My Experience in the Schuyler County Jail

 by Jimmy Betts (in conversation with Sandra Steingraber)

Jimmy Betts, age 30, of Omaha, Nebraska, walked across the nation as part of the Great March for Climate Action. He joined We Are Seneca Lake in a blockade at Crestwood’s gates on November 17, 2014 and was incarcerated December 3-11.

 What surprised you the most about being in jail for a week?

This experience was far more liberating for me than I expected. Having recently finished the Great March across the country, I had a lot to process. The rigors and ‘confinement’ of organizing the climate march—and being saddled with certain unexpected burdens during the march—were not fully realized until I was incarcerated.

In fact, I found that I was able to better cultivate a number of personal faculties, emotional acknowledgments, appreciations of the privileges of jail that exist, and simply mourn the trauma of the past year. In jail, I was able to experience more meaningful sleep, meditative practice, fitness, reading, writing, and breathing without the stifling scorn, self-serving judgments, and unreasonable demands of an oppressive system of entitlement.

Oddly, physical confinement was more conducive to freedom than a nomadic climate movement.

What helped make your participation on the blockade line and in jail a meaningful experience for you?

Proper planning by the steering committee and all the mobilized Seneca Lake Defenders played a big part, as did the campaign’s reinforced messaging, which focuses on local needs as well as global imperatives. There is space for collaborative experiential learning in the movement (from what I have seen).

The insights gathered from within myself AND from within the jail system itself are invaluable, and I recommend this experience to everyone.  Going to jail is not something to be feared, nor is it meant only be an impressive spectacle, but should be a well-implemented tool for ecological change alongside many other tactics.

How did you spend your time?

Total: 176 hours.

40% sleeping; 30% meditating/cultivating; 25% reading; 5% writing: 0.000001% eating

Here’s what I read:

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago 1918-1956: An Experiment in Literary Investigation (1973)

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich (1962)

Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago (1957)

Isaac Bashevis Singer, A Friend of Kafka and Other Stories (1970)

Cormac McCarthy, The Road (2006)

It’s not a guarantee that books brought in by an inmate’s friend or family member will be issued to the inmate. I did not receive the books that a friend delivered to me, but they were stored with my personal possessions and provided to me on my release.

The jail library is very simple, and it might be worth looking into how WASL and supporters might supplement the library with donated books, etc.

One thing to note here—as my reading choices made clear to me—we live in a privileged time in human history. Though we may experience bouts of justice-injustice, torture, and the like, we have yet to see the massive, full-scale “interrogations” of the Russian revolutionary periods, which sentenced more people to death than the Holocaust. As bad as we may think we have it here, there needs to be an appreciation lodged next to our judgments of the prison-industrial complex as well. The fact that we can schedule our own incarcerations (to some extent) and have strategic influence in this way sometimes seems like one of our last toeholds of popular control.

What about mail?

I did not SEND any mailed correspondence, mainly due to the short duration of my stay. However, I did write about two-dozen pages-worth of musings, and I did receive many pieces of mail. The officers on duty delivering mail kindly gave me a minute or so to copy down all of the return addresses on the twenty or so envelopes of correspondence that I received. Inmates are not allowed to keep the envelopes themselves.

The mail I received was from friends, parents, marchers, WASL’ers (I’m pronouncing this “wassailers” as their incoming letters seemed like receiving a volley of inspiration and festive activist support in my iron and concrete cage), and unexpected sources. I even received a letter from someone else who had been inside the courtroom on the night of my sentencing and who recounted for me the arraignment proceedings that I had missed because I was the first defendant of the night to be taken into custody and extracted from the courtroom.

Supporters of future inmates should know that there is a cut-off date in terms of sending mail to inmates. For inmates in jail for a week, letters should be sent on the first day of their incarceration. At least two pieces of mail sent to me arrived after I was released; they were returned to sender.

Did you have a TB test?

I was not given a TB test, but I was brought in and questioned by the jail nurse for all of five minutes. I remained in lockdown/keep-lock/classification until Saturday afternoon. After that, I was allowed to leave my cell during the day and spend time in the common area of my cellblock.

Tell us about showers and hygiene in jail.

