Are There No Good Men?

In the wake of the flood of recent outings of high profile men for sexual misconduct, I have begun to ask myself if all men are bad.  The truth is, I truly wonder if there is a man alive who has not, at some point in time, committed some transgression, either in word or deed, towards a woman.  So how do we, as a society, grapple with this without becoming completely cynical and repulsed by all men?  I for one am struggling with this – because I personally know men who have transgressed against women, and there are men whom I don’t know personally but admire from afar who have transgressed against women, but whom I believe to be fundamentally decent and good human beings.  And I find myself struggling to make sense of it all, and to figure out how I, as a feminist, am supposed to feel about them.

I make no excuses or justifications for sexual misconduct in any form, but it seems that we should at least try to understand why men are so likely to behave inappropriately towards women.  I don’t believe that males, merely by virtue of their hormones or gender, are wired to demean, harass, and assault females.  It’s learned behavior, and it comes from the culture that has been constructed and is perpetuated by human beings.  The messages males and females get about gender roles begin at birth, and they are both subtle and blatant – and too many to list here.  Pop culture plays a role, parental role models play a role, religion plays a role – pretty much everywhere you turn, there are messages about the roles males are supposed to play in society, and the roles females are supposed to play.  Boys are taught that certain things are harmless (which actually aren’t), that certain things are funny (which actually aren’t), that certain behaviors are manly, and therefore admirable.  Boys and girls are taught that men are the pursuers and women the pursued.  The entire system of gender roles we’ve constructed is absolutely conducive to men harming women.

So, in light of this inescapable culture (inescapable because it is the way things are, but hopefully we are beginning to change it), how do we parse the good men from the bad men?  Because the fact is, if we crucify every man who has ever committed a misdeed against a woman, I fear that the pool of good men will be virtually empty.

It seems to me that there are a few things that should be taken into consideration:

  • Shades of offense.  Harm is definitely subjective, but not all offenses are equal.
  • Patterns of behavior.  Has the person committed the same transgression multiple times, or just once? (And I’m not talking about rape; again, there are shades of offense.)
  • Accountability and remorse.  Has the person acknowledged their wrongdoing and expressed genuine remorse?  Has that person shown by word and deed that they have grown and evolved and become enlightened as to their role in propping up a culture that demeans and mistreats women?

It seems to me that those are the factors that separate good men who genuinely do want to work towards creating a kinder and more equal society from bad men who just don’t give a shit about anything except their own sense of entitlement.

So if a man has committed a transgression, has acknowledged it and expressed remorse, and has shown that he no longer believes that such behavior is okay, shouldn’t we give him the benefit of the doubt?  Isn’t growth and enlightenment what we want?


Thinking About Disability

I’m still here.  Life has been incredibly full and busy.  Several people have contacted me to ask why my blog was set to private.  In a nutshell, a couple of bored teenagers found it and were using it for immature ends, so I put it on the down low for awhile.

So.  We are all settled in our new home, starting to meet people and get to know some of our neighbors.  We absolutely love it here – this was such a great move for us.  The kids are all settled in, too, and all but Finn are busy with outside activities they love.  I’ve been on the hunt for something to get Finn involved in, and I’ll tell you, it’s tough.  We have not had a lot of luck in the past finding activities that work for him – in pretty much every case because accommodations have not been readily forthcoming.

I have a feeling that he would enjoy basketball (the boy can handle a ball like nobody’s business), and I looked into our local Special Olympics for a basketball program for him, but it’s a winter sport, and I’d like to find something for him now because I think he needs an outside interest and activity for numerous reasons.  So, I’ve decided to look into horseback riding (and I don’t mean hippotherapy; I’m not looking at it as any kind of therapy or intervention.  I just want to find an activity that he enjoys).  We live in horse country – we are surrounded by acreage and pastures and farms and stables, so it seems like a natural option.

However, not every stable that offers horseback riding lessons accommodates kids with disabilities.

On a recommendation, I contacted a local stable that might have a riding program for kids with special needs.  I sent an email explaining who we are and that Finn is an 8-year-old boy with Down syndrome, and is there a possibility of Finn riding with them?  I got a very nice email back explaining that they “don’t have the equipment or level of skill necessary for severely disabled.  We only support high functioning kids.”

