parenthood

Pink or Blue

“When you ask your child if they are a boy or a girl how does he or she answer you?” This was a question on a progress evaluation for O from a preschool playgroup program he is involved in.
I had never thought to ask him this question. So I followed directions and asked him. His answer was not what I anticipated. So I asked again. And again, he repeated his answer. “I am a boy or a girl.” Maybe he didn’t understand the question? I asked him if his cousin Nora was a girl or a boy. He said, “A girl….or a boy.” Clearly gender is not on his radar yet. At three and a half should it be? I don’t know.

We knew the sex of our child before he was born. It was obvious when we had our amniocentesis and we wanted to know. My practical nature was more than happy to know. We didn’t go crazy with blue for boy stuff, but he did have a nautical themed nursery. It was grays, blues and greens. I dressed him in basically what people gave me….so lots of boy stuff. Onesies with sayings like Handsome like Daddy, Little Slugger. His toys were lots of cars and trucks mixed in with a cooking set and a pink interactive picnic basket he just adored. I honestly didn’t give it much thought. The only hand me downs he got were from other boys, though I would not have minded putting him in a color typically associated with girls. In fact, people always thought he was a girl. “Oh! She’s beautiful!” “Thank you, yes I think he is.” “Oh, I’m so sorry!” (As if they had said something truly awful). I was never phased by it. He was a really pretty baby. I honestly didn’t care if anyone thought he was a girl.

Fast forward to present day in the toy department at Target. It’s a frequent destination on our travels. O has his favorite toys and every visit he will bee line for the “Our Generation doll” aisle. He asks me to help him get the big car (which happens to be pink, as it is marketed towards girls) and the camper so he can play with them. His latest interest is the new laundromat and, of course, the ice cream truck. Have you seen that thing? It really is amazing! He can spend 30 minutes playing with these items. I literally have to coax him away.  He tends to put one of his matchbox cars (which he is rarely without) inside these setups. We sometimes get odd looks from other parents and older children, as if to say, “Why is your boy playing with girl toys?” I don’t acknowledge the looks and they go completely unnoticed by O. I have heard Fathers, after looking at us, tell their sons, “Let’s go look at some boy toys.” I have even heard men and women tell their sons, “You don’t want that. That’s for girls.” The level of ignorance is staggering.

We are so offended at the abundant misogyny in our society. We are so astounded by the gender inequality that is rampant in our culture. And when I say “we” I mean many of us, but certainly not all of us. Yet, aren’t we sort of setting it up right from the start? We have these picture perfect roles for our children to fit into and we seem to unapologetically, and I’m sure, quite innocently, jam it down their throats without much thought to what their thoughts or feelings are (or will) be as they become more gender aware. It starts at these gender reveal parties which seem to be all the rage these days. Pink or blue? The term for these events should really be sex reveal parties, as that is what is actually being revealed. Just because you have a child born with male genitalia, doesn’t mean he is going to identify with being a boy. But if you think about it, the child, before even being born, is being expected to fit into our idea of what his or her identity should be. Blue is for boys. Pink is for girls. It’s just so banal.

You know what I want O to be? Happy. I want him to be so freaking happy and secure in his own skin. I want him to beam joy.  I just can’t see that happening if he isn’t allowed to be his true self, whatever that true self may happen to be. I have many friends, who from a very young age, felt they were different. And from a very young age, knew who they truly were wasn’t going to be accepted by their parents. So they hid their true selves from their families, or they denied their true selves altogether, only to come back to it as an adult with a plethora of issues. I can’t imagine anyone wanting that for their child. And yet…

Because of my theatre background, several people have asked me if we plan on Oliver taking dance or theatre lessons. I don’t know. He is certainly exposed to it. He sees the shows I direct. He sings with both me and my husband. I will let him decide. Just like we will expose him to baseball or other sports.  If he wants, he can play. If he’d rather take dance, then he can do that. If he wants to do both, then fine. He needs to lead us.  I believe that our job is to show him the possibilities. He must choose without feeling he is letting us down by following his own path. I think this starts way earlier than most of us think. (Pink or blue?)