It is recommended to shower daily (7 AM or shortly thereafter) out of respect for your fellow cellmates. You are expected to change underclothes daily if possible. There is a laundry collection and laundry bags that the officers or trustees clean for you. You are allowed TWO sets of inmate clothing (orange pants and orange scrub top). I did not know this and was only given one in the beginning. Based on your own awareness, and possibly requesting feedback from others locked up with you, you can chose your hygiene routine.

Men are issued Bob Barker Maximum Security Deodorant. The ingredients did not seem as insidious as many found on the open market. It’s not an anti-perspirant, so it contains no aluminum.  It does contain propylene glycol, triclosan, from what I recall, but I did not notice any parabens. The toothpaste contains fluoride. I did notice myself brushing my teeth more often than usual, possibly out of boredom, but also because fasting tends to generate some mouth fuzz build-up throughout the day.

Did you get any exercise?

Walking, push-ups, bodyweight exercises, qigong, standing meditation, yoga, tai chi, etc were all acceptable and doable from within my jail cell. I found pull-ups difficult without having a comfortable hanging handhold in the cellblock, but doable with the use of a towel to buffer the hands.

I only attended one of the group recreation opportunities and opted out of two due to low energy level. Also, enjoying the empty, quiet, TV-free cellblock was a thing of simple majesty.

The We Are Seneca Lake campaign is determined to make sure all our incarcerated Defenders have visitors.

 It was a great break to have a visitor on Sunday and Wednesday! Note that there are only TWO visitations per week, total, and visits can have multiple (I believe up to three) visitors.

What were the other inmates like?

They were particularly helpful, even if they had some strong feelings regarding the “jobs issue” and “protesters” impinging on the “advancement of progress through corporate efforts.” One of the inmates was a pipe-layer for the natural gas industry in years previous.

One of my largest oscillations, personally, was feeling both compassion and empathy for another confined human being but also realizing in many cases, these inmates had been inadvertently caught for breaking laws in ways that were related to drugs, money, and not strategic, publicly announced, world-changing motives. There were times where I had to simply listen and be present for the “coming to terms” processing that was being laid before me from my cellblock-mates.

This said, I am glad I did not observe silence while in jail. For future silence-holders, good messaging and the proper alerting of prison staff both in written and verbal confirmation is paramount.

As for personal security, it’s pretty basic. Do not touch the guards. EVER. It seemed acceptable to shake hands, hug, and make reasonable physical contact with other inmates. You must stay out of other inmates’ cells altogether.

You chose to fast while in jail. Tell us about that decision and about the food.

 All meals contained some form of fruit, vegetable/starch. All lunches and dinners contained meat. I did not request a vegetarian option, though I would recommend this in the future for fasters.

From my experience as a faster with long-term experience, medical assessment abilities, and cultivation practice (meditation and physical transformation, etc.), I will say that I did succumb to the needs of my body once.

The following reasons precipitated this conscious decision to break my fast with a single banana:

1) Cold temperatures in my cell and officers withholding my clothing. I had no underwear, socks, shirt, or sweatshirt for the first four days. Without any food incoming or hot water to drink, my thermal regulation capabilities were overly taxed for these first four days. Additionally, the guards opened up the windows to air out the entire floor of odors.

2) Poor electrolyte preparation by me. I knew better. Simply having a few days with better hydration, a more fortifying balanced diet, and possibly even preceding the jail time with a simple cleanse, would have been ideal. My time in jail began after a nearly 24-hour-drive, little sleep, and plenty of travel stress.

I can generally feel the deficiencies in my circulatory system and heart, especially with magnesium and potassium. This manifests as splitting headaches as well as heart palpitations. In this case, there were a bit of both, and these symptoms led me to balancing with a banana on Saturday morning.

As for the experience of being basically in jail without food for a week, here are my suggestions:

1) Keep physical exertion and activity to a minimum; do stretch, walk, practice breathing and meditation, and sleep a lot. Your body may not give you much of a choice.

2) Stay hydrated, but not over-hydrated. I remember urinating perhaps a dozen times in a day, depending on the day, but having only 2 bowel movements throughout the entire week. It’s important to make sure toxins and other nasty stagnant bits are encouraged to leave. Water, deep breathing practice, and healthy movement are your main sources of expediting this.

