As of this coming Monday, I am going back to work part-time at a call center. I am glad I will be providing to the financial situation, but I'm also terrified and stressed.
I know that this will probably be much less problematic than I think it is going to be, but the transition is hard. Very hard for me.
And I need to figure out child care situations, also very hard.
This is hard.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Stress, stress, more stress...
So I call myself "batcrap crazy" on a regular basis, which may be ableist. All I know is sometimes, life hurts so much that the alternatives seem inviting.
Yes, I just "said" that out into the internet.
"the alternatives seem inviting."
As in "not life."
As in "death."
Yes. I have suicidal idealization. Often.
I have for as long as I can remember. I honestly cannot think of a day I haven't considered "not being here." And yet, I am still here. I don't know if that means I'm strong, or not strong enough. All I know is that at this moment, there is something so much more important than my stress to think of, and that is V.
I don't ever want her to feel like my life is her obligation. I want her to know that I am so truly blessed to be gifted the opportunity to watch her discover the world. I am enchanted by every new word or sign or silly game.
But she isn't all that keeps me here. It isn't fair to put my continued existence entirely in her tiny lap. I love those seasonal milestones. The cry of an excited crow. The hot weight of my cat in the wee hours. I doubt those things come with you in the next dimension.
I may wonder and dream of that redhot finality. But I stay here. I feel the tears and the shame and the fear and I battle through. I always have. And I keep going. I stare at the walls in the hours you slumber and I map my pain and wish I could paint my nightmares so you could see them. But I stay. Because I love.
I am flawed and flayed and scared and scarred. But I love.
Am I loved?
I know V loves me, today. I hope that she knows that she is loved, and can love with conviction, because that is a gift.
The Husband says he loves me. Does he love himself enough to love me? I can't know that.
But I love.
Love you.
Stay here.
Breathing.
Loving.
Living.
Yes, I just "said" that out into the internet.
"the alternatives seem inviting."
As in "not life."
As in "death."
Yes. I have suicidal idealization. Often.
I have for as long as I can remember. I honestly cannot think of a day I haven't considered "not being here." And yet, I am still here. I don't know if that means I'm strong, or not strong enough. All I know is that at this moment, there is something so much more important than my stress to think of, and that is V.
I don't ever want her to feel like my life is her obligation. I want her to know that I am so truly blessed to be gifted the opportunity to watch her discover the world. I am enchanted by every new word or sign or silly game.
But she isn't all that keeps me here. It isn't fair to put my continued existence entirely in her tiny lap. I love those seasonal milestones. The cry of an excited crow. The hot weight of my cat in the wee hours. I doubt those things come with you in the next dimension.
I may wonder and dream of that redhot finality. But I stay here. I feel the tears and the shame and the fear and I battle through. I always have. And I keep going. I stare at the walls in the hours you slumber and I map my pain and wish I could paint my nightmares so you could see them. But I stay. Because I love.
I am flawed and flayed and scared and scarred. But I love.
Am I loved?
I know V loves me, today. I hope that she knows that she is loved, and can love with conviction, because that is a gift.
The Husband says he loves me. Does he love himself enough to love me? I can't know that.
But I love.
Love you.
Stay here.
Breathing.
Loving.
Living.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Confused, Stressed, Tired
I should really get V up since it is edging toward 11:00AM, but I just can't right yet. I managed to clean and start the pellet stove, make coffee, vacuum the living room, feed the cats and take my allergy medication, and that's about it. I had applied for the perfect job last week and have not heard anything since Thursday night after what seemed like promising email responses. Part of the application was friending a dog on Facebook and I'm afraid something on my personal page offended the potential employer. I would like to think that is not the case, but I'm so desperate for a job that enables me to utilize my parents as child care, and continue to be V's primary care-giver, that I over analyze everything. I had also applied for a very intensive office manager position at a local college, and have heard nothing from them either.
Had another night of almost no sleep until the hours between 5:00AM and 9:00AM. I look like a sloth to the rest of the world I'm sure, until you factor in my insomnia. And I should be feeling better about our situation. A friend will likely be moving into our guest room by this summer, which will help in so many ways. But in the mean time we are once again falling further and further behind.
I'm overwhelmed by my personal stress and the anxiety of the bigger world. As a woman and mother I am constantly feeling attacked by the ultra-conservative anti-woman, anti-choice, anti-minority government and abandoned by the politicians for whom I voted.
The world is in chaos and I feel as though I have absolutely no safe space to find solace.
