Monthly Archives: November 2016

getting it off my chest.

About a month ago, I came home distraught because I found out Theo was having problems being nice at daycare.

I know he’s two, but it’s so important to me that he grows up to be kind. On the flip side, it’s so hard to be sure you’re getting through to a two-year old, so I didn’t know how to approach it. I’m still learning.

So we started talking about how important it was to be nice. Maybe the most important thing. We talked about people we knew who were nice (Aunties, Uncles, Ellie, Alma- you all made the list). At some point, probably because we listen to a lot of NPR in the car, we ended up talking about how Trump was not nice. How Obama and Hillary were.

When Trump won on Tuesday night, I was relieved that at least my kids are little and I didn’t have to shoulder the heartbreaking task of explaining what had happened to my babies.

But then this morning, when I was getting ready, I thought about it some more. I thought about how smart Theo is, and how Jon and I have been talking about the election so much in the last few months and how it hasn’t stopped since Wednesday morning. He’s seen us walking around worried and nervous and angry.

Theo deserves to focus on being a kid, but he also deserves the truth. I remember wanting that as a little kid, and I know he’s practically a baby, but he’s still a human and a citizen of this world.

And as I’ve said and will continue to say, our kids are watching us.

So this morning I sunk onto the floor and pulled him into my arms, and I explained to my baby that Mommy and Daddy have been talking to him about how Trump isn’t nice, but how now Trump is going to be the President.

He furrowed his brow and looked at me hard, but he just said “Oh.”

Theo’s always been good about reading people, since he was born, and I could tell he sensed that I was struggling with this. He leaned against me, which is important to note because Boo is two and on the go and doesn’t have any moments to waste leaning against his mother while engaging in anything that doesn’t end with him getting candy.

But he did.

Then I told him that it’s still important to be nice. It’s so, so important that he be nice to everyone.

He looked at me, and he put his hand on my face, and he said “We’ll be nice, Mommy!”

And then he scampered off to play with his sister.

This is how we will do better, chickens. We will do better by teaching our kids to do better. They’re smarter than us, thank God, and they will grow up into a kinder America if we teach them that this is the right thing.

We’re just getting started, here.

 

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thoughts when the light seems low

Namaste, chickadees.

I’ve finally gotten a few hours of sleep, and while I am still bleary-eyed, trying to make sense of all this, I have a few thoughts.

You’ll find, if you stick around, that I always have a few thoughts.

The first thing I do after an election is think about my grandfather. He left this earth fifteen years ago, but I do not go through an election cycle without reflecting about what he would have thought or what he would have said about the outcome. My grandfather left us when I was seventeen, and so one of my greatest regrets is that we didn’t get to have the adult relationship I have with the rest of my grandparents.

But then, my grandpa always treated me like an adult. He always gave me space at the table to tell him what I thought, and he always listened to me. My grandparents always thought politics were important, and so even as a child, we sat around after dinner and we talked about what we thought was right and wrong, and that was the first place I felt it was safe to form my opinions.

So I took a walk yesterday and looked at the blue sky, and I asked him what he thought. I asked him, could he truly believe this is where we were?

I willed him to somehow communicate to me what was next.

And I felt a brief wash of calm, just for a moment.

I was taught that the way to fight for what you believe is with your words and your actions.

To say I am devastated about the outcome of Tuesday night would be an understatement.

I think my grandfather would have been devastated too.

But I think he would have told me to keep moving, that the most important thing we could do would be to pause to reflect and then jump up and take action. I think we can tell each other that those of us who choose love over hate and those of us who know how important it is to take care of each other are still all exactly where we were Tuesday morning.

We’re right here, chickens.

*****

Tuesday, I worked the polls for 17 hours. I showed up before five that morning. I was supposed to be joined by four other judges, but instead just one Republican judge named Nathan showed up. Nathan and I had never worked the polls before, and there was a rush of humanity when they opened at 6 am.

We weren’t ready for it. We had no idea what to do, and before long, there was a line of voters in the auditorium and I started sweating.

We adjusted quickly, stretching to do four jobs between two people, making the process fluid and easy and taking care of each other. Nathan was polite to every single voter, he was helpful even when it was obvious that the vast majority of the voters in our precinct were outspokenly voting against the Republicans. He thanked every citizen who came through the door for voting and I could tell he meant it.

He didn’t flinch when I dropped the f bomb several times an hour, even though I gathered he was not the type to swear. He didn’t roll his eyes when I lectured my neighbors about how not requiring ID was a positive thing. He promised an upset 87-year-old man that he would make sure his vote counted.

He laughed at almost all of my jokes, and at the end of the night, exhausted, we found out that our ward boasted the highest turnout in the city, something that made us both visibly excited.

Election judges are supposed to wear badges with their political parties on them, but because we were slammed in the morning, we never got around to finding them or putting them on.

We served as plain old Americans instead. We were a great team. I’d want Nathan on my team again if I could choose.

