I was in a situation recently, where the statement was made 'race is irrelevant'. In the conversation, that was the case, however, the whole idea has been bugging me.
Race is everything. Family history-- where we all come from-- that's everything!
Because my husband's great grandparents came from Germany and refused to speak German, though their English was poor, and would beat their daughter for speaking German, and she, in turn, went into an abusive relationship, where she allowed her husband to browbeat her children physically and emotionally. Which led to my MIL (whom I love dearly) to be overly harsh to her children-- which led to my husband being afraid to cross anyone...
I am not creating blame or excuses or any of that-- I'm just telling the story. Who we are is completely based on where we came from. The values we learn, even to how much attention we crave... those of us whole love books, those who love spotlights-- it all comes from somewhere.
We are what we came from.
Race is everything. My Irish ancestors struggled and came to start a new life here. My Dutch ancestors carved a home for themselves here. I cannot pretend that they never existed-- I must know them to know myself.
My scandalous multi-great Scott ancestor-- I am like him. By learning about him I know where I get my scheming clever ways of dealing with things.
It's wrong to separate the child from the parent. We need to know. Why did my ggg-whatever grandfather come from Ireland? Because his family was shipped to Australia and he was being drafted into a constabulary against his own people. I saw the draft notice. He left a month later. Why were they sent to Australia? Because they were starving and his father stole a cow to feed his 12 children.
Keith's gg-grandmother's sister was 13 when they came to America from England. Her parents placed her in a boarding house full of young men and lived off of her wages without working themselves. She disappeared from the censuses before the sister was even half-grown.
These are real people and we cannot turn away from their stories.
I've been working for several weeks on a trade for two Nigerian Dwarf does. They are small enough and mature, actually in milk, so they would have been great in our backyard. HOWEVER, the idea of them being here was stressing Keith out, so I called off the trade. I should feel happy, right, for doing the right thing?
Instead I'm just plain miserable. I keep crying for no reason (and I rarely cry anymore). For whatever reason, this is just really upsetting to me. I did for Keith to be happy, and he will be.
Now I just have to not be miserable about doing it!
I'm preparing myself mentally for Keith to be gone. If he gets the job he really wants, then he'll be gone for training for one whole month.
This morning I was in bed, thinking about everything Keith does and how I'll have to pick up the slack when he's gone, so that everything can flow properly. He does a LOT, but I kept thinking, it's going to be hard, but I can manage. It will be OK.
Until I realized that,when I wake up in the middle of the night (I always do), that he won't be curled up in his blanket on his side of the bed.
My eyes welled up and my throat started to burn. Of all the things he does and is, having him there at night, making me feel safe and not alone, that is what I'm going to miss the most.
I know I can do this-- I won't hold him back from what he wants.
Last Sunday we tried making gluten-free crepes for the first time.
I mixed the batter up and Keith made the actual crepes.
They were good-- the boys never knew they were different. Keith and I noticed they were a little sweeter and grainer than usual. Keith said they weren't as supple. All around, though, it was nice to be able to have crepes again!