Birthday Weekend Extravaganza

I probably should have written a post on Friday, but I was still too in shock over the realization that I was now the mother of an eight year old. Cordy’s birthday was Friday and I spent the early morning just staring at her and wondering where all of the time went.

You mean she’s not a baby anymore?

Eight feels so much more grown up than seven. She’s crossing that threshold into big kid now (I can’t even think of the word tween yet) which is both exciting and frightening. Cordy gained so many new skills in the past year and pushes for more independence, but at the same time she’s still so very innocent and unsure of the world.

We didn’t have an official party for her this year. She doesn’t really like parties. Besides, we had a big reunion of friends to attend on Saturday – including several kids she’s friends with – so we were happy to combine occasions and just bring a cake with us to the gathering. Then on Sunday we had family visiting, so Cordy had the chance to celebrate her birthday with them, too.

Instead of one day of celebrating, it turned into a weekend-long birthday extravaganza.

On Friday, after she received a few presents from us, we took her out to dinner at her favorite restaurant with her uncle and aunt. As we sat down and the server handed us menus, Cordy got her attention and brightly exclaimed, “Hi, it’s my birthday today, but please don’t sing to me!” She has never liked people singing to her – it’s a sensory issue she’s had since she was young. Singing to her usually results in her hiding under a table for awhile.

Thankfully, the server understood, and when the meal was done she quietly slipped Cordy a hot fudge sundae and a balloon with no crowd of servers to sing at her. And so dinner ended with everyone happy and Cordy still in her seat and not under the table.

On Saturday we made the drive up to northern Ohio to spend the day with friends. The house we go to is just outside of a small town, with lots of backyard to run and play in. What started as a semi-warm, sunny day quickly turned into rain for over an hour. After it stopped, the kids quickly ran outside again, ignoring the drop in temperature. (How do their small bodies keep from freezing?) It wasn’t long before we were all being ordered by the kids to come outside and see the amazing sky.

The kids were right:

You could see both ends of the rainbow.

Completely unedited photos shot with my iPhone.

As we marveled at the most beautiful rainbow I’ve ever seen, Cordy ran to me and said, “Look, mommy! The sky gave me a rainbow for my birthday! That’s such a nice gift!” She was right, it was a lovely gift.

On Sunday the festivities continued. Aaron took Cordy and Mira to Chuck E Cheese for an early lunch (another request from Cordy) while I straightened up the house. They came home just as family arrived to spend time with Cordy, and different family members cycled through as the day went on.

As much as she wanted her birthday to last forever, Cordy was also showing signs of overload by mid-day. She spent much of the late afternoon in the dining room working in one of her new workbooks while everyone else was in the living room, and later went to her room to be alone for a bit. I was able to coax her back down before dinner, though.

By 8:30pm, the house was finally quiet again. And I was exhausted. I’m still exhausted. It was great to see friends and family this weekend, but I’m looking forward to spending much of the next few days working by myself.

But Cordy had a great birthday, and that’s what matters the most. Happy birthday to the warrior princess!



I Am Not An Island (And Neither Are You)

I’ve tried to avoid writing all week about the Mitt Romney secret tapes where he essentially stated that nearly half of this country are freeloader victims looking for nothing but a handout. I’ve been engrossed in reading the stories of others, how they represent the 47%, how they have had to rely on assistance at some point or another in their lives, and how it has helped them reach a better place.

I guess this is as good a time as ever for one more story.

There are no tales of being on assistance when I was growing up. We didn’t have much, but my mom worked extremely hard for every penny and we got by. There were some very slim moments, but she was always fully employed and her employer provided very good health insurance for us.

I went to college with the assistance of federal loans and grants, in addition to scholarships I had earned for an excellent academic record and an allowance each year of money that my family had saved for my college education. I needed all of it, and even then I still worked all the way through college to afford a few of the beyond basic items, like a night at the movies or dinner out with friends. Without the federal grants and loans, which covered more than half of the costs of my in-state public school education (go Miami!), I would never have been able to fully afford my college degree.

