Face the Wall or Bust!

When I woke Mina this morning, she was wearing an old wrap-around dress of mine from my more corporate dress days, a contribution to her dress-up box. Mina was completely naked underneath the ill-tied dress. She likes to be free, she says. The best part is that wasn't what she was wearing when I tucked her in last night.

Y'know, parenting is a trip. There's no such thing as auto pilot or having it down or I got this completely. I mean, I'm working with complex human beings, as complex as me. How they process and handle things can be a world apart from how I do or the other child; or maybe exactly the same and it could be something I need to iron out myself. Sometimes it all feels natural; zone-like. Other times, I'm improvising like a motherfucker. Like when I realized that Maya has been shrinking a bit in the face of her biggest challenges. It has been a subtle shrink, barely detectable. Her personality is so upbeat and her social life is so on point right now it took me a minute with close examination to realize her shit hasn't been as together as would seem. Believe me, it ain't a major slide or anywhere near drastic -- I mean, she's juggling a lot right now -- but maybe it could have been a tipping point, or a crossroads of a possible, total Fuck Off. I don’t want to wait to find out. There's been a tiny slip in her grades; she's been blowing off difficult reading for honors English; she's been shirking her solo basketball skills practice. Her phone/text game is tight though! And her friends worship her. Boys flock and flounder around for her attention. She treats the boys perfectly; as her goofy, beautiful self, as a homie; "No, I don't want to date you. Let's stay friends!" But in the shadow of her social stardom, a tiny storm cloud looms. And I was all sitting back, admiring her sense of responsibility and the ease with which she handles everything when I happened to notice the lining of the storm, hidden, and I was like, Oh shit, that's my cue, right? I gotta get back in the game, full-press. She broke down a bit when I confronted her. First, she did a nice little teen push back by getting defensive about her chores, another thing she’s slightly blowing off. She told me I was overreacting about not being able to get to them all at the exact time I wanted them done and damnit, she was right. I told her so. I told her I was sorry for overreacting. But the meat of the whole problem -- the slipping and the shirking -- has been fear. A sort of freezing up when things get harder than she thought they'd be. Her English class for example. This teacher is no joke. He's challenging them at a near college level, I think, and she's freezing up more and more because of it. She's locked up, feeling unable to do good enough work or give any worthwhile analyses for this guy. I think she's doing well, but she's feeling the pressure instead of enjoying the challenge. More subtly, she has not been working on the more challenging skills in basketball -- improving her dribble left and right, shooting rhythmically and repetitively -- for fear of not making JV any way. There are only four spots for JV next year and she wants it so badly that she has sort of iced herself mentally. And on top of it all, she's pushing back on chores because, well who wants to do chores? So, man, I could only reinforce that facing all these challenges is the only way not to feel squashed by them. Fuck it; bring it on Charles Dickens and double-team defense. If you can't fully understand the language of Charles Dickens, then understand some of it and do the best you can, right? If you don't make JV, fuck it, at least leave your heart on the court trying. There is absolutely no relief in hoping it all goes away. I know she wants to impress her teacher and I know she so badly wants a spot on JV, but really giving it her complete all for herself is what matters to me. I know she will not be able to top that personal sense of triumph no matter the outcome. I hope she believes me until then. I told her I wish I had given her the genes that made us prodigy-naturals at things, but I don't have that. I only know about working hard. A lot of times, hard work makes me really good at things, and sometimes it makes me just ok. It's her lot too. I think it's a curse to expect to do well at everything you walk into. She has a little bit of that. She doesn’t understand why everything, at any level, isn’t at least kind of easy. The discomfort of realizing that this just isn’t the case is confusing to her. The thick wall of a really tough challenge holds her back. Very gently I asked her, "When was the last time you gave a 110% at something?" She was crying and said, "Tae Kwon Do." I said, "That was so hard, wasn't it? The tests, the tournaments? And you thought you wouldn't get through them, secretly, right? It seemed too much. And when you did, when you did well even, how did you feel?" And she cried and cried.

Y'know, facing it and giving 110% never gets easier, does it? I mean, sometimes it down right sucks ass -- it's so hard! -- but the best thing about being older is knowing what it means to one's sense of self, to defining who we are as a person. I love it/I hate it/Mainly, I love myself for it. Man, I hope it clicks and holds with her. She's so far from mediocre. I mainly wanted to let her know that. Extraordinary is heavy sometimes especially when you have to work at it. It takes a lot of courage.

I had a very similar talk with Mina the week before.

I often think about the speeches I give the girls. Like when I thought I was going to throw up on the spin bike this morning. Or when work seems too much sometimes, or when the (extra)chores get on my nerves, or when my writing waits patiently, again. Just the mustering of energy to be brave can feel too much. I started a new story. The novel became so demanding, and I was making myself feel badly about it until I just faced up and started a story, started to just write. No need to squash all the love out of something just because it's a challenge. My point is, I can't give such heartfelt speeches if it means nothing to me too. It means a lot. I know how important this kind of stuff is.

Speaking of extraordinary, our girls varsity basketball team is playing in the regional CIF final playoff game tonight! If we win, we go on to play for state. State! This is the farthest our girls team has gone in our history. We're all getting on the party bus to travel to Orange County to watch & cheer. Then, I'll give the president of the booster club the $650 you guys helped me raise for the program. Thank you so much. I'm so proud to be able to give that to him today. I run the 10K on Sunday. It's supposed to rain this weekend so that will be fun, on the muddy trail. Can't wait to tell you about that. Or about our win tonight.

Face the Wall or Bust, y’all.

