May 12, 2008

My daughter is begging to take ballet classes.

While yes, I took them once upon a time too…I really would rather she play a sport.

Go ahead…yell at me for saying that because you think dancing is a sport-not going to argue. I am just thinking a more ‘traditional’ sport like soccer or basketball or baseball. You get the idea.

However she really wants to put on a tutu and twirl around and be ‘beautiful’

Ugh.

I know. I know. I KNOW-I am as girlie as they come too.

I KNOW.

But then I see the new round of WNBA commercials and I want my tiny Princess to kick some ass in the paint.

Projecting these feelings, even just these expectations, anywhere near my children is dangerous. And I know better.

But damned if I  don’t get excited thinking of her taking down a few boys in a pick up game.

Sigh.

She’s 3.

And I am obviously crazy.

So in the morning when registration opens for summer classes, I’m going to enroll my daughter in ‘Princess Ballet’ and watch her spin and curtsy.

I’m going to smile.

I’m going to not-so-secretly hope she hates it.

I’m going to take her to a WNBA game.

I’m going to remember she is not me and I am not her.

I’m going to go buy her ballet slippers and a tutu and a wand.

I’m going to avoid the pink basketballs.

…at least this time.

May 11, 2008

*crossposted at BlogHer.com

My mother has never been the most political person in our family. Pregnant with me at 18-years of age, her life was preoccupied with things like bassinets and receiving blankets instead of the economy and war.

However it was my mother who wrote the note to my high school principal on MY 18th birthday excusing me from class so I could go register to vote.

It was also my mother who encouraged me to get involved in anything and everything regardless of what our Catholic neighborhood shunned or what our relatives said.

She has always voted, but it has been this election that has her arguing back at my aunt who calls to rag on Democrats or my uncle who makes fun of the candidates. It is this election she rings me during the ABC debate to YELL about flagpins and other ‘really stupid’ questions.

I LOVE that my Mom calls to talk about the election much more vocally than she has EVER done. More importantly, she is CONFIDENT in what she says and debates.

Makes me proud.

My mother’s political influence has always been one of support for my beliefs and has turned into a dual education on policy and issues. Her political world has been expanded by mine, but I am reminded at how very different our 18th birthdays were-and how far we’ve come.

As part of ACORN’s ‘I Remember Mama Voting’ project BlogHers and others are weighing in this Mother’s Day.

Contributing Editor Kim Pearson writes, “But the most important political lessons were about my African legacy. She showed me South Africa, told me about apartheid, and said, ‘Always remember, we will never be free until South Africa is free.’ She introduced me to real Africans, made sure I read about the new countries emerging, and about their efforts to press their cause at the United Nations. All of this while we tracked each success and failure of the civil rights struggle, and talked about whether black women had any business getting involved in feminism.”

Contributing Editor Suzanne Reisman says, “My mom is not as involved in political causes as I am, but my family has always been Democrats surrounded by a Republican community. I just always knew that Republicans were not for us, although when I was older, I remember overhearing my father telling our neighbor a bizarre joke about my mom voting for Ronald Reagan because she thought Jimmy Carter had bad legs. I was utterly horrified at the thought. How could my mom vote for a Republican?!?! Fortunately, when I asked her about it, she had no idea what I was talking about, but it was my first exposure to the stereotypical notion that women don’t vote on the issues, but rather on a candidate’s attractiveness. I thought that was the dumbest thing any woman could do, and swore I would follow my mom’s example and always vote for the candidate who would help ‘the people.’ Thanks, Mom!”

Contributing Editor Catherine Morgan writes, “I remember the first political discussion I ever had with my mother. We had been in a waiting room with many magazines, and I was too young to read any of them, but I did notice covers with horribly graphic photos of men at war. It happened to be towards the end of the Vietnam War, and I asked my mother, ‘Why is there war?’ She told me that people don’t want to be at war, the leaders of the countries make the wars. That was when I realized women were not in positions of political power. Then I said, ‘We should make women the leaders of all the countries in the world, and then there would never be any wars.’ My mother told me that sounded like a good idea, but it probably would never happen. My response was, ‘Then those men leaders who want a war, should fight it themselves.’ I didn’t understand then, and I still don’t understand today, how war solves any problems, neither does my mother.”

Rontun writes, “No, I don’t have any photographic evidence to prove that Satan’s inferno suddenly has been transformed into a winter wonderland, nor am I meaning to suggest that the threat of global warming has abated. But it’s evident to me that there has been a climate shift of cosmic proportions.

Let me explain. My mother, an octogenarian who’s voted Republican her entire life except in 1960 when she elected to support JFK because he shared her Roman Catholic faith, revealed to me on the telephone yesterday that she’s voting in Kentucky’s upcoming primary for Barack Obama!

This is no minor transformation, and it began as a direct consequence of the Bush administration’s war policies combined with the emergence in power of the evangelical community.”

L.K. Campbell says, “One of the biggest political arguments that I remember between Mama and Daddy happened during the 1972 presidential campaign. Daddy never voted for a Republican. If our German shepherd dog ran against the Republican incumbent, Lady would’ve gotten Daddy’s vote.
When he announced his intention to vote for George McGovern, Mama couldn’t believe it. Even though she was a registered Democrat, she was way too conservative to vote for McGovern.
‘You mean to tell me that you’re going to vote for that hippie-loving radical?’ she asked.”

