thanks, youtube

rob corduroy.

i am still with her.

I spent yesterday in mourning. I cried angry, bitter tears as I tried to come to terms with what had happened in the morning. I sobbed heartbroken tears as I watched the most qualified presidential candidate of my lifetime give a gracious concession speech. (I do not feel like arguing about how you felt about Hillary Clinton personally, but you cannot say that she did not have the best possible resume for the job.) I cried hopeless tears as I read post after post from friends and family who now fear for their lives and loved ones in the aftermath of this election. And this broke my heart.

I watched my grief echo back thousandfold as my country, a country I still believe in, woke up to a day that so many of us had hoped and prayed and worked to turn out differently. While I have always considered myself an optimist, yesterday I felt despondent. I have been very, very lucky in my life. I am a white person of means and privilege. I have benefitted from quality public education, and have lived and worked in diverse circles. I have a loving and supportive family, and a husband who believes I am his equal. We live in safety and comfort. I have never felt like I was less than simply because I am a woman. I have had strong female mentors and champions in the workplace. I have never been raped. But this election was a confirmation on the grandest scale that in the eyes of many, too many, women still are just not good enough. And this broke my heart.

I believed, naively I now see, that the majority of us are good. Are able to look beyond ourselves to make choices for the betterment of us all. But this election proved to me that there is even more work to be done in America than I had realized, and I regret my own complacency. I am sorry to those who were telling us that our country is broken – I was not listening. Yesterday, I felt like I had failed my friends, and my family, and my daughter. And this broke my heart.   

It is very, very difficult for me to understand how everyone who watched this campaign did not see what I saw: a woefully under-qualified narcissist who preyed upon America’s basest instincts, and took every chance he got to demean a strong, intelligent woman and the decades she has spent in service of the public, as well as those who believed in her. For those of you who say you voted for Trump only because you are concerned about the economy and you want your jobs back, or because you are anti-abortion, or because you just don’t trust the Clintons, I hear you, but I need you to understand: it does not matter. You have aligned yourself with a racist, hateful man. And his deeply racist supporters are not parsing this win; they see this as a confirmation that the country is with them. (And while I understand that Hillary won the popular vote, that is cold comfort.) You chose to ignore the many, many opportunities you had to disavow this despicable man, and you will have to live with the repercussions of your actions. We all will. Trump may not actually do the truly horrific things he promised to do during his campaign, but his election gave a legitimacy to a deep-seated hatred – of women, of African Americans, of Latinos, of Muslims, of the LGBTQ community, of immigrants, of people with disabilities – that previously lurked in the shadows, occasionally lashing out in spasms, that now feels welcomed to come out into the light. And this makes me angry.

Yesterday was for tears, but today, and tomorrow, and every day forward are for action. This is my country, and I love it (even if I am a little bit disappointed in it right now), and I am not going to let a cruel ideologue and his deluded followers ruin it. For my family, my friends, my daughter, and myself, I vow: to join those of you already in the trenches to elect progressive candidates in 2018, 2020, and beyond; to continue to support organizations working to protect the rights and lives of women, minorities, and anyone else threatened by conservative legislation, including a push for meaningful progress on the fight to address climate change; to volunteer more in my community; and to stand with those of you who are scared or sad or tired. I love you. And we’re going to do this together.  

happy election day. if you have not already done so, get out and vote. and then let’s get past all of the horrific rhetoric of this campaign season, and back to the work of being the best america we can.

our little rueberry muffin, all dressed up for her first halloween. (many thanks to my amazing mom for the awesome costume!)

longest cook time of my life, but she's the sweetest, most delicious thing we've ever baked.

Georgia State Representative Stacey Abrams, in a recent Lenny Letter

four or five things on a friday:

ketchup sandwiches and other things stupid poor people eat

four or five things on a friday:

we were  introducing ruby to chicago rappers

four or five things on a friday:

nickerchentraurigkeit

what is the german word for the simultaneous relief you feel when your baby no longer needs to fall asleep on you in order to nap, and the sadness you feel when your baby no longer needs to fall asleep on you in order to nap? surely this exists.

hearts and bones

you take two bodies and you twirl them into one / their hearts and their bones / and they won’t come undone

when i was newly pregnant, i remember looking at a diagram that depicted the way my organs would be rearranged to make room for our growing baby. it was amazing and terrifying to me. (pregnancy is a celebration of one of the most incredible things your body can do, while you are seemingly reminded of every unpleasant bodily function, all the time.) as i got further along, i would lie on my left side and could feel my heart beating closer to the skin. it was a visceral reminder of everything i was doing to keep us both alive. i know that everything has slowly worked its way back to its original place on the inside, but i’m not sure my heart will ever be the same.

now my heart beats outside of my body. my little heart coos at me in the mornings, flashing the world’s greatest gummy smile. she has learned to hold up her head and is working on sitting. she recognizes the voices of mama and daddy and bluesy hippo, and is instantly calmed by the music of paul simon. (specifically “you can call me al”. it is bizarre how easily this works, but i am not looking that gift horse in the mouth.) when we took her to daycare this morning for the first time, she looked steadily around the room with her serious face on, taking it all in. only mama cried. on the way home, i drove carefully, willing myself to make it without turning around. i watched the clock until noon, and then called to check in. (she is fine. of course she is fine. only i am not fine.)  

i know that this is how i will feel for the rest of my life - that a little part of me is making her way in the world independent of us. it is what you want for your children, of course. that they can exist, thrive even, apart from you. there were moments during my maternity leave that i looked forward to this, to my “freedom”, but now i think it all went too fast. (and i know that this is also how i will feel for the rest of my life, that it is all going too fast, as i watch her grow from baby to toddler to little girl and beyond.) this is another change in a year full of them, a new normal to get used to, just when i had grown accustomed to the rhythm of our baby days. and i will get there. and in the meantime i will give us all time to adjust. but for now i am aching for the weight of my girl in my arms, and i am counting down the minutes until i can press her sweet face to my heart once more.