Cow's Milk

This is pulled from the bowel's of my long since closed myspace account for a faux-friend on Twitter @scarrymommy whose son just discovered the connection between a baby chick and the food on his plate...
_____

After school yesterday, Seth (10) and Kira (8) were scheduled for long overdue haircut appointments. I forgot to pack a snack to counter their afternoon hunger pains, so we stopped at the new Dunkin Donuts. After what was certainly the longest pastry contemplation time in history, we settled back into the car, each child pleased with their respective donut of choice and a small jug of milk to share.

Conversation about their school day turned to plans for the evening, then to silent enjoyment of their snacks. Then it happens...the ALWAYS loaded, "Mom?" Kira's use of my title when preceded by silence and loaded with inquisition has become a source of both great joy and anxiety for me. As I recall, the earliest "Mom?" conversation occurred on a steaming hot afternoon in late July when she was five years old…

Her: Mom?
Me: Yes, Kira? (always my response)
Her: Is Santa Clause real?

See what I mean? These are hard questions, always intense and always in the car. So, back to yesterday…

Her: Mom?
Me: Yes, Kira?
Her: I know milk comes from cows, but…like, how do they make it? I mean, do they just make it?
Me: (Pause) Well, Kira, do you know how when a mom has a baby and if she breastfeeds, her body makes milk? Actually, do you remember how every woman's body makes milk when she has a baby, and if they breastfeed their body just keeps making more milk for the baby?
Her: Yes.
Me: Well, cow's milk is what mama cows make for their babies. They have a baby, then milk comes, just like in humans and people use those machines to milk the cows so they keep making more milk.

I looked in the rear-view mirror and oh my, the look on that child's face. I would give everything I own to go back and capture this look on film. I've never seen it before. It's not the "yuck" face or even the disbelief face or even the dreaded "you are the worst mother in the world" face. I swear her face said, "What the fuck is wrong with you people?"

I realize this is an extreme assumption for me to make about the thought process of an eight year old child, but I promise I have no doubt that is exactly what Kira thought. She was appalled, no mortified, not only that she was drinking a baby cow's breast milk but that I would give it to her knowing where it came from. I'm sure some part of her even felt disappointed with the farmers who produce it and our society as a whole for continuing to support such an obviously insane concept, humans drinking the sacred mama milk of baby cows.

Not long ago, we rescued a couple of baby chicks. They only lived here for a few days but we quickly came to love them. The day after our chicks moved on to a permanent home with their adoptive family, Kira put together that baby chicks grow up to be chickens, and that she eats chicken. I feel like this brief visit from our little chicks finally did me in for eating meat, but it was a long time coming and I've done it subtly. I'm very careful not to push my choices off on them. But, Kira was uncomfortable with it, and I knew it was simmering in there. Time will tell where she ends up on the issue. I suppose all I can do for now is answer her questions honestly and support her in whatever she finds herself contemplating next.*

*It took about a year from the "discovery" but Kira is, in fact, now a 10 year-old vegetarian.

What Did You Learn In School Today?

My nine year-old daughter, Kira, came home from school last week upset. The source of her angst is what makes this noteworthy, she was upset about politics. She was fully loaded when I asked how her day went and she launched right into a detailed explanation about lists a few of her peers were keeping of who wanted McCain to be our next president and who wanted Obama to win. Also, she told about heated conversations on the play ground (I promise I'm not joking or exaggerating) where some of the kids were telling "lies". I'm always a sucker for a Kira story, so I asked what kind of lies she'd heard. She said some of the kids were saying that Obama was a Muslim, he was not an American, and that he was friends with Osama bin Laden. 

Now, we live in a painfully conservative small town on the outskirts of Nashville, Tennessee. We regularly talk about how many of the people here have different thoughts and beliefs than us. Seth, who is eleven years-old, and Kira have an understanding of politics that perhaps exceeds what you'd expect from young children. They've been in the booth with me as I voted against Bush in the last two elections. The four of us held Hillary signs at a polling location during the primaries. They don't just overhear conversations adults have, we talk to them, ask them questions and answer questions they come up with. These children actually know about many of the issues. 

We talked at length about the reality of what they'd heard at school. We started by explaining that being a Muslim simply describes someone's religion, just like those who are Christian or Jewish. We told them that, ironically, Obama is a Christian just like most of the people in this community. Also, if he were a Muslim it would not be a bad thing and that if he were a Muslim and his policies were the same as today, he would still be a good President. Next, we spoke about their claim about his citizenship. In school they already learned about how one becomes an American citizen and Obama was born in Hawaii, one of the states in the United States of America.

