Outrage

This story is all over the news here.

Sofia Salva was pulled over by police about a year ago. She is seen on video telling the police officers (one of whom is female) that she is pregnant and bleeding. Over and over again she tells them that she is pregnant and bleeding. She even offers to let them check her underwear.

The officers' response: "How is that my problem?"

Salva was arrested on several outstanding warrants and traffic violations and taken to jail where she was denied medical treatment. When she was released the following day she went to the hospital where her baby boy was born prematurely. He survived for 60-seconds.

In the video you can clearly see Salva's distress and her compliance with the officers. She offered no resistance other than her verbal assertions that she was pregnant and bleeding. Why was an ambulance not called? Why didn't they escort her to the hospital? Why didn't she receive treatment in jail? What the hell is wrong with the people at the Kansas City Police Department?

I all but guarantee that Salva, a black immigrant, wouldn't have endured such treatment (or, rather, lack thereof) had she been a white woman.

Bitch Ph.D. has a fantastic post about the rights of women in police custody, "'Bad' Women Have Rights Too". I'm ashamed to say I hadn't given the subject much thought until reading her post. I encourage you to go there and read it.

The disdainful negligence shown by officers Melody Spencer and Kevin Schnell is repugnant. "Protect and serve" now seems a particularly laughable motto for KCPD. They did nothing of the sort.

Answer the question

Today on NPR they aired an interview with reporter Juan Williams and President Bush. If you want to read the whole transcript or hear the entire interview, click here.

MR. WILLIAMS: All right. You know, you mentioned timetables. NPR has a reporter embedded with the Minnesota National Guard in Iraq, and one of the soldiers there asked the question – says, my name is Specialist Ryan Schmidt from Forest Lake, Minnesota, and my question for you, Mr. President, is what if your plan for a troop surge to Baghdad does not work

PRESIDENT BUSH: Well, I would say to Ryan, I put it in place on the advice of a lot of smart people, particularly the military people who think it will work, and let us go into this aspect of the Iraqi strategy feeling it will work. But I will also assure Ryan that we're constantly adjusting to conditions on the ground.

MR. WILLIAMS: Let's talk about Iran for a second, Mr. President.

PRESIDENT BUSH: And let me also say to Ryan, thanks for serving. I mean, one of the amazing things about our country is that we have people who volunteer to go. And one of the things I look for is whether or not we're able to recruit and retain, and we are. And it's a remarkable country, Juan, where people are saying I want to serve. And I appreciate that soldier, and I hope this message gets to him that not only do I appreciate him, but a lot of Americans appreciate him.

In other words, boys and girls, Bush doesn't have a fucking clue. His big Save the Day Strategy for Iraq is based on a "feeling." Yeah, I get a feeling too. Every time I need to poop.

Someone tell me, please, when in the hell is a reporter going to hold Bush accountable for answering a damned question? No tap dancing. No evasive maneuvers. None of his coy off the cuff remarks but a real honest-to-God answer?

Journalism no longer exists in this country. It's been replaced by the media.

Dammit!

I had a pretty good post all ready for my half-dozen readers- a bit too introspective but decent reading nonetheless. I clicked to spell check, Blogger went down and with it went my post. I'm far too annoyed to re-write so it'll have to wait until tomorrow.

Wouldn't you quit after dog 3 or 4?

This snake ate 11 dogs.

Enjoy this odd little nugget from The New Straits Times.

Acceptance and appearance

Appearances are important. At least as far as my mother is concerned.

My mother is very, very worried about appearances. As a child I was always perfectly dressed no matter what the occasion: play, shopping, dinner out- my clothing was coordinated from head to toe. Mom began curling my hair when I was tiny. Before I had enough hair to curl I wore bonnets whenever we went out so people would know I was a girl. Appearances were very important.

