Archive for the ‘motherhood’ Category


Don’t normalize President Elmo. Just because he can only count to five doesn’t excuse the poopy news he puts out. Granted, while being a poopy doody head explains some things, it doesn’t excuse anything.

 

I have my 17 year old daughter to thank for this. I really had no choice but to share the laughs. Imagining Trump as a spoiled toddler most days is a coping mechanism and then here comes Elmo. 😀 I’m dead.

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So Many Mistakes

My intention here: this is not a “poor me” or “poor mom who has an autistic teen” post. It’s about owning up to past behavior that I think seeps into the present even though my ego would like to believe that it doesn’t. I know for certain that it does, though, from a recent wake-up call. I was having a conversation with someone elsewhere online in which I was commiserating and agreeing in the conversation as a fellow disabled person, but due to how I phrased something it came off offensively rather than in a supportive way.

Reblogging this below entry is “looking back at my mistakes, and wanting to make amends” post. Some of it I’m working out “out loud” in an effort to keep other parents from making similar mistakes that I made way back when and still make in spite of myself.

It’s been about eight years since I wrote the below entry. I was so excited because I jumped in feet first into being a parent that LISTENED versus one of those parents who pitied being a parent of an autistic child. I had turned my back on Autism Speaks and others of their ilk. I was speaking for my daughter, but it still came out with my voice. I came off as so. damn. smug.

I know now that my voice and approach came off as if I were speaking above autistic voices; as if I were an authority over them. That was wrong of me.

I placed myself smack in the middle of the Autism community, thus elevating my voice, as a parent. When I described the community as a whole in this post, I placed autistic voices first, but then I added everyone else and they all added up to be More Than the autistic voices. That was wrong of me.

Autistic voices should always, always be first. But this is what the rest of us forget: Autistic people ARE the community. The rest of us who are lucky enough to be in their orbits are only on the fringe of the community by virtue of their invitation by note of; their patience in answering questions; their love for us; their self-advocacy; their opinions about what doctors, therapists, teachers, scientists, agencies, and parents say and do; their personal stories about childhood, employment, relationships. It’s up to us to earn trust because it’s so easily broken. I hadn’t really learned that completely yet.

Sure I’m A Mom

As a mom I’m not even an authority on being a parent to someone who is autistic. Why not? I’m just one mom to one autistic daughter. I may have some insights as a mother, based on a learning curve, but almost all with thanks to listening to the real authorities: autistic bloggers, writers, authors. I may be a near-expert on my own daughter because she lets me in and I ask her questions and let her lead. I pay attention to her communication. I learned that imperative lesson from other autistic people who wished their parents had done that for them; and those whose parents did do that for them. Thank God for them.

My daughter was only seven-ish years old at the time that I wrote that entry. I’d only been following blogs written by autistic writers for a couple of years but in regard to autism, not exclusively. I hadn’t yet figured out how the different language issues were layered yet, and which other issues were severe social and family issues. I didn’t know how serious abuses were yet. I didn’t realize I could trigger someone with a careless word.

Implied Privilege

When I wrote that blog, I was listening to autistic voices but I didn’t necessarily hear them all of the time. I ‘m afraid I made the wrong issues more important than the people.

Worse, I used the privilege implied in being a parent who was researching and listening, albeit not hearing, to be heard and to advocate in a way that I thought was appropriate. Instead I sounded smug. I can only hope that I never passed along dangerous information in that manner. When I come across posts where I think that might be the case, or it’s borderline, I have and will either update or delete them. I don’t want to perpetuate harmful information and I’m sorry for that.

When I stumbled on this post again, it really embarrassed me. It embarrassed me because even though it was eight years ago, I think I still use the tone in it without meaning to do so. I also know that for some people, my sentence structure and grammar can come off as snooty and boy… is that evident in this post I dug up. I was going to either delete that blog entry, or update it. I’m a big fan, 98% of the time, of taking complete responsibility for something posted and leaving it up for posterity with the hope that someone can learn from my mistakes and hopefully see a progression from ignorance to, well, I guess “less ignorant.” More enlightened is my goal.

I chose to leave this one up because it represents a journey, and updating it or deleting it would have ignored the work our family has done to grow.