Last, we explained to them that it was absolutely untrue that Obama was in any way affiliated with bin Laden, terrorism, or September 11th. Because we are deeply committed to fairness, I asked Kira what she knew about McCain. She thought for a moment and said, "McCain is an idiot!" I took a deep breath and explained that she was not correct, McCain is actually an intelligent man. He finished high school and college and has built a great deal of experience in his life. I told her that we (the voting adults in our house) had decided to vote for Obama because we looked at both men's policies and records and found Obama's to be in line with our beliefs and hopes for America in the next four years. 

To this elementary school drama we responded by listening to their concerns, educating them on the issues, then we also felt it necessary to prepare them for the next day at school. We talked about the importance of positive discussions, truth, and everyone's right to vote for the candidate of their choice. I told them that their friend’s parents have the right to vote for McCain, but that I hoped their votes should be based on TRUTH. I asked Kira what she'd like to do about it, she said she wanted her teacher, Mrs. Duke, to talk to the class about the facts. We thought that was a great idea, and also told her that she didn't have to convince anyone about the Obama inaccuracies. She could just tell them to check ANY reliable news source online and that the truth would be theirs to find.

After school the next day, Kira reported Mrs. Duke left early feeling ill and that in writing class they had an assignment to write her a letter. Kira wrote and asked Mrs. Duke to talk about politics in class. Kira was pleased with herself and we were deeply impressed. Two days later I saw Mrs. Duke at a school fundraiser and we spoke at length about the matter. I told her that as a family we support Obama, but understood and respected that we live in a conservative community. We appreciate our neighbor’s right to vote for McCain, but that some of the things their children were saying were absolutely untrue and that was the source of Kira’s concerns. 

Mrs. Duke gave me the impression she agreed it was a problem and said she would talk to their social studies teacher about it. I let her know that Seth reported the same types of conversations among his 5th grade peers and suggested she share the information with the administration as a whole. 

I'm deeply discouraged to report that yesterday Kira came home from school to say that Mrs. Duke told the class that it was against the law for her to persuade the students about politics, that the conversations had to stop, and that the lists had to stop. Kira was visibly disappointed and I don't know how to proceed from here. Kristin summarized perfectly that yesterday, in fourth grade, Kira learned that you can make up anything you want about someone and say it to anyone else at school and that it is illegal for the teacher to correct it. The worst part is that Kira believed her. Mrs. Duke planted a feeling of hopelessness about making a change in this world. This is NOT what I want for my daughter or any child in this country to believe. 

I agree that it should be against policy (I'm unsure about the use of the word illegal) for teachers to "persuade" children to want one presidential candidate over another. To be clear, I NEVER wanted or asked Mrs. Duke, the other teachers, or the administration at Westwood Elementary School to "persuade" their students to vote for Obama. I asked them to make use of this wonderful opportunity, this historical political experience underway in our country, to teach the children about democracy, truth, and the freedom to cast a vote for the candidate of your choice. 

These children have a right to a proper education. They have a right to truth. They have a right to observe and feel engaged in the political process that runs the country they live in. Not only do they have a right to this information, there is an entire curriculum that we call “Social Studies” and as of November 5th this will all be “U.S. History”. 

The next time we vote for president my children will be well into their teenage years. In two elections, Seth will be able to vote and it's three elections until Kira will cast her first vote for president of the United States of America. If not now...when? Step up Westwood, now is not the time to be afraid. These children and the future of our country delicately rests in your influential hands.

The Essence of O-Mom

I once wrote a column surveying some of the challenges experienced by women in blended families. I pondered celebrating step-moms with a t-shirt with an "S" on the chest, but rejected the idea, fearing the perception that I'd labeled myself "Super-Mom". In what became an after-dinner tradition, I held a reading of the final draft for family approval, before submitting it to my editor. In a moment of extraordinary charm, my first grader offered to get me a shirt with an "O" on the chest. I paused, pondered, and with great anticipation inquired, "An O?" He proudly explained, "An O... for Owesome-Mom!" 

