Soap Box

The Missed Vote

This post was for last Wednesday. However, due to the passing of Senator Kennedy on August 26 and my vacation in the Midwest with dial-up Internet access, I decided to wait until today to post it.

In 1944, she was 21 years old.
A new bride traveling across the country to meet her in-laws.

It was also the year of the first presidential election in which she could vote — the year FDR won the presidency for an unprecedented fourth term. She wanted to vote for him, and because it had been impressed upon her that she should not take voting for granted, she was at a crossroads.

On August 26, 1920, women won the right to vote.
She was born in 1923.

The woman I am referring to is my Great-Grandma B or as she signs her name, Cecilia Beato. It is hard to believe that a woman who is 86 years old (which she reminds you about all the time) never lived in this country when women could not vote. She was the first generation to be born in America. She was an only child. She will tell you she always voted in every election except the first one she could.

And that still bothers her.

When I went to graduate school in 2005 for politics and public policy, Great-Grandma B sent me a letter about the election in 1944 and women voting. When we visited with her last week, I tried to have her retell the story, but at 86, things got lost along the way.

Cecilia Mezner married Ralph Beato on November 5, 1944 — two days before the presidential election. He was born and raised in Philadelphia and she in Chicago. They were married in Chicago and planned to live there and raise a family.

After their wedding, they drove across the country from Chicago to Philly. She was to meet her in-laws and the extended family before he returned to World War II in the South Pacific. I can't even imagine taking on this task at the young age of 21.

On the day of the election, she was in the car. She did not vote. She wanted to vote, but they could not figure out how to vote and travel at the same time. She sacrificed this vote for her marriage to Ralph.

In 2005, when she sent me the letter describing this she was still upset ... 61 years later. She was also quick to tell me that she votes in every election and has never taken the right to vote for granted. Now, how she votes I am not sure, but I would assume she still votes Democratic (although I can't see this current Minnesota resident voting for Al Franken).

Today, so many young women take voting for granted.
They don't see the point.
They don't think it matters.

It does.

We need to remind them of the fact that 90 years ago women could not vote. We need to write down the stories of our grandmothers, our great-grandmothers and pass them along to the next generation. We, as women, have an obligation to pass along these gifts so that voting is never taken for granted.

Thanks, Great-Grandma B, your story has been passed along to the next Beato generation.

Teddy and Carolyn

I am at a loss for words.
As many of you know, this is a rarity for me.

I have so many memories of Senator Kennedy that my mind has been swimming in them since I received the news of his passing the minute my eyes opened this morning.

I could write about growing up in Massachusetts in an Irish Catholic family (much smaller and not as prestigious as the Kennedys) and the pinnacle that the Kennedys represented. I could write about covering him as a college photographer in 1994, when he was running for re-election against Mitt Romney. I could write about working with him on the immigration raids that happened in Massachusetts in 2007 while I was a policy analyst for a State Senator. Or I could write about the time I lobbied him to vote against the Alito and Roberts nominations as the Co-President of Massachusetts NOW.

But none of those things sum up what Senator Kennedy stands for.
To me, he stands for the protection of all things I cherish.
Most of all, my children.

When Carolyn was 4 years old, we were invited to attend an event with the Senator and his wife, Vicky. They were to read from his new book about his dog, Splash, and working in Washington. Carolyn had received the book earlier that year from her grandparents on our trip to the John F. Kennedy Library.

I was so excited that my daughter would get to meet Teddy.

There she was in a small group of children eagerly waiting on the floor for the Senator to arrive. In he walked — all the air left the room, and it was filled with laughter and smiles. The children were so happy to see him. They waved and laughed and giggled, and it was like the Massachusetts version of Santa.

He spoke directly to them on their level, and I was in awe. Here was this legend of a man (a spry 75 years old) so happy to see them — not the parents, but the kids — and wanting to greet each one. His wife, Vicky, was also with him as were his two dogs, Splash and Sunny.

Now, for the record, Carolyn HATES dogs. Don't ask me why, I have no idea, she just does. No amount of anything will get her to like them and please don't think you can get her to overcome this fear with your dogs ... you can't.

Everyone settled down after the hellos, and the Senator began to read with Vicky by his side. All the children were behaving on the carpet in front of him. How they got all the kids to behave I have no idea. The dogs, however, thought it would be nice to roam around and say hello to the children as well. As they got closer to Carolyn, she stood up and tried to move away from the dogs, which meant moving toward the front, closer to the Senator.

And then it happened. Sunny touched her. The fear in her face and the scream she let out ... you would have thought she was being bit by the dog.

