The Bilerico Project

Wish Me Luck

Sara Whitman — Tue, 08 May 2012 15:00:00 -0500

Last night, I did something I don't think I've ever done. I relaxed. Truly, deeply, relaxed. I turned off my phone so there were no updates, texts, calls, games to play. I finished a book, Jane Hamilton's first book, Disobediance. God, I love the way she writes. Cats on the bed with me, quiet (for once). I turned off the light, and I found myself not ready to fall asleep.

I let myself simply be. Listened to my old, fat cat's deep, rattling purr. The ticks of the radiators gathering heat.

And I smiled. Party of this was because I didn't have to get up at any specific time. My phone off meant I had no idea what time it was. Mostly, though, it was me. It was a place I've started to find inside myself. A new room.

Years ago, another mom told me on the preschool playground, sometimes, you have to put yourself in time out. Go into the bathroom and shut the door. Count to ten. Take a deep breath. It's more shocking to the kids - Where is Mommy?? - and more effective overall in bringing calm to the situation. I've found that room inside myself.

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Dinner Conversation

Sara Whitman — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 10:00:00 -0500

Dinner last night, the boys and I were having a lovely time chatting. Okay, the truth is, Ben and Jake were going at it. I said, STOP. Jake kept up.

Jake! You are halfway across the bridge...

What bridge?

I pause. I'm not appreciating the sassy tone. He's giving me those puppy eyes.

It's a long grassy bridge, Jake. And you're carrying a torch, and you're about to drop it. Then the bridge will go up in smoke, poof, and you'll be falling into the deep chasm below.

He stares at me, I stare at him. He smiles.

But Mom... what bridge would be grassy?

Yup, still love him.

Unconditional Love

Sara Whitman — Fri, 20 Apr 2012 17:00:00 -0500

The definition of motherhood has no absolutes; perfection, except in freshly baked cinnamon rolls, is not meant to be. What, then, does it mean to love someone unconditionally? Does it mean you are perfect in that love? How can you be perfect in love?

Clearly, mid-divorce, I am not. In fact, I've been told recently I pretty much suck at it. I'm afraid it's true. I am not ready to love deeply again. The wounds are too fresh, and old voices tug at my ear, whispering their fears to me.

I do, however, love my children, and I believe I love them unconditionally. I know from the moment they were all born, my heart filled with not only the emotion of love, but the instinct, too. A parent's love can be fierce if anything comes close to endangering their kids.

I still yell at them. And it stings. The other day, Ben reminded me of a time when I made him cry. He was about five years old, and he had gone over to a cup on the table and taken a drink. It was diet coke and I yelled at him to put it down. (Indeed, I was one of those hysterical parents who never let anything non-organic pass their lips). I made him cry. Yes, I overreacted, and was wrong to do that. When he reminded me of the event, I apologized.

I'm sure in ten years, I will be reminded again. And I will apologize again.

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More to Life

Sara Whitman — Wed, 11 Apr 2012 11:00:00 -0500

An opinion piece Sunday in the New York Times, "The Taint of 'Social Darwinism'," discussed Obama's recent description of the Republican's budget proposals as an elitist attempt at culling the least productive, in their minds, from society as such.

It seems the Republicans doubt the need for all those silly social programs to help people. If they were worthy of procreating, they would be able to take care of themselves. They're trying to take women's rights back to Mary Wollstonecraft's time. Why not embrace eugenics?

The concept of "the survival of the fittest" came from Herbert Spencer, not Darwin, and included the evolution of society, too. The best and the brightest would succeed and society as a whole would benefit.

That was in 1864, which ironically, was towards the end of the Civil War. Considering the number of dead on both sides of the conflict, you have to wonder who was left to procreate and make that "better" society. Toddlers and the elderly?

I'm not going to argue, though, about Spencer's interesting myopia nor the Republican's utter blindness. Instead, the article made me think about something that was said to me yesterday.

I thought there was more. More to fucking life.

My answer was, there is more. And there isn't.

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Racing Uphill

Sara Whitman — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 18:00:00 -0500

I had a dream last night that I was diagnosed with cancer and only had a couple months to live. I had been reading about the Gail Caldwell's book, Let's Take the Long Way Home. I was devastated. In the dream, a good friend of mine came along and challenged me to a race uphill in wheelchairs.