It left me feeling very sad.  While there isn’t anything rude or wrong, exactly, with the response (it was an honest, straightforward response born of entrenched cultural/societal views of disability), it left me wondering how exactly to respond.  Disability is a social construct; people are disabled only to the extent that accommodations and access aren’t made available.  And what, exactly, is “high functioning”?  It’s a totally subjective term.  It’s not like there’s a test that neatly and efficiently places people into these “high functioning” and “low functioning” categories; it’s largely perception.

Still, I suspect I understand what their perception of “severely disabled” and “high functioning” looks like, and if I’m right, Finn would probably fit into the latter box.  But it’s all bullshit, isn’t it?  We all have strengths, and we all have limitations.  We all excel in certain areas, and we all need extra help or support in other areas.  It saddens me to again be hit with the reality that Finn will always be most limited by other people – not by Down syndrome.

It turns out that he may have an opportunity to ride at the stable next door to us, where Annabelle and Lilah both ride – and I wasn’t asked by the proprietor there which category Finn fits into.

An Open Letter to the Woman in the Pink Shirt at the Craft Store

Dear Woman in the Pink Shirt at the Craft Store,

Forgive me, but I don’t know your name.  I don’t know anything about you, in fact, except that you and I happened to be in the same Michael’s store at the same time today, that you witnessed me speak sharply to my twelve-year-old daughter, and that you felt compelled to pull up behind me in the parking lot while I was buckling my four-year-old in, roll your window down, and tell me what a shit mother I am.

You don’t know me, either.  And that’s the thing: you don’t know a thing about me.  You don’t know what I’m dealing with, what preceded my admonishing my daughter, what my relationship with my kids is, what our family dynamics are, what sort of kid my daughter is, what kind of behavior challenges we may deal with, what kind of support we may or may not have – nothing.  You don’t know how many times I’ve asked her to stop doing certain things (like find her amusement in antagonizing her little sister, which is exactly what she did in the store by scaring her with a fake spider – you must have heard the blood-curdling screams coming from my four-year-old while you were lurking a few yards away in the store), and why it sometimes comes down to me raising my voice to her.

Let’s be clear, Woman in Pink: I didn’t scream at her, I didn’t curse at her, I didn’t threaten her, I didn’t call her names.  I heatedly told her again to stop antagonizing her little sister.  And she argued the point with me.  My mistake was probably in engaging in the argument with her.  Have your kids never pissed you off?  Utterly frustrated you?  Have you never yelled at your kids?  Or maybe just not in public?  I think there are a lot of people who yell at their kids in private and then just pretend that they never yell at their kids because it gives them a false sense of superiority.  Is that you?  Or maybe you don’t even have kids.  Which would mean you really have no idea.

I would like to know, Woman in Pink, when yelling at one’s kids became taboo.  I don’t hit my kids, I don’t berate or insult or demean them.  For the most part, I champion them.  But sometimes kids act like obnoxious little buttholes, and parents lose their patience with that nonsense.  But we seem to exist in a culture nowadays in which any attempt to keep one’s kids in line, any words spoken to them in anything other than a soft, gentle voice is viewed as bad parenting.  As if there is one, right way to raise kids.  And so continues the perpetuation of unrealistic parenting (mainly mothering) standards and judgment passed out like Halloween candy.  I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your standards, Woman in Pink.  I fear I never will.

Listen, Woman in Pink: I was the product of abusive parenting.  And I can tell you as sure as I’m sitting here that it wasn’t the yelling that damaged me.  It was the smacking and beating, the belittling, the mocking, the name-calling, and so much more.

Parenting is a hard enough undertaking without people like you, all full of self-righteous indignation, making snap judgments about complete strangers based on a brief snapshot.  And do you know what, Woman in Pink?  You pretty much ruined my day.  You shamed me and made me feel like shit.  Because of course I often harbor doubts about whether I’m a good mother.  Most mothers do.  I’m sure you do, too (assuming you are a mother).  So, kudos to you, Woman in Pink.  Mission accomplished.  You might like to know, though, that my twelve-year-old daughter is just fine.  She carried on with her day as full of laughter and mischief as usual.


