We Are Pro Princess Interracial Gay Marriage Around Here

Maya Angelou dies ==> Racism ==> Gay Marriage ==> Marriage ≠ Happiness ==>
Let's have Princess Tiana marry Princess Anna

Oh, parenthood, you crack me up.  Listen to this chain of events.  I bought this book because, well, Maya Angelou died and I am a sucker so suddenly I think my kids should know about her?  I don't know.  Anyway, we read it together.  Next thing you know I'm explaining how she read a poem at President Obama's inauguration.  (That happened, right?  I'm not losing my mind?)  Talking about how it was extra special since Barack Obama is our first black president and Maya Angelou is also African-American.  Georgia was shocked to learn that Obama is our country's first black president.  (Incidentally, I love that form of innocence. What a shame it is also kind of my job to ruin it.)  Being a fan of truthiness, I go on to explain racism at an age-appropriate level to Georgia and June.  It's a topic we've discussed before, but you know, it takes a few tries.  As it should.  I mean, at base it makes absolutely no sense why people are treated differently based on skin color, so how the hell do you answer a four year old questioning "But why wouldn't they serve them lunch?"  That's right, we were to the point of trotting out examples like lunch counters and bus boycotts, and "What does 'boycott' mean, mama?"  Next thing you know, we're talking about Martin Luther King and changing rules that don't make sense.  With follow-up questions like, "What is 'change'?"  Oh, Lord, here we go, further down the rabbit hole.  I don't know how, but suddenly we're on to talking about how they changed the rules in Illinois so that boys can marry boys and girls can marry girls, because our girls are aware of this recent change in the law and find it confounding that it was ever any other way.  They are 100% on board with "love is love".  So, now we've taken a left turn into a full-on marriage discussion, including my repeated admonition that marriage is not the secret to happiness, despite what the movies and story books say.  It may be a fool's errand, but I am bound and determined to hammer this into their little heads, to counteract an entire culture of messages to the contrary.  (Including their parents' happy marriage, I guess, but I don't consider that to be logically inconsistent with the point I'm trying to make.)  I give them examples of wonderful single friends of mine and talk about how happiness and meaning can be found through work, and family, and faith, and community, and not just partnership and romance.  But this all leads to further discussion of the fact that in their story books, it's always a princess marrying a prince, but I bet it won't be by the time they are reading to their children one day, you know, should they have any.  The girls immediately announced an arranged marriage of Princess Tiana and Princess Anna.  In lieu of gifts, please just send checks straight to me, c/o P.C. Capital of the World.  

      

Georgia lost another tooth

Georgia lost one of her front teeth last week, and like many things tend to go with her, it was nothing if not dramatic.  It did not go gently into the night, and oh did she rage.   

In short course this small storm passed, the tooth fell out (with a gentle tug from Joe), the blood stopped, and the tooth fairy came.  All was well and right in the world again.     

But in the meantime, June showed her sister great compassion, and for that I am proud of her.  It comes as no surprise to me that the three words she knows how to spell correctly on her own are June, love, and Georgia.  She is such the little caretaker of our family, an honorable role that Joe and I will nevertheless watch with caution as she grows, for it is a risky business to tie one's worth or happiness to the happiness of others.  Maybe every family needs a peacemaker, though.  We are lucky to have such a loving one right now.


Window markers by June.   

(And now I will paste this Dylan Thomas poem here for absolutely no related reason other than my having alluded to it above.  A play on words, if you will.  Don't read anything more into this tooth story.  Joe just reminded me that he only remembers this poem from Rodney Dangerfield reciting it in Back to School.) : ) 

nto that

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377#sthash.MrqypXIy.dpuf

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377#sthash.MrqypXIy.dpuf

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,   

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377#sthash.MrqypXIy.dpuf

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377#sthash.MrqypXIy.dpuf