My supernatural klutz powers are as strong as ever. I’ve always been a klutz–that saying about not being able to walk and chew gum at the same time? That’s about me. But this week has been a veritable showcase of accidents.

Tuesday evening I stopped at the store for a few things and went through the express lane. Just as I was turning to leave I slipped on a puddle on the floor and nearly hit said floor. But I only hit the puddle with one foot, slipping while the other foot remained in its original position. So I ended up nearly in splits position on the floor, which is no small thing for a chubby 40-year old woman with a bum hip. As always, innocent spectators were appalled while it was no big deal for me.

Then on Wednesday morning I fell on the front porch. It was raining and the porch was wet, and I was retrieving the stroller from the car. I hit a slick spot and then hit the ground. When I fall out in public I make a real effort not to yell or scream or cry or yelp, that way fewer people take notice of my humiliation. But that morning I was at my own house and nobody else was in view, so did I ever holler! Hubby heard me while he was in the shower. I told him that I fell, again, but that I was ok. I wasn’t, but what was he supposed to do about it? My leg is feeling much better now, thank you, but I re-hurt the foot I tore a ligament in when I was preggers with Pumpkin. That is not a happy foot.

The central problem seems to be shortage of synapses. If I try to do too much or even think about too much while trying to perform some kind, any kind of physical task, something fails. Usually my feet. You see, my body wants me to give my full, undivided attention to every little physical task. Not that I blame it, every time I don’t remain perfectly motionless my body is in mortal peril. But I’m not sure that remaining perfectly motionless would solve the problem. I’m the kind of person who would be struck by a meteorite while sitting on her own couch.

Apparently, when I’m walking, I should only be thinking “Right foot left foot right foot left foot…” This also applies to simple things like making lunch.

Today, while making lunch, I experienced a synapse malfunction of epic fail proportions. Boil water, insert pasta, sounds easy right? But there was a problem–I wasn’t just thinking “Open bag of pasta, pour into water.” I was planning an anti-Palin post in my head, and then I started thinking about grating some Parmesan for the pasta and wondering where my rotary grater thingy was. The cheese was the last straw, the straw that broke the synapse’s back.

Somehow, only slightly less than half the bag of pasta ended up in the pot. The rest spilled on floor and on the stove top, right around the burner I was using. Just barely on time, I remembered to turn off the flame before I started a massive kitchen fire. I’m pretty disappointed, it was a bag of tri-color fusilli from Italy. My favorite. Still, Pumpkin and I did have enough for lunch. And it was good.

Now if only I could manage to stay upright.

When did my baby boy become a big boy?

Today was Monkey’s first full day of Kindergarten. He’s got his own locker and a brand-new lunch bag. And a mama who just can’t believe he’s growing up so fast. Monkey was so excited that he barely even acknowledged me when I said goodbye. I made it half-way back to the main doors before I started crying.

When Pumpkin and I picked him up, he just seemed like it was no big deal! But he had a lot of fun and got to eat his lunch in the cafeteria like a big kid, so he was happy about that. So far, I think lunch is his favorite subject.

Today was Monkey’s last day of school for the year. Actually it was his very first last day of school! There was a pizza party and everything. But frankly, I don’t know how I’m going to survive summer, spring break was almost the death of me. He’s not my little toddler anymore, he’s been out in the world away from me, and he just won’t be content in our old unstructured ways. He’s made friends at school, friends he’ll want to see, so there will be playdates. There is a recommended reading list and activities to help him prepare for kindergarten. I’m actually going to have to plan stuff!

We walk up to school most days and I really enjoy it. I’m going to miss our walks; I guess we’ll just have to walk to other places. The exercise, the fresh air, the nature, all of them add a nice aspect to my day. Especially the parts back home after dropping Monkey off and when we walk back up to pick him up. It’s not that I don’t like walking with Monkey, but that time alone with Pumpkin is special. She’s just so new to all this human-stuff and absolutely everything is this bright, shiny wonder to her.