The truth is that I'm not like most of the other moms, or at least it feels that way to me. I don't mean that in a proud way, like I think I'm better than the others. I mean that when I used to wait in my mini-van in the car rider line at my children's elementary school, I wondered if I was invisible or perhaps worse, if I'd been abducted by aliens and if my particular torture was participation in a huge experiment of human identity crisis management. As I journeyed to the soccer field... it felt like the van must belong to someone else and like the conversation on the sidelines came from a movie script where I played a soccer mom, not even remotely resembling the real me... whom I was fairly certain I'd never met. Talk about vacations, schedules, home repairs took center stage, while I felt like there was no one to talk to about the things on my heart - human rights, destruction of the environment, how to balance my hopes and desires as a woman with the needs of my family. I was working tirelessly to get my degree from a local university and was harboring dreams of starting my own business. It felt like I didn't speak the same language as many of the women around me.

Then, in my academic world, there was little talk of family life, even among those who had children. Deeply committed to my connected parenting style, I worried about the emotional impact that the absence created by academic pursuits would have on my young children. While the feminists on campus struggled to figure out how to fight for equality in a post-bra-burning era, I searched for a world where a woman pursues her professional dreams without sacrificing the parenting that I strongly believed my children needed to thrive. 

It's important to me that you understand something... I think moms are great. I believe that if every single woman who wants desperately to be at home raising her children were able to do that, the world would be a much better place. I feel profound admiration and respect for a woman who believes that her primary purpose, whether for a brief or more extended period of time, is to support and empower her children as a stay-at-home mom. I believe children need strong, consistent relationships with a primary attachment figure in order to grow up and be healthy, successful adults. Also, if every single woman who wants to work full-time outside her home were able to do so, while ensuring that her children's needs for strong, consistent connection with a primary attachment figure were met, the world would be a much better place. 

The O-mom is the woman with children who wants to be there, in the home as much as possible, raising her children, but also dreams/hopes/desires to start a business, get an education, or in some other way make a difference in the world. It is my dream to empower those women, to help them find their truth and support them to in living in alignment with that truth. Through my own journey, I've learned to honor myself as a woman with multiple dreams - love, parenthood, health, career, creativity, etc. Now, my job is to open the doors of opportunity to other women, who want to live the dynamic and powerful life of their dreams.

A few weeks ago, I caught a few minutes of reality TV that really illustrated this "dilemma" for me. During an interview, an executive from a name brand laundry detergent manufacturer described their target audience as adult women. She clarified that they are not just moms, but women who may or may not have children, partners, and jobs. 

I am a woman. I am a woman raising a pair of truly remarkable children. I am a woman who is completely and madly in love with her partner. I was born to empower women, and I use my gifts as a writer, teacher, and life coach to do that. I love to create and to learn. I lose sleep over injustice and the pain and oppression of other human beings. I marvel at, and usually cry, when I witness something extraordinary. I take beautiful photographs, and I love to dig in the dirt. 

Is this kind of life complicated? Well, it can be, and that's why I didn't stop with being an O-Mom. I became a Life Coach... because I want to help other women play and win all of the big games in their heart.

Inclusion - The New Opiate of the Masses

They tell me nice girls from the south refrain from talking about religion and politics, because it is best to keep the peace. For the record, both of my parents are retired from their careers in the United States Air Force. I am, therefore, technically a root-less military brat and my soul believes home is a beach, humid and salty, where I can put my toes in the sand and relax for hours while the sun destroys my evolutionarily incompetent fair and freckled skin. So, despite living in Nashville most of the last eighteen years, no one has ever accused me of being a southern girl... or nice, for that matter.

Politics and religion are all screwed up. There are many things wrong with both, and fixing either would take far more than all of the king's horses and all the king's men. I will not pretend that I can put them back together again, but there are a few little items, specifically arrogance and exclusivity, that even a fool could tell are not helping their reputations.

I believe abusing others with your opinion is arrogant, and abusing others with your supposed ethics is downright rude. Most importantly, abusing others with your religion is simple blasphemy and it has to stop. If we sincerely hope to achieve anything resembling progress in this world, this arrogance-based abuse of one another must stop. I repeat... stand down with your sacred text of choice. That book is for your spiritual exploration; you can offer to share it with those willing or even eager to listen, but please refrain from wielding your beliefs as a weapon against others. Thanks.

We have two choices, inclusive and exclusive, and I am sick to death of our tendency toward the latter. When you can choose, and I think you can ALWAYS choose, why not pick language and behaviors of inclusion?

