Almost There

Two quick announcements for Baltimore people:

My workshop The Written Womb is back at The Womb Room this coming Sunday, November 10th from 2–4 pm. You can register for it here. We will be focusing on writing about the body and I will even be incorporating a little bit of massage into our session, so it’s a great opportunity to come and write and then get a little pampering.

I will also be running a FREE monthly writing circle at The Womb Room on the last Monday of each month starting on Monday, November 25th at 7pm. You can find out more about that and register here.

As always, thanks for reading and for all your support!

Almost There

A couple of weeks ago I went for a walk with my toddler. This is part of our regular routine. We meander through the neighborhood pointing out squirrels and flowers, saying, “Big truck!” whenever a big truck goes by. Now that it is autumn, we stop frequently to stomp through piles of fallen leaves, delighting in the crunching sound. I let him lead the way until we get far enough away from our house that I decide it’s time to turn back, which is, inevitably, when he decides he’s tired of walking and asks to be carried instead. Normally, I don’t mind carrying him, but since I am recovering from surgery I am not allowed to lift him and have had to repeatedly refuse his requests of “pick up.” It has been hard on both of us.

He managed his disappointment well enough on this particular walk, distracted by cars and airplanes, easily goaded into racing me back toward home. But as we turned into the alley behind our house, only ten yards away from our back gate, he again asked to be picked up and I again refused. For him, this was the last straw. He quietly and mournfully said, “Nooooooo,” as he slunk to the ground. He lay down in the middle of the alley and refused to move.

So I did what any self-respecting toddler parent would do. I took a picture of him and texted it to a bunch of friends like, “Check out this drama queen.”

I love it when toddlers do this. A noisy toddler tantrum is a sonic nightmare that makes my body feel like I’ve been set on fire, but a quiet, determined protest delights me and cracks me up every time. They have the righteous stoicism of a sit-in participant, but instead of protesting war or advocating for civil rights, they’re angry because you asked them not to throw a banana on the floor. It’s great.

I let him lie there and stare daggers at me for a few minutes and then asked him if he was done being angry, to which he happily responded, “Yeah!” Then I helped him up and we walked back to the house together and went on with our day.

My friends’ responses to this incident were overwhelming, “I feel you, buddy!” Everyone is worn down. Everyone is longing to be held but finding it difficult to get the comfort they need. Election Day is tomorrow and so many of us are ready to collapse right where we stand and say that’s it, I cannot bear another second of this, even though we are so close to being home free.

I have hope because if I don’t have hope then all I have are fear and despair and how am I supposed to get up in the morning and take care of my kids with only those emotions as my guide? I have hope because we drove up to my parents’ house a few weekends ago and the number of Trump signs we saw on the way were greatly diminished in both quantity and size from the previous election and even from this time last year. I have hope because while we were there, my mom and I took the dog for a walk and had to stop, awestruck by the presence of a Harris-Walz sign on their neighbor’s lawn.

I don’t know what will happen except that whatever happens, we will have to get up and keep going either way.

Hang in there. Take care of each other. Let’s do this.

You can find more of my writing & contact information at clairemtaylor.com. If you’d like to further support my work, please consider purchasing one of my books, or a copy of Little Thoughts Press. I also have a ko-fi page.