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I listened to this story on NPR this morning. Lynda Blackmon Lowery was 15 years old when when she joined Bloody Sunday, the 1965 civil rights march turned confrontation with state troopers turned passage of Voting Rights Act. She wrote a book for young readers called Turning 15 on The Road To Freedom. When interviewed about why she aimed her message to a young audience, she said this:

“I would like for young people to know that each day of your life is a journey into history and that you’re making that history. And you have the ability to change something each day of your life.”

EACH DAY OF YOUR LIFE IS A JOURNEY INTO HISTORY. I had never heard it put that quite that way before. I felt so inspired. What if I used this mantra to start my day every day? How would it change my day/my week/my life? Would I be more fulfilled? I have no illusions that my changes will lead to something as grand as securing the voting right for minority peoples. Maybe it’s seeing the little ways in which we “change” things around us. Who are we affecting? I am reading a book called the Moral Intelligence of Children whose author Robert Coles expounds on how every single on one of us are examples of how our young treat other people. Anyone who has spent time with children knows how quickly they pick up on the littlest details of what we do, how we do it.  I want my children to know that they will write their own journey – their lives will affect others – and they DO have the ability to change things. So I will need to model that change. Sounds daunting but it doesn’t have to be. I’m writing this today. Maybe someone will read it and also feel inspired. I will read to a room full of toddlers in about an hour’s time. Maybe my words will stay with them and they will feel inspired. And tonight I will sit with my husband in our Chinese lesson and – ok, that will not inspire anyone but the two of us – but it’s SOMETHING. And “something” could have perspective.

My mom has been staying with us for two weeks now. Due to illness, there have been no date nights, as I had imagined we would be having at least every weekend she is here if not also during the week. We did, however, get to go shopping for a couple hours on our own. Walk through town, with wind in our hair, like two people who could – potentially – not have any children (dead giveaway was when we had to go to the children’s section of every store we visited). The change was fun. And then we ran into our friends with kids almost the same age as ours, both having to be carried because one doesn’t like to sit in the stroller and the other just woke up from a nap. Our first instinct was to help – and there we were, our childless windblown selves, playing peek-a-boo over my friend’s shoulder or offering to hold their 15-month-old. “Old” habits die hard. Or at least not in an hour and a half.

I love Saturdays. I was woken up at 6:30, so I decided I might as well make use of the morning to clean out my kids’ closets. Bring out the summer clothes, pack up the winter clothes. My son thought it was way cooler to go under his tent to role play with his dinosaurs. I was told to also play a role. Me: hi, I’m xyz (place name of the most harmless, fun, caring character you can think of), and what is your name? My son: “grrrrrr, I’m T-Rex and I am going to eat you. Proceed to him pouncing on anything that was in my hand till I had to pull my hand away for fear that it may actually be chopped off. I wonder if these narratives will ever have a happy ending?

I’m writing this now out of pure dedication to my writing commitment. Was woken up by 3 kisses and 1 “I love you, Mommy” so I can’t really complain about the fever and general sense of paralysis all over my body. First time it’s happened to me this sickly sickly winter. Tomorrow it’s supposed to jump up to 20C. In honor of my dear friend’s 40th birthday and a brunch that I will have to miss.

I read some interesting blogs today on gatekeeper moms and thoroughly agree with the advise. Back when my husband told me that he’s not the stay-at-home type, I should have said “me too.” Then the childbearing decision would have probably gone differently but we may have reached more balance. Instead, like many women, I was working full time but thought I could manage it all. Now I call myself the “accidental full-time mom.” Where was all this advice then?