It’s Ok to Viciously Attack Women Online, so Long as They Are Liberal

Oh wait, I’m sorry…they call us ‘leftists’ now.

Longtime Republican and actress Stacey Dash tweeted her support for Gov. Mitt Romney this week and was, as is sadly typical of the internet, viciously attacked for her comments. She was called every name in the book from a ‘house negro’ to an ‘Uncle Tom’ and had her fair share of equally disgusting sexist barbs tossed her way as well. Things even went so far as a death threat (of sorts), something I am all too familiar with in my own online life.

Typically women’s groups rallied to her defense. Now, when I say women’s groups I mean ‘traditionally liberal, feminist’ women’s groups. Because that is what they do. Some would even say that is their ENTIRE PURPOSE- to point out sexism and racism and horrible, vile attacks on women so they can be exposed and, hopefully, STOPPED.

Even Sandra Fluke, the Georgetown law student also attacked for her political views, tweeted her support for Dash.

Now I’m going to write some things that are certainly not going to win me any popularity points with the Right…but I no longer care. I’m disgusted at their behavior and disgusted at their bandwagon care for women.

Yes, I said ‘bandwagon care for women.’ 

You see, the internet exploded with conservatives voicing their support for Dash…and rightfully so. The internet exploded with liberals ALSO voicing their support for Dash…and rightfully so. What never happens, ever, is when a liberal woman is attacked does the internet explode with both sides showing their support for the liberal woman.

As far as the Right is concerned, liberal women get what they deserve. Be it attacks of the most vile nature, be it relentless sexist, racist, homophobic slurs. Be it death threats against these women or their children.

Liberal women, as evidenced by the lack of support from the Right, are not worth defending and apparently should be left for dead.

The Right is silent when the same types of attacks are launched at liberal women. And when NOT silent, they join in on these attacks.

Yet when a Right leaning woman is attacked, all hell breaks loose and suddenly they are all feminists. Staunch Republicans are shocked and beside themselves that this sort of vile behavior happens online. They rally support for the victim and blame every liberal for the attack.

Now, we all know there are lunatics online. We all know there are trolls. And make NO mistake- the people attacking Dash are lunatics and trolls. They are NOT surrogates of the campaign. They are NOT pundits. They are NOT television hosts, radio hosts, or even prominent bloggers. They are NOT elected officials. They are lunatics and TROLLS.

That does not make the attacks any less vile or sick. 

But let’s compare that to attacks on liberal woman. Attacks that HAVE come from surrogates of campaigns, pundits, television hosts, radio hosts, prominent bloggers, elected officials and yes, lunatics and trolls.

I am exhausted by all of this. I am exhausted that I can work 24/7 to combat sexism online against women of ALL political parties and have bi-partisan support when a Republican woman is attacked, yet have ONLY progressive support when a liberal woman is attacked.

I am exhausted that when I tell the story of getting death threats online, of my children being threatened…their blood threatened to be splattered across their school playground…I am told by a right-wing Fox News pundit to go play my violin. Yet that SAME right-wing Fox News pundit is now championing the defense of Dash and the vile attacks against her.

Tell me, if my daughter acts like a good little lady, all GOP’d out and nice…will she then be defended if attacked?

Her tea cup is bigger than her head #allhailhala

But if she goes ‘leftist’ like her mother, will she be ignored and will the Right pile on?

This is not a political game. This is not how we score political points…off the backs of women who are risking their lives and the lives of their children to speak out and speak up. Women who believe so fiercely in making the world a better place that, like Dash and like myself, we stand up to those attacking and keep speaking out and speaking up.

All while the Right uses it only as an opportunity. Because that is clearly the ONLY thing they are about-opportunities. They do not truly care about women or children. They care about winning and scoring points. As evidence by what they do when faced with one of their own under attack and someone who’s not one of their own under similar attacks.

They are nothing more than opportunistic vultures doing what politicians have done since the beginning of time: whore their own for power, no matter what the cost. Sacrificing the women and children first and showing, time and time again, they really do not care about them at all…only using them as a means to the end.

Meanwhile, the rest of us will be fighting for those women. Yes, even the ones on the Right. Because we actually walk the walk and BELIEVE in equality and BELIEVE all women should be defended when attacked, not just the ones who declare their vote for Romney.