Me Like Daughters

Only two things are certain right now: School and Writing. 1. School has started. And this means a rigid schedule is back in effect and it's putting the screws to everyone. Holy shit, it's tight! We've been very graceful about it considering because we've pumped up the Start of School for weeks. Maya's a high schooler! This is huge and wow is she good at it already. She's so responsible and getting in her groove. She’s equal parts maturity and goofiness. So great. Mina's a fifth grader! This is also huge because she's ruling school this year. She's the big cheese. I did not tell you guys that I received her state test scores in the mail a couple weeks ago. We all know the Infamous Second Grade Debacle, how she was tagged as remedial and "not cut out for school" and I, shocked beyond belief, was all, the fuck she ain't and you just don't understand her is all! and I'll take matters in my own hands thank you very little . . .For fourth grade Mina tested advanced in math and just shy of advanced in language arts. It was her best year yet. I rubbed the test paper all over her when she came home. We sang “You did it! You did it!” for days. She was thrilled with herself. So, anyway, school . . .it's all consuming. Riding their asses is exhausting. Keeping them engaged, very tiring. But seeing them rocket on their own has been transformative for me. You hope it will all pay off but really you can't think about it too much, you just have to do it no matter how it will turn out. They'll still have to make decisions on their own. But honestly, they really are amazing people. 2. Writing. I'm writing so a bunch of other balls have dropped. I get obsessed and then whoa, I wonder if plants need water to live and if so, why haven't they figured out how to do that on their own? Or is toast a legit dinner? I like it. But is it good for everyone else? It's not like I'm at the computer 10 hours a day writing this novel. It's more that I'm thinking about it 10 hours a day so tasks that require, oh, remembering stuff or too much cognitive awareness is challenging. Some of the things I'm still able to do while I'm internally piecing together a plot are: cleaning/laundry, walking the dogs, cracking a homework whip, uh, let's see what else, working (it's robotic work anyhow), buying food at the grocery store though haphazardly because the meal-plan side of my brain is a little soft right now, working out. That might be about it. Everything else is shot. 

On Our Sexuality

I'm not going to write about my mother in this post. Because she could easily take it over, and though I sat witness in the sidelines of her sexuality as a kid and suffered near-blackout discomfort about it, I interestingly developed an independent and relatively healthy sense of sexuality despite that. Almost. Actually, hearing the sounds of sex makes me light headed, nauseous from swirling embarrassment. It is instantly horrifying. Any porn I've ever watched has been on mute. Sexy breathing, even, in music or jest will give me hot flashes of rage. But god has been kind in that any noises I personally make, I am deaf to. Man, that's merciful.

So, I won't write about my mother here. Or not too much.

In my forties, I find it fascinating, and sometimes funny, remembering my history of sexuality with its accidental buoyancy and occasional pitfalls. I'm fascinated most about the whole concept of female sexuality; and I do mean concept because I'm not one of those women from say Real Sex who would go on a masturbation retreat or swing unabashedly with the neighbors. I don't even sleep naked. I don't write this post to put my sex life on display, past or present, either, but to express that my main interest in women's sexuality is purely in relation to our empowerment, our sense of freedom, our comfortableness, our confidence. Isn't this connected to our sexuality? Or more, isn't it related to not the overemphasising of it, but our lack of self consciousness about it?

This has been dangerous territory for us, hasn't it? Since the beginning of time? Because our sexuality and the appropriateness of our sexuality has always been open for judgement, which, in general, is fucked.

This grows in interest to me not just because I feel so comfortable with myself at 42,but monumentally as my daughters bud into their own. And oh lord, there's the rub; here's where the entire history of sexuality, personal and worldwide, becomes overwhelmingly important because I'm determined to make them feel at ease. And confident. And beautiful. Mostly, I want to obliterate the shame. And all this without embarrassing the shit out of us.

Handling menstruation was a first step. I mean in the mechanics of it all because the first steps start from the second they observe you, as a baby even, and they do watch. I mean, we did, right? We watched our mothers and aunties and grandmothers fumble around about themselves, sometimes gracefully and more often not. But when crushes start and they attract attention and when their flow beings, a hands-on approach goes to a new level. So, when Maya started her period, no matter how much I emphasised the shamelessness of it, Maya still felt it. I can't block the outside world and waves of perceptions, you know, which is why even the most well-adjusted kid has to be armed constantly with our reassurance. Especially in terms of their bodies and sense of self. It never ends. I knew this going into motherhood. I'm in the thick of it. I can't say I always feel prepared, but I will say I never back down from it. I can't trip on my own issues. I'll hollow myself out and get pummeled with every personal fear, secretly, to help them build their own foundation stronger.

So, tackling menstruation was not so hard, but their looming and unstoppable sexuality is on the horizon, and I'm honestly not too worried about it because it is unstoppable, it will come whether I'm of help or not so my nervousness lies more in preparing them enough. Strengthening their base enough. Eliminating enough of the shame no matter how much everything on the outside wants to injected it back in. And it started with: No, menstruating is not nasty or evil and it is what it is and you tell me what boy in school is giggling, tell me if his mother doesn't get her period. Then we'll be interested in what he thinks.

My boobs went from budding cute to god-damn! in a matter of months, the summer I turned seventeen. It was like that Skipper doll where you pulled down her arm and her boobs grew ta-dow! and then she was Barbie? That entire summer I was selected to work for a mini Peace Corp-type project on a West Indian island. The first time our group went down to the beach, I rocked a white bikini and one of my group mates, Will from the Bronx said, "I'm gonna take a picture of you for the boys back home." Unashamed, I said, "Knock yourself out." I didn't pose or look coy. I stood there, impatiently, because I wanted to get into the water. That summer I also lost my virginity, on the island. It was the influence of the sun and island breezes and the remoteness and my body bursting into curves which were photo-worthy, apparently, though my want of touch was completely an internal decision. Nothing was put upon me. I had zoomed in on a man I liked, a 23 year old from the island, who helped tour around our group. He did a double take on my interest and we connected. I did not want to be his girlfriend. I wanted the connection and the experience with him. And it was the ultimate empowerment to go after what I wanted and have the exact experience I wanted. I look back on it -- not him exactly, but the experience -- with great fondness.

That was all by accident -- or more by absence of thought or conditioning -- because on that island I was not my mother's meek shadow of a girl. I was not shackled by her overt and desperate sexuality, nor hindered by the few violations I had experienced, experiences that were not completely life-depleting, like what many of my sister-friends have experienced. I don't mean to downplay the violations against me because had they happened to my daughters I would've ripped somebody's fucking throat out, but I do know worse things have happened to so many girls, my friends included. Anyway, on the island, all that stuff fell away like cracked egg shells and I stepped out a beautiful woman, lit with a self-piloted desire.

Maya's boobs are growing. Bigger than mine at fourteen. She is unaware of how beautiful she is and unaware, for the most part, of the womanliness of her shape. She wears old tank tops where her boobs spill out and I blurt, "Dude, they're not little anymore. Might want to cover them more." And then I wonder if that embarrassed her. Or am I teaching her self respect. I do say those things in the name of self respect. Then I wonder if the whole concept of self respect (for women) is sexist.

