"Scotchy Scotch Scotch - I love Scotch."

Thanks for the quote, Ron Burgundy.  

Over the last year I've discovered that I really, really like single malt scotch.  Because inquiring minds want to know, here's my favorite scotches I've tried to date (in order of what I prefer):

1.  Oban.  Liquid gold, just the best, best, best.  Gives me hope for humanity. See the picture above?  I even put on my favorite t-shirt and red lipstick to drink it.
2.  Dalmore, 15.  It has a STAG HEAD on the bottle.  That about sums it up:  Regal, majestic, mysterious - as in how did I drink that much? And my bill is how much?!
3.  Glenmorangie, Tùsail.  Smooth and caramely, warms from the inside out; one of the few I don't prefer over ice.


4.  Balvenie, 12.  Also caramely but sweeter and flowerier (not a word but whatever) than the Glenmorangie.  Beautiful color and a great scotch at the $50-ish price point.
5.  The Glenlivet, 15.  I only sampled this one but it.  was.  awesome.
6.  The Glenlivet 18 - weirdly, I preferred the 15...liked this one but too many butterscotch notes for me or something.  I love caramel but hate butterscotch - go figure. 
7.  The Glenlivet 12 - my standard bottle for around $30, a winner at this price point.  Color is a bit light but nice overall flavor with balance on the finish between a bit of a burn, then followed by smoothness in the mouth feel.
8.  Lagavulin, 18.  A very, very good scotch - pricer than ones I prefer but lots of peat with that smoky Islay flavor.  That said of the Islays I've had (admittedly not many), this one wins.
9.  Glenfiddich, 12.  Very similar to Glenlivet 12 but usually a bit more expensive.  Also something about the finish is less satisfying to me than the Glenlivet.  It's like a great meal followed by a sub-par dessert.  
10.  Johnny Walker Black.  The only blended to make my list.  I assume I'd like Johnny Walker Blue, Platinum, etc., but I can't afford that as of yet.  I enjoy this scotch on the rocks, with soda water, or in a hot toddy.

Are you thirsty yet?  Also if any scotch makers would like to send me samples to review, I can make time for that.  :)  

On Happily Turning Forty

The older I get the more I believe the Doctor when he said:

 "People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but *actually* from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint - it's more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly... time-y wimey... stuff." - Tenth Doctor, episode "Don't Blink."

Because turning forty feels that way - I grew up, I moved away from home, I married, I graduated college, I had children, and Bam! one day I woke up and was forty.  Middle aged.  

And then, at the same time, I feel every minute as old as I am.  Increasingly at this age I feel as though I know myself and I am ever more content and comfortable with the person I am/have become/am becoming.  For much of my young adulthood I denied important truths about myself and I continually worked on what I'd call "self-improvement" projects:  losing weight, getting in shape, being smart, being knowledgeable, being 'nice,' being whatever I thought others wanted me to be (Jeez, Cooley's Looking Glass Self, much, Tanya?)  These projects were not about being myself or my best self, however.  They were about trying to force my self to fit someone else's notion of a best self.  No wonder it didn't feel good.    

I'm happier now than I've ever been because I finally like myself.  I love who I am right now, at this moment - imperfect, a little crazy, no six pack abs in sight, overly enthusiastic about scifi tv shows and popular culture.  That's not to say the last year has been easy.  It hasn't.  It's been a real kick in the ass.  Below is a photo of me kicking it back.

  
This journey to self love and acceptance (oh God, did I just write that?  Ugh, so cheesy.), means learning to ignore that annoying inner critic (Who me?) and let that shit go.  But when I say the last year kicked my ass, I mean it.  There were incredible things that happened this year:  from presenting at comic con with Oldest Son to winning the costume contest at Supernatural Con to seeing Middle Daughter blossom in middle school to watching friends find personal success after so much hard work.  But there were also the "worst of times."  Let me explain.

As many of you know I suffer from anxiety, depression, and OCD.  I have not spoken in detail about this publicly, but increasingly I feel the need to claim this identity.  Of course having these conditions is incredibly annoying if you are a perfectionist who is really very happy despite all of this.  I have a wonderful husband, three amazing, healthy children, a job I LOVE, supportive and wonderful friends and family, and I don't have to struggle to pay bills. But having these great benefits in your life does not mean you are immune to mental health issues.  

My anxiety, depression, and OCD are generally running at what I call a Baseline Level.  I am able to function, be very happy, enjoy life and maybe one or two days a month I have what I call a "bad day."  I might wash my hands a lot compared to the average person and avoid touching door knobs, but otherwise you would not know from my behavior I have OCD.  

But at different points in my life (this summer was one), that shit ramps up to 1000 and I literally want to die.  I get to a point where I cannot function.  I have panic attacks about getting out of bed because I'm afraid the OCD and anxiety will start.  In other words, I have anxiety about having anxiety.  Yeah.  Good times.  When people asked me what I did this summer my answer is "oh not much," but in all honesty it should be "I did anxiety and OCD and it was terrible.  I spent three hours a day washing my hands and wiping surfaces in my house.  How was your summer?"  

For me, my mental illness is a terrible thief who steals me from myself and my loved ones.  I'm inside there, locked away watching, but I feel possessed by my "demons," and powerless to alter their control of my behavior.  I've also recognized that I've had these issues for much longer than I've been aware of them.  But being older for me means being wiser - I am on the other side and can reflect on what I've learned.  

Here are my new rules:
1. I will be patient with myself and give myself time to rest.  
2.I will have good days and I will have bad days, and I need to accept that.
3. I will have strategies for helping myself and nurturing myself.
4. I will understand and recognize my triggers.
5. I will get help and give up control over things.  
6. I will not give up.

I am so happy I did not give up this summer even though I wanted to many times.  I got the help I needed and I am so incredibly grateful for everyone who has helped me through this difficult time.  I especially have to thank my amazing husband and supportive and patient children and family, my best friend, my mommy friends, my nerd friends, and everyone who listened and gave me the gift of empathy.  What you did mattered, truly. 

So for my birthday (and thanksgiving), do me a solid, will you?  Do something nice for yourself.  Take care of yourself, nurture yourself, love yourself.  Because when you love yourself, it's easy to love others.  

"You've Got Your Mother in a Whirl..."

(title from 'Rebel, Rebel' by David Bowie)

Image Credit:  Tony Toggles

Read more about non-binary gender identities.

Whew!  It's been a heck of a year for our family:  I started my first full-time teaching job post-graduate school.  Dear Husband changed jobs twice (or was it three times?  At any rate - it's good).  Oldest Daughter finished middle school at a new (better) school and will continue there for high school.  Middle Daughter performed in a play and finished her final year of elementary school.  Youngest Son became re-obsessed with all things Pokemon and has branched into Magic:  The Gathering.  We did THREE days at Comic Con and Oldest Daughter and I presented to a crowd of 220 (nerd level up).  We are facing the logistical challenge of routinely having family members at three schools and two work places next fall and I don't even want to think about how we are going to accomplish that without:  1) a TARDIS and 2) Hermione's time-turner.  (Well I guess a TARDIS renders a time-turner redundant; but that's a nerd debate for another post.)