I’m only going to offer one, very effective, empower-or-offend-readers-of-every-group example of the choice at hand. Let’s talk about that holiday period near the end of our calendar year, which is celebrated by almost everyone in one fashion or another.

To tree or not to tree, that is the question, or is it? Perhaps the question is something more romantic, like do you light candles or plug in strings of colorful flashing lights? Do you celebrate a person, and is it this dude or the other dude? If you simply celebrate the time of year, is it tied the coldest of our four seasons or frozen precipitation? Call it what you like, most of us do celebrate something at the end of the year.

For those who choose to tree in my community, there is a place that pops up mid-December to facilitate the recycling of those trees whose lives where lost during the “celebration”. For several years, I watched with mixed emotions as the directional signs rotated back and forth between saying “Christmas Tree” Recycling Center and “Holiday Tree” Recycling Center. For clarification, I don’t mean one year the signs said one thing and the next year they said something else. I mean that during one tree recycling season, the signs changed back and forth depending on who got their hands on it last before I drove by.

So, this is where I get harsh... GET OVER YOURSELVES! Is this the best use of our resources, micro-managing the language used on the signs directing us to where thousands upon thousands of TREES go after their time on this earth ends displaying our decorations for three whole weeks of celebration? Really?

During this time period in 2008, I enjoyed working with a client who is of one particular belief system and holds a remarkably levelheaded and inclusive position on this matter. When she wants to give a gift to someone in honor of this time of celebration, she gives the gift, wait for it... according to the recipient’s beliefs! Shocking, I know. For the loved one who loves angels, she buys angel stuff. For the person who celebrates winter, she buys winter stuff. It is blue and silver wrapping paper for those who do this, and red and green for those who do that. Novel, I agree.

Every coin has two sides, and I carry the energy of the fire starter, so here is the flip side of the above described enlightened (and inclusive) gift giver. This is her way, and it won’t work for everyone. Some people feel that giving a gift which honors another religion would be disrespectful to their own faith. I believe that should be okay, too. To those who are offended by the well wishes offered in language not consistent with their beliefs, I say it again - really? Is this the best use of our resources, trying to force the cashier at the grocery store (who is a single mom, working three jobs to support her young children) to use the language we use for our late December celebration? Really?

I understand the temptation to choose exclusive thinking and language. I recognize how... uncomplicated, perhaps even refreshing, it feels when you share space with people who agree with you. No challenges or explanations feel necessary when you are with your tribe. The shared excitement and energy of a group of like-minded individuals is a soul enriching experience, for sure.

This is not to be confused with real life. We all live together, in this space, and this time - a natural diversity, which we can celebrate. Intolerance of our differences must stop.

In fact, tolerance alone is not enough to fix what is broken. We must strive for a higher state, a perspective beyond tolerance. Let us strive to understand, appreciate, and celebrate the differences among us. Seek out those who look, act, think, feel and function differently. Welcome them into your life. Their strengths will compliment your weaknesses, and yours the same for them. Together we are stronger. Diversity is power.

If you don’t believe me, look around you. Exclusivity is what got us here.

Light of Hope

Some moments are just dark. One can be happy. One can think positive. One can become a card carrying member of the “Extreme Optimists for a Better World Society.” Some moments are just dark.

Tuesday morning began remarkably dark. I’d hardly slept, part idle piddling and part anxiety-induced insomnia. Nonetheless, when the alarm signaled the start of my day, I was already awake. These days Seth and Kira rarely need more than a witness as they prepare for school. While I watched, I debated...should I drive to Franklin to turn in the application in person or go back to bed and mail it?

Still unsure, I opted to make us some hot chocolate. If I mail it today, they will probably get it tomorrow, and certainly there aren’t 100 people in Williamson County so desperate to become a Master Gardener that I would miss out because my application arrived the second day of open registration. Maybe I will just go back to bed.

The water boiled. I poured and stirred the cocoa and topped their mugs  each with a handful of marshmallows (I still thrive on being a crowd pleaser)...but, these classes only happen once a year. The form said they only take 100 people on a first come, first serve basis. And it’s not like things in the professional world have been overwhelmingly going my way lately. Maybe I should just go.

Seth strolled back into the kitchen and I offered up his bright yellow smiley face mug. He rewarded me with a surprised smile and long, drawn out “Niiiice.” Usually that little token would leave me feeling the O-Mom high for several hours, but not that day; it was just too dark...I am going back to bed. I will just mail it. It will have to be fine.

