An Election Day Disclaimer

 I don't do politics.
I don't discuss it. I don't participate in it. I don't whine about it.
No, I don't vote.
Why? Because that's my right. As much as it's my right as a woman living in America TO vote; why should it not also be my right NOT to vote?
I do not buy into the guilt/shame bullshit of obligatorily checking off a box to pick someone - ANYONE - because someone tells me it's my duty.
My duty is to live my life with integrity. My own. Not yours. Or yours.
So why should I take part in placing someone - ANYONE - that I don't believe in, into office?
I did the obligatory voting thing before. I voted for the person whom I felt was the lesser of two evils. Not because I believed in him.
That went against my own integrity and I won't do that again.
I don't buy into political rah-rah speeches or empty campaign promises because of MY beliefs that they aren't the ones running the show anyway. They are merely the puppets and scapegoats. And that's my RIGHT as a female living in America to choose to believe that.
So no, I did not vote today nor do I see myself voting any time soon.
And I will not debate my choice. Nor will I whine about who DOES get elected into office.
I never have.
America is where I live. America is the land of the free. Freedom to vote, freedom to decide for whom to vote, and freedom to decide not to...

A Classic First

Some things you can watch over and over, like your kids experiencing "It's The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown!" for the first time. (October 2007)

Magic Mirror

He is my very own Magic Mirror.
The one I have come to count on to tell me the truth, whether I want to hear it or not.
Who reflects back an image of myself that is more lovable (and more loving) than I ever thought.
Who will listen to me rant or sit with me in the silence of my own thoughts. Who takes none of it to heart and just says: "I'll be here when you come out the other side."
He's given Hansel & Gretel back their Mom. The Mom who used to laugh freely, danced in the living room with them for no reason, and saw the joy and wonder in their eyes as they learned and explored their worlds.
And he gives them friendship, guidance and tenderness, despite his tough rugged exterior.
She adores him completely...

And so do I.

First Day of School

Hansel, Gretel and Cinderella had their first day of school last week. I am now the parent of a highschooler, 3rd grader and kindergartner.
*sniff*
The beginning of their school year fell smack in the middle of their last summer vacation week with their Dad.
To his credit, to both of our credit really, PrinceCharming agreed to bring the little ones to my house so we could BOTH be there to see them BOTH onto the school bus for their first day. (Cinderella's highschool bus pickup was at her Dad's earlier that morning. I missed seeing her, but made the point of calling her that night so I could hear all about it!)
Hansel and Gretel both looked so big and yet still so little as they anxiously waited in my driveway, ping-ponging back and forth from their Dad (who stood at the curb) to me, and back again. I hope they were too excited to notice his continued awkwardness whenever he is around me. The tension emanating from him is always so palpable that it used to render me a tangled mess of anxiety-laden-emotional-breakdowns whenever I had to be near him for exchanges. But over the past several months, as I move into my new space as a single-independent-woman, I am less and less affected by his difficulty with being in the same room (or driveway) as me.  I've come to realize, and accept, that his challenges are his problem to face and overcome. Not mine. Not anymore.
We stood in my driveway with the kids for more than a half hour. I realized this was the first time we had BOTH been there to see any of our kids off to school together. For most years, it was me waiting with them at the bus. Last year, Gretel was taken to her first day of preschool by PrinceCharming.
But this year, all three of our kids have been given the gift of having their Dad with them on their first day. I am grateful for that and I hope they were as well.
I was also grateful that the bus was late that morning, for that meant I was able to pretend for a little bit longer that Gretel was still my baby...

And then I receive emails like this, from one of MY old elementary school classmates and remember how time marches on and repeats itself all at the same time:

First day of school: Mike Levine

Quick, before they leave this morning. Take a good look. Touch their faces, run your hands through their hair.

We got antsy with them last month, but now we want time to stand still. Like falling leaves and chilly mornings, some great force signals us today. We are aware of life passing.

See the kindergartner with a brave, bewildered smile watching her mother cry as the school bus pulls away. The high-school freshman with a lump in his throat hears his father whisper everything will be OK. Brothers and sisters who fought all summer now hold hands.

Today is proud, today is helpless, today is tomorrow. From Monticello to Monroe. From Marlborough to Matamoras, this is a special morning, wrenching and sacred.

As a young reporter, I'd wonder why. What's the big deal about the first day of school? I would write down quotes in my notebook and comprehend nothing.

Then I became a parent. I found out. We mark time by today.

On this morning, we remember our own parents and our own childhood. We are filled with the smell of old raincoats, the sticky bond of classroom glue, the childhood knot of worried excitement. We were so small and lost. (Secret: A part of us is still lost. We tell no one.)

Now we have children of our own. On this morning, we remember the holy moment of their birth.

We see this is all just a matter of time. Once, we thought our children were ours alone. Each September, on this day, we learn better. Nothing is ours to keep.

Time passes through our eyes this morning. We see our children as newborns, we picture them as grown-ups. We see them walking their own children to school.

Time passes in the beat of a heart. I have seen my first kindergarten boy walk into his dorm on his first day of college. A few days ago, my younger son left for college. I stood there, at once empty and full, as frightened and proud as the morning his first school bus pulled away.

Come on, it's getting late. The bus is coming up the road. I'll keep this short.

Make sure they have everything they need. Double check. Write their name on the book bag. Sweetheart, did you remember your lunch money? Dad, don't call me mushy stuff in front of the other kids.

They are right. Like the summer birds leaving us, our children know what to do. Like September leaves waving on the trees, we, too, give way to the winds of change.

Fortune Teller

I'm ok with you and Daddy getting a divorce, Mom. Really. If you guys are happy then I am happy.
"You think Daddy & I are happier now?"
Oh, yes. Definitely happier.
"When were we not happy?"
When you were fighting.

It's been YEARS since we fought in front of the kids. Years since the door-slamming, plate/cup/remote control/engagement ring throwing, screaming matches that one time brought our neighbors to our front door to see if everything was ok.  Years since we vowed to stop subjecting our kids to that kind of emotional maelstrom that messes with their internal compasses.

My own True North was messed with as a young child as I witnessed my own parents' marriage fail and crumble into a million pieces before my eyes. Eyes which have now shut out memories of their own fighting but the disappointment over their inability to protect me from the harsh realities of life and who they really were as a couple remain. My insecurities about Love, Life and Marriage follow me like a dark cloud as a navigate the seas of this new life I am trying to create for myself and my kids.

Like Hansel, I was seven when my parents separated.
Like Hansel, I was equally as accepting of my parents' splitting.
Like Hansel, I *knew* it was the best choice for our family.

"History teaches everything including the future."
~ Lamartine

Like me, he is closed off to his true feelings and, like me, is seeing a therapist to help him move out of his head and more into his heart.
With any luck, we will rewrite our history and dive head first into a clear future.