We talk so much about raising girls to be strong. And I support that wholeheartedly. But you rarely hear about raising our sons to be caring and empathetic. Why is that? Why are we so afraid to teach our sons traits that are associated with being female? Won’t it make them better Fathers, husbands and caretakers? Won’t it teach them how to be better men? I think so. But that’s just this Mommy’s opinion. So don’t jump all over me for expressing it. But it’s worth a thought or two, don’t you think?

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid, is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading! It’s good to be back. Xo

Back In The Saddle

Well, hello! It has been quite a while, friend. My hiatus from writing just might be over. I have taken a long enough pause to re-group my thoughts, to step away from the rage inspired by ridiculous politics, and to muster the courage to feel that, somehow, perhaps, my words might actually matter. It has been a long needed respite. If you have stayed with me through this nothingness, I’m truly grateful. I couldn’t expect it of any reader. If you are new to my musings, I invite you to go back to the beginning. Take the journey which will lead you to where we are now – an advanced maternal age mother (now of three years) navigating her way through preschool pandemonium. I have matured in my mothering, but the certainty of it all still eludes me. I feel I am now wise enough to know the uncertainty will most likely never go away.

I have not stopped thinking about writing. It has always been at the forefront of my thoughts this past however many months. I’d have to go way back to see exactly how long it has actually been since my last post, but I think it was last May. Even before that, my posts were becoming few and far between. After a gut wrenching election cycle, the state of our nation was really getting me down. It felt like I couldn’t not make every post about something political. That isn’t what I had set out to do. Also, I began teaching voice and acting at a fantastic arts academy. It takes up quite a bit of time for prep work. Time I used to use to write. The teaching has now expanded, which is brilliant, but again, I only have so much time. I chose to let this go for a while. Did I mention that I have matured and realize that I can’t actually do Everything?

I feel ready to give voice to this next phase of motherhood, however tight my time may be. My little O is no longer a baby. (That is super hard to say!) He is 3 1/2 years old. He is tall and full of personality. He has the energy of the Energizer Bunny and the mood swings of Sybil. He is funny, emotional, and all over the place. He is imperfectly perfect. I don’t want to miss chronicling this time in our lives because I am crunched for time or because I get lazy. This blog is ultimately for him. So here I am. Back in the saddle.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight. Remember, behind every great kid is a mother who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. My current life story! Lol. Thanks for reading. Xo

Hope Springs Eternal Mommy

It’s March and it’s snowing. That isn’t uncommon for New England, yet I find myself thrown by it’s sudden presence.  It was 60 degrees and sunny the other day.  Mother Nature is playing games I do not appreciate, just adding to the sense of Topsy Turvy the world is in.  I sit here watching the snowfall.  I am nursing a dreadful cold.  My feet are up and my head is buzzing from my latest dose of Sudafed.  The alternative is conjestion that rivals some of the worst I’ve known.  So Sudafed it is.  It’s Winter in Spring, the head of the EPA says carbon emissions don’t hurt the environment, and I feel like my country is shifting into reverse.  Ladies and gentlemen, the world is UPSIDE DOWN.

The truth is, I have no words for the spiral we are in at the moment.  My sense of self preservation says to focus on what is right in front of me.  My work. My family.  Doing the good I can do in the small everyday sense.  Practicing kindness, generosity, and acceptance.  Keeping an awareness of the bigger happenings, but not letting them deflate me.  But that is proving to be quite a feat.  Everyday it is some new crazy absurdity being revealed from our government or some completely unfounded insane tweet consuming my newsfeed.  It’s a level of insanity hard to dismiss.

And then, I breathe.  Simply my mind remembers the new cd I have of the Broadway Cast Recording of Dear Evan Hansen.  The music is uplifting, inspiring and all together gorgeous.  It is my new “go to” cd in the car. The lyrics are poingant, personal, yet universal, and filled with soul and human spirit.  Dare I say, the music makes me hopeful?  Yes.  I’ll say it.  Art is like that, hence why it is so important.

Then, I made a very last minute decision to attend a town hall meeting being held by our U.S. Representative to Congress, Joe Kennedy III.  Saturday afternoon and there were a million other things on my radar. I was feeling stuffy and horrible, but something inside me told me to go.  So I did. Seeing and listening to this young, smart, compassionate man talk about what he thinks our responsibilities are to each other, as citizens of this country and as human beings, was inspiring.  Uplifting.  Dare I say, it gave me hope in this “post truth” era?  Yes.  I’ll say it.  What I saw, was the future of our country before me.  In some strange way, he spoke and I felt better.  Less anxious.  Less afraid.  He answered questions with respect and empathy, but also knowledge and authority.  I honestly thought to myself, This man is going to be our President someday.  He gave me hope.

