Target Corporation Needs to Demonstrate Better Gun Sense

Not less than eight hours ago I was fielding compliments from the moms on the playground about my new super cool Target summer sandals. Right now, I am sitting at my keyboard in a pair of Target brand pajama pants.  Before I go to bed, I will wash my face and brush my teeth with products purchased from Target.  When I wake up, I will serve my baby oatmeal cereal purchased from the Target baby aisle, put a fresh Target purchased diaper on his little bum, and dress my five year old in Target brand clothing before he goes to school.

Five years ago this summer, the day we brought my daughter home from the ER under hospice care, she defied all odds and came out of what the doctors thought would be her last hours.  Her request that evening?  “Can we go to the Target with the escalator, Mommy?”  Well, you know just where we went that evening and you know we spent some dollars on her.

Folks who know me, folks who read my blog, know how I feel about Target.  It is my mother’s lifeline.  I rely on it for clothing, toiletries, home accessories, beauty products, all things baby and kid related, shoes, kitchenware, holiday items, office and organizational items, the occasional prescription, groceries, electronics, and on and on and on.  A few weeks ago, after a long and hard run with the kiddos, I needed to step out to catch my breath.  Where did I go to spend an hour alone?  My happy place, of course — Target.

I am the best damn brand ambassador Target could ever hope for.

No more.

Target2

Tonight I learned that the Target Corporation has been dragging its feet in responding to the “open carry” activists that have used Target stores as part of their public arena in their sickeningly brutish displays of slinging long arm weaponry openly as a means of asserting their Second Amendment rights.  The Open Carry Texas group, itself, refers to Target Corporation as “very 2A friendly,” suggesting the stores are welcoming of their antics.

For those of you who don’t know what the open carry movement is, well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words, so here it is:

Photo from the Open Carry Texas Facebook page.
Photo from the Open Carry Texas Facebook page.

And per their website, the goals of the Open Carry Texas movement (“OCT” — and never have I been so sad to be a Libra before) read a little something like this:

Our purpose is to 1) educate all Texans about their right to openly carry rifles and shotguns in a safe manner; 2) to condition Texans to feel safe around law-abiding citizens that choose to carry them; 3) encourage our elected officials to pass less restrictive open carry legislation for all firearms, especially pistols; and (4) foster a cooperative relationship with local law enforcement in the furtherance of these goals with an eye towards preventing negative encounters.

I don’t know about you, but I think all of us need to be concerned when we start hearing that gun slinging activists want to start talking about “conditioning” people to feel safe around open firearms.  And from where I stand, the best way to “prevent negative encounters” with the people you are trying to “condition” is to put your damn guns away.  Part of being a responsible gun owner is knowing how to use firearms properly and showing respect for them.  The open carry movement is the antithesis of responsible gun usage.

Now the last time I wrote about guns, I was accused of being a “hysterical mom” with a “fourth rate mind” who needed to “stick to baking cookies,” but Imma try really hard to apply common sense here and be very clear and explicit in my language so the Target Corporation knows just where I stand.

I do not want to shop for diapers and pajama pants and toilet paper and school supplies and lip gloss and Legos surrounded by men strapped with long arm rifles, assault weapons, and semi-automatic guns.  

Is that clear, Target Corporation?  It seems obvious to me that very few mothers in America would want to shop under those conditions, but you don’t seem to be taking that into consideration.

Now I know that I live in Illinois, which does not have any open carry legislation on the books, and many folks think these kinds of open carry intimidation antics — and they are absolutely meant to be intimidating — are restricted to Texas, but open carry rallies at Target stores have also been held in Alabama, Ohio, Wisconsin, North Carolina, Washington, and Virginia.

That’s a whole lot of mothers on the line, Target.  Are you sure you want to remain silent on this issue?  Your own website touts the statistic that 80%-90% of your customers are women.  Do you know where my husband shops?  NOWHERE.  He doesn’t shop.  He leaves that to me.  Do you know where I will now be shopping?  You can bet your sweet bullseye it is no longer at Target.

Target Corporation needs to make an explicit statement that carrying firearms in its stores nationwide is not allowed.  They need to do as Chilli’s and Starbucks and Chipotle and Sonic Drive-Ins have done, which is demonstrate common gun sense.  As a corporation, they would be infringing on no American’s Second Amendment rights by doing so, but they would be providing reassurance to millions of moms around this country.

Two other things I purchase at Target?  Bread and butter.  I sure as hell hope Target knows where their bread is buttered.  Until they figure it out, I will be making all my purchases elsewhere.   Will I miss my happy place?  Yes.  Emphatically.  But I refuse to spend a single dime of my family’s money at a store that remains welcoming towards these senseless, bullying, ridiculous, and grossly unsafe practices of the open carry movement.

If you agree with me, please exercise your voice and sign this online petition, letting Target know that you, too, believe the corporation needs to change their in-store firearm policies.

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Hot Dogs for Dinner

Something I call “The Plague” has taken hold of our home the past nine days.  It involved poop soup and vomit and fevers and aches and pains and lots and lots of laundry and Lysol.  Fingers crossed and knock on wood, the worst of it is over.  And fingers crossed and knock on wood, the baby has been spared.