 

I Apologize

I’d like to apologize to autistic people for my ignorance, past and present. I may have learned things over the years that helped my knowledge, but not my pride. I’m sorry that over the years, I’ve spoken over your voices or in place of your voices as if I were more of an authority. I’m sorry that my hubris got in the way of my humility. Please know that it’s not something that I ever intended. Please know that I’m always open to hearing where I’m making mistakes, my language is inappropriate, my education is outdated. I want to succeed more often than not. I want to continue to work at self-improvement, open-mindedness, humility.

Intended or not, it still happened. I take full responsibility.

I hope that you forgive me.

 

From Harmful to Helpful?

How do I become more helpful to the community (including other communities) I want to advocate with?

  • Be mindful of past mistakes and current behavior
  • More active listening on my part
  • Listen more than speaking; this really is important, so much that I just said it twice
  • Don’t place my voice as an authority in a community in which I’m really only orbiting
  • Ask more often, “How can I help?”
  • Give credit where credit is due
  • Provide qualifiers when speaking such as, “In my opinion” and “In my experience”
  • Remember that plain language, not rude language, is appreciated
  • Remember that it’s not simply advocating FOR… it’s advocating WITH because
  • Go out of your way to make sure the people you converse with know that you
  • Those who have the disability that you don’t have are also self-advocating as a whole and for others in their group who may not be able to self-advocate

 

I know that as a parent, as a woman, I’m going to continue making mistakes because I’m not perfect. There are thousands of mistakes I haven’t even made yet. I’m going to do my best to be much more mindful of how and when my mistakes and failures occur so that I don’t make the same mistakes again, over and over. I can only hope that I’m not the same person I was eight years ago, and that I can grow each day without allowing my mistakes to define me.

I want to be a good example to my children. I hope this is how.  And now I need to press “Publish” but I’m kind of nervous about it. I don’t want this to sit in drafts for weeks or months.

 

If you visit various online communities you may notice that some people refer to autism in one of two ways. As autism or as Autism. As a mother of someone with Autism, I tend to use Autism when spe…

Source: Autism With A Capital ‘A’ | Ever So Gently

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I have a lot of thoughts that are combating the issue of palliative care regarding in-the-home versus in nursing homes. In the early-ish part of the summer we received the news that a nursing care home finally had an opening for both of my grandparents. I should clarify that the “finally” part is really due to the fact that it took a long time for them… well, I should clarify that “them” is really my grandfather agreed to the move and my grandmother threw the mother of all tantrums, but relented. Once my father and uncles made the decision for my grandparents, and once they informed my grandparents, it only took a month or so for a health care facility to open up space for them.

There was relief in this. A lot of relief, actually. The fact that they would have on-site 24-hour nursing care and a doctor on staff. Their doctor would be on call. Emergency care would be available instantly as needed. There are a couple of hospitals within minutes from the nursing home, if needed.

As soon as they moved in, my grandfather felt relief. He could see that he really wasn’t able to take care of her any longer. That was hard for him. Not being able to pick her up when she fell was something that had been normal for a long time, but the emergency paramedics finally told them that unless she agreed (or he forced her) to go to the hospital when they called 9-1-1 and she was clearly injured (she was) then they were going to stop coming to the house for her. Whenever he fell, he knew enough to go to the hospital. So that was the tipping point.

I spent my summer with the girls, off work and visiting my grandparents as they adjusted and took turns with one being upset at being there and the other saying how wonderful it was. Yeah. Being in your 90’s and married for 70 years can be like that.

A week ago we held a party for my grandparents at the nursing home for their 70th wedding anniversary, and it was beautiful. My grandmother looked beautiful. She held her rosary the whole time. As I was growing up, and let’s face it her entire life and mine since at 40-something I still feel as if I’m growing up, she always put herself last. She always put all of her focus on the person who was in front of her. She made everyone in that room feel special, and so when they came for her and my grandfather’s anniversary, they made sure that she felt special.

She wasn’t quite herself, and I could see that. The entire week prior, she’d been declining. Her mood shifted. She started seeing hallucinations. Night time was the worst. She hadn’t slept for two or three nights, and so the day before the party, when I visited, they made sure she slept. She was in a great mood for the party, but something had changed. She knew who we all were and why we were there but she heard music that we couldn’t. She asked and talked about odd things, for her.

