You're a Hooker, I'm a Slut and We're All Drug Addicts

Welcome to the end of the world and it's all women's fault. Moms are staying out late, going out with other moms to have drinks. Our magical lady parts that have the power to control men's thoughts (or so I'm told) are to blame. Instead of being at home, cleaning something, we are out of the house, dressed nicely and drinking alcoholic drinks. After bedtime! On a school night! What is our country coming to?

The 40-Year-Old Reversion by Amy Sohn, www.theawl.com

But according to one writer, some mothers in a New York suburb are taking this one step further and ruining it for everyone else. Amy Sohn, a writer looking for publicity for her new book, wrote a titillating article about her adult social activities, written as though it was no big deal:

"Once a month I get together with half a dozen moms from Park Slope and Carroll Gardens. We call ourselves Hookers, Sluts and Drug Addicts."

“Why do moms in my generation regress, whether by drugging, cheating, or going out too late and too often? Because everything our children thrive on—stability, routine, lack of flux, love, well-paired parents—feels like death to those entrusted with their care… In flux, jaded by parenthood, confused about work and life, mothers are bored. So we rebel, just like bored adolescents—except adolescents, at least, can say they are acting their age.”

Is this not what they signed up for, with marriage and parenthood? Am I supposed to believe that they have no control over their lives? I call BS - forgive me if I don't understand the controversy over this piece. Because this article (and the response written on CNN.com) is just another excuse to exploit women.

(Full disclosure: I'm a mother of 2 children under 10, married for 9 years to the same guy; we live in the suburbs of a large city and I have a full-time job.)

I don't understand  because, whether or not the "article" by Ms. Sohn is based in fact, it reads like the first draft of a pilot TV episode. It would be called "Bored Parents of the New Millennium.” No topic would remain untouched - wives cheating on husbands because they feel unappreciated, husbands soliciting women online because their wives are too tired for sex. Everyone going to the neighborhood block party - while the teenagers try to hide behind someone's house and make out, the adults are in the neighbor's driveway, smoking pot and thinking about switching spouses for the night. Maybe their teenage daughter can have the same pot dealer - it’s her teacher! It’s so wacky but so - real!

Notice an important part: while the article is called "The 40-Year Reversion", its focus is on the mothers in the article, despite the presence of more than a handful of jaded dads. Why are we shaking our fingers at the moms and just barely noticing the dads behaving badly? Women are scolded for “trying to act like men” but the guys are just relegated to being ignored for “acting like cavemen.” Oh, but that’s what men do. It’s a miracle when a man acts like a decent guy and a moral travesty when a woman isn’t a saint.

Moms gone wild: '40-year-old reversion' By Shanon Cook, CNN, Sat July 28, 2012

The response article on CNN.com by Shanon Cook was fairly level-headed. While speculating whether or not Ms. Sohn's article was fact or fiction, she agreed to disagree with the stance that "all parents" are just like this. Everyone is looking for an escape from their unhappy marriage, nonstop parenting schedule and dirty dishes? Not so much. But for those that are unhappy, this behavior is nothing new. Shocking - people have been making poor choices since Adam and Eve. Cook makes the reasonable case that you can be in a committed relationship, be a responsible parent and still be yourself.

Being yourself means you still need time to do your own things - to write, to see friends, to see a band, to run 5ks, whatever you like to do. Yes, marriage and kids are a responsibility - there is more selflessness required than selfishness allowed. They go hand-in-hand. But that doesn't mean you can't still be who you are. If you're chained to the grindstone 24 hours a day, 7 days a week in Mommy mode, I would entirely expect that you to be desperate for something, anything that gives you a release.

Again, this article zeroes in on the moms - "Moms Gone Wild", it's called. Not "Parents Gone Wild." It’s again a given that the dads could act this way, but it’s against everything that mothers are supposed to be - innocent, incorruptible teachers and caregivers of our children. Being a parent isn’t “really” Dad’s job – it’s primarily Mom’s. Dads of the world, you should be offended by this article just as much as the moms.

But the people described in the "article" written by Ms. Sohn come across as simply impulse driven. I would wonder why Ms. Sohn would choose to hang out with them (if they exist), but considering she is likely making money off their caricatures, maybe she thinks they have a lot in common. Every time I go back to read, they fade more and more, because they seem so fake. In that little world, all of their actions seem reasonable because no common sense exists there. Or maybe we should consider occam's razor – (from Wikipedia) “other things being equal, a simpler explanation is better than a more complex one” – that these people just don’t like their kids, their spouses or themselves (yea, I went there). If that’s true, I’ve got to say – that makes me really sad.

