I'm bad at asking--and especially bad at asking for money--so just sitting with this for a bit.
I'm bad at asking--and especially bad at asking for money--so just sitting with this for a bit.
We're back tomorrow, but it has been a nice break from winter and the ordinary. It occurs to me that while the length of our trips without the kids (usually 2-4 days) hasn't changed, our childcare givers have moved from grandparents > paid sitters > friends > (and currently) our young adult child.
Rooftop fireplace, drinks, appetizers, and then back to watch the SOTU--a buzzkill with how things are in the country/world. While I don't agree with Pres. Biden on things (don't extra fund the police, cancel student debt!) his kindness is solid. I noticed today when he was talking about the seventh grader with diabetes, he said the child needed insulin to stay healthy--not that he needs it to stay alive (the child was right there and it was gentler). And he gave another shoutout to the LGBTQ community and trans kids, which made me cry. Kindness after cruelty will do that to me.
But I've been yearning for one of those all-out bashes that used to happen--usually planned and hosted by someone else. That hasn't happened in years. Some of is the pandemic, sure--but some of it is just that we're in a different stage of our lives.
Facebook kindly reminded me with this post from twelve years ago when my friends L and J postponed a vacation they were planning to take because it fell in my birthday week. The mayhem of comments that ensued with everyone jumping in with recommendations, some weird references to Tom Hanks's birthday, my London friends threatening to gatecrash, and Sunny Singh (the author Sunny Singh) giving me sage advice on partying all month long made me chuckle.
I've been talking to L more since this reminder popped up and reconnecting with others too. And much as I resent Facebook for its manipulative ways, I'd completely forgotten about this interlude until it reminded me. What a sweet memory from a more innocent past.
The courage of the attitude that Ilya Kaminsky shares in his tweet... the courage, the hope, the beauty, and--what Hindi speakers would call--the sheer dil [heart] of it is simply breathtaking.
I'm not gonna lie--after the accident yesterday, I wanted to just cancel it all and stay home and worry about the war in Ukraine, racism against refugees, the poor deer, and my Bluey. But this morning I woke and decided I did NOT want to think about anything on that beyond-my-control list. So Nu and I bundled up and walked to the museum, met up with CF, and spent a satisfying couple of hours together transformed by--and transcendent with--art.
The picture is of Detroit-based artist Beverly Fishman's piece "Recovery". I love how the angles of the work play on some of the unusual angles of this Zaha Hadid building (a little bit of which is visible in my pic). And I loved, loved this part of the artist's statement: "The notion of recovery is central to the experience of the exhibition. In the face of a global pandemic, along with the ever-pressing need for wider social, racial, and environmental reckonings in the United States and abroad, it is all the more important for people to seek out moments of solace."
So that happened. Then CF went and got their car while Nu and I ordered the pizza. Then we got home and hung out and petted puppies and Nu took a nap and CF helped me find the VIN number on Bluey and take more pictures for the insurance company. I didn't have the energy for a whole ass movie, but we watched three episodes of Abbott Elementary (so about the average run time it would take to watch a whole ass movie, ha) but its wry teaching humor fit better than a more serious reckoning with the world.
I'm still in recovery mode.
So in comparison, I guess we got off really lightly--Nu and I are fine, and I hope the deer who jumped out at us as we were on our way back from book club at RS's is fine too. There's no blood, and I hope that's a good sign. (Please don't tell me any different. I've never so much as run over a frog before, so this thing is nightmarish. My mind keeps replaying the second the deer landed in front of us and has me wishing I had been able to swerve harder.) As Nu said, if we'd left a few seconds earlier or later, things would be different. Both of us romanticize/anthropomorphize deer and get silly about them, so we've both been pretty down since it happened.
My poor Bluey, too, is so not fine. To make matters worse, Big A is away for work until Monday and only on the phone, so I'm just feeling extra alone in my guilt and misery.
Hung out with bestie KB, whom I just adore, today... We usually walk, but today we went to a museum and had lunch and went shopping and book browsed and caught a movie and... just hung out all day... like we were playing hooky from school.
And we were talking about how when we were young things just seemed to be getting better--you know? The Berlin Wall fell, Nelson Mandela was released from prison, hate was considered to be evil... and today there's war everywhere and bombs dropping on Ukraine.
But being around KB is a balm. And now I have this song stuck in my head.
Pic: Here I am at the Joseph Tisiga Scarecrow Exhibit.
I'm sitting here with heartbreak and a bit of survivor guilt (we considered jobs in Texas earlier this winter), knowing I must do everything I can to fight this because as every study has repeatedly shown, compassion and gender-affirming care is suicide prevention for kids at a vulnerable time in their lives.
And I will fight this with every activist intersection I have as educator, child advocate, parent, and parent of a non-binary/trans teen.
It's unbelievable how hostile and inhospitable so much of the USA is to trans kids. You'd think that in the THIRD year of a global PANDEMIC, people would focus on medical initiatives that are life-affirming and life-saving instead of needless cruelty.
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And then we kept calling it our "own sleepover."
Although, you know, we're married and all. We took turns checking on the comfort and safety of the original sleepover kids, watched two whole movies, did some puzzles, and then finally went to sleep (in our regular bedroom) around 2 am. We really miss each other when he's off at work.
When I took a break from ushering to go check on them, they were in the middle of a snowball fight. [I love how all the too-cool teens look like little kids in this picture.] It's a bit of a dilemma between encouraging autonomy and overcoming inertia every time the 14-year-old doesn't want to do something that I think they will enjoy or would be good for their general well being.
I was hanging out with Big A (and hence) watching the NBA all-star game and was surprised how much the glimpses of Vanessa Bryant and Magic Johnson moved me and reminded me how life can change in an instant. [All these deep thoughts probably because I wasn't really following the game.] Then I made Big A laugh when I wondered aloud if Colin Kapernick could play basketball. I mean he deserves a more progressive league than the NFL. And... I just looked it up on the internet and it turns out that he's pretty good at basketball, actually.
Three different fin de siècles, three sets of American characters who may or may not be connected, so many threads to pull and reincarnations and alternative narratives to ponder. [Something I noticed and may want to build on for a paper/lesson is the way race--with all of its messy margins--is noted. I particularly appreciated how it carefully mentioned when a character was white instead of assuming that everyone was white unless characterized otherwise.]
So yes--very preoccupied with reading at the moment. But also got a ton of student work, a women's month meeting, and misc. followup done. Not much sabbatical work to report, but: Nu got into the AP World History class they wanted; I fell asleep on the massage table and woke up feeling heavenly; it's the puppies' Boss Day so there're strips of turkey bacon in the microwave; At stopped by to pick up some mail and we got in some hugs; and Big A is ordering in Sushi for our dinner.
The chickens Nu and L got have begun to lay eggs, or so I hear.
Nu: [Scrubbing chicken eggs in the kitchen sink.]
Me: Those look muddy, did your chickens lay them in the dirt?
Nu: [Looks blankly at me] It's poopy, Mom!
Me: Wait! The eggs come out of their poop hole?!
Big A: [To me] Yes, Puppy! Chickens just have the one cloaca.
Nu: Oh! That's how you say it? I thought it was "cluck-a."
Me: I didn't know any of this.
Big A: I'm still learning new things about you.
Fin.
Oh, 2026... thank you for getting my hopes up. New York has its most progressive and charming mayor, also first democratic socialist, Muslim...