Backwards, in High Heels and a Pantsuit.

*cracks knuckles*

Okay Internet, let’s do this.

What I’ve realized is that someday, maybe even today, my girls are going to ask me what I did the day I found out Donald Trump was to become president.

“You want to know what I did? I cleaned the oven door. I looked over a few pins, made my own little door-scrubbing-cocktail and got to work.”

You see, taking control of something small and manageable is a coping mechanism for me. Dealing with the weight of the world? Detail your vacuum!  Can’t trust anyone anymore? Give yourself a pedicure! Worried about the future of everyone who isn’t het-cis-white-male in America? PULL OUT THE MAGIC ERASERS IT’S TIME TO GO TO WORK.

And so I scrubbed. I calmed myself down and reminded myself that no president is going to be directly involved in raising my girls. But *I* will be directly responsible for raising the next generation of female leaders, thinkers, and voters. So I’m going to do just that.

I’m going to teach them that when they go low, we go high.

raising good kiddies

I’m going to teach them that women have been pushing for years on the glass ceiling and it was other nasty women like me who made sure that we were all pushing together for the same thing.

 

There’s still so much more to this, but for right now, when I found out how wrong things went November 9, 2016, I got to work.