Dancing With Daughters

Last night I committed a sin, a major sin, according to my 15 and a half-year old daughter. She didn’t tell me in words; she didn’t have to. I was in the bedroom listening to music that I like, feeling happy and I started to dance. Alone. It was just one of those moments when I felt energetic enough to do some minor dancing by myself, Ellen Degeneres style.  Having Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, an auto-immune disease, and Fibromyalgia, I don’t feel this way all too often. Methotrexate, one of the drugs I am taking twice a week is also a total kill joy. That night, however, I was given a break and I celebrated. I felt good!

On the way out of my daughter’s room she passed me, stopped, and gave me the dirtiest look I have received to date, complete with the eye roll upwards and “the look.” You know which look I mean, moms and dads, the look of hate and utter disgust.  Why? I guess because I am a “mom” and  I embarrassed her. To quote my daughter:” it was weird.” Why?  It’s NOT as if all my daughter’s friends were over or that we were in public. I was in my soft, pretty white nightgown that had petite fir- green flowers printed on it (probably the first major mistake) and happily swaying to the music from The Black Eyed Peas. I wasn’t EVEN listening to John Denver or Josh Groban, this was a bona fide group that she likes.

Yet this afternoon when my daughter was asked to go to a movie this evening with her friend, she trudged into my room asking me to give her a few reasons (hint, hint, I don’t want to go) why I wouldn’t “allow” her to go. I suggested a few things which did not suit her, and then she suddenly looks happier and says “I know! I’ll tell her you’re really annoying and that you are freaking out about all the snow we are getting.”  Mission accomplished, glad I could be of help, dear. “You’re welcome” I shouted and she glanced back at me all golden blonde hair swinging down her back, brilliant blue eyes and Forever 21 outfit and replies somewhat sheepishly: “thanks.” No problem.

I know, I know, hormones mixed with the emotional turmoil of having an embarrassing mom (didn’t we all have one of those?”) combined with the separation process. I get it. I understand it on a rational and psychological level. It doesn’t mean I have to like it  but I accept it (face it, what choice do I have?).

The next time my illness or the dreaded Methotrexate medicine gives me a reprieve, I will continue to dance to the music that makes me happy. And when I do, I will wear my 1970’s  faded neon orange T-shirt that my husband gave me and my flannel pink and rose flowered pajama pants. My door will be wide open and my voice will be loud and clear and strong.

Political Pop Cop: John and Elizabeth Edwards (Repost)

Image via Wikipedia

1/29/10

Come here John Edwards and your little baby too! Wait. How’s this instead? Come here John Edwards and bring your sex video tape too. Does it sound like the Wicked Witch of the West running after Dorothy and little Toto? Great, it’s supposed to. Herewith are the makings  of a very dirty, dramatic soap opera filled with love triangles, babies out-of-wedlock, political conniving, incurable diseases and a sex tape…..which are unfortunately and undeniably true. Allegedly.

I have to begin by declaring that I never liked John Edwards. I  got bad vibes from him right from the start. It was something about his slick hair and apple-polished face.  I was never a fan and can’t really say why except for something in the guy turned me off, he had a disingenuous feel about him; I didn’t trust him, nothing more, nothing less.  Later this personal  assessment was proven; this asshole decided to run on the Presidential ticket right about the time that his (as we thought then) precious wife was diagnosed with terminable cancer. Is it fair to judge his political expertise on that? No?  Sorry, I did.  The second he didn’t drop out of the Presidential race because his wife had cancer, he was lost to me. Gone. Done. No Do- overs.   I did not want a man to run this country who wouldn’t want to be with his dying wife.  Priorities. Oh, Poor Elizabeth, I tsked. Poor, poor Elizabeth. I truly felt sorry for this remarkable woman whose personal courage resonated in every part of me.  Until….

I read that Elizabeth Edwards and her dear hubby John, both used her illness as STRATEGY for his campaign.  “Let’s use your cancer diagnosis, we’ll get the sympathy vote.”( I’m paraphrasing.) What the hell? They used the “C” word, cancer,  to work for them in his campaign?   That’s low , in my opinion, not to mention tacky and heartless.   It’s enough that I never liked him but now her too? She was pushing for this strategy?  Oh no, tell me she didn’t!

This might be too much for my sensitive  soul to take. I am running on emotional disgust fumes. Don’t like liars. Don’t like manipulators.  On the other hand, I generally don’t like snitches but actually, in this case, I do. The snitches aka best friend and campaign manager, told the public, the truth. (Do I have to say allegedly again?)

I forgave Bill Clinton, I decided his private life  was his business. I wasn’t thrilled when Monica Lewinsky found foster care in  his office but I did not write him off. After all, that is one  intense family and I know there is more to it than meets the eye.  It was not my business (not that this is) and Bill was in office already when his state of “affairs” become more complicated.

John Edwards is now a new baby daddy.  I can even, somewhat remotely, forgive a mistake BUT NOT  this MANY and not with INTENT and MANIPULATION.   He blamed his “fertility” on his friend and supposedly wanted to dupe the public with a fake diaper DNA test. I don’t even know how you can do that!   Who thought up THIS storyline?

Supposedly,  disgustingly, disturbingly,  John Edwards told his lover that once his wife died they would get married and have their own family and that the Dave Matthews band would play at their wedding. Is that even believable?  Really, you can’t get lower than that. Just hearing that makes me crazy and I can’t get rid of the image in my head and I have tried really hard!

John, you blew it, big time.  Elizabeth, I still feel sorry for you that you have cancer but I would feel that way for anyone struggling with that horrid disease.   I read that when Elizabeth Edwards heard about the love child that Johnny  had with his lover “it made her throw up.” After reading about your escapades and writing about them, I know the feeling all too well. Both of you make me want to throw up.