So I donated a can of cat food to the very pregnant stray that wanders through our yard because she's going to need the extra calories very soon. I won't feed her again for months. And I'm having my coffee which doesn't help, but at least it warms me. And soon my baby will be up and wanting cuddles and to watch her sign language dvds and play with her toys and her kitties. And the day will go on in spite of me.
Had another night of almost no sleep until the hours between 5:00AM and 9:00AM. I look like a sloth to the rest of the world I'm sure, until you factor in my insomnia. And I should be feeling better about our situation. A friend will likely be moving into our guest room by this summer, which will help in so many ways. But in the mean time we are once again falling further and further behind.
I'm overwhelmed by my personal stress and the anxiety of the bigger world. As a woman and mother I am constantly feeling attacked by the ultra-conservative anti-woman, anti-choice, anti-minority government and abandoned by the politicians for whom I voted.
The world is in chaos and I feel as though I have absolutely no safe space to find solace.
So I donated a can of cat food to the very pregnant stray that wanders through our yard because she's going to need the extra calories very soon. I won't feed her again for months. And I'm having my coffee which doesn't help, but at least it warms me. And soon my baby will be up and wanting cuddles and to watch her sign language dvds and play with her toys and her kitties. And the day will go on in spite of me.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Thank you
Thank you my Darling, for keeping Mama connected.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Sometimes all you can do is light a candle
Lower Macungie woman reported missing, possibly endangered
Missing woman's death ruled homicide
Homicide victim's family establishes memorial fund to benefit animals
I'm having a very hard time processing Jenn's murder. Both my husband and I have really fond memories of such a sweet person who we really liked and wanted to kick my co-worker for breaking up with her. I could have easily become really good friends with Jenn had the situation been different. It doesn't help my ability to digest this that she was going to go to her first pregnancy ultrasound the morning after she disappeared. Apparently she was really excited about being pregnant. All the authorities will say is that her killing was "not random." What a cold description for a life violently destroyed. "not random." They said that the public at large is not in danger. What kind of statement is that?
Tonight when my husband got home from work I almost immediately asked him if I could just take a shower by myself, if he could watch V and I could take a shower. We have limited resources so I avoid using the hot water as much as possible, but I just needed a shower. Of course he said yes. I pulled out the body wash I haven't used in years because it isn't made anymore, and I love the smell but want to keep it for "special." I thought it would make me feel better. I even used it in my hair. I listened to Pandora radio really loud and "What a Wonderful World" played twice in the time I was in the shower. First the Louis Armstrong
version, then the Israel “IZ” Kamakawiwo’ole
version just a few songs later. I put my forehead against the side of my shower, cupped my hands around the side of my face and just cried. But it feels like the dark is stuck in my throat and the sobs won't, can't move it. It feels like I don't have the right to grieve a woman I barely knew and haven't seen in years. It feels like I've brought my daughter into a very dark world where nothing is safe and I don't know how to protect her.
I wanted to do a cleansing/protecting/keep everything out type ceremony today or tonight to capture the strength of the change of season and make myself feel more active and less passive. All I could do was sit outside while V collected twigs and I burned them in a small cast iron cauldron under my ancient maple tree and watched the smoke drift less aimlessly than I feel. I wondered briefly if she is really "at peace" or if she exists at all anymore. All I do know is that her potential is gone. Her baby's potential is gone. At least in this life.
I talked to my mother this afternoon. We both have had murderous impulses where would could actually feel physically how it would feel to make that killing blow. I got two thirds of the way up the staircase with the antique chef's knife in my hand before turning around and putting it carefully away so no one would know I had taken it. But we had good reasons for wanting that person dead. There can't be a good reason for Jenn's death. My mother pointed out that the killer had a reason, we just don't know what it is, and we won't agree with it, but that person believed it was valid. And if I can, I should try to find some bit of compassion for that person. Knowing I can't, she will do it for me. This is where I stumble in the Seven Principles of Unitarian Universalism
. I can't find Inherent Worth and Dignity in a person who would do this. That's the first Principle. Seems I start out stumbling...
Right now I don't know how to catch myself, which makes me feel more guilty because this shouldn't be about me. I'm not the victim. I barely knew Jenn. I hadn't thought of her in ages. Ironically I had recently flashed on a memory of her at our Halloween party several years ago, she wore a very sexy bustier... Now I'm wondering when I thought that, was she alive? I can't remember when I remembered her, I only know I did. And now, that's all I can do.
I lit a candle this morning and said her name to a room full of people who didn't know her. Now at least they will know her name. It is a symbol, a figment, a wisp. Please let it be something. After I lit the candle, I posted to facebook the only thing I could think of.
"Sometimes all you can do is light a candle. Sometimes that is enough."