One of the biggest changes for our family over the past year is Oldest Daughter's gender nonconformity in terms of her gender role performance.  As a sociology professor, I regularly teach intro-level students about the differences between assigned sex, gender, gender identity, sexual orientation, and gender roles.  I understand all of these concepts on an analytic level.  I understand how to explain all of these to students who have maybe never considered that these are related but distinct concepts.  But even with this knowledge living this parenting experience is completely different.

Let me be clear:  My child is possibly trans*, but not transgender (click here for clarification on trans vs. trans*).  I do not claim to speak for parents of trans children.  What Oldest Daughter is, in terms of labels (and as a sociologist I'm not always a fan of labeling), is gender nonconforming.  Gender conformity/nonconformity, like other aspects of sex/gender/sexuality, is probably best conceptualized as a spectrum or continuum.  We are all likely gender conforming/nonconforming in some ways.  Some of us just fall further to one side or another on the spectrum. 

The Genderbread Person is a nice infographic explanation of these differences.

Oldest Daughter identifies as a girl.  She identifies as asexual but not aromantic.  (Aside - isn't it cool she knows what those are at age 13?!  I learned those differences like three years ago).  But she looks like a really cute teenaged boy (I'm a little biased).  In other words, her gender nonconformity presents as a complete rejection of gender-coded dress, hairstyle, self-presentation.  For the past six months or so, she's requested a buzz cut from the barber.  She prefers jeans from the army surplus store, plain t-shirts or t-shirts with classic rock band names/fandom references on them, plaid flannel, and black boots to dresses, skirts, etc.  Dressing this way may also have something to do with her obsession with the tv show Supernatural.  If you know the show picture Dean Winchester and you'll get an idea of what Oldest Daughter looks like on a day to day basis.  She is curvy, but the baggy clothing she prefers covers this fact.  That plus the hairstyle means people frequently assume she is a boy.

Being confused for a boy is not upsetting to her.  But it is strange for us as parents.  When Oldest Daughter first started dressing this way and then when she wanted a buzz cut we explained some of the consequences might include negative sanctioning from people and instances of individuals misreading her gender.  Mostly, we have noticed the latter.  Her school is amazingly supportive of gender nonconformity and LGBTQA kids (thank goodness).  Oldest Daughter reports she receives the most negative sanctioning from older ladies at church.  I told her the next time that happens to try exorcising them (Yes, she has memorized an exorcism; see my earlier comment about the TV show Supernatural).  People confusing Oldest Daughter for a boy is simultaneously:  1) a disorienting experience, 2) a general, daily gender role breaching experiment, and 3) an opportunity for reflexivity on my own socialization and the power of internalized gender roles/the pressure of conformity.  

I think my first realization that others assumed Oldest Daughter was a boy happened only recently.  We were out to lunch and a random patron said "Your son is so cute."  I assumed she was talking about Youngest Son, but it soon became clear she was referring to Oldest Daughter.  Dear Husband and I clarified she was a girl and the random person told us the story of her granddaughter who also went through "a phase" of "tomboy" behavior/dress.  Random patron reassured us that soon after this phase her granddaughter embraced socially approved gender norms and is now "very girly" with "very long hair."  It was not an awkward conversation, but it did bother me that the older woman felt that she needed to establish acceptance of Oldest Daughter's gender nonconformity by contextualizing it as temporary.  It may be temporary, but I do not appreciate dismissing her presentation of self in this way.  What is the subtext here?  That gender nonconformity is only acceptable as a limited-term, finding yourself sort of thing?  My child is not broken. 

Although we are aware that there is a difference between how we versus others perceive her, this misidentification was initially disorienting to me and Dear Husband because we do not think of Oldest Daughter as boy.  We think of her as a girl, but more importantly we think of her as "Oldest Daughter (I mean this as a placeholder for her given name not necessarily her birth order/family role)" complete with all aspects of her personality and our shared family history.  Our child is NOT her gender performance.  Her gender performance (the nonconformity included) is a PART of her personality, but it is not the sum total.  We do not love her because she is a girl or a boy or dresses like a girl or a boy, we love her because she is who she is, and she is ours.  

As I hope is clear from what I've written here, I am completely supportive of my daughter, no matter what.  I am not challenged on any kind of personal level by her preference for jeans, boots, short hair and the fact that people mistake her for a boy.  I do not worry about her sexual orientation.  I do not think her gender expression has a damn thing to do with her sexual orientation because I understand these as separate things.  And if she ends up preferring same sex partners?  To quote the Ninth Doctor:  "Fantastic."  As long as she is happy, I am happy.

That said, Oldest Daughter's gender nonconformity forces me to face uncomfortable realizations about myself.  I, like most of us, have internalized the norms of my society including the problematic ones.  When we enter a women's restroom together in public I am aware that some people are assuming I'm brining my teenaged son along.  I brace myself for backlash/sanctioning.  I am NOT worried about others' judgement of my parenting; I am worried about Oldest Daughter dealing with crap from people that she shouldn't have to deal with.  Right or wrong, we are trained to conform.  Nonconformity is liberating and constraining at the same time.  I worry my daughter will be marginalized for her gender role performance.  I think this marginalization is absolutely wrong, but there's that little internalized generalized other voice inside of my head saying: "maybe we should just conform, it's safer."

And then there's a much louder (nerd punk rock) voice shouting "FRACK THAT."  But back to analyzing that internal conflict, I understand my discomfort comes from what sociologists call role strain.  As a mom, I want to foster and support my child's individuality.  But I also want her to be safe.  At this point, knowing how difficult it is to be a teenager and knowing how much stress society places on kids this age, I've decided enabling my child to express herself (as long as she's not harming anyone) in a way that is comfortable and feels authentic to her is FAR more important that anyone's need to rigidly police gender norms.  And thankfully we live in a time and place where her gender nonconformity is not life threatening.  But I wonder how this would be different if she were a gender nonconforming boy who preferred feminine things?  Or if she were not a middle class white child?    

My other concern with Oldest Daughter's gender nonconformity is that it may represent a devaluing of the feminine in some way.  By embracing a more masculine presentation of self, is Oldest Daughter rejecting her feminine side?  Is she accepting our overall societal demeaning and devaluing of all things female/girly?  Is she conforming to the problematic gender hierarchy she purports to reject?  I do not think her actions have this meaning for her.  But after my overall concerns for her safety, this is my chief concern.  I don't want her to reject the feminine in favor of the masculine because of a social power imbalance between the two.  I want her to be herself.  Whatever that means and however that is expressed.  Because ultimately who she is, including her individuality in the face of societal pressure to conform, is nothing short of miraculous.  

The Incident (Rated R)

This post discusses adult topics and comes with an R rating.  Okay.  Don't say I didn't warn you.

