A Tall Girl's Adventures in a Tiny World

"Hello, Tori? This is Maureen." The voice is unfamiliar, somewhat tentative; I didn't recognize the phone number. I pause, put a smile in my voice, and respond, "Hello? I'm sorry, who?" "Maureen. You put a note on my car yesterday." Oh no. My stomach flips. In the midst of the blizzard clean-up a couple days ago, I backed the minivan into a small car in front of my house. The street was crowded with snow plows and commuters, I was a bit frazzled trying to find a way back into my own driveway, and I just didn't even see this little gray compact. I thought I'd backed into a snow bank! I was only moving about 3 mph, so I know I didn't damage the car, but I left a note because that's what you're supposed to do, right? I had hoped, since I hadn't heard anything in over 24 hours, that I'd never hear from the car owner. Maybe snow melted on the note and smeared the digits. Maybe she swished the wipers before seeing the note...

A note to my sons on the night before the Women's March Hi, guys. I've been thinking a lot about this march, as you know, this week...and last week...and the week before...and as the day gets closer, I'm feeling pretty anxious about leaving you and traveling to Washington. I know you will be safe with Dad (winter camping! how awesome), and I'm going to do everything I can to keep myself and your Aunties safe in Washington. I've been reading and preparing and talking to everyone I know who's ever been involved in a protest march, so at least I'm ready mentally.  I wrote that long post yesterday, full of all the high-minded reasons that I'm marching. As I thought about it last night, I felt uncomfortable with that post. Like it was a re-hash of all the things other people have written. Even more, I feel like a phony-baloney. You know I'm not really an activist, or at least I haven't been. For example, I cried and cheered when the Supreme Court ...

Zippy and I hiked in the woods the other day, following the icy trails around Evergreen Cemetery. The cold air stung our eyes but the sun shone warm and bright, and it felt great to breathe fresh air. As he skipped and hopped and twirled beside, in front, and around me, I felt peaceful, happy, content. Until I realized the Womens' March is in a few days, I am going, and I don't know what to expect. I've never done anything like this, except for a few years ago at Occupy Philly , which was nothing compared to the numbers they're anticipating this weekend. The Women's March will be a peaceful protest, yes, but 200,000 is an awful lot of people in highly charged city during turbulent times. I felt anxiety creeping into my chest. "So you know I'm going away this weekend, right? To Washington, D.C. For just two sleeps. Do you know why I'm going?" I asked Zippy. "Because you don't like Donald Trump and he's going to be the President....

“Mommy, where will we move to after Donald Trump drops the big atomic bomb to start World War 3? I don’t want to have to move again. And when will Zahir be sent back to Somalia? I don’t want him to go because he just got here and he gives really good hugs.” These are the words Zippy spoke on Wednesday evening, after spending post-election day in school with a bunch of other 6-year-olds who have huge, scary questions on their minds. Their teacher, whom I adore, shut down all the post-election conversation. I wish she hadn’t done that. I wish she’d taken the opportunity to tell those kids the simple truth: You are safe here, our country is strong and the Constitution will hold, we adults will protect you. But maybe Zippy’s teacher, like me, doesn’t truly feel that way right now. Maybe she is uncertain about our safety - or our ability to keep our loved ones safe. And maybe she, too, wonders if our country, this great American experiment, truly is strong enough to weather the mon...

Dear Grace, The story of your birthday party has touched me: the friendships between you and Justin and between your mom and Tammy, the outpouring of support from friends and family and strangers, photos of you smiling and dancing in your beautiful teal gown. You don't seem comfortable with all the attention, but as your name suggests, you bear it graciously and gracefully and gratefully. In the short time I've known your family, I have admired your mother's humor and poise, and I've enjoyed your brother's quirky brilliance. And now I know and respect your resilience and wisdom.  I thought over and over while reading and processing your story, "I can't imagine what that family is going through." But I realized today that's not true. I lived this hell that you're in now. And truly, the fact that it took me a little while to realize that may a testimony to the fact that someday, you too will heal. You may never feel whole and you wil...

This winter was brutal. Not just because of the neverending snow days (10! Our kids had 10 snow days! And a handful of late openings, which wreak even worse havoc on routines), but also because of the evening schedule, my daily work load, and the pick-up in my travel dates. I was a miserable cuss by February.  I felt like there was not nearly enough of me to go around. Always torn between my home and work responsibilities, I had a horrible time managing my time, focusing on tasks, and getting things done -- in the office and at home. I was working all day, regardless of whether the office was closed because of snow, and I was logging on after the kids were in bed because the list of tasks was just growing and looming. I wasn't getting enough sleep, and I was waking up feeling even more tired than I had at bedtime. Burning the candle at both ends, my mom used to call this.  I became short-tempered. I became sad. I became frustrated. Around mid-March, during a snuggle sessi...