Woman Who Yelled At Her Daughter


Home Sweet Home

It’s been a little over three weeks since we moved into our new house in Washington.  Every day I pinch myself because it all seems slightly unreal.  When we started house hunting, I knew that when we walked into OUR house, I would just know, and that’s what happened back in December – the minute we saw this house, I knew it was our house, and I feel incredibly fortunate to be here.  Not only is it a roomy, well-loved, well-tended house, it’s on an acre of

When we started house hunting, I knew that when we walked into OUR house, I would just know, and that’s what happened back in December – the minute we saw this house, I knew it was our house, and I feel incredibly fortunate to be here.  Not only is it a roomy, well-loved, well-tended house, it’s on an acre of beautiful, landscaped land with roses, cedar trees, two apple trees, two pear trees, a plum tree, a cherry tree, two varieties of grapes, 65 blueberry bushes, and all kinds of other plants and trees that I have not yet identified.  There is a fire pit in the back (where we’ve already made s’mores), the covered porch that runs along the front of the house that I’ve lusted after for years, and so much room for the kids and Scout to run and play.  We are in a small town, just enough removed from the rat race, but not completely out in the sticks.  There is one elementary school, one middle school, and one high school.  There are a gas station and a little market in the heart of town with a lunch/ice cream counter.  The closest grocery store is five miles away.  It’s gorgeous here, and the people are very friendly and nice.  A neighbor brought us cookies the other day to welcome us to the neighborhood.

The kids are enjoying their new surroundings, too.  Joey is back in public high school – it’s a small school with about 650 students – in the theater program there, and making new friends.  I found a nice ballet studio about 25 minutes away, so Daisy is back in dance three days a week and enjoying the smaller classes than the studio she was with in SoCal.  The property directly behind us has stables and offers riding lessons, so Annabelle literally just slips through the back fence to take riding lessons.

As for me, I’ve been very busy unpacking, putting away, and making the house our home.  I’m also trying to start a book club because I need community.

It’s all a dream come true.

But I worry.  On some level, it seems too good to be true.  Part of me is waiting for something terrible to happen to shatter this slice of heaven.  Michael’s health?  One of the kids?  Me?  I try to not let the worry eat at me, but it’s always lurking.

And it’s all juxtaposed with what’s happening to the country under Trump.  Every day I am newly aghast at what the White House is doing and saying.  Every day, the feeling of foreboding grows.


I watched President Obama’s farewell address last night, and it brought me to tears.  His eloquence, wisdom, grace, humility, and integrity run in sharp contrast to the man who spoke this morning, which brought me to tears for very different reasons.  This whole thing is unfathomable to me; it’s like we are living in some alternate reality.

Then I go on social media and see people expressing glee (I do not exaggerate) about Obama leaving office and Trump entering.  And this, too, is unfathomable to me.

This goes far beyond just having different political ideologies.  I can accept that not everyone is a liberal Democrat like I am.  What I cannot accept is anyone being able to dismiss or rationalize the repeated and continued obnoxious, vile behavior Trump engages in.  This is not a matter of politics or differences of opinion, it’s a matter of human decency, and it speaks volumes to me about a person’s own ethics and integrity if they can support a man who has done and said all the things that Donald Trump has done and said.

I cannot understand support for a man who has openly mocked a disabled person.  Do not tell me that’s not what he did, because it’s an insult to anyone with a shred of decency to claim that what he did was not mocking that disabled reporter.  I have a disabled son, and Trump’s derision for the disabled (he’s also openly called people “retarded”), given his platform, invites more derision for disabled people.  How can anyone be okay with this?

I cannot understand support for a man – especially by women! – who has so blatantly demeaned women.  He has a long history of objectifying and demeaning women, and of sexual assault.  And these are not just speculation or incidents open to interpretation – they are well documented and usually based upon actual recordings of Trump himself speaking.  I am a woman, and I have daughters.  How can anyone who is female, or who cares about a female, see past his egregious treatment of women?

I cannot understand support for a man who has insulted pretty much every racial minority group.  His openly racist views not only further marginalize minorities, they embolden prejudice in others.  This is not in any way unifying to our country – it’s divisive.

I cannot understand support for a man who is so dishonest and lacking in integrity.  He changes his story like most people change their underwear.  He has a well-documented history of cheating and defrauding people.  He lies, he denies.  He’s already broken numerous campaign promises – and he hasn’t even taken office yet.  How can anyone believe that a man like this is going to be good for America?

I cannot understand support for a man who is so utterly immature.  He seems to believe that it’s perfectly okay – even admirable – to criticize anyone in the world except him.  He cannot take criticism.  He has no filter and no self-control.  He takes to Twitter to defend himself and insult anyone with whom he has an ax to grind like a spoiled nine-year-old.  He refuses to be held accountable or to take responsibility for anything.  He throws blame hither and thither like confetti in the wind.  He has no humility.  He will bring no grace or class to the White House because he has none.

