Osama's Death

Here's what I'll tell my children when they wake up tomorrow:

"Osama bin Laden has been killed by the US Military. There are a lot of people across the US, and the world, that are going to be celebrating his death in the name of justice. It's their right to do so, because he was the leader of the group of people who caused the deaths of thousands on 9/11. But I'm not happy he's dead. I am happy his influence is no longer active, and I'm happy his agenda is no longer operative, but I don't want to be happy that a man is dead. I don't want to celebrate and cheer and wave flags in the name of patriotism. Because that is what his group did when the towers fell, when the Pentagon was on fire, when the plane went down in Pennsylvania. They cheered for the thousands who died. And cheering for his death makes us no better than him. So remember that, when you discuss it at school today, or when your friends talk about it. You don't have to be happy someone dies to feel the kind of justice people are talking about."

I didn't expect to feel this way. Ten years ago, I was a bloodthirsty American, hoping for his quick and imminent end. Today, I'm just sad. I don't want to raise my children to believe that someone's death is a cause for celebration, no matter whose death it is. I'm just starting to realize how precious life is. Teaching them to cheer for death seems counterproductive.

They weren't old enough to know what was going on ten years ago in September. They were babies--nine months old--and too young to comprehend the magnitude of devastation dealt to Americans in New York, Pennsylvania, and Washington D.C. They don't remember, but I do. I went there, to help, to volunteer, to give blood. The footage we saw of the towers falling cannot compare to the aftermath in the weeks that followed. And I'm glad this might bring a bit of closure to the people who suffered loss and pain at the hands of Osama bin Laden, but I just can't find it in me to celebrate his death.

I used to have a bumper sticker that said something like: Why do we kill people who kill people to show that killing people is wrong? That sums up my point. This kind of "logic" is passed down to children, and the sentiment behind it is perpetuated over and over again. It's the breeding grounds of thought for kids who bring guns to school, or road rage, or hate crimes. And I love my kids too much to leave them a legacy of revenge.

An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind - Mahatma Gandhi

Celebrating Easter

I am not religious, but my kids are. They are at an age where they aren't yet questioning authority. They both believe in God, or their versions of him (or her), and I try not to sway them too much. We have deep, complex discussions about religion, and I explain why I believe in one thing or not in another, but I try to do so without influencing their own beliefs.

It's harder to do that when it comes to holidays. Especially holidays that can be Pagan holidays or Christian holidays. Having a split household is never easy, and I have to be flexible enough to celebrate holidays I don't believe in.

This year, I didn't get the kids an Easter basket, and they didn't go to church. They were disappointed, especially about the basket. And we had to have a talk about the importance of understanding holidays. There is so much commercialization from the "greeting card" industry, that it's hard NOT to buy gifts and baskets for every little thing. Kids start to expect it, and the holiday itself loses its meaning.

Even though I don't believe in Easter, I made sure this year to explain to the kids what Easter is about, according to Christianity, so they could understand what they should be celebrating. Then I explained why I celebrate the Spring Equinox and Eostre.

And when we were finally done discussing everything, I took them out to get giant chocolate bunnies--which they promptly ate the heads off of.

Infinite Juggler

For the most part, I don't realize that having twins is hard.

I don't mean in the daily-stressed-out-stop-fighting-you-two kind of way. That's sort of a given when you have more than one child, whether they are twins or not.

But I am a single mother by choice, raising two children. And more often than not, I have someone "bless my heart" or ask me how I do it or just stare dumbfounded at my choice to do this alone. 

Do I go out of my mind crazy every single day? Yeah, pretty much. But at the same time, I don't feel like my burden is heavy because I have always had two children instead of one. I don't feel as if life would have been easier with one. I can't even imagine what life would be like if there were one.

When they were born, I breastfed them at the same time. I carried them up four flights of stairs at the same time. A few years down the road, I pushed them in separate grocery carts (you try explaining to a three year old why they have to sit in the grocery part while their sibling gets to ride in the seat part) at the same time. I've attended field trips (they've always had different classes/teachers), gone to awards shows, seen plays, watched games, etc., for both of them . . . at the same time. 

I buy school clothes, birthday gifts, happy meals, all of that, times two. And even still, I don't ever think, This would be so much better/less expensive/more fun/more clean if I had one kid. 
 
Every once in a while, one of them will ask me who I love more. How can I answer that? How can I weigh the two pieces of my heart in each hand? I can't. I am, instead, an infinite juggler.

Image from Flickr

A Year Without Blog

I am afraid the title of this post reveals way too much about me, but hopefully no one will really get the reference. (Thank you, Selena Gomez).

I'm finding it hard to believe that I started this blog over a year ago, and have written exactly one post (and deleted four others). It takes a lot of discipline and perseverance to be this much of a slacker. The truth is, I find it harder and harder to keep a personal blog. Ignoring the fact that I can barely find time to brush my teeth, let alone blog, I also have a hard time pinpointing which "personality" I want to unleash on the social networking world.

See, other people have no problems writing snarky blog posts, and then switching to profoundly inspirational ones, or even informative posts that teach something. But I have a hard time bringing together the motley group of personalities that exist within me (do I sound crazy yet?). It isn't easy to market yourself as a professional freelance book editor while calling people "bitches" and talking about your kids' fart conversations. At least, I don't think it is.

The truth of the matter is, I talk like a trucker, have a sick sense of humor, and can be pretty obnoxious on occasion. Because of this I've stayed away from blogging--all kinds, be it personal or professional. Which has probably hurt me when it comes to getting new editing clients. I've actually shied away from the whole "social networking as a marketing instrument" thing.

Image from Google

But I find there is just too much I want to say, too much I want to write out, and even if no one ever reads it, I have to have an outlet. So, this is my personal blog/site. I will also have a professional one that is launching very soon. And never the twain shall meet.

I'm a Gypsy, Are You Coming With Me?

The imminent move is nearly upon us. Anticipation has been nibbling at my soul as I wait for the date to slowly make it's way here. I am both excited and anxious, but this has always been the way. There is the eternal gypsy inside of me that loves to take on a new place. She sees it as a buffet of experience and lessons to be plucked and cultivated to suit my own needs.

I will not miss this place with its gritty brown canvas and arid climate. I have spent more time here than I intended and the circumstances surrounding my stay have begun to take their toll. I have learned whatever lesson the Universe has wished me to learn and I am ready to embark on the next leg of my journey.

The days feel longer here, less exciting and even though it is the Valley of the Sun, I feel as if I have been living in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. It's not as if it wasn't expected. I knew what I was getting into when I extended the invitation to open my home to family. Like the proverbial moth, I stepped into the fire pit with wings spread wide.

But that has all passed and there is no time for regret. I have been a salmon too long, and I no longer fancy being eaten by bears. I am moving forward, swimming with the current this time, instead of against it.