I marched in the Occupy Philly protest last Saturday, and I've been trying to find the words to describe it all week. People who know me look puzzled when I tell them, and I've been trying to explain why this movement has taken root in my heart. Last Saturday, for a few brief hours, I stood up to the anxiety, anger, frustration, and fear that has gripped me for the last few years. For a few brief hours, I marched with people who want better for me and you and this entire country, people who may be ideologically different but stand together because they believe there’s still hope for this democracy, that there’s still a chance that our government will take action for the people and not for the corporations that fund their campaigns. There’s a perception that the Occupy Wall Street movement is simply a mob of young, disenfranchised 20-somethings who have nothing better to do than sleep on city sidewalks to disrupt the lives of those of us with jobs. Revolutions are ...

Time for some good news --- and a great photo of our buddy Musa, smiling and healthy! Ruth and Musa will be returning to Freetown today. Please keep Musa, Ruth, and the Kabba family in your prayers as he continues to heal and grow and flourish. He will be celebrating his 12th birthday in May --- hooray!

I got a call earlier today that brought me to tears. Great big happy tears of relief and gratitude. Musa's second and final surgery took place today, a day ahead of schedule, because lab results from earlier this week determined that he was ready to go -- in fact, healthier than the doctors first realized. They don't even think his initial diagnosis of Hirschprung's Disease was correct. So, at 4pm today, Ghana time, he entered the operating room, and four hours later, his colon had been resectioned and the stoma removed. He will not need the colostomy bags anymore. What good, good news.

First the Phillies won the World Series. Then Obama was elected President of the United States. And now this... I'm starting to believe that nothing is impossible. Musa's first surgery took place this morning at 7a.m., Ghana time. And Tom just called to tell me that the surgery was a success! Mind you, I'm hearing news third-hand from a man with a very thick West African accent, and he has received his news in 2-minute snippets over a third-world phone connection, but I'll try to convey what I got from the conversation: This first surgery was an exploratory surgery because without any medical records, the doctors needed to get a better look at what they're dealing with. They were able to identify and repair some "errors" that occurred in Musa's last surgery in Sierra Leone, and they have taken some specimens of his colon to determine how to best treat him. Hirschprungs is a disease of the nerves in the bowel, so from what I understand, they are tryin...

Well, folks, we did it -- we raised enough money for Musa's surgery. Unbelievable! THANK YOU! I really didn't think this would be possible, let alone happen so quickly. (We even have a small "just in case" amount set aside.) Ruth has half the money in hand, and the remainder will be wired to her by Tuesday. Musa's first surgery is scheduled for Friday morning, 7 a.m. And of course now that the frenzy of fundraising has settled a bit, I'm actually thinking rationally, and I'm feeling all sorts of nervous about this -- please let it be the answer, please let us be helping more than harming. The child has been through five surgeries already, and anyone who's had an appendix removed or a C-section knows that abdominal surgery is no picnic. Before he goes home, he will have two more surgeries. That makes seven, all told. In just 11 years of life! Oh my goodness. (Again, I can't help but think there's a bigger plan for this child, to have already ove...

I have great news -- we are very close to our goal for Musa! We raised enough in just one day that Ruth can give the hospital a "good faith" payment for the first surgery. As far as I know, Musa's first surgery will take place this weekend. Then he will be in the hospital for observation for 7-10 days before having the second surgery. We need to come up with just a few hundred dollars more to pay for the hospitalization and surgeries, and I'm hopeful that we may even come up with a small amount to give to the family for any additional living expenses Ruth incurs while in Ghana, or to help them when they return to Freetown, since she has given up her income to take her son to Ghana. Donations have been coming in since my initial plea -- and I am so moved by the generosity people have shown. I've set up a PayPal account, too, to make it easier to donate; just click the button in the top right-hand corner of my blog. Growing up in Sierra Leone is hard enough for ev...

There’s an 11-year-old boy in Freetown, Sierra Leone, named Musa Kabba who needs our help. I have blogged about him twice before ( here and here ), and although I have never met him in person, he and his family became very important to me in the fall of 2007 when they opened their hearts and home to my sister, Robyn, who was at the time a college junior living in Freetown for five months. Musa also happens to be the nephew of a friend at my church, Tom. Musa has a condition called Hirschprung’s Disease . In the United States , a child diagnosed with Hirschprung’s Disease can often be treated with a pull-through procedure, in which a portion of the colon is removed then re-sectioned. Many children with this disease go on to live normal lives, with modified diet and good healthcare. Sadly, Musa has undergone five painful surgeries in Sierra Leone , a country where the doctor to patient ratio is roughly 1 to 300,000; Sierra Leone simply lacks the medical infrastructure, professionals, a...