Franky, I cannot understand support by Christians of a man who speaks and behaves in a way that is so utterly counter to what Jesus apparently taught.  I am not a Christian, but supposedly Jesus was this upstanding man awash in humility and compassion, whose teachings were all about love and compassion.  So how do Christians square this with their support of Trump?  It is beyond me.

So, no – this is not just about different politics or different opinions.  It’s about basic decency.  It’s about how the person you support for the highest office in the land reflects your own feelings about your fellow human beings.

I have no respect at all for Trump supporters.  None.



Christmas Without Christ

A Christian friend posted a meme on social media recently that said something about living dangerously by saying “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays,” and it got me thinking.

Obviously, the implication is that by saying “Merry Christmas,” Christians face the risk of backlash from the heathens of the world.  As far as I know, this is a non-existent risk.  I’ve never witnessed, read about, or heard about any backlash towards anyone for saying “Merry Christmas.”  What is true is quite the opposite: Christians seem to have a big, vocal problem with anyone who says “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas.”  “Happy Holidays” has never been intended as a dis to Christians (and there is no “war on Christmas”; Christ almighty, Christmas is in your face for three months of the year – there’s no getting away from it); rather, it’s an attempt to be inclusive – an expression of goodwill towards all people who celebrate a variety of holidays during the winter months.  I hate to break it to you, Christians, but you don’t own the month of December.

Furthermore, there seems to be this conception that by saying “Merry Christmas,” one has therefore identified him- or herself as a Christian.  This is not necessarily the case.  I say “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays” in equal measure, and I am an atheist.  When I say “Merry Christmas,” it is an expression of a cultural tradition for me and has nothing at all to do with religion or belief in any god.

Jesus may be the reason for the season, but in making this holiday so ubiquitous for such a large chunk of the year, it was bound to evolve into something not necessarily Christian over time (so it’s kind of backfiring on Christians, I’d say).  When something is in your face so much, it’s easy to just adopt the parts of it that appeal to you and shape it to your own worldview.  Christmas has become a secular holiday for a lot of people.

I was raised Christian.  My husband was raised Jewish.  As adults, we are both atheist, and we are raising our children without any religious indoctrination.  As a family, we celebrate Christmas, but it has nothing to do with religion for us.  For us, Christmas is a cultural tradition.  For us (and I think for many, many other people), it is simply a time for family, a time of year when most everyone around town seems a little more full of goodwill than usual.  It’s a time to wrap up the year and reflect on all we have, including each other.  We engage in holiday traditions (like baking Chrismas cookies, eating fondue on Christmas, and letting Kevin pass out all the Christmas gifts from under the tree) not as a means of reinforcing beliefs, but as a way of feeling connected to each other and the history we share and the future we’re emotionally invested in.  We celebrate a secular, but emotionally rich Christmas each year.

Besides, haven’t historians deduced that Jesus was probably born in September?


Rolling Stones

Life’s been a whirlwind.  The biggest news is that we found a house way sooner than we had expected to – in Washington, actually, which is just on the other side of the Columbia River from where we are now.  We hadn’t planned on even looking in Washington (although a lot of people do live in Washington and work and/or shop in Oregon, as there is no state income tax in WA and no sales tax in OR), and we hadn’t planned on even seriously looking at all until after the first of the year.  We did, however, start checking out open houses just as a means of exploring different areas and getting an idea of what kind of housing and property is out there.  Well, one thing led to another, and we began to realize that real estate is even more affordable in WA than Oregon (or at least Portland and surrounding areas), so we looked at a few houses across the river just for kicks, and BAM!  There it was, the house I fell immediately in love with.  We saw a few more properties up there and here in Oregon, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that house.  So we went to look at it again, and after talking it over and weighing all the pros and cons, conferring with the kids (they love it!) and praying on it (ha!  just joshin’), we made an offer on it, and within two days we had a deal.  So we are now officially in the process of buying a beautiful house on a gorgeous acre of land (the sellers are throwing in their ride-on mower!) with blueberry bushes and apple trees in a lovely neighborhood, all for less than we sold our little three-bedroom tract house for twelve years ago.  If all goes smoothly, we should be moving sometime in February.

