On Trying to Blog

Stretching my blogging muscles with this one... Not even gunna post it on Facebook which is basically where I get 100% of my readers (thanks friends!)

Shit has been getting real over here.  I would say that the stopping of blogging directly coincided with the first trimester fatigue.  I mean... I was tired when I was pregnant with Liam, but HOLY CRAP! Being pregnant while breastfeeding requires crazy amounts of energy and nutrition, which ironically takes up all the energy because preparing healthy meals for one's self is exhausting.  You'll be happy to know I have almost completely fallen off that bandwagon, with special thanks to my husband and his incredibly thoughtful Princess cake that is sitting in my fridge right now... mmmmmmmm...

Between being pregnant, moving 3,000 miles, Liam starting to walk (yay!), starting my care taking job for my Grammy, and generally getting settled in the new house, I have had lots to talk about and no time or energy to type it out! Emphasis on the energy.  Let's be honest, mostly I just got lazy keeping up with this blog thing.  Here are some of the topics I started writing in my head that never made it to the compy:

• On the First Trimester
• On Graduate School
• On Ithaca
• On Packing
• On Moving Out
• On Uhaul
• On Roadtrips
• On Lola
• On Hometowns
• On Property Managers
• On the DMV
• On Lancewood

Lancewood may still be coming (no promises)... that is our new home, affectionately dubbed Speirs Hill.  I've been going a little crazy adjusting to this new environment and set of responsibilities... considered talking to a shrink, then considered writing a journal, then remembered I have a blog!  So in order to reduce sources of guilt in my life I am going to absolutely try to keep up with you sportsfans.  Now that I've said that out loud (in print) if I don't follow through I'm sure I will just feel more guilty, but that all fits into the theme of being a young mother, right?  Idk... I can't think with the news blabbing on in the background.  Having TV in the house is crazy distracting.  

I'm gunna go ahead and quit while I'm ahead.  If you've had to read this, I probably owe you a drink.

Cheers.

P.S: I was also apparently working on a current-events blog responding to that Yahoo policy change about flex time... I had totally forgotten that.  I suppose the point is moot now, eh?

On Expectant Reactions

So today I let Liam fall off of the bed and caught him really close to the ground instead of stopping him from falling right away.  The theory was that he would learn the sensation of falling, become more aware of his body in space, and be weary of the edge of the bed.  Instead he just thought it was a really great ride.

Here, perhaps, is my first experience with the other side of that parent/child divide where experience clashes with the thrill of discovery.  I was definitively the child who needed to test every rule and find out about things first hand, no matter how many times you told me how it would turn out. Now, just because I did the tests and know that it hurts to fall, doesn't mean that my son gets to skip the step of finding out for himself. 

As he gets older, not everything will be as simple as "hot things burn so don't touch them" and "when you're outside in the rain, you get wet".  We develop more in depth and personalized expectations of our world based on more complex experiments and interactions with it.  These expectations color our opinions, inform our decisions, and even influence our judgement of others.  Then you have to reconcile with the fact that other people have different opinions, decisions, and judgments than you do, and either learn to accept that or perhaps try to influence them.  How we deal with that is the bread and butter of relationships, and there is no richer, creamier butter than that darned parent/child relationship.

As some of you know, we recently found out that we are expecting spawn #2, and we really couldn't be more happy.  Once we are out of this Limbo called New York in May, we are all moving back to sunny California and I will be taking on the responsibilities of live-in care person for my wonderful sweet Grammy, which I am all to happy to do.  This does mean, however, that I am going to have to continue my hiatus from the professional world, as my diploma sits gathering dust.  So we thought, what better time to have another child, while it can still benefit from the complete time and attention of Mama? That way we are well on our way to our large family (the magic number is 4... and I'm shootin' to be done before I'm 30!)  and I won't have to worry about maternity leave and pumping in my workplace bathroom.  Ew. 

