Facebook--the good, the bad and the Noble.

I like to occasionally scan the Facebook pages of The Beast and her cousins for signs of deviant behavior…not that I REALLY want to know, it is sort of like a roadside accident—you are drawn into the horror of teenage-hood and you pray that your kids are crawling out alive and not too damaged.

There are, of course, the references to piercings, the possible tattoos, the eventual squabble over girlfriends, boyfriends, and even just the regular sibling bickering between the cousins since they are all only children. However, one incident left me begging to be unfriended.

A girlfriend issue with the eldest country cousin got his small town buddies into a tizzy of name calling. The city-cousin, younger, but more sophisticated than most of us will ever be, stepped in and verbally bitch-slapped those country bumpkins while distancing herself from the country cousin’s stupidity.

Sometimes the city cousin’s parents worry about her because she acts years beyond her age, but she bright, beautiful and has a deep sense of integrity and a personal bravery that is so hard to find.

Once you look beyond the nose piercing, the possible tattoo, the bravado of youth, the fairy princess is there sticking up for her dopey older
cousin…what more could you want from a child who is still wonders how she managed to end up with mere mortals as parents.

Lingering Misogyny

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!!” I said…in the nicest way possible to Mr. Attorney on our way home from the city on a Friday afternoon. “Why would you even mention that Lara Logan was a former swimsuit model and had a child with a married man, not her husband?”
Mr. Attorney, although he often tries to push my buttons for sport, seemed genuinely confused. He had that hurt puppy dog look followed by a Scooby Doo turning of the head dopey reaction.
“I was just giving background information” he said recovering from the mental deficient look that had crept on to his face after being accused of misogyny.
“Really? Really? Like if a man had had a similar experience of being gang raped by bunch of men on the street—you would mention: ‘Well….he had been voted handsomest male in his class year book… had been listed as one of the sexiest men alive by People magazine.’ Would YOU?! Would you?! Let me tell you. NO you would have NOT mentioned such shit because he was a man. But with a woman you perpetuate this fucking misogyny. What is wrong with you?!!”

Let me be clear—Mr. Attorney is not a misogynist, but he definitely still has the general mindset that remains in America and elsewhere that places women in a different category, a lower category, than men. For some reason the fact that Lara Logan is sexy lessens everything about her. Her intellect, her bravery as a reporter going into war torn countries, her grace under fire are not mention but rather that she is sexy.

Perhaps my reaction was too strong, but being the mom of a now young woman—I have no patience for this type of lingering misogyny that is so prevalent it goes by unnoticed. So remember—if you hear this type of crap—confront it. Don’t let it continue.

Professional Parenting

Stories from the Trenches

I am waiting for the Beast’s fencing class to end. I am trying to read my New York Times in the little café area outside the fencing room. But there is a constant chatter, no banter, no…no…the more I listen—I realize it is the retelling of war stories—MOM war stories. I pull my attention away from the art and culture section that I have been craving like a like a crystal meth addict all day and look up at my distractions.

There they are-- two moms, professional parents—you know the type—one-upping one another with tales of their difficult lives: one child was on a traveling sport team, while the other was in a gifted program on Saturdays at a local college. There was more…a lot more…boy scouts, school team sports, volunteer service, bar mitzvah preparations….they barely had time to chauffeur them from one activity to the next. The lists were getting longer and longer. They both had two children.

After that first night at home with the baby Beast—we were pretty sure we were single kid sort of parents—so I bow out of these busy mommy competitions on lack of team members alone.

I always try to avoid the martyr mommy syndrome---I first encountered this ailment shortly after The Beast’s birth. Many mommy martyrs start with birth stories and I have heard a ton of these tales doing playground duty those first few years of parenthood …the many hours of labor, being stitched up after the gargantuan baby finally arrives…all NATURAL…naturally.

I, of course, never one for pain or personal suffering of any kind— was screaming “DRUGS!” from the get go, promptly followed by “knock me out and get it out.” Because REALLY—what is modern medicine for?

The mothers notice I am looking up from my paper and then invite me into their Homeric story telling session with an encouraging question. “Oh but it must be so difficult with a girl—right?” They say pulling me forward into their web of saintly motherhood. I am tempted, but as I think—I come up blank. I enjoy The Beast, I am charmed by her friends and for the most part, they are pretty independent and have always been so. “well…I start—she wears A LOT of eye makeup….And” I say fishing in my memories for something—“She was a little snippy with me the other day when I tried to get her out of bed for school….”

The mothers waited with encouraging smiles—but I just couldn’t do it. Life is good. We do stuff, but fun stuff. I sometimes end-up sitting in places like this one, but I view it as an opportunity to A) read my New York Times or B) Get a Blog post. Their smiles fade and they turn back to their Blackberries to check their schedules.

Marriage--You Have to WORK at It!

I was telling a happily, single, older woman, co-worker about what I had done for Valentine’s Day with my husband which was not much because…REALLY everyone knows it is one of those holidays that is just there to make everyone feel like losers—like New Year’s Eve. Millions of desperate people looking for the one good time on that one night of the year. You can cut the angst with a knife. The same goes for Valentine’s Day.

The older woman said to me in a serious voice: “ you know…with marriage—You really have to WORK at it.” I looked at her for a split second before we both dissolved into a school girl giggles. This is when she pulled up the study on happiness and marriage. Apparently single women are the happiest, followed by married men, then single men and then married women. “ Interesting” I said. I normally question studies because I am like that—annoying. But this one seemed to ring true in my gut.

There is an inordinately large body of work designed to tell women how to make men happy….from marriage books, to so called women’s magazines which are all about how to please your man—what to cook for him, how to dress for him, what to do in bed…for him. I, of course, blame THE MEDIA for selling this mind set and women for buying this huge load of crap. Not that I am an expert, but you don’t see magazines for men on how to treat women well. Do you?

I have been around the block…so to speak and I can guarantee you—men are pretty happy furry creatures to begin with. They don’t need a lot of care and feeding—they just want you to stop asking them if your butt looks big—because then they have to think. My advice, not that anyone asked, is to have fun—men will come along for the ride. No instructions needed.

She's Back....

The Beast is back!

Just when I thought I could breathe easy and talk about my parental angst about things like:

1) Should I attempt to talk about contraceptives one more time or will it turn her into a nun due to the grossness factor, or perhaps, will it make her more intrigued about the whole process?

2) Is it okay to go to high school parent orientation either with a travel cup full of wine or down a glass ahead of time? The only reason why I ask is that I feel I would have had a much better time at those seemly endless kindergarten orientations if I had brought a bottle of wine for all us nervous moms.

And there are many more issues I want to discuss, but alas…I must go to that high school orientation.