To paraphrase the Foreigner song, "It was a Monday - a day like any other day..." when WHAMMY! the INCIDENT happened.  I don't expect to live to see the apocalypse but I am pretty sure that it will begin on a Monday.  For now I will just say 'the incident' involves Middle Daughter finding something of mine that rhymes with "shmaibrator" and that I sometimes call my "Bilbo Baggins (because it's just a little too big to fit in your pocket)."  But more on that in a minute.  

Image courtesy Dreamstime Stock Photo

Before I get to describing the INCIDENT, let me set the scene for you a bit:

On any given week, like most working moms, I am struggling to balance work, keeping the kids alive, and getting them to their various extracurricular activities and/or doctor/allergist/orthodontist/dentist/eye doctor appointments.  I mean, the cat just goes to one place for everything.  People are so complicated.

So it was a Monday during one of those 4:00 - 4:30pm time segments between school pick up and getting Middle Daughter to ballet when IT happened.  I was trying to confirm that Brother-in-law could watch Oldest Daughter and Youngest Son, make everyone a snack, and pack up my work to do while Middle Daughter danced.  Of course Middle Daughter could not find a hair band.  No stranger to improvisation, I said 'hey - maybe you could use a bandana or a scarf to tie your hair back.'  Oh yeah, I forgot to mention the reason why we had no hair bands - we'd had a couple of months of lice just before this.  We'd finally gotten rid of them but I hadn't yet purchased new, lice-free hair bands.

But when I suggested the bandana solution, I wasn't thinking about WHERE she would look for them.  

Middle Daughter figured something out for her hair and I ran back into my room to get something before leaving.  I noticed my top dresser drawer was open and had been rifled through.  Oh-oh, but that's where I keep...a feeling of dread started in the pit of my stomach and spread up to my throat choking me.  'Oh no, I really don't want to deal with this right now,' I thought.  I looked into the drawer.  Sure enough, Middle Daughter had searched here for a way to tie back her hair.  Lying there naked and exposed among the ransacked underwear and handkerchiefs was my vibrator in all its plastic, veiny, fake-penis glory.  (I have no idea why it has veins.  I mean, they don't really need to be there...in fact this particular vibrator creeps me out a bit because it looks a little too much like a dismembered member.)

I am not a prude about sexuality.  I've always thought that along with teaching my kids about where babies come from and how their bodies work I would include some conversation about sex as pleasurable.  I know many people would prefer to ignore the fact that their kids probably know way more about sex and sexuality than they assume.  I wanted my kids to get the information from me, not from reading some dusty old Penthouse magazines at a sleepover, talking to their friends who may be misinformed, watching Porky's, or covertly reading their Mom's stash of Harlequin novels (sources of knowledge for me, sad to say).  

That said, just like no one in their right mind enjoys the dentist, I don't really want to think about other people's sexuality or talk about it with anyone, let alone my kids.  But I also don't want to pathologize sexuality for my kids.  I want them to have a healthy, shame-free, relationship with their bodies in all ways.  

I am careful not to be critical (out loud) about what I perceive as flaws in my appearance or dwell on the appearance of others. I also believe that knowledge is power and in order to help prevent the very real danger of sexual assault we've always sent clear messages about what parts of their body are private and what the boundaries are for physical touch and that they are in charge of deciding where those boundaries lie.  This is why I won't force my kids to hug or kiss friends or family.  We need to show them we respect what happens to their physical being.  And of course there's the whole pregnancy/STD prevention conversation.  But surely that conversation doesn't have to happen on a frickin' Monday when we're going to be late for ballet, does it?!

Like a lot of things in life, Crucial Parenting Moments happen when you least expect them.  I called Middle Daughter back into my room.  "Hey, were you looking in this drawer?"  "Yes."  "Okay, did you find something in there?"  "Yeah, what IS that thing?"  I panicked for 15 seconds and then sighed.  "Let's get in the car and I'll explain it on the way to ballet."

Buying yourself some time when one of these Crucial Moments comes up is a key skill you need to develop in order to keep your shit together.  In the five minutes of freaking out between realizing what had happened and getting in the car, I came up with a strategy.  Now, your strategy in this kind of situation is context-dependent.  In other words, you need to use what works with the kid in question.  Knowing Middle Daughter and knowing how she thinks was important in turning this curveball into a home run.  We'd already had the basic conversation about 'where babies come from' and 'how babies are made' so that helped.  

Middle Daughter, if I haven't mentioned it already, is pretty bright. On the way to the car, I remembered a walk two years earlier when she was 8 and she essentially figured out birth control and abortion without me explaining those things.  That prompted a longer conversation about the basics of pregnancy, sex, and women's reproductive rights.  "Well, the baby is in the woman's body, so I think she should get to decide whether to keep it or not."  Yes, I swear my 8 year-old said this and I had no influence over this opinion.  

I've found that with my kids straightforward facts spoken in an authoritative tone is the best way to convey difficult information.  I may be freaking out on the inside and not really know what they will say next, but they don't know that.  They are looking to me, depending on me to help them understand this at their level.  That leads me to my next piece of advice - give them only the basic information they need and explain the issue at a level they can understand.  You DO NOT need to volunteer information they haven't asked for.  

Thankfully, none of the conversations about sex/sexuality I've had with my kids has prompted questions I've been unable or unwilling to answer.  Answer their question with basic information and a minimum level of explanation.  Also, do not act uncomfortable.  Just like when they were toddlers and if you didn't react to them falling down, they wouldn't cry, if you don't freak out or act scared they won't either and the whole conversation will pass by with a minimum of stress.  

Okay self, I thought, when getting in the car with Middle Daughter that Monday afternoon, you have a decision to make.  You could ignore this issue or you could make the most of it.  Run and hide or turn it into a teachable moment.  I hate that saying but it accurately describes the opportunity you have at one of these points.  So I decided to explain the vibrator by first explaining masturbation.  Here's a basic summary of our conversation:

Tanya:  "So, do you ever touch yourself and it feels good?"
MD: "Yeah, sometimes."
Tanya:  "Well when you touch your own private parts and it feels good that's called 'masturbation' and everyone does it."
MD:  "Oh."
Tanya:  "And that's fine - you might want to do that in your own room and not at school, of course.  Also, no one else should be touching you there, right?"
MD:  "Right."
Tanya:  "Well sometimes people like to use special tools or toys to help them.  That thing you found in my drawer is something that ladies use to help them masturbate.  It's just for grown ups."
MD:  "Oh, okay.  Well I wondered what that was."

And that was it.  The world did not end.  I don't think Middle Daughter is scarred for life.  Thankfully, she didn't ask me to explain anything further.  Hopefully the message she got was:  1) sex is pleasurable 2)  you can take care of your own needs and it's perfectly normal and 3) it's something that is private but not shameful.

