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"Who, being loved, is poor?" oscar wilde

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Grace in the madness of mothering

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The Bargain Hunter , where my column appears, is undergoing website changes. For now, my columns will be posted here:  There’s grace somewhere in the octaves between high-pitched and emergency, where I could hear the timbre of my voice and know that I was one step away from madness. This chaos lies in the line of crooked bangs cut with a dull hair scissors, no longer able to brush them away from the brown eyes of a child you love with such fierceness and agony. She would look at me, taunting, hugging me before she ran from me to do the things that would make my throat quiver. She would get up from her bed twenty-nine times in an evening, her Aladdin nightgown swinging as she descended from the stairs, and nothing I did would make her stay. There’s grace allowed somewhere in that madness. I remember rocking my baby in a rocker that several of our family had bought us for our wedding. The curves of it embraced us, and the nursery was warm with forced air from the furnace...
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... a little romance ...

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We're celebrating our anniversary tonight -- 20 maddeningly lovely years .  It's not that I picked George out of a crowd, God led me to him.  I was supposed to do my VS assignment in Phoenix, AZ that winter of 1988.  At the last minute, they changed it to San Antonio, TX.   Where George lived.  God just knows. "By in love she meant the acuteness of the heart at the sudden sight of a particular person or the way over a couple of years of interested friendship one is suddenly stunned by the lungs' longing for more and more breath in the presence of that friend."  ~Grace Paley The wine is chilling, steaks and shrimp are marinating, and a variety of veggies to grill are cut and prepared.  French bread is waiting to be torn off as needed, and two lovely pink candles (a anniversary gift from a friend) are waiting to be burned.  We are setting this day aside for us -- because that's what we were first...us.
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stop. victim. blaming.

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Victim-blaming. Must. Stop .  Can't we see? Do you tell a girl that was raped that it was her fault?  Do you find ways to tell a dead boy it was his fault he was killed? Short skirts don't lead to rape - rapists do . Dabbling in drugs doesn't mean you deserve to die . Why are we picking apart a dead child's 17 year old behavior? To make us feel better? Do we say, " He was a hoodlum so his death is justified ?" No one deserves to die. No one deserves to be picked apart in death. No girl "asks" to be raped. We can't say the two are not the same kind of blaming.   Victim-blaming. Must. Stop .
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