We also believe in our President, with two daughters of his own, who has a record on women’s issues that shows he too walks the walk.

So let the lip service to Romney, Dash, and their fake concern for women on the Right continue. The rest of us will be here…still…doing the real work behind the scenes. Again. And again. And again.

Lost in a Sea of Sunflowers

A year ago today I lost my Aunt.

She shouldn’t have died. She wasn’t supposed to die.

Hala and Aunt Georgiann

She got sick, the doctors fixed her, but for some reason…she just didn’t want to live.

I don’t understand why.

She lived alone. She went to mass every Sunday. She hated learning email and would still send me long, handwritten letters telling me about the weather in Michigan. How the leaves were changing, how she was planning a trip with her friends/cousins. How she wished we could see each other more often.

We sent each other sunflowers a lot. For no good reason. Birthdays and what not, sure…but every so often we just sent each other sunflowers.

I don’t understand why she’s not here.

My Dad thinks in many ways she lived very much like a nun. She had her rosaries and her mass schedule and as far as we know did not date or have any interest in dating.

I’d ask her now.

Before I just let her be her. Now I have so many questions. Mainly because I don’t understand why she’s not here.

The doctors needed her to push herself to recover. She had no interest. She could have recovered with therapy, and will. Or so I am told.

In her last days my other Aunt held the phone to her ear for me. I did all the things someone would do knowing this was the last time they would talk to them. The I love yous. The so many I love yous. But I also told her to get up. To do what the doctor’s said. Why wasn’t she?

I don’t think, by then, she could hear anyone. And my health meant that in the months and weeks prior I couldn’t have traveled to try and get her out of bed.

And so I sit here tonight, with the clock ticking away, thinking about the people in my life that could be gone tomorrow. How I just can’t bear losing anyone else. Yet I know I will.

There are so many things I don’t understand right now. So many moments that are slipping past that will never, ever be given again. And this anniversary just reminds me that an entire year has gone by of those moments. An entire year.

Have I made each moment worth it? Have I given of myself to each person in my life as fully as I can give…so that when their time comes, they want to fight and get out of bed? Or will they want to simply be done with it all, for reasons I can’t begin to understand.

I’m selfish. Horribly selfish. I want them all to fight their hardest for me. Because they want more time with me. One more hug. One more sunflower.

Yet I know, deep down, I can’t make sense or let go even after a year. And yes, I know the old saying and I know I have to let go…but I can’t. It’s not right. It doesn’t make sense. And I am not ready. I didn’t get to say hello enough, let alone goodbye. Goodbye over the phone from 3,000 miles away while she was in a vegetative state does not count.

I bought a new rosary in her honor for this anniversary. I’m not practicing, but she was my confirmation sponsor and gave me almost every rosary I own. I feel like the least I can do is to light a candle and say her prayers. Maybe I will add one to the collection every year. To remind me that life is too short. That people we love deeply can be gone so quickly, and almost without warning.

Even more importantly, to remind me that those I have with me now deserve joy and love and everything the world has to offer so they always want to stay right here. I can even lose my selfishness and understand that here does not need to be with me. So long as here means in this world.

As much as my body aches and as hard as things get, there is no place I would rather be. But maybe it’s because I have seen the other side for myself. It’s cold and lonely and horrible. This side has love and a place where you can always bury your head to cry, or lips that are always there to be kissed. It has laughter. It has warmth.

It means I order extra photos at Christmas time because she would want them, and of course then I would order too many and my husband would roll his eyes and shake his head at the money I wasted. But I had to make sure she got enough. And I did learn over the years to just order hers separate, because making him happy and making myself look smart is never a bad thing.

It means I crave moments with my children, almost creating them as we sing silly songs or point out the wildflowers on the side of the road.

It means I lay my head on my pillow every single night with an I love you and I go to bed with my husband at the same time, even if I get up moments later because I am not tired or feeling well. Because those moments matter too much.

It means I see sunflowers everywhere right now. They are bright and beautiful.

And I want desperately to share them.

 

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Basketball Jones

I’ve never had to hold inside this much excitement in my life.

Go ahead and laugh.