Well... that's only one way to look at it.  The other way (my parent's) is that we have no idea what we are getting into and that we are poppin' out a bunch of welfare babies that we can't afford.  They would have us waiting until we were established with no debt, high-paying jobs, and a house before even thinking of children, which would more than likely leave us taking our walkers to our kid's high school graduations.  In my opinion, there is never a good time to have a kid, and if you wait to be able to "afford" one, you'll never be able to.  I was raised on modest means (my mother's constant refrain while shopping was "Is it on sale?") and I know that my folks are just hoping for their daughter not to have to make the sacrifices that they did, but money doesn't make people happy, and I'd much rather be able to enjoy my kid's childhoods then be worried about how I'm going to pay for college and retirement at the same time.  

Admittedly, I do take advantage of the NY WIC program and Liam and I are on Medicaid, but it is ridiculous how expensive healthcare is in this country anyways.  And I'm not making an argument for public vs. private funding of medical centers, or of whether or not Obamacare is constitutional... It seems to me that healthcare debates in this country are trying to work out how to solve problems within our system without acknowledging that our system is broken.  Medical schools, Hospitals, and Doctors are bought and paid for by pharmaceutical and insurance companies, so why do I (As a taxpayer OR an individual) want to feed the beast that profits off of our country's sickness?  But I digress...

Financial issues aside, it simply seems to me that family and community are the most important things in this fleeting life, and the only things that tie you to it once you're gone.  With that in mind, Colin and I are plunging in head-first (as is our way) to that loud, raucous family life where are kids are close enough in age to be friends, enemies, and sparring partners, and in-school body guards, and the more conservative of check-out ladies will look down their long noses at us as I wrangle them through the checkout line.  Variety is the spice of life, and I don't do anything half-assed!!!

Still though, it kinda sucks that my mom's first reaction to the news was a heavy resigned sigh followed by a "You guys are crazy", and that, although we've spoken numerous times, my father hasn't said one word about the new baby.  I've also found that (in general) there is an age divide between super excited congratulatory responses and shocked "you're crazy" responses.  Of course, there is probably a very good reason why the experienced have reservations about young, large families, but I will perpetually be the baby that loves to fall off the bed.  

On That Little Voice

We spend years as poker players (hell, as human beings...) trying to train ourselves to ignore that little Voice in your head that screams "just do it!" when faced with a compelling decision.  Sometimes it feels good to be reckless, but it certainly doesn't pay.  Until recently that is...

I am not the sort of player who mentally stays in the hand long after I've folded and agonizes over every gut-shot I could've made if I had stayed in.  72 offsuit is a great fold even if the flop comes up 777.  But lately those wild urges that hit you every once in awhile, like "let's play K2 just for the hell of it", that I have been resolutely ignoring because to indulge would just be bad poker, have been consistently hitting.  

For instance, the other week I had been playing for just under 40 minutes in our local free poker tourney with the group of regulars that is basically our second family, and had barely played a hand.  The action at my table was pretty even with no real clear leader, and I was feeling like it was time to make a move.  The button hit me and I resolved to control the hand pre-flop no matter what.  Enter 92 offsuit.  Okay... shitty hand but the plan stays.  Play position, work the table image... my standard raise is 3x the big blind, and if you're going to be in with a hand like that you'd better be willing to raise.  Then three people call behind the blinds, including a very tight player who thinks that if he doesn't have AAs he's screwed.  Now potentially 5 people are in the hand (I think there was a pre-flop raise too), and I'm sitting here with rags.  My chances of pushing enough players out of the pot and then praying that they didn't catch their flop and then convincing them that I hit mine aren't looking so good anymore, so even though I have position and the Voice telling me that I should be in this hand, it would really just be a terrible move to call and is simply not worth the pre-flop raise.  I fold.  And mathematically, talkin' shop with buddies over drinks, I will defend that decision every time.

Flop comes J, 9, 2. turn is a 9.  

Son of a bitch.
The pot had gotten pretty fatty with J2 against QQ, and had I listened to that damn little Voice I would have gotten PAID.  