And then this past week things got worse. My grandfather and uncle swore to me yesterday that she wouldn’t recognize me, but she did. She couldn’t move much, but when I held her hand she held it back as much as she was able, and even lifted it to point at my youngest daughter when she wanted to see her. She would pucker her mouth and move towards us when she wanted kisses. The whole time since being in the nursing home, that’s all she’s wanted, is kisses.

They swore she wouldn’t understand anything we said to her, but she did. She tried to talk to me, so I told her about my girls and my husband, how school and work were for them and how much I’m enjoying being a stay at home mom again. I knew she wanted to know about my pain levels too, but I avoided that topic. I told her that I finally prayed for what she had asked me to pay for, for her and that I’d done so at Church yesterday morning right before coming. She blinked a few tears and tried to nod, leaned for kiss, and I cried. I told her that I prayed for it even though I didn’t want it, because I know she needs it and she’s ready, and because I love her. I told her that I love her no matter what, and that I’ll be okay, that the entire family will be okay and she can let go.

We stayed, Darling Girl and I, for hours with her. It was very difficult to leave. We let the nurses know we were leaving, and then we saw my grandfather coming down the hall from his room with a priest trailing behind him. He told me that the priest just got there, and could I please stay. This was their parish priest. He was there for Last Rites.

So of course I stayed. We stayed. I held her hand. When she saw her priest, she gasped and said his name after not being able to speak for a few days. My grandfather was shocked because he had been 100% sure that she didn’t… couldn’t recognize anyone and nor could she understand what anyone said. It was beautiful from start to finish, and I never thought it could be. Maybe it was beautiful because it’s what she wanted.

Now it’s Monday morning, and my Darling Girl is sad. This is making her think about when my husband’s father passed away four or five years ago. It’s very similar, but she didn’t understand what was happening then. She told me this morning on the way to school that she’s remembering what happened to her Nonnu, but with a new understanding and so she’s feeling the experience of his death all over again as her great-grandmother is dying.

What she’s having trouble understanding is how my grandmother could be choosing to refuse to accept her medications, even the pain meds; how she could be choosing to refuse to accept any food or water. At 12 1/2 years old she knows how long a person can without food, and without water. I don’t know how to explain that to her, how a lifelong devout Catholic could choose, in her mid-90’s, to stop it all and to leave directions for the nurses, doctors, and family to refrain from any extreme lifesaving measures. It’s not rational to my daughter. I told her that as much pain as her great-grandmother is in from her illnesses, she’s in far more pain when she eats and drinks because her insides don’t work as well any longer, and she wants the pain to end. That didn’t satisfy her, and I know that nothing will. It sounds weak in my ears too.

Also this morning, Sweet Girl was having a really difficult time. She asked me last night to explain what was going on. She was more angry about getting up than usual, and complaining about everything that’s ever made her angry. I nearly lost my temper with her, and when I realized that my temper was shorter than usual I knew it was because of my sadness and the anxiety of the vigil. I realized my mistake, shifted gears and told her I recognized how sad she must be, and she could visit with me after school but that I won’t force her. She finally managed to cry, sad crying, and it seemed a relief to her to be able to identify with words what was wrong.

Dearest Girl, my eldest, turned 17 yesterday. She was amazing about me spending the day with my grandmother. She seems to be holding up well on the outside. In that way, she’s a lot like me. Being the eldest, like me, it’s natural. I know that she knows she can talk to me; she will when she needs to talk.

I don’t know how to do this. It just feels as if I’m doing it all wrong.

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That moment when, even though you feel guilty for multiple reasons, you do something that changes your entire life.

I turned in my resignation. I did it. I did it with a letter. This time, my boss didn’t try to convince me to stay after our long discussion. This time, she understood. 15 months ago, she convinced me to stay, “just until the annual meeting,” and I promised that I would. I guaranteed her those three months, and then, “we’d talk again.”

This time, when I turned in my resignation, she had already announced her own retirement.

I have five days left, including today, and I promised I would finish up my notes for my files. I hope that I can. I promised I’d stay an extra day or two if I couldn’t finish up by my last day. I’m a sucker. I really am. I don’t know why I didn’t just keep up with my notes as I went along.

Yes I do, that’s a lie. It’s because there’s been so much work piled up with my consumers and at some point, it was the paperwork that took the hit. Now I’m paying for it. It’s okay, I’m not taking new people on. I’m wrapping up and passing my people on to coworkers because that’s the way it goes here.