Maya is not self deprecating because that's never been allowed in our house, and she's not very self conscious for a fourteen year old. She just Is, which makes her all the more radiant. That's not to say that's the ultimate type of beauty -- this unconscious beauty -- because Mina, at only 10, knows exactly how beautiful she is, and it is a gorgeous quality as well. She is confident and a tad wicked. I feel they are both coming down the shoot, y'know, on a tight rope and I have to teach them to stay true to what they naturally are, and let them know they are beautiful no matter how that beauty manifests which is every which way in terms of women as far as I'm concerned, and that they are just as smart as beautiful, and strong, and they don't have to be one or the other because as women we not only can have it all, but we simply ARE all. Period. And I have to do all of that when most of our outside information, and sometimes our inside information, is conflicted and jumbled and telling us otherwise.

Growing up in the center of the first-wave feminist movement, I was hardly ever told I was beautiful. That was not important. Our strength and our mind was important. And I did believe that only those things were important until I wondered if I was desirous at all or appreciated in a full spectrum kind of way. I don't believe that's solely a woman thing either because I tell my husband constantly, sincerely, how fucking beautiful I think he is, his body, his hair, his smile, and he says Thank You shyly, but I see how it revs his engines even when he appears to be the most confident dude on the planet. Our partners want to know they are desired and wanted, and so do we. So, as a kid my mother didn't like people telling her how pretty I was, which I understand in theory. At fifteen, a grocery store clerk told my mother while looking at me, "You are in such trouble in the coming years." And my mother said, "Why?" though she knew exactly what the clerk was getting at, which made the situation awkward. I laugh about it now because I did like that about my mother sometimes, when she just cut people down awkwardly, against the grain of normal thinking. But mainly, I didn't know I was beautiful for a long time, which might have been a good thing. I'm not sure. See? Confusing.

Being among the feminists of the 1970's, I did learn that whatever women wanted to wear was fine no matter what, army pants, ties, cowboy boots, but the conflicting part was their judgement against women who wanted to wear anything revealing or wanted to express their sexiness in more conventional ways. It was perceived as sexist and degrading. I told you the high heel story; how I was told high heels were invented so women couldn't run from rapists. I've never been too much of a high-heel person, but when I have worn them, I generally feel bad-ass in them, not victim-like. But when they hurt my feet, then fuck that, why wear them. Comments about how good our legs look in high heels have never had an effect on me. I feel no pressure from shit like that. Men sound like fools to me when they say things like that.

That's not to say I can't strut when I want. It's a conscious switch to my hips that makes me feel theatrically sexy. It's not to say that I can't lower my head when I walk into a room and split the air, leading with a sonic-like vibe. I don't always turn it on like that. The 70's feminist voices nag at me, about using anything physical to get attention. "What if it feels good to me?" I fight the voices. I don't think it's different from when a man knows how to stand in a room or sit in a chair with his sleeves rolled up and lower his head and split the air and fully look at someone he's attracted to in big swallows. So, I've made peace with strutting and splitting. But not while showing too much cleavage because I can't get the feminist voices out of my head about that.

I witnessed the ultimate convergence of strong feminine sexuality at an art fair once as a kid. She was a hippy type who straight-lined passed any perceptions to honest earthiness and she oozed free-spirited love. She was all hair and brown shoulders and boobs and hips in flowing skirts, but mostly she was true smiles and sparkling eyes free from judgement of herself or others. She was all acceptance. That was ultimate beauty for me as a kid.

Her, and Brigitte Bardot.

I rented And God Created Woman during high school and couldn't believe this film and this woman was not on the lips of everyone. Granted, the film was from the 1950's so most likely it was talked about then. I thought I had discovered my personal guide to sexuality, which included free dancing to live drums! and rebellion against men AND women, in all forms I knew. I wanted to be Brigitte Bardot. Inside at least I did because I was not even close to being that rebellious. I didn't share this with anyone because I wasn't sure it was ok to admit that I wanted to be sexy. My friends were athletes. My mother, a conflicted feminist. Would the feminist counsel say that the Bardot-level of sexiness was degrading? I kept it to myself, deeply buried, until I landed on a West Indian island a few summers later.

As a mother, I know that expressing ones sexuality is not the safest of endeavors, emotionally or sometimes physically. It is an exploration of dicey waters, fine lines and murky definition even though the other side, when it all connects, can be phenomenal and soul deepening. Not that I'm encouraging them to express it anytime soon obviously. I know they'll have to figure out most for themselves no matter how much I hope for nurturing and healthy experiences for them. Most of all, I do hope for that. I want them to feel good for themselves and love all aspects of being loved. I want them to cherish their role in that love. I can only think that building the base is the thing. A balanced and strong base of their womanhood and every aspect of that, inside and out, around and through. To know that the sexiest women are the ones with their shoulders back, with self-lit smiles and the eyes that spark all acceptance. Or however else they want to be.

Onward, Upward

Maya graduated from middle school on Friday, and though I could do another post about how great I think she is and how proud I am of the person she continues to evolve into, the thing is, she's ready. She's completely ready for the next level. I'm not worried or even nostalgic. She is ready for high school, and she'll be ready for beyond. I can't deny that mothering her and Mina has been an every-minute-counts kind of job that has drawn almost all of my energy and effort and brain power. I can't deny that I've been 2,000% committed to them, and that being a mami is probably what I'm best at out of all the trades of which I'm a jack. But I also can't deny that Maya has had some amazing people who have also helped clear a path to her success. She has been loved and supported and cheered on from every which way.

For Maya's grad ceremony came the following fan base from Las Vegas and San Diego: Maya's blood dad BD, his wife Sanne, their beautiful girls Rae and Baby Gabby, Grandma Carmen (BD's mom) and three cousins, Jonathan, William and Chelsea. I don't say this lightly, but besides Husband's family, these people are the closest I personally have to family as well. BD and I have always gotten along well, sharing the same brand of decency and respect for each other, and sharing a similar philosophy in parenting. I have never not liked him as a person even though we split up before Maya was a year old. We easily and gladly accommodate each other and figure things out. The ease with which we glide through custody issues is nothing short of magical. It is communal raising of children at it's finest. We are nothing short of a insulating unit; a unified force supporting our children to be their best. I know we are fortunate, Maya especially, -- I've heard plenty a nightmare story about split parents -- but it's not like we just keep face for Maya's sake. We just all genuinely like each other.

Most heartwarmingly is when Maya's summer absence started to take a toll on Mina a few years ago, and they then told Mina should could come to Vegas whenever she wanted. Mina has been there quite a few times, the longest being a week and including a trip to a family reunion. It's funny to explain the situation, but in the end all the uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents fall in love with Mina too; she is easily accepted as no less than family.

