madre!

ya no se como lo hago...
me estoy poniendo loca - poco a poco.

I managed to write some on a piece I'd started about a month ago. It's turning too narrative but I've managed to separate the piece into parts so I'm hoping the narrative becomes okay as I add in some of the more personal tones.

My computer is acting up so I spent about an hour cleaning through it and got rid of 50 versions of my resume through the years, as well as those of others I'd created, old graphics, etc. Still have a lot to go through. By then I was a zombie. I'd not slept any (Delhi got sick on the ride home from Austin on Sunday night and, it turns out, actually was sick - keeping me up all night with uneasiness, hurting stomach, throw up, odd food requests, etc.)

The day before, I stayed with my mom, cooking and washing clothes, cleaning up, etc. She still can't put any weight on her foot and she's not in a good mood about it. Worse, I wouldn't have gone to Austin at all for the day if I knew what was happening at the house. We spoke the next day and my mom said that my father didn't cook anything, didn't ask her if she needed anything - general ass behaviour. It made me realize that, while I am not the best at naming/finding/acquiring home or at being in a secure and loving relationship, my parents are horrible examples of both. I started realizing that my daughter's ease in establishing home and her possessive though tender love are symbols of growth past the examples previously worked out.

Like always, I'm an intermediary of sorts. I sometimes wish I weren't.

While in Austin I did get to see Carol and Lilia for a bit. They moved to a new place so I bought them some dinner - it's not easy to cook when boxes are everywhere, I know that from experience!

I also got to see Sunny, who is on her way to Minnesota (a surprise to me!). It was so good to see her. My nickname for her does suit her - whether she would agree or not is another thing. While we talked for some time, I think it was just the best when, in saying good bye, she told Delhi "see you in Minnesota". Had I written in here we were planning a trip to Minneapolis/St. Paul to see my "homeland" (as much home as any other place in this hemisphere)? Yes, I'm planning a trip in November.

I miss school - I was thinking about that today. I'm going to find a couple of strange classes to join. My mind is wandering - I suppose that's a good thing.

dream

I had a dream Tuesday night that there were two, bulky looking men who handed me a baby to take care of. I realized as they were passing her to me that she was my niece and, in looking at the men, I realized they were police or at least uniformed.

This goes back to my feeling of motherliness. I don't know if the dream is in response to all this feeling (though, who imagines a baby just handed to you?) or if I'm anticipating a possible outcome considering what's going on in their life.

Here's a pic of them. My scanner broke so I took a capture shot from the webcam, hence the strange look.

Cute, no? Mati (Deja Matilda) and my child, Delhi Micaela! Pictures of me in the 1970s look the same!

did you say mother?

While SA is known for its #1 murder-suicide rates (ex or lover killing a partner/wife), we may soon have the designation of #1 state for murder-suicides of abusive mothers with children -

One mother hung her babies. Yes, hung them. With rope. In a closet.

Another used a stun gun on hers. Multiple times.

Still another bit her son repeatedly. Gave him black eyes.

My brother was arrested a couple of weeks ago and, despite the bond, was picked up last week because of the warrant out for his arrest - he is already on parole. His daughter, who looks surprisingly like me, is just gorgeous (not just because she looks like me). I wish, considering how he and her mother have been inconsistent, thinking of themselves more, etc, that I could have the baby to raise. I told my mother I would do it without hesitation.

More odd, I've had this incredible mother drive in me lately. I really do want another child. I don't want to have to make it because I think, given my situation, that would be an ego-based decision. Also, I don't think I could handle the physical demand - I had a hard time the last time around. Rather, adopting or being with someone with kids - those are things I'd really like to do.

And while I know there's no way in hell that it's fair to compare mothers, to pit them against each other, I try, harder and harder everyday, to be a damned good mother. At least once a week, someone will look at me with a questioning eye, or ask - outright - if my child is mine or where her father is. My child is getting asked the same question at her school - where, even at age 7 and 8, kids know the difference between "absent father" and "no father".

And for all the heavy-handed queer parenting surveys of the past, one thing is clear - queer parents are raising their children in increasingly diverse settings, teaching them to accept others, to see past preconceived notions and stereotypes. When asked about her father, my child will tell anyone - families come in all shapes and sizes - we just happen to be a small family of two living in a house of love.

No, queer families are not beyond the hideousness that is shown in the media. In fact, queer women/lesbians are made to feel even more responsible for any upbringing that is not excellent (I know - I carry the burden!). But, hopefully, given our attempts and desire to create family - our need to not be alone but to develop community - we may have the kind of support to avoid stories of broken children and broken families. Seems the straights can, once again, learn from us. Lord, let's hope we let them - division only makes for more of the stories linked here.

asleep

I just realized how truly asleep and bitter I have become - how I do not fight for my freedom. While I can claim awareness and separateness from the way this country works itself into our minds, I am still part of its system. It's distasteful, truly ugly -

"We felt that doing nothing in a period of repressive violence is itself a form of violence. That's really the part that I think is the hardest for people to understand. If you sit in your house, live your white life and go to your white job, and allow the country that you live in to murder people and to commit genocide, and you sit there and you don't do anything about it, that's violence." - Naomi Jaffe

How do I take part, really take part, in no longer being a silent participant in all the hate, this war, the terrorist economy?

Cindy Sheehan has quit her activism, begun in 2005 after her son's death while serving in the military. The recent vote allowing for more funding and no deadlines for Iraq did it to her. It took her a lot to give up. She had all kind of poeple on her side but, instead of realizing that she was working within the dichotomy provided by our government (reps vs. dems, soldier supporters vs. war haters, etc.), she grew frustrated. Not to say that she wouldn't have grown frustrated if she'd taken steps outside of these spaces, but she might have felt as though she was really reaching something. Instead, Cindy discovered a movement "that often puts personal egos above peace and human life."

No surprise. Most of my activism work has revealed that ugly truth. It was just a month ago that I got this forward in an email about a supposedly great article about liberation - i clicked away only to see my ex supervisor from allgo talking what he used to always talked while he stuffed his mouth with tacos and mexican cokes - but there was little movement.

I'll be open to say that I didn't care for Cindy's "insider" view - that she was devasted that her son entered a war neither of them supported but couldn't change his opinion or his reasoning - sometimes saying nothing implies support - or that she thought she could work within the system because she was an average American mom (make note Americans - your voice is no stronger than anyone elses' in this place) - but I know the hurt when you discover those who were on your side were not really on your side or worse, are with you only while your face is sweet and your mouth is using the same language they would have you use.

Pobrecita - her struggle is not just the struggle of being an activist in a fucked up system - it's the struggle of what a mother has to do in order to grieve for her son. She should not have felt so alone in either of these processes.

feeling sorry for myself

I'm still on the "woe is me" kick, but am realizing I'm doing it to myself. I told Cliffy I should be happy and I get scared of commitment so why am I all woeful over the pressure of being single and a parent... I only know that my brain takes me so far. All the rest is in my heart - the fear that there's no one there to really trust with my stuff, the dream of not having to struggle so hard as a single parent, of being supported with time set for my writing and other creative pursuits, of finding like-minded people to hang out with - because if they are artists, they don't get that I have to leave at 8 p.m. to put a little one to bed and because if they are mothers they don't always know the real drive to not just be creative but to produce work that will be viewed in my communities - it all makes me sad.

"Time is the substance from which I am made. Time is a river that carries me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger; it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire."
- Jorge Luis Borges