Dearest Whinger,

Sorry for taking all the credit for your creative genius.  Yes, you did come up with ‘Drip drop plop,’ but, to be fair, it was me who changed it to ‘Drip drip plop,’ so the creative genius was really all mine.

While I’m at it, I’d better confess that the last line was your father’s.  The title was mine, so I claim 50% of this poem, which gives me the casting vote:

Hub:   25%

Spud: 25%

Mum: 50%

= 100% of the credit.

My blog; my rules.

Hard cheese, loser Spud.

Love you darling.

Mum x

x

    Gravitating toward bedtime and sleep, even though we spent all of today driving back to the land of Dorothy and Toto. We did not want to come back. 

 Visiting my home state and seeing everyone after all these years, really reinforced and drove home the fact that every day is a gift to us, and life should be lived accordingly.

  Family is…p-r-i-c-e- less!  Things happen and life happens and we know this.  Apparently “time heals all wounds” is not just a saying after all… 

  By now, you read me and you all know me and you know I do have about eleventy hundred pictures to go through (actually I took 186) and I just wanted to stop in and say hello to all before bed. 

 My eyes are stinging and sleepy.  the house is quiet.  i have my Sugar baby lying next to me, and I have missed blogging terribly.  It was like being grounded from the computer! lol.  

  tommorrow I will see about stopping in for a chat with some of you and posting more pics.    G’nite. <3 SG

*thanks be to God for my lovely thanksgiving 2009

*setting the table with love.

*what once may have been rare, has become priceless*

*my dad.  in the most perfect natural light I’ve had so far.  I have missed him*

*my brother’s kids kept commenting on how much their dad and I look alike*

Mother indicted after daughter tests positive for cocaine

Is it a sad day or a good day when you realize you are turning into your mother?  Because, it’s official I am literally going to write a post about the two best dogs in the world.  Left and Right.  My feet.  Here they are:

My mom always says her “dogs are barking” whenever she’s walked too long or too far in wedges or heels (I rarely ever see her in flats).  So, dogs to me are feet.  And since I spent this past week dog-sitting down in Hermosa Beach, I thought it would be appropriate to blog about my own dogs. Especially considering the fact that Thanksgiving was just two days ago and I am feeling extremely thankful for my feet and their ability to walk.  And run.  And swagger in heels.

And swagger I do.  Why?  Because I am still single.  And I just turned thirty.  And I’ve spent the last two years worrying about the M.S. and wondering who I should tell about it.  Because let’s be honest, telling some man you’re dating that you have an incurable disease that may one day land you in a wheelchair isn’t exactly the best pick up line in the world.

Trust me, I’ve tried it.  And it’s funny to watch the guys try and be all nice about it and act cool with the whole thing, but I can guarantee that they will not call the number they were so anxious to get minutes prior, no matter how hot I was looking in my heels and designer jeans.

To them, I say, “Screw you.”  If you can’t handle the truth of my world for more than one evening, how the hell are you going to handle it for the rest of my life?

Until I find a real man who likes my dogs and all that they represent, I’m going to keep on walking.

Past…

And…

And…

Why?  Because…

Who knows what will happen tomorrow…’til then, Walking Girl here, walking off!

15 exonerees attend conference at UTA — During a prolonged standing ovation, the Texas exonerees were brought forward one by one. By the time the introductions were done, 14 men and one woman, each having served years in prison for crimes they did not commit, stood together on a stage at the University of Texas at Arlington. “On this panel there is 200 years of incarceration,” one of them, Anthony Robinson, told a large crowd of students, educators, relatives and government officials. “Two hundred years of suffering. Two hundred years of ignoring a problem that is screaming to be dealt with.

Abuse Shelter Watchdogs: See no Evil, Speak no Evil — Domestic violence shelters are rife with mismanagement and fraud. They push a radical gender ideology on the unsuspecting, discriminate against male victims, and employ woefully unqualified staff. And they ridicule traditional religion as “oppressive” to women – all to the tune of $100 million in federal taxpayer money each year. So how do shelters get away with this nonsense? Where’s the accountability? And why are the government-mandated watchdogs giving these shelters a free pass?

Bishop to defrock priest who filmed abuse of boy — A SENIOR Catholic bishop is preparing to hold a secret ecclesiastical trial in his diocese to defrock a priest who filmed himself sexually abusing a school boy on his mobile phone. Bishop of Kilmore Leo O’Reilly has reported the case of Cavan-born convicted paedophile Fr Michael Molloy to the Vatican. The moves to defrock the priest follow the establishment of a similar tribunal to investigate abuse complaints against a priest in the diocese of Cloyne by Archbishop Dermot Clifford, who was assigned by Pope Benedict XVI as apostolic administrator.

Catholic order pays out for abuse — A Catholic religious order is to supply a 161m euros (£145m) package of measures as reparation for child abuse in Ireland. The Christian Brothers said the decision had been taken in response to the Ryan report which revealed decades of abuse at religious institutions. The report, published in May, laid out a picture of systematic abuse. In a statement the order said its move followed its “shame and sorrow at the findings of the Ryan Report”.

Deadline near to file church abuse claims — Native Americans sexually abused by Jesuit priests have eight days left to seek damages from the bankrupt church. The Society of Jesus, Oregon Province filed for bankruptcy protection in February in the wake of more than 200 lawsuits alleging that priests sexually abused children in northwestern states. One condition was that victims have until Nov. 30 to file an abuse lawsuit against the Jesuits. After that, no claims can be brought against them. The Jesuits have since 2001 paid out more than $25 million to sex abuse victims.