She beat me. My arm was killing me (I was sleeping on it funny), and she challenged me again. I wanted to cry because I didn't understand why she wasn't being nice to me.

I realized she was. She was pushing me to fight.

What would I do if I only had a couple months to live? When I was looking at the book, a story about Caldwell's friendship with Caroline Knapp and Knapp's diagnosis of lung cancer, I was struck by the dates. Knapp was diagnosed in April. dead by June. Fast. Really fast. All my moaning about wanting to go to sleep and not wake up, I realize is just a selfish rant.

It isn't true. I raced that damn wheelchair up the hill. It hurt, and I knew I was dying and I didn't give up.

Why then, in my real life, have I given up?

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Romney vs. Gingrich?

Sara Whitman — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 17:00:00 -0500

I keep getting asked if Mitt Romney was a horrible Governor for Massachusetts. My answer is, basically? Yes. He was not progressive, nor was he "middle of the road." He fought marriage equality tooth and nail. He drained rainy day funds and cut school budgets. He left our state in serious debt. It was pretty clear all he wanted to do was run for President.

"But," people say, "is he as bad as Gingrich?"

I must admit, the mere thought of Gingrich being taken seriously, let alone actually winning any political contest ever, anywhere, is terrifying to me. I can make fun of his moon colony, or the repeated adultery, or his flat out lies about his own Washington insider life.

Please explain how someone who was the Speaker of the House can call themselves an outsider? That's like Jake telling me he didn't finish the cake with a fork in one hand and the chocolate smeared plate in the other.

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Shifting Fortunes

Sara Whitman — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 16:00:00 -0500

The fortune teller told me to wait nine months before thinking about another relationship. I did. In fact, I waited ten months. In truth, I waited five years. What she could not see in the cards - or maybe she could - was the years of trying. Hoping. And mostly, living for my kids.

Things, a gentle way to say the divorce, are moving along. It took a few months of tears shed lying in a fetal ball, to be certain. Certainty created enough energy to file papers, begin the process of tearing apart a life built over twenty years. I knew five years ago our lives had become too far apart. Ships passing in the night is an expression when held on a real deck of a real boat, you truly understand the depth of the distance.

I was tired of being alone. Lonely with someone arms length away, yet acres of ocean between us. If I was going to be alone, let me be alone.

Easy words to say for a woman who had spent 16 years completely enveloped by three kids. To this day, the silence in the house, when they are not with me, is the loudest testament to the change in my life.

That and having food in the refrigerator for more than 12 hours. Or two hours.

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Warning: Major Self Promoting

Sara Whitman — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 14:00:00 -0500

Ah, the Most Influential Women of Newton...

scan to page 47 and you'll see me.

I think I should have worn red capris.

Newton Living Magazine.

Penn State: Get a Grip

Sara Whitman — Sat, 12 Nov 2011 12:00:00 -0500

How many children need to be raped before a University does something? Who could watch a child be raped and do nothing? Nothing at all?

I see something like that? I'm getting a baseball bat or the heaviest object near me and I'm stopping it. Then, I'm going to the police. But I do not wait and go to my boss.

If someone was murdered, would you wait to tell your boss? Or do you call 9-1-1?

What football program is more important than reporting directly to the police a crime?

My god, what is wrong with this country? Full disclosure: I am a football fan. Love watching, playing, and I've been a Penn State fan for years. My grandfather went there, left a large donation and there's some plaque by a pond on campus with his name on it. I have always respected the graduation rates of football players from Penn State.

Paterno knew for years. Years. Not a week, or a month, but long enough to have stopped the pain for many more victims. He could have stopped a predator.

But he didn't.

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Occupy Boston: Tents of Hope

Sara Whitman — Sun, 23 Oct 2011 16:00:00 -0500

Last night, in the parking lot of a local rec center, I listened to Jake's band play a few songs. They started a program of music, mostly local kids, jamming out. It is the very best of Newton, in my opinion. Neighbors gathering, centered almost always around kids.