I love my children - they are sweet and quirky. My son cuddles a mechanical train next to his stuffed dog at bedtime. My daughter writes letters to a fairy she believes lives in our backyard. I don't just love them, I like them. My husband and I, we drive them to school, we watch them spar or practice weapons (Yes, weapons!) at martial arts class. We spend time together as a family; we go out to dinner with other families, we have play dates with friends; we play board games together. We work on homework together and I still read to them before bed (and I write the fairy letters to my daughter).

I also like going on dates with my husband alone or we go out to see a band with friends while the kids spend the night at Grandma's. Or my husband and I take turns - I go out with friends to a movie and drinks while he stays in one night. Another night, my husband goes out to see one of his best friends play guitar at a club and the kids and I are having pizza night at home. He has to have a life, too.

Bottom line: We are far from perfect. But I love my children and my husband; they always come first. But I am also still me - I am allowed to have my own pursuits. Having a life makes me a better mother and wife. I am giving my kids, especially my daughter, a great example - how to be a functional adult woman who can choose to be who she wants, who doesn't need drugs, sex with strangers or any other shocking jolts of stimulation to get through the day. I don't need an impulse thrill because I'm happy. And that scares the shit out of the unhappy people.

Summer

Glen Arbor, MI, from the article Sand, Salt and Summer - CNN.com

I love summer. The weather, the sun, being outside with friends. My summers are a lot different now than they've ever been - in some ways better and others not so much. Working an 8 hour job, for instance, cuts into my beach time. But I've also been able to take my kids to the ocean since they were young and watch the delight they have in the waves. No matter what, it's still summer.

Tom grew up going to the Outer Banks in North Carolina every summer - though he would be quick to say, not just GOING to the OBX. But staying OCEANFRONT. House - yard - beach. Sometimes his family would share a house with another family or Tom would bring a friend. But it was very laidback - they made meals in the house (no constant restaurant meals), there was no TV and there were always card games.

Trips to the beach were different when I was growing up. We lived in Michigan and going to the beach was driving to Lake Michigan. It's not a dinky little pond either - you can't see across the lake from the beach, it's so big. The water is fresh and its a bit warmer in August - but there are definitely no ocean-size waves. I still loved it. We would swim, build sandcastles, take tubing trips on boats and go fishing. I can remember scaling fish when I was younger in my pajamas and watching my dad gut it with a long knife.

There were other lakes we could go to - but that was "going to the lake", not "the beach". The only other lake that was almost up to par with Lake Michigan was Gull Lake, about half an hour away from my house. It was where the swanky people had summer houses or belonged to the country club, so they could have their boat stored there. My grandparents belonged - several times during the summer, we would have Sunday brunch at the club (best meals growing up!) and then stay the afternoon to swim and picnic on the grass. The water in that lake was (and still is), so clear, so clean, you could bottle it and sell it next to Deer Park at the store.

Tom also grew up belonging to the local pool, so he was in the water all the time. My family did not - we were connoisseurs of the sprinkler, water balloon fights and the local creek. Everyone had a bike to ride wherever they wanted, which was usually to the little league grounds and elementary playground to play games. Pick up baseball games and home run derby - hide and seek or tag around the playground - bike races around the circular parking lot. We would ride afterward to the Dairy Queen for ice cream cones or sundaes - turn in cans for the 10 cent return and hit the penny candy aisle - have lunch at the Root Beer Stand with huge mugs of root beer and cheese dogs.

Walkway to the Beach

Outer Banks, NC

My summers are different now, being married and a mother and a (gulp) grownup. But I'm grateful that Tom and I have been able to kind of merge them with the summers of our childhoods. We go to the Outer Banks every summer - sometimes with another family and sometimes just us. This has been a wonderful new ritual for me - the ocean is so much more extreme than Lake Michigan - and I love sharing the new experiences with our kids. It even makes jaded beach goer Tom seem younger. We plan our own crab feast with food from the local seafood deli and have lunch at Kill Devil's - the Outer Banks' answer to my Root Beer stand. Greasy burgers and fries, crazy chili dogs and the best ice cream on the beach.