Chicks, I have to believe that there are more Nathans out there to add to all of us who already believe in a civil, peaceful, loving America.

What’s next is to decide how we move forward. Can we reach deep down where it’s dark and scary and figure out a way to go on in love? It won’t be easy. Getting angry comes easier, and honestly, it’s a fair reaction. But let’s use that anger to stoke the fire of change, everyone. Let’s be the people we want our children to look up to. Let’s make this country a safer, better place to hand off to them someday.

And let’s know that the midterms are two years away. Let’s not waste any time crying when we could be volunteering or speaking or writing or donating.

Namaste, chickadees. There will be sunshine again, I promise.

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not throwing away my shot

 

Here’s the deal, chickadees.

I can’t check election projections any more. I’ve been checking them obsessively for days (weeks, months), and enough, already.

This campaign has been bitter and tough and violent and not our best foot forward.

I’m older than I was on the eve of electing Barack Obama, a great man I feel proud to call my President.

I was 24 and I cared so much about our country then, but in a different way than I do now.

Now I care about that country in a deeply personal way because there are beautiful little people who I am responsible for turning over this nation to one day and I’d like them to think I made it a better place.

I may be a little more cynical than I was 8 years ago. I might heave my shoulders more often and sigh, and worry that this is how people are.

That people truly think that there are American citizens who count less than they do.

But then I lift up my head. And I look around, and I realize I’m surrounded by people who don’t think that.

I’m surrounded by people who know it’s important that we don’t act like demeaning women is acceptable “locker room talk.” That we recognize that making fun of people with disabilities makes you a straight up asshole. That your kids deserve the same education that my kids deserve, because these kids are all our kids.

And they’re going to do great things.

I cannot be cynical, because to be cynical is to be defeated. I’m working the polls tomorrow, and I’ll do it with a smile on my face because I truly believe that I am lucky to be an American.

I think a lot about something Cory Booker wrote (well, something his dad said and he wrote about):

“Boy, don’t you dare walk around this house like you hit a triple, when you were born on third base!”

Like Senator Booker, I feel like I was born on third base. It has nothing to do with what I deserve or how hard I’ve worked, it was sheer dumb luck and I am thankful for it every single day but it’s only luck.

And my fellow citizens who didn’t get so lucky are just as deserving at the same shot I received.

So I voted for the candidate who I think believes that too. Who is going to work to give us all a better shot.

I think she’ll do great.

We will still be divided on Wednesday, even if the election is over.

That’s something I learned over the past eight years, and it’s also okay. My hope is that we recognize this time that our success hinges on our ability to move forward, and not to be stuck in some past version of America where it was acceptable to divide our worth up based on how we looked or where we came from.

I hope you vote, because your voice is silent without it.

America is beautiful, chickens. Even when it’s scary or turbulent or not as we want it to be, it’s ours, and it’s an experiment like this world has never seen before. And there’s no one else I’d rather belong to.

 

 

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Someday is today

Dear Chicago,

You’re not technically my hometown. I was born in New Haven, and I consider myself a true, blue New Englander. I’m a little too suspicious and not quite friendly enough to be an authentic Midwesterner, but fourteen years later, I’m working on it.

I moved to the city in the fall of 2002, fresh off of three years in rural Michigan, a place I never quite fit in (but where I met the most important piece of my life story, and so it was worth it). I stumbled a little in the big city, and found friends who helped me understand I shouldn’t forget to lock my doors and that you had to keep your head up in a town of three million people. I slid into place after a few months and remember thinking, this is it. 

This is home.

Four years later after graduating, I had a friend who couldn’t believe I wasn’t “going home.”

I smiled to myself, because I knew that I was home.

I cheered for the Cubs starting my freshman year of college, at first because a boy I liked loved the Cubs, and then because I loved the Cubs. I named a plant in my dorm room Kenny Lofton (I’m weird, I know) and went down to Wrigley when I was nineteen, the night of Bartman, when we were thisclose to finally getting to the World Series. I ran out of there late in the game after some angry fans hauled a giant fake Marlin up above their heads and started chanting “Fuck the Fish.”

We’re passionate, as Cubs fans.

I’ve been to Wrigley a gazillion times, with my best friends and my classmates. With my husband and my parents. Most importantly, with my baby Theo at his first game this year.

Chicago is where I went to college. It’s where I met my best friends, and where I got my first job and my first apartment. It’s where my long distance boyfriend turned into my roommate, and my fiance, and my husband, and now the father of my babies.

And always, always the guy watching the game with me.

Baseball has always been a thread running through my life in Chicago, and like everything else, its had its ups and downs, its highs and lows.

We’ll stick with you, through it all, because we’re Cubs fans, and because this is our city, and because we have a deep love for both the team and our home, even when it’s bitter.

But man, it is surreal when it feels so sweet.

So thanks Chicago, for teaching me everything I know. Thanks for showing me that if you work hard and hang in and keep the faith, it.will.happen.

That someday will become today.

xoxo,

NP

theocubs.jpg

 

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