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.

 

wearing my words

Does a grown-assed woman really need daily affirmations?

Well, yeah.

Recent conversation with a family member reminded me of that especially when he insisted on calling me by the nickname that was, of course, a family term of endearment. Every time he called me c___ w____, I was reminded how the playground taunt brought home and shared at the dinner table became the family pet name for me because it’s love, Laura, nothing but love…except it wasn’t. At least for me it wasn’t. It hurt. It hurt a lot then…and (surprisingly because I am so far removed from that toxic swill most days) now. What can I say? I was emo when emo wasn’t cool which was probably why that endearment stuck and still tries to stick 45 years later.

Perhaps it isn’t so cool anymore for me to be emo…a middle aged woman like me.

Does a grown-assed woman, like me, really need to be reminded almost every day of her own personal truths?

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Sure!

My words, my personal truths look pretty amazing here on my wrist.

They’re shiny too.

 

 

sisters

Having a sister is like having a best friend you can’t get rid of. You know whatever you do, they’ll still be there. ~Amy Li

Sisters are there to cheer you on.

To frolic with you.

To be silly with you…

especially at 6:53 AM!

Your sister is there to help you when you can’t button those buttons.

And to bring out your very best features.

Because you have to look good when you are standing next to her.

Seriously.

You can always count on your sister to offer a word of encouragement.

To stand next to you always.

And to get shit done.

No matter where life may take you.

Thank goodness she’s there for you.

Always.

Forever.

the fire apartment’s great-great grand daughter

While checking out this

Fallon tells me how much she doesn’t like fire trucks. They’re kind of loud, they’re kind of scary she tells me.

Yes they are kind of loud, sweet girl. They have to be when they are going to put out a fire, or save lives because we need to GET OUT OF THE WAY! But scary? Not to me, I tell her. Then I tell her about the fire fighters in her family. Her family, she asks? Yes. And as I invite her explore some antique fire trucks on display at a car show, I tell her about my grandfather and uncle, both fire fighters.

Truthfully, she seemed to be more impressed with the sticker the fire fighter gave her.

Oh, three year olds!

But today, Hollie shared the latest Fallonism on Facebook: My uncle papa used to be a fire apartment and would put the nasty fires down. That’s so cool.

She’s a proud fire apartment descendant!

dad brag

Remember when we were little kids and we would dad-brag?

My daddy is the strongest man in the world.

Yeah? Well my dad is stronger than your daddy.

Whatever! My dad can beat up both of your dads.

So, my dad is the smartest.

…and on and on.

True or not, when you are 4 feet tall, all this and more seems absolutely possible…no…true. All of it is absolutely true when you are a kid.

And then you grow up.

But I am pretty certain that few people I know personally can brag that my dad, who is 23 years older than me according to my birth certificate (you do the math), just rode his bicycle across the state of Iowa for the 15th time just because he can and he’s kind of hard core and perhaps a little bit bad ass and likely a bit crazy. It’s RAGBRAI!

I can’t possibly get all my crazy just from one side of my family! I mean, Dad did remind me yesterday about that one time I rode with him on the Tour de Lacs,, a bike ride from Spokane, Washington to C’oeur d’Alene, Idaho and back again with a broken wrist in a cast. Bad ass, maybe. Crazy, oh yes. Still a good ride.

But right now we’re going to celebrate and dad-brag this while Dad is currently kicking back and enjoying (in his words) some low culture. That’s TV to most of us.

As long as he is not Keeping Up With The Kardashians!