Since I couldn't march, I ran.
Instead of taking to the streets and demonstrating, I was taking my kids to swimming lessons. Then I took them to get bagels. Then I put the littlest one down for a nap and washed the kitchen floor by hand. I helped the older two build tunnels out of chairs. I read the news and scanned the pictures that friends shared on Instagram, Facebook and twitter. Next, I took the kids outside and let them play in the mud. I made dinner (half of which was eaten, the other half thrown on the newly cleaned floor) and brownies from scratch. I ran a few loads of laundry, but haven't folded them yet. Finally I took the kids upstairs to bed and fought with them for an hour until they remained in their beds.
It seems odd that one year ago I marched with my daughter, vowing to fight for her future. Twelve months have passed and so much has changed- I returned to full-time work out of the home, began working toward a second career, came out about my personal experience with sexual assault, engaged in so many wonderful, deep, and challenging conversations, and I feel so much more connected to the world around me. I also feel a greater sense of responsibility to be out there and active in the difficult work taking place. Yet, here I sit at home, drinking a beer to congratulate myself on not hitting my kids when they really pissed me off and pushed me to the limit tonight.
The movement is here is to stay, and I know that there will be days when I can be a more active and present participant. In the meantime, today I talked to my boys about consent and making sure you always ask before you touch a friend and that if someone tells you to stop, honor their request. I also squeezed in a quick run while the boys had their swim lessons, because this movement for equality is going to take a lot of work and I need to build up my strength and endurance.
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