Is this some time? Because I don't feel like there is enough.
But I'm going to say her name to you. And maybe you will remember it, and with it a bit of her. A sweet, kind, generous young woman who loved animals and was excited to be a new mother.
Jennifer Lindsay Snyder should not be forgotten.
Missing woman's death ruled homicide
Homicide victim's family establishes memorial fund to benefit animals
I'm having a very hard time processing Jenn's murder. Both my husband and I have really fond memories of such a sweet person who we really liked and wanted to kick my co-worker for breaking up with her. I could have easily become really good friends with Jenn had the situation been different. It doesn't help my ability to digest this that she was going to go to her first pregnancy ultrasound the morning after she disappeared. Apparently she was really excited about being pregnant. All the authorities will say is that her killing was "not random." What a cold description for a life violently destroyed. "not random." They said that the public at large is not in danger. What kind of statement is that?
Tonight when my husband got home from work I almost immediately asked him if I could just take a shower by myself, if he could watch V and I could take a shower. We have limited resources so I avoid using the hot water as much as possible, but I just needed a shower. Of course he said yes. I pulled out the body wash I haven't used in years because it isn't made anymore, and I love the smell but want to keep it for "special." I thought it would make me feel better. I even used it in my hair. I listened to Pandora radio really loud and "What a Wonderful World" played twice in the time I was in the shower. First the Louis Armstrong
version, then the Israel “IZ” Kamakawiwo’ole version just a few songs later. I put my forehead against the side of my shower, cupped my hands around the side of my face and just cried. But it feels like the dark is stuck in my throat and the sobs won't, can't move it. It feels like I don't have the right to grieve a woman I barely knew and haven't seen in years. It feels like I've brought my daughter into a very dark world where nothing is safe and I don't know how to protect her. I wanted to do a cleansing/protecting/keep everything out type ceremony today or tonight to capture the strength of the change of season and make myself feel more active and less passive. All I could do was sit outside while V collected twigs and I burned them in a small cast iron cauldron under my ancient maple tree and watched the smoke drift less aimlessly than I feel. I wondered briefly if she is really "at peace" or if she exists at all anymore. All I do know is that her potential is gone. Her baby's potential is gone. At least in this life.
I talked to my mother this afternoon. We both have had murderous impulses where would could actually feel physically how it would feel to make that killing blow. I got two thirds of the way up the staircase with the antique chef's knife in my hand before turning around and putting it carefully away so no one would know I had taken it. But we had good reasons for wanting that person dead. There can't be a good reason for Jenn's death. My mother pointed out that the killer had a reason, we just don't know what it is, and we won't agree with it, but that person believed it was valid. And if I can, I should try to find some bit of compassion for that person. Knowing I can't, she will do it for me. This is where I stumble in the Seven Principles of Unitarian Universalism
. I can't find Inherent Worth and Dignity in a person who would do this. That's the first Principle. Seems I start out stumbling... Right now I don't know how to catch myself, which makes me feel more guilty because this shouldn't be about me. I'm not the victim. I barely knew Jenn. I hadn't thought of her in ages. Ironically I had recently flashed on a memory of her at our Halloween party several years ago, she wore a very sexy bustier... Now I'm wondering when I thought that, was she alive? I can't remember when I remembered her, I only know I did. And now, that's all I can do.
I lit a candle this morning and said her name to a room full of people who didn't know her. Now at least they will know her name. It is a symbol, a figment, a wisp. Please let it be something. After I lit the candle, I posted to facebook the only thing I could think of.
"Sometimes all you can do is light a candle. Sometimes that is enough."
Is this some time? Because I don't feel like there is enough.
But I'm going to say her name to you. And maybe you will remember it, and with it a bit of her. A sweet, kind, generous young woman who loved animals and was excited to be a new mother.
Jennifer Lindsay Snyder should not be forgotten.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
"More More More More"
I am having one of those days. I am trying to revise (again, for the umpteenth time) my resume and craft a fantabulous cover letter to illustrate exactly how my varied skills make me the perfect candidate for an office manager position at a college. In the mean time, V has decided that she absolutely needs me right now all the time RIGHT NOW and is not only nursing like crazy (teething much?) but also climbing all over me, the furniture, the dining room table and the cats. Darling Hubby had made lots of promises about having the weekend to do "stuff" and then went off to work on his landscaping gig ALL DAY. And of course V has not napped and keeps shouting "MORE MORE MORE MORE" in my ear.
I have HAD IT!
I know this moment will pass and I will have the mommy guilt in spades, but right now at this moment in time, I want the Goblin King
to come and take this child away RIGHT NOW!