Here's the summary of the steps I used to make the most of this accidental discovery:
1.  Buy yourself some time.  Take five minutes to calm down and figure out your next move.
2.  Think about the kid in question.  Review what they already know and what you know about their thought process.
3.  Talk to the kid alone with minimal distractions.  I've found the car works well.  For some reason, not looking at them helps to control my emotional response and the level of discomfort I'm expressing.
4.  When explaining, keep it simple and straightforward.  Do NOT add more than you need to.  Let them ask questions and reassure them that anything they ask is a normal and valid question.  That said, if they say something disturbing, handle it appropriately of course.
5.  Finally, keep the channel of communication open.  Let them know they can bring any questions or concerns to you.  It's also okay to set limits on the information.  I often explain to my children that they should talk to me or their dad about these things and not their peers (or younger siblings) who may or may not be ready for this.

 

Little Boy Blue

I could tell something wasn't quite right with Youngest Son when he came out of school today.  As soon as we were alone he said he didn't want to participate in tonight's special school music show.  I assumed it was stage fright but I got the whole story in the car on the way home.


Youngest Son has been practicing for weeks for tonight's special "Patriotic Performance."  He's been rehearsing at home, singing along to the CD the music teacher provided.  The whole second grade is supposed to sing various songs including:  "The Star Spangled Banner," "America the Beautiful," and a "Military Medley" that includes the official songs of the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines and Coast Guard.

So I asked him why he didn't want to go, assuming he was nervous about performing in front of an auditorium full of parents and friends.
Here's what he said:  "Well I don't want to sing songs about killing.  I mean, I like freedom and I want to show that I respect my country but I'm sad because I don't like war and I don't like killing."  I watched huge tears roll down his cheeks and my heart cracked at this loss of innocence.  This was not a case of stage fright.  My little guy was experiencing nothing less than a struggle to reconcile conflicting cultural values.  Where does love of country come in the hierarchy of values?  How can I be peaceful and still fight for what I believe in?

At their final rehearsal today I guess something clicked for Youngest Son and he realized some of the implications behind the lyrics he'd been belting out for weeks.  He said he cried during practice today and was worried he wouldn't be able to sing it tonight.  I could tell he was anxious that we'd make him perform.  Instead, we're letting him opt out.  We discussed that the realities of war are very ugly but we explained that the values of peace and love of country are not mutually exclusive.  We explained that the music program was not meant to celebrate killing but to honor those who have served to protect us and the values we hold dear.  We told him he was brave to tell us how he felt and that we would respect his feelings.

I've been privileged to witness many of Youngest Son's milestones:  his first smile, his first word, his first step, his first loose tooth, the first book he read that was more words than pictures.  But today came a milestone I didn't expect, at least not yet -- his first protest; his first conscientious objection?  Our little boy who used to eat his food into the shape of a gun until we finally let him have Nerf Dart guns is wrestling with our cultural contradictions and simultaneously constructing his identity.  And while I want all of my children to develop resiliency and perspective I hope he never loses the sense that all life is sacred.

Full Disclosure: This is Why I Spent 8 Years Studying Childbirth

This is what dissertating looks like..

As I was writing a section of my dissertation today something very different than what I intended to write came out.  I don't know if this will make it into my final dissertation draft in any way, so I'll post it here.  It's probably too personal and too 'biased' to be a part of a scientific product but in my case the scientific is personal.  I believe I am capable of and have conducted open-minded research, but I'd be lying if I claimed that I wasn't biased.  Because I am.  I am pro-mothers.  I believe that expecting mothers too often are treated as though they are either incapable of evaluating complicated information or as cultural dopes manipulated by patriarchy.  So here's the backstory to my dissertation project about childbirth, a labor of love I've spent thousands of hours (and dollars) to complete.  This story took me seven years to write.  I can finally say here that while I'm grateful for the quality of care I received during my cesarean and for the lessons it taught me, I wish I'd had another option.  


My Cesarean Story:

I found out four weeks before my third child was due that he was breech. I had to ask about the possibility of cephalic version or attempting to turn the baby into a head-down position prior to birth; my doctor did not offer it. I only knew about this possibility because I had already begun preliminary research for my dissertation project. I was shocked when my doctor told me “External cephalic version usually doesn't work and it hurts! I would just schedule the cesarean if I were you.”

I opted to try the external cephalic version. Two weeks before my estimated due date, the obstetrician and a resident attempted to turn my son into a head-down position while continuously monitoring his heart rate. The version was performed in the hospital and I had to be prepared for an emergency cesarean if something went wrong during the version such as the umbilical cord wrapping around my son's neck. I realized later the resident was encouraged to try because they did so few versions it was an opportunity for her to practice a technique she had only read about. My son's body was gently pushed into a lateral position which, while not as painful as labor contractions, was very uncomfortable for me. From this lateral position instead of completing a turn into a head-down position, however, he would shift back into breech. On the third attempt his heart rate decelerated marginally and the doctor stopped the procedure. After the obstetrician and resident left the room, the nurse begin unhooking the monitors and preparing us for discharge. As she chatted with my husband and me, this nurse expressed that she thought the doctor should not have let the resident attempt the version and that they had not “tried hard enough” to turn my son. She had been a labor and delivery nurse for over 30 years and had experienced the transition from vaginal breech to cesarean breech birth first-hand. In her opinion, cesarean section was overused as a way to deal with more complicated births.

While I wished that things had gone differently with the version, I was out of options. My only “choice” at this point was to attempt a vaginal breech birth at home or schedule a cesarean. Having birthed two large babies without epidurals (8 pounds 13 ounces and 9 pounds 3 ounces) I was confident in my ability to achieve a vaginal breech birth, but I was not comfortable with the risks associated with a breech home birth. The fact that I felt had no choice in the matter was the most frustrating part. We scheduled the cesarean for the following week. As I lay in my hospital bed after the surgery, groggy from the spinal anesthesia wearing off, I knew what I was missing. With my daughters I was able to hold them immediately and put them to the breast. I felt a rush of adrenaline post-birth. By the time my son was given to me, I could barely hold his tiny bundled body. I felt numb not only from the waist down but emotionally. That night, I took my son from the layette and put him in bed next to me. The nurse checking on me commented that she had never seen anyone do that before. As I stared down at him, I felt relief and gratitude for this healthy baby and that we had made it through the surgery. But it would take me years to appreciate that I had experienced this birth and realize that it cemented my decision to study childbirth.  

More to come...but for now...back to the dissertation draft.

The Ritual

Oldest Daughter's first year of middle school is drawing to a close.  It hasn't been the easiest year.  Since the end of February, however, she's been mostly healthy (thank God) and I haven't had any additional interactions with Middle School Nurse.  More good news is that she's found a nice group of friends to help insulate her from the hormone-induced madness that overcomes some of her pubescent peers.  But I'm still sorry she has to go there day in and day out.

Middle school strikes me as simultaneously large enough to be de-individualizing and hyper-vigilant enough to obliterate any semblance of privacy or solitude.  Maybe solitude is not something of concern for the average 11-14 year old, but it seems like it would be a necessity - having a space where you can honor yourself and learn to nurture your uniqueness.