So today, there’s a Board Meeting. It’s a mostly-new board with a brand new Board Chairman and he’s pretty awesome. He’s got a lot of energy and brings a lot to the table. I forget how it came about, but at the annual meeting he ended up offering to buy me a cup of iced coffee as an apology for something, and I forgot today was the board meeting so he chastised me for not e-mailing him with my favored coffee flavor. I told him, then hedged, and told him that Friday is my last day because he offered to bring the coffee next week. He seemed genuinely bothered, so I explained about my health and current family concerns, but how much I love the agency and the people I work with. He asked if there was anything the board could do to keep me here and stated that if I change my mind after a period of time I’d be welcome back any time. I told him that meant a lot to me and I’d keep it in mind.

That was kind of awesome.

Now I only have to worry about getting my SSDI application completed, and waiting three months or so for them to respond with an approval. But I have to actually stop working first. I’m nervous. I’m really nervous. This whole thing is a huge life decision. It changes my life, my husband’s life, and that of my children. I realize that it also affects the work place that I’m leaving.

I have to be selfish this one time. I have to listen to my body and my family. I can even take this as a chance to talk to my daughters about how this choice still fits in with being a feminist.

It’s time to do this. The rest of my life is about to begin.

 

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Equality. When women and other protected classes fight for equal rights to be recognized legally and for discriminatory practices to be made illegal, we are not infringing on the rights of others.

We are not diminishing the value or equality of others.

We are maintaining that others hold no superiority over us.

We are asserting our rights to make choices for ourselves in all things, as intelligent, empowered, sentient, educated people.

We are advocating for those who may not have as big of a voice as we do, who may not have as much education, but still deserve all of the protections and rights as we do.

We may make mistakes along the way, as all movements do, but we have momentum and we have justice on our side.

I get to parent three incredible daughters. My daughters and I have conversations about important things. I teach them by example. My hope is to raise them into strong, caring, loving, and generous women with high self-esteem and a good education.

I want them to be confident in their talents. I want them to continue to be self-advocates and to advocate for others. I want them to continue to choose good, supportive, and positive people to help raise them up. I want them to continue to value their family and friends. I want them to know that they have choices, and they have these choices at any stage in their adult live; that it’s never too late to create a dream and work towards it. 

Being a feminist means recognizing that the world is open to us with unlimited choices, and moving forward to remove boundaries in society.

It’s a daily fight in legislature, a daily prayer, daily action, and daily modeling of behavior.

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Dear Kathy Griffin,

I hope today finds you, well, I hope it finds you well. I’m assuming that today, likely now to be known as Two Days After That Execution Video & Photo Shoot, you’re having some internal dialogue as you and your publicist continue with damage control. I’m not going to assume too much about your state of mind prior to that stunt; I’m not going to assume too much about your current state of mind either.  

I’m not interested in being part of your character assassination. I’m not going to flame you or try to hurt your feelings. My intent here is to try to bring you back down to Earth where the little people are. I’ve peripherally noticed your career, since I’m not a fan of your brand of comedy.  I do appreciate your activism and find your serious acting roles interesting.

So when Wednesday I only peripherally noticed your name in one or two vague Facebook statuses late in the evening, I assumed that you had simply pushed a sensitive political button for Republicans. I went to bed blissfully unaware. I had a nice balance of polite dislike-sometimes-like and respect.

Thursday morning (yesterday), the morning news and radio were kind enough to share all of the gory details of the “Execution Video” showing you holding the decapitated head of Donald Trump. They shared your interview about the video you made with Tyler Shields behind the camera. I saw the video with the blurred out “head.” Thanks to the internet, later on, I saw the more graphic images ie. no blurring. It drove the point home that the intended “joke” and the edginess, provocativeness of the juxtaposition between yourself and Trump and an ISIS terrorist and a hostage. They talked about your apologies, and mentioned how they’re not being accepted by organizations such a the VFW. They talked about CNN canceling your future job engagements with them.

It took a me a whole day to process what I had seen and heard. I’m appalled and disappointed. I’m sure you wish you had thought things through and considered that the only approving audience might actually be ISIS. I’m writing this because I’m not entirely sure that you understand why your apologies haven’t been accepted, and why many people won’t forgive you for a long time, if ever. Just think about the Dixie Chicks.