As a mother I find myself in a perpetual state of worry about the world we have brought our son into.  I worry about his education, his safety, the environment.  You name it, and I’m sure I’ve worried about it at some point.  To say I’ve been overwhelmed with the “goings on” in our country is an understatement.  But then I realized, that a moment of hope seems to beget the next moment of hope,  and the next, and so on and so on,  Suddenly, all around me, everyday, are moments of creativity, moments of profound inspiration, and moments where I am in control to be kind and generous.  Moments where even I can change someone’s life for the better.  And it fills me with hope.

True vision and hope are impervious to the bombardment of negativity and malice assaulting our society.  This malevolence has no defense against what is just and right.  Just like a lie has a way of making its way to the surface of truth while destroying its keeper in the process.   You may disagree with me, but I don’t know if I will ever live to see a woman president in the White House.  I think it is a hurdle too high to overcome at the moment.  Sexism, I fear, is ingrained in the fabric of our flag.  It is my hope, though, that my son will see it.  But what I am certain of, is that he and I will both see the honor of the office restored.  I’ll be awful proud to say I met him and that he gave me hope  when I sorely needed it, one cold Saturday in March, not so long ago.

I hope you are well, my friend.  And hopeful.  Life without hope or creativity or inspiration is a tough life.  Keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading! Xo

 

Snip Snip Mommy

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Do people like to tell you what you should do with your child?  Not even just family, but total strangers? I’ve tried to keep my reactions leveled and polite.  It’s been over six months now, at least, and the unsolicited comments keep coming. What am I talking about? Cutting my two year old son’s hair. Or rather, not cutting it.   From many of the comments and “advice” concerning little O’s locks, one could assume I’m doing something horrible to my son by letting him exist with a sweet head of golden curls.  Well, the other day in Homegoods, a little old lady pushed me to the edge.  I would never be as rude to her as I would have liked to be.  Rather, this is my collective retort to her and anyone else who seems to have a problem with our decision not to cut O’s hair.  And if you think I’m being snarky, well so be it.  If you hadn’t been so rude by impolitely hurling your opinion at me I wouldn’t have to have an attitude.

Before I go on, I must add that O’s hair is not unsafe for him.  I keep his bangs trimmed and out of his eyes.  There is no danger posed by his “do.”  If comments were actual concerns for his safety, I could at least respect where they were coming from, as unnecessary as they would be.  But they aren’t.  The little old lady who put me over the edge, at first thought O was a girl.  Many many people do.  It doesn’t bother me or my husband in the least, and O is too young to understand the distinction.  “Oh what a beautiful girl! How old is she?” she said.  “Oh thank you.  Actually he’s a boy and he is two and a half.”  She obviously had issues with being incorrect, so she added, “Oh well, with that hair it is hard to tell. I suppose he is dressed like a boy.”  (You can insert the “know it all” tone).  I just smiled and started to move on.  She then leaned into me, as if to tell me something important.  “Don’t you think it’s time to cut that hair?  It really is” she said.  She rolled her cart right by me and left me gobsmacked.  Her absolute rudeness just verbally slapped me right across the face.  I just stood there dumbfounded at the gall of this, otherwise, harmless woman.

Pardon my French, but What the F?  I’ve been shrugging people off since before my son turned two regarding this.  I’ve smiled and just said “Oh…. well we like it.”  You know what?  It really isn’t anyone’s business, but ours.  I really don’t have to explain our choice to anyone.  And what does it even mean, “I suppose he is dressed like a boy?”  That kind of gender box mind set makes me crazy.  I have news for you, if my son wanted to wear a tutu it wouldn’t make him any less of a boy.  It makes him a two year old boy who hasn’t learned gender labeling yet.  And if, when he gets older, he wants to wear pink because he likes it, then awesome.   His hair doesn’t confuse him.  Too bad if it confuses others.  All he knows is he likes to shake it around sometimes for fun.  Honestly, why does anyone care if O’s hair gets cut or not?  When someone feels the need to give us their opinion, it just says more about them than it does about our choice. And that’s the important phrase here.  Our choice.  Not “well meaning” family’s choice.  Not a perfect stranger’s choice.  Our choice.  So step the hell back.