3) One may be prone to sleep disruptions, headaches, body aches, and other pesky distractions beyond pangs of hunger and an ongoing barrage of television food commercials of which there may be a hundred in a day. Similarly, when food arrives on trays, everyone else will be eating and you may or may not receive a tray. (This depends on whether you specifically announce your intent to fast and request a tray NOT be given to you.) I chose to receive food and distribute it among my cellmates.  The cost here is the amazing amount of styrofoam used–each cell block fills a garbage bag full of styro-waste every single day.

4) You WILL be offered food by other inmates, even if they know you are fasting – for some, fasting is an alien concept. As I did eat a banana, this did not help the learning curve for them.

5) Some delirium was expected, and the effervescent state of fasting was a constant.

Any final suggestions?

Make the most of your experience by talking and writing about it when you get out. You can get your own mugshot at the VineLink.com website for New York state (https://vinelink.com/vinelink/initSearchForm.do?siteId=33004). It’s searchable by inmate name. Somewhat of a workaround is involved in order to save it, but it might be good for a keepsake or media efforts. This is not a perfect system, as “Michael” was spelled “Micheal,” so be diligent.

I chose to expand my outreach through a school visit in the afternoon of the day of my release. This is a prime example of how to include the youth in the community AND by extension (both for young children as well as high-schoolers) engage their parents.  Consider the frothy parental fanaticism of support culture around sports, music, and other fields of interest where their children may devote energy. As an educator of over a decade and having coordinated hundreds of school programs, I find this approach an essential tool for ensuring the long-term resilience of a community. We must make way for the progressive youth to explore better options for ecological existence and instill a sense of personal importance to individual youth. Our culture currently embodies a sense of futility and hopelessness that makes it imperative that we find ways of remembering how to exercise the people’s rights collectively and individually.

My Experience at the Yates County Jail (Penn Yan, New York)

by Kelsey Erickson

(Kelsey Erickson, age 23, is a Cornell University graduate who currently resides in Carlisle, Massachusetts. She was one of four participants in the Great March for Climate Action to join Seneca Lake Defenders in a blockade and one of three to choose jail. She received the maximum sentence of 15 days and was incarcerated in the Yates County Jail. In May 2013, Kelsey’s friend and fellow Cornellian, Chris Dennis, drowned in Cayuga Lake—which is connected on its north end to Seneca Lake.)

Foreward:

There were a myriad of reasons why I chose to come back to upstate New York and risk arrest in defense of Seneca Lake, but there a few prominent reasons why I went so far as to go to jail for it. I feel a great sense of devotion to the Finger Lakes because my best friend, Chris Dennis, is now and forever a part of one of them. By protecting the lake I feel as though I am protecting his spirit and carrying on his unceasing commitment to end the extreme injustices posed by the fracking industry.

Another large part of my inspiration for doing jail time were the Ferguson protests, which challenged an assumed but false notion that freedom is a right to which all people have equal access. It is clear to me that in our country there are many people who are trapped from the moment of their birth because of societal biases that pre-dispose them to heightened incarceration rates and increased exposure to police brutality and killings. Thus, it is necessary for everyone, who are either victims of our system and who hold privilege work to eliminate these destructive biases. The realization that my freedom is attached to the privilege associated with the color of my skin is what ultimately made me decide to give it up.

Transition:

When I started my sentence I had intended to fast and hold silence for the duration of my stay. However, I was unable to maintain silence because my booking officers claimed it interfered with my ability to answer processing questions, even though I made clear that I was willing to communicate by writing. I was informed that the penalty for refusing to speak was a felony charge (for obstruction of government information).

This situation made my transition a little more complicated than most, but eventually I was received at the Yates County Jail where I chose to speak. Before being transported there, I had to change out of all of my clothes (under surveillance) except for underwear socks and a T-shirt and put on an orange jumpsuit at the Schuyler County Jail. Schuyler placed all my belongings (except for my ID) in a large plastic bag and placed the bag in a locker along with a label identifying them as mine.

While being transported from one jail to another, inmates are put in handcuffs (with arms in front) that are attached to a chain wrapping their waists. They are also put in leg shackles (same as handcuffs except they secure one’s ankles). Leg shackles are hard to walk in and a bit more uncomfortable than handcuffs.

Once being admitted to Yates, I had to change into their uniform. This time I was unable to keep any of my own clothes, not even my own underwear and socks. They supplied me with their own underwear and socks.