You’ve owned that what happened was wrong, yes. You say that you know it was wrong and won’t do it again. The tricky part here is that people aren’t convinced that you know why it wrong. I don’t think people are convinced that you know why people of all political persuasions and regardless of their opinions on Mr. Trump are as equally appalled. 

We’re already in a very precarious political situation. I know that I’m not saying anything new. It’s not a secret or anything even profound. It’s well known as a fact that it’s been a nonstop fiasco since this dumpster fire of a president announced his intent to campaign. I share the embarrassment over the fact that this man is sitting in the Oval Office. I share in the feeling of moral disgust and automatically-triggered rage and anxiety by simply looking at that man’s face.

We all want to have the balance of power restored. We all want to feel empowered in our lives, and to help others find that which makes them feel empowered.

This video didn’t come from a place of power or empowerment, and it doesn’t evoke those feelings in most Americans. There’s a shared shock, mortification, disgust, and genuine outrage across all party lines, and it’s one of the few things uniting those who support Trump and those who vehemently oppose him .

It doesn’t matter that he’s the most hated president in our history; that he’s made history by having the lowest approval ratings not only in his first 100 days, but of any president; He may be the biggest embarrassment in the international stage of leaders; He may be the most corrupt not-politician that ever politicked and the most corrupt individual to ever sit in that chair in the Oval Office; but none of that matters.

The problem is that what you decapitated wasn’t really Donald Trump. You didn’t figuratively cut off the head of the snake and speak out against his policies, ethics, morals, authority, or even his goings on in his personal life. Take Trump out of it. The decapitated head you held was not viewed as a symbol of removing Trump and his power and control. Those of us who are appalled could look at that head and blur out the features, and in our minds imagine any President in its face. We can imagine every President, past and future, in its place.

Because it’s not the current president whose head you decapitated.

It was the very notion of The President of the United States that you decapitated. You decapitated the very rich, full history, the respect, and honor of the Office of the President, and every other office. You decapitated the American People in a manner that was visually and morally repugnant; in a manner that was hateful, chilling, threatening, and violent. You decapitated the privilege, power, influence, giving the incredible potential and opportunity to do GOOD in that office, which is our right as The People under the Constitution.

We have problems in our nation, no doubt. That’s not news. Our country shares many of the same social issues and political issues as other countries. There’s corruption, racism, classism, ableism, and every anti-something you can think of. We have people that are anarchists and hate the government and authority. We have things to be embarrassed about and to apologize over.

But we are also a nation of advocates, allies, lobbyists, writers, artists, journalists, actors, parents, self-advocates, people that care and can make noise when our elected officials do and say things we dislike. We can speak out with our votes; writing letters; attending peaceful, non-violent protests; making phone calls; and anything else that’s protected by the Constitution regarding free speech. We want our messages to come from a true place of power, empowerment, peace, dedication, passion, advocacy, activism, patriotism, and non-violence as is our Constitutional right. This is what we take pride in, and what retains and maintains our Freedoms and our Civil Rights.

This is what Americans do.. we advocate, not decapitate.

I know it’s unlikely that you’ll stumble upon this entry, but if you do read it Ms. Griffin, I hope you read it with an open mind.

Sincerely,

Jessica

 

After The Press  Conference

EDITED TO ADD because I listened to that disaster of a news conference:

Back up the truck.

Kathy Griffin, you made a horrible mistake holding this press conference today. Justifying your actions and going on the attack and listing all of the horrible, disgusting things Trump has said and done as your excuse simply proves that you don’t understand why what you did was wrong. I’m no fan of Trump. I’m no supporter of the suppression of women’s rights. That doesn’t mean I can’t be appalled at that press conference.

It’s not appropriate to tell people to stop being angry because your feelings are hurt that no one “got” your joke and no one appreciated the art.

It’s not appropriate to accuse people of trying to suppress your right to free speech or violate your 1st Amendment Rights. You took offensive photos, and people are reacting. The nation is reacting. You say you don’t have a network behind you, you’re losing jobs. That’s not silencing you. It’s a business decision for them. It’s a consequence for you. People, men and women, have been fired for far, far less than what you did.

You have the right to free speech as long as it’s not hate speech; incites violence; can be considered a death threat or threat of violence upon someone else especially the president. You forget that people have a right to react to your free speech and what you believe is art.