On the way back up to the school, we played one of her favorite games-”Mama, what’s your name?” She asks everybody present in just that fashion. “Daddy, what’s your name?” And the answers are always the same, “Daddy.” “Mama, what’s your name?” “Mama.” And then you have to ask her, “Pumpkin, what’s your name?” “Pumpkin” she answers. Luckily this round didn’t last too long.

Then she picked up a stick that she declared just the right size for a walking stick. She told me it was for walking up the dirt. Then she said, “Mama, today is Dirt Day. I love dirt.”

I knew it. Kids don’t just get dirty in the pursuit of other things like play. They get dirty because they love the dirt itself, on its own merits. So the next time I look around my kid-full House and wonder how all the dirt got in, I’ll know that the children have invited it over. Because they love dirt.

God, it’s going to be a long summer.

Today was a special and scary day for Monkey, it was his very first school program. His adorable little Pre-K class stood on the stage in the gymnasium and sung seven cute songs. Well, the rest of his class did.

Hubby came home from work to go with me and Pumpkin. Grandma and Grandad drove in and brought Cousin L. with them. Cousin L. was born six weeks before Monkey and they are very close. She’s as shy as Monkey is outgoing, but somehow always ends up the one who gives the orders when they play. Pumpkin managed to keep her dress on long enough to get through the program. She likes to wear pretty dresses, for about 2 hours and then they start to bother her and must come off! Now! Of course, we always have to maintain a bit of an edge, so she wore her pink high-top Chuck Taylors with her flowery dress.

Well, maybe it was the crowd or just standing up on that stage, but Monkey started crying during the very first song. First, he had that deer-in-headlights look, then he started wiping his face with his hands, and then his frown got bigger and his little chin started to quiver. It was all I could do not to run up to the stage and gather him in my arms and head for the hills. But he was a trooper, he pulled himself together and went on with the program. Of course, I didn’t see his lips move very much, but he did his best to keep up with the hand motions and dance moves.

After the songs, the teacher showed pictures from throughout the school year and everybody “oohed and awed” about them. When that part was over, Monkey ran to his daddy, wrapped his arms around him, and I didn’t know if we’d be able to pry them apart. You know, ol’ Mama’s there for everything, but having Daddy there is something special! Well, Hubby had to get back to work so he missed out on cookies and punch.

We didn’t think to take a camera, because you know, we’re dumb. But luckily the iPhone takes pretty nice pictures and I have some grainy shots taken with my cell phone. One picture I got was Monkey with his “buddy.” The school offers a type of mentoring program where classes of older students partner with the Pre-K classes and have “Buddies Days.” I finally got to meet Larry, Monkey’s buddy. I have heard about that kid since the beginning of the year and I was so happy to meet him. Larry is such a nice boy, and he seems to genuinely like Monkey. Tomorrow is Ice Cream Social Day with the Buddies. And the last day of school will be Pizza Party with the Buddies Day.

Later, after we got home, we talked about what happened. Monkey said he got scared at first, but then he got better. But all in all he had fun. And next year he starts Kindergarten. When did all this growing up happen?

Still “down in my back” as they say around here, so Nana came over to watch Pumpkin while I walked up to get Monkey at school. On our way home we saw, and heard, something rather disturbing: a boy of about 9 or 10 was positively wailing the tar out of a slightly littler girl. The boy and girl were similar in build and coloring, and turned out to be older brother and younger sister. But still.

When we got up to them, she was sobbing loudly and vainly trying to tie her shoe. And he was vainly trying to get her up off the ground so they could get home. Turns out two other little sisters had run on ahead of them and the big little boy in charge of them all was beside himself with worry.

He told me that she just wouldn’t keep up with him and he had to take care of her because, and I quote, “She’s cute! She’s just a target, with arms and legs, to child molesters!” This valiant big little boy was only trying to protect her, and his other sisters. Finally, she got up and told me she was o.k. to walk. Soon they outpaced us-because I’m “down in my back” and can’t move all that quickly.