I was mortified.

Vicky just swept her up in her arms and placed her square on her lap.
Teddy leaned over and touched Carolyn's leg, smiled and said, "It's all right, Vicky has you."

And he kept on reading.
And she kept on holding Carolyn.
And all was right with my daughter in their arms.

She was not told, "Don't worry." She was not told, "Don't be scared." She was not told, "Sit down and be quiet." She was told only, "It's all right." They met her where she was and made her feel safe.

That is what Senator Kennedy has done for so many people in the country. He met us where we were and made us feel safe as long as he was there defending our rights and fighting for equality. He understood that it takes all kinds of people to make up this country, and he never made you feel like you were less of a person. He was the quintessential politician who remembered your story and carried it with him ... always.

And, in the end, he was a father, an uncle, a brother, a husband and, most of all, he was a grandfather. Those titles showed in his love for children, his love for his family, his love for Massachusetts and his love for our country.

Today, Carolyn and I mourn the loss of our great lion protector in the Senate. May we always remember his story and the lives he touched.

Friday Funny: Bits From the Week

What a week it has been ...

We survived a heat wave in Boston and I went through too much beer.

PETA sent me an e-card, I guess they missed my post about how I hate squirrels and nature.

My dad has no idea what they got me for high school graduation, but he would remember if he got me boobs.

I constantly try to find a girly, foofy drink that I like ... Mai Tais are gross and taste like cough syrup. I am going to start ordering a foofy drink and a beer. And not light beer, real, imported, good beer so when I hate the foofy drink I do not have to wait to order a beer.

I am one week closer to the start of school.

My friends kick ass and I am so lucky to have them. I will bring your strength, support and insight with me.

I survived my first scary birthday and the world did not end. In fact, I smiled most of the day.

I think Barney Frank is awesome and would totally date him (yes, I know he is gay and as old as my dad but come on who would not want to live on planet Earth with him?)

What do you get when you combine 3/7 of a chicken, 2/3 of a cat and 1/2 of a goat?
CHICAGO

Heading outta here and off to Chicago ... posts next week from the mid-west!

As a side note, please keep Senator Kennedy in your thoughts and prayers ...

I'm What?

When did I turn 35?
Oh, yeah ... today.

I am not ready for this birthday. I do not want to be 35. I do not want to leave the cool 22-34 box and move to the 35-54 box. Who would have thought that birthdays would be hard?

I loved birthdays as a child. Mine, everyone else's, my parents, it did not matter I loved them. I was always there to help blow out your candles, to open your gifts, to wear the pointy birthday hat and to laugh with you.

I loved birthdays in my 20's. When you are in your 20's birthdays are a valid reason to go out drinking. You don't care if you are singing in front of an entire bar or restaurant (Desperado in Myrtle Beach). You don't care if complete strangers are buying you a drinks and dancing way too close. You love your birthday ... it was your day to laugh.

I have been loving my birthdays in my 30's ... up to this point. It has been wonderful sharing them with Carolyn, who like any good child LOVES birthdays and is always there to help me figure out how to open my gifts, how to work them and to laugh with me. She is also an expert in frosting eating.

35 is not me.

I have always known exactly what I wanted, what goals to strive for, what my next steps were, this year ... not so much. I know, I have accomplished almost every goal I have set for myself (never did get into Harvard) and yet I still feel like I have so much to do. I have created a wonderful space for myself with options and choices and creative people surrounding me and yet, I have no idea what is next.

I know what I don't want and what I won't do.
That is a perk.
For the record, I don't fast for any reason no matter what the cause.

I am 35 and in 364 days I will be another year older and maybe not so freaked out. Maybe the next steps will be set in motion by then.

I am not going to lie about my age.
I am going to learn to embrace it.
I am going to remember all my birthdays and laugh today because somewhere along the way I turned 35.

Boobs, Babies and Feeding

I love boobs.

Probably not the most feminist thing to say, I know, but I really do love them.

I remember how perfect my mother's boobs were: the shape, color, everything. I realize now that they were so perfect because she never had children (I was adopted). I always wanted to look like my mother. I also remember when I saw my birth-mother's boobs — they were just like mine, not perfect.

I wanted to get a boob job for my high school graduation present — I didn't. In fact, I don't even remember what I got for graduation from my parents. See, Dad, I would remember if you got me boobs for graduation.

My obsession with boobs has been with me since I was a teenager. This is one of my obsessions my husband has no problem with. In fact, when I told him I wanted to write this post, he smiled and figured I would eventually write about boobs.

