There is a luxury

in never getting angry, never showing emotion

a privilege of the powerful one,

the one who treads upon,

who has never been underfoot

 

But the one with the foot on her throat

must get angry to fight

or slowly suffocate,

fight to be heard while

the devout one cuts off her oxygen,

lungs straining to supply logic and words

to her brain

 

Her anger, indignation, sorrow

is judged emotional,

drama,

a lack of control

her own damn fault

for not being content

to find a comfortable spot under the shoe

 

She is shamed for not appreciating

the kindly smile and loving way he

corrects her,

for making him feel uncomfortable

with her struggle to breathe.

 

It is exhausting

this struggle to simply be,

this hope of living in love

when there are so many eager feet,

so many vulnerable necks

 

So much security cultivated by controlling another person’s inhale and exhale.

December Snowfall 2018

These are the days of . . .

snow hanging heavy on the trees

wrapping up on the couch with a blanket

catching up on my reading

nothing but the sound of kids laughing

breaking the cold, damp winter silence

 

These are the days of . . .

lights cutting off, the hum of the refrigerator falling silent

A different silence falling on the house

And the kids jumping into a game of bananagrams

waiting on the one who is missing, my eldest, to return home

from far away, with good news

waiting on another good news

 

This is the time . . .

for a lot of waiting

What else can one do with 13 inches of snow blanketing the house

and trees down across the driveway?

But wait, breathing in hope, breathing out fears

 

My independent thinking rabble-rouser

Last night, I picked up three of my kids from the youth meeting at a local church.  The teachings are conservative, with recent discussions on women under leadership of men and election/predestination.  My 12 yo, a self-published author, jumps in the car and says “Mom, I’ve got another idea for a new book.”

“Another book idea ??!!?” I ask jokingly.  She has been working on a book sequel, a rebuttal essay on why women can TOO preach, and she writes collaboratively with her sister, Rachel, almost daily.

“Yeah, and I’ve got a title for it,” she continues.  “It will be called ‘Liberal Thoughts of a Lady.'”

A Litter of Kids on the Couch

After years of “getting by” with a broken couch, it finally occurred to me, “None of us hang out in the living room because nobody enjoys lounging on the broken couch.”  We were separating and spreading out into different parts of the house, spending less and less time together.  

Since I wanted my teens to hang out with me and each other more often during the day, we bought the VIMLE couch from IKEA.  Now, this is the scene I often come upon . . .

.

Yep, THREE teenagers and a dog all sleeping on the couch at the same time!

But they aren’t always asleep.

.

Then they fully awaken and the wrestling and squeals begin again.  The couch was so worth it, just for this.