November 8th, 2016

I remember Tuesday, November 4th, 2008 like it was yesterday. That morning, I cast my first vote (ever) for Barack Obama, a man who would end up becoming the first black President of the United States of America. I remember watching the counts come in and the states being called. I remember watching John McCain concede as gracefully as a true patriot ever could. As tears streamed down my face, I sat in silence, in utter disbelief at the weight of what was unfolding for our country. I was, quite literally, watching social progress unfold. I've never felt anything like it and I'm damn proud to have stood on that side of history.

Tomorrow night, I plan on standing on that same devoted side of history as I watch the glass ceiling shatter courtesy of Madam President-Elect Hillary Rodham Clinton.

When my girls are older and a country having been run by a woman is all they'll have ever known, I will tell them about the evening of November 8th, 2016. I will tell them that as they lay asleep in their beds, I sat on our living room watching a new path unveil itself for our country. I will tell them about a man who used fear and bigotry and oppression and tyranny as his platform. I will tell them about a man who made it obvious that his credo was self over country. I will tell them about a campaign that used hate as a shield until a united nation of people came together and proved that human decency-- not partisanship, not politics, not fear-- will always win.

I will tell them that I didn't just vote for me. I voted for them. I voted for the opportunities they've yet to take. I voted for the person they've yet to meet and the love they've yet to share. I've voted for the rights as women they've yet to invoke but could one day need. I voted for their future friends, their future partners, and even their future children-- my grandchildren. I will hug them tightly and tell them that this country is a privileged one to call home, not because of the scale of the opportunities we are afforded, but because of the people who inhabit it alongside us.

I will tell them that what it has and always should boil down to is people.

Not just the people who look like us or think like we think. Not just the people whose experiences we understand or whose tax bracket aligns with our own. Not only the people whose political beliefs we agree with. Not only the people who have our backs because we have theirs. Not only the people who can do something for us in return. Not only the people we come into contact with on a daily basis. Not just our neighbors. Not just friends. Not just our family.

People. 

 

All of them. 

 

Tomorrow night, when my anxiety finally subdues and when history is made, when this political circus has FINALLY concluded and the Trump train loses steam, when reality strikes that this man is no longer a threat to the social progress it has taken a century for our country to achieve, the tears will undoubtedly fall once again. And in honor of the momentous occasion I'll have been afforded to witness in my lifetime, I will open a bottle of expensive champagne given to me by one of my best friends and strongest Nasty Women I know. (Looking at you, Allie.) I will drink champagne in honor of my daughters, in honor of women and families everywhere, in honor of hope, in honor of human decency, and in honor of the people.

All of them. 

*If none of this goes down like I hope it will, I'll use the bottle for an equally important cause: putting myself out of my own misery. I'm kidding, of course. Let's all just hope we never have to find out because it'd be a damn shame to waste a perfectly amazing bottle of Veuve Clicquot.

EDIT: I'd like to add this video of Louis C.K. on Conan explaining why he's voting for Hillary. Obviously, I agree with him but I think, right about now, we could all use a good laugh. "We just need a tough bitch mother who just does shit." Basically, yes. 

five things from the week

Well, I'm currently in the process of consuming a cinnamon bun bigger than my head. (YOLO.) It's Friday, after all. Here are this week's five things.... 

1. This is Mo. She's doing a gymnastic floor routine in our backyard though it looks more like an interpretive modern dance performed by someone with tourettes. She's so awesome. This age is so awesome. She makes life so very awesome.  