After college I worked continuously until Mira was born. (That’s nine years from when I graduated college, for reference.) At that point, Aaron had a good job and benefits, and I was making a decent part-time freelance income as a blogger, so I quit my day job to focus on Mira, and on attending nursing school.

And then the summer of 2008 hit, and Aaron was laid off.

Of course, he applied for unemployment. Each of us had worked for most of 13 years at that point, paying our taxes with each paycheck. We couldn’t feel too bad about using the unemployment insurance we had paid into for so many years.

It wasn’t a lot of money, though, and our emergency savings soon ran as dry as the job prospects. We didn’t want to apply for more help, but we had no choice. Our children needed health insurance. We needed food, but also needed money to keep our house and not fall behind on bill payments. We were sinking fast.

And so we applied for food stamps, WIC and Medicaid. There may be several stories out there about people abusing the system and getting benefits they don’t quality for. From our experience, I’d call most of them myths. Never before have we had to produce so much documentation for our situation and jump through so many hoops.

In some ways, we felt glad that the system was set up to make sure it wasn’t grossly abused. On the other hand, it was tremendously difficult to get approved. We were held up several times for missing paperwork, or not enough documentation, or because we were required to visit the office in person, with the children, and wait in a crowded waiting room, to even have a chance at being considered. How much harder would it have been if we were poorer to begin with, without a car or without all of our income documentation?

Aaron’s unemployment and my small part-time blogging income disqualified the entire family for Medicaid, but we still made little enough for only the kids to be covered. The food stamps and WIC covered a large part of our monthly grocery bill, freeing up what little money we had to pay for our mortgage. We made about $1200 a month with Aaron’s unemployment and my freelance income. Our mortgage was $1100 a month.

If it wasn’t for that help, we would have lost everything: our house, our cars, our dignity, our hope. It would have been hard to get a new job with no permanent address or transportation to make it to the interview. Instead, we found ourselves in the safety net provided by our government, dangerously close to the pit beneath us, and looking for a way to climb up and out.

No one wants to stay in that position. Before that, we had been living a semi-secure middle-class life (I’d call it lower middle-class, honestly), and we only wanted to return to that life. And it’s no surprise that for two years, our income was low enough that we paid nothing in income taxes. We were the 47% – we made too little to pay taxes, and we needed government support services to keep our family fed, healthy, and keep the house we were so proud to buy back in 2004.

Did we feel “entitled” to all of this? We didn’t want to be in the position to accept help, but we took it. And I can’t speak for Aaron, but yes, I did feel that I deserved help from my government, just as our taxes in years before were used to help others get back on their feet. I believe that a just and humane government looks out for all of its people, so that no one goes without basic necessities of food, shelter, and health care.

Of course, many of you know the next chapter of this story. The job market did improve, slowly, in 2009 and 2010, and Aaron and I both found jobs again. The first minute we could, we called the agencies and told them we no longer needed assistance. It felt great to do so. We had a hefty income tax bill last year, and we’ll have a smaller bill this year with our employment status changes. I guess that means we’re no longer in the 47% at the moment, but we’re also the exact same people who once were a part of it. Do we deserve to be treated differently because of our income now?

We – like many – didn’t want to be on assistance. It was barely enough to get by and we certainly didn’t live well during those times. The prejudices of strangers also made the emotional stress of a job loss even more difficult.

I will forever remember how I felt standing in the checkout line at Kroger, Cordy by my side and Mira (just a toddler) sitting in the cart, as I grouped the items on the belt to match up with my WIC checks. I was still carrying a little extra weight around the middle at the time, and I remember one older lady in line behind me talking to her friend – loudly enough that I could hear – saying how shameful it was that I was on assistance and had the nerve to have another child while on assistance, too.

Beyond being pissed off that she thought I was pregnant, I was so angry and embarrassed by her judgment of me, when she knew nothing about me or my family’s situation. Because my husband’s government job had been eliminated, and we needed help to cover the basics until he could find another job, we were suddenly a target for shaming, an acceptable demographic to judge and look down on.

I once held my own prejudices about people living off the system, too “lazy” to make an effort to better themselves. Our experience, as well as the experience of so many people that I met when I worked as a nurse, has changed much of my opinion.