This year, I've struggled to manage the earlier pick up time for Oldest Daughter and the fact that it reduces the length of my workday by an hour.  I don't HAVE to pick her up, of course, there is a bus that would bring her into our neighborhood.  Maybe we'll try it next year, but this being our first child to go through middle school, I just didn't feel good about it.  School buses bring back mixed feelings for me.  They were the setting of some pretty vicious bullying in elementary school and I had daily stomachaches thinking about the bus ride home.  In high school, they were the site of very loud, very exuberant team sing-alongs during rides to and from sporting events.  Ah the '90s and the days of no smart phones.  Living in a small rural area meant a minimum 30 minute bus ride to get ANYWHERE.  If the ride was longer than 45 minutes or so the state required we be provided a small meal or snack.  I wonder if the legislators who came up with this rule imagined the tasteless watery apples, rubbery 'cheese' and dry peanut butter sandwiches as somehow good for us. "You've lost, that lovin' feeling, oh-oh that lovin' feeling."  We didn't win often, but we sure could harmonize.

Truth be told, it's a luxury to be the one to pick Oldest Daughter up after another day in the trenches of Middle School.  The best part of my day is identifying my Not-Quite Teenager from among the throng spilling out of the heavy oak doors.  Seeing her after time apart is like having a piece of myself returned.  She's put on layaway every morning and only returned when I've paid the account balance in minutes and hours.  When she gets in the car, I first feel relief and then all I can think is, how did I manage all day without her?

The Pick Up Ritual goes like this:  I arrive early so that I can park with a view of the main doors.  I wait and read or check messages or listen to the radio.  Most days, I bring a Peace Offering of some sort:  part of a giant cookie, a day-old muffin, a partially eaten bag of peanut M&Ms, a bottle of juice, or licorice.  When I don't bring food, I bring library books or small writing and drawing supplies she's asked me to pick up.  Sorry about another day of Middle School - have a biscotti.

Oldest Daughter shuffles down the cement steps and makes her way toward the car.  She opens the back door first to toss in her book bag.  She's favoring the messenger bag these days and has only just switched from her brown pilot jacket to a lighter-weight spring coat.  She rolls the cuffs of her pants up so that by afternoon she's always sporting capris.  I guess her calves need the air.  Her hair is long enough now to pull back into a small knot at the nape of her neck.  The messenger bag bounces against the side of her hip.  In a former life, the messenger bag belonged to a Mary Kay consultant.  We bought it at the thrift shop and I spent a few evenings ripping out the embroidered pink threads that made up the logo.  In the process I inadvertently ripped a few small holes in the black fabric of the bag.  My solution was to sew a stylized bird patch over them.  

"Hiiii," she says as she gets into the front passenger seat.  She's big enough to ride in the front now minus the sort of safety apparatus her brother and sister still require.  I recall turning her car seat from rear-facing to front-facing.  Wasn't that 5 minutes ago?  "Hey," I say, I brought you X," and I give her the Peace Offering.  She's young enough to still show surprise or delight.  See, I was thinking about you.  This half-eaten treat proves it.  Actually, I'm probably rarely NOT thinking about her and her siblings.  She would like this; she wouldn't like that; I want to bring Oldest Daughter here; I want to see that movie with her, etc.

Why do I bring things to my daughter?  I want her to look forward to The Ritual that we've created and spending time with me.  When I eat part of it, the Peace Offering becomes a physical manifestation of our sharing, of our bond.  We're still connected and I need the connection to be tangible.  Because it feels like in another 5 minutes I won't have The Ritual to look forward to.  I won't see her every day and we'll have to invent new rituals, new sacred objects and peace offerings to bind us together.

I drive away from Middle School toward the elementary school of Middle Daughter and Youngest Son.  Another round of pick ups and rituals is next.  On the drive, we talk about the events of the day as we experienced them.  I try to put mine in story form because I know Oldest Daughter likes to imagine what I do all day.  She tells me about jokes she and her friends told at school.  We speak a language made almost entirely of cultural references and inside jokes.  "Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra," for my Star Trek:  TNG fans.  She's appropriated the jokes of MST3K and uses them to crack up her classmates.  She wrote a school report about director Sam Raimi.  Our conversation topics range from My Little Pony and how awesome Rainbow Dash is to Descartes and Western Philosophy.

We arrive at the elementary school with 10 minutes to spare.  "Mom, come and swing with me," she says.  I reply "Oh, I'm not really up to swinging.  Can I go on the 'sits' instead of the swings?"  But I go anyway.  I sit and she swings and her feet touch the clouds.



 

The Illness Part 3: "We Just Want What's Best for Her."

And I don't?

Last year at this time Middle Daughter was struggling with her two month-long mystery illness that caused daily debilitating headaches and stomachaches.  She was mostly healthy after April and after a milder recurrence last fall, we discovered that she has celiac disease.  Since eliminating gluten from her diet she has been much healthier (knock wood) and weathered the seasonal flu earlier this year without weeks of prolonged illness.

Oldest Daughter has not been so lucky this year.  Now in 6th grade and at Middle School, she's missed more days in January and February than she's attended.  Starting last month, first came the flu.  She recovered for all of five minutes before coming down with strep.  After a course of antibiotics, she became sick with the latest crud.  A similar series of evens preceded Middle Daughter's illness last year.  Currently, Oldest Daughter wakes daily with extreme nausea and stomach pain.  Her eyes squint and she curls into a fetal position.  As the day goes on, she manages to drink and sit up in bed.  She doesn't throw up or run a temp but she does have a sore throat and sometimes a headache.  The pediatrician can only really tell us, to a limited extent, what she doesn't have; it's not strep or flu again.

Every morning I am faced with the decision to try to send a child whimpering in pain to school or to let her rest.  In addition to the stress of watching her suffer, I am unable to work much while on Sick Kid Watch.  I have my own health issues to manage at this point too.  Today, I needed a physical.  So after dragging a sick kid along, having a fasting blood draw, a shot, and a pelvic exam, I was not in the best mood when Middle School Nurse (MSN) called.

The gist of the conversation with MSN was 'Hey we don't like that your kid has missed school.  We want her to come to school.'  No shit.  I understand that this person is doing her job and has guidelines to monitor, but I really don't care about the school's overall attendance goals.  I have communicated with the school daily and sent in doctor's notes to excuse her absences.  What really irks me, though, is the subtext to this conversation:  the bitchy, passive aggressive subtext.  MSN's statements imply that I am irresponsible and not acting in the best interest of my child.  This person (MSN) does not know me and she is certainly dealing with less than stellar parents in some situations.  If she knew me, however, she would know that this implication (that I am not doing what's best for my kid) is the fastest way to move me from Gandhi to MMA Fighter on the Rage Scale.  

