15 nov 2004
The Election
by Nanci Olesen
It’s been a week since we learned
who our president will be in January. I
can’t
pretend like the news isn’t
devastating to me. I don’t feel compelled
to turn MOMbo into a political website.
I know you have plenty of places to find
what you need to find in terms of encouragement,
retaliation and commiseration. You may
also be seeking celebration! How can I
know?
It’s okay for me to have my political
views and for you to have yours, right? We must work for what we believe
in. I may change my mind about what I need
to express here. For now I’m
choosing to follow my political beliefs
and to not make this website a platform
for those beliefs. I may change my mind!
It’s my first daughter’s birthday
today. She’s eleven. It wasn’t
long ago that we held her in our arms.
She was a screamer when she was born. She
was a full lunged girl with flailing arms
and
legs and a scream that was awe inspiring.
She came out fast in a flood of pain and
fire. I held her, moments after she was
born, and my husband and I remarked, “My.
She’s LOUD!!!” We laughed,
feebly. It felt like her birth ripped me
in half.
I still remember the pain. Sometimes people
say that you forget the pain of childbirth.
I have never forgotten the pain of childbirth.
The birth of each of my children is stamped
on my brain, my heart, and my body... and
I like it that way.
Last night I carried
my first daughter to her bed. She had been
sitting on my lap. We had been talking
about how to fill your heart with love,
like warm chocolate fudge, and let it flow
all around the very center of your heart
so that you can feel it through your whole
body and up into your mind. We talked about
letting anger and confusion drift out of
your heart. We talked about regret and
guilt and hurt feelings. We talked about
sorting out those emotions and letting
them leave your heart so that there would
only be room for love. She started to get
tired
while I was talking and I knew it was my
chance to lift her gently into her bed.
She’s heavy now.
It was hard to carry her. I sort of heaved
her onto the bed, as gently as I could,
and hoped I hadn’t hurt my
lower back in the process. I sang to her
and to her sister. Then I left the room
and stumbled downstairs, to sit at the
kitchen table with my husband. The years
are flying by. We talked about the details
for today: breakfast in bed, a cake to
bring to her aunt’s house for
the birthday party we would have there,
and lemon bars to make for her to share
with her classmates the next day. The slumber
party is Friday night. Nine girls, all
eleven years old, are coming right after
school to have a party and sleep in our
basement. The years are flying by. I no
longer have to make extensive party plans.
The girls just come over, act really loud
and gregarious for hours on end, and then
fall asleep. We’ll order pizza. The
years are flying by.
—Nanci Olesen
producer and host, MOMbo: 1990-2007 |