The problem isn’t the system, the problem is being off the system. It’s hard to consider taking a job that will pay just enough to remove that safety net from under you, but will still pay so little that you end up being even closer to losing it all. It’s hard to apply for jobs and be told you’re not being considered because you have a college degree and therefore are overqualified, no matter how much you assure them you’re committed, you’ll work hard, and you need the job to support your family.

None of us are an island. We are part of a society, and one purpose of that society should be to ensure a basic standard for all people in that society and work together towards a greater good. (In fact, the definition of society is “a highly structured system of human organization for large-scale community living that normally furnishes protection, continuity, security, and a national identity for its members.”) We depend on each other, and we help each other. I don’t believe this means that some can’t have more than others, but there needs to be a system in place to provide a minimum standard of living. A line in the sand that declares that this society will work together to ensure no child goes without food, or a safe place to sleep, or lose all they have just because of a layoff or a health crisis. 

Just as in a marriage, it’s never an even 50-50 split. Sometimes you’re contributing, sometimes you’re the one needing the contributions. If you have never needed any help from anyone at all, well, I don’t believe you. Everyone needs help from someone else at some point.

If you’ve never needed government assistance, then be thankful instead of bitter that others have needed that assistance that you – and millions of others – help pay for, and pray that karma never finds a way to humble you. Because if karma finds you on that little tropical island for one that you defend so fiercely, you may find yourself eating your words when you can’t afford food.

Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons



Shark Girl Loses A Tooth

I lost my first tooth when I was five years old. Cordy lost her first tooth at five years old, too. So when Mira turned five, I waited to see when her first baby tooth would start to wiggle.

Mira’s excitement at the idea of losing her first tooth has remained high, too. There are many days when she sticks her finger in her mouth, wiggles it back and forth, and shouts, “Mommy! I have a loose tooth!” Of course, every time I’ve checked, not a single tooth has wiggled, even a little bit. (But I usually agreed with her that it did wiggle a little. Can’t crush her hopes.)

It’s been a few weeks since she mentioned loose teeth, and we’ve been too busy for me to think about it. Last weekend, though, she gave me a wide smile as she worked on making a necklace at a community event, and suddenly my gaze was fixed on her teeth.

I thought I saw a little gap between her itty-bitty teeth. “Mira, did you lose a tooth?” I asked her. Her eyes were instantly huge. She gave me the biggest closed-mouth smile she could, and I noticed there was a bit of a gap on either side of one tooth, but not enough for another tooth to be missing.

“Oh, I guess not,” I sighed. “You’ve got a little bit of space around one of your teeth, though. Maybe it’s wiggly?”

It was then that Mira opened her mouth wide to wiggle her tooth and I saw the reason for the space around that tooth: her adult tooth was already coming in, right behind it.

That would be a very impatient adult tooth right behind her lower baby teeth.

I help this kid nearly every day with brushing her teeth. How could I miss another tooth already coming in? Especially one that’s already made it that far and is the size of two baby teeth?

So after we made all of the Shark Girl jokes (because really? You MUST make shark girl jokes when your child is starting to grow a second row of teeth), it was time to get to work on removing that baby tooth. After all, that big tooth needs room to get in there – behind all of the other teeth isn’t a very useful place to be.

It was very loose, and I told Mira if she could just wiggle it endlessly it would probably fall out that day or the next. So she set to work on it, but after a while it hurt and she stopped. I reassured her it would probably fall out the next day. She was a ball of excitement at the thought of losing her first tooth and getting her first visit from the tooth fairy.

That tooth hung on the next day, though. And the day after. She requested apples to eat, brushed it extra-thoroughly, and did everything she could to get it out without actually pulling it out. By last night it couldn’t even stay in line with the other teeth, but wouldn’t come out, either.

During storytime, I asked her if she wanted me to pull it out. She agreed, and I gave it a few tries. Tiny teeth are hard to hold onto with big fingers, though, and I had no luck. “Mommy, I want it out for school pictures tomorrow!” she insisted.

I had to say goodnight to Cordy, so I told Mira she was welcome to keep trying. As I went into the next room and gave Cordy a hug goodnight, I heard Mira yell, “I did it! Mommy, I pulled the tooth out!”