As a mother of two children, I am amazed at the pressure that women endure to breastfeed their children. Yes, I know, it is natural, it is better for the babies (some say), it is cheaper. But I hate the thought of it — it freaks me out (it's up there with squirrels). Maybe I have too much sexuality wrapped up in boobs and therefore I can't make that jump. I don't know, but I will bring it up at my next therapy session.

I knew when I was pregnant six years ago that I would not be breastfeeding. I read the books, I did the research, I told myself I was strong enough to make this decision for myself. No guilt. It was not that easy. The minute I checked into the hospital the nurses started. The pressure was horrible — talk about starting off thinking you are a bad mother.

I dug in further and was proud to bottle-feed. At the mommy-and-me groups. I was the only one bottle-feeding. When we went out as a family, I enjoyed my dinner while my husband fed Carolyn. I slept for more than six hours in a row, and I was happy. Other mothers could not figure out my energy after just having a baby. It is sleep; if you don't get enough, you go crazy.

My close friends all breastfeed, anywhere, which is another thing that freaks me out. I do not want to be apple-picking and see your boobs looking me right in the face when I get off the trolley. That did happen, and I still have nightmares about it. I am a firm believer that if you are going to breastfeed your kids, at least toss a blanket over you. I know, not feminist, but I would be lying if I said otherwise.

I have seen babies that are so skinny they probably should be bottle-fed. I have seen mothers beat themselves up for not wanting to breastfeed, but they do it anyway. I have been pounded over the head with how it is so much better for your children. The fact is, only you can decide what is best for your baby and you. If you really do research you will find that the only difference in bottle-feeding and breastfeeding is that breastfed babies have, on average, a couple of fewer digestive problems.  

Here is my other problem with some who breastfeed: They can't see the other side. For example, I have a friend who is younger than me and who just had a double mastectomy and will be having reconstructive surgery. If she has another baby and obviously can't breastfeed, would you judge her before you even knew her story?
I bet yes.

I don't tell others what to do with their bodies (OK, I tell my kids), but please don't tell me. I applaud you if you choose to breastfeed, and I support you. In turn, do the same for me. Don't judge me because I love boobs and can't get past my sexuality in them. Bottle-feeding may not be for you, but it is for me. And, by the way, almost an entire generation was bottle-fed ... and we are still here.

Funny thing, I have passed this boob obsession onto Carolyn.
I bet Bobby will have it too.

Single Line

This week I am thinking about where I have been.
What has brought me to this point.

Was it destiny? Was it choices I have made? Was it all predetermined?
My children have an interesting destiny if you believe in that.

They were each born with single palm lines on both of their hands. The odds of this happening on both hands is 1 in 10. For both of them to have it is genetic. We are not sure where it comes from since I am adopted. My husband's immediate family does not have it but we will look at the extended family this weekend.

We never noticed it until our son was born and the hospital pediatrician pointed it out to us. Our pediatrician (Dr. Vonnegut, yep, Kurt's son) noticed it but never mentioned it. One of his sons has it on only one hand. He thinks it is from not flexing their hands enough in the womb to create two lines.

Don't Google single palm line, it will freak you out. For the record both of our children are fine. No Down's, no other genetic issues, a mouth that won't stop but she is fine, really.

I was trying to explain this to someone recently and she asked if it was their life line or love line. I have no idea, it is one line. But that got me thinking about their lives and what their future will hold. Isn't love wrapped up in our lives? How can you have a life without love? Are they destined to walk a different path because of this single line?

My week of reflection has taken me to look into their future. It is pretty cool that they both have this. When I asked Carolyn what she thought about it, she said, "of course we have the same hands, we are brother and sister."

I hope that they always carry that with them, whatever path that life and love takes them down.

Circles of Friends

Women are so interesting.
We do so much together and rely on one another - constantly.

Laughter, tears, challenges, support ... hell we even pee together.

I have been thinking about my circles of friends and how they have changed throughout my life. I have always relied on my close girlfriends to help me through parts of my life and to share things with. Who else could understand my shoe shopping obsession (including flip-flops)? My circles now are so different and vast.

I have friends from school (high school, college and grad school), I have friends from jobs, I have political friends, I have feminist friends, I have mom friends, and I have my best friend - Ginger. The cool thing is when these separate circles overlap and expand.

Lately, certain circles are expanding and I am opening doors to allow for more love and support from these new and wonderful friends. I made a comment to my husband the other day that I think I have a friend in every state except South Dakota. That is an unbelievable feeling. I owe that to my feminist work with NOW. If nothing else comes from my blood and tears I have given NOW - I got to call so many amazing women friends.