This works the other way too.
A couple of months ago at the Free Poker Network state tournament for New York, I had been running up a nice little stack and was just generally feeling good.  We were down to 4 tables out of over 100 players, and I hadn't lost any significant pots.  After the dinner break we sat down, and even though I had successfully avoided playing with anyone from my local game, the new dealer who sat down was someone I knew, and didn't happen to like very much.  In the end, it doesn't really matter that I don't like him (especially since we get along just fine, he just happens to be kindof a condescending dick), but as soon as he sat down, I just started to feel unlucky.  

Now, at a poker table, as in life, you are going to be sitting down with people you don't like all the time, and you just have to fuckin' deal with it.  A weak and immature person is going to let their feelings towards another person affect them in negative ways and let those feelings bring them down, but really all that does is give whoever you don't like power over you.  These are all things I know, as a person and a poker player.  I don't now if you can tell or not, but I'm an extremely confident individual, and if you've got a problem with me that's your problem, not mine.  Yet still, amidst all this, I just felt the tides start to change.

So I says to myself I says, "Toni.  You're just being stupid.  Whether or not so and so sits down has absolutely  no affect on your play whatsoever.  Your game is tight.  Man up.  Shut up.  And Play."  After that I caught some great hands, A10 suited, AJ, QQ, and I think I was out within 10 minutes.  I lost coinflips, got sucked out on, and even though my play was by the book and I didn't make any stupid decisions,  the cards just weren't there.  

After 3-4 missed Voice related opportunities in this last regional tournament that I just played last week, I think I need to re-evaluate how I define that reckless little Voice and maybe start thinking of it as Intuition.  Gotta strike that balance between knowing the odds and knowing the game, and sometimes just throwing that all to the wind.  Maybe it's 'cuz I'm a Mama now that the Voice got so much more "right"... it used to just lose me a lot of chips!

On Resolutions

As white fluffy snow drifts down outside my window and my Christmas decorations beg to be taken down, it's time to pause and consider that 2012 is quickly coming to a close and 2013 is on the horizon.  It's been a good year, mostly due to the birth of my son, but I am ready and rearin' for the whirlwind that will be 2013.

I never used to be one to make resolutions at New Years, mostly because I never make promises I don't intend to keep, but in 2011, as I kept telling myself "you gotta do "this/that" more often" or "I'm going to start doing "that" once the baby is born" I realized that I needed to set a goal for myself and stick to it.  So last year I resolved to become more (re?) involved in Art History in whatever forms I could.  As I announced it on Facebook to the great inter-ether I thanked social media for giving me some form of accountability so that I couldn't just sweep this goal under the rug.  I figured getting "more involved" was going to mean something simple like subscribing to The Art Journal or something similar, but it ended up leading me to an independent research project on the function of art in defining identity in colonial Mexico and how (if) similar devices are being used in defining a nationalist identity in contemporary Mexico and the American Southwest.  Sounds good right?  It's actually a GINORMOUS question with lots of implications that I'm probably not smart enough to answer and would/will take a lifetime to develop informed opinions that may matter, so for now I'm just doing a little focused research on the Casta paintings in 16th-18th century New Spain.  But I digress...

A recent pilgrimage to our nation's capital and the Smithsonian National Gallery of Art seemed like the perfect way to wrap up 2012 and transition into the new year.  I tend to get big ideas in my head, start them strong, and let them peter out relatively quickly.  Reading the tight little blurbs on the walls next to the paintings and walking the marble floors of the national gallery made me feel proud of my huge omni book of notes and stack of library books on my research topic sitting in my little book bag waiting to be taken to my favorite coffee shop.  I remembered the feelings I had as a student sitting in ARH 352, wanting to be a part of the world that discussed and considered art as an exercise in meaning.  With my new project, I feel that I am well on my way to doing so, and at the very least will avoid letting that desire from my youth slip quietly into the dark night as the sunrise of my family predominates my world.