2. Halloween 2016 in a nutshell: (1) Glitter equals anxiety. (2) When will the Elsa phase end? A better question is will it ever end? (3) Mo sorted by color and counted her candy no less than four times within 24 hours of acquiring it. I think she may suffer from either mild OCD tendencies or serious trust issues with me and her Twix bars. (4) Per Mo, we have been ordered to decorate our house next year with the most obnoxious orange lights, skeletons, graves, and blow-up goblins and ghosts next year "in order to scare away all the kids so we can keep the candy for ourselves, mom." She also suggested that I sit out on the porch to "scare the babies and parents really good if the blow-up thingy's don't work." When I asked her if I should be dressed up as something scary in order to carry out my duties, she cocked her head, looked at me through squinted eyes and said, "I don't fink so, mom. You can just dress normal and you'll scare them real good all by yourself, I know it." Well, gee, thanks, ya' terd. 

3. On Tuesday morning, my pre-ordered signed copy of Ina Garten's latest culinary masterpiece, Cooking For Jeffrey, finally arrived on my doorstep. As I assumed, it's only served to solidify my belief that she is the Julia Child of our generation. I poured over its' pages immediately after ripping open its' box, like some hormone-driven tween reading the latest issue of Tiger Beat. I even shushed Mo at one point which she wasn't very happy about. No doubt that all will be forgiven when she is sipping on some of Ina's frozen hot chocolate this weekend. 

4. Over the span of one month, Edie has mysteriously knocked out a tooth, gotten Hand Foot and Mouth Disease, cut two top canine teeth with her other two making their way up, and this week fought off a fun bout of double pink eye. (Speaking of... Have you ever tried giving a baby who is terrified of anything even remotely close to resembling medicine near her body ever since you had to hold her down to give her ear drops after her tubal procedure? It's a full-body work out. She screams NO, mah-meeee, nooooo. Peeeze noooooo! the entire time while breaking my heart simultaneously.) Seriously, though, I am pooping my pants with anticipation for flu season. 

5. Is anyone else blown away by the fact that Thanksgiving is only twenty days away?!? This year, we're hosting dinner for our entire family at our house and I'm so, so excited. Hosting Thanksgiving dinner has been a dream of mine and I finally get to do it! I'm already planning the roasted lamb-centered menu. I must confess that I kind of hate turkey. It's all because, growing up, my mom's family refused to break it to my great grandmother that her turkey was already dead before she murdered it in the oven. For over fifteen years, I pretended to enjoy that poor bird whose life was given at the expense of our bellies. Don't even get me started on her cardboard... I mean.... cornbread stuffing. Thankfully, I married a man whose Lebanese family lives for red meat and whose mother makes the best goddamned stuffing I've ever had in my life. *Tayta, if you're reading this.... I'll be more than happy to take an extra pan of stuffing as a hostess gift. 

perspective + aging

As of today, I'm four months shy of the big three-oh. When I was blissfully unaware of what adulting would look like, I used view thirty as the age when you've got it all figured out. As I inch closer and closer to this milestone, I realize that the only thing I've figured out is that I've got a little more than more than nothing figured out.

I believe that aging, in spite of all of its' shortcomings, is great. I may no longer look like a spring chicken but what I lack in tautness is made up for ten-fold with the giant dose of perspective only hindsight can afford us.  

As they say, whoever they are, hindsight is twenty-twenty. One thing hindsight has made painfully obvious is how unkind I've been to myself over the years. I've kicked myself when I've been down, I've beaten myself up for being human, and I've been ashamed of mistakes that did, in fact, all lead me to where I am.

Of course, one could argue that this lack of self-imposed grace only aided the process of becoming a better person or whateverthefuck. One could claim that it was all a part of of figuring out who I am and who I want to become and what work needs to be done in order to become her. One could (and many have) say that what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger which, I guess, is true. 

But does the ride to our destination really need to be so painful? Especially when we're the ones not only holding the keys, but also the only person who determines where we want to go and how we want to get there?

The only thing I've gleaned from the realization that I have been my own biggest worst enemy is that this narrative that is utter nonsense and complete bullshit. If I need anyone to like me, shouldn't that person be... I don't know... me? I'm the one who's got to spend a lifetime being me so I might as well become a person I like and like the person I'm becoming?

Right?

Right. 

