Ode To The Thomas Train I Stepped On Last Night

pexels-photo-85599Of all the things we anthropomorphize, you might be most iconic.
Of all the toys I step on nightly, your injuries, most chronic.

Lacquered in a shade of blue, matched perfectly to the sky,
You seem to jump out, underfoot, for grown-ups passing by.

Why can’t it be a cuddly toy, or blankie in my path?
Instead, I trip on only you. Have I incurred your wrath?

I begin to think it’s all a plot, schemed up on skeevy Sodor.
I’ve always felt Sir Topham Hatt gives off malicious odor.

First, they slandered Lego; quite destroyed their reputation.
Those bricks can’t catch a break from all the painful condemnation.

But Legos are not the enemy, you must trust me when I say,
These attacks upon your soles create confusion and delay.

While you coral those colored bricks, to keep from nightly tripping,
They steam their way into your path to begin their fretful nipping.

Because, if parents, far and wide, were incapable of walking,
Those wily locomotives could expand their steamy flocking.

They’d leave Sodor upon Bulstrode, his hull the shade of rubies.
Bulstrode is a grumpy barge, for all you Thomas newbies.

Braving sea and storms, they’d come ashore, and build tracks from here to there.
No foot would find it safe to walk, any time or anywhere.

And so my little wooden friend, your face as grey as smoke,
While you delight my little boy, I know what your grin cloaks.

Your evil is not welcome here, and I beseech your name!
RETURN, and take that Percy with you,
Back to Sodor, from whence you came.

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The Gift of Protest

This Saturday, January 21st, I will join hundreds of thousands of women marching all over the country in protest of our soon-to-be president, Donald Trump.

Like everyone else, I have my own reasons for marching.

It is interesting that the march should fall on the date that it does, because January 21st has very special meaning to me. January 21 was Clara’s due date. Of course, babies can be born many days before or after their due date, but since Clara was not born, I have come to think of January 21st as her birthday.

This year, on January 21st, my daughter would be one year old.

My daughter who died.

My wonderful daughter who died because she was diagnosed with a lethal fetal anomaly.

My loved and wanted daughter who died because her diagnosis gave us only two options:

Birth her and watch her die

-or-

Undergo a medical procedure known as abortion in order to end the pregnancy (and pain).

We chose the medical procedure.

Trump’s campaign, administration and mere presence in the public spotlight is a threat to women.

Just the other day a man who holds political office, claimed he was “inspired by Trump” and sexually assaulted a woman, grabbing her by the vagina and telling her no one would believe her. Fortunately for the victim, the assault was caught on surveillance video.

Trump, and everything he stands for, is a threat to the rights and well-being of women.

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE.

Trump, and everything he stands for, is a threat to many more than just women. He and his cronies are a threat to people of color, to immigrants, to the LGBTQ community, to our economy, our national security, our healthcare, our rights… you get the idea.

I’m marching on Saturday because Donald Trump is

NOT

MY

PRESIDENT

I do not acknowledge him. I do not hold an ounce of respect for the office while he is in it.

I will resist.

I march because if Donald Trump and his cronies had their way, I would have been forced into a healthcare situation that not only held dangers for me, but which could easily be classified as cruel and unusual punishment.

I march because I will not go quietly back to “when America was great”.

I march because I, the daughter of lesbians, will fight for the right to love.

I march because I have educated myself on our country’s history, I am listening to people of color and I will resist, with my dying breath, the politics and employment of white supremacy that continues to degrade, defile and dispatch the lives of black people.

I march for her.

For Clara.

Happy Day, my darling girl.

Mommy loves you so, so much.

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What We Keep In The Corners

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Tonight my oldest son and my husband went to the Bull’s game, so I did what any person with an ill-formed sense of judgment would do, and took my four-year-old to Chuck E Cheese’s.

In all seriousness, we had a lovely time. I watched Silas kick a much older child’s ass at a snowmobile racing game. The older boy spent the first half of the race taunting my sweet-hearted 4-year-old… and the second half of the game chewing through his bottom lip as my angel formed the older child’s taunts into a laser beam of drive and ambition with which he would calmly destroy all that the older child had ever held dear.

When he emerged, victorious, he simply looked at his nemesis the older child, pure innocence beaming from his little aura, and said “Fanks! That was fun!