No really, I do. I am sick to my stomach with the frustration and contained GRRR that I am trying to not show her. I know she's just being a teething, exploring toddler and doesn't mean to drive Mama into a long walk off a short pier. In fact, she's a wonderful exceptional child that I am totally in love with, but right now, I want a shower, a third huge mug of coffee and a BREAK!
And people wonder why I'm not firing off a dozen applications at a time. Because it has taken me FIVE HOURS to get halfway through one cover letter. *sob*
I have HAD IT!
I know this moment will pass and I will have the mommy guilt in spades, but right now at this moment in time, I want the Goblin King
to come and take this child away RIGHT NOW!No really, I do. I am sick to my stomach with the frustration and contained GRRR that I am trying to not show her. I know she's just being a teething, exploring toddler and doesn't mean to drive Mama into a long walk off a short pier. In fact, she's a wonderful exceptional child that I am totally in love with, but right now, I want a shower, a third huge mug of coffee and a BREAK!
And people wonder why I'm not firing off a dozen applications at a time. Because it has taken me FIVE HOURS to get halfway through one cover letter. *sob*
Friday, March 18, 2011
Frustrated, Tired, and Silly
I need to get a job. It is no secret that Hubby and I are, and have been, in serious financial difficulty. I have been applying off an on for over a year and keeping an eye on the job postings at CareerBuilder.com looking for anything in my field(s) that is part-time and not too taxing. I want to use the bulk of my brain power in taking care of V.
I had a really wonderful and heartening interview last week at a local wireless retailer. I felt very strongly that I was going to be offered the position.
I have called the store five times, left two messages for the manager and have received no response. I guess I'm to believe I will not be offered the position.
On top of a whole lot of other stresses in my life, this rejection without the decency to actually tell me that I was not what they wanted (after I was clearly told I was exactly what they wanted) sent me into a bit of a tailspin. I always teeter on the edge of depression and keep my claws dug into sanity, but I couldn't hold on anymore for a few days this week. I stopped painting, I couldn't figure out what to cook for dinner, and I went on a crazy scrubbing spree on the kitchen (okay that's not a bad thing). I also couldn't write or clearly express my depression at how this turned out. I am 35-years-old and have been out of the job force for a little over a year and a half. And I'm a mother. A mother of a toddler. I'm not an engineer or mechanical professional, my degree is a BA. In this economic environment I am almost unhireable. Even my mother, who does hire people, admits that mothers of young children are discriminated against all the time.
I revise my resume at least weekly and have it saved to CareerBuilder.com and weed through the scams that get sent to my email almost daily. I make my searches and applications when I can in between diaper changes, colouring, baths, playing with blocks and dolls, picking up cats, and cat puke, doing the dishes/laundry/litter boxes, reading Dr. Seuss, watching sign language dvds, checking the news, writing to congress/the President/NY Times, signing petitions, breaking up cat fights, getting V down for a nap, trying to get her to eat something other than raisins, and occasionally crying.
And yet, I feel all the time as though I am not doing enough. I know I'm not contributing the financial security of my household, but I am basically running the household, but that's not enough.
But V is silly a lot, and that brings smiles to my super tired face.
I had a really wonderful and heartening interview last week at a local wireless retailer. I felt very strongly that I was going to be offered the position.
I have called the store five times, left two messages for the manager and have received no response. I guess I'm to believe I will not be offered the position.
On top of a whole lot of other stresses in my life, this rejection without the decency to actually tell me that I was not what they wanted (after I was clearly told I was exactly what they wanted) sent me into a bit of a tailspin. I always teeter on the edge of depression and keep my claws dug into sanity, but I couldn't hold on anymore for a few days this week. I stopped painting, I couldn't figure out what to cook for dinner, and I went on a crazy scrubbing spree on the kitchen (okay that's not a bad thing). I also couldn't write or clearly express my depression at how this turned out. I am 35-years-old and have been out of the job force for a little over a year and a half. And I'm a mother. A mother of a toddler. I'm not an engineer or mechanical professional, my degree is a BA. In this economic environment I am almost unhireable. Even my mother, who does hire people, admits that mothers of young children are discriminated against all the time.
I revise my resume at least weekly and have it saved to CareerBuilder.com and weed through the scams that get sent to my email almost daily. I make my searches and applications when I can in between diaper changes, colouring, baths, playing with blocks and dolls, picking up cats, and cat puke, doing the dishes/laundry/litter boxes, reading Dr. Seuss, watching sign language dvds, checking the news, writing to congress/the President/NY Times, signing petitions, breaking up cat fights, getting V down for a nap, trying to get her to eat something other than raisins, and occasionally crying.