So, out they came driving five hours from Las Vegas with two small children without a second thought to celebrate Maya's graduation and to hopefully too gloat a little in the tremendous role they've played in creating such a great kid.
Maya assisting Grandma Carmen to the car with Rae's help.Awesome cousins Jonathan, 15, and William, 14.Sweet cousin Chelsea and Baby Gabby.Beauty Rae. Ok, so I do have to leak a bit of pride for Maya. She won an award called the Pride Award though I call it the Pleasure to Have in Class Award. The teachers had to pick only 15 kids out of hundreds who they ALL agreed made teaching pleasurable because of the kids' enthusiasm, attitudes and general awesomeness. Maya was one of the fifteen! She was also honored as a member of the college club and for blowing past the required Million Word Challenge where, in English, students were pushed to read a million words this year. Maya killed that. I do want to mention too that Maya's BFF, El, received an award for keeping a straight-A average the entire three years in middle school. El was also awarded an Outstanding Citizen of School medal. El kicks serious butt.

And special mention goes to Mina. Every year, since the infamous 2nd grade fiasco, she has improved nearly a whole grade higher. This year was no exception. Fourth grade was her best year yet. And this chokes me up as much as Maya's ability to stay at the top of her class. It is a non-stop and emotionally-taxing job to keep Mina motivated and plugging along and striving. I've cried about it, yelled about it, created different ways to keep her going. And she did it. I'm over-the-moon proud of Mina because in the end, no matter how much I guide and push, it's her by herself doing projects and homework now; she's by herself in her classroom making the final decisions about how she will approach her learning and handle her work. And she totally came through for herself.

And Yet More Kid Goodness Leading into Memorial Day

This year, every fourth grade class at Mina's elementary school was given a musical to practice and perform. One class was given the Sound of Music; another Oliver. Mina's class was given Hairspray. For weeks, they practiced diligently. Maya and Mina had already seen the current version of the movie at least five times (I did make them watch the old one once) and so each song was practically committed to memory already. Hearing Good Morning Baltimore BELTED by Mina, with accompaniment and quite often bogarting by Maya, was joyful and grating. After fifteen times at a single sitting, I was tearful in my utter resignation and nearly hallucinating. The tolerance of noise that a parent can bare is award-winning. Though I gotta tell you, it was all worth it come play time. Mina played a smaller role, but lord if she wasn't the cutest thing ever up there. Other mothers would disagree. WHATEV. (Notice Mina's man, FB behind her. Mina said, "It looks like we're holding hands here.")Man! Did she have fun, and the all the kids were just great. Here are a few beaming, post-musical shots.

Mina and proud sister. You might remember FN, the class cut up, from Mina's party. He played Tracy's dad in the play, and he sung his heart out. He was awesome! Here's Maya's Crew supporting Mina; AW on the left, El on the right. Can I talk about how beautiful Maya is? I obviously don't mean just outwardly. She'll be fourteen on Monday. 14! And next year, she's starting high school. Which is strange because I was just asking Betsy, "Weren't we in high school, like, just last week?" Maya really is one of the best people I know. She's so responsible and hard working and caring. I couldn't be prouder of her. I love this picture. Today Maya's animal rights group is holding a bake sale right after school. I hardly did any of the baking. Of what we're contributing, Maya baked the majority of the stuff and she did such a great job. The group will hand over the money earned to the teacher who has allowed the group to use her room for meetings. This teacher volunteers at a Boxer Rescue and all the money will go towards food and care for the dogs. Maya thought it best to thank the teacher by helping her organization. This is what I'm talking about: Fair and thoughtful!

Maya's English class is now reading To Kill a Mockingbird. I'm rereading it along with her so we can geek out about the book together. I recommend rereading classics when you're older because wow! what a spectacular piece of writing that is. I had a sharp and open mind when I was young, but there is something about savoring art more deeply, more dimensionally when you're older. When you're young, or when I was young, I wanted to be Scout so badly. Maya wants to be Scout. And now, I want to be Atticus. The shift to loving Atticus is just as profound as the love I personally once had for Scout. It really is like reading it for the first time. So, it's been fun diving into plot and undertones of the book with Maya. Scout's innocent sense of what's right, the race issues, Atticus' unflappable sense of fairness are all big topics at which we grind away. Seeing Maya's mind dig deep is a pleasurable kick in the gut. She is amazing.

Stay tuned for Maya's big 1-4 birthday post.
Happy Weekend and Memorial Day, mi gente.

Where Were We?

Yes, Mina's birthday . . .we had a party last weekend at this killer park that's crammed between Santa Monica and Pacific Palisades. The park is hidden behind eucalyptus trees and tucked down into some hilly residentialness. It's a gem when you can find it. When I was a kid, my summer camp would go there now and again, and I told the girls that we campers would play Wolves up behind the tennis courts on a little woodsy path that circles the park. The good wolves would get chased by the bad wolves. We'd run on the rolling dirt, ducking branches. We hid in trees. I told the girls, "It was so fun, but I can't really tell you why or the real object of the game. It was just a blast."

I think that was the point of having the party there; to just play. Husband comes from an outstanding tradition of childhood made-up games; stick ball and Ninjas (kids just really kicking each other in a dirt lot) and on. And I used to pretend my bike was a horse or I'd set up a fort out of cardboard behind the apartment building next to the car ports. So for Mina's party we didn't want themes or gimmicks or the Entertain Me pressure. Deep down, kids still want to play it turns out. Adults too.

Papi grilled up tofu dogs on the park BBQ's and brought some Hebrew Beef Nationals for guests who wanted those, which worked out perfectly for the Kosher and Muslim kids, we found out. The tofu dogs were devoured first, I will add (propagandaously). Maya and her BFF AW baked four dozen vegan oreo cupcakes for the party, which were just enough for the kids who wanted thirds and fourths; most of them. Maya and AW are taking on the baking torch passed to them quite famously. I heard them talking about the vegan bakery-cafe they'd open together when they get older. I love that.