True story: early one morning when I was six-years old, I cut my arm on a broken mirror. The cut was bad enough that it required 15 stitches- inside and out. Before taking me to the emergency room Mom took enough time to put make-up on. She couldn't be seen without her make-up. Appearances, you may recall, are very important.

I'm not so concerned about what I look like. Oh sure, I bathe and wear deodorant. I like my clothes pressed (enough to be wrinkle free). I usually wear make-up and brush my hair. However, I have no problem going out in sweats, sans make-up with unbrushed hair pulled back in a sloppy pony tail. I don't care. This act of defiance drives my mother crazy.

My children are not always perfectly dressed. One afternoon the kids and I met my mom at the garden center. JP had dressed himself that morning in orange and navy striped clam diggers, an orange Cars shirt with gray sleeves, electric blue shoes (with orange soles) and royal blue socks with multi-colored cars all over them. He looked mismatched but adorable and was very, very proud of the outfit he picked out. My mom was not happy at all. She couldn't believe I had let JP wear such an outfit, much less leave the house in it. Lest you forget, appearances are important.

I never felt like I could do anything well-enough to please my mom and the need for perfection caused issues down the line that will be discussed, in detail, in another post. I love my mom but this need for everything to be "just so" was, and sometimes is, her major downfall as a parent.

I want my kids to grow up knowing that even if they are mismatched clothes, I still love them and what matters more than anything is that they be happy with the choices they make in life. If they choose to do it in clashing shades of orange and blue, so be it. This mama doesn't think appearances are all that important.

Shame on his parents

In case you missed it, earlier this month 15-year old Shawn Hornbeck returned home after being kidnapped four-years earlier.

For reasons I still don't understand this kid has been paraded through press conferences and the Oprah show. What is wrong with his parents? Why, after Hornbeck has endured years of hell, would they do that to him? What was achieved by having him interviewed by Oprah? Am I the only person that finds their behavior slightly appalling?

Barack Obama sent me an e-mail!

Okay, so it was a mass e-mail but it started, "Dear Mr. Tonks and Tonks..." and was signed by the man himself!!! For reasons I can't explain this thrills me to no end. If you would like to receive your own e-mail from Obama, click here.

On a related topic, Mr. Tonks has yet to make my RUN, OBAMA, RUN sign. If he doesn't do it soon I'm going to be forced to make something crude and embarrassing. Mr. Tonks, you see, has unbelievable artistic talent. I do not.

Oh to zone out

My mind goes constantly. In a million different directions at all time of the day and night. It doesn't matter what I'm doing and it seems to be worse the older I (and the kids) get.

I think about what we got SG for her second birthday and the paper I want to use to wrap it. What tasks I've yet to accomplish and what I might actually be able to get done. I ponder what I want to do when my baby starts preschool. Do I want to go back to school? Get a job? Dare I venture into the world of theatre again? I ponder all the things that JP has done during the day that made me laugh. My moments of being a piss poor mother and wishing I could take them back. The times when I've been an awesome mom inspire me to create more moments to relish. I have trouble falling asleep at night because I'm mentally composing a submission to Newsweek and keep asking myself if I really, really want to reveal a part of my life to millions of readers. Money issues abound, as I think they do with everyone. My mind races around all the projects I want to do to our house- which is really quite perfect as it is (except for the lack of garage). Is SG for the children's day out program next year? Where is JP's rocket lunch box? The list goes on and on and on all day.

I've always been like this but lately it's getting intrusive. It's not as though I think I have adult ADD or anything like that but, damn! I just wish I could turn down my own thoughts for five minutes. To my handful of readers: any thoughts?

Tonks' take on the State of the Union Address

Bullshit. Rhetoric. Some "feel good" American stories followed by a little more rhetoric and a lot more bullshit.

My kudos to Nancy Pelosi for not smacking Bush in the head. I'm not sure I could've shown as much restraint.

She won't remember this, right?

As previously mentioned, my chances for being awarded Mother of the Year were pretty slim. Until today. I effectively knocked myself out of the running...and damn near knocked SG out in the process.

