Teenage Girls And Their Mothers

I had kids late for a Southern woman (which I'm not, since I'm a transplant), so most of my friends around here have teenagers. And many of those teenagers are girls. Oh, the suffering! There are a couple things I've noticed:

1. All the moms did a good job. They loved their children. They were involved. They made sure the child had a good moral foundation. They met the friends.
2. All the mothers blame themselves for their daughter's misbehaviors.
   
3. The daughters come back around--usually by age 25, but often before.

I've also seen some things that make life worse. Now, many mothers of teenage girls are traversing their own hormonal terrain. They are either perimenopausal or menopausal themselves. Depending on their heredity, diet, etc., this transition can be brutal. Like a girlfriend of mine told me about her own mom, "My mom curled up in the fetal position and cried for a year and us kids were all out of the house and grown. I'm menopausal with a 10 year old and working full time." It's a different world and so this life transition can be complicated. Many of the women I know are going through menopause while their daughters navigate the teen years. That makes for emotional agony--and I'm not even talking about the poor men in their lives.

Here are some of the things the moms do when things are going well. They have shown me a great example and I hope that I do as well when I cross this bridge:

1. They control their emotions. When it descends into a screaming match, the relationship looks more like two peers than a parent-child relationship. Actually, someone is in charge. It's the kid. And while the daughter claims to want to be in charge, that's generally B.S. She wants freedom, yes, but she doesn't want too much responsibility. Mom has to stay in control, otherwise no one has it.
2. They keep their humor. Drinking and drugs help. Actually, no they don't. Sometimes the mood just gets too heavy and most of it is just comedic, not tragic. The happy, centered moms find the humor.
   
3. They keep perspective. When a child says they hate you and can't wait to leave and knows all the soft spots and exploits them, it's difficult to keep perspective. It seems like this will go on forever. But it won't. One way or another, this will be over. At the very least, the kid will move out in a huff.
4. They seek support. This seems to be a time where friends and familial support is crucial. Most people wouldn't go on a wilderness trek alone. Going through the teenage wasteland alone seems foolish, too. I'm watching and learning and I know exactly who I'll call when the time comes. One bonus to having kids later is that my friends will be done with it and enjoying grandkids (if their daughters have started speaking to them again). They can laugh at me and give me advice.
5. They trust themselves and their daughters (within reason). Fundamentally, parents are terrified because of what they did at that age and because they fear they screwed up their kids and their kids will repeat their own mistakes. That might happen, and really, if a kid is hell-bent to destruction, there isn't much a parent can do to stop it. Most of the time, though, the mom did a good job and the daughter is a good kid.
6. They aren't idiots. A friend of mine said that she hid a baby monitor in her teenage daughter's room. Her daughter never could figure out how her mom knew everything. Another friend installed software on her daughter's computer so she knew where her daughter was and what she was doing. Is it sneaky? Yes. Did the mothers have the information they needed to head off disasters? Yes. You can't parent and be a moron. If it is in your house, it's not off limits. Now this must tempered with wisdom. There is a fine line between concern and complete psychopathology. I have seen more than my share of narcissistic, manipulative, crazy parents who violated boundaries, and just generally made their kids lives hell. I'm not talking about that. It's called sense, though and it means paying attention.
7. They take care of themselves. They are exercising and eating right and indulging in interests and doing what they love, thereby setting an example for their daughter. Their daughter is paying attention. A tired, crabby, overwhelmed mother models tired, crabby, unthinking coping mechanisms. Children, even teens reflect back what they see. In fact, one of the amusing things (from the outside), is hearing moms complain about their daughters. I have yet to see behavior from the daughter that isn't a perfect, if exaggerated, reflection of the mom's behavior. Yes, this terrifies me.
   

Moms of teenage girls deserve the same sort of sympathy mothers of freaked out toddlers get. The teenage brain and hormone system is changing at the same pace as a toddlers, it's just that the "baby" is in a nearly grown-up body and it throws everyone off. It helps for parents to remember this, too. That's why a mom will see the child swing from rational to hissy fit to rational in a span of hours, sometimes, minutes. Good diet is helpful here. (Keep in mind that carbs make blood sugar go up and down and moods often follow the sugar. Make sure your daughter is getting enough protein.) And make sure to let the kid sleep enough, too.

If nothing else, a woman I know said this about parenting teenagers, "This too shall pass."

Caesareans Cause Insurance Problems

The vast majority of Caesarean sections are unnecessary, invasive surgeries. To add insult to injury, many women are finding themselves un-insurable after a Caesarean. Insurance companies don't want to cover women of child-bearing age. Period. It's expensive and the insurance company's goal is to make money. The insurance company's goal is not to make sure you get well. That is your job. The doctor's job is to help you.

It is helpful to remember these roles when you're making health care decisions.

Feminism's Fallout: Part II

Yesterday, I wrote about feminism's unintended consequences--namely that women end up feeling compelled to make one choice or else they betray the movement's ideals. That choice, to forgo having children in order to make their career mark, denudes women of their biology and deprives them of a choice.

Before I get to feminism's deleterious affects on men, I'd like to write a bit about the victim-mentality that has seeped into the DNA of even the most powerful of Western women. I am, of course, alluding to Hillary Clinton. Peggy Noonan wrote a must-read piece about great women leaders and how they never made excuses or blamed prejudice for their place in the world. Noonan says:

It is sissy. It is blame-gaming, whining, a way of not taking responsibility, of not seeing your flaws and addressing them. You want to say "Girl, butch up, you are playing in the leagues, they get bruised in the leagues, they break each other's bones, they like to hit you low and hear the crack, it's like that for the boys and for the girls."

