"I'm disappointed, Charlie's eyes are turning dark.They were so light for so long, I had hopes they would be green like mine. Looks like they are going to be brown instead, I'm so bummed".
"Why so bummed?"
"I don't know, don't you wish a little bit that your kids look like yourself?"
"They do look like me, they have brown eyes."
That time we were standing waiting for the Max train in Portland and it began raining and you asked if I wanted your umbrella and I said no (because I used to live there and I know better) and then you said, with admiration, "You're so durable."
That was the most romantic thing you ever said to me, because it's how I think of myself. You nailed it. And you daily nail this marriage and kids (and mother in law) thing. Thank god, because sometimes, on the tough days, I'd rather be out walking in the rain. Happy Anniversary Paulie!
A friend once shared with me that though she knew she would love her child, she didn't realize how much FUN she would have raising him. When the hair dresser patiently listens to another kid story, or I look blankly at a coworker when they ask if I've been to the newest restaurant "yet", I know I'm being the stereotypical oversharing breeder. And to my Facebook friends, if you turned off my baby-flooded timeline, I understand.
Parenting is intense affection and extreme frustration, aimed at the same small person, almost simultaneously. Those emotions, and others, overwhelm your being within thirty seconds of each other, back to back and on repeat. It's exhausting.
And then there's toast. Toast and coffee in bed on Sunday morning. Thank goodness for small comforts. And a little squeaky voice downstairs: "Mama's having alone time, BE QUIET!!!"
Me, fixing a pink Disney doll toy thingy: "Remember Vivi, 'Princess' is not an occupation".
Paulie: "Uh um, you're watching 'Say Yes to the Dress'".
Me: "Remember Vivi, life is complicated…"
The ACLU People Power (their first grassroots organization) launch yesterday covered a lot of ground. First and most importantly, I became a member. Second, the subject that most resonated with me was the framing of the Affordable Care Act (Obamacare) as an anti-discrimination law. It abolished discrimination in healthcare based on GENDER. It abolished discrimination based on HEALTH STATUS (pre-existing conditions including pregnancy). It mandated birth control coverage, ensuring the medical needs of women are treated the same under the law. Dismantling the ACA is an act of discrimination. Dismantling it defunds Planned Parenthood, a service needed by women. It dramatically reduces and CAPS Medicaid funding, which disproportionally and discriminatorily affects Americans with disabilities. Viewing it this way has me fired up to fight the GOPs discriminatory, regressive agenda with refreshed conviction!
I can order any item I want—from baby formula to a winter coat, and it arrives at my door the next day. I can read hundreds of magazines, newspapers and journals (enjoying Science!); all of them are now literally at my finger tips. The world enters my home, my work, my life. I can listen to any radio program, when I want, where I want. On demand, it's all on demand. We are takers.
A week ago today Mom and I were on the Washington Mall, in a sea of pink pussy hats. It felt wonderful to be relaxed, not on guard, not defensive. Everywhere I looked, every eye I caught, every whoop and wave was affirming. "I'm not crazy, I'm not overreacting, this situation truly isn't normal." And most profoundly: "I am not alone."
We are not alone. The world is in our handbags, but we are not in the world. The world is a big, beautiful, messy, human place. I want to be a part of it. America, be a part of it.
The roads got more and more narrow as we made our way through the Ohio country side in search of the Interrstate. As we came over a hill, clumps of small children walking along the roadside came in to sight through the fog. Small, umbrella-ed Amish children on their way to school.
On the crowded Metra train into D.C., a cheerful black gal thanked us for "being there for the working ladies" as she went from completing one shift to starting her next shift at a second job.
At the bakery, we sat near a charming family of two white parents and two Asian daughters, the most talkative one gesturing enthusiastically with her disabled arm.
As we walked through the crowd, a group broke into a Hebrew song that spread in pockets up the muddy slope.
The line for the portapotty was chockablock with families of all makes and models, all patiently waiting for only one loo. The faces of the crowd were varied, but all were the same in one way—warm, open, and returning every smile.
This is the America I know. Hi, I've missed you. It's good to be with you again. We got this.
I planned a little diversion for Paulie and myself today. I was so pleased with myself for sneaking in some time to look across a table into each others eyes instead of our iPads, when I would hold his hand instead of a baby bottle. And it's Christmas; how nice! He had the day off, I only had to work til noon. The kids were at daycare til 5. I picked him up at 12:30, and started to drive to the east side.
