Outward Perception: On Star Jones and Me

On a rare whim yesterday, I turned on the afternoon Oprah show and settled myself on the couch to hear the Star Jones weight loss story. I haven't been too up on my celebrity info since I cancelled my YMCA membership 3 years ago. Why oh why doesn't Lifetime provide trash magazines? I digress.

Anyway, the interview with Star Jones was profound. For those who didn't watch, a woman who appeared confident years ago was crumbling internally and externally. Star admitted that in her most popular year as a talk show host on The View, she was at her largest weight and was afraid for her audience to discover how self-conscious she had become. She compensated for feeling small internally by putting on a "big" persona---bigger jokes, bigger acrylic nails, bigger hair.

I can relate to Star Jones on many levels, the least of which is weight-related. Primarily, I share with Star the feeling that others believe in me/are confident in me when I do not share that confidence in myself.

Over the last months since Jimmy's birth, I have been on a verifiable roller-coaster of emotion. I described it to John recently: the work-load of managing my three kids, maintaining a clean house, cooking, and keeping up with the laundry was pretty much equivalent to the stress-load of having college finals every single day. Who can live like that? I had an internal stress building and building within me. Every day, I found myself spontaneously bursting little by little....first, an unwarranted yell at my children and next, a unjustified outburst at John.

A few weeks ago, John went to visit his sister, Emily, in Seattle for a stretch of five days. While I was happy at their unique chance for an adult sibling bonding retreat, I couldn't help but feel completely overwhelmed at the prospect of handling all this stress with no back-up at 5pm. John got on the plane, and my stress catapulted higher than it had been since I worked as a crazy dog in event planning.

Four days into John's trip, my brain started to detach a little bit from the situation. I could feel my mind starting to fizzle and fray like a live wire. I started to feel like another 24 hours in the pressure-cooker with my kids was actually unmanageable. Like the kids wouldn't be safe if I continued to be their primary provider for even a few more hours.

That was a scary feeling, folks.

Thankfully, I retained control over the situation long enough to load my kids into the car early on Sunday morning, and drive slowly to my parents house. Twenty minutes from my home had never felt so long. All the while, I kept telling myself, "I can handle driving to Mom and Dad's. I can get to a safe place." And then, in what seemed like forever, I was there.

The story of what happened next is probably equally important, but I've got to get my Goose girl off to her new Montessori school, so your curiousity will have to remain at bay.

I want you to know that even when someone around you seems to have it all together, they may not. Sometimes a bit of probing and insisting to help can make a big difference.

If you're the one cracking inside, please ask for help.

Occupation: Stay-at-Home-Mom

Warning: I am about to comment on an inflammatory subject. Oh no! You will say. You don't understand! You might add. I do understand and I do have an opinion. And here I shall insert it.

A number of times in my short life as a stay-at-home mother, I have encountered an awkward situation in which others presume that the career of stay-at-home-mom might be interchangeable with that of a daycare provider.

Let me rephrase that so my opinion is clear: A stay-at-home mother is not the same career as a daycare provider.

It seems that many people busy in their own lives misinterpret my choice to be the primary force in my children's upbringing as a solicitation to take other children into my home and be their primary source of influence as well.

Hmm.

It's an interesting idea. And frankly, it can be flattering. Once, I have had a long-standing friend who presumably admired my morals solicit this service. Twice, I have had neighbors whom I barely know solicit my services for in-home daycare. I presume that these people were so impressed with me in exterior perception that they gleaned I might be competent enough to raise their child.

Truly, this is unsettling on many levels:

First, I am not competent to raise anyone else's child. I am a very opinionated person, and if you don't know it yet, I am raising my children to share in these opinions. At some point, my children will rebel against my opinions. But while I can control it, I will try to squash this inclination. In my house, I am the mother and my word is the bottom line*.

Second, I did not choose to stay at home with my children to raise the world's children. Yes, I am an ego freak and I would appreciate having that level of control over others. However, my own children create more work than I can handle personally**, and it's quite insulting to insinuate that adding your load to my bunch would be easily done. Not so.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to let others know that I don't feel badly about my choice to stay home with my kids. For the most part, I love this gig. At times, I wistfully consider what it would be like to be at the top of my career game or back in school full-time. But it's quick. It's wistful. It's not longing or envy. I believe I am doing the job that is best for me and for my family. On certain days, it's glorious. On other days, it's a true test. I guess it's probably the same as most jobs in that regard.

I don't appreciate those who make comments such as, "You're so lucky to be able to do that."*** This type of comment fundamentally undervalues what I do at home. It's really not that lucky to change diapers and work 12-14 hours per day. However, it is valuable that I do this because I believe I am giving my kids an advantage in life by guiding them in their moral, healthful, and physical development.