It’s such a small, small deal in the course of things…but I am so, so, so excited I can’t contain myself and I KNOW I am setting myself up for total disappointment here.

You see, my daughter has decided to play basketball. I know, not a big deal, right?

Wrong.

I played basketball. And I don’t mean I played basketball as in- when I was a kid I dabbled in basketball- I mean from about 4th grade on I devoted every summer and fall and winter and I’m pretty sure parts of spring to nothing but basketball practice and games.

By the time I entered high school I had been playing for TWO teams (my public school junior high and the catholic school’s team) and made Varsity as a freshman. And eventually started. As a freshman.

So you get what I mean when I say I played basketball then, right?

There is a pee-wee team just starting out at our tiny little school and I asked my daughter, as casually as I could muster, if she wanted to try it out.

#allhailhala wants to ride today cc: @aaronvest

She said yes.

I made sure.

She said yes.

I gave her every out imaginable.

She still said yes.

Practice starts tomorrow. They play four games total. I’m fairly certain I’m more excited than she is and I’m fairly certain I’m going to have to sit on my hands and put duct tape over my mouth on the bleachers.

Hey…maybe that’s a good strategy for Republicans and my mouth!

Anyway…like I said. Practice starts tomorrow. Wish us luck.

Actually, wish her luck. Wish me Xanax.

…In Dreams You Will Lose Your Heartache

Thank you Disney and a special friend who made our weekend possible. Yes, I toured the park in my wheelchair, and once again Disney’s service to myself and my family was second to none.

It remains on my bucket list to be in full remission and to take a DisneyWorld trip sans wheelchair, however if you are disabled, these are the parks for you. The staff is knowledgable on those who can transfer out of their wheelchair to walk a short distance and those who must stay in, or those who can not transfer from their chairs at all. You can also stop in at City Hall on Main Street USA and request special instructions for those with disabilities and even special passes for those with children with autism, Tourette’s, OCD, etc who may have a hard time waiting in long lines. Come with a note from your doctor, just in case, or your handicap info.

But on to the good stuff!!! Some highlights for you:

Count Waffles was THE HIT of Halloweentime – everyone stopped him to take photos with him. He was BEAMING with all the attention the clearly awesome costume brought. He couldn’t believe tourists wanted their photos with HIM. But look at this guy…who wouldn’t?

He's loving all the attention - best costume ever!!! #halloweentime

His sister, on the other hand, was pouting slightly that her ladybug costume (planned to go with his venus fly trap) wasn’t garnering tourist photos…but the bags of chocolate made up for it.

Time to trick or treat!!!!!  #halloweentime

Then there was MY favorite part of the trip…the new Carsland at Disney’s California Adventure. Can I just say OMG?!!!!!! I can’t even put into words how awesome of a job they did. Ok, maybe I am biased because this was the first movie we ever took our kids to…on Father’s Day. At the El Capitan in Hollywood. But, if you ever wanted to stroll down the street with the rest of the Cars in Radiator Springs, you can REALLY DO IT AT Carsland.

This is AMAZING!!!! @disneyland #carsland

With Carsland conquered (we all won the Piston Cup, btw) and my body having had enough- It was time to do what I do best at Disney…soak in the fun with my family and just watch them do things that make them grin from ear to ear.

There are these moments that just don’t come all the time, especially when your husband is always upset by traffic and his commute, the kids are always busy with homework and now sports schedules. and getting healthy for me has become a full time job…with nothing but treatment and doctor appointment after doctor appointment. always seem to make me smile, no matter how horrible I might be feeling.

A wish is a dream your heart makes #halloweentime

…and the perfect night lights to make sure you sleep well. Afterall, a dream IS a wish your heart makes…and boy, do I have some dreams right now.

The nightlight for the kids makes me actually cry happy tears. @disneyland

*disclosure, we were given media passes to attend the events at Disneyland and comp’d a hotel room for one night. Disney has given us Halloween media tickets for many, many years running and we haven’t missed one yet. I would BUY these tickets on my own to attend, we genuinely love it that much. In other words, all opinions are here are true.

CONVENT

I know we joke about it from time to time at our house, but recent events are actually making me consider sending my seven-year old to a convent.