Many of my closest friends (from many different circles) and I are going through a transition with our jobs and lives. I hear it and see it on so many and I have to wonder ... why? Why are there so many of us trying to make a change? What planets are aliening to allow for this process to happen to so many of us. Is it our age? Is it new opportunities? Or have we finally figured out what we don't want? I feel like I am on the cusp of something amazing that will happen. The problem is I can't figure it out.

My heart wants each of us to find the happiness that we deserve. To find the balance we need with our families and work - which I am beginning to think is impossible. To find what sets us free to accomplish the amazing feats that I know each one of us can do. To be whatever we want in life and have the support that we need.

I grew up an only child and while I loved it as a teenager I have often wished I had a sister for her support and help. I am not close to my only sister-in-law, we are just too different. I have spent many hours being sad and angry about both of those statements. I realize now, as I embark on yet another birthday, that I have many sisters and that we have traveled this life's path together.

I am lucky to have all of you in my life from each circle that I carry with me. You are so important to me and sometimes I do not say it enough. I count on you and your advise and your laughter and your tears. I cherish each one of you. We need that support, as women.

And for the record, I believe everyone should have a best friend like my Ginger. A friend who believes your crazy ideas are the best thing since sliced bread, who will take your phone call at any hour of the day, and who, no matter what, knows what words you need to hear and when. (Thanks for the card!)

Women and our friendships are so amazing and I hope that I never forget that.

Friday Funny: Hatin' Nature

I am a city girl. That is now a fact I must embrace.

When I moved to the bustling suburb of Quincy from Chicago, I encountered a skunk. And like any good city girl, I called animal control to come here and get it.

They laughed.

So, I have tried to embrace all things nature has to offer. And I love looking at the mountains from the big-picture window. Or driving along the beach and smelling the sea air. I will every once in a while venture to the great outdoors and again hate the bugs and animals, but I keep trying it out.

I have finally had it with nature. I gave it a chance. Let me share with you what nature thought would be funny for me, the city girl.

We have one tree on our property, one. It is a cherry tree (seriously, I can't make that up). It is in our small front patch of dirt. And a new family has moved into it. Flying rats, or, as many of you like to call them, squirrels. I HATE squirrels. They freak me totally out, and I always think they are going to attack me.

Now, the one tree we have, has a family of squirrels living in it — great. They sit there and watch me, and I swear sometimes they watch me in the house, I have caught them. They are not scared of our cat, Woodstein. See, they are city squirrels who laugh at people and cats. (OK, the cat does not go out, but come on!)

I am about ready to chop the cherry tree down, and I am not gonna lie about it! Happy weekend everyone, enjoy all nature has to offer.

Letter for My President

Dear President Obama,

I write to you today to ask you to stop. Stop trying to reach across the aisle.

I am a Democrat, just like you. I have been a voting member of society for 17 years and have always voted Democratic (except in that one State Treasurer race). I have sat by and watched as the Republican party has waged war not only on other countries but also in our own. They had the majority and took no prisoners (well, not really, they took many prisoners — but you know what I mean).

I, like you, believe that health care should be a right not a privilege. I also believe, like you, that if we can't get it done now we never will. So what the hell are you doing?

Here is my problem with our beloved Democratic party ... we are all leaders. That is where the Republicans get us every time; they are ducks. They have an amazing way of always following their leader, no questions asked — just the talking points, please. They have a way of whipping up fear in American hearts, and, for some reason, they are always talking the same language (talking points are always needed).

Not us Democrats. "I was for it before I was against it." Yes, we understand him, but to the general audience, they are like, "What?" We can't explain ourselves or our positions in 10 words — which, as a fan of The West Wing, I am sure you understand that is all the time you have to explain. See, we as Democrats like detail, we bathe in it — every comma, every may or shall, every option. It freaks people out when you are smarter than them. So now with their backs against a wall we get "death panels" — what?

You have to stop.
Drop the hammer on this nonsense.
You are the leader not only of the country but of our political party — LEAD!

I am counting on you to get health care passed. A health care bill that does not compromise on my options, that does not cut legal procedures because of religion, a bill that in the end gives us all equal, affordable and quality health care. I bet many seniors out there are happy with the Medicare they receive — yes, I know that is government run health care (shhh, don't tell the seniors).