Here are some pictures of our day! They're about to run off and find the gift bags that Maya & her friends help me hide along the woodsy path behind the tennis courts. We made these kids work for their bags, which were filled with 99 Cent Store stuff. The most coveted item was the 99 Cent swim goggles. Score! Does anything beat a water-balloon toss? The answer is, No! Some of our grown friends and neighbors joined in.Here are the winners of Water-Balloon Toss, Round One: the boys of Mina's party FB & FN. Mina's crush is the gentle-natured half Peruvian, half Italian blond on the left there, FB. He's one of the best soccer players in school. Mina likes that. FN on the right is the class cut up. He's half Israeli, half British with eyes (and accent) that will devastate in a few more years.Here's our friend and neighbor Drew with Mina about to go long with some water balloons.Here are the winners of Water-Balloon Toss, Round 2: Margaret & Molly! Nice third balloon boob, Margaret.The water-balloon toss turned into a full-on water-balloon fight, which is really inevitable. Here's Maya post pelting, I think by our grown friend John.Maya got him back pretty good though. I think this is after ice went down the back of his shirt. Then we took it to the trees. Here are Maya's best friends, AW, Mina, Maya and El.El, Maya, AW. Mina's BFF Kai.Had to get this one (for Mina) of FB on a branch.
And of course my birthday Beauty, Mina.

We all had so much fun, we decided to do this again in a couple weeks for Maya's party!

Ode to a Girl's Birthday

I want this post to be, for the most part, positive because today is Mina's birthday. Ten years ago my brilliant baby came out all head and hair. Papi, Maya and I were over the moon about her. Look at Maya's face with newborn Mina. You couldn't pry that smile off with a crowbar.
Here's Mina this morning, freshly 10, in her new birthday outfit with a Carmen accessory. Not suit, though. Not birthday suit. She probably would love to be photographed naked. She's a bit of a nudist when not adorning herself in high fashion.In honor of my girl -- both girls --I want this post to be a feminist one too --- wait, don't leave . . .we're reinventing this concept, haven't you heard? Pumping new life into it. We might even freshen up the word. We're having a meeting about it later, but the point is the cause can't be forgotten. Not as long as women are still being born, which they are, like, daily I heard. I know we're tired, sisters, but can't we keep up the fight just a while longer for ourselves, our sisters, our daughters? For our even more tired mothers and grandmothers? So many hard-fought issues have wilted over three decades and women’s rights issues get more and more blurry and we're left scratching our heads, at odds with each other, clinging to protective laws. I don't know about you, but as a mami to girls, I feel it my duty to put my girls on a seesaw while I sky-jump on the other end catapulting them into the stratosphere where they are not diminished or disempowered or told this and that about themselves. And if you're not a mami, you should want to jump on it with me too. Those girls were once you.

We watched Girls Rock! last night. It's a documentary about a rock and roll camp for girls ages 8-18. It was almost a great movie, and just from a film standpoint I think it missed some marks, but the concept of the camp had me choked up from when the beginning frame rolled. Seriously I wanted to burst into tears many, many times. It's that uncontrollable crying like when I watch the girls play basketball sometimes or when they used to do TaeKwonDo, or even at holiday pageants when they sing their hearts out. Something about the breaking down of self-consciousness to just let yourself be something. Kids are so pure about that and girls seem to learn to be self conscious and coy and withdrawn so quickly that when they are open without pretense in the most natural of ways, I get the waterworks. And this camp was all about checking all of that and breaking down and through what girls should or shouldn't be. I'm a stone-cold sucker for an awkward and unique girl. I can't help but think they are granted a halo of specialness and this camp was full of those types from troubled girls to girls completely on their own planet. I loved them all. The camp counselors floored me the most though. They were the coolest most patient and mixed group of women ever. They spoke to these girls like we all ache to be spoken.

The documentary would rattle off facts such as a boy will name a talent as what he likes about himself best while a girl will name a body part. And Maya and Mina would say, "Really? That's weird." Or a girls ability to say "I love myself" diminishes from 60% to 29% between the ages of 9 and 18. And Mina said, "Shoot, I love MYself." And Maya said, "I love MYself." And I said, "I love MYself." Or that girls tend to bottle up how they feel and I said, "Do you guys let out how you feel?" and they said, "Uh, yea." As in, duh.

And I'm left to wonder about the perpetuation of the squashed female spirit. How empty do the overused and well-marketed slogans of You Go Girl and Girl Power! seem? Does this still raise our daughters' esteem? I think so. But do they address any real issues of a girl feeling ok to speak up loudly in school or not keep crap bottled up or to not feel so self conscious. Do girls feel any sense of real entitlement yet? I'm not talking about the Queen Bees of school who bully themselves into that place of power. I'm talking about girls possessing a natural, comfortable, confident empowerment. Do any of us?

Why the hell not yet?

I wish the awesome rock and roll women from that camp would hold a national forum and help us change this. I mean, they are changing it 100 girls at a time every summer, but I mean . . .help, all of us.

I often ride the line of empowering Maya and Mina as girls and teaching them a solid sense of humanitarianism. I think being a decent human being is a priority, being thoughtful and respectful and compassionate and polite. And the fine line is teaching them that it is ok to be selfless yet still feel empowered. We are selfless and compassionate because we have enough power to share and NOT because we feel we are less deserving of anything, especially because we are women. If I had a son, I would teach him the same lessons of being a human. I would not teach him to be less selfless because he was a boy, and I say this because I want the girls to know I don't teach them these things because that's how girls should act, but anybody. I think they know that.

I think the girls have never felt disempowered because they are girls, but we are starting to navigate through the most tricky of territories, which is their observations of women in videos, on TV, in magazines and how these fabricated and cookie-cutter looks relate to their budding relationship with boys, and other girls frankly. Girls are told to be modest, be a lady for f sake, yet every woman on public display is tramped up. I'm trying to buckle on life preservers for my girls to wade through these treacherous waters. I tell them it is ok to reject what everyone thinks is the way you should dress or look. I tell them that this may not be easy. It takes a lot of bravery to be the awkward and unique one no matter how special you are or feel.

I can only have constant conversations with them about everything all the time. I can only let them know it's ok to question everything and have constant conversations about everything all the time. And this really is the only real gift I can give them.

Oh Mina, you are definitely my shining unique soul. Ain't nobody squashing you! I love you so much. Happy Birthday, baby.

And Sisters? I'm in your corner.

Trinity

Two nights ago, the girls and I watched The Secret Life of Bees. We cried our eyes out, even Mina, which I think is a developmental milestone. I think it's the first time she's cried during a movie. It's a mark of maturity. While the credits of the film rolled, an Alicia Keys song came on and Mina stood in front of the TV and started to dance. Inspired, I got up too and we danced. And after some coaxing Maya was up. After some freeform flowing about, we reverted to one of our favorite pastimes, the Can You Do This Dance game, which I have played with some of my closest friends at parties, at nightclubs, in a living room to the radio. The girls and I stood in a triangle dancing and laughing, like we do often, and it was a snapshot of our lives. I know not of a bound closer or stronger than between the three of us.

