RedHead Confetti

TW: Some talk of domestic violence from parents, and death threats. If you're in a place where the passing mention of this kind of abuse would cause you harm, please skip this one, and go look at kittens on the internet until you feel better! Kittens help that, a lot! If you're being abused, please, please know you're not alone! Please reach out, and get help. You can even email me, and I'll try to research local stuff to help you where you are, if you can't do that safely. Call the police, make a report, speak with your college (or even high school) counselors.  You Fucking Matter! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise! I'm reminded of that old joke: two spouses are arguing, about what depends on the joke teller. Finally one says, exasperated, "I was just giving you my opinion!" The other says, "Well, if I want your opinion, I'll give it to you!" This has been kicking around in my head for about four weeks; I promise the blog t...

I had a dream the other night-- well, just before my alarm went off in the morning. I was dressed in a suit, with stockings and heels and sitting with a dozen other men and woman dressed the same. We were waiting for the next “class” to start, so we could finish up something or other. I was sitting next to an old friend from high school-- she had aged, changed into what my mind says she'd look like at 40. She was a Senior, back when I was in 8 th grade, and we got along amazingly well; part of it was because we were both the “youngest kids in our class”, so she knew what it was like to be treated like every one's baby sister all the time. Ronna was a good friend and I sincerely hope she got out of the cult of IFB and has a fabulous life-- she was rather irreverent, and I loved her for it. Amidst that closed atmosphere we were both stuck in, she was a breath of critical thinking.. In my dream, Ronna turned to me and said, “So, after Armageddon, and all that, then they expe...

Trigger Warning: This blog is dark, and rambling, and angry, and hurt, and personal. It's not an accusation against my husband. I know he's not mentioned hardly at all, because this is how I feel. He is, and has been amazing through this whole thing. He also tries very hard to derail my inner peanut gallery. However, if you're depressed right now, or having a hard go of it, you may want to skip this one. I don't want to spiral you down. We'll make it out, right? And everything will be OK. I'm sitting here, on the verge of a depressive episode. I say this, not for sympathy, but for perspective. I know that I, and only I, can get out of, through or avoid an episode. It's not up to anyone else to help me, and really, no one can. It's an internal struggle that no one sees, no one can cheer you on, navigate the short route through, or even lend a hand. It's always been this way, for me... and always will be. I accept this struggle, as part of living;...

“Most parents today were brought up in a culture that put a strong emphasis on being special,” [Madeline Levine] observes. “Being special takes hard work and can’t be trusted to children. Hence the exhausting cycle of constantly monitoring their work and performance, which in turn makes children feel less competent and confident, so that they need even more oversight.” ( page 2 , emphasis added) I saw a little blurb at Slate on Monday, and then Wednesday- another one at Jezebel. So I got off my ass and went over to the New Yorker to read this article, “ Spoiled Rotten, Why do children rule the roost?” I've said before that I'm not the best parent. I don't helicopter, I don't over-play or schedule; I don't ask, actually. I tell. I don't look at my children as friends of mine. In fact, not one of them would be someone I would choose to be friends with. They're too young, to immature, and their world-views, while larger than their peers, is ...