After getting that off my chest, and taking a long pause, I wouldn’t change a thing about what I just wrote.  And I certainly wouldn’t change a thing about O.  He hasn’t learned to judge people by their appearance yet.  I truly hope he never does.  He certainly won’t get that from us.  Until next time, I’ll be practicing deep breathing and forgiveness. Remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading! Xo

Woof Mommy

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I do not want a dog.  There. I said it.  It is now in black and white.  We will NOT get a dog.  That is my mantra. I am as firm as I can be on the subject. That being said,  I am well aware I am going to be outnumbered when the question actually gets posed.  I am assuming it will be in a few years when O is about 5.  You see, my husband is a true dog person.  He, in full juxtaposition to me, says we WILL get a dog.  He doesn’t say it in a challenging, jerky manner at all.  He says it as a matter of fact, which is worse. Because I have a sneaking feeling,  I will be worn down and will concede to the puppy plea.  To be truthful, my husband has almost already worn me down.  Add my little then 5 year old boy pleading for a puppy to the mix and I am a goner for sure.

I know all reasons why people like to have a dog.  They are fun and sweet and cuddly…blah blah yada yada.  But dogs are also a huge commitment.  They are messy.  Hairy.  Slobbery.  Not to mention destructive at times.  I, on the other hand, am a clean freak.  You could eat off of my floors and I prefer it that way.  A dog ends that immediately.  Everyone I know who has a dog says, “You just have to vacuum a lot.”  Well, I already vacuum a lot.  And one thing I know for sure is that it will most likely be me doing the extra cleaning.

Yet, as much as I fight the notion, I somehow know it is a lost cause.  Because even now on this rainy autumn day, as the raindrops hit the skylight above me, I can envision a sweet golden lab nestled in my lap.  I am realizing quite quickly, that I am my own worst enemy in this situation.  You can’t not want something and want it all at the same time.  Well, you can, but it most always leads to actually getting said something.  Woof.  I am in for it.

My husband says that a family needs to time the procuring of a dog properly. The idea he says, is that you time it so that the dog’s life expectancy coincides with when your child goes off to college…and then you are free.  Ugh.  I don’t know.  All I know for sure is that I don’t want a dog, but I most surely will have one.  Not only will I have one, but I will assuredly clean up after him, walk him, bathe him, and on occasion, even enjoy him.  But above all, I suppose I will welcome him into our family and love him.  And then we will get a weekly cleaning service.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading.  Woof! Xo

 

 

It’s The Best

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Like with anything in life, there are positives and negatives.  This week I want to focus on the positive. The topic: Having children over 40 and why it is the best (in my opinion).  Don’t worry, I’ll also share with you why it is a drag (in my opinion)….just not this week.  This week it’s all about how incredible it is to have a child when you are in your 40’s!

Let’s face it, if you have had a child at 35 or over, you’ve most likely heard all the terrifying warnings and reasons not to.  My first prenatal visit at age 43 was colored with all sorts of possible doom and negative what ifs.  I chose to filter out the gloom.  While I was educated about the risks, I kept the information out of my mind and body.  One of the best things about having a baby in your 40’s (in my opinion) is that you can.  So many women struggle with conception.  If you can get pregnant naturally (or with help) over 40, well, that’s something to celebrate!

All new mothers hear the polite advice from well wishers, time and time again.  My son is 2 and I still get it.  “Enjoy every minute! It goes so fast!”   Well, the main reason I think having a baby in your 40’s is the best (in my opinion), is that you actually do enjoy every minute.  Even when it’s hard, there is a baseline of joy that just can’t be beat.  There is a patience I possess that, for me, has come with age.  I’m certainly not saying that women having children in their 20’s and 30’s don’t enjoy their children.  I can only speak from my experience as a 20 and 30 something.  In my 20’s and 30’s, my life was all about me.  The pace of my life was all about me.  The choices I made were basically all about me.  And I wanted it that way.  I lived my life fully and with purposed abandon.  I travelled the world, fell in and out of love and enjoyed freedom from most responsibility.  It was how it should be for someone at that stage of their life (in my opinion).  Conversely, with the birth of my son came profound responsibility.  And at the age of 44, I welcomed it wholeheartedly.  Someone younger might think my life now is a bore.  The Veuve doesn’t flow as freely (or at all, come to think of it) and my bedtime is often before the curtain used to go up.  The things I possessed and the adoration I sought are not barometers for bliss.  My god! I thought a new pair of Gucci shoes equaled happiness.  Silly girl.  All those things are well and good, but they are not the stuff of life.