So, I was in a good position to see when he started wailing on her again. This time he was putting his hands in the middle of her back and pushing her. She couldn’t take anymore and just stopped. Meddling Mama that I am, I walked right back up to them, whipped out my cell phone, and demanded, “What is your mother’s phone number!” I put the number in but waited to hit dial. “O.K., this the last chance before I dial. Do I still need to call your mother?” Before they could answer, two teachers from Monkey’s school caught up to us.

The poor, big little boy once again repeated that his sister was a target with arms and legs to child molesters, and his other sisters wouldn’t stop, and this sister was just having a bad day. I really began to feel for the boy at that point. Here was this little kid, saddled with this overwhelming responsibility, and just trying his best to meet it. And here was this little girl, having to deal with the aftermath of a bad day at school, and just trying to keep herself together.

Our neighborhood is just filled with kids who walk home from school, lots of them littler than this boy and girl. And I’m sure that the big little boy could get himself home without too much trouble. But I am concerned with the added responsibility he’s been given. And then there’s the onus of keeping his sisters safe from child molesters. Which isn’t even possible. While children, and people in general, are safer in groups, the fact remains that a determined predator isn’t going to be stopped by the presence of a small-to-middling boy.

I don’t think a little boy should be burdened with that much responsibility. Look, parents of this child, if you feel so uneasy about all of your children walking home from school that you find it necessary to fill your son with an almost paralyzing fear of child molesters, then you should make other arrangements. But instead of making other arrangements, you’ve placed an adult-sized responsibility on a child. And if, God forbid, something were to happen, that child would be dealing with the trauma of having failed his duty for the rest of his life.

You know, I’m not a perfect mother by any measuring, some days I don’t even feel like a very good mother, but even I know not to do this. It is my son’s job to be nice to his sister, not to look out for her physical well-being. That’s my job. As he gets older, he can be as protective as he wants to be, but he will never be in charge of making sure she doesn’t get abducted! I’ll be happy if he just stops hitting her!

Anyway, it all turned out well. The brave big little boy ran and retrieved his other sisters and one of the teachers walked the whole crew home. The other teacher thanked me for staying with them until the situation was resolved. I told her that, as a mom, I would hope that another parent would do the same for my kids.

Oh, wait, I guess I do know what I think about this after all.

Some things the House does right:

1)We bought an existing house, 2)We walk Monkey to school in all but the very worst weather, 3)I quit taking the daily paper, 4)Reusable grocery bags! 5) Buy local food when available, 6) Don’t own a Suburban anymore, 7)Recycle the copious number of magazines that we always seem to have, 8)Re-use plastic bags, 9)HE front-loading washing machine, 10)Fluorescent light bulbs.

Things we do that aren’t so good:

1)Disposable diapers, 2)Buy water, 3)Forget to compost, 4)Forget to recycle everything else, 5)Old house is not well-sealed.

One thing we’ve done that is better for the environment, but is actually done to save money: curtailed or eliminated driving-for-fun.

Something we’ve done that is better for the world, but is actually done to spare our frazzled nerves and keep from pissing off strangers-that-never-did-anything-to-us: Take the kids on a real vacation (we always drive).

Someday(doesn’t everyone say that?), I’ll do better. Solar power for the House, hybrid or electric car, alternatives to air-conditioning for the House, gray water for the yard.

Things I need to do NOW: plant a vegetable garden, put up a clothesline, potty train Pumpkin, recycle everything recyclable, compost all plant matter, remember to turn off the power strips at night.

And I don’t care if this is Oklahoma and it does start getting pretty hot this early, I REFUSE TO TURN ON THE DAD-GUMMED AIR CONDITIONER IN APRIL!!!!!!!11!!one!!!!!!eleven!!!!!!

