I’m not comfortable and it’s not easy to call an entire group of people racist. Very rarely is an entire group of people *anything* … however I’m firmly standing behind the NAACP as it moves to condemn elements of the Tea Party movement.

Not because I think every one in the Tea Party is racist. Not because I think the ones that are even REALIZE they are racist…and of course there are those attracted to the Tea Party because they are racist – but because we need to stand up and say enough is enough. Your ignorance does not get you off the hook.

When the Tea Party meme of the day is that the unemployed are lazy and undeserving of benefits, when they push ‘taking up arms’ to ‘take back the country’ and when they remain predominately white- with their bigoted signs and controversial slurs … enough is enough.

Show me a diverse Tea Party rally and I’ll reconsider. Show me a ‘leader’ of the movement that isn’t a white Christian and we’ll talk. Show me a gathering without racially charged, and 1st Amendment protected, signs and I might think the NAACP has gone to far. But no. Because that does not exist.

Today the First Lady promoted ‘Let’s Move‘ – an initiative aimed at fighting childhood obesity and promoting healthy lifestyles for kids. Guess who was up in arms? The Tea Party blew a gasket on Twitter and elsewhere because Mrs. Obama spoke in front of the NAACP. They talked about government interfering with their lives (“She cares more about if you feed your kid a Twinkie than killing them in the womb”) and then proceeded to mischaracterize her speech.

Of course her speech had nothing to do with the Tea Party or race and everything to do with eating right and exercise.

Why? Why would this predominately white group be so up in arms? Our Black First Lady just spoke to a Black organization and they assume it means whitey will be punished. Congresswoman Michele Bachmann recently said she feels like a ‘slave’ under this administration. Yes…she actually said that. These white folk are so afraid they are screaming about taking back their country.

Of course they deny this has anything to do with race. They are so ignorant they either don’t see it or they can’t bring themselves to admit it in mixed company. They complain that people like myself play the race card, when it’s been in their deck and plain as day for months now.

Yet it’s so amazingly obvious to anyone with common sense that the premier African-American organization in this country is calling the Tea Party out- loud and clear and under no uncertain terms.

Perhaps even if the Tea Party leaders are shocked and disgusted by this accusation, they should at the very least, take a look within. Would they consider working with the NAACP to rid their movement of perceived racism? Would they do minority outreach to show they really are more than a handful of people of color? Would they work to support issues important to people of color and perhaps acknowledge their white base has some learning to do?

I’m not holding my breath. A movement based on fear and hate, with elected leaders championing it’s rallying cry of victimhood and oppression, instead of educating themselves on history and the needs of anyone of color, can’t possibly see beyond their own, white goals.

I’m ashamed of the Tea Party. I’m ashamed that what should be a movement based solely on taxes and policy and issues, is really a KKK rally in a thinly veiled disguise. A sad commentary for those non-racist members who really want to change the country.

I stand firmly behind the NAACP and hope the Tea Party leaders do something about their image and the dangerous rhetoric spewed by their white members.

I have four incisions.

Two on the right side of my stomach and one on the left. And a large incision that stretches from my belly button down to my pelvis in a less-than-straight line. Of course that last incision annoys me the most because I had worn a bikini for the first time in many, many years…and I will now, again, put that bikini back in the drawer.

The surgery was technically a success. About 13 inches of my colon were removed and my gall bladder, complete with hundreds of impacted stones, taken out. My body is recovering mentally and physically as to be expected. I’m worn down. I’m beat up. And I’m tired. Things hurt all over.

But it could be worse. It always could be worse. And I am home with my family, where I belong.

Mrs. Vest, this is G from Camp Invention. Your son would like to come home early today to cuddle with you.

His poor, anxious mind is already on tomorrow morning, when I’ll undergo surgery on my colon and have my gall bladder removed. He worries so much. Just like his mother. A trait I wished I would not have passed on.

Mom, I’m not going to die ever, so everything will be fine tomorrow.

My daughter’s logic, never fails. Always bold and stubborn. Also just like her mother. A trait I’m glad I passed on. She’s convinced we can’t die and I’m lying to her when I try to explain everyone dies, eventually.

Mom, when I grow up you really are going to die, aren’t you?

What do you think?

I think you are going to die.

and then from the bed…my son tells her …

Hala, you KNOW everyone dies and that’s just the way of life. You just don’t want to have a normal life.

No, I’m going to live always.

But you can’t!

Yes I can!

And there I sat, the night before my surgery, with my five and seven-year olds arguing about death. And I felt alone, and cold, and miserable at the realities they were dealing with because of my inability to be healthy.

She’s five, dancing to Tina Turner in a hot pink outfit, hair flying and having fun.

And I’ve made the decision that tonight, under those stage lights for her dance recital, she won’t be wearing makeup. Not stage makeup, anyway. Call me mean, call me a prude… I don’t really care. I see the ritualistic face-painting not as some way to ‘enhance’ her performance under the lights but to make her look older, more grown-up, and obviously ‘dolled’ up.

…and that creeps me out.

I’ve told her she can paint her nails and toes and wear a little lip gloss. That’s it. Anything else just feels wrong for a five-year old girl having fun in a dance for her family and friends. She doesn’t need to be tarted up to give a good performance or look beautiful up on the stage. She doesn’t need makeup to make her face stand out under the lights or to make sure we see her cheekbones from three rows back. The only reason she would need makeup is to enhance the ‘pretty’- and at five, she’s got ‘pretty’ in spades.