On Tuesdays JP is in preschool all day so SG and I usually come home and play, cuddle and enjoy some uninterrupted time together. Today we were on the floor playing and I was picking her up by her hips and sort of swinging her around. I was making goofy faces and weird noises and SG was laughing hysterically.

As the old saying goes, it's all fun and games until someone gets hurt.

SG thought her mama was terribly funny. So funny, in fact, that she felt the need to throw her head back and laugh.

I dropped her and she hit the floor* horribly hard. I apologized like crazy, feeling like a terrible mother and wising I'd never started that game. She was fine (it hurt and there were lots of tears but no lasting damage). I retrieved all her comfort objects (blanket, pacifier and bear) and she snuggled up and took her nap on my chest.

Later, we were at my parents' and my mom was playing with SG's hair when SG said, "Ouch" and rubbed the spot that had been bonked a few hours earlier. "Does your head hurt," asked The Grandma. "What happened?" SG looked my mother square in the eye and said, "Mama dropped."

The upside is I now know her brain wasn't completely addled. My concern now is that she'll remember this incident forever.

*The floor in the living room is hardwood covered by a rug. It's a wonder the poor baby didn't bounce a little.

Hey, Phill Kline!

You are not above the law.

This guy is a smarmy, smarmy bastard who will trod on the rights of anyone he damn well pleases in order to further his own political agenda.

Oh, and while I'm at it, shame on the Johnson County officials who elected this guy into office- after over 60% of the people living in said county voted against him as state attorney general. Why on earth would you think we'd want him as a government official in our county?

I freaking hate Phill Kline.

Friendships

The last year has been a bit odd in term of friendships. A friendship that had been dead for six-years was most surprisingly resurrected and the subsequent relationship is quite good. Another relationship, a friendship I'd had since I was a wee first grader, is a rotting corpse with little hope for revival.

In regards to the latter, it sucks. As an only child I have lost the person that I spent my childhood with, an individual that I've come to regard as something of a surrogate sister and best friend. We have endured more together in the last 20-years than many people encounter during a marriage and she knows, nay knew, me better than anyone- Mr. Tonks included.

The sense of loss has been profound, as though she has somehow died.

I'll not get into the intricacies of the downfall of our friendship, they're not important nor are they entirely known to me. Facts were revealed about the other that were not exactly pleasing to either. I don't think she realized just how liberal I was; I didn't realize what a terrific non-liberal she is. Respect was lost on both sides. Life happened and the chasm between us deepened.

It all culminated over the course of less than half a dozen heated e-mails and *poof* our friendship was no more. Her choice, not mine. Frankly, I didn't get much of a say in the matter. I had hoped that we could possibly reconnect during the holidays, a time of year that was always special to us and our children. But it was not meant to be. I'll take the blame on that one.

While I miss her very much and thought often of trying to connect with her, I'm still angry. I'm angry that she has a baby I've yet to hold. I'm angry she ignored JP's (who still utterly adores her) birthday without so much as a card. I'm angry she wasn't there to talk to when I had dozens of questions while going through a miscarriage last month. I'm angry that I can't let bygones be bygones and try to start anew. I'm angry that I'm enough like my mother that I'll be able to hold onto this grudge for years and that I'm still so hurt by her actions I can't be big enough to make the first move. But mostly I'm angry that I missed the obvious disintegration of a relationship that I cherished with all my heart- and I have no idea where to start with fixing it.

The whole situation is frustrating and sad but there's not much to be done now. It is what it is: a smelly, festering cadaver that I can't seem to get rid of...or over.

RUN, OBAMA, RUN!!!

Barack Obama has formed a presidential exploratory committee. I, for one, want to know where I can purchase my Obama for President yard sign.

Can you hear that sound?