And yet, I feel all the time as though I am not doing enough. I know I'm not contributing the financial security of my household, but I am basically running the household, but that's not enough.
But V is silly a lot, and that brings smiles to my super tired face.
 |
| Bringing a baby doll, Sally Rag Doll and two satin drawstring bags, to bed. |
Monday, March 14, 2011
Watch your mouth!
I am fan of Rescue Ink's facebook page because I really respect what these guys (yes they are all men) are doing. Today they linked to a youtube video showing a very heartless and abusive shelter administrator and animal control officers. It was bad, trust me. I initially wrote a comment supporting Rescue Ink for investigating this act of cruelty and expressing that while black humor is very common in these situations, this particular example was over the top and needed to be investigated.
I went back to the thread later because several people had "liked" my comment (thank you) and started reading other supporters statements. This is when I started to get angry. People were rightfully disturbed by the actions of those in the video and emotions were running high, which is to be expected. However, they were stooping to the lowest methods of expressing themselves and using broad derogatory terms to describe the suspects. I will quote my response instead of going through this comment by comment...
Watch your mouth!
I went back to the thread later because several people had "liked" my comment (thank you) and started reading other supporters statements. This is when I started to get angry. People were rightfully disturbed by the actions of those in the video and emotions were running high, which is to be expected. However, they were stooping to the lowest methods of expressing themselves and using broad derogatory terms to describe the suspects. I will quote my response instead of going through this comment by comment...
I'd just like to comment that in addition to the callus comments and harsh handling of the kitten, the one male officer also makes sexually suggestive gestures when he sees the camera, indicative of a hostile work environment.
And I think w...e can all support and appreciate all the effort Rescue Ink is putting into ending this type of behavior without stooping calling the suspects in the video "faggot, fat, ugly...." These are not helpful ways to approach the situation. Whether or not a person is fat, gay or not traditionally attractive has nothing to do with their actions toward animals. I know these situations raise emotions and words sometimes fail us, but we have to be aware of how we are expressing ourselves.
Several people have "liked" that comment as well, but I think it needs to be said, that when we are angry it can be hard to watch what we say, but some things are simply not okay ever. Using "faggot" as a derogatory term for an individual, even if you aren't implying that they are homosexual is NOT OKAY. A "faggot" is a bundle of kindling used to start of a fire, then it became a term for the homosexuals tied around a condemned witch so that they could all burn and go to hell. "Fat and ugly" is NOT OKAY to describe someone with whom you do not agree. These usages just continue violence and hatred toward people even if that wasn't the original user's intent./mommy moment...
Watch your mouth!
Friday, March 11, 2011
Attempting to paint
 a not so great portrait of Ambrose Gallifrey |
| A not so great portrait of Ambrose Gallifrey |
This afternoon I had V painting with her Crayola Tempera paints in the tub, a great place for toddler creativity. After she was cleaned up and the shower washed down we went on with our day, but there was paint left behind in the pallet I had made up for her. Tonight I played around with the leftovers on water colour paper with our cat Ambrose as a model. He left before I was finished and I haven't painted in at least two years, so it is not good. But it is a start. 
V silliness
So V is in a GREAT mood this morning. Slept really well and late, woke up playing, that kind of morning that should be engraved in one's heart and mind and memory for all time. After playing with a musical card she got for Valentine's day that made her giggle like mad, she asked for "more" (her word for nursing) and crawled into my lap. I expected she would nurse for two seconds and be off and running. What I did not expect was for her to latch on, but start tickling my belly and giggling. So I started to giggle, so she laughed harder and tickled more, and I laughed harder until tears were running down my face and she buried her head in my ribs and belly laughed. She's the only person in the entire world allowed to tickle me, and I want to start every day like this...<3
The next time she hopped into my lap for "MORE!" today, she pointed to the other breast and said "it's a boobie!" I had to ask her again what she said (because she was talking around the nipple she was using) and she popped off and said "BOOBIE!"
All my work to try and avoid her using that word defeated by the men in my life. "Bobbing for boobies" has been my father's response to her rooting since day one. And even my husband refers to her "num-nums" as boobies. Oh well.
The next time she hopped into my lap for "MORE!" today, she pointed to the other breast and said "it's a boobie!" I had to ask her again what she said (because she was talking around the nipple she was using) and she popped off and said "BOOBIE!"
All my work to try and avoid her using that word defeated by the men in my life. "Bobbing for boobies" has been my father's response to her rooting since day one. And even my husband refers to her "num-nums" as boobies. Oh well.