Oh yes, he is my child. *evil grin*

ANYWAYS. Before we went to Chuck E Cheese, I took my little date out for dinner to Noodles and Company (his fave). Over pasta, we discussed the various ways that apples can be sliced and the way we like them best (thin slices, but not too thin). We discussed the many merits of Chapstick. We talked about Super Why and Eye of the Tiger. It was during a short discourse on Survivor that he, rather loudly and distinctly, interrupted me by saying, “Mom, it’s sad that my baby sister died.”

You could have heard a noodle drop.

I recovered myself from the land of montage music and replied that yes, it was sad and that it’s okay to feel sad about it. I wasn’t sure what else to say. It isn’t the first time that he has randomly brought up Clara, and it’s evident to me that he’s still working it all out. What struck me, though, was his okayness with the topic. Of course, he is simply too young to know that it is taboo. Too young to consider that talking about it might upset me, but I don’t see this as problematic. Instead, I am in awe of the way he lives his life completely out in the open. There are no dark corners where he hides things deemed too painful to discuss.

I love this about him. I am certainly not known for my lack of candor, but even I have a tendency to hold things close when I think they’re too messy for the world to see. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with this and people should never disclose more than makes them comfortable, but I’ve always found comfort in communicating pretty much all. Once you learn to live with the vulnerability which is inevitable with this way of being, it’s pretty damn freeing.

What’s more, I’m proud AF of the fact that we have handled Clara’s loss in a way that Silas feels comfortable bringing it up over buttered noodles in a very public forum. That tells me that despite our unimaginable grief, we have kept our experience with losing Clara from being pushed into the corners. It is not a taboo subject in our home. This not only feels like the healthiest way to handle it with our children, but it feels like the best way to honor her.

We will talk about her. She is part of our family. And, just like I told Silas tonight, it’s totally normal to feel sad about her not being here.

I feel sad about it every day.

But, I also feel happy every single day about having him, and Daddy, and Caiden in my life.

Life is dark and light. It is gains and losses, gratitude and regret.

And while tact and timing are social lessons that he will need to learn, I hope that he can continue to live a life with no dark and dusty corners.

…I also hope he continues to sweetly destroy anyone who tries to knock him down.

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December Reflections Day 17 – Five Years Ago

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Silas,

Five years ago you were just where you are this morning, albeit a good deal smaller, and on the inside of me, instead of the outside.
As we approach your 5th birthday, only 4 months away, with your first year of school following quickly behind, I have been doing a lot of reflecting lately on just how much you’ve grown. I am proud of you every day. Proud of your inquisitive spirit and your kind and thoughtful heart. Proud of your impeccable sense of humor and your willingness to learn when you make a mistake.

I know that you won’t always want to snuggle in my lap, occupying that same space, relative to my body, that I will always identify as belonging to you. So, I do my best to soak in these moments, and mark them on my heart. I love you, my precious boy. ❤
Love,
Mommy

The New Family – When Your Mom Comes Out

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I had the GREAT pleasure to spend some time chatting with Brandie Weikle over at The New Family, and my episode went live today! Have a listen on your commute home tonight and remember

YOU ARE ENOUGH.

Listen to the podcast directly on the site, or find them on iTunes, SoundCloud, Stitcher, and various other platforms!

Dear Mamas…

Dear Mamas,
You are not alone. Ever.
Love,
Me, and all of Us
PostpartumProgress.org

Dear Donald…

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Dear Donald,
This is my 4 year old son, Silas. I’m raising him to respect women and to treat them the way he wants to be treated (crazy, I know). You guys have so much in common. Sometimes I ask him for a bedtime kiss… oh wait, let me just explain that “ask” thing real quick. You see, as humans we get to enjoy this thing called Bodily Autonomy, which basically means that our bodies belong to us and no one can touch or manipulate them without our consent. It’s the reason rape is a definite no-no, and also why I can’t harvest your organs to save the lives of people who need them, and let’s face it, who are probably a lot nicer than you are. Anyways, sometimes I ask my son for a bedtime kiss and he says “Ewwww! Nasty!” Just thought you’d enjoy hearing from someone else who occasionally thinks women are nasty… my 4 year old.