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Showing posts from August, 2021

To Thine Own Self

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I sent her to school today with a mask. I smiled, and I could tell by her eyes she was smiling back at me. She's stronger than me. So so much stronger than me.  I sent her to school today with a lunch box. I packed a note inside it telling her to always be true to herself and how proud I am of her. I sent her to school today with a tear in my eye. I don't want it to be like this. I want medical freedoms for myself and my children. Are these the days Orwell wrote about? I ask questions. To myself and to anyone who might listen.  I called the school. Because I have questions. Is there any way we as parents can make a choice? Is there any way we can have rights as parents? Can we be welcomed to your school unmasked - creating our biome and strengthening our own immunities? Please...? The short and hard and final answer from the school: No. So I ask more questions: Who tells you what to do... what guidelines to follow? And who tells them? And who tells them? The short and hard and

At the foot of the Washer

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My kids are blanket kids. You know the ones: Show up barefooted at the sitter’s at 7:07 AM dragging a completely ratted blanket across the sidewalk. Though it looks like I never wash them, I occasionally do pull stealthy mama tricks and sneak them away for super quick wash and dry. However, the other day, I couldn’t be so stealthy. Baby Heidi smeared grape jelly all over her beloved blanket. I attempted to take the blanket without making a scene. But as soon as I started walking to the washer, she was hot on my tail and knew something not to her liking was about to go down. I threw it in the hot soapy water and she watched in horror. She was screaming.  She was yelling what was probably words to her, but just sounded barbaric to me. She was angry. She hit the front of washer with her little fists. Angry big tears welled and rolled down her face.  Immediate snot. More screaming. More yelling in her language. She laid on the floor and kicked the front of washer and cried. And cried. I wa

We can do better.

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We can do better. A saying you hear so often these days. Apply it to anything you want to in the news headlines - any side you are on: COVID… we can do better: (protecting ourselves) (getting the shot) (getting people to work) (explaining medical freedoms) (whatever) Afghanistan… we can better: (supporting our troops/veterans) (helping refugees) (protecting our rights/involvement as Americans) (whatever) LGBTQ… we can do better: (raising our kids) (speaking about love and judgement) (whatever) “We can do better.” My “we can do better” talk is no where (and boy, do I mean NO WHERE) as important as some “we can do better” talks, but it’s my story that is really making me think about a lot and what story I want to leave the world. ** Side note: The irony in this blog is unreal. I am FULLY aware that I am about to not be excited about technology while using technology AND am even more aware that I can do better by not throwing others under the bus. Don't miss my point though: We all (