I really want to get my kids these books, mainly because they need to learn more about my politics than what they hear me grumble about everyday. As a mom, I find it absolutely essential to be politically active. We take the kids with us when we vote and that’s a big improvement over what I grew up seeing. My parents were too busy keeping body and soul together to teach us about political issues and I don’t fault them for it. I do, however, fault them for repeatedly voting against their own best interests when they did vote.

It may be out of fashion to refer to myself as a liberal, more people are using the term progressive, but I like liberal because I see nothing wrong, and everything right, with being a liberal. Especially since I don’t see conservatives caring about the things that are important in my life. Family values? Don’t make me laugh. Whenever somebody on the right bleats about “family values”, it’s code for “we hate gay people.” Check it, you’ll find I’m right. “Traditional family values” is even worse. The gay-hatred still applies but with a goodly portion of woman-hating dolloped on top. These “traditionalists” hate and fear women so much that they believe the only way to save society from the girl-cooties is to severely limit the rights of women.

But they don’t really care about families or children or women. Or old people or disabled people or poor people or people that don’t look exactly like them. As a woman and mother, I know that to vote republican is to vote against the very things that I love-my family, my home, my future, my children’s future, my elderly grandmother, my elderly MIL, my civil liberties, my country. And since I’m a decent human being, I also don’t want to vote against my neighbors, classmates, acquaintances, friends, or strangers in need.

Some mothers feel or claim that they are too busy to be politically engaged, but I believe that in order to be  good parents we are obliged to know as much as we can about the things that could negatively or positively impact our children. If people refuse to research the issues themselves and form their own opinions, then they will just believe what some politician, preacher, or pundit tell them to believe. These people are literally handing over their freedom, their free-will, their minds to someone else. Example: someone who believes that the administration (and political party thereof) that refused to expand SCHIP to cover more uninsured children actually cares about the “babees” involved in reproductive choice is uninformed at best, deluded and foolish at worst. If republicans actually cared about any children whatsoever, that care and compassion would not cease at birth.

Look, moms, if you truly care about your kids (and I know you do), get involved, get informed, get wise. Take the time, make the effort. If every mom in America voted in the best interest of her family and all other families, this would be a much better country for families. We wouldn’t have to make such hard decisions. Leave baby in daycare at six weeks just to work the job the family needs to survive or quit the job and stay home and lose benefits and income; buy insurance the family can’t afford or take a chance that no one gets hurt or sick.

There are many reasons that I am a liberal, but the most important one-my family. I am a liberal because I want my children to live in the best possible world. And I just don’t see that happening in the borrow-and-spend, amoral, corporate welfare, tax cuts for rich white guys, step on the little guy, war-mongering, no civil liberties future the republicans want to take us to at warp speed.

Maybe I should print up the world’s scariest t-shirt: I’m smart, I’m a woman, I’m a mom, I’m paying attention, and I vote.

Hey, thanks a lot for making me feel unsafe in my own neighborhood, in broad daylight! Really appreciate it!

Earlier today I was thinking about how untouched I have been by all the street or random harassment I read about. Something about being a nearly 40-year old mom, pushing a toddler in a stroller, must be some kind of creep-repellent. Uh huh. Before you begin to laugh derisively at my naivete, I have now been disabused of that notion. Walking with my children doesn’t make me less vulnerable, it makes me much more vulnerable.

Today was such a beautiful day, absolutely perfect for walking Monkey to school. So we did. We got him dropped off in his class; and Pumpkin and I started walking back to the House. But first, I stopped to talk to another parent, C’s dad. As we were talking, a man rode by on a bicycle. I have seen this person outside Monkey’s school several times recently, and thought him kind of odd, but probably harmless. That is until today. He spotted me talking to C’s dad, swerved across the street, and interrupted our conversation to say, “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Excuse me, WTF?! I didn’t smile, I hardly responded. I said, “Um, yeah.” and kept talking to the other parent as the Creep rode on.