It's the sound of me banging my head against the very, very cold window because there isn't a chance in hell that we're going outside to play tomorrow. Or the day after (please God, don't let them cancel preschool). Or, in all likelihood, for the rest of the week. Shit.

I'm just not feeling it

In spite of the fact that there is plenty out there for me to blog about (Phill Kline, our megalomaniac president, personal stuff), I'm lakcing all inspiration to do anything other than stay in my pajamas, whine about how nasty it is outside (sleet, snow, rain, ick), and keep the Tonklings as entertained as possible.

During my interim funk, here's a shot of the dragon JP and I made yesterday. Pretty cool, no?

Do something

I'm in such a snit about GWB's "plan" for Iraq that I can't even find the words for my own tirade.

In the meantime, this petition comes to us via Snowqueen (with many thanks to her from yours truly). I encourage you to sign it.

You're also encouraged to get out and let your voice be heard. On Wednesday evening Mr. Tonks and I signed up to join a local anti-war group in peaceful demonstrations. Enough is enough.

Bored games

Between bath time and teeth brushing time chaos reigns supreme. There's streaking and shrieking and lots of running.

Tonight I decided to stage a preemptive strike on the madness and encourage them to play board games with me.

I broke out a new game- you probably played it as a child (I did not). Chutes and Ladders.

What a ridiculously long game! JP loved it, of course, and was thrilled every time he landed on a chute (which was a lot) or ladder. After 10-minutes of never making it off of the first half of the board, I started to cheat. I'd nudge the spinner to avoid a number requiring us to land on a chute or skip a space so he would land on a ladder (thus getting us closer to the end of the game). In spite of my cheating it still took another 15-minutes to finish. JP won. As karma would have it, I kept landing on the damn chutes.

Tomorrow night we're playing Cariboo. We all like that game.

A cast of characters update

I simply cannot keep referring to my son as Raymond. Yes, he reminds me of the Jerry McGuire kid but Raymond also makes me think of Robert DeNiro in "Rain Man." From here on out we shall refer to my eldest kiddo as JP. The littlest kiddo will be SG.

There, that's better!

On feminism

As A White Bear said, she and I recently talked at length about feminism. It wasn't until recently that I discovered my feminist side. Nor did I realize having a feminist side was necessary.

Growing up I wasn't aware that there was such a thing as "boy toys" and "girl toys," to me there were just toys. In most neighborhoods we lived in, I had only boys to play with. I remember playing with He-Man, Hot Wheels, Transformers and GI Joe at my friends' houses. We rode bikes, played outside and had fun. The fact that I was a girl didn't matter.

I had one girl friend, before entering elementary school, and she was a girly girl. She loved Barbie dolls and other girly crap. I hated Barbie dolls. One afternoon she thought she manipulated me into playing Barbie dolls by allowing me to play with her brand new Skipper doll. When her back was turned I yanked Skipper's head off. We quit playing with the Barbies after that.

When I entered high school I got involved in activities where my gender wasn't an issue: debate, forensics, theatre, journalism. I was an equal because I worked my ass off to be that way- just like everyone else. My friends (my theatre family) were awesome. We were all on the same playing field. I wasn't "just a girl," I was Tonks.

It wasn't until after college that I started encountering people that thought I was somehow less capable simply because I had a vagina. Note that I didn't use the word "men." I've encountered several asses and, after overcoming my initial shock and being talked down to, I'm perfectly content to tell them to shut-up. It's the women that still floor me and leave me grasping for words.

The worst offenders are the suburban mommies. The women who reinforce strict gender roles on preschoolers. The women who are the consummate housewives who cringe at the thought of having their husband pull his weight around the house. The women who feel it necessary to make motherhood a competitive (and hateful) sport. The women who treat their daughters like tiny dolls, dress them as such, and balk at allowing them to be dirty. The women who are unwittingly raising their sons to be the next generations of vile misogynists. These women make me crazy...and sad.