But I am also a reflective person.  Why does this infuriate me?  This attitude infuriates me because it ignores the context and history of our lives and my role as a parent.  MSN, through her unspoken accusations, presumes to judge my mother role performance in total based on a single, isolated metric - Oldest Daughter's Attendance Record.  Really?!  I want to scream.  How can you understand our lives without knowing how much we as parents have invested in these kids?  We made the deliberate choice to defer my income in order to provide a stay-at-home parent for our children when they were younger. This has not always been an easy or unquestioned choice.  And while we were grateful to have this "option," it has not been without extra effort.  (This is to say nothing of the eight years I spent either pregnant or breastfeeding and changing diapers.)

I am not a perfect person and I am not a perfect mother.  I fail.  I fail early and often.  But I also succeed and I will take partial credit (or responsibility) for the individuals my children are becoming.  If you are going to judge my performance as a mother, at least have the decency to look at the kid as more than the sum of her Attendance Record.  Oldest Daughter has never had a behavioral reprimand in her seven plus years of public school.  She thinks critically without being critical.  She is sensitive to the feelings of others without compromising her Self.  She may not be the most organized kid, but she does everything we ask of her.  And do you know what she does while she's home in bed?  She reads voraciously.  She writes, she dreams, she draws, she CREATES.  She creates because she hasn't been beaten down by the "standards" and "expectations" of this world.  And I will do everything in my power to see that she never is.  Because that's what being a mother means to me - it means protecting and nurturing the light that she brings into this world, even if sometimes I find myself standing over her shaking my fist at the powers that be.

Mama Grizzly?  I'm not sure.  But like the Mother Pelican, I would pour out my life's blood to protect my children.

It's my party...

...and I'll analyze my data if I want to.

Today is my birthday and I'll be spending the majority of my time working today.  I used to look forward to the chocolate cake my mom would make me and opening the gifts I'd received.  What has come to mean more than cake and gifts, however, are the birthday memories my parents created for me.  I am honored and humbled by the well wishes of family and friends.  More than ever, I appreciate being on the receiving end of happy thoughts and positive vibes.  Grown ups know that birthdays aren't really about indulging yourself; they're about pausing to appreciate making it through the highlights and the struggles over the last year and saying thank you to everyone who helped you.  God willing, this year's balance will weigh more toward the positive side but either way, I'm grateful for another day.

In closing, here's a blast from the past photo from my "beauty queen" days.  My mom posted this and other old family photos this morning and each one recalled a precious memory.  What a wonderful gift!  I'm not sure what is going on with my hair in this photo, but aside from enabling questionable hair choices for me, my parents were supportive and inspiring all through my childhood and adolescence   My mother made one of the formals I needed to participate on the court and helped me bargain shop for the alternate one I'm wearing here.  My dad drove us to a myriad of small towns and pulled the float in countless parades.  I know I didn't appreciate them at that time and maybe I never will appreciate them fully, but thanks for all if it.  Thanks for teaching me that one of the best gifts you can give is to make someone you love feel special.

And speaking of indulging myself, I'm heading out for a birthday massage.  Oh and I wouldn't say no to a piece of chocolate cake ;).

  

Remembering Dad on All Saints' Day

Three years ago today we unexpectedly lost our father.  Halloween has become a difficult time of year for me.  I'd like to think that losing my dad has enabled me to be more present in my life, but sometimes daily life with three kids is such a struggle that you don't have time to appreciate it.  As much as I like our life in Colorado, living away from home is especially hard on days like today.  I want to be with my brother when we visit his grave.  I want to take my kids to talk to G-Pa and honor his memory.  I want to be in the place he loved so that I can feel like he is still with us maybe taking a nap in the other room.

But these are the selfish desires of the left behind.  There are so many things I want to share with him about the kids, about my life, and I want to know what's going on in his life.  Sometimes I still write emails to him and just save them.  I know he's with us and I know he watches over my children, but I miss his laugh, his voice, his embrace, even his fried SPAM and pancake breakfasts.  It's funny how when you lose someone you finally realize how all of those things that used to drive you crazy about their personality were the precious jewels of their individuality.

I want to keep him alive and I do that by trying to honor his memory in my own life.  I make insanely time consuming craft projects and dragon costumes with the kids.  I sing, dance, and joke with them.  And yes, on occasion, I make fried SPAM.  I joined a church because he found so much comfort and joy in his religious community.  I volunteer in the school and church, inspired by my dad, because he was always generous with the gift of his time.  I am THERE with them and he is THERE too.  We are one in service to others.

Today, I went back and read some old emails I've saved from him.  Here's one he sent just prior to his death.  He was remembering me as a child because he'd recently read Michael Perry's "Truck," and the author was describing falling in love with his future wife and his getting to know her daughter from a previous relationship.  He always told me he fell in love with both of us when he met my mom.  Here he is talking about how I went through an Indiana Jones phase:

"in Truck....when he told about amy, the little girl...only answering to "seabiscut"  I had to laugh...it reminded me of my little  "Indianna Jones" !!!!  haha!   I remember someone ( cant remember who) stopped in to see me...we were outside talking by his car and all of a sudden he does a double take...looking out into the woods...I thought I saw a little kid out there.   I could see you peering around a big tree...with your tan hat on...I said..." oh, thats Indianna Jones! "  ha!"


I love you, Dad.  Now and Always.

The Illness Part 2: Here We Go Again

Earlier this year I wrote about how our middle child struggled with daily headaches and stomachaches for two months.  Doctors were baffled as to why she was experiencing this.  The most likely explanation we arrived at was that she was suffering a viral illness made more severe by her uncontrolled seasonal allergies and food sensitivities.  Through daily allergy medication and strict avoidance of known foods that bothered her (I still need to blog about the food issues), she experienced several months of good health and a mostly pain free summer.

And then it was back to school time.  Just before her 9th birthday she came down with a nasty bug that kept her out of school for three days.  She was prescribed an anti-viral med that helped her recover and go back to school.  Our oldest daughter also was sick for several days, so we knew it was more viral than environmental this time.  Everyone recovered and was better:  for approximately 3 minutes.

We are on another round of virus, on the heels of the last one that seems to be provoking the illness pattern we saw with middle child earlier this year.  She's having daily headaches that don't respond to over the counter meds and stomach upset that keeps her appetite down.  Our oldest is also suffering simliar but not as severe symptoms.  The youngest seems to have only an amazing amount of boogers and cough from the drainage.

I'm feeling alternately anxious and depressed about these issues.  Being strong for them takes its toll on my mental and emotional health.  We've been here before.  Feeling ineffectual is the biggest stressor in all of this.  As I learned with my husband's two month hospitalization in 2009, there is no asking why; there is only what, how, and now.  What is this and what do I do now?  How do I make it through today?  How do I help them?

My heart has grown legs.  Legs that sport hand-me-down pants and mismatched socks.  My heart lugs a massive purple backpack past the chain link fence.  She turns around and looks at me once, a smile on her face.  She waves at me discreetly, not wanting her peers to know she wants one more look at Mom before going forward with her day.

