At 3, my son is too young to be cognizant of what happened yesterday. I’m glad. It means he hasn’t internalized the fear mongering and vitriol that dominated this election cycle. It means there’s still hope.
I went to bed with a heavy heart last night, truly believing that regardless of the outcome of the election, there would be no real winners. Ours is a broken nation, and there’s a lot of work to do.
Waking up to the sound of the baby monitor early this morning, I remembered: I am a mother. I am raising the next generation. I have never been an incredibly political person, but I can be part of this solution. If there’s one thing in this life I can control, it’s how I raise my son and what I’m teaching him.
So while I’m teaching him the alphabet and how to brush his teeth, and, I hope to God, some manners, I’m teaching him some other things, too.
Read the rest over at Red Tricycle.