We try to visit Michigan as much as possible - I still have yet to take the kids to Lake Michigan. I hope they will enjoy it as much as I did when I was a kid. But since they've regularly been to the ocean since they were infants, it might not be that impressive. We belong to our local pool, just up the road from the pool Tom belonged to as a kid. Both Belle and Baz have been on the swim team and this past summer, Belle was on the dive team for the first time. There are family dinners, outdoor movie nights and campouts - family games and races on July 4th, Memorial and Labor Day. You can always count on at least one other family to barbecue with on a lazy Sunday at the pool.

Our local pool dubbed "The Country Club"

I drive my family crazy with the pictures - I have almost no pictures of my childhood anymore, so anything I can take a photo of is precious to me. Pictures of the kids playing in the waves, burying Tom in the sand, building sand castles, diving off the diving board, eating ice cream with most of it on their faces, swimming in a swim meet, jumping in the deep end hand-in-hand with their friends, sleeping peacefully after a long day playing. Pictures of Tom and his mother, Mary, playing cards, cooking our crab feast or barbecuing burgers - pictures of Tom in the water with the kids or of him boogie-boarding in the waves like a big kid, or just sleeping on a beach blanket in the sand.

These are summer experiences I always wanted to have with my parents and sister growing up. For all these different reasons, we just didn't get to have them. But I still adore summer and I cherish the memories I have of my summers growing up in Michigan. Most of all, I love the summers now and the opportunities I have for all these new memories with my family now and in the future.

The 2012 Olympics or a Meditation on How Inflexible I Am

 

If you own a tv, read a newspaper or have access to a computer, then you’ll have noticed that the Olympics are going on right now. Yay, pride for your country. Yay, look at all the hot bodies – whoops. Yay, nationalism! (drooooool, swimmers and gymnasts). Go USA! (don’t think inappropriate thoughts about people younger than you! *smack*)

I love watching the different events, especially with my kids. We talk about the different things the athletes might do to prepare. Baz and Belle wonder if they can learn to do any of the gymnastics moves in their martial arts classes (they can both do the splits already). We cheer on the swimmers(no matter that the race happened a good six hours ago). The kids want me to try doing the splits. Yikes, look how out of shape I am. This is in no way attractive.

I have always been a fairly active person. I grew up in a neighborhood full of boys and my mother ran a day care out of our house – nice, quiet moments to myself were hard to find when I was younger. I didn’t care – it was great. It’s a childhood setting I wish for my own kids. We lived in a small but expansive neighborhood where I could ride my bike all over without worry – no one offered me candy to get into a van. I walked to school from kindergarten to senior year – not once kidnapped. I played sports all throughout middle and high school and continued to take gym class – never propositioned by a coach. I worked out in the school’s weight room with the other boys and random girls who also liked to exercise – never asked out by a lesbian. It’s a world only a Republican can dream of – except with multi-national people. Whoops.

Then I graduated high school and started college, moved out on my own and started really working (and really drinking/partying). Full-time job with full-time college hours, late nights studying and hanging out with friends completely took away any exercise time. I eventually moved away and while adjusting to a new city, I was working two jobs and taking a half schedule of classes. Marriage and kids and work and before I know it, not only have I not exercised on a regular basis for a good ten years, I have the forty pounds or so to prove it. Not to mention a false feeling of thinking my body is still 18. Yea, it’s not.

Funny story – when my daughter was 9 months old, I was invited to play a game on my company softball team. I was so excited – I grabbed all of my equipment that I’d kept and laced up my cleats. I felt fine during a light practice and warming up, but on my first at-bat, I pulled a muscle running to first. In my mind, I was shocked. “F*ck, I’m old,” I thought to myself. Well, oldER anyway. Out of shape as well.

The Olympics have been like a wonderful daydream. Watching all of these awesome athletes push their bodies to the limit doing something they love. They make it look so easy, I can just imagine doing it myself. It takes me away from the realism of how I can hardly swim one lap in a competition-size pool or how I mostly walked my first 5K. Ah, reality. The bitter slap in the face we all need sometimes.

Best of all, the Olympics can be motivating, too. Where are my running shoes? This fatty’s on the move.

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Its a Tuesday, What Do You Want From Me?

 

Ok, I've been attempting to post something for the past half hour to hour now. Anything that I come up with comes out formal and stiff (this is where someone would throw in a That's What She Said joke). I am an idiot to think this would just come back to me like I'd never stopped. Writing is hard. This sucks.