Pumpkin and I started walking home. I always pay attention to traffic, walking defensively, even on the sidewalk. Cars drive too fast on that street, even in front of the school, and I have seen or heard several serious accidents along that road. At one intersection, I looked back to check for cars, and the Creep on the bike was bearing down on us. Starting to get a little concerned, I picked up the pace and started thinking about options. He passed us and I made a point to not look friendly. Then, oh Lord, he turned his bike onto our street!

I slowed down, tried to figure out who I could go to for help, and tried to rationalize. Surely he turned down our street randomly. But I knew better. And sure as shootin’, I turned the stroller down our street, got about 2 houses down, and noticed that the Creep is down the street a ways, waiting. He started riding back towards us. I had already spotted a neighbor at home at the end of the street. Pumpkin and I went to door, I rang the bell and prayed furiously.

The Creep rode past us just before the man answered the door. My neighbors are very nice and he was very understanding and concerned when I told him what happened. He walked to the end of the street with me, but the Creep was gone. I thanked him, a lot, and started back to the House. Then I heard my neighbor yell something. Thinking he was trying to get my attention, I turned back. The Creep came back and my neighbor yelled something at him as he passed. When the Creep was gone, I waved at my neighbor’s wife (who apparently came out to see why I dragged her husband out into the street) and ran up my driveway.

He may be harmless, I may be overreacting, but… Why would some random guy use a smarmy pick-up line on a middle-aged mom with a toddler? How did he know which street we lived on? Who does he think he is to make me feel uneasy about being outdoors while female? And one other highly disturbing thing: I’m no hot, young thing (as if that would make it better), what if he was trying to get to my kids?!

Something made my internal alarm go off, and I’m not in the habit of ignoring my instincts. I’d much rather overreact and be safe than under-react and be dead. The upshot is: we’re not going to be walking for a while.

You know, I have walked that route many times and seen many different people all over the neighborhood. Other parents, teenage ne’er-do-wells, lawn workers, utility crews, retired people, even the occasional hobo, and I have never been harassed or followed. Apparently, I just haven’t run across any harassers until now.

Nobody reading this blog is likely to think this way, but some people dismiss random harassment, thinking that women somehow provoke it by dressing or acting a certain way. Just for the record: I am a pudgy, middle-aged mom with so much gray in my hair that I’m starting to resemble a badger. I was wearing the ever-alluring mom uniform of: relaxed-fit jeans, baggy black T-shirt, loose black cardigan, Doc Marten boots, and not a stitch of make-up. Except for my hands, I was covered from neck to toes. I did not smile or flirt and I was busy wrangling a toddler in a stroller.

There is nothing I did nor didn’t do to make that Creep try to follow me home. There is nothing I could’ve done differently to get a different outcome. And no matter how fully-clothed or scantily clad a woman is, if a man is decent, he won’t act like a Creep. The only “mistake” I made? Being a woman and being outside my house.

Creep.

Today has been a day of anticipation and hope. For the first time ever, I voted for a woman running for president of these United States. But I had to wait all day to do it, until after Hubby got off work. I had a slight butterflies-in-stomach feeling all day, kind of like how you feel during those few minutes between peeing on the stick and finding out if you’re pregnant or not. If you’re a girl, that is. Or maybe it’s the same for guys, I don’t know. But I digress. It was a long day. But half-way through my day I saw something that just thrilled my little heart-a group of Hillary supporters holding placards and cheering at a major intersection in midtown. One of the ladies smiled and waved and pointed at her homemade “Vote for Hillary” sign and I hooped and hollered like a madwoman and gave her “thumbs-up”. Pumpkin didn’t understand why mama was yelling like a fishwife, but she liked the signs. She waved at the people on the corner and they waved back.

Later, we picked up Hubby from work and went voting. We vote as family, not that the kids are really much help, but it’s good for them to see us vote. The poll workers were very nice to the kids and gave them “I voted” stickers that were proudly displayed for the rest of the evening. I cast my vote, Hubby cast his and we all prepared to walk back out in the cold rain.

