#oops i'm crying

Hello! I hope you’re doing well! 😊

∞

The song is The Writer by Eli August and the Abandoned Buildings (another one where I swear, I didn’t cheat. But like a third of my music is his so at least this one is not a surprise). 

Lyrics:

Why. keep on?/Well a fire burns where it belongs/And what. if you’re wrong?/well at least I’ve kept warm til I’m gone...

--

Honestly, it was so hard to pick on this song because everything about it is how I feel, so many days, and it’s just such a beautiful encapsulation of...being a writer/artist.  Especially the call and response that the lyric I chose came out of, where you’re fighting your own doubts.

We were there to defend Max’s right to exist in public. That’s what this bathroom stuff is really about, because let’s face it: If you prohibit someone from using a public bathroom, how much is he really going to be able to exist in public? He couldn’t go to school, he couldn’t see a movie with friends, he would have to worry about being able to find a bathroom to use every single time he left our house. The Texas Legislature is trying to erase my son and shove him into a dark corner — and no one does that to my baby, even the Governor of Texas. […]

Max knows what’s at stake. We don’t talk about it much, because he’s 9, and social justice and gender identity aren’t really top of mind for him. But even without all the lengthy, adult conversations, he gets it. Max wanted to be present that day, to speak to our legislators face to face and remind them that he is important, too. So I proudly brought my baby with me, to show him that it’s important to stand up to bullies, even if some of those bullies work in marble offices in your state capitol.

It was a long day, and I was proud of his composure and courage. We do things big down here in Texas, and our state capitol building is no exception: with wings, extensions, chambers, and security at just about every turn, it can be intimidating even to enter the building. When the legislature is in session, the building is crammed with elected officials, their staff, interns, lobbyists, reporters, and constituents from every corner of the state, and the noise and crowds are overwhelming, especially for a kid like Max, who is only half the size of everyone there.

Local reporters who had been following these “bathroom bills” closely had also been following us around all day, too, and Max was on his best behavior because of it. After the hot outdoor press conference with cameras trained right on his adorable freckled face, the noise and commotion happening inside the building, and the frustration of having to articulate to grownups that the only people who are bothered that he’s transgender are the very people who swore an oath to protect him, Max had had enough.

Exhausted, he sat his little butt down, confessed to me how tired he was, and asked if we could go home. So I did what any loving mother would do: I canceled the rest of our legislative visits, wiped his tears, and took him out for ice cream. That’s what parents do when their kids have a tough day. That’s what you see in this photo.

In which 12-year-old Savannah comes out as a lesbian in front of her entire Mormon community.

As she begins to ask the fellow congregants for compassion and to think before speaking ill of others, church officials abruptly ask her to leave the stage, silencing her before she can finish. Still, she did something incredible. (And she reads the rest of her testimony at the end of the video, no longer at church.)

I’d mentioned to my main vet in January that he was such a heavy breather I could hear him across the room when I took him and his buff boy brother in for a check-up. He was also 17 pounds at that point, so they dismissed it as weight-related and said it would get better as he slimmed down. Orange boy lost weight. The breathing stayed the same.

The vet gave me steroids, and anti-inflammatory, and antibiotics (which were cherry flavored, for whatever reason). Within a day, his breathing was better.

Now, twice a day, I use an inhaler on him. He hates it. But he gets his favorite treats afterward, and buff boy brother also gets some so there’s no jealousy.

I used to do this with my girls:  pills, then treats. It started with my little kitty:  the first asthmatic kitty. The original. The vet tried to use the inhaler on her and she hated it. Years later, I don’t know why they didn’t let me try it. This was the, shall we say, not as competent vet at the clinic. So, little kitty started taking steroids. It was a low dose because she was 8.5 pounds at her heaviest. 

When I started my first paralegal job, it became a routine:  in the morning and evening, she and her sister would follow me upstairs, she’d get a pill, and then they’d both get treats. Her sister initially got them because she was a good kitty. Later, she had her own pills to take, thanks to the liver problems. 

This routine of course continued after a little buff boy stole my heart and he and his orange boy brother took up residence in our house. The girls never liked them. They just tolerated them. 

Those days were the best of my life:  four sweet kitties whom I loved and who loved me. I loved seeing them together on the bed, all munching on their treats.