Jail Culture:

At Yates County Jail, there are both male and female inmates. (The ratio is about 7 men for every five women.) They are put in separate cellblocks, but inmates can still talk to each other through the walls. They also write letters and pass notes to each other through holes and under the door outside their cell (by reaching through the bars). All the inmates I encountered were very friendly and welcoming to new people.

There may be times, however, when your fellow inmates may act in ways that are a bit alarming. Many inmates are in on drug charges, and so they may be suffering withdrawal. They may make disturbing remarks about suicide, which is really distressing to hear. They may not want to talk to you, even if you’re trying to make them feel better. Try not to take their silence personally. They’ll likely be in better spirits in a half hour or so.

My impression of the C.O.s (Correction Officers) at Yates was that they had a good relationship with the inmates. The C.O.s would talk to inmates as they made their rounds and even joke with them.

That being said, the jail staff can and will exert near-complete control over you. For example, I had planned to fast for the entire week of my stay, but, on the fourth day, an officer called out “Erickson” in a stern, authoritative voice and informed me that I had to start eating or there would be no TV for my entire cell block. I tried to tell her the significance of why I was fasting: that it was spiritually and symbolically important to me and that that it was a way of showing solidarity with those who are suffering the worst effects of climate change. This explanation didn’t persuade her. She insisted that I had to start to eating or lose access to the TV.

Out of consideration of my cellmates who had far longer sentences than I, I broke my fast. This is my advice: If you are considering either fasting or holding silence during your time in jail, notify the jail ahead of time (although in my case I could not have known in advance that I was being taken to Yates).

Food:

Meals are served three times a day. I wasn’t sure of the exact times, but food seemed to arrive at about 7 A.M., noon and 6 P.M.

Yates was good about serving me only vegetarian meals, but make sure you request them when they process you. My meals usually consisted of the following:

Breakfast: cereal, milk, toast, jam and juice

Lunch: sandwich, juice, piece of fruit

Dinner: veggie burger or pasta, potato salad, broccoli, and a piece of fruit and sometimes ice cream for desert

Entertainment:

There is a TV for every cellblock and inmates have access to the remote so they can shut it off, adjust the volume or change the channel.

In the visiting room there is a library and a pool table. You can browse the library for a book or you can also receive books from friends on the outside. If you do receive books from outside, you’ll need to fill out a request form before 9 A.M. the following morning to receive them. (I did not know this so I didn’t get the books until two days after they were given to the jail.)

I was also supplied with a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle that I thoroughly enjoyed. The C.O.s also distributed decks of cards that you can use to play games with your inmates.

Commissary:

Since my sentence was so short, I did not open a commissary account, but it is an option. This is a way of receiving supplementary materials like spare clothes, extra snacks, coffee, etc.

Phone Calls:

In order to make a phone call, you must pay to establish credit with a specific phone number. The only person I was able to contact directly was my dad because he paid to set up his landline number. You only have a limited amount of time allowed per call, but you will receive a one-minute warning before it drops.

We Are Seneca Lake organizers established regular communication with my dad, and they provided each other regular updates on my status.

Showering:

Inmates are allowed to take multiple showers a day if they chose to. I’d recommend you always wear your shower shoes.

Recreation:

Inmates are allowed out once a day for exercise once they are cleared as TB-negative.

Visitation:

Visiting days are Saturday and Tuesday. All visits are on an appointment basis. Visitors must call a day in advance to schedule a visit: 315-436-5175. Each visit lasts an hour, and there may be many other inmates and visitors present in the room. After each visit, the inmate is strip-searched to ensure that their visitor didn’t slip them anything.

Inmates are also allowed a 15-minute visit within the first 24 hours after they are admitted.

We Are Seneca Lake organizers arranged for visitors to see me on all possible visiting days.

Release:

On the day of my release, I was transferred back to Schuyler County Jail. I was not released shortly after midnight, however, as a result of a big snowstorm and winter travel advisory. Instead, I was released in mid-morning an hour or so after the my fellow male inmates incarcerated at Schuyler had already been released. However, my friends and other We Are Seneca Lake organizers patiently waited until I was released and provided transportation.

