Teach them not to rape.

Between the peanut flour in the pretzels I used to let Theo eat, the possibility that my kids have been drinking lead water for YEARS, and the end of school year crazy: I have not given the proper outrage to the Standford case.
Please read the victim’s statement. We need her to know that we see her and that we believe her. That we know this case is about misogyny and white privilege, and RAPE (not “action”).

I vow to her that I will raise boys that chase down the rapist of an unconscious girl and hold him down until the police arrive. I will teach them NOT TO RAPE. They will be the boys that help, not harm. This has to stop.


I was not only told that I was assaulted, I was told that because I couldn’t remember, I technically could not prove it was unwanted. And that distorted me, damaged me, almost broke me. It is the saddest type of confusion to be told I was assaulted and nearly raped, blatantly out in the open, but we don’t know if it counts as assault yet. I had to fight for an entire year to make it clear that there was something wrong with this situation.

A life, one life, yours, you forgot about mine. Let me rephrase for you, I want to show people that one night of drinking can ruin two lives. You and me. You are the cause, I am the effect. You have dragged me through this hell with you, dipped me back into that night again and again. You knocked down both our towers, I collapsed at the same time you did. If you think I was spared, came out unscathed, that today I ride off into sunset, while you suffer the greatest blow, you are mistaken. Nobody wins. We have all been devastated, we have all been trying to find some meaning in all of this suffering. Your damage was concrete; stripped of titles, degrees, enrollment. My damage was internal, unseen, I carry it with me. You took away my worth, my privacy, my energy, my time, my safety, my intimacy, my confidence, my own voice, until today.


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The non-sporty boy. He likes to dance!

The other day I read an article on HuffPost Parents about raising a boy that doesn’t play sports. I shared it on my Facebook page.

My husband is having a hard time with this. The non-sporty son.Me? Notsomuch. He might not ever make that layup, but…

Posted by ViolaCay on Tuesday, February 2, 2016


It resonated with many more people than I expected. It would appear that there are many non-sporty boys out there.

I guess I was sharing it as my own explanation for having a boy that doesn’t like sports. People normally ask what sports he’s doing instead of a general “what is he doing?”. I always launch into an explanation about how he tried all these different sports but never found his thing. Trying to explain. I see him struggle to answer it sometimes too. Although he is playing basketball right now, so at least he has that to offer. But let’s just say the college scouts are not making a bee line for the local YMCA’s courts. Um, no.

But I don’t want us to do that anymore. Why am I listing the things he has tried and doesn’t like? Why don’t I tell people that he draws, builds, and creates? He is loving his clarinet lessons. He’s going to take more acting classes. Fencing is something he’d like to try. They can ask him questions about all those things!

So in that spirit what he really loves, what he does, is dance.

I frequently tell people that there is nothing my boy works harder at or likes to do more than dance. Hip Hop dance to be precise. He is not a prodigy, but he’s really really good. And he loves it. So there you go.

The day I posted that FB status update we also went to his dance class and I took a little snippet of video…


Miss Twyla worked them really hard that day. He only learned those moves 15 minutes before I tried to stealthily record them through the glass door. In the car on the way home he said, “OMG that’s not a dance studio, that’s a murder room! I think I’m dying!!”.

He might have felt that way, but he’ll go back to that murder room. Week after week he will go. And love every minute of it. Because it’s what he does.




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The Nutcracker 2015 – Boston Ballet

Boston Ballet

Boston Ballet in Mikko Nissinen’s The Nutcracker; photo by Rosalie O’Connor.

One of my very favorite traditions of the holiday season is going to the Nutcracker with my daughter.

We get all dolled up, have a nice dinner out and go to the Ballet. I never want it to end. The evening, or the tradition. I know it will some day soon, she is getting so big. Already seven and becoming smarter and stronger every day. So I soak it all in.

The way she looks at the city, the theater, the dancers, the sets, the costumes, and me. The way her eyes light up when she sees the tree grow, how she giggles at the black sheep and the bear, the sound of her gasp as the men jump SO high, seeing her sit at the edge of her seat as the prima ballerina skillfully stays on pointe.

Again the dancing was flawless, sets and costumes gorgeous, so much loveliness in one place.

The Nutcracker is a story of Christmas but also of childhood. The wonder and magic of both. I love that I get to be a part of it with my little girl every year.

The Nutcracker is being performed by the Boston Ballet through December 31st. You can purchase your tickets here.


At The Nutcracker! @bostonballet never disappoints. #ballet #boston #christmas

A photo posted by violacay (@violacay) on

We found a friend at the @bostonballet! He’s cracking us up! #sorrynotsorry #ballet #christmas #boston

A photo posted by violacay (@violacay) on





Here are some reasons to go :-) (from 2012, but still hold true)


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Disclosure: This post (and my sharing on social media) was inspired by my participation in a program by The Boston Ballet. I was given tickets to a performance. 

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Parting is such sweet sorrow Red Jacket Resorts

Parting is such sweet sorrow Red Jacket Resorts…

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Refrigerator Light – how does this thing work.

Refrigerator Light – how does this thing work.

Ah the minds of 5 year olds. How do those work?!

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Preschool Graduation – the baby is all growed up

I’m not gonna lie. This hurts. This hurts like all get out.


My baby just graduated from Preschool. That means he’s off to Kindergarten in the fall.


Elementary School.

With the big kids.

A giant backpack on his back.

Lunch made.

Jumping out of the van.

Running up the path.

Away from me.


They are all moving away from me, all three. All the time. It’s the nature of kids. The grow. They move away from you. That’s what’s supposed to happen. But GAWD it hurts like a mutha.

I just want to keep them all right here, for just a bit longer.

I am having all the feels.

Next year means all the kids will be in one school. I got little brother into the after school program for the kindergarteners. That means one drop off. One pickup.

I have 8:30 – 2:45 all to myself. To do anything. Or something. I don’t even know what. What the hell am I going to do? But what if they need me? They’re so grown up, but still so little. Ridiculous.


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