50 Shades of Dull: A Book Review (sort of)

**Spoiler Alert:  This post references the best-selling book  50 Shades of Grey and may give away what I hesitate to describe as plot points.**

Confession Time:  During summer and winter breaks I sometimes like to read trashy, fun books.  Similarly, I like to read People while at the dentist and will admit to perusing Entertainment Weekly at Barnes and Noble if no one I know is looking.  This summer, I decided to try 50 Shades of Grey mostly to see what all the hype was about.  After reading it (and skimming large sections I must admit), I was left scratching my head and wondering why this book has become so popular.

Okay.  I get it; the sex scenes can be pretty hot, but honestly, they're nothing I haven't read before in much more interesting formats.  I think the SNL skit in which they pointed out that e-readers such as the Amazon Kindle may be contributing to this book's popularity was a brilliant point.  I also find the word-of-mouth or word-of-Facebook diffusion of this book through friendship networks fascinating.

Perhaps this book can best be described as the literary equivalent of SPAM or Jell-O.  You know it's terrible for you, but sometimes you just crave those empty, processed calories.  Actually, that analogy breaks down when I realize that I have sentimental feelings when eating SPAM because it reminds me of my dad and Jell-O because it's ubiquitous at midwestern potlucks and on my grandparents' supper table.

Let's try this - imagine the Twilight novels in all their teen angst-y glory but take away the semi-interesting and innovative mythology (basically a Disney PG version of vegetarian vampires) and Meyer's decent action scene writing.  You are left with a romance between two characters who make dry toast look interesting.  Now imagine that romance was something you'd see on late night cable TV with an NC-17 rating and you get the picture.  But that's IT.  Just moving from (what some would consider) one kinky sex scene to another. And it's not enough.

First of all, I understand this a fantasy novel but the main characters are just so unbelievable as to be ridiculous.  A college student who doesn't own a cell phone or a laptop?  What century was this written in?  A male lead who is all of 27, a billionaire, flies helicopters, has all the time in the world to answer stupid email messages, is great looking, and great in bed?!  I rolled my eyes (cruising for a spanking I suppose) every time I read about Ana's "inner goddess" or read about Christian calling her "baby" during sex.  I skimmed over the annoying email flirting/conversations in which Ana expressed her exasperation with Christian.

Second, there really is no story or plot to speak of here.  Young woman meets wealthy billionaire.  Billionaire deflowers young woman who proceeds to have multiple orgasms for a hundred pages interspersed with the aforementioned annoying email conversations.  Young woman decides she can't handle the billionaire's request for a Dominant-Submissive relationship.  End of book.  Snore.

Finally, I'm concerned about the subtext of this book.  Ana fears Christian and his moodiness and modifies her behavior accordingly.  I understand that one of the points (and I'm not sure how much I'm reading into this) of the book is to raise the issue of how in order to give and receive pleasure we all have to expose an intimate part of ourselves to the potential for physical or emotional pain.  At the heart of it, Ana's problem with Christian is also what draws her to him.  What is presented as his dysfunction results in behavior that is physically intimate but emotionally distant.  Fans of the fantasy genre will recognize this much-explored beauty and the beast/monster-innocent trope.  Monster is attracted to innocent but keeps him/her at arm's length because they are either worried about killing or hurting innocent.  Illogically, innocent finds this behavior by the monster to be irresistible.  You love me so much you don't want to love me because you're afraid of hurting me?  I LOVE YOU.

It's not that I'm a prude or that I don't enjoy some kinky fantasy now and then.  When I compare Christian to the vampire/monster in other fantasy stories, this is not a judgment of his preference for BDSM.  To each his/her own (as long as it's consenting adults).  It's just that this has been done in other places and in better ways.  I think these issues of intimacy and how much humiliation one can bear and still fundamentally be true to themselves are interesting issues, but for me, they have to be explored as a part of a broader, more complex narrative.  In other words, they have to be socially situated.  What would society look like if monsters were real?  Or what if BDSM was a socially accepted lifestyle?

Several fantasy and modern fantasy series explore these questions with more interesting plot lines and sex scenes that are even more "screaming thigh sweat" inducing than 50 Shades.  So if 50 Shades left you wanting more (especially in terms of plot, or good old fashioned story telling), I recommend the following:

1.  The Kushiel's Legacy Trilogy:  Kushiel's Dart, Kushiel's Chosen, Kushiel's Avatar by:  Jacqueline Carey.

http://www.amazon.com/Kushiels-Dart-Jacqueline-Carey/dp/0765342987/ref=pd_bxgy_b_img_c

The heroine of this trilogy is a natural-born submissive who experiences pain as pleasure.  Set in a medieval version of France, Phedre no Delauney grows into an experienced courtesan and spy whose skills in and out of the bedchamber have the potential to make or break dynasties and save a kingdom.

2.  The first ten or so books of the Anita Blake Vampire Hunter series by Laurell K. Hamilton and the first several books of the Sookie Stackhouse books (the basis for the hit HBO series True Blood) by Charlaine Harris.

Both of these series have since succumb to the same issues I had with 50 Shades but the earlier books are fun, sexy, dark, and have some great (out of the bedroom) action to set the pace.  I also like that despite being submissive at times, all of these heroines are complicated, interesting characters with their own strengths and weaknesses.

3.  If sexy, rich, Irish guys are your thing, I occasionally enjoy an Eve Dallas novel by J.D. Robb (Nora Roberts), but these do tend to get repetitive.

The Illness

As many of you know, one of our children has been struggling with an ongoing illness since January.  After multiple trips to the ER and specialists, thousands of dollars spent on co-pays, and many hours of missed school and work, we have yet to establish an accurate diagnosis and an effective way of treating her.

*(not our kid - free image from freedigitalphotos.net)



Here's what we know so far:
1.  This illness appears to be non-life threatening and not degenerative (Thank God).
2.  The kid's quality of life is very negatively affected by The Illness.
3.  Allergies and sensitivities to foods play a part in her condition.
4.  Her immune system appears quite weakened (she gets EVERY virus).
5.  Most of the doctors are well-meaning but haven't got a clue how to treat this.

Here's a few of the ways our lives have altered over the last six months:
1.  On any given day, the kid will have an incredibly painful headache or stomachache.  Sometimes the meds help, sometimes they don't.
2.  The list of foods that cause reactions (itchy mouth, tongue, throat) expands weekly and to date inclues: all fresh fruits (except strawberries), some fresh vegetables, soy products, wheat/gluten, some kinds of red food dye, and chick peas.
3.  On any given day I will be close to overwhelmed with anxiety or depression from watching and worrying about the kid and her pain.
4.  The other kids have had to accept that Mom is less organized and more likely to forget to remind them about homework, field trip lunches, etc.
5.  Any and all plans we make are incredibly tentative depending on the kid's day-to-day pain level.