Today, I went down to Occupy Boston. This is what I've been encouraging my students to do: Stand up, be counted, be heard. It is a small city inside the city. Logistics center, medical tent, tent for donated clothes, food tent, dishwashing tent... Camp Alex.

I liked his peace sign.

You could make a sign, or pick a sign.

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Occupy Wall Street: Generate Power

Sara Whitman — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 16:00:00 -0500

Occupy Wall Street. Speak for the 99% of Americans who are not filthy rich.

Hmm. I like that idea.

I've been watching this protest for a while. Their message is not a clear, one line, snappy PR piece. It is a combination of voices, all chiming in, all asking for social and economic justice.

I really like that idea. It, however, causes problems for those who want to understand the message. In America, we have been dulled by ad campaigns for everything from dish soap to electing a President. We want to know in the length of a twitter what is going on and why.

This is not a twitter length issue. It's about banks and taxation. It's about access and loopholes. It's about greed and indifference.

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Cheers to the Freakin' Weekend...

Sara Whitman — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 14:00:00 -0500

I can't get that song out of my head. I've been all about songs in the last week. Asking people what song stands out to them, why it has meaning, why it makes them happy or sad... it's been a fascinating exercise.

I do love the Rihanna song, "Cheers." I'm not going to let the bastards get me down.

In class today, I played Bubba Sparxxx, "Ms. New Booty." Thank goodness I teach at a music college- no one blinks with my somewhat questionable choices.

The assignment was to think about a song, and write about what it meant to them in third person.

My example, after I played the song...

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Libya: What Now?

Sara Whitman — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 12:00:00 -0500

In 1969, I was only six years old. I wasn't tuned into politics except for writing a letter to President Nixon along with my entire class in elementary school.

In 1969, Qaddafi took over in a "bloodless coup." I wonder about how bloodless it really was. In the years to come, Qaddafi ruled seemingly unopposed.

As far back as I can remember, Libya meant terrorism, death and an insane leader. It wasn't until I was older that I realized it also meant oil. That the 70's oil crisis I lived through, when gas could only be bought on certain days based on your license plate, was mainly due to Qaddafi.

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Obama: What Is the Alternative?

Sara Whitman — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 10:30:00 -0500

There is a beautifully written piece in The New York Times, "What Happened to Obama?" I don't disagree with a single line of it. In fact, I've said all along Obama has been running for office since the day he took office. it is the nature of politics in America. Not one day, not one single day, without fundraising, without a careful eye on the next election.

My question is this: What is the alternative? Hillary Clinton won't run against Obama. that deal has been cut. And I'm fairly certain the country's obsession with Bill Clinton's penis would have made her presidency riddled with questions of less-than-important issues. Whitewater would look small in comparison. (Pardon the pun.)

Start another party? The Green party is already rife with corruption. It takes decades to make one that sticks and can compete on any real level against the Dems and Repubs.

We can't change to a parliamentary system. Could you even imagine? Anyone suggesting it would be tarred and feathered just like the British governors in colonial days.

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Fried Chicken... Finally

Sara Whitman — Sat, 06 Aug 2011 16:00:00 -0500

For those of you long long long time readers, you know I have battled with my inadequacy around fried chicken. Try as I did, over and over, I never, ever managed the beautiful, delicious, fried chicken my mother made.

Now, those of you who had my mother's fried chicken- and there are a couple who read this- you know it was the stuff of blue ribbons at the country fair. That is, if my mother would have ever been caught dead at a country fair. Perfectly browned, full crispy crust, and juicy, perfectly cooked chicken.

Even the breasts, which we all know are almost impossible to do- without a deep fryer.

Nope, she fried her chicken in a shallow pan, with bacon grease. There, I gave the family recipe away. Good luck trying to make it great. It's only taken me a quarter of a century to get it right.

My sister and I used to argue about how to do it. My sister would say, buttermilk. Gotta soak it in buttermilk.

Mom didn't do that.

Yes, she did.

No, she didn't. We never had buttermilk. Ever.

Well, my friend chicken is soaked in buttermilk, Cathy would say.

Yeah, but Mom's wasn't. I want her chicken. I want to be able to do that fried chicken. You make delicious fried chicken. But... it's not Mom's.

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