The things I've been writing lately...
On March 9th a horrific article was published in the NY Times regarding the gang rape of an 11-year-old girl. This article clearly blamed the victim and her family for the rape and inspired me to write two letters. The first to Mr. McKinley who wrote the article, and the second to the Public Editor of the NY Times. I've posted each of these letters below...
Dear Mr. Mckinley,
I have just finished reading your article entitled "Vicious Assault Shakes Texas Town" and I have been inspired to write to you due to my deep disappointment and visceral disgust in the way the story was handled.
I would like to believe that you stated so little about the victim other than her age, gender, clothing/makeup and associates in an effort to protect her identity. However, in publishing the comments about her appearance, and that she "dressed older than her age, wearing makeup and fashions more appropriate to a woman in her 20s" you have subtly painted her as somehow complicit in her own assault. By quoting individuals who are more concerned about the boys who will "have to live with this the rest of their lives" you have made the rapists the victims. The victim in this situation is the child who was raped. This is a gang act of pedophilia and these men and teenagers chose to participate or not report these assaults on a child. Also the whereabouts of her mother are irrelevant. The child, and her mother, are not to be blamed for what happened here. It is writing such as this that has allowed a pervasive rape culture in our country to make it difficult and sometimes impossible for women to protect themselves or go to authorities to report assault without immediately becoming suspects in their own rapes. And that is for grown women, this is an 11-year-old child!
I want you to re-read your article with the eyes of that girl, her family and her friends. Shame Mr. Mckinley, you have victimized that little girl again with your words.
Sincerely,
I have just finished reading your article entitled "Vicious Assault Shakes Texas Town" and I have been inspired to write to you due to my deep disappointment and visceral disgust in the way the story was handled.
I would like to believe that you stated so little about the victim other than her age, gender, clothing/makeup and associates in an effort to protect her identity. However, in publishing the comments about her appearance, and that she "dressed older than her age, wearing makeup and fashions more appropriate to a woman in her 20s" you have subtly painted her as somehow complicit in her own assault. By quoting individuals who are more concerned about the boys who will "have to live with this the rest of their lives" you have made the rapists the victims. The victim in this situation is the child who was raped. This is a gang act of pedophilia and these men and teenagers chose to participate or not report these assaults on a child. Also the whereabouts of her mother are irrelevant. The child, and her mother, are not to be blamed for what happened here. It is writing such as this that has allowed a pervasive rape culture in our country to make it difficult and sometimes impossible for women to protect themselves or go to authorities to report assault without immediately becoming suspects in their own rapes. And that is for grown women, this is an 11-year-old child!
I want you to re-read your article with the eyes of that girl, her family and her friends. Shame Mr. Mckinley, you have victimized that little girl again with your words.
Sincerely,
*signature*
And here is the letter to the Public Editor:
Dear Mr. Brisbane,
I am writing to you in response to the article "Vicious Assault Shakes Texas Town" by James C. McKinley Jr. I have also written directly to Mr. McKinley.
I am sure you are aware of the nature of the article in that an 11-year-old child was brutally raped by numerous teenagers and adults in a Texas neighborhood. That this occurred at all is tragic and understandably would devastate any community. However, in reading Mr. McKinley's article, it is not the vicious assault on the child that appears to be the tragedy, but the effect it will have on her attackers. Comments such as, "if the allegations are proved, how could their young men have been drawn into such an act?" and “These boys have to live with this the rest of their lives.” make the rapists the victims and the little girl the cause of their downfall. By describing the child as "dressed older than her age, wearing makeup and fashions more appropriate to a woman in her 20s" he implies that she somehow is complicit in her own assault. The townspeople quoted are rallying around "their" boys and accusing the victim and Mr. McKinley is continuing that inappropriate attitude with his choice of quotes and comments.
This is an 11-year-old child who has been brutally, viciously, repeatedly raped by numerous teenagers and boys who chose to assault her. They are not the victims, she is. I am appalled that this article was published as it was. I implored Mr. McKinley to re-read the article through the victim's eyes, and the eyes of her family and friends because he has victimized her all over again.
I am disgusted on behalf of that poor child, and rape victims everywhere who are blamed for the crimes against them. This article has perpetrated the rape culture that allows men and boys to assault women and children and get away with it while their victims are made suspects. It is very difficult for a grown woman to report her own rape for fear she will be investigated as complicit in the crimes against herself, how must this child and her family feel as she is repeatedly assaulted, first with rape, now with words.