We definitely made the right move.  We love it up here in the Pacific Northwest.  My homesickness was pretty short-lived, although I do of course still miss my friends and feel pangs of nostalgia when I think about our life before our big move.  I am feeling more at home here, and am excited about moving into a permanent home, and looking forward to establishing ourselves in a new neighborhood.

We’ve had quite a bit of snow up here – apparently more than usual.  The kids love it and have spent many hours sledding down the street we live on, which is on a fairly steep hill.  The only thing that’s not fun is driving on icy roads – Oregon does not prepare for snow like places do where it snows more regularly, so when it snows here, traffic and driving become a nightmare.  We got stuck in gridlocked traffic in downtown Portland during a snowstorm last week for NINE hours, only to have the brakes on Michael’s car fail after we finally made our way out of the worst of the traffic.  We had to abandon his car in a parking lot and take Uber home, and we were not able to get his car towed until four days later because every tow company in the area was unavailable because hundreds of people had had to leave their cards stranded around the city.  It was awful, but honestly, I’m just grateful that we made it home safely.

Kevin came up for Thanksgiving, which was wonderful.  He’s flying up this Friday to spend Christmas with us, too.  He calls me almost every day, and he talks to his brothers and sisters almost every day, too.  When I come across text messages between him and them on the iPad and see Kevin ending his conversations with them with, “Love you!” my heart swells.  I’m thankful for the close relationships we have.

Life is good.


img_5628I wonder how many people are grappling with some sort of emotional fallout from the election last week.  This isn’t just disappointment that one’s preferred candidate didn’t win – this feels much different.  Speaking for myself, it feels like we as a country have been plunged into a time of great uncertainty and instability, and it’s scary as fuck.  And that’s compounded by the fact that the election results have revealed some very ugly truths about at least half of the American people, and the things they applaud, condone, or willfully ignore.  I still can hardly wrap my head around it, and when I think about the next four years, it is with a feeling of dread.

Life in Oregon is … well, life.  What’s that saying?  “Wherever you go, there you are.”  I love it here, I really do.  There are so many great things about this corner of the world, but I’m struggling, too.  The homesickness did hit.  It comes in fits and starts, and it’s not terrible or overwhelming, but I do frequently find myself feeling a little sad and a little isolated lately.  I miss the familiarity of Fullerton.  I miss knowing how to get everywhere and seeing familiar faces around town.  I dislike living in a temporary home, and I feel like a stranger, an outsider here.  Not that people aren’t friendly – people are noticeably nicer here than back in SoCal – but I’m on a learning curve right now, trying to find my way around, figure out the lay of the land and local customs and such, and it’s a little disconcerting.

Michael is out of town (back in SoCal, actually) on business for the second time since we moved here not even three weeks ago, so that makes it hard, too.  This will be a somewhat regular thing, so I need to adjust to that, too.  I managed to lock myself out of my truck at Target (not within walking distance to home) a few days ago – locked my phone, keys, purse, everything in my truck.  I had no money so I couldn’t call a cab. I was able to use the phone inside Target to call Michael, but he was stuck on a conference call with the court, so I had to wait in the freezing cold for an hour and a half for him to come with a spare key to my truck.  It was miserable, but all I kept thinking was, “What if this happened while he was out of town?  I don’t even know anyone here who I could call to help me out.”

Homeschooling here has been frustrating so far.  Locals say it’s super easy to homeschool here, but the laws are different from California, and I’m trying to navigate them.  All I had to do in California was file a Private School Affidavit with the state once a year, and that was it – I had complete autonomy.  Here, each child who is homeschooled has to be registered separately with the local school district and homeschooled students are required to undergo state testing every couple of years.  Which is fine, but if you have a kid with special needs or learning challenges, then you have to go through a whole other process to get an alternative to the testing.  So I’m feeling very stressed out about homeschooling Finn (on numerous fronts, which would take a whole separate post to delve into), and this has also brought me to the point of finally seeking a formal diagnosis of dyslexia for Lilah, which we never did in California because it’s so expensive.  So we are going through that process right now.

And Joey.  I thought I would just cobble together something for him for the rest of the school year – and I had some really cool programs picked out – but discovered that Oregon does not give high school credits for homeschoolers.  So we could have gone ahead and done our own thing anyway, and he could have “repeated” ninth grade next year when he’s enrolled back in public school, but he’s adamant about not wanting to do that.  So in the end, I enrolled him in an online charter school that is part of the Oregon public school system to ensure that he’s on track for earning the appropriate high school credits.  But that whole process has been a hassle and has resulted in quite a bit of stress.