It's not luck. It's our priority. John and I agreed that this route was better for our kids than extra income or extra vacations, and so, we've sacrificed in some regards. It's a trade-off. Our priority in guiding our children has come out on top of our priority to drive a new Volvo S60.

To conclude my rant, I'd like to state that I really wouldn't let anyone else do my job.

Should you?


*Please note that my word is the bottom line only until I say in a fury to discipline, "You just wait til your Father comes home!!" And I must admit that comes out quite often.
**Haven't posted on this topic yet, but my kids were driving me a little bonkers recently and I've been forced to outsource a little childrearing and a little homemaking. In a limited context. More to come.
***It is certainly a show of poor writing that I have 3 sets of asterisks in this text. And yet I do. This final asterisk is a shout out to mothers & fathers who make every effort possible to be their children's primary influence and simply can not afford to stay home with their kids. Some of them need healthcare benefits from a job. Others battle with a truly unlivable wage. These are not the people to whom I rant today.

Mrs. O: A Mother I Am Growing to Admire

I picked up the recent issue of Oprah magazine to indulge my fascination with our elegant first lady, Michelle Obama. As you may know from previous posts, I am still carefully forming my response to this female dignitary. While Mrs. O is obviously thoughtful and pointed in her child-rearing, I grow concerned when I see any mother send out the message that "you can have it all." I am watching Mrs. O with diligent scrutiny because I believe many mothers will see her as a role model for the manner in which she raises her daughters.

I recommend reading Oprah's interview with First Lady Obama because her role as a mother is truly pronounced in its pages. I was moved to read of how pointedly Mrs. O noted, "I want the kids to be treated like children, not little princesses...So the girls help set the table, they help bring the food out, they work with the butler staff." Mrs. O is also making a valiant effort to guide her children towards respect for elders, something I admire and also find not especially easy to do in my own experience as a mother.

The bottom line: Go, Mrs. O. This lady, with her iconic belts and precise, long-range goal-setting for her family, will change our nation in a positive way. I hope that the ethics I admire most about her mothering are the ones the nation continues to see in the spotlight.

"But Daddy, I want a paaaar-ty!"

For those who don't know the quote, it's from that bratty girl on Charlie and the Chocolate factory.

Is it wrong for me to want to throw a party just so I can wear this dress?

Paralysis: On the Economy, Finally.

I have to admit that I have avoided the subject of the ongoing Recession like the plague. I generally an optimist and would prefer not to address difficult topics head-on. (Look at me: I'm still calling it a Recession, when quite frankly, it's heading quickly towards Depression.) Every day it seems I hear more bad news. More friends losing jobs, more people wondering if they will be able to pay the bills next week.

It's starting to hit real close to home, and that scares me.

How is America going to pull through this period? How can I help those around me who are clinging to their homes and their lifestyles with barely their fingernails? What can I do to make a difference?

I just hate to ever admit that I can't.

Mrs. O-So Stylish & PC

I have acquired a new guilty pleasure at Mrs. O. Our elegant first lady is worth following for fashion tips, although she has made a few off-the-rack blunders. In the political arena, though, I am already starting to take issue with her PCism. Consider this quote on the balance for women in the workplace with family life:

“And the one thing — the one message that I have is for all of you struggling with this issue, is just remember there is no right answer. It took me a long time to figure that out. There is no one right way to do any of this. And the choices and the decisions will change, given your circumstances.”

I become disgruntled with people who won't agree to some absolutes in life. There are absolutes in life. To give people the impression that your career can come before your family is wrong. To let parents think their children will not suffer if they are never home with them is wrong. Perhaps there is some leeway for parents as financial or other constraints emerge, but the truth is this: when you're a parent, you have to put your family first.

Mrs. O, step it up. You are a family woman, and it's time to tell us what makes YOUR family work well...not that any possible ingredient combination can serve up perfect family apple pie.


Note: You can read the entirety of Mrs. O's address at Howard University here.

What the Teacher Says

I just returned from Lucy's playgroup, where several of the moms discussed recent parent-teacher conferences for their pre-schoolers. Don't teachers know that moms (especially first-time ones) get worked up about these information sessions? Don't they know we all want to hear a little bit of good about our children with the bad?

The theme of several of these conferences seemed to be turning introverted kids into extroverts. The moms involved felt badly, as if they hadn't done a good enough job socializing their child in pre-school preparation. What? Pre-school preparation? Taught socialization? Aren't some of these things supposed to be natural?

For moms out there with shy children, don't fret. You child is not alone, and is not even a minority in being shy. Almost ALL the kids in Tommy's pre-school class are introverted. They are little sweethearts who have to warm up to someone before answering questions or giving a hug. And this is not a bad thing.