Also important to note about your release: make sure you have all of your belongings. I had brought cash in with me that I had to remember to claim in the form of a check. Unfortunately, I forgot to claim my ID at the Schuyler jail and, when I called to ask if they had it, I was told call back the following morning when the sergeant was available. Once I did so, he informed me that my ID had already been mailed to my address in Massachusetts. I’d recommend you write down everything single item that you go in with so that you don’t forget anything. Write it on your arm and then transfer the list onto a piece of paper once you’re incarcerated.

Reflections on Jail Life:

I would say that jail is not as scary or terrible as one might think. It is a time to relax, read and learn about an entirely different type of reality. It can definitely be boring at times, but if you get to know your inmates, it will be a lot more enjoyable.

Kelsey Erickson

My name is Kelsey Erickson and I am originally from Carlisle, Massachusetts but I consider Ithaca home.

I realize that it is a great privilege for me to be able to decide to go to jail. Many people do not have that choice. In modern day America, there are more people of color incarcerated than there were slaves. That is an extremely unsettling and shameful truth. And many more, like Michael Brown are unjustifiably murdered at the hands of policemen. My act of going to jail for this short period does not even scrape the surface of the unbearable conditions that African Americans are subject to.

On my way back from a protest at Cove Point I attended a Ferguson teach-in in Baltimore and was especially moved by what Reverend Heber said. He said that we cannot change the fact that we have privilege, but we can chose to use it responsibly. I believe that by doing jail time, I am showing my commitment to exercise my privilege responsibly. I am voluntarily giving up my freedom to demonstrate the abuses of privilege that are happening all across the country. Abuse of police who arrest and kill innocent people. Abuse of employers who refuse to hire or pay minimum wage to people of color. And the abuse of mega-industries like Crestwood that the audacity to invade a community, condemn their health and safety, ignore the suffering of fracked communities in Pennsylvania all so they can maximize their profits.

I am voluntarily giving up my freedom to reveal the severe injustices that industries like Crestwood but I stand in solidarity with Michael Brown and countless others like him who have been unlawfully murdered by a corrupt and racist police force. Furthermore to show my solidarity with the Pennsylvania communities that have lost their livelihoods to the fracking industry and for those who have lost their voices due to gag orders, I will be fasting and holding silence for the duration of my jail sentence.

 The Crappy Mom Manifesto: Letter to Fellow Mothers from the Chemung County Jail

Last month extreme fossil fuel extraction and I were both recipients of an accusatory outburst by my 13-year-old.

“I hate fracking!” he said, half yelling, half sobbing. “Fracking turns you into a crappy mom!”

And he is right. Because of my ongoing efforts to halt both fracking and fracking’s metastasizing infrastructure from invading New York State, I have not chaperoned a school trip in three years. I missed Elijah’s opening-night star turn in Romeo and Juliet. I did not attend the high school girls’ cross country state championship, in which his sister competed. In fact, I missed all the races of the whole season, and, as such, am the only parent of a varsity runner who can make that claim. I know that because my 16-year-old periodically reminds me of my exceptionalism on this front.

I seldom help with homework. I sometimes pull all-nighters in order to finish up fracking-related writing projects and am barely functional while scrambling eggs for breakfast. This is also my excuse for why I signed a permission slip for my son to travel to a concert performance as a member of the school chorus, not noticing that the date conflicted with the opening night of the play—the one I wasn’t going to be attending due to a fracking-related lecture—and so brought the wrath and annoyance of the middle school music teacher down upon our heads.

And when my daughter called to say that she needed to stay after school to make up a chemistry test and could I please arrange a ride for her, I was at that exact moment staring at a line of blue and red flashing lights screaming toward me and a group of fellow civil disobedients standing on a blockade line.

“Honey, I’ll do the best I can, but we’ve got arrests going on here.”

It’s hard to dial a cell phone when your hands are cuffed behind your back.

It’s even harder when you’re in jail without a cell phone. Which is where I am now. I’m inmate number 20140190 of cell block 5C in the Chemung County Jail. Happily, I’ll be out in time for Thanksgiving—although through no good planning on my part. As near as I can see, jails are short staffed and don’t like doing releases on holidays. But I don’t know for sure. Explanations are short to come by here. I do know that, because no higher-rung members of the jail administration work on weekends, I won’t be released from keep-lock until Monday even though my TB test was verified as negative on Saturday. Ergo, except for daily showers, I am confined to my cell. I haven’t talked to my kids in two days.