Sincerely,
I am writing to you in response to the article "Vicious Assault Shakes Texas Town" by James C. McKinley Jr. I have also written directly to Mr. McKinley.
I am sure you are aware of the nature of the article in that an 11-year-old child was brutally raped by numerous teenagers and adults in a Texas neighborhood. That this occurred at all is tragic and understandably would devastate any community. However, in reading Mr. McKinley's article, it is not the vicious assault on the child that appears to be the tragedy, but the effect it will have on her attackers. Comments such as, "if the allegations are proved, how could their young men have been drawn into such an act?" and “These boys have to live with this the rest of their lives.” make the rapists the victims and the little girl the cause of their downfall. By describing the child as "dressed older than her age, wearing makeup and fashions more appropriate to a woman in her 20s" he implies that she somehow is complicit in her own assault. The townspeople quoted are rallying around "their" boys and accusing the victim and Mr. McKinley is continuing that inappropriate attitude with his choice of quotes and comments.
This is an 11-year-old child who has been brutally, viciously, repeatedly raped by numerous teenagers and boys who chose to assault her. They are not the victims, she is. I am appalled that this article was published as it was. I implored Mr. McKinley to re-read the article through the victim's eyes, and the eyes of her family and friends because he has victimized her all over again.
I am disgusted on behalf of that poor child, and rape victims everywhere who are blamed for the crimes against them. This article has perpetrated the rape culture that allows men and boys to assault women and children and get away with it while their victims are made suspects. It is very difficult for a grown woman to report her own rape for fear she will be investigated as complicit in the crimes against herself, how must this child and her family feel as she is repeatedly assaulted, first with rape, now with words.
Sincerely,
*signature*
I have not received any response from either Mr. McKinley or Mr. Brisbane and do not expect to as they have denied that there is anything wrong with the way this article was published. This case is keeping me up at night and inspiring me to hold and cuddle V even more than usual (if that is at all possible). I hope and pray to all the powers that may or not be that when she grows up, this world is safer for her than it is for girls and women right now.
Writing, but not here, or in my journal, so does it count?
I've been writing a lot the last few days. I wrote letters to the Public Editor of the NY Times, as well as one of that paper's authors. I have written comments on other blog posts. I have long lists of comments on facebook... The question I ask myself is, do these count if im not blogging in my own space or maintaining the journal I write to V? And I have to say, probably not. I absolutely have to work harder at writing, and drawing and painting and feeding my artistic self as much as I feed my daughter. Especially since I am likely going back to work outside the home in an industry I don't really feel passionately about. More on that later. In the mean time, i am debating changing the name of this space, yet again, to try and reflect all of me and better inspire me to keep up with it. Wish me luck.
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Sunday, January 30, 2011
Even SAHMs get sick
So once again V and I have caught a cold. I've lost track of how many this is this winter. She generally recovers quite quickly and this last time I didn't even notice that she was sick, as opposed to teething or in a growth spurt, for several days. Then I got sick.
I can handle a lot of things with grace, a cold is must definitely not one of them. At 3:30 am this morning I wanted to throw a temper tantrum. I was sitting on the floor of the bathroom in my parents' house because we have been staying with them since last week, trying not to vomit, and missing my husband who is at home with the cats. This is not a comfortable place to be. Eventually I got my stomach under control and rejoined V, but I never really slept.
I wonder why, as a body modification and ritual fan, I can withstand seven and a half hours of tattooing in one sitting, two hours of a flesh pull, one hour of a superwoman suspension, and 6" by 6" electrocautery brand, but a cold makes me want to whine and stamp my feet and be miserable? In short, become a toddler?
My mom brought home cold symptom easing bath salts (not the kind that people are using to get high) and offered to let me take a hot bath while she makes the beet risotto for dinner. I grated the beets since her hands cant be pink for work. ;) What a treat, a bath without the baby. Hopefully it will help.
In the meantime im hoping this virus burns out quickly and I can move on to being intermitently miserable for other reasons.
I can handle a lot of things with grace, a cold is must definitely not one of them. At 3:30 am this morning I wanted to throw a temper tantrum. I was sitting on the floor of the bathroom in my parents' house because we have been staying with them since last week, trying not to vomit, and missing my husband who is at home with the cats. This is not a comfortable place to be. Eventually I got my stomach under control and rejoined V, but I never really slept.
I wonder why, as a body modification and ritual fan, I can withstand seven and a half hours of tattooing in one sitting, two hours of a flesh pull, one hour of a superwoman suspension, and 6" by 6" electrocautery brand, but a cold makes me want to whine and stamp my feet and be miserable? In short, become a toddler?