If you've been following along here or The C-word for longer than a hot second, you've likely noticed that I'm a vat of self-deprecation. I've always found self-deprecation funny and I appreciate when a person doesn't have their head stuck so far up their own ass that they can't call a spade a spade. I'm also a firm believer that if people know you're in on the joke, rarely will you be the butt of it. The problem is that there is a thin line between self-deprecation and radiating abhorrent insecurity and self-angst and women, as a whole, tend to straddle that line.

For example, how many times have you deflected someone's compliment instead of graciously saying thank you? When someone bumps into you, how often do you apologize to them for simply being where you are supposed to be? How many times have you felt embarrassed by a person acknowledging a specific feature they find particularly striking or beautiful instead of appreciating the feature they find worthy of such praise? 

Do you see what I mean? WHY?

Now, I'm not saying we should all walk around responding, "yeah, I know" to kind strangers' compliments. However, as I creep up on the age I thought I'd know all that I'd ever need to know, the one thing I know for certain is that this shit needs to stop. When are we going to stop selling the idea that humility trumps self-love? When are we going to admit that maybe, just maybe, we're not only worthy of praise but worthy of self-acceptance? 

I, for one, am done.

I'm tired of apologizing. I'm sick of the excuses I so often give for SIMPLY BEING MYSELF. I'm exhausted from prefacing every thought or conversation I express with what I think those listening need to hear in order to not think less of me for thinking it. I'm through with feeling like I shouldn't, for whatever reason, like myself. 

I've spent almost thirty years getting to know myself and I've discovered that she sucks on occasion. She hasn't always been a peach and she hasn't always been kind. She hasn't always made the right decisions nor cared enough to even attempt to make a good one. She's been handed challenges and been defeated. She's been handed trials and walked away a champion. She's fought really fucking hard to achieve perspective and hindsight and she deserves to own it. She's high-maintenance (high quality), she's complicated (multi-faceted), and she's a walking contradiction on days that end with a -Y (mysterious). I have spent the last almost-thirty years getting to know me and you know what? 

I quite like her. 

And, in my humble opinion, there is no better 30th birthday present than the gift of self-acceptance.

where we wander | tulum

Tulum is said to be an energy vortex of some sort. Though I'm not entirely sure what that even means, I can attest that this special place feels downright magical. From the borderline-orgasmic fish tacos I ate every single day to the most majestic double rainbow I've ever witnessed to the soft white sand and crystal clear turquoise ombre oceans, our experience there felt nothing short of staggeringly enchanting. 

ten or so years later

I don't talk much about my marriage. At least not here. The reason being is mostly intentional; I believe that some things in life shouldn't be broadcasted, especially when the other player on your team is much more introverted and private than you've ever been. 

The other, maybe not-so-intentional reason I leave such a large part of my life off of these virtual pages is that I have a hard time putting what I have with Joe into so many words. Not because it's this perfect, almighty thing and words could never do it justice; but, because it is profound in its' normalcy and how do I even begin to describe the one thing that finally convinced me that being normal could be so, so good?

It's tricky. I don't want to oversell our relationship because the last ten years have definitely had their fair share of ups and downs, both contributing just as much to our relationship as the other. I also don't want to ignore it because doing so feels like I'm leaving out a main character in my life, one who I spend almost every day, and one with whom I've created a beautiful life (and two tiny humans) that I'm damn proud of.

We leave for Tulum in a couple of days to celebrate experiencing the highs and lows of life beside each other for ten years now. Typically, we're not the kind of couple to publicly butter each others' biscuits but ten years is Ten Years and Ten Years most definitely qualifies a biscuit or two to be buttered. So, in honor of a decade spent loving and loathing this guy (more on the loathing part, in a bit), I'd rather just tell you all that I've learned.

