voting for a future

I voted the other day.  Something mundane right? Four years ago I got goosebumps voting for the first black president. I was surreal. It was something I was proud to do.  That night I watched the returns on the edge of my seat, anxious, excited... and he won.  I cried.

Four years later I voted again for Obama, The thrill had not worn off. I cast my ballot for a man- who less than 100 years ago would have been banned from eating with me. Yes- this was thrilling, but we have so so much further to go.

This year, I cast my ballot for a woman.  A person who less than 100 years ago- wouldn't have been allowed to vote. I voted for all the women who have gone before me to allow me to have an education.  Who have allowed me to have an identity outside of marriage, who have ensured my right to have or not have a baby, for those who ensured that I can demand equal treatment.  They may not be here to vote.  But I am.

I'm here to vote for my children.  For someone who will work to protect the environment- so they have a world to inherit, for someone who will protect their right to healthcare, who will (hopefully) work to ensure safety for refugees.

I voted. All I can do is hope and pray- that others vote, that she wins, and that she stands by her word.

For my right to vote- I am incredibly thankful- and will exercise this right that so many fought so hard for.

How old do you think I am, exactly??

I was on the younger side when I started having kids.  Princess, my first, will be 10 in a few weeks- and I am 32.  22 years old, these days is really young to start a family- yet my mother at that age already had two kids, and that was normal.

Most of the time the kids do not ask silly questions like "did you have electricity when you were a kid?" generally, they assume that things were the same then as they are now.

The other day though, I was asked if we had one of those cars from the 1960s when I was little- after just discussing that I was born in the 1980s and that that car was from the 1960s.

So I asked the kids what they thought it was like when I was little.  There were some interesting answers.  They thought we had a milk man.  They thought girls always had to wear skirts.  Yet 10 minutes later they were asking something relating to calling my mom on her cell phone, email, and internet.

Silly kids.  Cell phones are their norm.  The internet is the norm.  Email is norm.  So I told them a story about going to the library and using books-- not Google and about the card catalog.  And about the printers with the tooth fed paper.  

warm blankets

My mom taught me how to crochet when I was 5 or 6- even though she is lefty and I am righty- she still taught me. When I was 8 or 9 I remember my aunt teaching me how to knit late one Saturday night on the patio, in the summer. My grandma and great grandma made me blankets before I was born. My mom and grandma also taught me embroidery and cross-stitching. I have some talented family members. Learning from them gives me a connection to them. When I sit down and crochet I think of my mom and grandma. I think of their strength their brilliance. When I cross stitch I think of my mother, my aunt, my grandma, and my sister, all of this gives me a connection to them that I may not have otherwise. A thing which we share. Despite any differences. This bit unites us. This bit can never be taken away.

These are a few of my treasures. I know that I can pick up a skein of yarn and in a few(several) hours create something. I am not a skilled crochet-er or knitter by any means, but I am learning (thanks library!).

As I sat tonight on the couch working on a blanket for the new baby, my oldest kids came and sat by me asking for me to teach them how to crochet. Tomorrow, we have a crochet date.

Before each of my children have arrived I have made them a blanket. So they can be wrapped in love as I was. The blankets that were made for me will always be part of my treasured history.