Verona and John Krasinski’s Burt have been ‘abandoned’ by both sets of their parents – hers through death and his (played by Katherine O’Hara and Jeff Daniels) through an untimely chance to move to Belgium a month before their first grandchild is to be born. They travel to Arizona, Wisconsin, Montreal and Miami to meet with family, friends, and prospective bosses trying to find a place where they fit. I’m not going to say too much, because I really think you should see this movie – but it made me think about what marriage is and why the heck it is something that needs to be ‘protected’ so . . .
Okay, so I watched this movie pretty soon after spending an afternoon at the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis and after a heated debate this summer with a man I’ll just call “Slowpoke” (and I’ll call him that because that’s his nickname. For real.) If you know me (and if you don’t – you shoud – give a girl a ring!), you know that I’m pretty hot in the pants when it comes to gay rights. I truly feel that our reluctance as a nation towards affording people the right to love whomever they choose – and to profess their love in front of a judge, a participating pastor, a notary or a group of copulating robots for all I care –and to recognize that commitment as equal no matter who is at the end of our aisle, is the one thing that keeps us from being a completely liberated people. Our president sits at the most influential desk in the free world, as leader of a country that once claimed people of his race as property, treated them like animals and forbid them to own land or vote – he has risen to where he is through the persistent struggles of many men, the deaths of many husbands, fathers, daughters, sisters, brothers, mothers and sons, the audacity of many leaders for whom it would have been easier to just let things slide, through the perseverance of a people, and yet, STILL, finds it uncomfortable to grant federal recognition of equality for those who want to marry someone of their same gender.
LOVE is being stigmatized.
Marriage does not make love. Love does not make marriage. We agree – (especially after watching “Away We Go”. You haven’t seen that movie yet? Go see it!!). But why is the sanctity of marriage so important that we can’t mess it up by inviting more people in? Hitler was married . . . don’t you think we brightened the pool of married people when we let Ellen Degeneres in? At the party of married people, I would much rather drink a martini with Elton John than Danial Rinehart, sing a song at the piano with Tracy Chapman before Mariah f-in Carey (we don’t sing in the same key anyway), break it down on the dance floor with Rachel Maddow than try to slow dance with Limbaugh (my arms aren’t long enough, I’m sure), party with Jolie Justus before have a conversation with the Funk, make out with Bernstein instead of catch an STD from Beethoven.
Oh, you’re just concerned that giving these people the same rights, we’re saying to our children that their lifestyle is okay? I see your point – if you are close-minded and frightened of anything you don’t understand. What lifestyle exactly are you speaking of . . . the one where sex is easy and relationships are avoided? The one where drinking and drug use is prevalent? The one where sexuality is flaunted like it’s the only thing that matters? Oh, the one where multiple partners is a goal, and a mistake, and a reinforcement of self worth . . . oh yeah – that one. Well, news flash – that lifestyle is lived out in the open air entertainment venue at 12th and Main the same as it is in the dingy bar/nightclub on Southwest trafficway.
True, very true – homosexual relationships can’t organically produce children, so its just not natural. Its not god’s intention. #1 – who’s talking about god? We are talking about the government of the United States of America, so with that whole separation of church and state thing, I won’t even start on that conversation. #2 – masturbation can not produce children, oral sex can not produce children, having protected sex can not produce children . . . I enjoy all of these things – and have done them many times – they were very persuasive in my choice to get married in the first place. Should sterile men not be able to marry – what about women who want to so badly to have children but can not. Is that God telling them that they should not be married? Does adopting and loving children someone else bore make you second class parents – good enough, but not as worthy as the parents who created their children in the womb – many who regret it, can’t handle it, even deny it? (Watching one episode of Maury is reason enough to ban heterosexuals from marrying.)
Is marriage really that fragile? Is it even something that people would commit themselves to just to piss you off? Why is your love more real than anyone elses? Why do we cling to this need of feeling more right than other people? More just. More real. The struggle for civil rights was exactly that – a struggle. A struggle hard fought, a struggle hard won. We live in a much better nation because of it, we would never have know such great players in this game we call life had it not been for the hardships of many different groups of people. But that is no reason to perpetuate the hate and prejudice into today’s world, with its own struggles and hardships.
“Away We Go” was not a movie about gay marriage or civil rights – not in the least. But it made me think about marriage and how we as a people view this institution . . . Being so intolerant of my intolerance for intolerance – I need to hear the other side so that I can understand.
