A New Year, A New Beginning

Today is the first day of 2018. Wow. We made it through another year.

We always seem to say things like, “To hell with [the previous year], it was so bad! On to the next one! Let’s just get this done already. This new year will be so much better.”

I don’t say that anymore, because inevitably, the next year is even worse. I feel as though I presented the Universe with a challenge, and the Universe replied by saying, “Oh, really? Watch this.”

2017 truly sucked for a lot of people I know. It wasn’t the best year for me, either. We’re all glad to see it done. But as for me? I’m just happy I got through it. I survived every piece of crap 2017 had to offer, and every painful moment, and I’m stronger for it. We may be a little shaken, but we got through. Hey, that says something.

Fuck you, 2017. You thought you could take me down? HA! I’m tough. I’m a kid from East Dallas.

Happy New Year, everyone.

— Peace.

 

 

We Marched!

Last week, on January 21st, over 50,000 women, men, and children, gathered in Austin, TX to march for their human rights. It was a beautiful day in Austin. It was HOT, but that didn’t stop any of us.

Just to get a perspective of the crowd, here’s a few people at the Texas Capitol building:

at-the-capitol

This was my first march, and it won’t be my last. I found it … inspirational. Joyous. I reveled in the togetherness of the crowd. And I finally felt like I’d taken a step towards doing something and making a stand!

When I got back home last week, I wrote a poem, as I’m prone to do…

Cities, worldwide, took one day to come together
One day to make a stand

One day…
To march

In a world of division
Over 50,000 people gathered that Saturday
In Austin, TX
Women, men, children…
Ages, races, religions, genders
People from all walks of life
All came together with one purpose…
To march

We all had so many causes to march for:
Women’s Rights
Healthcare
Planned Parenthood
Roe v. Wade

Just to name a few…

Someone asked me why I wanted to march…
Why on earth wouldn’t I?

This is why I march.
I march for you, little sister!
I don’t know if it’s your choice, but you HAVE that choice
and no Politician
or Preacher in his pocket
should ever take it away from you.

I march for you…
Too traumatized to speak of what happened.
You shouldn’t be punished
by being forced to carry
one more reminder
for nine months.
Sister … it wasn’t your fault.

I march for the parents
Who found out in those last few weeks
something went terribly wrong!
They should not be forced into someone else’s decision.
They, too, have a choice!

We march for all of us!
We march for our rights!

And those who marched with me cried
TELL ME WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!

WE are what democracy looks like.

(Original work, written 1/23/2017. Do not distribute without permission or credit to the author [me])

womens-march-austin

 

Today is the big day

Today is the big day. I leave this morning for Austin, TX, to take part in my first protest march tomorrow.

Yes, I’m 50 years old and I’ve never done this before. I’ve bitched, I’ve ranted, I’ve donated, But I’ve never stood up with anyone for a cause I believed in so passionately. Tomorrow, with my best friend and so many other women, I will do just that.

Today, many Americans will see a dangerous narcissist sworn into office. A bully. A bad example for our children. Someone who has disparaged and insulted minorities, the disabled, and women.

Someone who has already begun to strip away our rights, bit by bit.

Someone who wants to take us back to those “good old days”, when women stayed home and everyone “knew their place” in society.

We stand tomorrow. We’re having a peaceful protest tomorrow in Austin. We march for our rights… for your rights.

WE MARCH!!

womens-march-atx

 

The Long Climb

Sometimes, we find it difficult to write. Whether it is on our blogs, Facebook, or other means of social media. Some call it “writers block”, but sometimes, it’s just everyday events that just get in the way. Emotional garbage just blocks up the creative flow.

Sometimes, the garbage is so packed in there that it blocks more than creativity… it blocks our need to express ourselves, in general.

Good things happen and we want to say something, but we don’t know how to get past the emotional blockage.

Crappy things happen, and we want to say something, but the words just won’t come.

Horrible events occur, and we try to open our mouths, but we know if we break through that dam of emotional garbage, a river is going to flow and it’s going to be out of control. No one will understand where this raging flood came from.

So it’s just easier to keep things in, keep quiet, and maybe even disappear for a while.

Until you end up here.

pit

The journey out isn’t easy. It’s a long climb. When you realize you’ve isolated yourself, sometimes those voices in your head tell you it’s too late to reach out. It’s a tough battle, fighting those voices, especially when your worst fear is rejection.