I’m disappointed that you turned this into an equal rights issue for women. It would have been just as horrifying coming from a male comedian. It would have been considered just as inappropriate. This is what rich old white men say when they accuse us of “playing the woman card.” Turning on the tears and pointing out how you’re such a small frail woman doesn’t do any favors for you or for women. Your behavior in that news conference perpetuated every negative female stereotype, and as much as you want to claim Girl Power and pretend that this is about you being a woman, and there are some big bad good ole’ boy men silencing you poor little tiny female, you stomped feminism under your precious little feet.

There’s this thing where you tell a joke, and people laugh, and you know it’s funny. There’s this other thing where you tell a joke and no one laughs and you know it’s not funny. Then there’s this final thing when you tell what you think is a joke and literally everyone is angry and appropriately outraged, and you have to accept that maybe the problem isn’t everyone else.

Chastising others wasn’t the way to go. Humility was. Laying low and refraining from having a press conference where you said all of these things that you should have kept to yourself until you gained more perspective was the way to go.

You’ve only made it worse.

People don’t tolerate sorry-not-sorry nonpologies.

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As a life blogger, it’s not exactly a rare thing to have difficulty choosing a topic and writing about it. Writer’s block is a real thing. 🙂

What I’ve been having trouble with for the past month is on the other end of the writing spectrum of difficulty: I’ve been trying to write about the dumpster fire that is the current White House Administration and fraudulent president, but every time I try to write something it’s either obsolete before I finish writing or there are six other things that should either be added or have their own entries.

While I thought it would give me satisfaction to watch Trump go down in smoke and flames, while I dance around him pointing at those who voted for him singing, “Told ya so!” it’s really giving me no satisfaction at all. I’m not dancing. I’m not laughing. I’m not singing.

I never really wanted to do the dance. I do enjoy, a little bit, the occasional pettiness of telling someone, “I told you so,” but I’m sporting about it. I tell them ahead of time that if I’m right about something and they go ahead and do the opposite, that I’ll say, “I told you so.” I’m equally sporting in that if I don’t give the warning, I won’t say it.

I did want to be wrong about Trump with every fiber of my being.

I’ve prayed harder than I ever have in my life for his success; for him become a true patriot; for him to care about others besides himself; for him to be ethical, moral, kind, compassionate, generous, and to be so even when it’s in private and not a photo op; for him to be honest, truthful, and to expect the same high standards from those he surrounds himself with.

What I am is embarrassed, ashamed, fearful, and anxious that what I thought could happen was far exceeded prior to 100 days. Those feelings have doubled in the days since April 29th 2017.

America is viewed globally as weak and as a laughingstock. We are viewed as extremely volatile and dangerous. We are viewed as ignorant and undignified. After all, we “elected” a man without education, class, morals, ethics, refinement, nor any sort of interpersonal or soft skills and is utterly lacking in business skills or common sense.

Because I simply can’t get into everything without my skull imploding and my fingers turning bloody from typing, let me share this:

We have “no way to know” if the Russians bugged the Oval Office when they visited Trump the other day. No way to know? NO WAY to know? Please, Mr Tillerson… Rex…  Please Rex, give us something anything please oh please give us something more than “we have no way to know” please omg please are you fucking kidding me? We don’t have some way, I don’t know, using some sort of technology from one of our intelligence agencies or something to detect bugs? Are we really that inept? Or are we that broke? Do spy movies and TV shows have a bigger budget than the White House Security and NSA for really cool anti-intelligence spy intelligence technology shit?

How about you reassure us that the Russians being confused about what was supposed to actually be considered classified material during that 25 minute meeting isn’t far more concerning than it sounds? How about reassuring us about the fact that Trump shared 50 unscripted things with them? You know, classified thing; things he wasn’t supposed to tell them that are apparently, you know, considered classified. Were there any launch codes in there? Locations of black ops teams? Details about our fighter jets and missiles? Mrs Field’s Cookies recipes?

I’m thinking that what the Russians are really saying is,

“We’re confused. What classified intel do you think he told us… that we didn’t already know?”

I’m a mother. I’m a wife. I can read between lines.

It’s pretty easy to read this: stop saying that Trump “allegedly” told the Russians classified material. It’s not alleged when he admitted publicly that he did it. He can’t even keep a secret in 140 characters or less on Twitter, did anyone think he could or would keep State Secrets from Putin?

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