Sometimes one strong stomach bug is all it takes to knock a family down and out.  Gratefully, our illnesses came in succession — first Mary Tyler Son, a short reprieve where we thought we were in the clear, outside of a day I felt not so good and had a single sympathy vomit, then Mary Tyler Dad, and finally, for the grand crescendo, back to me.

Mary Tyler Dad missed two days of work (one when he was flat in bed, and one when he cared for the kiddos cause I was flat in bed).  I can count on one hand the number of days this man has been sick since I have known him.  I still recall the New Year’s Flu of 1999.  All anyone was talking about was Y2K, which looked a lot like yack, and that was about all Mary Tyler Dad did for 48 hours.

So for the past two days, I have pretty much laid in bed.  A mom’s dream, right?  Not so much.  Not even catching up on Game of Thrones is much fun when you feel like hell (speaking of feeling like hell, did you see what happened to that dude’s head?!).

It’s sad, really, cause I will be the first to admit that when I am worn to the bone with this whole mothering thing, I do fantasize about being sick in bed for a day or two, absolved of all maternal responsibilities, and the iPad becomes your guilt-free best friend.  And, you know that, really, because you are that sick, the best, most maternal thing you can do is stay the hell away from your kiddos, lest you pass it along to them.

Then, when it happens and the bug hits, the bug that is bug enough to keep you down and out, you feel so freaking awful that you just want to cry. And the iPad that was supposed to be guilt-free is only showing me things like NYPD Guilt, and Real Housewives of Guilt County, and Law & Order SVGuilt.  UGH!

On top of that, your loving husband comes to your bedside every 90 minutes or so to check up on you and freshen up your bedside Gatorade.  He is the best, which oddly, only makes you feel worse.  When you are awake, he brings the baby to the door to smile and wave at you, which is also oddly crushing.  When it is clear that he will be missing a day of work to care for the kiddos, as you are not able to stand up straight, let alone lift a 22 pound baby or drive back and forth to school, the guilt worsens.  You are keenly aware that he will be missing his boss’ only day in the office for three weeks, even if you don’t really know what the ramifications are of that.

Oy, the guilt.  It is so overpowering you decide to nap, waking up four hours later feeling worse than you did before.

Long story short, I struggle with the guilt I feel when I watch my husband care for his children.  Isn’t that ludicrous?!  Bah!  It is ridiculous and yet I feel powerless to stop it.  Truth be told, I would have never married a man I didn’t feel was capable of partnering in the whole child rearing department.  One of the endless hours of television I watched these past two days was a Real Housewives of Orange County episode where one of the dudes reluctantly agreed to father a child with his wife, but if and only if she agreed before hand that the raising of said child would be her responsibility and domain.  WOW.

No thank you!

So, here I am, proud feminist on the one hand, holding out for a good man, a solid man, a man who is man enough to help raise his kiddos and knows that child rearing is not woman’s work, but yet I feel guilty when I watch him in action.

Who exactly should I turn my feminist card into?

As one day of my sickness morphed into two, I could see my husband looking wearier and wearier.  No one gets that better than I.  Two kiddos five years apart is tough stuff.  Keeping one happy and engaged means depriving the other, especially when you are on solo duty, as I am much of the time.  The much needed nap for baby makes the afternoon trip to the park impossible.  The walk in the woods will lead to a baby out of sorts and fighting to stay awake.  Neither one of the kiddos is independent enough to get ready for bed or meals solo, so you do the best you can, but at the end of the day, you are spent, done, exhausted.

And Mary Tyler Dad was coming into this after 48 hours of his own plague.  Poor guy.

That is why yesterday, when I started to feel the veil of sickness lift just a bit, and the aches and pains lessen, and I called out I would sit at the table for dinner, I was as relieved as a turkey on the day after Thanksgiving to hear my husband say, “Hot dogs for dinner!”

For me, the stay at home parenting gig has always been three-fold:  kids, home, food.  There are extras that fall into that, too, but for the most part, that covers the bases.  That’s why whenever I don’t have it together to serve a three course, all organic, non-GMO meal at dinnertime, I feel like I am shirking my responsibilities.  I sheepishly tell my husband, “tacos for dinner,” or “sloppy joes for dinner,” or “chicken breasts for dinner,” and somehow feel less than for not serving up a balanced, vegetable heavy, nutritious meal.  Because it’s what I signed up for, it is the gig, you see?  Mary Tyler Dad never does anything but eat what I serve with a smile and a thank you.  The shame is mine, all mine.

But there he was last night, two days of doing the kiddos solo and coming off his own illness, and there were hot dogs for dinner!  He had no apparent guilt or shame.  I certainly had no dashed expectations.  Honestly?  I loved him so much in those moments, seeing his weariness with a side of hot dogs and apple sauce.

This parenting stuff is hard core and we do the best we can.  I am one lucky lady to have someone in the trenches with me.  And maybe, just maybe, I will get over my shame and guilt at serving the occasional hot dog for dinner.  Who needs ketchup?