We’ve totally fallen off our homeschool routine with the move, and having a hard time getting back on track.  There are materials I packed away that I can’t seem to find and have had to reorder things and that’s also made it hard to get back on track.  I’m finding that when Joey was in school before we moved, his school schedule had a way of giving our homeschool days some structure, and now that’s gone, although now that he’s finally started with the online school, at least he’s getting into a routine by necessity.

Anyway, I’m feeling generally overwhelmed. It’s hard being with the kids all day every day, and I’m not going to bother qualifying that statement or apologizing for it.  I’m at the point where I think I need to outsource some of this – it’s too much all on me.  I’m spread too thin and feel like I’m letting everyone down in some way.  So I’m exploring ways of taking some of this off my plate.  Maybe it means finding a co-op or having the kids take a class elsewhere on a regular basis.  Maybe it means paying for a tutor for Lilah instead of trying to address her (suspected) dyslexia myself.  Meanwhile, I’m also looking for a ballet studio for Daisy, horseback riding lessons for Annabelle, guitar lessons for Lilah, a theater program for Joey, and maybe it’s time for Finn and Scarlett to do some extracurriculars.

In time, I’m sure I’ll find my footing again.


Dark Times

It’s not that I was some great fan of Hillary Clinton, at least not before the Democratic National Convention.  I was surprised to find myself crying when she gave her speech accepting the Presidential nomination for the Democratic party.  It hit me that this was a historic moment: my daughters and I might actually see a woman in the White House.  That it’s 2016 and we are America – so smug and arrogant about our progressiveness – and we still haven’t put a woman in the White House is shameful and mind-boggling.  But suddenly it seemed as though we were going to flex our progressive, equitable muscles.

And like many, many people, I’ve been dumbfounded to see the likes of Donald Trump rising to the level of presidential nominee for one of our two major political parties.  How was it even possible that someone as vile as him – with a trail of well-documented (not just speculation, but cold, hard evidence, often in the form of video and audio of he himself saying and doing horrible things) – could make it onto the ballot?

But I took heart.  There was no way that my countrymen would actually vote him into office.  I mean, seriously – we’re America!  I know there are a lot of racist, misogynistic, bigoted, backward people in this country, but surely not enough of them to put someone like him in office.

And Hillary’s message grew on me.  Yes, we are stronger together.  I was moved by her speeches.  I was moved by the fact that her entire adult life has been spent in public service.  I was moved by her knowledge and experience and calm demeanor, even when she was being torn down.  I respected that she held her head high no matter what.  She would be a good leader, I believed that.

Like a lot of people, I turned on news coverage last night expecting a very different outcome.  I was pretty confident that America would see fit to put the right person in office.  I really believed that she would win by a comfortable margin.  When the numbers began coming in so close, I began to feel physically ill.  My stomach was in knots, my heart was thudding – a bona fide anxiety attack.  By the end of the night, I was in tears.  I barely slept last night.

How did we get here?

I feel betrayed.  I feel a great anger – not only at all the people who actually voted for Donald Trump, an unqualified, ill-tempered, vindictive, childish, racist, bigoted, xenophobic, lying, cheating, woman abuser, but for all the third party voters and abstainers who allowed this to happen.  I’m sure when you wrote in your uncle’s name or your favorite cartoon character’s name or filled in the bubble for Jill Stein, you felt morally superior in the moment.  Well, fuck you. You not only threw your vote away, you handed it to a monster.  How do you feel now?

What am I supposed to tell my daughters?  Or my sons?  Do I lie to them?  Or do I tell them the truth: that no, America is not ready for a female president, and we would rather have an inexperienced, loose cannon, lying, cheating, prejudice, woman assaulter in the White House than a qualified, experienced, even-tempered woman who has devoted herself to causes that serve the public interest?

