I am a 22-year-old woman graduating from undergrad in a few short weeks. My parents are in their 50s and 60s and both have had a lot of health complications. They’re relatively stable, but because I’m their only child and I went to college locally, they have always relied on me for everything from helping with heavy household chores to emergency hospital visits. I know that I owe it to myself to live the life I want, which isn’t really possible where my parents reside, but at the thought of moving away, all I can think about is who would help them do all those things if I wasn’t there.
How do I make this choice without being selfish?
To love someone who has been broken is a brave thing to do. We have lived a life most know nothing about. To the broken, love is a scary and volatile concept. Love isn’t sunshine and roses but thorns and monsoons. To the broken, yelling and raised voices are a part of a typical conversation and something to which we are accustomed. But being broken can be beautiful and strong… and you’re capable of being loved.
“Taking one for the team”… “Vasec-Tommy”… “Can’t spell vasectomy without team” Yep, when there’s no push present because you’ve chosen to be childfree, sometimes you make t-shirts with the slogans above as part of your “snip gift” extravaganza. Our sales manager chica, Tiff, did just this for her husband and we’ve got the deets on how to make vasectomy day a much better day than it could be otherwise.
As a pre-op trans woman struggling with life in the US Armed Forces (while “Don’t ask, don’t tell” is not gone, transgender people are still forced to live in the dark) who had just arrived at a new command with no friends, no idea what I was in for, and no clue who I could trust. A dream of a woman — who was also fairly new to the command — entered into my life. At the time I assumed I had no chance with her. Even if I did, all the heartbreak I had experienced over the years had left me believing that the women I’m attracted to never understand my journey as a transgender woman, and are never willing to help me through the issues I deal with on a daily basis.
Her kids have always slept through the night, and even if they don’t, she still manages to look like she has had eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. There is always a well-balanced, home-cooked meal on her dinner table. She either happily stays at home or holds down a fulfilling job while still finding time to join the PTA, run the school’s book sale, and makes it to every single soccer game. She is usually white, middle to upper class, heterosexual, and neither too young nor too old. But above all… she’s a myth. And it’s this myth that divides women and pits mothers against each other while fueling the flames of the manufactured “mommy wars.”
It’s been an uncomfortable adjustment to motherhood, this reality that not even if I wanted to, and don’t we all want to, sometimes, I can’t hide myself from him. Growing a person inside you, birthing them out into the world, it was heavy stuff for me. I wanted it, without a doubt, but I had no idea how much I’d crave being alone.
When I think about being a grandma, I feel like I should be older, more patient, have money, be able to spoil him, take him places. Instead, I walk with him and his aunt to the park. I drag them to the library because “grandma loves books.” I play music loud in the car and plan my next tattoo. All things I guess grandma’s don’t do. Or maybe they do. I do anyway.
Halloween is less than two months away, so it’s time to start stocking up on Halloween candy! (At least in my head, it is.) I’ve bought a few bags of mini candies already, and those will satisfy the vast majority of the kids who come by my house. But can I get anything for the rest of them — what do kids who don’t like (or can’t eat) candy want to find in a Halloween candy bowl?