Hot Dogs

 

 

My Perfect Moment Manifesto

Yesterday I had one of those idyllic days that you want to bottle up and sprinkle on your less than stellar sucky days that sometimes seem to overtake us.  Those are the worst, but yesterday was the best.

About 4:30 in the afternoon, as my two boys were napping in the back seat after a very full day for each of them, having just gotten off the phone, I was struck with the lush green that surrounded me.  Green leaves above me, green grass next to me — the green stretched out before me and it had that spring green quality, which is kind of like a summer green, but in technicolor.  It’s the kind of green that hasn’t yet gotten ravaged by the August sun — a fresh green, a new green, a spring green.

Spring green is beautiful.

And as I sat there in my car, my two boys audibly snoozing behind me, I got to thinking about the amazing day I had just had and how that amazing day was a series of amazing moments strung together.  Beautiful moments, rich in color and texture, and vibrant.  The bubbles in my soda were fizzier and the sparkle on my freshly washed car was sparklier. Vibrant moments.

Most days are a combination of good and bad, but so often, we dwell on the bad, or the bad somehow overshadows the good.  It’s human nature.

After dropping the boy off at school, Mary Tyler Baby and I met a friend for a walk at the Chicago Botanic Gardens.  These gardens are one of my happy places.  I love it best in the spring and autumn, but there is beauty in it year round.  Yesterday it was glorious.  We spotted a blue heron that my friend thought was a statue, but then it flew across the water, which is something statues don’t do.

After our walk, my friend and I sat and talked about what was happening in her life, what was happening in my life.  We are both on the cusp of some changes that are daunting for us, but there we were talking about hope and rose colored glasses.  I think it is no coincidence that we both live in Cancerville.

If there is one thing living in the presence of cancer has taught me is that nothing is promised to us.  Not a thing.  Not a damn thing is ours in this world. Nothing.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

My four year old daughter, my Donna, dying of cancer has and will continue to shape me in profound ways.  I still don’t fully grasp what I had and what I lost.  The years of Donna’s life are a conflicting combination of vivid snapshots of joy and life and beauty and a blur of fear and burden and sadness.  But what my deep loss has done is given me a capacity to see the moments of my life, sometimes as if in slow motion.

Some friends and family mock me about the iPhone that seems surgically attached to my hand.  For me, that phone is  a tool, a recording device of those moments that are most precious.  It is futile to try to record them accurately, those perfect moments in my day, but I try.  And later I look back, swiping my finger across the tiny screen, seeing the moments come and go before me.  I don’t photograph the sad moments, the defeated moments, the scared moments.  I photograph the joy, the beauty, the things I find hopeful, the moments I want to remember, the moments that give me a lift on a sad day.

There are just a few from the past couple of weeks . . .

Nature's fireworks.
Nature’s fireworks.
"I wonder what my cash will buy me, Mommy?!"
“I wonder what my cash will buy me, Mommy?!”
Manhattan skyline.
Manhattan skyline.
Eye spy a bride and groom on a beautiful spring day.  Oh, yes, and an abandoned barbecue grill, too!
Eye spy a bride and groom on a beautiful day. Oh, yes, and an abandoned barbecue grill, too!
Home, sweet home.
Home, sweet home.
Baby on the sand doing yoga.
Baby on the sand doing yoga.
Mother's Day bouquet.
Mother’s Day bouquet.
Two dandelions from two brothers who will meet her there, too.
Two dandelions from two brothers who will meet her there.
Warm donuts with a good friend.
Warm donuts with a good friend.
Laughing sisters.
Laughing sisters.
Black and red boots and bug.
Black and red boots and bug.
A perfect bloom in Central Park.
A perfect bloom in Central Park.
Fistful of wishes.
Fistful of wishes.
A boy and his Legos.
A boy and his Legos.
Lilacs as far as the eye can see and the nose can smell.
Lilacs as far as the eye can see and the nose can smell.

It’s hard to imagine that it is cancer that made these moments possible for me, but in some way, I think that is true.  And even if “possible” is the wrong characterization, the presence of cancer in my life has allowed me to see these moments before they are lost in the haze of the day.  I always loved lilacs and laughing with my sister is nothing new, but there is an appreciation now, of the fleeting nature of it all, that didn’t exist  before.  And with that appreciation of how life comes and goes, the need to capture it, to cherish those moments, grows, too.

Some may experience that as a disconnect, a futile attempt to capture what is uncapturable.  I see it is an openness to all that is beautiful around me, all that brings joy and wonder.  These are images of how hope exists in my day-to-day.  Small things like coins on a nightstand and sugar crystallizing on a donut and a demolished home that still welcomes people through its front door.

Life is a series of moments, folks.  Some good, some bad.  Some potent with life and beauty, others heavy with tears and rage.  Cancer has allowed me to see them, to feel them, to be open to them.  All of them, big and small, good and bad.  Children have this capacity naturally.  It makes being around them lovely and frustrating all at once, because they always want you to see, to notice what they do.  It can be exhausting, but oh so eye opening, too, and wondrous.

Open your eyes and see what is to be seen.  See those moments that make up our days.  There is so much beauty there.