I am trying to tell myself that life will go on, pretty much as usual.  That this will have very little effect on my family’s daily existence.  But I don’t know if that’s actually true.  I fear that the likes of Trump will drag us into another recession, that he cares so little about diplomacy and foreign policy that he will drag us into a horrible war.  I don’t think those fears are unfounded.  But even if my family’s lives aren’t impacted much, it would be utterly selfish to not worry about all the immigrants who now have to worry about deportation and having their families ripped apart, about the LGBT community who now has to worry about their marriages being nullified, about the Muslims who will be harassed and scrutinized and distrusted because Trump thinks they’re all potential terrorists.  And even if my day-to-day life goes on as usual, I live with the knowledge that my family lives in a country in which lying and cheating get a pass, sexual assault against women is acceptable, that abusers aren’t held accountable.

I am sickened.  And very, very afraid.

Oregon Is Home Now

We’ve been here a week now, and the flurry of unpacking and getting settled is beginning to die down a bit.

untitledOur drive up here went pretty smoothly.  Four days of driving two cars (Michael drove my truck, hauling a small U-Haul, and I drove his car), and we never got separated.  Four nights in crappy motels (me in one room with half the kids, him in another room with half the kids and a dog).  I think it was our second day of driving that my truck broke down, but a local mechanic actually came to the motel we were staying at and fixed it (replacing the alternator) right there in the parking lot, in the rain.  That was in Northern California, and I swear, the people seem to get nicer the farther north you go.  That was really the only glitch we had.  The kids did well with the drive; we had plenty of stuff to keep them busy, and we made pit stops fairly often.  Scout, our 5-year old Chocolate Lab, was an awesome traveler, which totally surprised us all.  We saw some of the most breathtaking scenery along the way, including Shasta Dam and Lake Shasta (it was too foggy to see Mt. Shasta).

The movers arrived with our stuff last Sunday, and I’ve spent the past week getting the household set up.  I’ve unpacked pretty much everything we need for the short term, and the rest stays boxed up until we eventually buy a house and move again.

The house we’re renting is very nice, in a very nice neighborhood.  It’s totally not me, though.  Very cookie-cutter, everything is uniform and overseen by an HOA.

Our house is the one with the white truck in the driveway.

Our house is the one with the white truck in the driveway.

I’m not complaining; I feel very fortunate.  It’s hard to feel like we’re “home,” though, since this is temporary.  I can’t wait to start exploring Oregon and house hunting, which we’ll probably undertake after the first of the year.

The kids are adjusting pretty well, although they’ve been fairly house-bound because we don’t know anyone here.  They do take Scout for walks, and have taken their bikes out to explore the neighborhood a couple of times.  Now that I’m done with most of the unpacking, we need to get back to homeschooling, which I intend to do this coming week.  Oregon seems to be a very homeschool-friendly state, with lots of homeschooling resources, but the legal requirements are different from California, so I’m trying to navigate all of that.  Also, trying to figure out what to do with Joey has been stressful, as I will homeschool him just for the rest of this school year, and put him back in school when we buy a house and settle somewhere permanently – so I have to make sure that he meets all of the high school freshman credit requirements this year.  I’d really like to find some stuff outside of home for the kids to be involved in, to broaden their experiences and get them out and around other people – but I already find myself falling into a rabbit hole of overwhelming options.  Since there are so many of them, and they each have different interests, it’s going to be difficult to coordinate outside activities in such a way that I’m not constantly driving all over the place.

It’s gorgeous up here.  Trees, trees, and more trees.  Green everywhere.  And actual fall colors!  Such a change from hot, dry, dead, brown SoCal.  It’s chilly to downright cold.  We’ve had a fair amount of rain already, and I’m loving it.  It’s usually foggy in the mornings, with blankets of fog creating these stunning pictures –


The people up here are so nice.  It really is a different vibe.  In SoCal, for instance, driving is every man for himself, everyone hurrying to get wherever they’re going, driving like their destination is more important than everyone else’s (and I don’t exclude myself from this).  The drivers here seem way more mellow and just courteous.  People in stores are very friendly and polite.  I’m not walking around thinking everyone’s an asshole.  I’m really seeing how cynical and defensive existing in the rat race of the OC has made me, and I’m afraid it’s going to blow my cover of being an outsider!

I miss my friends, I miss walking up the street to have a drink or knit with a friend, I miss Kevin (though we text or talk on the phone every day – and he’s coming up for Thanksgiving!), I miss the familiarity of SoCal somewhat, but I have not felt homesick.  Maybe I’ve been too busy – maybe it will hit me soon.  Or maybe it won’t.  Mostly, I feel a sense of contentment.  I think we made the right move.


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