I have often said my kids could use a good shot o' shy. They would walk away with any stranger who had candy or promised them a quarter to ride the mall fire engine.

Sigh. If only the teachers knew how much of our time is spent worrying. Perhaps they'd change their tactics...

Envy & Animosity Humbled

I was getting ready at the gym this morning when a tiny woman scooted in next to me. Irked to see her cute little body, I mentally sighed and wondered when my pregnancy would be over. I became more annoyed with her when she asked to share the (small) mirror to get ready beside me. Do I really have to primp next to Ms. Perfect?

Of course, she inevitably had to ask whether I was having a boy or a girl, and when the baby was coming. I responded in my best do-I-have-to-make-small-talk-with-everyone-just-because-I'm- pregnant voice.

She seemed not to perceive my emote, and instead sighed herself.

"You're so lucky," she said. "I just finished a round of in vitro fertilization. Sorry if it seems like I've been staring at you."

"I hope it works," I managed, surprised that she would share something so personal with me.

"It didn't," she said. "It was so expensive, and we don't have the money to do it again..."

Silently, I nodded as she went on for few moments, telling me what was in the deepest part of her heart.

Protect and Defend

John and I watched a documentary on FDR a few nights back, and it struck me, as it often has in motherhood, how the idea of war changes when you are a parent.
On a daily basis, I'm forced to think about these hundreds of little things to protect my kids from---bee stings on the front porch, choking on peanuts, crossing the street without looking. Obviously, these are minutiae compared to what one confronts in wartime.
What would it be like to be the parents ripped from one another and their children as they segregated into genders in the Holocaust concentration camps? What would it be like to pray genuinely and pleadingly for the life of your child to be safe?
Really, these thoughts are almost too grounding for a mom to contemplate. So, I'm content to worry about what will happen if Tommy drinks too much apple juice, or if Lucy doesn't get enough exposure to baby word books.
And then, every so often, I realize just how blessed we really are.

On the Subject of Living Large

Phew. According to the technical quiz in today's local paper, we do not live in a McMansion. I guess our townhouse could be categorized better as the mini version. My favorite (or, more precisely, my least favorite) characteristic is the fake facade---brick or shakes on just the most-viewed portion of the home. Classic.

Actually, though, I didn't really define McMansion by these standards until I read the article. I used to think a McMansion was a newly-built home that dwarfed its neighbors.

There are definitely some characteristics of the McMansion that appeal to me: I'd love to have 4 upper level bedrooms in our next house. On the other hand, the sheer size of these homes makes them daunting to fill and daunting to clean. Do we really want to live somewhere that doesn't feel like a full home?

Now is the point where I begin kicking myself over not more seriously considering that older home John and I looked at about a month ago.

The Dating Game

Last night's book club (we've entertained a nomination to rename ourselves as My Book Club Should Really Be Called Wine Club) featured little discussion of our hilarious read, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris. That's a positive, though, because in our lack of book discussion, we had plenty of time to discuss the dating disasters of several single ladies. Truly, I don't think I have laughed so hard since we watched Death at a Funeral. I wish I could indulge you with some of these dates from hell, but I think I'll keep them private for the sake of the guilty. Perhaps someday they, too, will find their matches.

As I drove home out of the city last night, I was overcome by a feeling of true female camaraderie. It occurred to me that the women around me were each in their own unique stages of life and love---some single, some dating, some married and pregnant. And yet our laughter and empathy for one another through the trials and successes of these various stages was so genuine. As we stuffed our faces with crudites and hummus, I wondered, can men possibly bond on this level at poker night?

From the Locker Room: Modesty or Insecurity?

After Tommy was born and my need for some bodily sanity resurfaced, I began working out at a local YMCA. I loved the atmosphere there; I knew all the people around me, and they seemed to be pursuing the goal of a genuine, healthy lifestyle. The people said hello to each other. They work sweatshorts and ripped t-shirt, like me.

When we moved out to the boondocks of this quality small town, no local YMCA was within a drivable distance. I was lured, instead, to a more glamorous gym with a great outer pool and a glitzy spa facility. I can't complain too much: the childcare department is fantastic, and I can even get my hair cut when the kids are having fun in there. On the flip side, though, the atmosphere has definitely changed. The women around me are practically supermodels, striving to sculpt their bodies while applying extra lipstick. They wear fancy ensembles and carry around yoga gear that just emerged in this spring's Lucy collection. No one says hello to you unless they are trying to pick you up. It's less of a community; instead, it feels like a competition.