So now, for 2013.  Christmas decorations may glare at me from my walls as a nagging "to-do" that I really gotta get to... but the wreaths and ornaments ain't got nothin' on the constant guilt trip that my idle easel and empty art table constantly send me on.  I have endless reasons why I haven't engaged in any art-making since our arrival in Ithaca a year and a half ago.  "I don't like to work in the living room, I don't want to risk getting the pergo floors dirty, I don't have a model to draw from, I'm pregnant, I have a baby, I don't have any drawing pencils, it's cold out..." etc.  But the bottom line is, if you are an artist, you find a way.  Until now, I've constantly been in some kind of art class/studio since I was 8 years old, and used to take refuge in painting and drawing as a way to deal with my external environment and cope with emotions that I couldn't express in any other way.  Once I hit college, the class load and assignments due for my art courses halted the production of my own, personal works, and even sketching became a bit of a chore.  In the process of growing up, finding a healthy and loving relationship, and just generally getting on with life, I have found that in my happiness I lack the passion inspired by tumult and adversity to really drive me into my work.  Without it, I fear that I am losing the technical skills and that my eye is growing dim.

It's time for me to stop the excuses, stop expecting that the next thing I create will be the execution of one of my grand ideas, and just get into the habit of drawing again.  I have all the tools I need, I just need the resolve.

On Bodies

I really need to get better at writing these things as they come into my  head and while they are relevant.  My mind is now in a pre-Christmas haze of happiness and cuddles, but this topic has to come after the last one so here goes...

It occurred to me that in my previous post, On My Husband, I could have tied the story back to the theme of this blog a little better, and that, in retrospect, I may have come off as a bit of a slut.  Although ya know, in the eyes of the kind of people that judge and label women as sluts, I guess I kinda am.

Our society as a whole has some amazingly prudish views on sex and the body left over from the Victorian era, and I for one hope that we can move past them as we continue to march into the 21st century, if for no other reason then that I think it sucks that I can't walk around in my bra and panties once Liam gets old enough to remember things.  Its not that I want to be naked in front of my son... that's weird... I just want to be able to be comfortable in my own home.  But in America today, he won't be exposed to the nude female body in his everyday life except as a highly sexualized object, and as something that is mystified behind closed doors as the "Anatomical Other".  So if his Mama is prancing around in her grungies and is the only bare female form he's ever seen, then that body automatically becomes objectified as well.

I think that even in my generation of young parents, moms and dads still dread sitting down and having "the talk" with their kids once they hit that tumultuous and confusing age of puberty, because most of us wait until the hormones are raging in a child to bring up issues of sex and the body.  But sex and the way we express affection (both physically and emotionally) is one of the most important factors in developing adult relationships, so why wait until our children are almost adults to begin to teach them?  Just like learning a language is infinitely easier for the mold-able mind of a toddler, waiting until puberty to teach the language of love is like trying to sit through a mindless recitation of -AR verbs in first period Spanish.  Is it possible? Yes of course.  There are tons of healthy relationships out there built on the traditional views of today.  But is there a better way?  I think so.

Maybe we are a long ways away from shared bath houses and a general familiarity with the nude forms of the opposite sex (or the same sex for that matter), but we can still help our children feel comfortable with their own bodies and not feel embarrassed by the natural curiosity we are all born with.  The more open we are as adults, the more comfortable they will be to come to us with questions and concerns, so that we are making sure that they have the tools to foster healthy, loving relationships.  Hug each other.  Dance in the kitchen.  Kiss your spouse right on the mouth.  Showing affection and making intimacy part of the every day routine is the first step towards raising a kid who is comfortable with their own feelings of love and affection, including those awkward and unavoidable teenage urges.  




**My favorite source of straight-forward information and help with talking to young adults has always been Sue Johanson.  The woman just does wonderful work.**

On My Husband

(^heh...heh... giggity.)

Just had an AWESOME day at the Corning Museum of Glass with my hubby, but any indication of what our experience was like would need to include a description of my man and who we are together.  So to avoid this problem in the future, here's a little long-winded background... (Its my blog and I can ramble if I want to!)

Colin and I met on the day after my birthday in 2008.  My mom and Grammy were visiting me in my first apartment, and I had only been living there for about two months.  I never moved back home after my freshman year of college.  I went straight from the dorms into a little one bedroom with a hallway kitchen and a nice little patio on the back.  I still miss that place... but that's an entry for another day.