Sure enough, she did. Just in time for school picture day.

We wrapped the tooth in a tissue and placed it in the pouch for the tooth fairy. She woke up this morning and found two dollars in the pouch from the tooth fairy, clipped with two sparkly hair clips for her to wear for picture day.

She assures me this wasn’t her picture day smile.

Now I can’t decide what to do with the tooth. I’ve kept a couple of Cordy’s teeth, but do I really want to keep collecting teeth? Not to mention, this tooth and I have a bad history going way back to when she was four months old. I have some painful memories from that tooth, and it nearly made me give up breastfeeding when she was a baby.

I’m not going to miss it at all. Although I might mourn her cute, straight-teeth smile as I open the savings fund for her future orthodontics.



The Transportation Situation

If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you may have seen my frequent complaints about the buses for our elementary school. We’re a few weeks into the school year now, so you’d think that any issues with transportation would have been smoothed out by now, right? Ha.

I completely gave up on the afternoon bus after it was clear that they were never going to make it to our house in under an hour and a half, and usually longer than that. Driving an hour round-trip is inconvenient for me, but I’m finding it makes for much happier little girls. And they are usually home, have eaten a snack and finished homework before the bus would have even been at our door.

The morning bus is still a problem, though. I can count on one hand the number of times it’s been here on time (within 5-10 minutes of scheduled time) in the past 3.5 weeks and still have fingers available.

There are two big problems with the morning bus being late. First, we have to wait forever at the door for the bus. Two kids waiting at the door for 5-10 minutes are a little rowdy. Two kids waiting at the door for over 20 minutes start to get into trouble quickly. And since I have to walk them out to the bus, it means I can’t get much done until it shows up, either.

The bigger issue is with Cordy, though. With the bus getting here late, it turns out it was arriving late to school, too. And Cordy, who is Type-A to the extreme with her autism, really does not like being late.

We didn’t know anything about this until her special-needs support teacher emailed us last Wednesday to report that Cordy had a meltdown at school that day. The bus arrived late to school, which immediately threw her off. She was anxious that she would have a “black mark” on her record for being late, and even though everyone reassured her that she wasn’t responsible, she still believed she was in trouble.

Then later in the day, her class was lined up for recess and her second grade teacher had to talk loudly (“yell”) so that her class could hear her over the chatter and the three fans trying to keep the classroom cool. She was trying to get the attention of the whole class, but Cordy was convinced the teacher was yelling at her for being late that day. Cordy became upset, hiding under her desk and crying, and had to be taken to the special-needs classroom for a time out.

After she calmed down, she went back to her class, but needed an aide with her for the rest of the day. Since then she’s still anxious on days when the bus is late, and is still diving under her desk when the teacher gets too loud. Her teachers are very understanding, and the school has been doing everything possible to complain to transportation to get the issue corrected.

On Tuesday, we waited for the bus for nearly an hour. The last fifteen minutes of that time was spent on hold on the phone as I waited to speak to someone in transportation to find out where the bus might be. I finally gave up, packed the girls in the car and drove them to school, knowing that we would be late even with driving straight there. Cordy was anxious, but we talked the entire way there about how it wasn’t her fault and her teachers were just as upset with the bus for being late.

We got to school five minutes late. I walked in with her, met up with her teacher so Cordy understood that we were all in agreement that she wasn’t in trouble, and then I left. I later learned the bus arrived at 9:30am, half an hour after the school day started. WOW.

Angry emails to the district’s transportation department were sent. (Since it’s impossible to get to them by phone.) The school’s principal assured us she was also working on the problem from her side, too, and that our bus wasn’t the only one having troubles arriving on time.

And then yesterday? The bus was four minutes early! Good thing I opened the door ahead of time.

Problem solved? Too soon to tell, but I hope so.

It’s ridiculous that the transportation department can’t get buses to school on time. Beyond the anxiety issues it’s causing with Cordy, children arriving late to school affects the entire school. It’s distracting to the classrooms, and it’s stealing precious time from these kids that should be spent in education, not sitting on a late bus.