---

The highlights aren't the only reel worth remembering. The fuck-ups, the outtakes, the bloopers, the behind-the-scenes, all of the work that nobody sees-- they're the moments that make you and your partner you and your partner. Joe and I weathered some real shit storms earlier in our relationship and I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't wished I could forget those periods of time at some point or another. The truth is, of course, that we learned a hell of a lot more about how to be good to the other because of the storms we trekked through, not the perfect runs in our relationship that photograph better for our long term memory box.

Apologies aren't asses. You should never follow-up an apology with a but. You don't necessarily have to apologize for the behavior if you can, in good mind, stand by it. However, I do believe that if you care about your partner in any real capacity, you should always apologize for hurting them without defending or justifying why you did it, even unintentionally. When a person tells you that you hurt them, you don't get to decide that you didn't or that it was somehow excusable. If you defend why you hurt the person you love while apologizing, you're not actually sorry. You're just an asshole with a half-assed apology. So, ere on the side of caution and don't do it. 

Agree on life's important matters. At some point during the first night we spent together, when we first began dating, I made a point to ask him if he was a cuddler. To put it nicely, I am not. To put it more accurately, I fucking loathe cuddling. It gives me anxiety and I start to sweat and begin experiencing feelings of claustrophobia. I have always likened a person who actually enjoys cuddling all night to a sociopath, in need of deep, deep emotional evaluation. And even though I wasn't thinking of a future with this guy at that point, I knew that Joe turning out to be a cuddler would be an immediate deal breaker and the relationship would be doomed. (Spoiler: he was not and we have been happily sleeping with three feet between us ever since.)

Pick your battles. I hate sports and find them trivial. And so. very. boring. So, naturally, I married and procreated with a man whose emotional state is so deeply tied to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill basketball program that he can't find the energy to utter a single syllable for hours after they lose while a loss during March Madness has been known to elicit a very quiet day or two. For years, I found this level of devotion to something I couldn't fathom why anyone would be devoted to... how do I say it?... I found it rather pathetic. Meanwhile, he couldn't wrap his brain around why I would rather spend four hours pinching my own eyeballs than sit through and watch an entire football game with a bunch of other maniacal and equally devoted group of Carolina-blue wearing fools. Over the course of years, we've accepted that this difference of opinion will likely always remain and it's something we both just have to get over and hate to love about the other.

Fight clean, play dirty. Don't say anything you can't recover from and once those apologies-without-but's are uttered, take all of that frustration and make up in the most creative way you can imagine. I hope you're catching my drift here. 

I'm not always right. Shocking, I know, but it's true. I'm much more willing to tuck my tail between my legs and own my mistakes when I accept that I'm actually capable of making them. The bottom line is that a healthy dose of humility goes a lot further than being a stubborn ass ever could. There's also something to having a partner who shows you more grace than you will ever deserve. (Thanks for that, Joe.)

Have some fucking fun. Or, better yet, have too much fun. For the first few years of our relationship, we each took ourselves way too seriously. Life is the most difficult simple thing ever but it doesn't need to be that serious, you know?! Now that we're a little more seasoned at life and are able to distinguish what actually matters from what we're told should matter, we make an effort to dance in the kitchen, act silly, take weekend vacations without the kids, drink too much wine, etc. It's going to be a very looooong life not having any fun with the person you intend to spend the rest of your life with.

Don't give up at the same time. I'm a realist; I have never lived under the assumption that Joe nor I will never doubt whether or not we can survive whatever storm we find ourselves facing. You are setting yourself and your partner up for failure if you expect the next fifty or so years to consist of nothing but bliss. But, I'm also an optimist in that I wholeheartedly believe that as long as we never give up on each other at the same time, we should, in theory, be able to figure it out.

J, thank you for proving me wrong when I told you all those years ago that we weren't meant be together and thanks for not being afraid of a little work. Thanks for helping me create those two spectacular humans we call our daughters. thanks for being so damn attractive. Thank you for the balance and for all of the laughs. thanks for always loving me the way only you can.

xx,

C