I get to do this parenting thing with a full awareness that it goes far too fast.  I don’t wish time away like I used to.   I get to be mature enough to share with my baby, my patience and my understanding of what true happiness really is.  I get to not only enjoy his process, but have the emotional maturity to understand that he is his own person, and that while he is our whole world now, we will not always be his.  I am old enough to know he will have to fail to succeed.  I understand there will come a time to let go.

Anyone who has hit the 40+ mark understands what I am saying.  I’m not saying you don’t have moments of doubt anymore or that you don’t feel like you are screwing up a lot of the time.  That is the nature of parenting in a nutshell. But there is a level of surety and confidence that I bring to my parenting, to my life, that I did not possess in my 20’s or 30’s.  It makes me a better mom.  And THAT is the best thing about having a child over 40 (in my opinion).

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up! Thanks for reading! Xo

 

A New Day

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I have been grappling this week with what to write about.  It is a familiar struggle, but sometimes it proves tougher than other times.  I’m usually blocked because I have something on my mind that I feel perhaps I shouldn’t write about.  Or maybe I don’t think anyone else would find it interesting.  But censoring myself has never been a productive strategy.  So here goes.

I have been very affected by the politics in our country lately.  It feels as if the country is divided in a way that I have never seen in my life time.  And it scares me.  The hate filled, fear mongering rhetoric of a certain tiny hand candidate is appalling, divisive, and small minded.  In my opinion, it has no place in the leadership of our country.  The parties hateful sentiments do not represent my feelings.  Not at all.  But rather than write about The Ego with the bad comb-over, who already gets far far too much press, I want to talk about what inspires me.  This past week, something amazing happened that moved me greatly, as a woman, a mother and a citizen of the world.

I know I am pretty sappy and have a tendency to get emotional over a Hallmark commercial, but I have to tell you that I was genuinely moved by the remarkable speech from our country’s First Lady, Michelle Obama at the DNC in Philadelphia.  I know as a liberal it is assumed that I would be a fan of the First Lady, so I will skip the list of admirable traits I believe she embodies.  (There are many).  But what really got me was when she said how her daughters, and all our sons and daughters, could now take for granted that a woman could become President of the United States.  That struck a chord in me.  I realized, quite seriously, that history is being made before our very eyes.

This past weekend I was lucky enough to see Hamilton on Broadway.  Beyond it being an incredible piece of theatre, I couldn’t help be struck by the poetic justice of watching an incredibly talented, racially diverse cast, portray our founding fathers. I suppose this must really ruffle the feathers of the David Dukes of the world.  It’s funny, but the color of any actors skin didn’t really dawn on me until after the show.  It made perfect sense that George Washington should be played by a handsome strapping black man.  I was reminded that for all intents and purposes, we are all really immigrants.   To say you are not is just inaccurate.  I was reminded of the limitations women had to endure regardless of their intellect.  In the words of the character Angelica Schuyler, “We hold these truths to be self evident that all men are created equal, and when I meet Thomas Jefferson, I’m gonna compel him to include women in the sequel. Work!”  The point is, we have come so so far.  Why would we ever go backwards?  It defies logic.  At least to this mommy it does.

This morning I was watching the highlights of the democratic convention.  I watched, and re-watched, a woman of 102 years of age, who was born before women could vote, officially report Arizona delegates for Hillary Rodham Clinton for President of the United States.  It doesn’t matter what you think of Secretary Clinton.  You can love her.  You can hate her.  But the shattering of that glass ceiling is undeniable and has changed us forever.  I suppose if you are against her, you might deny its significance.  But in my opinion, you’d be denying reality.  I will not get into a debate with anyone regarding Hilz.  I won’t change your mind and you won’t change mine.  But this is my blog and #ImWithHer, if you hadn’t noticed.