Stop laughing.

Somewhere in Florida my mom is cackling.

As if it weren’t bad enough that my darling daughter was embarrassed to have me take her and pick her up from a friend’s birthday party this past weekend, she also has decided I know NOTHING about fashion, and she knows everything.

I hear this ‘knows everything’ thing gets worse with time, by the way.

You see she actually needed jeans for horseback riding and new boots. So we began the hunt long ago, with me picking out what I thought were some really cute and damn cool boots.

Apparently whatever I think is cute and damn cool is just the opposite.

So she picked out her own, with me zipping my mouth shut tight. Ok, maybe I didn’t zip that tight. I TOLD her the pointy ones would pinch her toes. She didn’t care.

I told her how dusty and dirty the black pair would get while riding on the ranch and wouldn’t  brown make more sense?

…bad move Mom. You know what that wins you? That wins you a daughter who orders EVERYTHING in black.

#allhailhala wants to ride today cc: @aaronvest

Like I said…CONVENT. Anyone know a good one?

Press Pause

Even miracles take a little time. – The Fairy GodMother, Cinderella

Morning love

There is a Lupus walk this weekend for our Lupus charity of choice, but our family won’t be there.

Don’t get me wrong. I would love for you to donate to the Lupus Foundation of America. They rock. They rock hard. And whenever we can, we send them money. We also encourage our friends and family to walk, donate…do what they can. Just this past weekend my beloved in-laws walked in my honor in Fayetteville, North Carolina’s walk. It was emotional for me.

We support the Lupus Foundation 110% and I’m even working to get members of Congress to join the Lupus Caucus at the foundation’s urging.

With that said, there are times my family and I just need to forget the hell that is what we have been through. Come Monday, I will be back in treatment, so we can never forget for long. But there is always a walk. There are always donations needed. There is always the constant reminder that our lives have changed.

So this time around, we’re not going. Aaron isn’t running. In fact, he’s run in one Lupus related 5k just after my diagnosis but that’s it.

Regardless, we’ve decided to spend this weekend at Disneyland. This is one of those times where I’m lucky to be a blogger, and have been invited to check out Mickey’s Halloween Party for what will be the… 5th? 6th? year in a row? Could it possible be that long? And then we’ll stay, as guests of Disney, so the following day we can check out the new Carsland. And then we’ll stay again, as guests of a friend, so we don’t have to brave Carmageddon 2 and can lounge by the monorail themed pool and then eat some Mickey shaped waffles for breakfast…in bed of course, as I am the Queen of all things room service.

Part of living with a chronic illness is understanding it’s chronic. That means I refuse to be Lupus 24/7 and my family shouldn’t have to feel obligated to walk every single walk or be at every single Lupus related event.

Yes, it’s very important to us. Yes, I want to raise as much awareness as possible. But I think I do a good job of doing my fair share.

I also think we’re allowed to take a break, just once in a while, from the drumbeat of illness. Never fear, I’ll be back with an IV in my arm on Monday. It won’t last long.

But until then…please, just until then…give me my rest. Let me pretend. Let me make-believe in a place made for make-believe.

Let me dress as a pirate and giggle with my fake bottle of rum and whistle for the dog to bring the keys to unlock the cell. Let my children laugh and jump with excitement as the fireworks blast overhead, begging to have cotton candy for dinner and  turkey leg for lunch. Let my husband find joy in the smiles of his family as we plot Splash Mountain vs Big Thunder Mountain Railroad and experience Radiator Springs for the first time.

Think of all the joy you’ll find when you leave the world behind and bid your cares goodbye. – Peter Pan

One Small Step for Boy, One Giant Leap for Tourette Syndrome

I made cake all by myself and homemade icing...#proud

My son has gone back and forth about wanting to talk about his ‘ticks.’

That’s what we call his Tourette’s and OCD in our house. They are simply known as ‘my ticks, Mom’ or ‘…because of my anxiety.’

So when a writing assignment came along in school this week- very innocently, just the usual daily few sentences with a writing prompt to get them going- he froze.

He tells me some kids were writing about beating bosses on video games. Something he has done over and over again and is very proud of.

He tells me some kids were writing about no longer being afraid of spiders, or in the case of one kid, getting ‘bumped’ by a shark.

