The more I think about it the more confused I am by that question. We pretend that we’re asking what job they would like to hold, but we’re not. We are - all of us - so steeped in capitalism that we cannot separate the person from the production. And this programming begins before preschool.
I’m 39 and thinking about my 40’s. I’ve been excited about being 40 for a long, long time. 40 seems to be when black women bloom, when we stop taking everyone’s shit and go full on auntie and I cannot wait. I want that. Being able to say, “Look child, I am 40 damn years old”, feels like permission from the universe, God, and my ancestors to be fully, wholly ME.
Excuse me but who in the hell pours from a cup? Are there no pitchers where you come from??? Do you not have gallons of milk or juice? Do you not have coffee or tea pots?
I mean, have you ever actually tried to pour from a cup?!? That shit is impossible to do without spilling everywhere.
I’ve been thinking about you turning three a lot. Worrying. Planning. When your brother turned three he was possessed by a series of demons that turned my sweet toddler into a raging, rampaging monster. We didn’t have a ton of fun that year.
And you are…well..slightly more intense than he is.
SO HOW THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO SURVIVE THIS?!?!?
It isn’t about perfection. Or sacrifice. It isn’t about judgment. Or competition.
Patriarchy tells us that women can’t form supportive networks and hold them. Capitalism tells us that we must live in scarcity and competition and that abundance comes only with wealth.
We know that isn’t true.
Every mother knows that what we say matters very little, but what we do makes an immediate and lasting impact. We can tell our children about consent all day every day, but when we violate their boundaries or allow them to violate ours they learn that we don’t mean what we say.
