I haven’t been posting much as of late; a combination of many things including but not limited to;
- new career is kicking my ass (and it’s a fat ass at that) and I don’t have the same free time or mental wherewithal to write as I wish to
- it’s the homestretch for kidlet #1 and guiding her through the college application process, the last of the standardized tests and senior requirements feels like a full-time job in of it self
- there are so many more talented writers out there so I’ve been reading, lurking and commenting here and there
However, one of my favorite bloggers, Ann St. Vincent, recently posted a clarification post after a particularly difficult day in which she felt she needed to apologize for her thoughts and feelings and posting honestly, as honest as one chooses to be, on her own blog. She also went on to state that she isn’t infallible. Well duh, that’s just one of the reason’s I really enjoy her writing. She is who she is, I have never felt judged by her, even when we have disagreed or have a difference of opinion.
I find her unabashed intelligence and keen sense of humor compelling but it’s her human frailty and her willingness to post real and raw moments and feelings that draws me back. In one moment, she is very clear that she wants to continue on her path of sexual discovery and freedom whilst not being willing to share her lover. That is real people. She doesn’t apologize for wanting it all as much as she questions herself on her own motivations and desires.
She expressed sadness that she may have lost some followers due to her words not ringing true or perhaps because she offended them. Unintentionally. I admire her for caring, for wanting to provide clarity even if she doesn’t need to. So when I ran across this lost word, latibule, earlier this evening. I thought of her and her safe place. Her writings, her online journal, which she has chosen to share with us.
Thank you Ann, your latibule is just that. Yours.
she turned to walk away. again. when he reached out and pulled her to him. tilting her head up questioningly he silenced the question with his lips crushing hers and his tongue finding his way into her mouth. rendering her speechless, literally and figuratively.
the moisture on their faces only distinguishable if one were to taste the saltiness indicative of tears. hers. his. theirs. as they say goodbye. in their city. under the beautiful rainfall they’ve come to love. goodbye.
this article has been making the rounds on various social media sites and has spurred many conversations amongst my oldest and her group of friends (which fortunately is comprised of a diverse spread of both genders, ages, and sexual orientation). conversations and awareness help end the silence that has long permeated throughout society. whether in Canada, the U.S., across the pond etc.
Consent is explicit, not implied.
There’s been a bit of hovering these past several days, the freedom to post limited by a multitude of factors. But what I’ve noticed in so many is a recurring theme. Of moving onward, forward in the various journey’s that I follow.
Some are making deliberate choices to forge ahead, even leaving their blogs as a way to move forward. Others are taking tentative steps, some painful, some resigned and yet others unfettered in a way they haven’t been in years.
And a small few are struggling mightily, for a multitude of reasons to make any moves at all. And yet, each are determined to persevere, to stretch and grow. I find each of them inspiring in their own way. Brave with courage in their hearts.
“never look down on anybody unless you’re helping them up”
a quick proud mom moment. oldest is a challenge, to be clear. i’m sure the fact that she’s a hormonal 17-year old has nothing to do with it *smirk*. But I will admit she does have her moments.
The video above was sent to a few parents earlier this week from another parent that we don’t know very well. He prefaced the video by saying he wished he had thought to capture what he witnessed earlier this week and this video was along the lines of what he saw. hmm… he went on to explain that he was at a local super Target (has a grocery store and pharmacy etc.) and on his way in there was a mother with two small children and the usual sign that said something akin to: “anything will help. husband and me (sic) work in fast food but can’t always covers bills. food and diapers needed most.” he said he avoided their eyes and walked into get his list purchased and get out.
on his way out he saw these teenage girls giving this woman bags with basic foods, diapers, formula and small stuffed animal for each child. the woman was overcome and said she would go and wait for the bus the group said they would take the bus with her and help her with the items. another girl in the group gave the woman a her bus card saying she can always buy another one.
Naturally, tears welled up and then the emails, texts and calls flew between the parents of the girls in question. Do we ask them about it? Why haven’t they said anything? And of course the random “you knew didn’t you?” etc. It boiled down to none of us knew our kids did this and probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t for the father of another student who recognized these girls. we checked their social media sites, nothing. We didn’t know what to do, we are proud of them and wanted to let them know yet there had to be a reason we didn’t know.
The opportunity to do some not so subtle digging came last night when my daughter came home with 4 of them in tow, deciding on a last minute sleepover. I asked them about it, they fell silent. finally, one spoke up and merely said “mrs. smith-we try to do something like that once a month. we have been since we were freshmen. it’s no big deal, it’s just our way of trying to make a difference as friends.” and of course all of them asked if their parents knew? I had to tell them that we now knew and asked why the secret? A cacophony of female voices filled the air “not a secret really, just not a big deal” “we do it because we want to, not because we have to” “didn’t think anyone needs to know” “it’s like fight club, we don’t talk about dsg club”(dsg=do something good) “please tell our parents to help us keep this quiet”…hmm I think that’s going to be hard, but we’ll try.
mind. blown. literally.