I don't know why I'm surprised - aside from life getting busier, this is why I stopped. I didn't have the energy, the time, the dedication to take my writing further. Or that was the excuse I threw out. Yet I know a handful of people who do everything I do in my daily life (not exactly, but the same routines such as a job, family, house, cleaning, etc) and MORE and still devote time to writing or painting or playing/writing music. In some cases, they have busier lives but still make time for speaking engagements or a regular band schedule all across the area, their weekends ending when some of us are getting up for work.

So why do I let this excuse hold me back? Duh. It's been easier to just give up than to be scared and go somewhere unknown. The biggest fear? Just plain sucking at something I love(?) to do and having it amount to nothing. So I didn't even try. And here I am years later, still having flashes of inspiration here and there, only to get stuck at some point and stop. Overthinking, not enough doing.

I came to a conclusion the other day that I'm tired of being scared. My dream isn't to write for a national magazine or write The Great American Novel that will be published in 22 countries and in different languages and eventually be the subject of a TMZ article. My dream has always been to just write. To create stories, to capture a moment or a feeling in a poem, to be able to remember things for the future through writing. But I let myself get intimidated and think, "Hey. None of this is permanent. None of it will matter in the long run." How do I know? Maybe whatever I leave behind will inspire someone in the future. Or maybe my family will read what I had to say at certain times and they will be excited to know what our family was like at this time.

So I contacted a friend of mine, Jenny - we were classmates in high school in an online writing class - and we decided to be writing partners. Support for writer's block, easygoing but honest criticism for stories, someone to sound off with for ideas. We are on Day 3. This has been great so far - feeling like I have an outlet, really thinking about what I want to write. It's been great to see someone else have the same struggles and want to work on something they enjoy, too. Our current goal - to make it on a regular schedule for a month to start. I think we're making good progress so far. Thanks for reading my beginner, rambling crap and wish us luck. Smiley face.

 

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The 8-year-old and The Cell Phone

The other day, we bought our daughter her first cell phone. Belle is 8 1/2 - she's becoming more independent. Yes, I hear the various grumblings - I got them from my MIL as well. "She's too young! What 8-year-old needs a cell phone?"

Look, we discussed and bemoaned the entire thing. Neither Tom nor I really wanted her to have one. We drive her practically everywhere - she's with her grandmother when we're at work, not a day care - if she's with friends or the dive team, we know she is with trustworthy people. But we also have to be realistic - Belle is growing up. She's learning more responsibility and we are learning to give her more trust as she earns it. We also live in an area where you can't reasonably walk to a lot of places. If she's at a dive meet and her ride needs to leave for whatever reason and she can't get another person we know to bring her home, I want her to be able to contact us. I will be the first to admit it - I am anxious and overprotective. So, while I'm trying my best to loosen up, I still have my limits.

So, despite AT&T's best attempts to buy our daughter a smartphone (she wanted an iPhone - my husband and I just laughed), we found the most basic phone possible. It makes calls - it can send text messages (no phone out there is without that) and we can limit who can call her. We've set up basic boundaries - she can call or text myself, Tom or Grandma - and that's all its for. No games, no internet and definitely no Facebook (of which she doesn't have an account). Also, don't lose it. Unfortunately, Belle has inherited my absent-mindedness. Sad face.

Guess who has become a texting fiend? Wow. I get the appeal and its cute - remember when walkie-talkies were the coolest thing? You wished they could reach as far as the next block or down the street, so your best best friend and you could talk to each other when you were supposed to be asleep? Same thrill. Belle sends me messages at work and in the evening, she checks up on her grandmother.

I realize I've created the monster - I realize that this is the decision we made - but underneath the grumbling, I just can't help but laugh. Belle is so cute - she's growing up way too quickly. I already asked her to slow down - she grew two shoe sizes in response. Little butthead.

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Sunday Afternoon at the ER

 

Last night was the first Saturday evening that our family was able to really enjoy in 2 weeks. 2 weeks prior, Tom was recovering from pneumonia and a week after that, I was recuperating from bronchitis. So everyone, especially our poor kids, was looking forward to having fun. We made plans with 3 other families we know from the kids’ martial arts classes – bowling at the local AMF lanes and dinner. Everyone had a blast – the adults making fun of each other’s scores, cheering on the kids when they got strikes and eating bad (but delicious) food. The blacklight bowling started at 9, a DJ started playing music and we finally left at 10:30. Everyone slept in, which means it was a really good time (no matter what, Baz usually wakes up between 6 and 7 am on the weekends). We were all looking forward to a quiet afternoon.

