Did you notice? Of course you did, because its right up there in big, bold print. It looked nicer than “feminist mom” and I was having a nostalgic day, thinking about my crazy French teacher. I suddenly can’t remember his name, but he used to crack me up. He used to pick on one of my BFFs, which was great. She was great, I miss little Jenny Dancy Toes, the petite redhead who dealt with the world of dance and lived to tell about it. She also married her high school sweetheart. She was beautiful and terribly sweet and I loved hanging out at her house.

If that wasn’t a stream of consciousness paragraph, I don’t know what is.

I adored Jenny. Not in any sort of crush way, but in a “she’s just a great person” sort of way. I still have a letter she wrote me when I had to move from Ohio to Arkansas at the tender age of 15. Sometimes, I run across it, read it, and get even more nostalgic. You just don’t find people like that very often, and when you do, you just need to hold onto them because they’re gems.

What was I talking about? Oh, yes, the French title of the blog. I can’t think of any other way to describe this joint now. The spirituality of women, the political system that is so very flawed and seeks to oppress minorities, the love I have for my kids, for all kids… and the confusion that comes about when you put all of that together. How can a mother be a feminist? Aren’t feminists supposed to be women who seek careers and independence over typical roles as mothers and wives? Are feminists allowed to enjoy making presents for their kids’ teachers? Do normal mothers care about elections, bailouts and social policy? Do tarot card readers know the lottery numbers?

Just making sure you’re paying attention.

More to come…