You gotta love 4th graders.

And there sat my son, debating with himself back and forth and back and forth if he should tell his teacher or his class or anyone that every single day he battles and overcomes all the zigs and zags of his brain. His brilliant, sensitive, amazing brain that causes him to (currently) do everything in ‘3s’ and mutter the last word of a sentience under his breath three times or hand wash and hand wash and hand wash or hand wash.

His ticks come and go with his anxiety level and he can control them very well with all the tools from our therapist. His ticks also change constantly. Sometimes they rotate and a new tick I’ve never noticed before is suddenly very prominent while another has faded. Some fade and never return. Others seem to be on a regular rotation. Regardless, he handles them with more grace and ease than any child should have to and he has zero shame or embarrassment.

At least, he didn’t. Until he began to mature and realize not everyone does what he does. Not everyone flaps their hands and jumps up and down while playing a video game, simply because it’s exciting. Not everyone covers their ears during a school play, because the cheers are too loud. Not everyone cries while looking out the window of an airplane, simply because the earth below is so beautiful.

Not everyone would take an in-class writing prompt home, so he could talk to his Mom about whether he should tell everyone he has Tourette’s.

I think they should know, but I’m not ready to really talk about it. I don’t want to give them a speech or anything. But maybe they won’t bug me so much then.

My stomach did a flip.

What do you mean ‘bug you’… has anyone said anything?

Well no, not really. But you know my friends they don’t care but some of the other kids might look at me and think I’m weird. You know Mom, I know I’m a wimp.

You are not a wimp. Why would you say that?

Well, I don’t mean that like a bad thing. I like video games and I’m not into like sports and stuff. And I’m a geeky wimp kind of kid, not like a kid that pushes other kids outside and plays those games where you punch arms and stuff.

There are LOTS of kids at your school like you buddy. LOTS. It’s great to have all kinds of friends and maybe it’s time to find some more of those kids that are like you.

But if I tell them about my ticks, they might think I’m even more weird.

Or maybe, they will better understand you and like you even more for who you are. But you can still write about anything you want honey. Anything.

…and he gets up and does this thing he does…his running from our front door to our back door. Something he just does that I’m sure is a tick, but we’re so used to it that it doesn’t register. He’s thinking. This is how he thinks. Sprints in my living room. Always having to touch the door a certain number of times. Always needing to ‘balance’ it out with exact same number of touches on the opposite wall.

Mom, I’m going to write it, but I’m not going to write a lot. My teacher might be the only one who sees it anyway, but maybe not. And maybe someone will ask me what I wrote. But I don’t want them to know too much. I will just write one thing about what I overcame and that’s it.

Pride

..and with that one thing, he took one very big step.

47%, a Mother, & Damn Proud

When you basically tell a mother, fighting for her children to stay fed and warm and with a roof over their heads, that they are moochers…or feel ‘entitled’ to handouts…yeah, you better believe the claws come out.

I sat here tonight thinking about all the people in my life and how hard they work, or have worked, over the years. My parents. My friends. My husband. Myself.

How many years of paying into the system that was supposed to be there for us when needed. It wasn’t supposed to be there for us with the promise of ‘shame’ and ’embarrassment…’ no, it was just supposed to be there. There was no shame or embarrassment in working hard and taking your money back out.

But don’t tell that to Mitt Romney, Paul Ryan, and the rest of the gang who has somehow turned the typical American dream into a nation of victims, expecting government to care for them at every turn.

Sigh.

Then I stopped and thought about how many of those people in my life, at one point or another, used a government program to give them a boost, or provide them a safety net, or even just furnished their fridge with some food when times were tough.

Parents on Medicare and Social Security. Grandparents on the same, along with a pension. Myself having once collected short-term disability from the State of California and now having applied for Social Security disability benefits.

Friends and their children on state programs to make sure they have vaccinations and well-checks. Formula. Diapers.

Other friends who used Pell grants and student loans to enter higher paying jobs. You know, the kind of jobs that are now supporting their families, have gotten them off all assistance, and have put them in a position to give back to their communities and put money into the economy.