And because the charge of sexism is all of the above, it is, ultimately, undermining of the position of women. Or rather it would be if its source were not someone broadly understood by friend and foe alike to be willing to say anything to gain advantage.

First, I'd like to say how pleased I am that Peggy Noonan reads my posts seeing as how "butch up" was the phrase that got me in trouble with the menfolk (well, some of them). It's nice to know that I'm on her radar. Second, to Ms. Noonan's point: Hillary Clinton embodies the problem with the women's movement. She was a party to her husband's victimizing of women and turns around now, to decry her own victimization. By whom? She does need to butch up. She has the benefit of being treated just like a man. She is not being condescended to. She is not being patronized. No, she is in a fight for the most powerful office in the land and she does women no favors when she weeps in self-pity and cries sexism when she's in a tight spot.

Eh, I'm not going to get to men again, today. I'm going to just stay with the victim mentality. It is tiresome and ubiquitous and it is holding women back. A woman will not ever become president if she plays the poor little girl. A woman will not receive respect at work or at home playing the victim. Even Jesus chided the martyr Martha and that was in a decidedly paternalistic environment.

Women who carry their victim status as a prized possession limit their world. Let me just be clear here: it's stomach turning to see anyone throw a protracted pity party. Who ever said life was easy? Women who want parity in what they describe as the "man's world" need to stop making excuses. They need to embrace equality. That means when a woman makes an accusation that sounds outrageous, the women who hear it will slow down, wait and reserve judgment because that's what a reasoned person, male or female, does. When they jump to the woman's defense because she has the benefit of ovaries, they make women look foolish.

I'm as eager as the next woman to see a great woman leader emerge in America. I don't see how it's going to happen when women continue to see themselves as victims. When Nancy Pelosi surrounds herself with her grandchildren and claims the power of her ovaries first and the power of her ideas second, women are bound to be viewed as ninnies.

Does this seem counter to what I wrote in my last post, where I wrote that fully buying feminist dogma limits a woman's choices--specifically motherhood? Well, here's the deal: a strong woman is a strong woman. The whole notion that a woman is weak by being a mother insults mothers. Conversely, a woman is not innately superior because she can birth. That belief is as sexist as believing that men are superior because they have testes.

Leadership means having bigger ideas, more internal fortitude, further foresight, deeper wisdom. Any person who exhibits these traits will have followers. Viewing oneself as a victim runs directly counter to being a worthy leader.

Feminism ceases to be relevant because to be a feminist is to be a victim. Any self-respecting woman wants no part of the victim talk. They want to be victors in all their endeavors. Success means being the best at whatever path one chooses. Real women wait for the post-feminist world where people are valued for their character and their accomplishments. Scratch that. They aren't waiting, they're created that world now. Feminists are being left behind.

Feminism's Fallout

I've written before that feminists act as though their beliefs have no real-world consequences. Abortion harms no one. Neither mother nor potential child feels the results of the decision, when it's patently obvious there are negative consequences. Having potential life snuffed out is a consequence. And mothers, who choose to have a child later, realize with disturbing clarity what the loss really meant.

Abortion is just one thing. The diminishing of men to promote women has been another. It seems that bring women to "equal" has been achieved to the detriment of men. But that's not what I want to talk about today.

Children of feminists are growing up and reporting what feminism looked like in practice. Some of the pictures aren't pretty as Dr. Helen notes this article about the daughter of Alice Walker writer of the book The Color Purple:

You see, my mum taught me that children enslave women. I grew up believing that children are millstones around your neck, and the idea that motherhood can make you blissfully happy is a complete fairytale.

In fact, having a child has been the most rewarding experience of my life. Far from 'enslaving' me, three-and-a-half-year-old Tenzin has opened my world. My only regret is that I discovered the joys of motherhood so late - I have been trying for a second child for two years, but so far with no luck.

I was raised to believe that women need men like a fish needs a bicycle. But I strongly feel children need two parents and the thought of raising Tenzin without my partner, Glen, 52, would be terrifying.

***********

Although I believe that an abortion was the right decision for me then, the aftermath haunted me for decades. It ate away at my self-confidence and, until I had Tenzin, I was terrified that I'd never be able to have a baby because of what I had done to the child I had destroyed. For feminists to say that abortion carries no consequences is simply wrong.

**************

Then I meet women in their 40s who are devastated because they spent two decades working on a PhD or becoming a partner in a law firm, and they missed out on having a family. Thanks to the feminist movement, they discounted their biological clocks. They've missed the opportunity and they're bereft.

Feminism has betrayed an entire generation of women into childlessness. It is devastating.

But far from taking responsibility for any of this, the leaders of the women's movement close ranks against anyone who dares to question them - as I have learned to my cost. I don't want to hurt my mother, but I cannot stay silent. I believe feminism is an experiment, and all experiments need to be assessed on their results. Then, when you see huge mistakes have been paid, you need to make alterations.

I suspect that more stories like this will be written. Women have many choices now, being a parent is just one of many. Women can find out, after having a child, that the child is not just a choice but a revelation.

What once was self-evident: that motherhood is a gift uniquely given to women, that it is a blessing to be a part of creating life, that giving birth transforms a person (or can), that no other earthly achievement parallels the potential world-changing benefit of a child, seems lost on women.

A deep ambivalence has taken hold Western women and men. To question our own existence and purpose so fundamentally leads to places like where Margaret Cho finds herself. For all her proclamations about "not being a breeder", I sense sadness and grief over the loss of her relationship and the potential child that could come of it. For all her worldly success, time runs short for her to know what it means to mother. And while that might be the best choice for her, she'll never know for sure, will she? (More about Margaret by Cassy Fiano.)