The future of our society, that will be our children’s and their children’s society, is changing.  My son will not know of a time when a woman could be considered less important or less capable…and that’s huge.  It is so much bigger than Bozo the Clown’s ego.  I have a friend who has a daughter who is O’s age.  She is especially energized about this new day and all it will mean for her daughter.  But I truly think it is something for parents of girls and boys to celebrate.  There is hope this week.  There is a beacon of light shining through.  And as things seem to be going these days, I’m gonna hang onto it.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading. Work!

P.S. I ordered my Hilary For President shirts for Me and O. Watch out world! Photos to follow.

 

Slow Down, Mommy

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Do you ever feel like things are just moving too fast? Like you just can’t keep up the pace?   Does your “To Do” list overwhelm you? We all have legitimate things that keep our bodies and minds on the go.  I have been in that mode lately.  Add to it the crazy things happening in our world lately and it’s enough to make anyone go into hiding.   I handle it, until I just can’t anymore.  And that’s what has happened.

In a rare moment of quiet (at yoga class, which has been a challenge to get to lately) I realized the frantic pace I have been maintaining.  It took the merry-go-round stopping for me to really understand how severe my situation gets at times.  I set my intention for the class.  I decided to commit to slowing down.  I focused on my breath.  Simple.  Slow.  By the end of the class my teacher reminded us of the intention we set for ourselves at the beginning of the hour.  She urged us to try to carry that with us into the world for as long as we could.  So that is what I decided to do.  I am slowing down. This isn’t some silly lark juice fast here, but rather a serious necessity.  If I don’t slow down I will hit a wall.  And that can’t be good for me or my family.

This is not an easy thing for me to do.  My usual mode has me spinning several plates at a time while I plan my next 20 projects.  When I get over done….you can just imagine the hyper speed I am functioning at.  Or failing to function at, which is what brings about a crash.  So, anyway, the strategy is small simple steps for me.  Breathing.  Taking my time.  Doing one thing at a time (very challenging for this type A mommy).  Enjoying the moment (especially with O and my husband).  And remembering that there are things that I like to partake in, not because they have to get done, but because I enjoy doing them.

So I am making jam.  Raspberry jam from our garden.  You might laugh and think how ridiculous.  Go ahead.  I’ve made several pies already, but the jam is my favorite. It is something to savor into the autumn and winter.  It is a gift to give neighbors and friends.  And for me, this summer, it signifies my struggle to slow down.  I realized the other day that summer is half over and I don’t feel like it even started yet.  What kind of deluded fog have I been in? To say my husband and I have a lot our plates is an understatement. But it is all the more reason to slow down when we are faced with challenges.  It’s things like working in the garden.  Or listening to the rain hit the skylight.  It’s sitting on the kitchen floor reading to O in the middle of making dinner.  It’s the smell of our babies hair and the warmth of his breath when he cuddles next to us.  It’s looking into my Love’s eyes after a long day and really seeing him.  It’s letting him know without words that he is loved and safe in our relationship.  All these things require slowing down.  They take time and connection.  Without these moments of meaning, our lives are just moments that are unacknowledged.  A kind of going through the motions.

It’s funny…the older I get the clearer it becomes to me.  The moments in my life that speak out to me as defining and full of passion and truth, are the simplest ones.  I have a vivid simple memory from years ago that I look at now and know it was a defining moment.  It was years before my husband and I got married.  We were visiting as friends, and I remember him driving me in his jeep.  We were listening to music, just driving to nowhere, and he put his hand in mine.  I remember looking down and seeing our hands together and knowing that it felt so right.  I knew then, it was right.  So much in that simple quiet moment.  Life is funny like that.

So….slow it is.  For as long as I can do it.  Who knows, maybe it will become habit for me.  A way of life, even? And if I fall off the wagon, well then I’ll just have to get back up on the slow ride.  Cause it’s not just me anymore.  I have a husband and child who need me there.  Fully present.  Fully focused. And happy.  Oh yes, happy.  Covered in raspberry jam happy.