We love our Papi. We gush over him and get all excited when he comes home. We all, in our own way, yearn for his approval and affection. He gives it freely and he is protective and loving of his girls, but Papi knows the goddess triangle-bond in our house is an interlaced and powerful thing. The girls and I will huddle together instinctively; we gravitate towards each other. We are magnetised without thought.

Maya's middle name is Trinidad, spanish for trinity. She was named after a baby I used to babysit decades ago. When he was months old I would lay him on the bed and snuggle next to him. He'd stare at me. I didn't know babies did that. He once lifted his tiny hand and placed it on my cheek before he went to sleep. His name was Trinity, and he moved me, which I didn't know a baby could do either. When he was about one and a half or two, his parents found out he was fully deaf. He was the most special baby I'd ever known until my own trinity was formed.

The girls change daily now. They move beautifully in the dynamic of our world; so smart and responsible and fun. I love to hear all the daily stories and how they interact in the worlds outside of the house.

Maya likes a boy, at least today. Don't tell her I told you. She doesn't crush easily and it's fair to say she's extremely picky. Her last huge crush was on the singer Chris Brown, but the day she learned about the abuse allegations committed on Rhianna, she ripped his posters down off her walls in long shreds. Good for her, I thought. So, she kind of likes this boy M and he's not like the little jerks who troll around the school halls as they let everything and anything fly from their mouths. M is a devout Muslim. Maya and he have had conversations about being peaceful. M goes to the counselor's office when it's time to say his daily prayers, and most importantly, he's nice to her. Oh and he's tall. She said, "He's not allowed to date until he's 16." I said, "Neither are you." We laugh easily over this though she knows I'm not kidding.

Mina is having her best school year yet. 4th grade has been solid. It's not A+, but it's a far cry from dreaded 2nd grade. Since 2nd grade, I stay very close to her teachers telling them to email me on any slip up. It helps a lot. Mina still has big focus issues and I had to go in recently so the three of us, the teacher, Mina and I, could figure out how to rein in some focus. Mrs. H. asked Mina very sincerely if she felt she as unable to focus, like, her brain wouldn't let her. It was a fair and warranted question. Mrs. H. said that recently while she's lecturing or writing on the board she'll turn around and Mina's seat will be empty. Mina's at the back of the room, getting tissues, f'ing off with the pencil sharpener, helping someone with some unrelated thing. Mina told her earnestly that she could focus, and I know she can too. I know she doesn't have ADD or anything else. She's just really driven by the rules of her own brain. I love that about her. But -- and I've said this a hundred times -- I still gotta get her through school, y'know? Check out her latest tennis video below. This girl has laser focus -- and quite sick hand-eye coordination I might add.

Anyway, I just love them both so much. Just thought I'd share that, again.


I'm off to the Bay Area in the morning to visit Betsy. I made her raw macaroons and raw granola this week, and I packed Whitey Heidi up in the car so we can climb Mount Diablo on Sunday. In a few short hours, I'll be driving up the 5, over the Grapevine and through the California almond orchards. Night, y'all. Happy Weekend.

The Lonely Great Wall

The Great Wall of Los Angeles sits almost out of sight off a suburban stretch of road in the valley. It is probable that its fading colors catch the peripheral vision of passerbyers, maybe less of those who pass it every day. When the girls and I visited the mural today, it looked in need of attention; not just a touch up -- though it was graffiti-free and not as corroded as I thought it would be -- but just of some appreciation. It seemed alone out there.

Looking down the half mile of the painted flood channel that threads a lush-green pedestrian park was anti-climactic for the girls, I could see. The way I had pumped up The Wall may have warranted this reaction. Maybe they were expecting flashing lights and piped-in music; possibly a digital screen spelling out the mural's significance. I started walking along the chain link fence, telling them to come on. I explained what I knew of the different panels. I didn't know every story, but I hoped some of it, any of it, would be interesting to them. For the first 50 yards their minds wandered. I told them to pay attention. I told Mina to stop hunting for walking sticks, for Maya to slow down and take it in. After about ten minutes, The Wall enveloped us. Some of the stories were familiar to the girls. Some not at all. They slowly became engaged and the details of the mural started to stand out. Like the little seen image of the California lynchings, mainly of Latinos, others of Chinese and blacks, a lot done in the Los Angeles area starting in the 1850's and continuing into the 1930's. They are very aware of the Rosie the Riveter image. They know this symbolizes that women are capable of all things including keeping the country running as men fought in war, but The Wall's panel named Farewell to Rosie the Riveter was a sobering one because it symbolizes post WW II and how women were expected to stuff themselves and their capabilities back into a "traditional" and limited role once men were back to "handle things". After new concepts, Maya would usually only ask, "Why?" I gave Mina the camera and let her take photos how she wanted. And Maya and I talked about why oppressive history isn't told enough. She told me that she had recently learned about Pol Pot of Cambodia, but she learned of him and his massacres in English class. They have been studying poetry and her teacher introduces a lot of underrepresented stories through literature, and Maya wants to know why she doesn't learn about these things in history. Why didn't she know that Thomas Edison was Mexican, born in Mexico, adopted by white American parents? Why would the United States refuse to take in Jewish refugees during World War II like when we turned away the thousand people on the SS St. Louis?Why would the Los Angeles government force Latina families out of their homes in the 1950's without compensation , confiscating 300 acres of Chavez Ravine for their own projects that eventually led to freeways and Dodger Stadium? The girls and I looped the park and spent over an hour looking at the mural and talking. The girls, and me too honestly, are now so used to immediate information at our fingertips -- a history of events as well as the interpretation -- that the slow-building thoughtfulness of the art and the history telling through images was impactful, and long-lasting. We left filled and contemplative. And we hope we kept The Wall company for a little while too.

Basketball Bug

When we used to go to a lot of Tae Kwon Do tournaments, almost every time one of us would get sick afterwards. Bug-sick. Throwing-Up-For-Hours Sick. The longer the tournament lasted, the higher the probability was that one of us would be hugging the bowl by the next day. We called it TKD Sars. We also had TKD Sars amnesia, where we'd be so pumped for the tournament beforehand that we would never remember this phenomena until someone was throwing up afterward, like clockwork. We considered packing medical masks in the girls' gear bag to wear around the arena during tournaments. We planned on getting those designer ones people were wearing in Hong Kong when the real SARS first hit the scene. Mina wanted a Hello Kitty one and Maya was going to paint big red lips on her's. I would get a denim one and Husband, he didn't care as long as he didn't get the the damned TKD Sars. But we never remembered those either.