That's the thing about taking a risk like motherhood. Even getting pregnant and having an abortion, a woman can't retreat and go back. A woman is a creative vessel. That makes her uniquely vulnerable. The feminists focus on that part of womanhood to the exclusion of the other: that motherhood makes a woman powerful beyond her own comprehension. That power is terrifying which is why so many women run from it.

We've all heard the saying that "the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world". Ironically, feminists forgo rulership to be bit players on the world stage. Their artistic contributions will fade in memory. In Alice Walker's case, though, her gifts will carry on because she became "enslaved" by motherhood. Her child is an artist. And the blood that runs through her daughter's veins now runs through her grandchild's. She would forgo this piece of immortality for her own passing glory? Well, she gets her reward and it will only last as long as she walks the earth. Lucky for her, she made the mistake of having a baby. With another generation, there is hope.

One more thing. The feminists have enslaved themselves with a false dichotomy: that you can either contribute externally and make your mark on the world or you can "waste" your potential and turn inward to raise children. It is impossible to do both. Yet there is much evidence to the contrary. It might not be possible to do it all at once, but it is possible to do both. Unfortunately, many women are waking up to this reality too late and biology reigns. Feminism has robbed many women of their choices. How ironic is that?

Stuff You Should Know

What does Obama really believe? If you listen, he'll tell you.

And so will Michelle. Ugh. The woman needs to pipe down if she doesn't want criticism for saying stupid things.

I don't know what to think about this research that says cellphone use by pregnant women causes attention problems in the offspring, but it seems that cell phones might be more troublesome than we know. And here's the weird thing: when my iPhone is anywhere near the subwoofer, the subwoofer vibrates when I get a phone call or text or email. In fact, if the phone is near the radio, the radio goes static until it turns off again. They produce a huge EMF for being so small. At the rate people use phones now, the next generation will all be mentally retarded.

Want to see the droopiest ta-ta's ever? Evidently they fed one of the meanest mouths, too. Part of the Code Pink crowd's progeny. Ew, my eyes are still recovering. And just so you know, yes, sometimes bloggers get hate mail. Lovely. (We get love notes, too, so it all evens out.)

William F. Buckley built a road that I don't think conservative have been following for quite some time.

Crazy ants (not to be confused with my crazy aunts) are taking over Houston. I should be disturbed, but here's the disturbing part: if we get infested with them, they eat wires. No! Not that! They also eat fire ants, which is a good thing.

Is the world economy destabilizing? Yes. Are energy prices going to cause problems? Seems like they will.

Ann Althouse wants liberals to not speak their truth so people will take them seriously when it comes to Supreme Court Justices. Even if they don't say it, Ann, we know their judicial intentions. There's no hiding it.

Are conservatives out of ideas? Um, no. But the conservatives aren't running the Republican party right now. Neither are the libertarians. Right now, fat, happy, pseudo-dems are running the party and the only ideas they possess come from the Democrats. It's called liberalism lite and it sucks.

Part of this cross-posted at RWN.

Domestic Goddess, I Am

NOT.

Every once in a while the cooking bug bites and I get industrious. I make a mean lasagna, or rather, I can make one should I ever get the urge to make one. Last night, for reasons I can't fathom, the mood hit. The kids were getting the standard mac-n-cheese with all the trimmings, so I was in the kitchen anyway, why the hell not?

I'll tell you why the hell not. Lasagna, while easy, is not simple to make. It's the time factor that's annoying and about half way into it I remembered--oh yeah, it's the one hour of prep....argh! The load was lightened by a chat with a fellow blogger who was slowly getting himself drunk and philosophizing on why women had it easier because of our biological imperative. Essentially, if I understand correctly, we women are forced down the birth canal of life and that determines our mission whether we ever accomplish anything else or not. So, it's easy being a woman. We can be fuck ups in every other way, but if we're a good mother, all is forgiven. Our lives have had meaning. Interesting.

I'm not sure I buy his premise, because having fulfilled my biological imperative a couple times over, I still feel like I'm searching for ways to make my mark on the world and progeny doesn't fill the bill. Any crack whore can birth a child. Most kids grow up to be far more successful than their parents involvement would have predicted. And some kids who have everything turn out to be weasels. So, yeah, a mother is important, but to me, there is more to life for a woman than just mothering. And the mothering sword cuts both ways. If the kids turn out great, people figure they should. If the kids turn out bad, it will be the mother's fault.

And certain expectations come with mothering: like cooking. And by that count, I'm an abysmal failure. Except when I decide to cook, like last night. The aroma of sautéed garlic and onions wafting through the house. Mmmmmm..... I should sauté every night for the smell. Want to know how I made it? I can't really do a recipe because when I cook, I mangle recipes beyond recognition so they're my own, but I can give you a general idea of what I do....

1. Sauté garlic, four or five cloves, and half a chopped onion in a tablespoon of butter. Ground pepper to taste.

2. Add in as much ground beef as you like. Some like more saucy lasagna. Some like more meaty. Men tend to like meat. Load it up, ladies! Add salt and more ground pepper.

3. Add a bottle of spaghetti sauce. Now, I like a couple different sauces--Kroger's store brand actually has the most authentic, Italian red sauce. I know. It's weird, but it's really good. (They don't use too much sugar, which other brands tend to do.) I also like the organic version of Prego's mushroom sauce. People can be so snobbish in this area. Whatever. Most people who have high-falutin' ideas about red sauce don't know real Italians. The Kroger brand actually tastes most like Steve's grandma's sauce and she was from Italy and a fantastic cook, but I digress.

