the crazy thing is, i feel less in charge of motherhood when he's two than i ever did when he was a baby. it is often written in the literature that you eventually move into rhythm and things fall into place, but the terrible twos are a grand canyon away from me figuring anything out. i feel more like a failure these days than anything else, because i get upset, have to remove myself from the room and come back to it, composed, ready to talk about why. he doesn't care about why. instant gratification is our first language, and i am always worried that i have babied him, spoiled him by learning fluency in this language first.
but how can i not? i hear stories of children being bombed in a school in Gaza, being beaten by their peers on the slide, being bullied until they'd rather not live through this, being shot by police officers just for being themselves, and sometimes the only reflex that i have is to give in and say yes. to hold him and tell him that he is valued, his life is important. too many people have said no, pulled triggers on the education of our youth, and i remember reading something that Kate sent me a few months ago about why our country hates its children. how can we, a "developed nation", allow our students to go with a sub-par education, poisonous food, violent streets and not enough options? how can America starve its own children of the knowledge they need to succeed and survive?
(this needs a clever transition here)
i am nesting again - building branches of a home with so much material, and trying to make it bright and bold. i am trying to take care of the space where we are ourselves and no one questions us (dr. angelou). i am droppin' revolution (sekou) on the floor as i scrub and clean the kitchen, again. taking care of a home is consistent job, and this is another of my insecurities. but i am not a housewife, except on weekends, and this is not a book that closes with happily ever anything. this is real, and it is messy, and it must be cleaned. that is a home, and i am bowing my head everyday, because the disaster is a blessing. it is loving the color of time, and spending a day to reinvigorate your apartment, while he sleeps.