My mom brought home cold symptom easing bath salts (not the kind that people are using to get high) and offered to let me take a hot bath while she makes the beet risotto for dinner. I grated the beets since her hands cant be pink for work. ;) What a treat, a bath without the baby. Hopefully it will help.
In the meantime im hoping this virus burns out quickly and I can move on to being intermitently miserable for other reasons.
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Friday, January 28, 2011
middle of the night ramblings
If you have read this blog at all, and I doubt anyone has, you know that this has been a tumultuous year. Foreclosure, V turned 1, HAMP, relationship issues, cats dead and rehomed... It has been a wild ride. In all of this mess, my husband, who I love and who drives me absolutely crazy, worked tirelessly to try and make "it work." He badgered the mortgage company daily so they wouldn't misshandle our modification application, he was nothing but delightful with V, he tried (and succeeded) to "win me back." He held me when we euthanised my baby goddess Luna Moth in the kitchen one week after V's first birthday. Today all his hard work and diligence was recognized by my parents and that, more than any of the financial help they have given us, eases the burden. I am great at holding grudges, and terrible at showing gratitude, but we truly could not have survived this time without our parents. I'm sending my gratitude out to the universe hoping that it seeds more good things to come our way. I have applied, insanely, for a full time file clerk position in a medical office. Human medicine, not veterinary. Hubby has been waiting to find out if he is getting either of two promotions he applied for at Target, while he continues to pound the pavement and poke around cyberspace looking for other options.
Wish us luck and help urge the universe to give us a break. We would love to catch up and be the family I know we can become. Maybe send a better employment opportunity toward either of us. I have started a pet sitting business, if that could take off, that would be perfect. I don't ask for much. ;)
Wish us luck and help urge the universe to give us a break. We would love to catch up and be the family I know we can become. Maybe send a better employment opportunity toward either of us. I have started a pet sitting business, if that could take off, that would be perfect. I don't ask for much. ;)
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Things I love Thursday, how the times flies
How did I go almost two months without posting ANYTHING on this blog? What kind of writer am I? Oh yeah, the kind that doesn't.
The entire northeast/mid atlantic region is currently blanketed with over a foot of snow. V and I are ensconced at my parents' house where we are supposed to be meeting, along with my husband, later today to receive much needed help while the hubby and I are in the middle of our mortgage trial period. What do I love right now? Having family that extends a hand when you need it, doesn't hold grudges (even though I do too often), and rewards good attempts.
V is almost 18-months-old. Almost 1 1/2 years. She is almost 32" tall, almost 30lbs. Almost out of reach. I know that last statement was somewhat fatalistic. It astonishes me how fast the time, as short as it really is, has flown. I blink and she learns a new word, either verbal or sign. I wake up in the morning and she has grown. The last 18 months, year and a half, have been the hardest I have ever lived through. I have had more stress, more fear, more tears, more sleepless nights than in the last 35 years of my life. And yet, the joys, the very simple joys of a morning baby kiss, the "pat pat pat" of her little hand on my shoulder when I pick her up, or her insistance on taking my hands and having me dance with her when she likes a song, these will break my heart with their sweetness and perfection. I hope she never knows the fear we have felt, the insecurity. I hope for her that she always feels and knows the dept of our love. I wish I could protect her from the bumps and bruises of life and people. I wish she could keep this sweetness for ever.
The entire northeast/mid atlantic region is currently blanketed with over a foot of snow. V and I are ensconced at my parents' house where we are supposed to be meeting, along with my husband, later today to receive much needed help while the hubby and I are in the middle of our mortgage trial period. What do I love right now? Having family that extends a hand when you need it, doesn't hold grudges (even though I do too often), and rewards good attempts.
V is almost 18-months-old. Almost 1 1/2 years. She is almost 32" tall, almost 30lbs. Almost out of reach. I know that last statement was somewhat fatalistic. It astonishes me how fast the time, as short as it really is, has flown. I blink and she learns a new word, either verbal or sign. I wake up in the morning and she has grown. The last 18 months, year and a half, have been the hardest I have ever lived through. I have had more stress, more fear, more tears, more sleepless nights than in the last 35 years of my life. And yet, the joys, the very simple joys of a morning baby kiss, the "pat pat pat" of her little hand on my shoulder when I pick her up, or her insistance on taking my hands and having me dance with her when she likes a song, these will break my heart with their sweetness and perfection. I hope she never knows the fear we have felt, the insecurity. I hope for her that she always feels and knows the dept of our love. I wish I could protect her from the bumps and bruises of life and people. I wish she could keep this sweetness for ever.
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