4. Cook the lasagna noodles. (Not too long.) Favorite noodles right now: Target's organic brand. Wow. Good stuff, but not all Targets carry it, unfortunately.

5. Get the ricotta (none of the low-fat stuff, are you kidding me? You want low-fat, you don't eat lasagna, okay?) out of the fridge and stir in some oregano and basil. Doesn't have to be fresh. It's nice if it is, but lets not get too anal. It's easier to work with when the mix is at room temp.

6. Grate the mozzarella. Don't tell me you buy the stuff grated. I don't know what they do to make it last without growing stuff on it, but it's not good. The big block is cheaper and make the kids grate it. They love to do it anyway. Now, here's how I trick ya. I buy one small block of really good mozzarella. That's the stuff that goes on top. The regular, cheapo brand goes in the middle. You don't even know the difference.

7. Put it all together. Start with the meat sauce and put it on the bottom of the glass dish. Next, put on the noodles, then the ricotta mixture, then the mozzarella, then the meat sauce and again with the pasta. Do this again and end with the good mozzarella on top. Now, if you like cheesier lasagna, you can put grated Parmesan on top of the ricotta at each level and then on top with the mozzarella.

Put in the oven for about 30 minutes at 375. The whole thing shouldn't take long because everything is warm, still. Lasagna is one of those things that tastes even better on day two. So sometimes, I just put one together, refrigerate it, and cook it a day or two later.

I'll talk more about lucky domestic goddesses later. For now, I'm sharing my flash of brilliance. Watch it people, it's like a shooting star. There and gone.

Don't Let Your Mama's Have Babies In Texas, Ya'll

Texas ranks last in all things maternal. It's because of lack of health insurance, of course. Uh huh. Could it be that illegal aliens don't get prenatal care and the first time anyone sees them is when they stumble across the emergency room threshold to birth a new American? And in that case, I think Mexico could safely be blamed for their lack of good prenatal care.

I've spent far too much time in and around the Medical Center. Texas in general, and Houston in particular, lacks many things (namely mountains) but excellent medical care that is open to all is not one of them. One disturbing statistic that the research doesn't mention is the over-reliance on c-sections. Houston has one of the highest C-section rates in the country. This is major surgery and unnecessary most of the time.

Breast Is Best.....But Holy Mother of Madonna Wean The Kid Before Puberty

Well, then. One of my loyal readers sent me this link about, wait for it, an eight year old who still breast feeds. Go watch it and then come back for my nourishing commentary.

OH. HELL. NO.

Lest you think I'm a repressed Western, bottle Nazi, let me assure you: I believe breast is best. My own ta-ta's bear the side-effects of nursing all three of my children for 18 months, two years and two and half years respectively. They all essentially weaned with a bit of encouragement from me. But they all were weaned in a timely manner.

Here's a tip: When the kid can ask mom to lay off the broccoli because it's changing the "nose" and "finish" of the milk, it's time for table food and maybe some good stuff from the Rhone region.

Has the world gone completely mad? And did you see the freaking dad? He nurses too? Avert your eyes Christian people because can I hear a WTF? Thank you. That little bit of sharing was so damn disturbing. Dude was not talking about a little yum yum to go with some some. Oh no, he needed emotional and physical sustenance too, and who was his crazy ass wife to deny him? That was rhetorical because she didn't.

Somewhere between the women who wouldn't let a baby touch her nipple so she can keep her perfect tits perfect and the eight year old suckling there's a balance. I dunno. You'd think a sensible woman could find it.

And while we're on the topic, I want to talk about women whipping their boobs out to nurse their kids. Full frontal disclosure again: I've publicly nursed. That is, I have nursed in public, but I don't think anyone ever noticed or saw boobage. It's called discretion. Now some repressed people don't even like the idea of a woman with child in public. Tough nuts repressed people. When a baby is hungry, there is no easier method of feeding than breast feeding. And I know women who were all judgmental until they birthed their own kid and had a choice between a disgusting public restroom and discrete public nursing. Guess what they chose?

However, some of you women, you know who you are, get a charge out of freaking people out. You linger. You flop it all over. You let it hang out while you're searching for your child's melon and orifice. Matching them up seems to take an extraordinarily long time. Your neighbors avert their eyes. Polite company focus intently on their PDAs. Other family members try to not throw up. Come on! Have some respect. If you're going to nurse in public, at least figure out how to do it without being a soft porn flick.

My rant is over. So, of course, I want your opinion. What do you think?

Age a kid should be weaned by:
	3 months
	6 months
	one year
	18 months
	2 years
	3 years
	4 years
	as long as the kid and mom want
pollcode.com free polls

More Mom Stuff

My mom knew that the Geneva Conventions existed but those were for more civilized homes. This was more like it:

Geneva Convention? I freakin’ wish. Whenever young Tmj crossed the frontier, Mom skipped diplomacy, proportionate force, the spirit of the Hague Conventions, the UCMJ articles pertaining to Law Of Land Warfare and go straight to the nuclear option.

The single warhead, planet cracking Dad Tmj. And if Mom had been moved enough at the moment of offense to have to raise her hand in the form of a spank, it was even worse.

Well, the nuclear option was really the only option Chez Mom of Melissa. I only have a few tics, otherwise I turned out ok. Besides disciplinary warfare, my mother excelled at keeping house. Perfectly. She was to women's work what Bob Villa is to home improvement.