Mr. President, let them call you a socialist, let them call you a racist, let them say you were not born in the good ol' USA. Who cares? We know the truth. I called your predecessor worse things and that never stopped him from pushing anti-American policies down our throats.

You and I know that in the end universal health care is needed, that it will help not hurt our country. That insuring everyone will in fact save money. That allowing people with pre-existing conditions to be covered even if they lose their jobs is not a handout. That in the end we all need this.

Stop trying to explain what we want. Republicans will only twist it into the fear that they know how to produce. We have a majority; it is time that you and Speaker Pelosi and Majority Leader Reed start acting like it. We voted you into office because we believed in you, all of you, and we know you will do what is needed.

Mr. President, I vow that any Democrat who votes against health care reform or spins lies against it or tries to stop it will not get my support in their next election. I will actively campaign against them. I ask that you do the same. We should incite fear in our own party — fear of not being re-elected. We are Democrats, and it is time we acted a little like Republicans and get our ducks in a row.

Sincerely,

Erin G. Bradley
Massachusetts

Great Expectations

I woke up after only a couple hours of sleep, and I had a million ideas to write about.

Now, I can't think of one to focus on.

This has been the longest week ever, and it is only Wednesday. I swear my son is teething — because why else would he be crying all the time for no reason? I try to nap, and he wakes after 15 minutes.

School starts in exactly four weeks. These will be the longest four weeks of my life. I have learned that even though I am home with the kids, the kid needs to go to camp. Don't take the cheap route — send them to camp for your sanity.

Today is a day when my head is in the clouds, and, to be honest, I think it should stay there. Tomorrow will bring a new focus and clarity, I hope.

Etiquette: Thank You

I was reading that cursive writing among high school students was on the decline.

That's not the only thing.

Saying thank you is one thing and oftentimes easy to do. BUT buying a thank you card, writing a note and putting it in the mail seems to be a thing of the past.

I recently sent a baby gift to a family member and got an e-mail thank you ... what?
Not OK.

I sent another baby gift to another family member and am still waiting to hear if they received it.
Not OK.

It seems my hard-line stance of thank you cards is a thing of the past.

I am rigid about my thank you cards. I once read that you have different time frames for writing a thank you card depending on what the gift was for. I made a vow that for me two weeks seemed about right. I sent all my wedding thank you cards from my honeymoon in Italy! Baby thank you cards — done a week after the gift comes in.

Now, I love cards. I send my family, my husband's family and our friends (including all the aunts, uncles, cousins and their spouses) birthday, anniversary, thinking-of-you cards all the time. I think I have been doing it for four years now. I love doing it, and, yes, it is a pretty expensive habit. But I think it is worth it.

The interesting thing is that the lack of writing thank you cards is starting in kindergarten. Carolyn attended about seven birthday parties this year, and, out of that, she got two thank you cards.
Not OK.

Start them young, parents — expect your children to show thanks for the gifts they receive. Carolyn knows and works on each of her thank you cards the day after her birthday party. I know I am not the only parent who expects their child to write a proper thank you card. Yes, I am strict, but the sooner they are done, the sooner I can cross it off my list (which is another habit of mine).

Recently, I sent two graduation gifts to family friends. That was in May and I am still waiting on the thank you card — good thing I am not holding my breath! Not OK.

I have a memory of who sent what cards and gifts going back about 10 years. I think of it as a talent, others as a curse. Carolyn has the same memory (sorry, kid!). It is important we set the bar high for others to reach, and I am happy to have passed this onto her. I know I learned it from my mother. She had a drawer full of cards and would often send these cards just because. I watched and I learned, just like my kids will.

I am not willing to give up cursive writing or thank you cards. They are both important. Sometimes we just need to be reminded to make them a part of our lives again.

Tattoos

The idea of marking your body for life is a heavy one.

I did in March of 1995 — I was 20.

I would do it again if you asked. I do not regret it.

Lately, I have been noticing people talking more about either having or getting a tattoo. I always find people's rationale about tattoos interesting. Everyone has an opinion on them, and, most of the time, people do not like them. I love it when people think you are trashy for having a tattoo — it makes me smile.

I love tattoos, I find them very sexy and intriguing. There must be something pretty deep going on inside of you to want to mark your body ... for life. Now, for the record, I do not like it when people have covered their bodies with tattoos. That is an obsession and kinda freaks me out.

Some people do not want to tell you the meaning behind their tattoos, which also bugs me. Why the hell did you get it if you do not want to talk about it? Of course, people are going to ask you what it means; it is a great conversation piece. Like art, kinda, sorta. I think if you are going to take a needle to your body, you better be ready to defend whatever you got. So all you ladies with Tweety Bird or Winnie the Pooh, why?