When A White Bear began her blog a year ago I was blissfully unaware of the need to be a feminist. I read her blog religiously, started reading Bitch and others and realized how unfortunately stupid I was! I don’t pretend to be well-schooled on feminism- I’m still educating myself on the subject. The fact is though, I am a feminist. I’m married to a feminist and I’m raising little tiny feminists- they don’t know it yet, but they’ll appreciate it the future.

There goes my Mother of the Year Award

The intent was to have a quiet day. The kids and I were in sweats, lounging in our bed watching Diego, reading books and folding laundry. JP wandered into the kitchen and, in the 15-seconds he wasn't in my direct line of vision, took a knife out of the butcher's block and slit his hand open. Stitches weren't necessary, the wound was glued shut at the ER. The lesson, however, will probably last a lifetime. On the way home he announced that he will "never, ever play with knives again." Oh, and when asked WHY he played with the knife in the first place? "I was feeling curious."

Take it outside!

This is a shocking revelation, I know, but kids learn better when they put down the remote, mouse, game control, etc. and go OUTSIDE!

For the parents who have concerns about their children's safety while tramping through the woods, playing in a creek or running up a dirt mound, I have a small piece of advice: Put on your grubbies and go with them.

Another reason to hate Toys 'R Us

Toys 'R Us apparently doesn't have a problem with taking candy from a baby- almost literally.

The chain store giant ran a contest for the first baby born in 2007 to be awarded $25,000. The fine print (who actually reads that stuff?) stated that the mother had to be a citizen of the U.S. Baby Yuki Lin was awarded the prize and then had it taken away after the folks at Toys 'R Us realized her mother was actually a Chinese citizen. They then took the money and gave it to the "runner-up" - the only baby of the three “finalists” born to American parents. Public outrage, media scrutiny and boycott threats were enough for the company to relent and re-gift the money to (how tacky!) Yuki Lin. To cover all their bases they allowed the runner-up baby to keep its money and also gave $25,000 to the "second runner-up" whose parents are residents of El Salvador.

What kind of spineless suit would have the chutzpah to do that? If they were able to fact check after the money was awarded, why didn’t they do it before? Not only that but everybody knows that you don’t mess around with a woman whose postpartum hormones are raging.

I'm not going to get into competitive birthing. Ew. The whole idea behind this sweepstakes makes my stomach churn.

Shame on you, Toys 'R Us! I didn't need any more incentive to avoid your stores, the nasty return policy was more than enough, but you could give away Nintendo Wiis* and I still wouldn't show up.

*For reasons I can't articulate, I really, really, really want a Nintendo Wii.

The characters I live with

Mr. Tonks- my husband. We've been married 6 1/2-years and together for nearly nine years.

JP- my son, he's four.

SG- my daughter, she'll be two next month.

Tonks- me.

And you're here why?

Blame A White Bear.

Twice a year I get to see this fabulous woman and I always leave our encounters invigorated. "You should have a Mommy blog," she told me this evening. Here it is, nearly 1 a.m., and I'm starting my Mommy Blog.

Wait! Wait! Wait!

Ugh, a Mommy Blog: spit-up, diapers, mini-vans. Boring.

Not this Mommy.

I am learning, now that my oldest is in preschool, that I am not a typical suburban mommy. I'm a feminist. I'm a liberal. I'm outspoken. I refuse to dress my children in ultra chic and expensive* clothes, I can't be bothered to participate in the mommy rat race and I find "keeping up with the Jones'" (an all-too-prevalent event in the mommy rat race) to be ridiculous.

Part of the reason why I relish my time with A White Bear is because she's not a mom. We talk about politics, religion, women's rights, school...and it is entirely refreshing. I'm hoping to recreate, to some extent, that environment here.

So, welcome, let's get Into the Thick of It.

*Okay, I admit that occasionally I'll spend an obscene amount of money (in my world that's in the $50 range) on something disgustingly cute for the kiddos. Usually it's a birthday splurge or for a special occasion.