I felt amused as they conspired, teaming up to convince me that since I made it so incredibly well, the cocoa can’t possibly be enjoyed properly in the short time before the bus comes for them. They didn’t want to tarnish their mugs of steaming perfection with my offer of ice, earnestly suggesting the only real solution was for me to drive them to school myself...So, they save me from myself again. Yes, I will drive them and since I’m out I will spend the hour to drop off the registration. That will put me there about 45 minutes after registration opens.

Cocoa cooled, we sipped and I silently begged for something to give... Anything would do, it feels like a thousand things are held up in those gloomy clouds. If just one, any one of them could break free from the darkness it would make my world a much easier place to breathe. Please, I beg,  please let loose of the words I need to finish the business plan or the approval of the worker’s comp appeal, or even the last $1300 dollars of my contract that ended six months ago. Please, just let loose of one simple job with a decent wage so I can provide for my family.

It wasn’t just dark, but also bitter cold I realized as we piled in the car. The reprieve from bus transportation pleased them and I thought it best to drop them off before I opened the sunroof. Nature, I’d rediscovered, along with meditation, are the only defenses I have against spells of anxiety. Even as cold as it’s been, l open the sunroof every time I’m in the car. It helps me feel connected and calm. 

So, I drove. It was still dark. Thirty minute drive, and it was still dark. Consulting my directions I turned left, left again, then right into the parking lot of the facility. As I crossed the parking lot, a remarkable shift occurred, the sun began to pour down all around me. I don’t mean peek through the heavy, thick, black clouds. I’m saying the sky opened up, the clouds literally parted, and the sun consumed the space I was driving into. As I came to a stop, and the sun poured in the sunroof of my wonderful little Jetta, it felt like months since the sun had warmed my face. 

For a moment I just sat there, music from the Day Twelve Soundtrack pulsing in my body, the sun cleansing my soul of all things dark - the fear turned to dust and I offered it back to the earth to nourish the soil, making it ripe and ready for the seeds I will bring in the Spring.

Inside, the friendly woman congratulated me: I was the first to register. It thrilled me. It felt unbelievably  good to think forward, to invest in tomorrow, to welcome the next big things that are coming my way. 

My drive home felt more like a flight, not my speed but the lightness... like a feather. This is how things work for me: when I take a step in the right direction, I receive strong and clear messages that I’m right on track. Yes, Christy, keep going this way. 

On this day, my sign looked like light and felt like hope.

A New Perspective

I fancy myself a big picture thinker and for the most part have chosen to surrounded myself with a lovely collection of  equally high-quality, big picture thinkers. Well, I’ve met my match in Kristin Mary Johnson, in fact, we all have. 

I used to think there two kinds of thinkers, those who see the trees and those who see the forest. I believe most of us began life as “Tree Thinkers”. Youth is noted for its short-sighted, know-it-all, live-in-the-moment existence. For many, age brings a charming level of maturity and reckless abandon is replaced by... oh, what shall I call it? Balance?

Several years ago, I introduced this concept of balance to my children with the “Silly brain, Smart brain” analogy. I explained to them that our brains have two parts. The Silly Brain in charge of new ideas, creativity, and play. The Smart Brain in charge of rules, logic, and consequences. These are both terribly important parts of our brain. For without the Silly Brain, we would function like robots, simply doing what we are told and what’s been done before. We agreed our world would not be very exciting with only a Smart Brain. A world with only Silly Brains would be as a five-year-old Seth perfectly labeled, “crazy and out of control!” 

So, at our house we nurture and celebrate the Silly Brain in each of us. We only ask that the Silly Brain check in with the Smart Brain before its colorful and exciting ideas are executed. This keeps those of us with impulsive tendencies out of a great deal of trouble.

Back to the Tree Thinkers, who I believe have one of two problems with their Smart Brain. First, there are those whose Smart Brains simply don’t look as far into the future, or consider consequences as thoroughly as we as a society had hoped. These people are actually few and far between; most Tree Thinkers actually have perfectly functioning Smart Brains and they just don’t care to use them. I don’t have a ton of mercy for those who opt out of using the resources they naturally possess.