Until next time, I’ll be moving at a snail’s pace.  Keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thank you so much for reading.  Xo

 

 

 

 

Raising A Son To Revere Strong Women

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This week I am barraged with stories in the news that make me reflect on how we as a society view women.  And I am taken aback.  I am perplexed.  Saddened.  Annoyed.  Worried.  You would have to live in a hole not to be aware of the Stanford freshman who was convicted of raping an unconscious woman behind a dumpster and was sentenced to only 6 months in jail followed by probation.  The crime and details of the trial were abhorrent.  Then his father wrote a letter of support to the court that was completely dismissive of his son’s behavior.  He actually says that a prison sentence is “A steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action.”  He is clearly oblivious.  It isn’t overly shocking that his son chose the abusive path he did.  I think, what are we teaching our children about respect? Equality? And where are we going wrong?

I look at the headlines regarding our presumptive democratic nominee for President, Hillary Clinton.  It’s not just a lack of respect, but actual hate that swarms around her, taking shots at her every turn.  The woman has a coat of armor thicker than any man I’ve ever seen.  If she was a man, it is a coat of armor that would be admired and revered.  But she’s a woman. So she’s a she-devil, not to be trusted, a bitch.  It’s the double standard magnified a hundred times. And both men AND women buy into it.  I ask you, What are we teaching our kids?  Are women not allowed to be strong? As a woman, don’t you want to be smart, strong, and an equal? And, if you are a man, don’t you want a partner who is strong, capable, and your equal? And if you don’t, why not? There is something wrong with the message we are accepting in our society about women and their worth. And I’m taking a stab in the dark here, but it seems to me, the message is perpetuated by those threatened by strong women.

Is it possible that many in our society,  men and women alike, are more comfortable with the traditional roles that men and women take on? The woman standing beside her man, supporting him from the sidelines.  It’s a non threatening picture, isn’t it?  Maybe the dominant female figure is just too uncomfortable for folks.  So when a woman puts on a pantsuit, speaks her mind and decides to run for president, it messes up our feng shui.  Or when a woman gets sexually assaulted on a college campus (while unconscious) there is sympathy for the rapist, because “his life will never be the one that he dreamed about and worked so hard to achieve.”  In what world is that thought process ok? What about the victim? To be clear, I am talking about the woman.  What about the impact this horrific act has had on her life? There are still people who believe, however quietly, that women who have been raped, have somehow “asked” for it.  During the trial the poor girl was asked what she wore to the party that night.  The fact that the question was even posed is proof we are a long long way from gender equality.  It disgusts me.

So as a mother of a boy, what can I do to instill a sense of decency, respect and understanding in my child? How do we teach him to treat women as equals, yet educate him on the nuances of females? I’m talking about those minute, and sometimes huge, differences that, at times,  make us women seem like another species all together.   Equals, but opposites.  It seems pretty straight forward in theory.  Certainly no mother intends on raising a rapist.  So where does it go wrong?

Even at O’s young age of two, people have said in his presence, “Boys will be boys!”  That sentiment will surely grow and follow him.  It is up to us to define that for him and keep him in balance.  I see the way little boys play on the playground and how they are encouraged to be aggressive and tough.  It’s just sort of accepted.  I don’t love it.  There is a sense of entitlement drilled into children in our country these days.  There seems to be a lack of the word “NO” in many children’s everyday life.  Maybe this is where it begins.  I want it, so I should have it.  I want it, so I’ll take it.  It happens on the playground and I see, many times, it go undetected or completely dismissed.  Boys will be boys.

I don’t know what lies ahead in our country. I shudder to think of the possibilities. But this lack of acceptance and complete disregard for other people is just not ok with me. It shouldn’t be ok with anyone. What can we do? As parents we can invoke the change we want to see in our society…with our own child.  Sometimes parenting requires the word “No.”  We need to love our children enough to say “No, that’s not yours.” Or “No. You can’t do that.” My two year old already knows the phrase “That is unacceptable behavior.”  I fear many adults have forgotten it.

Mostly, we need to love our son and teach him the dignity of the body, and how to live through disappointment and confusion.  We need to teach our son how to navigate confusing feelings, and how to separate feelings from action.  We need to teach him how to communicate and listen. We need to define for him what it is to be a man, because we clearly can’t leave that to the media or public figures.  We need to impress upon him that his worth doesn’t come from what he has and takes. O’s biggest influence will be watching how his father treats his mother.  And how his mother can be a strong woman who is respected and loved by her husband for her strength and capability.  How female strength is not something to be threatened by, or something to be squelched, but rather something to seek in a life partner.