When Your Political Tweet Is Retweeted Astray

This may be my longest post ever. Hang in there, it’s worth it. I hope.

Look, I dislike talking politics on my blog. This is where I write about my family and my personal thoughts on all sorts of topics from parenting to special needs to finding long enough shorts for girls to OMG did you see what Lady Gaga wore at that award show! to my own experiences growing up.

I know I have readers who feel differently than I do regarding politics and for many things I’m willing to accept our differences. Many of you know my political views, and either share them or are kind enough to quietly agree to disagree and focus on what we have in common instead. (And in return, I don’t go to anyone else’s blog and tell them they’re wrong, either. It’s just kinda rude.)

In the social media spheres of Twitter and Facebook, though, I’ve often been more forward with my beliefs. As opposed to a blog, which is also public but more of a “this is my home” space, I feel that Twitter and Facebook are more like being out in the community at large. You’ve got lots of ideas and thoughts all converging in one public area, with no single person in control of them (other than the handy block button), and so it’s a space to indulge in our differences as well as our commonalities. It’s fun, and I even learn a few things from time to time.

Usually any political tweets I write are sent out into my small group of followers. I may get a few retweets or responses, and even occasionally a negative response, but usually they don’t get a lot of notice.

I didn’t expect more than that as I tweeted along while watching the Republican National Convention last week. I watched because I believe it’s important to know the views and plans of everyone running for office, even if I disagree with their beliefs.

And during that time, I wrote several tweets that might have angered my more conservative friends, although in criticizing the candidates I made efforts to not lump all who may vote for them in the same criticism. We’re a country with millions of different beliefs when you look at all issues combined, and I recognize that no single candidate represents the exact beliefs of any single person other than the candidate. We’re pretty little snowflakes in our beliefs: all unique.

I was upset by many things said in those speeches, though. And on the last night, with the whole week culminating with Mr. Romney’s acceptance speech, I had reached my “enough” point and decided I didn’t just want to voice my opinion, I wanted to do something else about it, too.

This resulted in my lesson in (insert booming announcer voice here)…

How to start a troll-storm on Twitter without intending to do so:

Step 1: Tweet you’re donating money to Obama after watching Romney’s RNC speech.

Step 2: Um, that’s it. Sit back and watch the hate roll in.

Yeah, not my most brilliantly written tweet. Had I known this tweet would go wild, I’d have changed a few words. Or at least switched to my fashion model profile pic.

Let me point out, I wrote things that some people could have interpreted to be FAR more offensive in the tweets immediately before that one. I have no idea why that one was singled out. If I knew, I’d have a far more well-read blog because I’d have unlocked the secrets to social media SEO.

A few retweets of that tweet began, then a few more, then my Twitter stream blew up in a jumble of retweets, replies of praise, and a whole lot of mean.

Following the trail of retweets didn’t help me find how I ended up in the tweet cross-hairs of so many who were determined to unleash their venom on me. It might have been a journalist of a liberal magazine (I don’t know it, but clearly a lot of others do) who retweeted my statement, which somehow got it onto the screens of a bunch of people who don’t feel the same as me.

I was in shock as I saw all of the replies and mentions rolling across my Tweetdeck, most filled with negative assumptions about my intelligence, my financial status, my employment status, and just simply a lot of name calling. So much bitterness and contempt, all because I said I really didn’t like Romney’s speech and decided to donate a small amount to Obama?

And then…I decided to reply to nearly every single one.

Why?

Some friends noticed and warned me not to go down that path, for that way lies madness. But here’s the thing: I seriously dislike random hostility on the Internet. The disassociation between a username and a human being on the other side of that username is a problem for many people in this society, and sometimes they just need to be reminded of it.

Would you be talking with friends at a large party, hear a stranger nearby say what I wrote in my tweet (not directly to you), and then turn around and immediately yell insults at that person? Probably not.

So why would you launch into a similar attack online, unless you either get a thrill of arguing where you can safely hide behind the anonymity of the Internet (very possible, although probably a mental disorder in need of therapy, too) or you’ve become so polarized that you forget there is another person, another American if you want to get patriotic, on the other side of that username.

What happened?