Let’s go back to that half-hearted and basically crappy promise, “I’ll do the best I can,” as delivered to my daughter by her mother, who was overseeing an unlawful action (trespassing) at the time. I’ll do the best I can (along with the equally crappy, I’ll try) basically functions as a pre-excuse for failure to see something through. It was Winston Churchill who said—and I’ll have to paraphrase here as I don’t have access to Google—Don’t do your best. Do what’s required.

It would be easy to say that results-oriented Churchillian determination is the approach I take, as a biologist, when confronting fossil fuel extremism (and its greatest enabler, fracking), while good-intentioned half-measures are what I dole out, as a mother, at home. But that’s not exactly right. Instead, it’s precisely because I have access to the peer-reviewed literature, as a biologist, that I have come to understand climate change as a mass murderer that has my children in its sights. (And fracking is its toxic, thuggish, water-destroying accomplice). I’m informed by the data; I’m animated by a mother’s love.

And here in cell 3, I’m doing what’s required so that my kids have a future. Above all else, my job as their mother is to provide them that.

I am not the only mother whose priorities are thus aligned. I was arrested, side by side, with two other mothers, Mariah Plumlee and Stephanie Redmond, who have three young children apiece. At her own sentencing, Plumlee said, “I’m really sad and angry to be here. I don’t like to break the rules; I usually try to follow them. But I also have principles and children,” saidRedmond. “I have children, and the laws of motherhood supersede the laws bought and paid for by large corporations.”

I fully believe that Mariah, Stephanie and I are on the leading edge of an emergent social movement that will only grow in numbers and intensity as the dire urgency of the climate change emergency (and fracking, its obscene, clanging bell) becomes evermore apparent. In the meantime, we mothers who are already fighting on the frontlines—with our whole hearts, all of our spare cash and as much time away from our kids, spouses and jobs as we dare offer—inhabit two parallel worlds. When we rush back from the rally, the press conference, the public hearing, the arraignment, in order to attend the soccer game, the Halloween party, the holiday concert, the parent-teacher conference, we listen to other moms talk about bake sales, home improvement projects, vacation plans and college admission criteria. (Oh, and maybe the crazy weather we’ve been having that threatens to close the roads and cancel the game). Some of us are on wartime footing. Some of us don’t yet know there is a war going on.

There are a number of reinforcing reasons for what I call climate helplessness—we’re mostly beyond climate denial at this point—and they begin with the capitulation, corroboration and appeasement of both the mainstream environmental community and the federal government toward the oil and gas industry. Less Winston Churchill, more Neville Chamberlain. None of the Obama Administration’s proposals—including the Clean Power Plan—hold any hope of mounting a challenge serious enough to solve the problem in the unextendable time frame that remains to us. Meanwhile, those in the scientific community who are valiantly bringing forth data and attempting to describe our emergency situation to the public use terms like “planetary tipping points” and “existential threats.” They could say “loss of pollination systems resulting in widespread hunger, a phenomenon that is already underway” and “threats to the existence of your children and grandchildren,” which might focus the picture more clearly.

Filling the jails with mothers as a kind of collective SOS signal is only one tool among many in building a climate change movement as powerful as women’s suffrage (Susan B. Anthony was arrested for the act of voting in a presidential election on November 18, 1872) or the Civil Rights Movement (Martin Luther King, Jr. had many small children at home during his several sojourns in county jails). But jail time has several important, value-added relevancies. One is that the enforced extended separation from the natural world serves as a potent reminder of everything we depend upon the world to do for us. Five days without clouds, sky, stars, leaves, birdsong, wind, sunlight and fresh food has left me homesick to the point of grief. I now inhabit an ugly, diminished place devoid of life and beauty—and this is exactly the kind of harsh, ravaged world I do not want my children to inhabit.

And the other is that jail teaches you how to stand up and fight inside of desperate circumstances. This morning we said goodbye to Casey (not her real name) who was headed to court to face charges related to drug addiction. Which itself is related to a childhood filled with sexual abuse—the memories of which were retriggered when her own seven-year-old daughter was raped. We all urged, as we wished her well: Keep fighting. You can’t give up on life.

Inside cell 3, I have a dream: an environmental movement full of crappy moms who do what’s required and refuse to give up on life.