Today, as I was stretching to reach the top of the shower rod, so I could thread plastic loops through the holes of both the shower curtain and the liner, which I couldn’t even see because I’m way too short, I thought… adulting is stupid. Half the time, I feel like I’m playing house, doing... Continue Reading →
4 Reasons I Took My Kid to March For Our Lives Atlanta
At 7 years old, my daughter, has already attended seven civil rights marches (if you count the five Pride parades she’s attended—and I do. Oh, I do.). I don’t come from a long line of activists. In fact, my parents always seem (not so secretly) appalled that I let Jane march through the streets holding signs, chanting, and generally being a rabble-rouser. But here’s the thing: Jane was born into activism.
Grumpitude & Grace
We’ve entered the season of snark with Jane. And, dear God, it is wearing me down.
Raising a Kid Who Sees (and Celebrates) Color
Our daughter’s start in the world was less than traditional--conceived with donor sperm and born to lesbian parents. Then, when Jane was 4, her Bobby (Jane’s non-biological parent), transitioned from female to male. Que the crash course in gender, acceptance, and celebrating who we are—even if who we are makes us a little different.
My Kid’s Complicated Relationship with Black Panther
We took Jane to see Black Panther on Sunday. (Trust me...This is just another in a string of questionable parenting choices.) In our house, we are all about REPRESENTATION and EMPOWERMENT (and, yeah, I get excited enough when I talk about these things to warrant all caps). I wanted her to see a black superhero... Continue Reading →
We Do Not Have to Live Like This
I haven't talked to Jane about the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. How do you tell a 7 year old, who loves school above all else, that 17 people went in to school one morning and never came back out? How will she ever feel safe again, once she knows the truth? I... Continue Reading →
A Control Freak Gets Sober: A Short Case Study
I walked in, freshly pressed in a white shirt, crisp jeans and my beloved cowboy boots. My hair, pulled up in a clip, projected a no-nonsense image. Or, at least, I hoped it did. I wanted to be at the top of my game for this meeting. I pulled back one of the folding chairs,... Continue Reading →