I fully expect half her class to be in sparkly, blue-eyeshadow’d, red rouge, red lipstick regalia. I don’t want her to feel left out or not let her have fun and ‘pretend’ or ‘dress up’ … but there are limits. Limits to what a five-year old on stage can do vs. an eight-year old and so on and so forth. And I’ll deal with each year as it comes and decide what seems appropriate. This isn’t some professional production of a Broadway show…this is a local dance class with parents and grandparents and siblings cheering them on.

As the little girl who just graduated pre-school and is experiencing her first recital, she needs to know she’s beautiful on that stage, she’s comfortable, and she’s FIVE. She’s not a tween, she’s not a teen, she’s not a woman…yet. She’s a little girl having fun hopping around to a classic tune and smiling and dancing her heart out.

The makeup removes a level of innocence. Tarting her up like a pop-star removes a level of innocence and adds a level of sex appeal. And that’s it exactly…there’s letting her play dress up, get in a costume, and then there is letting her think beautiful = dolled up whore.

I’m not letting her start that path at five. She’ll learn it soon enough and it’s all around her already…we’re not adding to that tonight.

**update #2- Glenn Beck has issued an apology. See that… that’s a Mamma Grizzly at work.

There’s nothing that gets my ‘Mamma Grizzly’ paws up quicker than an attack on a child.

Glenn Beck, the man who speaks at Liberty University, the man who calls himself a good man of God, the man who many in my own family think is ‘awesome’ … mocked the 11-year old daughter of the President.

Obama remarked yesterday during his press conference that Malia asked him of the Gulf oil spill: “Did you Plug The Hole Yet, Daddy?” Beck, taking off on this, mockingly affected Malia’s voice, asking “Daddy” why he “hates black people so much.” Then Beck attacked Malia’s intelligence, saying: “That’s the level of their education, that they’re coming to – they’re coming to daddy and saying ‘Daddy, did you plug the hole yet?’ ”
This routine continued for several minutes, as Beck and his co-hosts touched on a variety of topics and laughed the entire time, all of it at the expense of an 11-year-old girl.

That’s right, Mr. Family Values, Mr. don’t pick on Sarah Palin’s kids, etc. etc. etc. made fun of an 11-year old girl.

I’d like to see Mrs. Mamma Grizzly herself, Sarah Palin, tell Beck he’s out of line. I’d like to see all those Right-Wingers who think Beck is just so great to see him for what he really is… an evil ratings whore.

You want to see the might and power of these women and mother’s Palin keeps talking about (as though she just discovered them, even though we were around to defeat her during the election)? Demand an apology from Beck. Either he practices what he preaches or he doesn’t.

Obviously this man is as Christian as Palin is a feminist.

*update – we are tweeting @GlennBeck and demanding he apologize to Malia. Join us.

Tonight my daughter asked me if I would come home from my next surgery alive.

I’d been telling the kids that I’ll undergo yet another surgery in a few weeks time, and that everything was going to be ok.

They didn’t want to hear it, all they wanted to know is if I would be alive after it was all said and done.

Mommy is going to be fine honey.

Everything is going to be ok.

No, it’s not cancer.

How do you explain to people that- yes, you have an illness but it probably won’t kill you? How do you ask for help when you know so many have it so much worse?

I’m going to lose a chunk of my colon in a few weeks to try to stop the infections that have been ravaging my body since last summer. This after two hospital stays and a surgery. My family and I are hoping this is the beginning of the end, and the kids are getting so used to me being sick… it’s passing as ‘normal’ life around here.

Maybe I’m naive to just pour it all out here on my blog, but it’s what I’ve always done. I’m so sick of this. So sick of being sick. So tired of being in pain. So tired of thinking one part of my body is going to be removed, only to find out another is going in its place. My reproductive system has taken a beating. My gastro system hates me. Everything is one, big, infected and inflamed mess that is just screaming to be helped and healed. It’s stressing out my husband, my kids… me.

Yet I sit here feeling guilty I whine and complain about it because it probably won’t kill me. It won’t be terminal. It won’t be life threatening and I should really save my complaints for something that really matters. Is it a huge pain in the ass? Totally. I’ve been out of the hospital a week now and I can barely function. Today I went to the doctor, the grocery store, I cooked dinner and I picked up the kids from school and I’m exhausted.

Can I live like this? The short answer is no… but I have been living like this for so long. Every turn of my torso hurts and every food I consume may or may not turn me into a writhing mess. No, it’s no way to live but one could live this way if needed.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just getting my frustrations out. I want to yell and kick and scream about other people and their perfect bodies and how they can just eat what they like and exercise how they like and travel and run around and do whatever… I want to be mad at someone. At a doctor who missed something along the way or a friend who is over the whole ‘oh you can’t come because you are sick’ thing.

But there is no one to be mad at and no one and nothing to blame. My body has a problem, doctors are fixing it, and everyone around me is being supportive and lovely.

So I write. I write to put words in front of my face and to bang my fingers against keys that some how release my frustration. I write because, before me, someone else wrote and I read it and said ‘ah ha! yes! me too!’ and instantly felt less alone. And I write because it makes me feel alive, something I promise the kids I will be when this is all over.