Some men value women's work, too, as it's the only way to be manly left. I found this post and thought about my Butch Up post. Men butch up a myriad of ways these days and some do it by doing "Women's Work":

But you know what’s great? Household cleaning. Ironing, especially. I wish I were making this up.

Can’t iron with a two-year-old anywhere near — they’ll grab a good hold of that power cord and give it a solid jerk. And ironing shirts requires too much attention to carry on an adult conversation. Not the way I do it anyway.

I’m not kidding about that attention thing. When I iron, I’m ironing. I used to be so bad that I’d crease and iron the back box pleat, all the way down to the shirttail. At some point around 30, I decided maybe that was taking things a little too far, at least on sport shirts. Dress shirts? Next time you see me in a suit, wait’ll I take off the jacket and check for yourself. Until then, I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.

But give me the bathroom to myself, one of the many For Steve Only playlists on the iPod nestled in its Bose dock speakers, and half a dozen shirts to iron… and for the next hour, I could be 23 for all I care. It’s the same music, the same alone time, and the same (completely anal retentive, perfectionist asshole) activity as I enjoyed those 15 [cough, 16, cough . -ed.] years ago. Ironing is even better than vacuuming, which makes too much noise for a good iPod jam session. (If you prefer a loud stereo to wearing headphones, that is.) Though being all domestic now, I do get to chase the dog around with the damn noisy thing, which is a bit of a plus.

********
Guys, there’s nothing wrong with doing so-called women’s work. It’s one of your last chances to be a man.

Amen, baby. You hit it! And you're right. You'll get all the time alone you need. Don't want to dirty your fingernails in the shop? Sick of racking leaves? Real men iron. Ironing is butch. That hot thing scares me.

Mother's Day Rocks....and Rolls!

My mom birthed me, therefore I am. Thanks mom!

Wait is it 10:41 CST? Why, yes it is. I rolled my old bones out of bed an hour ago, secure in the knowledge that I got to sleep in today. Sleeping is just better when you know someone else is responsible for the urchins. A breakfast spread (not in bed--that mode of eating is overrated--crumbs, spilled stuff, it's better in theory) sat on the table. My little cherubs were there. The youngest one sans clothes. He's happier that way these days.

I got a present. Try to not be jealous. It's going to be hard because they're so freakin' cool!



The earphones, made by Etymotic Research specially for my iPhone, cancel noise, so I'm not blasting my eardrums now turning the music up so dang loud to cancel external noise. They fit into my wee ear canal comfortably. My Apple earphones hurt my ear and were falling apart after daily use since December. I endured the pain because 1) I'm cheap and 2) my options sucked for so long. The benefits of the old Apple earphones still outweighed the other two choices. With the Apple earphones, you could use the phone and I really, really like the feature of uninterrupted music. That is, I could receive a phone call or make one, and the song I was listening to would fade out and then back in right where it was. The other headphones were either headphones or wireless blue tooth phone, but not both phone and headphones.

Not now. The Etymotic HF2's do everything the old Apple earphones do, they just do it oh so much better. The sound is astonishingly good. Rich and full, nice bass, mid-tones good, treble decent. Sounds a bit tinny right now but I'm listening to an old Roy Orbison recording of You Got It so it might be that. Now, I'm listening to Prince's I Would Die For You. Sounds the same. It's the earphones. But I'm quibbling. They are fantastic.

I accepted one phone call and experimented with going outside. A complaint about the Apple headphones was that the microphone picked up every little sound. Thus, a breezy day negated talking on the phone outdoors with the headphones on a walk say, requiring me to pull them out, hold the headphones in one hand (no clip--the new ones have a clip) and gab on the phone. I know. I suffer. We'll see if it's the same deal with the new ones. I don't know. During my one test run, the caller could hear the birds chirping in the background, so we'll see.

If I was a good mother, I'd be waxing elephant about the inherent joys of motherhood first before telling you yahoos about the rocking headphones. But I never claimed to be a good mother. No award winning, heroic deeds of self-sacrifice (this morning yet, anyway) to distinguish me from any other mother who does her loving duty day in and day out. I just love my kids.

My Little Toot ran up to me, naked of course, jumped into my arms and exclaimed, "I love you Mama!!" Well take my heart out and crush it in your little palm, son. Oof, I just can't even describe the feeling that comes from hearing those words, that way, from that sweet little face. The headphones are choice, but there is no comparison to those pink cheeks, blue marble eyes, and squeaky voice. We moms are complete suckers. It's that skin, the sweetness, the purity that helps us when, five minutes later, he is head butting me because I won't give him his third bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.

Motherhood is complex, mundane, routine, surprising, demanding, relentless, and really not for the faint of heart. Until a woman is a mother herself, she can't really comprehend her own mother's dedication and love. There aren't words for it really. It begins with the sacrifice of the body. I remember being astonished how consumed I was by being pregnant even when I was too busy to think about it. This little dot of a kid completely changed my biochemistry. My body responded to this alien invasion on autopilot, but my life was no longer just mine. It became this other being's too. And the pregnancy was just the beginning of life giving.

As time goes on, that commitment and choice becomes even more apparent. You don't know what kind of kid you'll get. I expected that I'd have no problems. Of course, when I got pregnant, the notion of a deformed child or some birth defect subtly terrorized me--hung out there as a looming possibility, but I didn't really believe that would happen. And I thought the pregnancy would be fine. But I couldn't know.

Motherhood disabused me of the notion that I had control of my destiny. It was an illusion anyway. I thought I could make life conform to my whims. And to a certain extent, I could, but mostly I possessed the hubris that all young people have. That life will go on forever and that all mistakes can be corrected with work and time. I was wrong.