Over the weekend Maya participated in her first two-day basketball tournament with her club team. Tons of parents and siblings were crammed together in a gym watching middle schoolers ball it up . . .and this morning Mina is throwing her guts up. Every twenty minutes I hear a little girl version of hard-retching toilet bowl echos, and I rush to her side. Basketball Sars!

Other than that, the tournament was great. It was a learning experience for Maya because it's hard to conceptualize or explain the big difference between practicing and real-live game action until you get out there and play some games. Maya doesn't really understand yet why she gets so nervous or freezes up a bit or loses confidence, and I try to tell her that we practice hard day in and day out just so the freezing and the nervousness and the lost confidence subsides, even a little, once a real game begins. That's true with anything, right? Not just with sports certainly.

The tournament was at Lynwood High School which is arguably one of the tougher neighborhoods in LA. But the Lynwood of today is not the Lynwood I remember 20 years ago. Back then the school was desolate and barren, an almost forgotten place where the frustration of kids left a mark, on the neighborhood and towards the community of people. But today, the high school is entirely and beautifully rebuilt. The community shows life and revival, from the little I saw. I was inspired by the transformation.

In the gym, three courts were running games simultaneously. Mainly middle-school kids ages 12-14, boys and girls, though there were a couple games of 12 & Under girls. These are the best games to watch. You see teeny, tiny superstars in the making and 12 year old girls who have experienced rocketing growth spurts and the basketball court may be the only place where they feel comfortable about that. We have a girl like that on our team. She's 13 and 6'0" -- a big girl, not lanky -- and we shout her praises every time she uses that strong body of hers to muscle the other team in the paint. At the tournament, her dad who is easily 6'7" and her two older sisters, both over 6'2", cheered her on loudly from the sidelines.

On Maya's team, there is a cast of characters. I'm writing the feel-good movie script in my head right now. In the based-on-a-true-story movie version, the team is lead by a sincere and talented coach who knows that basketball is a way to inspire young women to achieve their dreams and build confidence. She's a passionate coach who believes in hard work and team work. The team begins its season on a losing streak. The first few games are difficult because there's no synergy, they haven't gelled yet. The main character is hard on herself for not being better, for freezing in games, for feeling lost sometimes, but her family encourages her because after a lot of practice it will click for her; not only the ability but the purpose. Have fun for godsake, they tell her. Other characters on the team include: The big center who might feel pressured by her tall dad and tall sisters. A very talented 12 year old Russian point guard who was probably too good too young and who now might not know how to bust up to another level of talent. Her dad yells instruction in Russian from the stands. There is the Korean guard - probably the best girl on the team -- because she's all heart and speed. And all hair. She has the fiercest hair cut I've ever seen, adults included, and she rolls up her baller shorts then pulls them down a bit, she rolls her jersey into her bra straps and pulls her socks up high. The girl is fly! (The narrator of the story wonders if it is appropriate to ask a 13 year old where she gets her hair cut.) There's the rock solid forward who plays all blue-collar like: reliable and strong. There's the wild yet still lax guard who is so athletic and still so chill she doesn't hardly ever break a sweat but can still bound up higher than most, when she feels like it. And then there's the main character's nemesis. You gotta have one of those! This forward believes she's God's gift to the team. She's cocky and has a handle for days, meaning she can split two defenders with her dribble more confidently than her teammates. She has a natural ability that she likes to flaunt, but what she flaunts best is her attitude. She blasts her teammates when they don't catch her rocketed passes or when they turn over the ball; she rolls her eyes when they don't make a shot. She argues with the refs in true NBA time-wasting fashion and when Coach pulls her from the game for talking back and other offenses mentioned above, she plops down in a pouty HRMF! on the bench and crosses her legs and arms. It's Nemesis 101, I tell ya. In the first game of the first tournament, Main Character and Nemesis get to bickering on the court because even if Main Character doesn't feel so confident yet, she still doesn't want to take shit from that girl. Coach benches them both. In the end of the movie, the team gels and Main Character's hard work and confidence click. She and Nemesis find respect and a possible friendship. And though the team loses the Spring League Championship by one point, they've all learned invaluable lessons about being a team and about themselves! And scene.

Pure entertainment, I tell you.

I got up this morning at 5:30 to take my regular 6am spin class. I strapped on my new heart rate monitor that Husband bought me yesterday at Costco. As I excitedly fumbled with the straps around my ribcage, Mina appeared in the bathroom doorway. She was rubbing her eyes. "Mami, I don't feel so well," she said. A day of Basketball Sars barfing was about to begin. I held her hair back as she sang into the bowl for the first time and I checked my heart rate. A calm 71, it read.

At the tournament, Coach tries to pull them together.
Lining up against Lynwood.
Working it out in her head.
Back to practice. This is the sunrise from our patio this morning. I lifted Mina so she could see it. It didn't make her feel better, but she thought it was pretty.

The Infamous Osgood Schlatter, and Kristen Brydums

From all the running -- four times a week for an hour and a half on two different basketball teams -- Maya has developed chronic pain in her knees. Achy pain, sharp pain, pain that goes from one knee to the other. When she was a toddler until she was about eight, anytime she went through a growth spurt, her feet would ache so badly she'd wake me up to rub them a couple times a night. But the knees worry us. I really believed it was nothing more than growing pains and a little tendinitis, but Husband is hypersensitive about the matter considering he's had ACL and meniscous surgeries. "She's too young to have knee problems." I took her to the doctor on Monday as a precaution and it turns out she has a condition called Osgood-Schlatter disease. Husband would later remark, "After the famous Osgood Schlatter?" It's a condition that affects active young athletes -- "mainly boys" the doctor said -- where kids experience pain at the base of their knee cap from the growth plates rubbing against the top of the tibia. Ouch. Extreme running and growth spurts flare it up and cause pain. Maya said, "Don't tell me I have to stop playing basketball." The doctor said no, but she has to cut down. Maya sort of fish flopped on the examination table. This was not the news she wanted to hear, but all of her parents, me, Husband, BD and Sanne were thrilled she didn't have any tears in ligaments or anything else more serious or permanent. Osgood-Schlatter will go away when she stops growing. Beat it, Osgood. The doctor gave us a note to discontinue one basketball team, but she can stay with the other. On the way out of the office I said to Maya, "Dude, you have a disease." We laughed and went home to ice her knees with a frozen pack of peas. Here's Mina my other little stud working on her tennis game with her awesome coach Amy. 

