The enemy is our chattering brain.

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Loving these words today. Embracing them. 

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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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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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