I have a feeling in the coming months leading up to the national election, the attack on the strong female figure will be unlike anything we have ever seen.  The language, I’m sure, will be base, crass and dismissive.  I highly doubt the buffoon with the bad comb over will choose a different fighting style.  I can only imagine what the fallout will be.  If you think that kind of sexism on a national platform has no bearing on the way men view women or how women view themselves, you are kidding yourself.  Somewhere in the ignorant mind of some entitled teenager, the words spewed by an entitled demagogue, will validate his delusions.  If you think it’s just about Hillary, it’s not.  It’s about all of us.

I don’t know about you, but I think I’ll be holding my breath till November.  Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is certain she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading. Xo

 

 

Where Is My Village?

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We’ve all heard the saying, “It takes a village.”  In regards to raising a child, it is certainly a true adage. Why then, oh why, do so many of us move away from our “village?”  What is it about American culture that makes us think a job or the price of real estate is more important than familial ties? I’m not saying those things aren’t important, but are they the priority? Really?  There is a type of impetus in the American youth to venture far away.  Cross country to college.  Job searching across the nation.  I’m certainly not judging, because what did I do? I grew up in New Jersey, but bought a home in Florida.  It was before I was married and had O.  My rationale was that I was only 2 hours by plane.  And I certainly did spend quite a lot of time up North with my family.  But I was quite happy with my little life I created there all on my own. But after having O, I acquired a  totally different perspective on things.

If it hadn’t been for my husband, I don’t know that we would have moved back North when we did.  Luckily, he had the wisdom and foresight (and job offer) to see the importance of being close to family and the value of raising O somewhere steeped in history.  We are not in New Jersey near my family, but at least we are a short distance from my husband’s.  And the drive to NJ is about 5 hours, making it do-able.  I am so grateful for being close to his tribe, but I have to tell you, the older I get, the more I miss my side of the family.  I miss the closeness I remember.  I miss my brothers and my parents.  I miss a lot of things that used to be.  I think that might be something that comes with age.

Why don’t families just live all together like they do in some other countries.  In European and South American countries you can have three generations living under the same roof.  Talk about a village! Why is that concept so unacceptable to main stream America these days?  Why are we so eager to be separate?  Do we feel we will lose our independence if we combine our efforts?  It doesn’t have to cramp our style.  Personally I think the pros far out weigh the cons.

My Mother-in-law is selling her house and while she looks for another, she will be staying with us.   I’m actually busting with excitement about it.  How wonderful for little O! How wonderful for all of us!  I would love it if she just decided to stay indefinitely.  Why go buying another house when we have enough room for all of us?  She is worried she will be imposing on us, but nothing could be further from the truth.  But she is still young, vibrant and beautiful.   If my psychic friend is right, she will be meeting someone special this summer.  She obviously wants SOME privacy.  But in truth, nothing would make me happier than having a house full of loved ones.

Perhaps I am an oddball.  So be it.  But what I do know for sure is the number of people who love and watch over my son can never be too many.  It makes me sad that I have a niece and 2 nephews I hardly know.  I have a brother who’s day to day life is more unknown  to me than the life of my new mommy friend I just met.  It’s unsettling.  And it’s all due to distance.  Let’s face it, family takes effort.  And any long distance relationship takes uber effort.  A long distance family relationship where everyone is busy busy?  You’re lucky if you talk twice a year.  It’s really sad.

It doesn’t mean that you can’t be close with family just because you live far from each other.  But effort needs to be given.  And it needs to be reciprocated.  Alternately, you can live in the next town and never see your clan.  Which sadly is the case for many.  It is perplexing to me, but I suppose family stuff can be complicated.  I wonder how many of us, who have moved away from our families, ask ourselves, “Where is my village?”  Where is our support system? Where are the connections to family I want for my child?  Well, I can tell you,  I am grateful for our proximity to our family.  And equally grateful for the effort made by family who remain a daily part of my life despite any distance.  One of the deepest connections I have is with my cousin who lives in NJ.  I guess that proves that your village can span the miles if you want it to.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a Mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading! Xo