My body betrayed me. It birthed the babies early and wanted to do the same with each successive pregnancy. We only know a little about why. There is always a why, but there's not always a way to find the why. And then one of my sons died. And the other lived and suffered. And I was helpless to stop it or change anything.

Motherhood revealed the truth: I am limited and am a conduit for life force but do not possess the power of life. That knowledge is self-evident and of course, I knew it intellectually before, but I didn't know it in the way I knew it after the birth of my sons.

I don't want to get all maudlin here, that's not really my point. But I do think that a certain humility and self-awareness comes with parenthood. Suddenly, life gets re-prioritized. And all my fancy ideas and selfishness and self-will and ideas about life got shot through the blender of reality and what's really important. And imagine my surprise! What was really important wasn't me, well not every single second anyway.

Motherhood doesn't automatically make a person a selfless, loving paragon of virtue. It didn't me, that's for sure. It did expand my world beyond my own confined constraints. My heart expanded and I was made vulnerable. A hug from a naked gnome reveals my weakness and newfound strength too. My life is more focused and more full. I am chained and freed at the same time.

The world needs more mothers and fathers. People making choices for the benefit of others over themselves. Japan and Europe die today because their citizens live like today is the last day. And they create a self-fulfilling prophecy. Why care about society lasting beyond this generation? What is worth saving about it?

If you're a mother (or a father), the answer to that question is self-evident.

Oh, and one more thing! I had the earphones in the wrong ears. I switched them. The sound is even better!

Cross-posted at Right Wing News.

For Mother's Day I Want No Pressure To Pick A Mother's Day Card

It is time to end the requirement to buy stupid greeting cards around manufactured holidays. Nothing personal against greeting card writers, but I think just about everything that can be said has been said. Schlumping around Target being elbowed out of the way by eager beaver shoppers, I just felt resentful. The cards sucked. The pressure sucked.

I love my mother. I love my grandmother. I love my sister. I love my aunts. I love my sister-in-laws. I love my girlfriends. I hate greeting cards.

So, I'm telling my sister this and she says, "Good. Fine. You're a good mother. I love you. Happy Mother's Day! Done."

I replied, "Hallelujah, praise be! I love you too. I love you more now. You're a great mother. Don't send me a card. Please."

Deal. Deal.

For Mother's Day, the gift I want to give myself is to not have the mommy guilt associated with Mother's Day. Now how do I arrange that without pissing off my mother and grandma? Yeah, that's what I thought, too. There's no friggin' way.

And don't get me wrong, I like the tender-hearted gifts. The hand prints, the sweet love notes and the messy morning breakfast absolutely rocks. I have a couple drawers full of "you're great mom!" stuff. And I do look at them, get teary-eyed, and inspired.

So that settles it, the grandmas get mushy letters. Hallmark can kiss my butt.

Mom's Diet Can Determine Sex of the Baby?

Well, I've heard about other techniques and used them myself. Curious? Well, for a boy, have sex right at ovulation and make sure the woman has an orgasm to help the weak male spermies get to the egg. For a girl, make the baby a few days before ovulation, no orgasm (sorry ladies). I don't know if this was how I got my boys and girl or not, but there was some intent there with the first kids. The latest kid, we just wanted one. And we got one.

So, to up your odds of the boy or girl or whatever you'd like, change your diet too. Make sure to eat your breakfast if you want a boy. Oh, and eat bananas.

Stay At Home Mom Job Is Tough

I don't talk about homeschooling or children or diapers or other kid-related stuff much because frankly, blogging is my escape from all of the above. It is the time where I try to learn something new, do something creative and extend my influence beyond these four walls. Plus, in a world where many women have to work, it seems churlish to complain when I have the choice to stay home or work part time (which I do) or work full time.

But my Sister Friend writes eloquently about her experiences as a stay at home mom versus being a working mom. Her conclusion is the same as mine: staying at home is harder. I'll let her explain:

When you stay home you have someone hanging on you every second of every minute of every hour of every day looking to you to meet all of their needs. It is exhausting to be utterly responsible for every whim and desire of a little one.

That, my friends, summarizes the challenge of being at home. What I have told my husband is this: On your worst day, when everything goes wrong and no one is happy, you still get paid. On my worst day, when everything goes wrong and no one is happy, I get paid with a worst night, where everything goes wrong and no one is happy. At your job outside the home, getting shit on is metaphorical. At home, it's literal. And puked on, too.

And these are the days that are forgotten when the kids grow up and go on Oprah. That any children make it to adulthood is quite miraculous. Children are delightful, but let's be real here. Up until a certain age, all they do is eat, poop, make messes, throw up, cling, cry, scream, make noise, and did I mention poop? They aren't civilized. They are primal beasts driven by insatiable curiosity and destructive desires. And a mother is blamed when the child never civilizes.

Mother's Day rolls around once a year. And you know what mom's want? It's insanity. That's what motherhood is. We want sloppy hand prints. We want hand written poems. We want squiggly art.

Moms dream of getting away. Calgon commercials allude to this desire and all moms know darn well that the kid is bursting through the door any minute or pounding non-stop until mom gets out. The reality of getting away is more like torture. Being without the children, I think of them, worry about them, and want to tuck them in at night. When my daughter was two, the hubby and I got away to celebrate our anniversary. At one point, I knew she was crying, felt it in my bones, and called home. She was crying and I was four hours away. Helpless. It was this defining moment that made me realize I was doomed. Being with the kids all the time was the hardest work I'd ever done, unrelenting and some days, punishing work, but being without the kids was just as bad or worse.