Then something happened. I’m not entirely sure how it all transpired, but Hubby is convinced there was some kind of supernatural angle to the whole thing. As near as I can recall this is the exact sequence of events: I was  thinking how proud I was of my country for the first time in too long a time and whether I should carry Pumpkin or let her hold my hand and walk to the car. Then a very young adolescent boy walked in the door we were leaving out of. Our polling place is in a church (a liberal one thank goodness) and  he was probably a member, there for some activity. It was cold and rainy outside and the boy was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. So on top of everything else, I was also thinking about how cold he looked and how very polite he was for holding the door. As I always do whenever someone holds the door, I said “Thank you”. Or I tried to anyway. Apparently I had reached some kind of theoretical synaptic limit in my brain and something had to give. Pumpkin took that very moment to stumble, and my brain, having used up the last synapse, couldn’t make my feet work. I went down like a sack of wet cement.

I landed somewhat on the Pumpkin, but as I am an old pro at falling I was able to keep my weight off of her by taking the fall on my butt and my right hand. She was understandably scared and began to cry. I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t even look back at the kid who held the door, but he was probably appalled, just like everyone else.  I got up, picked up Pumpkin and checked her for visible injuries, there were none. She was fine, just a little shaken up. Me? I’m a little sore, thanks for asking.

Hubby had quite a bit of fun at my expense once he knew that I wasn’t really injured. He said that one moment he looked back and we were upright, but then he heard a commotion and turned back to see us on the ground. And he jokes that he saw a puff of smoke. He also says that my falling has taken on a supernatural tone, that there must be ghosts involved. Not that he believes in ghosts, mind you. No ghosts, just me and my debilitating lack of grace. But I did have to agree when he said, “You have done this our entire marriage! We’ll be walkin’ along one minute, there will be a commotion, I’ll look down and you’ll be on the ground.”

We laughed all the way to the grocery store and back to the House. Hubby said, “There’s a blog post in there somewhere.” And here it is, my story about how I fell for Hillary Clinton. I swear this doesn’t happen to anyone else.

With two absolutely fine choices open to me on the primary ticket-Obama and Clinton-the House was having no small amount of difficulty choosing between them. It’s like being asked to choose between cupcakes and cookies. Or Star Wars and Star Trek. Or Hostess and Little Debbie. Somehow it always gets back to dessert. But voting for either one of those fine individuals is like finally having dessert after a meal of endless tripe. There are so many analogies I could use: oasis in the desert, port in the storm, the whole raining-soup-bucket thing. We’re back to food, I must be hungry or something. Seriously, the political field like the proverbial raining of soup and I’m bringing my bucket.

But, I have to choose one. And that is no small task; both have so much more to offer than anybody over on the other side. I wouldn’t have to hold my nose to vote for either Obama or Clinton, I would mark my ballot gladly for either. But I have to choose one, just one. Prominent people that I respect have endorsed both candidates and until today none of those endorsements pushed me over either edge. Today I learned that Wilma Mankiller, former Principal Chief of the Cherokee Nation (of which I am a registered member), endorsed Hillary Clinton for President and I will follow her fine example. The House of the Burning Prairie officially endorses Hillary Clinton for President of the United States. For what it’s worth.

With this caveat-should she not garner enough votes to win my party’s candidacy, I will proudly support whoever does. After years of embarrassment, I’m ready to proud of my country again. Oh, and girls rule!!!!!

Addendum: I don’t want to leave you with the impression that I base my voting choices on endorsements or pet projects or voting record nitpicking or any other one thing. Except for being a staunch Democrat like my maternal grandmother, I approach voting as a gestalt. But sometimes, when all else is equal in my mind, a good word from people I respect can help. Not that I am induced to vote in a way that I normally would not, but that realizations floating in my mind, unformed, are crystallized when I hear others put voice to my thoughts.