I got my tattoo in North Carolina — Fort Bragg to be exact. My mother had died three months earlier, and I was spending some time with a dear friend who was married to a soldier. She had just got a beach/sunset scene tattooed on her chest. Why? Who knows. I bet that is pretty saggy now after two kids.

I thought why not. I went to the place where she got hers and sat down with the artist as we figured out what I wanted. I ended up with a replica of my eye with a teardrop coming out of it. I had the eye encircled by my family crest but flipped upwards. This way I can always remember where I came from and that my family was standing beside me.

I got it on my right shoulder blade. It was the most unbelievable feeling. All of your nerves are on high alert, and it is very sexual. I can see why people keep adding to their collection. I have thought of adding to mine on my other shoulder blade, but I am way too scared of needles now. But I will always remember that feeling.

I got the tattoo for me, nobody else. I own it and still remember lying there for the two hours it took to complete it. Each minute was painful. It was almost like an intense therapy session. OK, yes, there are better ways to accomplish therapy. But, hey, I was 20.

For me, I needed my tattoo, I needed to mark that point in time.

They are beautiful not trashy and I would never give mine up.

Friday Funny: Listen to Your Heart

We have an in-ground pool that takes up the entire backyard.

My husband thought it was cool for the first few years we lived here, now he curses it. I too like the idea of having a pool but I rarely use it. Our daughter however, LOVES the pool. She loves it even more when either my husband or I join her in it.

The other day I was sitting in the shade in one corner of our backyard enjoying my Time magazine. The baby was sleeping in his cabana and my husband was working on the pool. Our daughter was in the pool begging us to join her. She tried everything to get us in the pool. (As a side note it had been really cold in New England so the pool water was very chilly.) Finally she got us. She pulled out everyone of her tricks and then laid a new one on us.

"Listen to your heart" she said, "I think it wants to play."

How could we argue with that logic?

An Open Apology

I am sorry.

For the record I do not apologize often. Unless I really feel bad for what I did and need to move forward.

Six years ago I started down the path of motherhood. I worked days at a local hospital (Boston is filed with them) and my husband worked nights at the newspaper. We had a pretty good schedule juggling Carolyn and splitting most of the household duties. It was working with two jobs and a new baby.

That summer we went to visit family in Chicago. My sister-in-law had also had a baby early that year and she was a stay at home mom - now her full time job. I remember my brother-in-law and I were talking about life with the babies, working, how tiring it all was and he made a joke. He said "why is that I have to work all day and when I get home she expects me to help her with her job." And we both laughed and I said "I know right?".

I am sorry.

I never realized my feelings about stay at home mothers. My mom stayed home with me and I loved it. But I had always worked ... all the time. And when I was not working I was in Graduate school and holding an internship at the State House. I always had a job to define myself. I fought hard for the right to work after having a child. I have fought hard for adequate, affordable childcare. I thought it was an easy road to be a stay at home mom. I thought it was a step backward in the progress of the women's movement to stay at home.

Now, I understand.

For the first time in my life I am a stay at home mom. In certain company I say I am a kept woman - just for the laughs. I have a Master's degree, I have worked in some of the worst male dominated newsrooms, I have worked for politicians, I have worked construction, I have held a bunch of different jobs that are both physically and mentally challenging.

This by far is the hardest job I have ever had.
This hardest transition I have made.

This job starts for me at 7:30am and on a good day ends at 10:00pm. I have no job security, no union, no benefits, no breaks, no real mental stimulation and I never leave my job to rest. There are benefits to this job and I would not trade them for a minute but it is 24/7.

To all you guys who think that helping your wife out with the kids when you get home is not your job ... it is. The kids are 50% yours too and you get to leave your job, we don't. And for the record you are not babysitting the kids if they are biologically or legally 50% yours - stop saying that, it is degrading.

I will continue to fight for women to work, for childcare, for paid family leave, for social security benefits for all of the things that still make women unequal in the child raising arena. I will no longer judge you for staying at home and raising the next generation of powerful, mindful and equal daughters and sons.

It is up to us to change the views that society has on child raising. We can do this by how we raise our children, what we expect from our partners, and when we correct the joke that puts stay at home moms down. We need to make it the norm for men to also be the primary caregivers. It is happening, slowly. We need to stop the so called "mommy wars." There is no war when you are standing shoulder to shoulder supporting each other as we should.

It comes down to choices that women get to make.
Thank you for opening my eyes.