they go low and I go…medium-ish

Remember when First Lady Michelle Obama declared “when they go low, we go high” and I added to my ever growing list of things I admire about Michelle Obama and wish that I had…those arms, her style, her Mom dance moves…well, do you remember? Words to live by, especially right now, I told myself; and I have tried to do just that.

Try being the operative word.

But sometimes I just can’t help myself like when a certain Presidential candidate has yet another Twitter tantrum, as he does pretty much every damn day. I could have walked away because they go low, we go high except I didn’t. Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself. I’m weak. But given the overall reaction, I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t help but appreciate the irony or just how un-presidential the tantrums are. Literally even cousin Joe appreciated the irony. No, we aren’t really cousins. Of course, share your opinion and it will bring all the trolls to the yard.

When they go low, we go high…and thank you sweet baby Jesus and Twitter and Facebook for the mute, block and unfollow options because, oh my, how the trolls do swarm sometimes.

Calling me a feminist? Well, I am female and I am the mother of four females and grandmother of two more. I have a few sisters and nieces too along with friends whom I care for who also just so happen to be female too. Perhaps I might actually have a vested interest in things that are social,legal, political and economic concerns for women because I am a woman. Go figure! Yes, I said that. I know. I know…don’t feed the trolls. Drunk with likes and retweets and even cousin Joe’s encouragement, I just could not stop myself. But trolls are trolls and because they live under most bridges they go low. Why engage in an intelligent exchange of ideas back and forth when one can poke fun at one’s outward appearances? Intelligent debate is for losers and all the other insults that any 7th grade schoolyard bully can think of…just like a certain candidate they support.

You go low I will try to go high. Perhaps not as high as Mrs. Obama.

You go low and today I will go medium-ish because, yes, that is me. Ultimately I believe that love, kindness and respect trumps hate and your #altright vitriol; which I have to say is far more frightening than Mr. Trump’s vitriolic tantrums ever will be. Seriously trolls, y’all are crazy mother f-ers….especially that one I am related t who literally can not just walk away from Facebook. All I can say to the rest of the world is I’m sorry because I did drop him on his head once. I can’t believe that Mommy Dearest never found out.

And if you haven’t figured it out by now, yes, I’m with her because I need to hope that love can and will trump hate.

 

nursing: the next generation

We sit together, her thoughtfully nibbling on a plate of Oreo cookies and sipping chocolate milk from one of my favorite mugs.

Is this your cup, Mima?

Yes, it is.

What’s that? :::points at the stethoscope:::

It’s a stethoscope. I use it when I am at work taking care of tiny, sick babies.

That’s cuz you’re a nurse!

Well at least she gets that.

That’s right! Perhaps someday, when you grow up, you can be a nurse too and I will give you my stethoscope.

Hmmm… :::takes another sip of chocolate milk::: Nah!

No?

:::shakes her head no:::

Well, okay then. Perhaps there won’t be another nurse in the next generation of this circus.

At least not yet.

I remain ever hopeful.

You’re going to be there when a lot of people are born, and when a lot of people die. In most every culture, such moments are regarded as sacred and private, made special by a divine presence. No one on Earth would be welcomed, but you’re personally invited. What an honor that is. -Thom Dick

counting to sleep

Three walks to the park around the corner.

Five new friends made on the playground during the third trip to the park What are their names? Don’t know…but they are her friends.

Twenty thousand tears bitterly and loudly shed walking home from the park at sunset because how can Mima and Papa-Papa possibly force her to abandon her five friends, the five friends whose names she does not know.

Eight neighbors who witnessed the twenty thousand tears loudly shed and who now know for sure that we are the absolute worst people.

Ten more minutes please in the bathtub because bubble baths are fun.

Six oreo cookies for bedtime snack.

Two cups of milk with our bedtime snack because one is not enough.

One story read because track and field Olympic races are boring.

Count is lost with the number of questions and trips to the bathroom and just one more kiss and bear hug, please and why can’t I have more milk and…and…and…and…

At last! At last literally just before the midnight hour…

…she sleeps. She sleeps in her own bed that we made for her. For now.

And I realize just how lucky and spoiled I was with my own five.

Good night Fallon!

a natural and common event

A miscarriage is a natural and common event. All told, probably more women have lost a child from this world than haven’t. Most don’t mention it, and they go on from day to day as if it hadn’t happened, so people imagine a woman in this situation never really knew or loved what she had. But ask her sometime: how old would your child be now? And she’ll know.
— Barbara Kingsolver

Much has been happening in the lives of my circus act this week. Much to celebrate and give thanks for…sending children off to school…new jobs…college life…marriages to celebrate…milestones achieved…all good and wonderful things for which we all celebrate and are thankful for. Yet all the good, so much good, is tempered right now with our hearts bruised and aching as we hold one of ours in this moment.

Yes, it’s like the wind has been knocked out of us because so many wishes, hopes and dreams are attached to this brand new life.

Miscarriage, yes, is a natural and common event. It doesn’t make it any easier to get over even if that is what might be the expectation. An acquaintance said recently how awkward they feel comforting someone who needs comfort; which I guess is supposed to make it okay to not even try. I countered that perhaps literally looking someone you know and care about in the eye and say to them “I’m sorry” is really all that is needed because no matter how awkward you feel, trust me, their pain is so much more. In the end as they heal, they will remember who cared to say that…and who awkwardly said or did nothing.

I’m sorry is simply all that is needed…add a hug, even better…a casserole for extra points.

In all seriousness, it hurts. I know it hurts my child more than it hurts me right now but it hurts still. It’s a hurt I can’t kiss away for her. It’s a loss that reminds me of my own years and years ago…the three of them would be 31 and 26 years old today

For my daughter and son in law, I am so sorry, so very sorry.