I recently read an article about Kristen Brydums. Kristen was a student from San Francisco who went on a utopian journey across the U.S. out to prove the generosity of people. She was an ultimate freegan; she gratefully took what people gave her and then gave it all away again. The purpose of this journey was to prove that this recycling of generosity works. When she reached New Orleans, she hung out with dumpster-diving artists in abandoned houses in the 9th Ward and on her second night there she was shot in the face four times and killed, her borrowed bike stolen, her purse taken too. Her mother laments that Kristen would have gladly given the stuff to the people who did this to her. Having looked her up again, I read a few blogs ripping Kristen's naivete and how this has re-kicked up a political shit storm regarding sections of a still battered New Orleans. Yet still I am deeply touched by Kristen's belief that scarcity is a myth; that there is plenty for everyone if we -- individuals and government -- shared a little more. And with that -- as people oddly and angrily battle over what she was or wasn't, and what NOLA is or isn't -- she inspired me. Her open heart and big naive ideas are not lost on me nor do I think they were squashed in vain.

Bike, Cooking, Bike, Cooking

My flow is shot. My words have run dry, but I'll work through it, choppily, if you let me. * I hardly drive my car anymore, but I drove to the Co-op at lunch break because Maya had to use my bike yesterday. While driving I felt I was in the middle of swirling, heavy, metallic chaos that is barely contained by lines and rules. It's nutz out there! I never feel this way on a bike, which is ironic, considering the metallic chaos could f up my world in a heartbeat. But no, no such feelings when riding. * While driving, I saw a bicyclist on the corner waiting for the light to change. He looked like a sales guy who I had hired to work for my company a lifetime ago. I laughed out loud remembering some of his stories like when he came in on Halloween dressed in a bike helmet, short button-down white shirt, skinny black tie, slacks and a pegged pant cuff. He was a Mormon, but the best part was that he had his 11 year old son wear the same exact thing and that's how they went around together trick o' treating. Or the time he got so drunk while at a party with his wife that he passed out when they got home, naked in the shower after turning on the water. He went down in a way where his left face cheek was covering the drain and water was starting fill the shower unable to go down the drain. His wife couldn't lift him because of drunk-guy-dead-weight syndrome and plus is face was suctioned to the drain. Firefighters had to come and unsuck his face before he drowned. * I've been working a lot lately. Enough where I feel like a robot, a work robot, and it's kind of deaden my brain. I've taken on more work at the job, and after I took it on, I wondered why. It doesn't promise more money, certainly not more praise. The driving force was that I knew I could do it. I knew I could help straighten out the account I primarily work on, and I was tired of it getting so screwed up. But the price has been higher than I thought. I feel numb, like a machine. I wake in the morning and do five million things until I lay my head back down at night. I'm not sure what to feel about this. Because my brain is dead. RIP, brain. * Husband came home the other night and Maya, Mina and I were all sitting on the same chair. Not a love seat or sofa and though it's a big chair, it's still a chair. More funny was that the pugs were trying to squeeze up with us too. Dog-pile on Mami (I won't say literally.) * I went to a 4th Grade Parent Meet Up last night where only the parents of Mina's class got together to get to know each other. A lot of us already know each other from past years, but I met a new mom last night, new to the school. She's a scientist at UCLA where she teaches geology and researches cool stuff like planets under pressure. Then I realized I know three scientists that work at UCLA, two of them women, which gave me an instant pang of pride, oddly. So the cool scientist and I talked about earthquakes and minerals (a little) and then cooking. I'm proud to say I restrained from bringing up my bike. In my mind, I was thinking, Don't do it. Don't talk about biking; don't, goddamn it. But SHE brought up Top Chef so, cool. * I want you to know that of all the people in the world -- grown or not grown --, I would most like to share my chair with the girls. And my bike.

Thank You Active Citizens

When I watched President Elect Obama make his speech last night, I felt it was just him and me. He was talking to us individually, wasn't he? I've never really felt that way about a leader before. I appreciate the restoration of patriotism. Maybe it's newly found.

Neighbors were over last night and I made rice and beans and we fist-pumped every announcement of a freshly-anointed blue state. When red states were called I secretly thought, Oh no, even though we were far ahead the whole night. It was hard to trust anything. Even when the screen switched to the words "Barack Obama, 44th President of the United States," I shook it off. I was on the phone with Betsy. I told her and she said, "Really? Already?" We both switched to other channels and the internet. Really? Really.

My girls were hugely involved in this election. We had many discussions about propositions and the candidates, and they campaigned enthusiastically for Prop 2 & Obama. Prop 2 passed by a landslide here in Cali (whoohoo!) and I told the girls this morning, "The hard work that you guys did for Prop 2 will now help ease the suffering of 20 million animals. That's amazing. You guys should be so proud of yourselves." They blushed and smiled. The impact was great; the realization that with action and a voice they could accomplish something. Most people I know haven't felt that before, or hadn't before last night.

Maya volunteered two separate times at the Obama call center. The center was packed with middle school students every single day. Some days it was so crowded the center said there were no more phones and the kids would have to make calls on their own cell phones. And they did. It was ingenious to recruit the youngens of liberal parents. They were knowledgeable for the most part, easily given permission from us, and they were uninhibited to make phone call after phone call to strangers in Montana. "Hi, can we count on your support for Senator Obama this Tuesday? Yes? Oh cool!" Or "You're voting for McCain? Oh ok, bye." Or "Oh yea, sorry we'll take you off the list. Sorry 'bout that."

Both Maya and Mina were able to vote at school. At Maya's middle school they held a more detailed election where they voted for the presidency and on the major propositions. At Mina's elementary school, they got to go into mock booths set up in the cafeteria and cast their vote for president. And again I was thrilled to see their voice reaffirmed. They believe their vote matters. They haven't been shown or told any differently.

And to you my friends and to the country in general, thank you so much for your involvement and action during this election. We all made a difference. I found the spirit of democracy infectious and inspiring. I feel alive and hopeful.

I leave you with this year's school pictures.

Mina, 9, 4th grade. Awaiting her photo is always a surprise. Like, surprise! I'm wearing something completely different than what I left the house in on picture day. Or surprise! I decided to water down my bangs at recess and go for this look. Oh Mina, I love you so much. Maya, 13, 8th grade. A true beauty inside and out. I love you so much too, Maya. My little citizens are steady on their pace to become world-changers, if they aren't doing it already.