March Like a Pussy

I brought Hannah to the Boston Women’s March for America today. If I were to rank the parenting significance of this experience, it was easily among the top ten. Showing her the power of voice and collective action. You know, right up there with potty training.

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We saw so many fantastic signs:

Grab Him By The Putin

Betsy DeVos likes Nickelback

You Can’t Comb Over Sexism

Make America Think Again

Keep Your Rosaries off My Ovaries

And my favorite:

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Some other signs – in any other circumstance – would not be okay for a child’s eyes. In this era of brazenness, however, the conversation needs to happen if we’re going to put the weight of this world on the shoulders of our kids. My kids. Hannah asked me about abortion and compassion. She asked what all the “pussy” meant. A girl who loves karaoke, forts, and simple (normal) kid stuff. I exhaled. And then explained how our president (our fucking PRESIDENT) used the word to demean women and why us women need to own that word now. Because we get final say over what happens to our own pussies. She then put two and two together and had a good laugh over how clever all those pussyhats were. Also:

She heard a poet laureate use the word “nigger.”

She heard about Muslims and a national registry.

She heard our Senator say NRA should stand for “Not Relevant Any more.”

She heard talk of slavery and suffrage.

She heard a stranger thank me for bringing my daughter.

She heard many more strangers say “I love your shirt!”

She heard a whole hell of a lot about equal rights and science and all that libtard gold.

[Can I just point out that this is some heavy lifting for a single day of parenting? Excuse me while I sip this glass of wine…]

At dinner, Ken asked her what the best and worst parts of the day were and she said “the speeches” (best!) and “leaving” (worst!). Because along with all that we have to be angry about and concerned over, she also heard over 100,000 people cheer and roar and laugh and talk and love on one another. At one point, a group of older women formed a semi-circle around her and cheered her on as a symbol of hope for our future (welp!). We’ve got work to do. Today feels like day one of a tactical war that smart, compassionate, stubborn people will win. Hannah will fit right in. #pussyup #knowledgeispower

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by debralmurphy on January 21, 2017 • Permalink

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Posted by debralmurphy on January 21, 2017

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Full Circle

Every Sunday morning for the past year I’ve gone for a walk along the seafront. My version of church. I set out this morning for the last of these walks in Northern Ireland before we move back to Boston in three days. The podcast I happened to listen to was about the DV visa lottery, which is exactly how Ken was awarded his green card 17 years ago. How poetic.

When our journey here began, I wrote “10 Unromantic Things about Moving Abroad.” Man, has my perspective changed. We’ve had our ups and downs, sure, but this experience isn’t one the average person gets to have. Which I’ve implored on our kids at every opportunity (starving kids in Africa! people who never leave Massachusetts!). I’m sure our memories will get more rose colored as the years pass, but right now, I just feel grateful to be a slightly more global citizen.

This time around, ten romantic things about living abroad:

Having an adventure, as a family. We’ve seen some of Europe’s most beautiful sights. Together. Although each trip was tinged with colors of parenthood (e.g., as we descended into Paris, I held the barf bag while 5yo filled it), my bucket list is shorter.
Confidently navigating a new country/city/neighborhood (on the wrong side of the road). I never took the local driving test, but I unofficially became a competent driver when I pulled off a kick ass parallel parking job. Why, yes, I did high five myself.
Working in a different time zone. While this still (for the most part) blowed, there were perks. Namely:
Your lunch time was my 5 o’clock somewhere.
Working in yoga pants. I feel like I’m about to reenter the workforce after an extended maternity leave. I have to wear pants with buttons again? And makeup? My comfy clothes rotation of three outfits vastly simplified the morning routine.
Childcare. We secured a babysitter who didn’t judge our late night, drunk asses, and an after school program where everyone cried on the last day. Their teachers were caring and sharp. The world is full of people who love kids. Which makes me just feel better about human beings.
The food. Despite my Keurig withdrawal, I’ve come to love our French press. Pizza in Italy, wine in France, tapas in Spain. I’m equal parts ruined and refined. That said, I can’t wait to get me some proper Mexican food.
Being the foreigner. The U S of A has its problems (Trump for president [cough, gag, cough] – WTF America?!), but living in a different country has reenforced my gratitude for where I was raised.
My other half. The whole reason for us being here was a professional opportunity for Ken. He took it, owned it, and punted it right through the goal post. This experience challenged us, but after nearly 20 years together (gulp), marriage needs a good kick in the ass, right?
The weather. I’m going to try REALLY HARD to be positive about this one. [tapping fingers…] Okay, so we didn’t get a crap load of snow. Yay. Now can it STOP FUCKING RAINING for ONE WHOLE DAY, please?! And the constant dreary gray chill? No wonder the Irish drink.
I discovered The Good Wife and binge watched my way through 100+ episodes. Thank you, Netflix, for keeping me company on all those nights Ken was working.

No goodbyes, just a “till next time, Belfast.” You’ve been warm with your people and cool with your pints; beautiful with your coastline and humbling with your history. My heart and mind are bigger. xx

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It Takes a Village, Idiot

At some point, living here in Belfast turned from novelty into normal. The trademark terraced houses with their Mary Poppins chimney stacks are no longer unique, they’re just a part of our neighborhood. And the smell of peat fires wafting through the damp winter air (one of the best smells on earth) is ever present, but nothing remarkable. The cashiers at Tesco have stopped asking me about America and how I like it here. I must have reverted back to my default resting bitch face instead of my “I’M NEW HERE!!” grin.

We’re just past the mid-way point in our year abroad and, as I suppose is normal, all sorts of people have entered our lives. When you move somewhere knowing it’s only temporary, you approach new relationships in two vastly different ways:

Tip toe. Like wading in the shallow end, there’s a trepidation about fully committing to anyone because you know you’ll be gone again in just a short while.
Jump right in. There’s no time to waste, so when you meet someone and clique you immediately ~~stalk~~ friend that person on Facebook.

As an independent (solitary?) person, I’m perfectly happy being alone, anywhere, at any time (and, boy, did having kids add a reenforcing exclamation point to that). Turns out, though, that being alone is different from being lonely. Who knew?! With a husband who is eternally tethered to work and two “strong willed” (but lovely, I swear) children – I had no escape plan. I work from home, have no family nearby, and the thought of making new friends when I often fail to prioritize the ones I already have? Commence pity party, table for one. But then? Then I stumbled upon this:

People with strong and broad social relationships are happier, healthier and live longer… Broader networks bring a sense of belonging. So taking action to strengthen our relationships and build connections is essential for happiness.

Once I was able to extract myself from the woe-is-me bucket, I could more clearly see that (duh) I AM part of a little village here. And it’s nice. And apparently necessary. Our sweet neighbors are like adopted grandparents to the kids, our chatty babysitter doesn’t judge when we ~~stumble~~ arrive home from the pub, the folks at the gym practically know my life story (better than the barmen, right?), and the kids have fantastic teachers and cutie pie friends.

The best part, though? I’ve met some pretty incredible women over the past seven months. (You know I love me some women.) They run the spectrum from stay at home mamas to working mamas, from child free to retirees. All of them smart, most of them funny, and some of them now friends (only the funny ones, obv). You build your own community. You create your own happiness. And with just six months to go, only a village idiot would neglect the opportunity to more fully embrace her temporary tribe.