And then there are those I know and love who have made the ultimate deal with the government and entered the government’s ultimate program: to serve their country in uniform in exchange for many programs unavailable to the rest of our citizens.

I’m not sure where this entire idea about government programs are all ‘bad’ came from. I’m not sure how or why those who use them are moochers or freeloaders or undeserving entered the public discourse, but I can tell you this…it’s all bullshit. All of it.

You may have some tiny percentage of people who abuse the system. Why they are the stereotype, I also have no idea. Why that is what is stuck in some conservatives minds as the ‘real’ 47% is beyond me when every stat shows otherwise…but I can’t convince crazy. They are, however, very fond of saying ‘oh but not you Erin…not people like you, either.’

Bullshit.

Because statistically, it’s allllllll people like me. The disabled. The ones who need temporary help. The ELDERLY.

Just recently, I was finally approved for long-term disability through my private insurance. We began this process in November. As part of this ‘deal’ I’ve also agreed to use the lawyers provided to me by said private insurance so they can now deal with the Social Security Administration on my behalf. You see, they don’t want to pay me…they would much rather the federal government forked over the dough.

Best.letter.ever After nearly a YEAR of fighting!!!!!!

I’m sure this somehow also lowers me in the eyes of the holier-than -thou conservative who think government shouldn’t be taking care of me. Never mind that in order to even get the money I put in out of every paycheck, this is what I need to do…none of that seems to matter…what matters to them is these are THEIR tax dollars and apparently since I am currently not putting into that system, I’m a freeloader for taking out.

I’ve gotten nasty emails about taking my kids out to dinner. I’ve gotten tweets asking where I got the money to buy a nice handbag. I’ve even gotten Facebook messages wondering how someone publicly discussing her attempts to get her mortgage modified and having a mountain of medical debt has the audacity to take her children to Disneyland.

It seems that the moment you have accepted any sort of government help, the citizens of said country believe it is their business to manage your family’s budget.

I could tell you all about what gifts I have received or what family has paid for. I could tell you what we’ve saved for in order to provide treats here and there for the kids or myself. I could even tell you what has arrived in the mail, generously, from wonderful friends.

But I don’t feel I need to explain. Nor do I feel it is your right to know. For all you know, I spent every single dime that came to me via the government on something entirely frivolous just to piss you off. And as far as you all know, that is my choice.

In a way, I wish I had, because the outrage has made me just angry enough to do it…and I could use a nice pair of $4k heels.

Instead, I find myself reminding people my husband is still gainfully employed and my current check comes from a private insurance company…but then I get mad I even said that. Even wanting to tell people that is bullshit. It may be none of your damn business but you sure have made me feel like I need to justify things. Something. Anything. All because of this utterly insane notion that somehow, somewhere down the road, it became un-American to accept help. It became un-American to pay into a system and then retrieve that money from the system.

But what is worse…what is even more insulting…is that somehow they have made me feel as though I didn’t work for what I have. That my father didn’t work for what he has. And that all of my friends and family and loved ones are not currently doing all they can to simply provide for their kids and their parents and wouldn’t choose work over taking help any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

Do you think I ENJOY Lupus? Do you think I ENJOY collecting my disability check so I can sit on my ass and receive treatment and NOT be able to travel and rule the motherfucking world as God intended me to?

Shame on you Mitt Romney. Shame on you Paul Ryan. Shame on you fellow conservatives for emotionally and mentally abusing so many of us who have worked, wanted to work, or tried to work. For publicly shaming anyone down on their luck, looking for compassion, looking for just a little bit of understanding and love.

I always knew politics was ugly. But never in my life did I think a group of people would stoop so low as to kick those who are down. Never in my life did I think those wealthy and those in power would laugh and spit on the poor. Never, ever in my life did I think you would treat a mother, this mother, with anything but respect for doing all she could to take care of her family. For doing all she could to get herself healthy so she could work again. For doing all she could to make sure she never had to take any money, from anyone. EVER.

Perhaps family and love and compassion means something a bit different to Democrats than it does Republicans these days. Perhaps you see dollar signs and we see people. You see deficits and we see a table in need of food. You see tax hikes and we see a child in need of books.

You see the entitled and the victims and the 47%…and we simply see Americans.

Damn proud Americans.