One of the most glaring differences between these facilities is the locker room etiquette women display. At my new gym, the women prance about in their fancy gear and loudly discuss their upcoming vacations. At the YMCA, though, women inquired about each others' lives and seemed entirely comfortable shedding their clothing and walking around in the nude. I'm not suggesting that these practices are entirely dependent on one another; I'm merely noting this is the way it is. Why are the seeming-rich so inclined to wear clothing when their bodies are far more "perfect"? Everything about their demeanor should suggest they are proud of themselves and their flashy lives.

To the Man with the Navy Tattoos

Thank you.

Materialism: The Reason for the Season

I have to admit I'm already pretty well prepared for the gift-buying season. I have a list of what I'm buying for who, and (to toot my own horn a bit) I have already figured out what I'm getting for those my most difficult-to-shop-for category.

At the opposite end of the spectrum is Tommy, of course. I can barely go into a toy store or think about Christmas without wanting to buy him just about every toy out there. Ok, I am exaggerating a little. First of all, I definitely do not want to buy him any of the Noisy Toys out there, and that's almost all of them. Second of all, I do have a pared-down sense of what is needed, compared to most parents, so I don't think I'm going overboard. Still, I haven't bought him a thing yet. I think the longer I wait, the less likelihood of excess...

And also, days like today come when I realize that getting him more toys won't occupy him any more than those he already has do. In fact, he has spent the last 45 minutes playing on the living room rug as quietly as a mouse with just 3 items:

1.) A cup,
2.) A brush, and
3.) A rubber duck.

Seen & Heard

My husband and I recently served on a panel for an Engaged Retreat. We sat and offered expertise on marriage based on our accumulated 19 months.

One of the anonymously submitted questions:

"Why is it wrong to watch porn together if you are both OK with it?"

We didn't have time to answer all the questions, and this one somehow slipped through the cracks. Any answers?

Old People Routine

Do denominations other than Catholicism have daily services? If not, I suggest you become Catholic before getting old. Hey, I guess I suggest it anyway, but the reason I'd like to point out right now is that Old People Need a Routine.

I'm not saying this to be disrespectful. In fact, I'm old in a lot of ways myself.

I've been going to daily Mass lately because it's Lent, and I'm too ill-disciplined to give something up for 40 days. Instead, I tote Tommy along and parade him in front of the old people who are always at daily Mass. I believe that a little bit of their daily Mass commitment stems from its familiarity and social opportunity, although I also believe that a great many of these folk are devout & faithful.

Why are so many more people devout & faithful at the end instead of the beginning? Are they just filling their days? Am I just filling mine?

Jeepers Creepers

So, yesterday I was watching the news (shocking, I know) and learned of a convicted rapist who has been harassing women at a college near our apartment. Creepy!!! Apparently he approaches girls and starts discussing politics. Shortly into their conversation, he switches into explicit sexual language. Freaky. Why do we let these people out of jail??!!

Between this and the absurdly strange and disgusting sexual anecdote my mom shared with me yesterday (unrelated to her), I've had just about enough.

Naturally Offensive

An oxymoron, yes. Today I read Glamour magazine while eating a great salad and enjoying the weather at Kowalski's with my boy (yes, life as a stay at home mom is tough sometimes) when I came upon a slew of opinions about breastfeeding. The mag must have featured a story on this subject last month, and the opinions I read were in the editorial section.

To be fair, I never thought very much about breastfeeding prior to pregnancy. I guess I figured breastfeeding was natural, and I did consider that walking, talking kids were probably beyond the need for mom's milk. I was not breastfed as a baby, but my family seemed supportive of whatever I chose for my own baby. Formula seemed a viable option, and sometimes when I am up all night I do wish Dad could help out. For whatever reasons, I'm doing it, people.

Most of the opinions expressed in Glamour seemed in favor of breastfeeding (or, really, in favor of doing "whatever you want"---isn't that a tragic epidemic?); however, many felt that such encounters should occur only in one's own home. I guess I do understand how some people might be conflicted about women who "whip it out" to breastfeed in public...not everyone wants to see that. I can also empathize with the woman who was woefully exposed at Lake Harriet this summer, though: she had 2 other tots running around and was doing whatever she could to get that infant fed. Discretion was hardly at the forefront of her mind, nor should it have beens

The main point, in my mind, is not whether breastfeeding overexposes society to bare breasts (let's all agree that MTV has that covered...or uncovered) but rather that breastfeeding IS unarguably natural and (perhaps even more importantly) a woman who breastfeeds ONLY in her own home could never, ever leave her home. My kid, at least, eats constantly@

Can I endure imprisonment in my 1 bedroom apartment? No. Should I endure it?

Thankfully, I don't care enough about your opinion to change the way I'm getting nutrition to Tommy.