So after sleeping late and making breakfast (coffee!), we all started in on our household chores. The kids started their laundry and began cleaning their rooms (which is more like rearranging their stuff in different places to make it look like they cleaned). Tom was changing the sheets on everyone’s beds – I was in the kitchen. I’m in the middle of steam-mopping the kitchen floor when I heard a crash and a cry. Trying not to panic, I walked out to the living room. Baz was standing, bent over at the waist, in the glass portion of the coffee table. It looked like he was leaning his weight on the glass, trying to fix this toy train crane that he plays with and the glass broke beneath him (he is not a little boy in size).Taking a look at his arm after I freed him from the glass, he was already bleeding profusely. Thankfully, he was fairly calm – crying, but not hysterically. Baz kept telling me he was sorry for breaking the table. I got him into the bathroom to clean him up and knew right away he was going to need stitches. So after bandaging up his hand, we were on our way to the ER. Thankfully we don’t live far away.

We were taken to the pediatric ER and looked at fairly quickly. Baz was great – except for the shot to numb the laceration around his thumb, he was very cooperative and in a good mood. We talked, played a train game on my iPad and watched “Despicable Me” while waiting. The stitches were quick (he blew bubbles with a wonderful nurse throughout the process, as you can see above) and we were on our way shortly after that.

Maybe this is something I need to get used to. We were at the ER back in May for a case of croup Baz developed – Baz, myself and Belle at 2:30 in the morning – and the doctor who saw Baz then remembered him today. Good thing he’s a tough kid – but he’ll have plenty of opportunity with martial arts class 3 times a week.

Happy Sunday to you all.

 

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Reading to My Kids

I am a reader - I have been for as long as I can remember. As soon as I found out I was pregnant for the first time, I started planning the books I would read to my child. I was very ambitious, in that eyes-wide-shut way to actual parenting life. I will read to my kids every night, no exceptions! Well, real life has bit me in the ass and laughed at me more than a few times. So while we haven't read every night for every bedtime of my kids' existence, there are also very few periods in between where it doesn't happen.

The book choices have run the gamut from reading the same book over and over for at least a week to a month - to asking them if we could read a particular storybook that I really enjoy and having it rejected. Sad face. We have discovered books that looked sketchy at first and turned out to be HI-LARIOUS (that's high-larious, for everyone outside the household) and other books with wonderful pictures that turned out to be weird or confusing. Mostly it has just been fun, silly cuddle time. Thankfully, I'm still Mommy; they appreciate and even laugh hysterically when I make silly voices or act out wild and crazy story climaxes.

This summer, with Baz learning to read and Belle well into chapter books, I decided we were going to do more than read our regular stack of picture books. I usually let them both choose one book and that's what I read before bed. Belle and I have read chapter books together, but Baz was never interested in sitting down for a chapter or two before now. So, going over all the possibilities we had, I asked them to pick out a longer chapter book that we would read before bed this summer. They chose "Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone." I have read the series more than a few times and greatly enjoy it - so much that, I bought a set just for the kids because my own were so dog-eared.

It has been wonderful. We talk about what I read the night before to refresh our memories, I ask them questions, like what they think about Harry's aunt and uncle - "Harry's cousin turned into a pig?!?" - and they always want to know if I can read an extra chapter when I'm done. I have managed to interpret and bring out Hagrid's brogue (which my husband finds incredibly amusing), Professor McGonagall's strict tone and Hermione's shrill, bossy squeal. What's more astonishing is that they love it. They love it when I read to them. I was afraid this was something I would be forcing on them, that reading a book Mommy loves before bed would be boring. But even my puppy-in-boy-form Baz loves to lie down, snuggled up with his long-suffering stuffed dog Scooter and listen to me tell Harry's tale. I love it so so much.

I wish it were this easy to work with them both on reading practice. Anabelle is off the charts in reading at school, but doesn't like our help with talking about books or essays and questions for school. Baz is interested in learning to read, but is easily discouraged - he loves books, especially about trains, but would rather make up his own stories than read the words when they get difficult. I think the trick may be asking Baz to read to me.

I have a reading list a mile long for them - I hope they stay as excited as I am.