He was fidgety, nervous and kept asking what I was doing, where we were going. He got more nervous as we headed down Downer Avenue in the direction of Columbia St Mary's hospital. But a block before, I pulled up to my surprise destination—a cheerful corner coffee shop and bookstore. Paulie was visibly relieved, but why?
He explained:
"I couldn't figure out what you were up to. You were so specific about meeting at exactly 12:30 I thought, it must be an appointment. What has she asked me to do that I haven't done? Why keep me in the dark? And then I thought…
…Oh no, she's taking me to get a vasectomy."
Viv: "Look, Charlie is looking at me Mama!"
Me: "Look at that! Oh Vivi, he loves to watch you. He is going to watch you his whole life. You're always going to be his big sister, his teacher. You'll have to teach him all sorts of things"
Viv: "Will you help me?"
Me: "Oh yes of course, we will all teach Charlie together. He will have you his big sister, and me and Papa, and family and neighbors…" and on and on I went in a It Takes A Village eye-dampening soliloquy…
Viv: "That's good Mama, but can you help me with my pants?"
4th of July 1982, Pioneer Village, Nebraska
I have had my feet in two worlds for large parts of my life. Growing up in a smallish town on the edge of an industrially polluted lake where my classmates were not expected nor encouraged to go to college, I was the (obnoxious) Doctors Kid. My big-city mother struggled in the suffocating small town, my father thrived in what to him was a sprawling village of opportunity. In private boarding school I was disgusted by the classmates who used their parents high-end drugs and their own teenage cruelty to ostracize me. I found friendship among the townies. But not all the townies, just the arties and gays and other misfits would have me. I found people I liked, and who liked me, and I found my own way. Along the way, I took snippets of interesting things from my urban, artistic, democratic family on the one hand, and my rural, veteran, republican family on the other. I am intensely proud of the diversity of thought in my own background and the interesting, varied and often hilarious people who created it.
I have said often that having that dichotomy kept things balanced and gave me a buffet of characteristics to choose from to form my own identity. Work ethic + art + bookishness + community + creativity + travel + solitude + Patsy Cline= my own perfect mix.
When I left the Midwest, I promised myself that I would live in the South, Europe and the East and West Coasts. (I didn't make it to NYC, but there's still time). Every four or five years I would pick up and start over in a new place, with new social norms and new people. It enriched me. I fueled me. Each place I've lived gave me a new view of America, and I found something to love in each one.
The pain in my heart on Wednesday was fueled by the knowledge that people I know and love, people I admire and adore, voted for Trump. I know they are not all racist. They are not all cruel. They are my people too. They deserved so much better. They have been used. They can't possibly think this is ok, can they? Did I every really know them? Does their hate extend to me? And yes, a vote for Trump is a vote for hate. At best it is a vote for an erratic, foul mouthed buffoon you wouldn't invite to the American Legion fish fry, at worst it is a vote for a fear-mongering, race-baiting fascist.(I could go on about my pain as a woman, but it's all been said).
Those people are not all rural either, it's not that simple. They are not all "out there in the sticks". Just last week, on trick-or-treat night, I ran to my corner Walgreens (I live on the corner of White + Liberal) for more candy. In the recently-raided aisle, I was scrounging for the last bags of chocolate when the woman next to me said "Ran out?" I said "Yes, they came in droves!". To which she replied: "Don't get more for those Over-The-Rivers!".
Black children. That's what she meant. N word is what she meant. I scooped up every bag on the shelf and walked away. I was speechless, and in that moment felt stunned. Every kid who came up my step that night got handfuls and handfuls of candy. All night I fumed at that ignorant, mean-hearted woman. But I thought she was a one-off, an outlier. An anomaly.
The problem with Wednesday was just that — it was day. And all the secret hate, the quiet bigotry, was out in the light.. And it was all around us. It WAS us.
I can't cover it all here, I hardly know what I'm talking about, there are more knowledgeable voices than mine already saying everything. I have always written. Of the moments in my life both mundane and profound, I have written. My diaries date back to Reagan, I have every letter Grandma ever sent me. I write because I have to, like a habit. I write about this because, because…oh, I don't even know. All I know is that, like America, I am full of contradictions. I am striving to be better, I fail often, and I want a good world for my loved ones.
I know one thing—we are worthy of better.
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