Following an expecting couple on a journey to find ‘home’, this movie spoke to many themes of family, life, marriage and loss. Maya Rudolph’s Verona and John Krasinski’s Burt have been ‘abandoned’ by both sets of their parents – hers through death and his (played by Katherine O’Hara and Jeff Daniels) through an untimely chance to move to Belgium a month before their first grandchild is to be born. They travel to Arizona, Wisconsin, Montreal and Miami to meet with family, friends, and prospective bosses trying to find a place where they fit. I’m not going to say too much, because I really think you should see this movie – but it made me think about what marriage is and why the heck it is something that needs to be ‘protected’ so . . .
Okay, so I watched this movie pretty soon after spending an afternoon at the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis and after a heated debate this summer with a man I’ll just call “Slowpoke” (and I’ll call him that because that’s his nickname. For real.) If you know me (and if you don’t – you shoud – give a girl a ring!), you know that I’m pretty hot in the pants when it comes to gay rights. I truly feel that our reluctance as a nation towards affording people the right to love whomever they choose – and to profess their love in front of a judge, a participating pastor, a notary or a group of copulating robots for all I care –and to recognize that commitment as equal no matter who is at the end of our aisle, is the one thing that keeps us from being a completely liberated people. Our president sits at the most influential desk in the free world, as leader of a country that once claimed people of his race as property, treated them like animals and forbid them to own land or vote – he has risen to where he is through the persistent struggles of many men, the deaths of many husbands, fathers, daughters, sisters, brothers, mothers and sons, the audacity of many leaders for whom it would have been easier to just let things slide, through the perseverance of a people, and yet, STILL, finds it uncomfortable to grant federal recognition of equality for those who want to marry someone of their same gender.
LOVE is being stigmatized.
Marriage does not make love. Love does not make marriage. We agree – (especially after watching “Away We Go”. You haven’t seen that movie yet? Go see it!!). But why is the sanctity of marriage so important that we can’t mess it up by inviting more people in? Hitler was married . . . don’t you think we brightened the pool of married people when we let Ellen Degeneres in? At the party of married people, I would much rather drink a martini with Elton John than Danial Rinehart, sing a song at the piano with Tracy Chapman before Mariah f-in Carey (we don’t sing in the same key anyway), break it down on the dance floor with Rachel Maddow than try to slow dance with Limbaugh (my arms aren’t long enough, I’m sure), party with Jolie Justus before have a conversation with the Funk, make out with Bernstein instead of catch an STD from Beethoven.
Oh, you’re just concerned that giving these people the same rights, we’re saying to our children that their lifestyle is okay? I see your point – if you are close-minded and frightened of anything you don’t understand. What lifestyle exactly are you speaking of . . . the one where sex is easy and relationships are avoided? The one where drinking and drug use is prevalent? The one where sexuality is flaunted like it’s the only thing that matters? Oh, the one where multiple partners is a goal, and a mistake, and a reinforcement of self worth . . . oh yeah – that one. Well, news flash – that lifestyle is lived out in the open air entertainment venue at 12th and Main the same as it is in the dingy bar/nightclub on Southwest trafficway.
True, very true – homosexual relationships can’t organically produce children, so its just not natural. Its not god’s intention. #1 – who’s talking about god? We are talking about the government of the United States of America, so with that whole separation of church and state thing, I won’t even start on that conversation. #2 – masturbation can not produce children, oral sex can not produce children, having protected sex can not produce children . . . I enjoy all of these things – and have done them many times – they were very persuasive in my choice to get married in the first place. Should sterile men not be able to marry – what about women who want to so badly to have children but can not. Is that God telling them that they should not be married? Does adopting and loving children someone else bore make you second class parents – good enough, but not as worthy as the parents who created their children in the womb – many who regret it, can’t handle it, even deny it? (Watching one episode of Maury is reason enough to ban heterosexuals from marrying.)
Is marriage really that fragile? Is it even something that people would commit themselves to just to piss you off? Why is your love more real than anyone elses? Why do we cling to this need of feeling more right than other people? More just. More real. The struggle for civil rights was exactly that – a struggle. A struggle hard fought, a struggle hard won. We live in a much better nation because of it, we would never have know such great players in this game we call life had it not been for the hardships of many different groups of people. But that is no reason to perpetuate the hate and prejudice into today’s world, with its own struggles and hardships.
“Away We Go” was not a movie about gay marriage or civil rights – not in the least. But it made me think about marriage and how we as a people view this institution . . . Being so intolerant of my intolerance for intolerance – I need to hear the other side so that I can understand.
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