Bread and Bread

Photo by Fredrik Öhlander on Unsplash If you were a snowflake— your mother a glacier, your arms branched and reaching— the photos would melt you.  The blast-orange light revealing a thrown-back head, flames marching along an IV tube, blaze branched, arm reaching. You would throw your cold body on the fire, turn to steam. You would mourn the loss, condemn the evil. But you are a fist of coal— not hard enough to become a diamond,  you are disappointment in the toe  of a bad child's Christmas stocking. And so you file the photos between Guilt and Luck in your dewey decimal mind.  Your mother was a librarian, your father an engineer. Their shared currency was worry. So when you wonder if you are dying, if your CBC is tea leaves, if animals can smell cancer,  is this self-love or -hatred?  Ego is a red herring, a lavender menace. And when you thought, But they're probably not even sick, they were probably in the hospital because of the war,  you crowned them innocent and worthy of

I don't think anyone has ever heard about the Hart family without being horrified. But if the story hasn't faded into the True Crime file folder in your mind since it happened in 2018—if it has instead stayed fresh and insidious—maybe you are an adoptive parent. Maybe you are a foster parent. Maybe your children are a different race from you. Maybe you are a parent whose children were taken into foster care under the guise of safety, only to encounter its opposite. Maybe you survived foster care yourself.  If you don't remember: Two white lesbians adopted six Black children (two sibling sets) from foster care. They were the picture of social media love-makes-a-family perfection. A photo of their son Devonte hugging a white cop went viral for its "Black AND Blue Lives Matter!" vibes, presumably. Jennifer and Sarah Hart moved around a lot, leaving a trail of abuse accusations and open CPS cases behind them, but white savior narratives and the failures of inter-agen

Hear me out: I've been watching weight loss shows lately. Things with titles like 1,000 Lb Sisters. One of the shows is... 1,000 Lb Sisters. The other is 1,000 Lb Best Friends.  If you're not familiar with either of these shows, first, congratulations on having good taste and not consuming fat-shaming media. Also, here's my best attempt at a summary: The sisters in question are Amy and Tammy Slaton, who landed a TLC show that first aired in 2020 after their YouTube channel became a hit because they were genuinely funny and raunchy (lots of fart talk) and very fat. The premise of the TV show is that they will try to lose enough weight to qualify for bariatric surgery.  I assume there are medical reasons that people have to lose weight before they can have a medical procedure that helps them lose weight—to demonstrate that they can make the lifestyle changes that will be necessary after surgery? Because operating on someone with extreme amounts of extra fat is riskier? Nevert

Recently one of my therapists (plural) told me I talk too much. Well, technically she said that while doing EMDR, she needed to interrupt my highly intellectualized storytelling more, so that we could prioritize reprocessing rather than letting me tip into re-experiencing trauma. And she said it very nicely. But a little part of me heard "You're too much for your therapist, and now you have failed," and of course that kind of thinking is why I'm in therapy. Today I listened to this episode of This American Life, in which Yousef (above, with his family), an incredibly determined, kind, and good-humored Palestinian man, talks about how his two-year-old son wants "a thousand kisses" before going to bed. He laughs and says he doesn't mind. In nearly the same breath, he says he regrets having kids, because what's the point of having children if you can't protect them? I wanted to jump through my car radio and hug him, or some other useless action, be