It’s a hard climb. Your hands are as raw as your emotions, and the journey up is exhausting. Sometimes you slip, just as you think you’re making so much progress and you think you’re going to get out.

You’ll have moments when you want to let go of that wall and fall all the way back to the bottom, just because you’re having a bad day on your journey and you’re losing hope.

But you keep going. You rest, you breathe, and you start again. It’s a long fucking climb, and that pit is deep. But eventually …. someday….

The pit is always there, but I know where it is now. If I fall in, I know where the good rocks are in the wall. I know how to get out.

Rites of Passage

We all have them at different points of our lives. As parents, we watch our children go through them as they grow.

Pre-K and Kindergarten Graduation.
The First Day of School.
Puberty.
High School.

Yesterday, we celebrated another rite of passage with our son:

The Big Day

 

High School Graduation

I don’t know who’s happier for school to be over – the boy, or me. But at the same time, I got all weepy yesterday. Gods! My kid is a high school graduate now! I’m not ready for this; how on earth can he be ready??? It’s not time yet. He can’t be 18.

Don’t get me wrong; I know this has to happen. But where does the time go? You mothers out there know exactly what I’m talking about. I still remember that little boy who graduated Pre-K, back in 2003. And look at him now!

 

Then and Now

 

For those who haven’t reached this milestone yet, here’s my unsolicited perspective from my experience. There are times you share the joy of your kid’s experiences, and there are times you may butt heads over grades, and perhaps late homework. Keep going to bat for your kid. STAY INVOLVED and talk to the teachers. Fight for your kid’s education, because the teachers are so busy they can’t fight for everyone. They are so relieved when the parents get involved, even when they disagree.

Is your kid not doing well in class? Is this sudden or a trend? Talk to your kid and find out why. Grounding and restrictions isn’t the way to resolve this problem, as it usually stems from external problems, physiological issues, depression, or in some cases, undiagnosed learning disorders. Work with your kid on study habits. Help them find alternatives that work if the standard skills don’t. Different people have different learning styles.

When things aren’t working, find a good friend (or two), who can stand in as a tutor for your kid. Your kid knows this person and relates to them well, and you know them. They’re friends of the family, so the relationship is already there. We couldn’t have done this without some of our close friends that we consider family. 🙂

 

Rite Of Passage

 

When it’s all said and done, your kid(s) will graduate, too, and you’ll feel as though you’ve gone through your own rite of passage as a parent. Perhaps we do. Because it’s the beginning of another phase of our kids lives, and we know they’re going to fly the nest. We have to let them go, and thus, begin the next phase of our own.

 

 

Eighteen

I’ve been trying to make the annual birthday post all day today but it just won’t flow. Maybe because I just don’t want to come to terms with the fact that my kid is 18.

HOLY FUCK!!! MY KID IS 18!!!!

No flowery, motherly poetry here. He’s 18!!!

Did you know… my kid is going to vote in the next election??? Oh holy christ, someone hand me a beer.

This is for you, dude. Happy Birthday.

 

Love,

Mom

Miss you already, my Goober boy….

My son made a gruesome discovery today while I was away from the house. Bagheera, one of our kitties, was hit by a car. We are heartbroken at the sudden loss of our Bagheera, whom we affectionately called our “Goober Kitty”. He was with us for over 11 years, and lived a long and happy life, but that doesn’t make this any easier.

Goober was the only cat I ever had who talked to his reflection in the water dish. He was so worried about that cat, and he tried to set it free on more than one occasion.

He would sit outside my office window and wonder why I couldn’t pet him.

PetMeMom

But he was such a love… He wouldn’t just rub up against you; he would push his head up to you and hold it there. I never had a cat that would “headbutt” for pettins’ rather than rub his head to the side like other cats do.

When he purred, he “chuffed” like big cats do.

He was a talkative cat. I could ask him, “Who’s my goober kitty,” and he’d answer me.

He called me, “Mooommm”; quite loudly, I might add, especially when he would get lost inside the house. Not that our house was large enough to get lost in… he would love on you in one room, walk to another room, and forget where you were.

He was a beautiful Bengal boy… and his family tree had no branches. If I could have made him a kitty banjo I would have.

And I loved him with all my heart.

Bagheera Kitty   March 2004 – June 2015