The Forest Thinkers enjoy more balance. They are admittedly more at risk for forgetting to use their Silly Brains, but that is a subject for another day or one of my books, perhaps. These Forest Thinkers are available in a variety of concentrations, some engaging more Silly and others more Smart Brain. Perhaps it was my arrogance, or perhaps blatant ignorance, but I believed that was it. Some people see trees and some see the forest...and then I met Kristin.

She is smart, and I mean beyond my normal standards and expectations for smart. She understands human behavior on a level I’ve only seen one or two other times in my life. She knows about things I’ve never heard of. It took me well over a year to beat her in Scrabble, and sadly she was on really strong pain medication from her foot surgery then. One of Seth’s favorite games is to try to stump Kristin with random trivia he picks up in the world and to date he has NEVER stumped her. Even eight-year-old Kira, or as I prefer to call her “The Mighty Independent One”, has even begun to occasionally allow wee nuggets of Kristin’s wisdom slip past the iron gates.

There were hints that despite many similarities, some huge differences existed in the way our brains functioned. Where I see a responsibility to raise children who are educated, emotionally intact, and ready to make a difference in the world; Kristin sees a responsibility to do the same for the millions of parent-less children in the world. Where I ponder the current state of race relations, Kristin sees the poor decisions that were made in the past that paved the road to here. I’m the kind of thinker that would convert cars to run on corn thinking it’s progress. Kristin is the kind of thinker that would ask, where the hell we’re going to get all the corn? Who is going to have to starve for us to decrease our dependance on foreign oil?

It was sort of maddening for me. It felt like she disagreed, but she insisted she understood my points. It felt like she must perceive me as short sighted, but she insisted she didn’t. I went sort of crazy talking about this bigger picture she was “stuck on” (I don’t sound so open minded now as I type it) when every stitch of my being is consumed with dealing with the reality as it exists RIGHT NOW!

Then it hit me, there is another way of “seeing” the forest. Kristin is what I’m now calling a Satellite Thinker. Where a Tree Thinker stands right in front of the issue looking for a solution and the Forest Thinker steps back from the issue to contemplate the “big picture” looking for a solution, the Satellite Thinker gears up and heads for the sky to get “the biggest picture” of all to find a solution.

At first I didn’t understand it, and it created some confusing challenges for us...okay that’s not true. It created challenges for me, she wasn’t confused at all. Much like the way I can see the thought process of the Tree Thinker, Kristin can see with delightful clarity my Forest Thinker perspective. She just won’t settle for stopping there when there is a bigger, more effective perspective available. In hindsight, I realize I’ve known one or two other Satellite Thinkers but they are a rare and precious find.

First thing this morning in my email I read an amazing letter Kristin wrote and sent to our elected politicians about the American automakers plea for bailout money. I have said for months that I want to drop her in on these meetings where our political leaders are making critical decisions about our nation’s future. She could just sit there and listen to the plans silently, then just before anyone signs anything she could pipe up and say, “Okay, what about...?” 

Kristin, let me be the first to say that you’ve got my vote.

The Girl Child's Abundance

Kira loves all things little and in 9.25 short years she's hoarded quite an impressive collection. Yesterday, she comes to me with a glimmer of proud brilliance in her eyes and her right hand wrapped tightly around some anonymous wee treasure. She stops six inches in front of me and looks up into my eyes, that whole looking UP into my eyes thing is short lived for the children here grow like weeds, and says, "I have something for you." 

Bracing myself against the counter I take the bait, "What do you have for me?" Slowly her fingers open to reveal a vaguely familiar and ever so teeny, gold bag. She explains, "This was my souvenir from the metal museum we visited in Memphis and it was supposed to bring me abundance. Ever since I got it, I've had lots of money… I thought if I gave it to you things might get a little easier."

For a variety of reasons things have been fiscally challenging at our house this summer. Okay, it would be more honest to say my family is ready to pull out of what seemed like the perfect storm of financial incidents. Or perhaps it's even more accurate to say we have been inadvertently launching all our energetic, karmic, material and other unidentified resources into blocking our abundance…or so it appears. Even accounting for my near delusional commitment to optimism and proper sheltering of the children from the harsh realities of the Bush economy and ill timed work related injuries, the children understand the situation is…hard?

I kissed her golden brown, silk framed, perfect, little forehead, squeezed the breath right out of her, thanked her, and declared her the most wonderful daughter a woman could ever want for. She carefully set her wee treasure in my hand and closed my fingers around it. I felt with complete certainty, like the richest woman in the world.