Many of us in some way, shape, or form have been influenced by our mother’s or grandmother’s or stepmother’s or a friend’s mother’s political voice. Share your story this Mother’s Day-and don’t forget to vote.
Contributing Editor Erin Kotecki Vest also blogs at Queen of Spain blog.

May 10, 2008

Well, at least 178 of them do:

“On Wednesday afternoon, the House had just voted, 412 to 0, to pass H. Res. 1113, ‘Celebrating the role of mothers in the United States and supporting the goals and ideals of Mother’s Day,’ when Rep. Todd Tiahrt (R-Kan.), rose in protest.

‘Mr. Speaker, I move to reconsider the vote,’ he announced.

Rep. Kathy Castor (D-Fla.), who has two young daughters, moved to table Tiahrt’s request, setting up a revote.

This time, 178 Republicans cast their votes against mothers.”

They must have heard we’ve organized. They must have heard we’re kicking ass and taking names.

They must have heard we’ve caught wind of what the ORIGINAL Mother’s Day was all about:

Arise then…women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts!
Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly:

We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country,
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.
-First Stanza of The Mother’s Day Proclamation by Julia Ward Howe.

As part of the ‘Dreams of Our Mother’s” project over at MOMocrats I confess my dreams are being realized, as are my mother’s. Not only do we have a voice, but we are making a difference. And we are just. getting. started.

Which means my daughter, if she chooses to become a mother or not, will be even more empowered than her mother.

God Help You All.

Oh, and Rep. Todd Tiahrt, you are in luck. I’ll be in Kansas in a few weeks. Can’t wait to chat.

May 8, 2008

I spend too much time raiding windmills
We go side by side
Laughing until its right

Today my son and daughter romped through my front yard capturing and escaping each other. There were good guys and bad guys. There was talk of dragons. One of them requested a cape. The other a helmet and ’some super special power mom, that can lock the bad guys in the cage with super strength.’ Legions of ladybugs were plucked from my rose bushes and employed as baby bad guys.

It wasn’t long before chalky sidewalks and littered toys on the lawn signaled a tremendous amount of imagination and life had occurred right there as I watched.

Everything was an adventure. Everything sparked something else. From monsters to dinosaurs to princesses to robots.

Nothing was impossible, except the errant frustration of fastening a button or fixing a misplaced rock.

As an adult I can remember that feeling. I admit I get that feeling still.

I get excited.

I get emotional.

I get passionate.

Much like in childhood, these characteristics get me fleeting from shiny object to shiny object. I will swear to you I have never loved one like it before.

And I mean it.

Much like in childhood, reality can be dismissed while dreams are realized.

I spend a lot of time lately being introspective. Motherhood versus the reality of children and responsibility. Teaching the idea that anything is possible while tempering with slight cynicism.

All while I continue to invest myself in many dreams and countless shiny objects. Knowing and seeing the possibilities.

It makes me a rather difficult adult to deal with.

… couldn’t hold her…
Theres something that you wont show
Waiting where the light goes
And anyway the wind blows
Its all worth waiting for

The kids complained as I made them come inside this evening. The toys put away. The dirt washed off. Their minds, however, never stopped playing.

There is something to be said for that- the very idea that it doesn’t shut off.

There are things in life that need to be taken care of, baths and bills…clean up and turning in. Appointments. Laundry. Forms. Schedules. Obligations.

But it doesn’t shut off.

I spend too much time raiding windmills…

Maybe.

-windmills

May 6, 2008

I’m not really sure how to make up with my Hillary Clinton supporting friends.

I got damn mad at them. They got damn mad at me.

Even when we tried to be civil, we were gritting our teeth and muttering swear words.

I accused their candidate of turning GOP. Of dirty tricks. Of lies. Of stealing delegates. Of race baiting.

They called me a cult member said my candidate was inexperienced, a dreamer, filled with talk and no substance. They called my candidate unpatriotic and went after those in his past and present.

I got angry enough to spew very hate-filled speech post South Carolina.

I’m still not sorry.

I’m pretty sure they are not either.

So now what?

Do we hug it out? Because really-that’s all I have left.

I currently have nothing nice to say about what went on between the Clinton and Obama campaigns. I can’t yet blog about uniting the Clinton and Obama voters or give the ‘let’s all just go against McCain together’ pitch.

I still want to yell and scream.  I want the former President Bill Clinton to explain himself. I want Senator Clinton to tell me why she got so damn right winged in her fear-mongering rhetoric.

I realize those answers are not coming.

I realize we have to move forward to beat John McCain.

But I have NOTHING to get us moving on this immediately.

Except hug.

Weak? Maybe.

But trust me I’ve gone through every option I can think of -it’s all I have got.

You know how you have those crazy relatives in your family you will never, EVER agree with and fight with all the time? You get SOOOOO MAD at the things they do, yet…they are family. And somehow you hug and move on.

I’m hugging my HRC supporting friends because I don’t know what else to do.

And I really don’t want to kick them.

Or do I?

I do. I still want to kick them.

But I won’t.

Free hugs.

Who wants one?