What's most frustrating of course is watching the kid in pain and not being able to help.  I'm grateful that The Illness isn't worse, but I don't really have hope for fixing this in the near future.  We take it a day at a time and do our best in the now.  I don't write as much as I'd like to.  Writing happens in 15 minute bursts after I've stared at the screen for three hours, checked my phone for messages from the school, and ordered yet another book about allergies from the library.  I don't meet the deadlines I'd hoped to.  I've had to ask everyone for patience with my schedule and needing to change appointments.  I have had to give myself permission to take the time to see the counselor, get a massage, take a bath, go for a walk, or read a non-fiction book (or write a cathartic blog post).  Because if I don't do these things, I won't be able to cope with this.

Motherhood through this illness has become a different job.  Sure there's still the day to day tasks that ensure the kids are fed, clean, and generally not little assholes.  But I've had to become an expert in The Illness as see her experiencing it.  At any moment, I've got to reference a database of information about virus history, symptom description, and food reactions and exposures.  I've got to be able to recount and explain all of this on the spot from memory because apparently the doctors DO NOT TALK TO EACH OTHER.  Seriously, I have to repeat EVERYTHING every time I see a doctor?  I thought we had electronic medical records.  These doctors can read, right?

The implication of this is that I know more about this particular case of The Illness than any doctor I'm seeing.  I don't have the same medical background that the doctors do, but I'm not a total idiot either.  Kid has severe allergies.  Allergies mean immune system is out-of-whack.  Immune system not functioning correctly means she gets sick.  A lot.  No, doctor, I don't want to watch a video about a treatment method that might help in three or four years, I want you to look at my kid as a whole person.  Look at her as a mini-ecosystem, if you will, and The Illness is an invasive species that has come along and screwed everything up.  Here's the kind of scenario we're working with:  The bats are dying from an invasive parasite and so they don't eat the mosquitos.  The mosquitos are out of control and carry West Nile Virus so no one takes vacations to the lakes.  The state has less money in tax revenue due to lost tourism money.  Lost tourism money means fewer research grants to figure out why the bats are dying.  Yeah, some version of that kind of frustrating systemic problem is what I think is happening.

The only doctor who comes close to looking at the whole patient is our chiropractor.  What she's doing seems to help manage symptoms and she will actually talk to you for more than three seconds.  We're set to see a new doctor who has training in both traditional and alternative medicine at the end of the month.  Hopefully it will be worth the time and money to see him.  In the meantime, I'll continue to evolve as one part mom, one part scientific expert on "The Illness."

For Mother's Day, Can We Get Over the 3-Year-Old Eating and Get to the Real Issues?

There is a lot of discussion and debate going on this Mother's Day weekend about the Time magazine cover that shows a young, attractive mom breastfeeding a preschool-aged child.  http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/arts-post/post/time-cover-milks-shocking-image-photo/2012/05/10/gIQAOd8qFU_blog.html  I admit I have not read the content of the article yet and I suspect many of the people commenting on it haven't either.  But I couldn't go into Mother's Day this year without commenting.  For me, the debates about how long and how publicly a woman should breastfeed and whether or not the mom in the photo should have allowed her son's face to be visible are missing the more important issues.  Leaving aside for a minute that as a society we would find an image of a mother breastfeeding to be so shocking and controversial, some writers are working toward moving past judgement.  See for example: 


"Our job as parents isn't to judge. Our job is to love and protect our children. To clothe and feed and snuggle them. The next time you feel compelled to say something snarky about another human's parenting, maybe go give your kids a hug instead, because those are the kids that are your business."  from http://gogozen.blogspot.com/2012/05/youre-doing-it-right.html?spref=fb&fb_source=message 


Kelly offers some great perspective on ending judgement of moms by moms.  The problem, however, is that there are broader institutional challenges for mothers that are glossed over when we focus on what some consider to be parenting extremes.  Firstly, I am wondering if there is acknowledgement in the article about which parents are even able to consider following the practices of attachement parenting.  This is the same thing that drives me crazy about all those celebrity mothers who immediately lose the baby weight and then are lauded for it in the media.  Of course they lost the baby weight and look fantastic.  They have support networks their wealth and position can provide!  They can afford macrobiotic (or whatever) meals made by professional chefs and aren't depending on the time and money budgets of a more average mom to sustain their families (time to prepare meal = 5 minutes while baby naps, budget for meal = tuna casserole).  


Secondly, many families do not have the luxury of depending on one income so that that the other parent (if there is another parent) can focus so much time and effort on childcare.  Also, despite recent trends in stay-at-home dad-ing, when we talk about attachment parenting, the focus is often on what moms are doing or not doing or should be doing.  Culturally then, we are still imagining a gendered breadwinner/homemaker family model that was really only statistically true for a decade or so in the 20th century.  Well, this is the cultural ideal if you are heterosexual and middle class anyway.  Working class women have a longer history of balancing income-generating work and household duties because their income was necessary to meet basic cost of living needs.  Modern welfare policies in the U.S. reflect this class differentiation in parenting ideals by requiring benefit recipients to seek employment.


Despite an overall increase in the employment rates of women with young children over the latter half of the 20th century, work by sociologist Arlie Hoschild suggests that women are more likely than their male partners to reduce work hours after the birth of children. The "Second Shift" phenomenon, in which women face a disproportionate burden of house and care work, leads them to rely on flexible work hours or shifting to part-time work as a way to do it all.  Recent discussions about the cost to women of breastfeeding their children (http://news.yahoo.com/hidden-cost-breast-feeding-revealed-114941470.html) in the context of a persistant gender wage gap may partially explain the propensity of women in male-female partnerships to reduce out-of-the home work hours after the birth of children.  Differences in the rate of pay between men and women may also in part be due to the fact that jobs that women gravitate to are paid less on average.  Whether women enter jobs with lower pay and more flexible hours in part because they realize they will face family-workplace conflicts in the future is a broader issue that we miss with the so-called divisive "Mommy Wars."  


Finally, there is what sociologist Shelley Correll and her research partners have labeled "The Motherhood Penalty."  The researchers found that in matched pairs of resumes where other variables were held constant, women presented as mothers were rated as less committed and competent with respect to their careers (than women without children) and  offered lower starting salaries.  Fatherhood, on the other hand, was a benefit for men.  Men presented as fathers were offered higher starting salaries compared to men who were not presented as fathers.  Correll and her partners argue that cultural expectations about women as mothers are inconsistent with our expectations of who competent, committed workers are.  Gender inequality is reproduced through stereotyping and remains pervasive.


As mothers we want to do right by our children.  Doing so means that as a society we support mothers, fathers, and caregivers by respecting the fact that care work IS work.  It also means ensuring a living wage for families and adequate health care.  We can take a step in the right direction by not allowing the media to push us into defensive positioning.  This Mother's Day, let's support all people who contribute to the care and education of children whether they practice attachement parenting or not and whether they are biologically mothers or not.  Let's keep in mind the more important issues that affect the lives of parents and children and not lose focus because of an image of a breast in a child's mouth.  


(I look forward to updating this post after I've read the text of the article.)