From Jaqueline Kennedy to Michelle Obama—two of the most fashionable and iconic First Ladies—First Women offers a deeper insight as to what life is like for these women inside the illustrious walls of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Unlikely friendships (and rivalries) emerge, but ultimately these ladies are bound by something deeper than political party or personal grievances and connections—they know…
The Women's March in Raleigh on January 21, 2017.
I got out of bed shortly after I heard my kids emerge from their room. I had failed, yet again, to get up before them to write, to run, to read. For the past year almost, I have felt defeated, rarely writing, running inconsistently and never reading as much as I probably should be. One day turns into two and two to four and so on and so forth, and the longer I put it off the scarier and harder it becomes. But as I heard my seven year old begin her work on her poster, which she decided would read: "Stand for what's right, even if you're standing alone," I suddenly found a little bit of motivation I didn't previously have…
My oldest daughter loves to tell us that she is brown—she takes a lot of pride in the fact that she is half of her father, who is British and Afro-Caribbean, his biological father being full Jamaican. His biological mother was a red head, and I can sometimes see a stray auburn hair amidst his tight curls. My girls get their beautiful and often commented on curls from him, while my son has my hair…
And what I’ve come to is this: it can matter, or it can’t. It’s up to us. We have a choice—much like joy is a choice, and kindness is a choice—to say that memories matter, that people matter, that our legacies do matter, regardless of surrounding circumstances and our mixed up, messy motives.
So, forgive me. Forgive me as I probably say the same thing 27 times over trying to convince myself that it’s ok, I’m ok, we’re all gonna be just fine. Forgive me as I stab and stab and stab into the blinding blackness. I’m just hoping to catch some stardust…
It was a Monday that had started so well. It was Ev’s birthday, and I had told her to wait in her room until I came to get her up. I could hear the two of them squeal and squirm in excitement, Sophie followed their noises and pattered across the floor. I lit her “6” candle and stuck it in a donut. Pajama clad and wrapped in the still waking, blue morning light, Theo and I sang her happy birthday…
With a look of pure delight and satisfaction he replied, “You’re welcome, mommy.” He was sure he was giving me a compliment. I couldn’t resist loving his moon face as he smiled the smile that never fails to weaken me…
I’ll open up a can of worms. I’ll knock it over and they’ll come spilling out, writhing and vomit-y with bits of earth still attached to them. It might make us feel uncomfortable and uneasy and it will be good for us. Ok? Good. Let’s go…
I’m dreaming of her in her mint green polka dotted swimsuit and her summer curls. Of the way the humid air brings such definition, such bounce. She has perfect Shirley Temple ringlets in the summer, they don’t wilt when the dry wind blows like they do in the cold months…