Ah motherhood. It's not for wimps. As an aside, this is where I find the feminists denigration particularly insulting. They define success as going out and making loads of money and enjoying lots of sex (doesn't that describe success for a man?) while diminishing mothering, the most quintessentially female thing to do. It's outrageous. What is even more angering is equating mothering with daycare. The care a child receives at the hands of a daycare worker is not the same as a mother (and yes, I know, sometimes it's better, I'm making the assumption of a good mom).

Annyyyyway, go read Sister's post. She has a nice balanced view of staying at home verses going out to work.

Obligatory Oscars Post

Reaction: Meh.

Everyone looked beautiful. Mostly boring, as usual. The only interesting award forced me to wait until the end: the men. They all looked genuinely nervous and desirous. I guess even actors can't hide their true feelings.

I find it interesting how squirmy the actors get seeing themselves. Kate Blanchett shrunk in her chair when she saw herself yelling to the Spanish Ambassador. Johnny Depp, who I love, looked anxiously at his wife. Even George Clooney seemed somewhat embarrassed. He's looking good, but older. I wonder how well he's going to age.

Best dress.

I went over to the Sisters to see what they had to say about the Oscars, but nothin'. I thought they were fashion hounds. What the Danté's Inferno? The do have a good post about the working mom's lament: Sick kids. Well, I've been a SAHM (stay at home mom) and have sick kids, too. And when they're sick, and this year its been six weeks straight now, I wonder what in the world I would do if I was working more than I do. A doctor doesn't get sick days. We'll find out soon enough. I'll be getting back in the saddle practicing a couple days a week in a new practice. Sister mentions Sylvia Plath. I can't remember if she baked her head in the oven or purposefully drowned herself, I get my neurotic writers confused, but either way, with homeschooling I can totally relate. It is time to escape the four walls.

Caffeine & Miscarriage

Just wanted pass along this research. Anecdotally, I think it's right, just based on my own experience. I think caffeine may contribute to premature labor, too. Now this conclusion is right, too:

“Moderation in all things is still an excellent rule,” Dr. Westhoff said. “I think we tend to go overboard on saying expose your body to zero anything when pregnant. The human race wouldn’t have succeeded if the early pregnancy was so vulnerable to a little bit of anything. We’re more robust than that.”

The thing is, all women are different and have different sensitivities. Plus, people are so much more nutritionally deprived. A diet of empty calories might be tolerable normally, but a pregnant woman needs solid nutrition and to avoid stressors. She will face enough the way things go in our society, anyway.

Ah, The Mammaries

Dr. Helen posts today about a woman with a four month old who wants special breaks during her Med Boards to pump or nurse her daughter. During the nine hour test, she gets 45 minutes in breaks. Dr. Helen, herself, leaked all over her Psych Boards, leaving behind a three week old at home. LaShawn Barber says:

*Sigh* Silly girls wearing stethoscopes.

If she were an on-call surgeon required to drop everything and get to the hospital ASAP to perform emergency surgery, is she going to whine about pumping then? Who will she sue — the patient?

If we women want to be equal to men, we’ve got to roll with it, know what I mean? No extra time to get the job done. No dumbed-down standards. Equal means equal, gals.

Ah, the good old days. Their stories recall to mind being heavily pregnant with twins and taking my final board examinations. I was huge and had to do all sorts of orthopedic tests, sham adjustments, etc. That is, that Board exam had a couple practical sections--I wasn't sitting behind a desk thinking deep thoughts the whole time. At that point in my pregnancy, I wasn't thinking much of anything. I was so fried, in fact, that I didn't prepare. I played the odds. I counted on my long term memory. Boards are graded on a curve. I did a simple calculation before the exam: I think I'm smarter than at least half of these people. My friends were terrified for me.

I did pass the exam, thankfully. I can't imagine taking an exam suffering through let downs and and leaving a three week old. But I did notice this, each time I had a kid: My mental faculties seemed to miraculously bounce back after pregnancy (there is a window before exhaustion fugue sets in and the high right after birth wears off).

Back to the lady wanting special circumstances. Isn't there a compromise? Couldn't she be allowed to go pump after sections she finishes early--as long as she's supervised? That doesn't seem like a huge accommodation to me. It seems to be a humane response so the woman doesn't have to suffer the indignities of being a wet mess.

As for LaShawn's point about women waiting on their career. It has been a circuitous path for me. I had a special needs child come out of that birth that required my full-time care. But there was really no better time for my schooling. And lots of women time the birth of their children with their graduations so they are no longer in school. And certain specialties in the medical profession are especially suitable to parenting, too. I have a MD friend who works part-time for 10 hours a week and makes more money than she could doing anything else and parents the rest of the time.

Just sayin'.

H/T Glenn Reynolds who says "GIVING A NEW MEANING to the term "breast exam."

Customer Service Solution

I've been complaining recently about bad customer service experiences, most recently AT&T. Which, I must say, got resolved adequately, ultimately, for the moment. The tech guy who came over was great and I asked for his personal phone number. He declined to give it to me. I don't think I was the first person to ask.

Anyway, a friend sent me a link to Get Human which has the way to actually talk to a person when calling customer service. Hope this helps.

For your amusement, a short video: Mom My Ride

What You Should Know Today

Do you know that there is a terrorist training camp in Upstate New York? My husband's family doesn't live too far from there. The locals are terrified. Not one on-the-record statement from a local. In America.