So I responded, with the best kindergarten manners I could muster. I was civil in response, courteous even. The worst thing I wrote to anyone was “Well, that’s not a very nice way to say hello to someone for the first time.” Because – let’s face it – it’s not. I don’t generally start a conversation with a stranger by insulting them.

Some immediately assumed that we were living on government assistance or abusing “their” money by donating to a political campaign. That was an easy response: we’re employed. In the private sector, even. All of our money is earned through our work. A few then asked if I thought President Obama was responsible for our jobs. The best reply I had there was, “Well, I sincerely doubt he personally phoned in the favor, but our companies are doing well enough to hire us.”

For those who suggested I was “poor” because of Obama’s policies, I simply responded that in 2008 we were unemployed. We now have jobs we enjoy, we have a house and cars, we can pay our bills, and we even have a little extra for entertainment and to help others. I’d call that a huge improvement over 2008.

If they suggested we’re still not well off because of the president, I countered with the point that we’re content with our lives and asked them if we needed to be incredibly wealthy in order to be consider successful? Can’t success also be defined as a job well done and a happy family? I also reminded a few that if having a house, two cars, and the ability to pay our bills – even if we don’t have a lot of extra money – is considered poor to them, then they might want to re-evaluate their definition of poor. There are so many who are far more in need of help.

A couple of people then accused me of being dishonest in my tweet, trying to make it sound like we were more poor than we were. We had paychecks coming the next day. True, but I think I precisely proved the point that nuance is lost in soundbites.

Side note: Am I right? I hate this culture of soundbites. People need to be given all of the information and allowed to make their own conclusions. Dumbing down politics results in important topics being condensed into 2-3 sentence summaries that end up sounding little like the original, complex idea.

Sometimes a topic can’t be summarized that easily. Theories of astrophysics are complicated. That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with them or they’re trying to hide something or they’re wrong; it means they’re complex topics that need more than a few sentences to be fully considered. Same goes for economics. Or health care. Or any other number of topics.

Some people then tried to engage me in political debate. I wasn’t looking to debate those who had no intention of considering other points of view and were simply looking for weaknesses to call out. Besides, 140 characters is no way to conduct a debate over political theory. So for them I politely declined, stated neither of us were likely to change our positions and Twitter was a lousy forum for debate, and asked that we agree to disagree.

And then there were those who responded only with name calling or off-topic insults. I did block them without a response. If you can’t stay on topic, then you don’t get to play. 

The Results

These nasty responses continued through the overnight hours, all day long on Friday, and then slowly tapered off through the weekend. 205 people made that tweet a favorite. I received 1,065 retweets (so far), many kind responses, and well over a hundred negative responses as well. I never took the time to tally them all, but there may have even been 150 or 200. I responded to nearly a hundred. (And blocked several.)

Amusingly, I discovered many of the people who lashed out over my tweet later blocked me. Was it something I said?

Not surprisingly, few people replied to my first response to them. I guess they got their “slam” out, felt better, and proceeded to move on to the next victim.

Several did respond, though, and if they were intelligent responses (whether I agreed with them or not) I usually replied again. A few even apologized after I pointed out their tweet wasn’t a very nice way to say hello. Kindergarten manners for the WIN!

Some people changed their tone with me after their assumptions about my family taking “handouts” were corrected. Suddenly I was an “ok person” because I held a job and paid my bills. I didn’t feel like pointing out that we survived on unemployment, food stamps and WIC for nearly a year when our state government decided to cut Aaron’s job. Without that public assistance, we probably would have lost our home and cars, defaulted on our debt, had our children go hungry, and had a much more difficult time getting back on our feet again.

Should these people have encountered me back in 2008, would I no longer be an “ok person” to them? I’m saddened by their snap judgments.

 I have NO idea what happened here. 
(Name/face poorly removed out of courtesy.)

A few replied with more rhetoric from their beliefs, and when it was clear we simply held different opinions that neither of us would budge on, I asked that we agree to disagree, vote for who we believe, and hope for the best for everyone in our country. Some were willing to agree. Others tried to debate, which then led to the “twitter is not a good forum for debate” response I mentioned above.