On this day in July, the three of us were just pulling in from a shopping trip at the mall to get me my very own first vacuum cleaner (still have it, that things a champ!) and the new season of Dexter when we see two bros playing Frisbee in the parking lot of my complex.  My mother insists that she introduced Colin and me, because at this point, as we were getting out of the car, she made some embarrassing  comments about joining their game, I grabbed the vacuum cleaner out of the trunk and gave the boys a little head shake and a smile trying to say "Whatt're ya gunna do?  She's my mom". We all head inside, and I think my mom made a comment about how I should be more open to new people, then I went back outside to let my dog Zoie out to pee.

I smiled and made eyes at the boys, let Zoie do her business, walked her shit to the dumpster, and then on the way back, the shorter of the two threw the Frisbee into my white Ford F-150 (later to be dubbed the Bat Truck), where I had a huge 60ish pound TV chillin' waiting to be moved to the dumpster.  I can't exactly remember how I wove my magic spell and talked the boys into hauling that TV to the trash for me... but +5 at least to charisma for me!  We stood outside talking for a little bit and did introductions.  The taller one's name was, let's say... Michael and he lived across the lot from me with his Choral major frat buddies, and this guy here in the green Guinness shirt was his buddy Colin, who lived down the road.  Oh, you go to NAU too?  That's cool, what do you study?  You play french horn? I was in the marching band!

After awhile, my neighbor (Jemma? Gemma?  Fuckin' gorgeous little piece with tattoos and daddy issues working as a pre-law intern) comes out with her two dogs and all four of us get to chatting for a good few hours.  My madre eventually felt the need to remind me that I had guests and Dexter to attend to, which, since I was a few years everyone's junior, felt like the equivalent of being told that the street lights were on and it was time to come home (which they were and it was).  Mike at least had the foresight to invite my neighbor and me to dinner the following Tuesday, and I think we all left that breezy piece of grass a little bit twitterpated.

Let me back up here and describe where I was as a young woman at this time.  The previous November I had broken up with my high school sweetheart of four years, and had immediately fallen into a 6-month rebound "relationship" with a guy I affectionately refer to as my mistake.  By my birthday I think I had been truly single for about a month and was loving the freedom of living alone and supporting myself like a real-live grown up, even if I was a little lonely with all of my friends gone for the summer.  I was fresh off my freshman year of college, and SO done with relationships.  Ready to just mess around and drink too much and enjoy my formative years.

So later that week I walked into that house looking for trouble, and loving every moment of the unknown experience.  I remember having a generally good time, meeting the other room mates, and being Wii remote buddies with Colin.  At one point he laid his hand on my leg with a gentle pressure that held all the giddy excitement of a new relationship.  The warm shivers that ran down my spine at that timid touch still resonate with me today.

HOWEVER it became pretty clear pretty quickly that nice little Colin (who btw is only an inch taller than me and thus barely meets the height requirements for this girl's ride) was as sweet as sweethearts come, and definitely  not looking for a casual hook-up, so I gravitated to the taller, more out-spoken (because he liked to hear himself speak) of the Frisbee boys.  We all exchanged numbers, and were invited back for dinner the next week.

After that, Colin disappeared to Denver for the International Horn Symposium, and I started hanging out a little more with Mike, conveniently located across the street.  He (like most guys would be) was all excited to hear about my commitment to non-relationships and my desire to mess around and have a good time.  Add to that  a couple'a beers and an excellent wing-man, and you've got a everything you need for a footloose one-nighter!  It was made unnecessarily awkward the next morning when Mike felt the need to be stand-offish in order to discourage sharing breakfast (as if I was interested... its hard for guys to understand that not all girls want their cuddles), but I left in good spirits feeling like a liberated woman of the modern age, and we were still on for dinner on Tuesday.  