Do you know how good the commander in Iraq is? Do you know about Michael Yon, the great independent reporter in Iraq? He's a blogger, not some MSM hot-shot. He dodged an IED again this week while travelling with British soldiers. It's not all candy corn and sunshine in Iraq, but there's hope, too. Why is it that the media vascillates between certain doom, and paradise of Eden proportions (if only America would leave) when talking about Iraq?

Do you know that Planned Parenthood ignores the law when it inconveniently impedes abortions? You've suspected it, but how do you get proof, right? Well, here's some proof.

Do you know that Global Warming Zealots are for spreading the "word" and against scientific inquiry? It shouldn't be surprising, given that Global Warming can be classified as the new, "new age" religion. Meanwhile, "The Secret" causes some heartburn as new age nonsense. Small potatoes next to all the other nonsense being foisted as fact.

Do you know the biggest problem facing the music industry isn't suck-bag talent but poor college students down-loading 80s music for free? The best people in the world to sue are those who can't afford a defense, don't ya think? Where do they come up with a $3,000.00 number? Why not just charge the kid fair market value for each song?

Do you know that mothers pass on their cells to their babies and babies leave behind their cells in their mothers? And, do you know that aborted babies leave the most behind? Truly, a mother who has aborted her baby carries that memory and the babies cells with her, forever. The mother is permanently changed.

Do you know that you can launch your music career as a blogger? Yes, you can. This guy did. So stop making fun of me about my blogging, family! Not that I have music dreams, but I have other dreams and maybe the blogging will help...or maybe it's just a diversion.

Do you know all the stuff you can find in J.C. Penney's? Do you know that losing a job can be the beginning of the life you were Meant to Have?

Do you know about the teachers who faked a terrorist attack, terrorizing students unnecessarily? Can you say law and suit?

Do you know that we're in a recession? It seems to me that the recession is hitting some and not others. Since Texas continues to chug along, it makes me wonder how the northeast is doing. My family and friends seem to like it fine, but don't realize that the area is dead compared to the south. They're like boiled frogs.

Do you know that this will make the recession worse? When Wal-Mart is losing money, when GM's profits are off 90% (because of the mortgage market), when home sales are taking a dive, when sub-prime lenders are dying, and when all sorts of weather disturbances are causing economic hardships for bigger and bigger swaths of the populace, it's not good.

And for news I've missed that you shouldn't miss, go visit The Anchoress. I'm glad she's feeling better. She has a unique gift.

I've Always Wanted A Butler

Of all the inventions of civilization, a butler seems to be one of the best. Imagine: a person to remind one of where she need to be, who she needs to contact, what would be appropriate to wear, what the meal should consist of, who gets thank you notes, greets the door, and generally manages one's life, and if one has kids named Buffy and Jody, nannies the children, too.

I want a butler. I need a butler.

Alas, Mr. French is not in the budget. However, this little invention just might be--with Mother's Day coming up. Even though the narrower bag looks better, I need something stylish to carry my laptop and/or books in. Opinions?

Men, I really think you could hit a homerun on Mother's Day with this bag. It's unique. It's affordable. It's beautiful. It's functional. She'll love it.

Spring Cleaning

I've been employing slave, aka mother, labor yesterday and today to help me reorganize my house. It is a daunting task. I find that the longer I live the less I want heaping loads of detrious in my house, but the more I have to have it. This is irksome.

So, hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to Target and Marshalls and Pottery Barn and Williams-Sonoma, everywhere, anywhere, but Wal-Mart, to buy bins and holders for all the junk, that I absolutely must have. It's helped the general look. A little.

The problem goes back to the year I got married. My husband and I had the fortune to find love in college; we had the misfortune to get married the year after college. None of our friends had money, in retrospect, none of our parents friends had money. And, our parents had no money. All in all, we had no money. Neither did anyone we know.

It is said that need is the mother of invention. The frame for our bed doubled as our chest of drawers--boxes of clothes and stuff from college bunched together into a 6x6 foot square. We lived in subsidized apartments with drug dealers, prostitutes and wife beaters. Our next door neighbor had schizophrenia and practiced "spiritual warfare". That and the .45 our other next door neighbor packed kept us "safe", that and the steel door.

All this is to say we started with nothing and we have been building on that flimsy foundation ever since. I was given a wedding shower by my family and my aunt gave me the most useful gift of all--a waste-basket filled with kitchen stuff. But that stuff is nearly sixteen years old now, and ya know, it's a tad worn. My sister-in-law, a former William-Sonoma employee, cluck-clucked her way through the kitchen drawers last week. She is ten years my junior and has a kitchen like Emiril Lagasse, well, on a smaller scale.

It is high time my kitchen clean up and grow up. I am a woman, cut in the 1950s mold, all my pretending to be a post-modern feminist notwithstanding, and it's time I go June Cleaver and get some of the tools of the trade. For psychological and financial, most psychological, reasons, I've resisted getting the proper tools, but the time has come to submit to the inevitable. Everyone has to eat. Or at least look good serving take-out.

And the house needs to get organized. Ugh. I moved two years ago and the facade is acceptable, but behind every closet door, within each cupboard and drawer lurks chaos, and I hate it. My pefectionism makes me wary of giving in to the OCD devil on my shoulder, but I'm going to go Buddhist and embrace the obsessive energy, harness it, use, make it work for me.

The other possibility: I fail to meet my neat-freak expectations and crumble into little quivering pieces of overwhelmed confusion. Nah, the former is a better possibility. How can I be so sure? Not only am I having my mom help me, I'm slowly but inexorably morphing into my mother.

And mom don't do messy.

Spring Cleaning help here.