There were a handful that stated they were donating to Romney’s campaign in response to my choice to donate to Obama’s campaign. I’m not sure if they were trying to hurt me somehow by doing so? I congratulated them on their freedom to spend their money how they thought best. Besides, I had WAY more people respond to me saying that I had inspired them to donate to Obama, so it’s possible I came out ahead in that one.

And then a teensy-tiny portion of the meanies? They turned into nice people when I defused them with politeness. We had a respectful, short discussion and wished each other well. I would happily interact with them again, despite our differences in politics.

Unexpected swerve here. But hey, we CAN find common ground: you don’t insult my choice to support a particular candidate, and I won’t assume you’re racist because you support the other guy. I think that’s entirely reasonable! (Name/face again poorly removed out of courtesy.)

Of course, there were plenty of replies of support and good will, and I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful for every one of them. (I’m grateful. Very grateful. They kept me going even when I had the urge to throw mud back at some people. My nose? Is NOT horrifying.) My friends and even the new-to-me Twitter folks who tweeted support and love back to me are some pretty great people.

So what did I learn?

I had it reaffirmed that human beings are both amazing and frightening creatures. They can reach the greatest heights of humanity and tolerance or the lowest pits of malevolence in a semi-anonymous forum. I can’t say I’m willing to judge a person entirely on how that person behaves towards someone else in a semi-anonymous forum, and I also would hope to never have my entire character based on one thought. We’re human, we do speak in anger sometimes. 

I refused to attack any of the people who chose to berate me personally in tweets. (Unless my saying they’re not very nice for starting a conversation with an attack is seen as an attack?) These folks thought that a tweet I wrote, stating that I was strongly against Romney’s platform and choosing to donate money to Obama in response to his speech, was worthy of a personal attack on me.

They were mean, even though I had done nothing to insult them personally. I’ve seen plenty of insults hurled at Obama on Twitter – some of which made me very angry – but none that made me want to hurl personal insults back at someone I know nothing about.

The lack of civility among some people when confronted with someone who doesn’t share their set of beliefs is disturbing, and a trend I’d like to see reversed in society.

Do I regret my tweet? No, I don’t. I could have phrased it a little more nicely, I’ll admit, but I don’t regret posting it and I don’t regret my donation. The response that happened gave me a fantastic view of others and helped me evaluate how I respond to others as well.

Do I regret responding to all of these people? Not at all. It was exhausting, for sure, but as I kept sending out the same message of positivity and reassuring these folks that it’s OK to be content with what you have and enjoy a job that doesn’t make you rich, I started to feel even more happy with my life.

It’s funny, because the truth is we don’t have a lot and there are months when we struggle a little to get by. I’m not always happy. Aaron’s job was cut to part-time at the start of June. We can still pay our bills, but the budget is extra lean at the moment. We did have only $50 left in our account last Thursday night, and I spent part of that evening scheduling bills for the next month based on when paychecks would arrive so we’d stay in the positive.

Would I like more money? Well yeah, of course. Do I need more money? Eh, that depends on what you consider a need. A year ago at this time, Aaron worked full time and I had a different job that payed more than I’d ever made before. We had more money. Were we happier? Not really. We went out to eat more, spent more on entertainment, saved some, gave to charity more…but our lives weren’t significantly better as a result. I saw my family a lot less.

Now I have more stress about making ends meet, but those ends are meeting most of the time and I can appreciate it as I pick my daughters up from school or have dinner with my family.

We have so much more than we did in 2008. Are we better off now than we were four years ago? You bet. Even more than money and jobs, though, I’m happy because I can be a person who, when faced with an onslaught of hate and vitriol from people who don’t know me, but choose to define me by 140 characters, I can respond to them with civility, tolerance, and kindness.

If I have those qualities, and can inspire the same in even a few other people, I’m MUCH better off.

Should you want to know my opinion on politics this year, I can sum up a lot of it based on my experience in the last week: we need to focus less on how much money we can keep tightly clutched in our own fists, and focus more on how we can work together to help and support each other, with benevolence and compassion, so we can all succeed.

This is me placing a daisy in the barrel of the Twitter trolls’ rifle.

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