Before that though, on Sunday, Colin had arrived home from his conference (at which he professes to have been thinking about his Wii remote buddy the whole time :P) and asked me to hang out with him and a buddy at the lake that was about a 15 minute drive from my place.  They said I could take my dog, so I was in.  I had a blast, still feeling proud that I was accepting the world with open arms, and when it came time for dinner we all agreed that sushi sounded amazing and Steve, the buddy, was going to go home and shower, pick up his lady, and meet back up with us after.  So we hung out at my place for a bit then headed over to the restaurant, only to find that Steve had decided not to come.  (There is still some debate in this household as to whether that tricky little move getting Colin and me to have a one-on-one dinner in a fancy sushi restaurant was planned.)  Afterwards we went to hang out at his place, and even though I had work at 6am the next morning, we stayed up until 4:30am chatting, sharing Youtube videos, and generally getting to know each other.  It was lovely and exciting and exactly the kind of thing I was hoping to avoid, so I made sure he knew my past and what I was looking for right then, and told him about what had happened with Mike just to clear the air.  I'm all about honesty and transparency, and information like that has the power to hurt if you let it.  He understood and was cool with it, but there was an obvious connection between us.  When it came time for me to go he walked me out to my truck (I think he was carrying an extra microwave he was letting me borrow), and as we said goodbye I expected him to give me a goodnight kiss ('cuz as much as I kept saying I didn't want a relationship I am and forever will be a relationship kind'a gall) and he did like an awkward jigg and I ended up brushing my lips along the back of his ear or something as we hugged goodbye.  It was adorable and awkward and probably more memorable than any peck on the cheek or lips could have been :)  I zombied through my 9 hour shift an immediately called my friend to tell her about this amazing guy I couldn't get out of my head.  

The next day was dinner, and I was excited to see Colin and have a good time, and hoped that Mike had gotten over his silliness, because I was hoping we could all still enjoy each other's company.  He hadn't... and I think that's probably why I said "fuck it" and drank so much more than the last time.  Now, I'm not saying that I took Colin back to my place because I was drunk (although I most certainly was), I'm just saying that I had let go of the inhibitions that would have kept me from getting involved with such a nice guy who was obviously interested in something more serious than a huge make-out session on the stairs outside my apartment (which. was. awesome.)  The rest of that night was kind of a blur, but I remember that we broke one of my candles and sweet, sweet Colin sat through me singing and dancing to most of the Josie and the Pussycats movie before we made our way to the bedroom.  

In the morning, Colin was all about making me breakfast so as I was in the shower the smoke alarm went off... We had burnt eggs and toast, and it was all so cute I had to pinch myself.  But after work that day, when he had called and indicated that he wanted to take me out and do it again... I had to have a hard conversation with him re-iterating that I did not want to be tied down to one person, and that I loved hanging out with him but that I wasn't ready to make a commitment.  He took it pretty hard, didn't understand, and wasn't able to just be friends knowing that I may at any time be turning on the charm with someone else.  I don't think we spoke for about three days after that, which was sad, but I understood his confusion and knew that I had sent him mixed signals.  When he finally did call me, he had turned a new leaf, decided that friends was better than nothing, and I invited myself over to watch scrubs and play guitar hero.  I still remember the giant desk chair we were sharing to look up another Youtube video when he kissed me, and I was just done. A few hours later as I cuddled up next to him getting ready to drift off to sleep, I rolled my eyes and said "Okay... I guess I'm your girlfriend," and the next morning, we made pancakes.  

That was August 1st, 2008, and on 8/1/10, I married my best friend.  Just goes to show that as soon as you stop looking for love, it finds you.  There is no better way to have someone open up to you than by allowing yourself to open up to the world.  Things have moved relatively quickly for us (our relationship only recently became the longest one of my life, a wedding, cross country move, and a kid later lol), but it never could have been any other way.  Colin is one of the kindest, most loving people I know, and his incessant optimism and passion are a daily inspiration.  If he could title this blog it would be "On Poker and Pampers: The Ponderings of a Progressive Parent" because he loves wordplay in all it's forms.  We are not without our problems (I mean really, who is?), but the journey thus far has been an absolute joy.   

On the CT Tragedy

I had a different post in the works over the last few days, but I just couldn't bring myself to keep a light tone and brush over the tragedy that happened Friday morning in Connecticut.  As a citizen, news of shooting sprees and rampages that seem to be occurring way too frequently in my lifetime has always saddened me, brought a tear to my eye, and made my heart break.  Now, however, as a mother, this slaughter of helpless babies has weighed on me, body and soul, in a deep visceral reaction that leaves me sick and speechless.  No one will be able to find the words to heal the suffering caused by this senseless act of violence, let alone of the twenty families whose children were taken from them.  I cannot even begin to try.

I think it is a natural part of the human condition to want to know more about events like this (sparking the inevitable media blitz that follows) so that we can begin to rationalize and identify causes and solutions. We assign blame to any and every tangible thing that we can see and say "Look!  There it is!  This is the problem, and we can fix it!"  In the last few days, my Facebook newsfeed has been host to all kinds of mudslinging and finger pointing that goes along with this natural need to rationalize.  I myself cannot abide the simplistic and politicized "solutions" that tend to be compressed into snotty little pictures that use tragedies like this one to make a point.  However, I am not immune to the need to rationalize, and have been ruminating over the last few days on a theory of my own that is sprung from my deep sadness.  Talking about it, writing it down, and sharing it is the only way that I can think of to help in the healing process, but please keep in mind that these are my own thoughts as they make sense for me.  Not a well researched and supported plan of action meant to assign blame or tell our society what it "should" be doing.

What is different about what we, as Americans, are doing to support this environment of violence?  Why is it that in my lifetime it feels like we can't get through a year without a shooting spree?  I'm sure it is just because of the condition of my life right now, but the first place that I look to is how we are raising our children.  I, like many Americans, value my privacy, but indulging in that desire seems to have come at the expense of community.  When parents bring home their children, they are left alone with their nuclear family and are solely responsible for the care and upbringing of that child.  Those of us who are lucky have strong familial support systems, and a loving friend or parent to call for backup, but that is not the case for everyone.  Even those that do have people who love them in their lives often feel a sense of isolation and loneliness in the postpartum period, which is simply considered "normal" in our country.  When that child grows, we as parents remain the head and center of their world, and take on the burden of education, entertainment, nutrition, hygiene, general well being, etc. on our own, with limited and varied resources to call on for back-up.  But that saying that it takes a village to raise a child didn't come from nowhere, and I feel like this "every-family-in-it-for-themselves" paradigm is a generally new one in the history of the human race.  Even more new is the distance we have put between ourselves and our neighbors.  The block party is nearly dead.  And the dinner party seems to be an outdated tradition outside of the holidays.

What, then, happens when you have a family who is broken?  Who does not reach out for help when they need it, or has no one reliable to call on?  What if there exists between parent and child an unhealthy relationship fostering psychosis with no one to raise any red flags?  A child may feel the desire to reach out, but don't talk to strangers little one.  What if a mother who is over-worked and over-stressed doesn't have anything left to give to her family at the end of the day, but to admit it would be to admit failure?  I'm not saying that it is the responsibility of others to raise your children, or that feelings of isolation always lead to mass shootings (because if they did I think that we would be seeing many more of them), but these things don't just happen, and you have to wonder why no one was in a position to say anything was going wrong.  We foster an environment where "everybody's fine" and we do not want to look any deeper than that, because we do not want to overstep the boundaries that have been put up by our desire for privacy.  Familial issues and emotional problems are sorted out behind closed doors, and relayed only to our most intimate of friends, if anybody at all.

I think that if we get in the habit of including others in our lives, of talking about and discussing problems, hopes, and dreams, and of bringing in and making efforts to accept the "lone wolf", we put ourselves in a much better position to prevent senseless acts of violence.  If every mother had a giant living room in which to gather and chat with other parents while their kids ran around and got to know one another, the next generation would know the value of community and friendship and, most importantly, human life.  Let us foster those positive and basic morals in children, rather than living in fear of full-grown evil.

Ignore the finger of blame.  Remember the victims.  And reach out to those around you so that we teach our little ones that it is okay to ask for and to offer a helping hand.