Irish Catholic Church hid sex abuse for decades: official — Ireland’s Catholic Church apologised Thursday after a damning new report showed it covered up child sex abuse over more than three decades. The Irish government also said sorry for failing to protect children in the wake of the latest report, published six months after a first landmark study revealed widespread abuse of children in Catholic care. “I offer to each and every survivor my apology, my sorrow and my shame for what happened,” said Diarmuid Martin, archbishop of Dublin since 2004. “I am aware that no words of apology will ever be sufficient,” he said, adding that “the fact that many abusers were priests constituted both an offence to God and an affront to the priesthood.”

Married RE teacher Madeleine Martin jailed after seducing schoolboy, 15, on Facebook — Madeleine Martin, 39, had sex with the boy in the back of her car in a country park, at a shopping centre and inside the mother of two’s family home during a brief relationship. The religious education teacher also persuaded the pupil to have her name tattooed on his arm after they became involved when she was assigned to mentor him at an all-boys school. She was yesterday jailed for 32 months and put on the Sex Offenders Register after admitting ten counts of sexual activity with a child under 16. Manchester Crown Court heard how Martin fell for the boy after she was assigned to help him with his difficulties with school work last year.

Mars Hill woman sentenced to prison for rape — A Mars Hill woman is now an inmate at The North Carolina Correctional Institution for Women in Raleigh after being sentenced to up to 10 years for statutory rape. Amanda Metcalf, 24, formerly of 217 Brook St., Mars Hill, was sentenced to at least 94 months and no more than 122 months in prison when she appeared before Superior Court Judge Philip Ginn last week in Madison County. Metcalf was arrested in April and charged with felony statutory rape after a boy told Madison County Detective Mike Boone that he was 13 when he and Metcalf had sex.

Men demand laws that punish women — Men have been urged to discard their egos and report any form of abuse by their female counterparts so gender-based violence programmes can include them. Because men tend to sweep such abuses under the carpet, it appears as if the available programmes exclude them. During a gender-based workshop on Wednesday male participants who were drawn from BCL and Botswana Prisons indicated that they succumb to abuse by women but because of their traditional upbringing they suffer in silence for fear of being treated as weaklings.

Men’s Rights — Earlier this month DoubleX, Slate’s short-lived female-oriented publication (launched six months ago and about to be folded back into the parent site as a women’s section), ran an article ringing the alarm about the dire threat posed by the power of the men’s rights movement. But the article, written by New York-based freelance writer Kathryn Joyce and titled “Men’s Rights’ Groups Have Become Frighteningly Effective,” says more about the state of feminism–and journalistic bias–than it does about men’s groups.

Military suicides increase as U.S. soldiers struggle with torment of war — The Army and the Marine Corps, which have borne the heaviest burden in Iraq and Afghanistan, have been hit the hardest, reporting a record number of suicides in 2008. This year, the toll is on pace to climb even higher. When combined, the figures paint a stark portrait of loss. More than 2,100 members of the armed forces have taken their own lives since 2001, nearly triple the number of troops who have died in Afghanistan and almost half of all U.S. fatalities in Iraq.

Mother Love / Female Abusers — It was in a high school literature class that I was first introduced to the Oedipus Complex, defined as “a boy’s unresolved desire for sexual gratification through the parent of the opposite sex, especially the desire of a son for his mother”. It was in a college film class that I was shown a famous French film entitled “Murmur of the Heart” which took the Oedipal theme and played it out in a contemporary middle class setting. In this film, the sensitive youngest son of a beautiful, tempestuous Italian woman is ushered into manhood by her as he recovers from a heart murmur at a countryside sanitarium. The film would have you believe that although mother and son both realized that they had crossed a forbidden line, neither was scarred by the experience, and that in fact the son was now able to go on and become a man. At the time, I never questioned the implications of this theme.

Number of men on receiving end of domestic abuse soars — THE number of men in the Lothians who say they are victims of domestic violence has more than trebled in the past decade. New figures show 1,207 men admitted being on the receiving end of domestic abuse last year, compared with just 374 in the year 2000. Statistics for the whole of Scotland suggest a similar trend. Today the Scottish Government said it might consider further research or action.

Shieldstown woman arrested for abusing eight-year-old nephew — A woman of Shieldstown, West Bank Berbice was arrested on Wednesday following reports that she was abusing her eight-year-old nephew while he was in her care. The boy, who was at times chained and locked away, was rescued after his plight was highlighted on Wednesday during a seminar held for International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women at the Fort Wellington Boardroom. The Probation Department was contacted and officers subsequently informed police, who found marks of violence on the child’s body. Stabroek News was told that the boy was removed from the home and is staying with an uncle.

The “Battle of the Sexes” is over — and our side has lost — Here is the latest version of our “battle of the sexes” post. We are constantly updating this list, so in the comments below, suggest your own points for inclusion in the next revision.

Trial Begins In Woman’s Molestation Case — A woman charged with having sex with two 12-year-old boys is now on trial. In her opening arguments, the prosecutor called Sheila Granger a child molester who used kindness to prey on both boys. But the defense called the state’s case against Granger twisted. During opening arguments, the prosecutor told the jury Granger had multiple sexual encounters with the boys, who were both boyfriends of Granger’s 12-year-old daughter over a one-year period. The first alleged victim also played on the football team Granger’s husband coached.

Woman Draws Prison Sentence For Sexual Assault — A Rogers woman was sentenced to 10 years in prison Thursday after admitting to sexually assaulting a 14-year-old boy. Anita Kay Fine, 40, pled guilty to sexual assault in the fourth degree and possession of a controlled substance. She also was charged as a habitual offender. Fine was originally charged with rape, a class Y felony, but agreed to plead guilty to the lesser charged under a plea agreement her attorney Shane Wilkinson reached with Chief Deputy Prosecutor Stuart Cearley.

Youth worker reportedly spent weekend having sex with teen — Thelma Nicole Miles is accused of having sex with a 14-year-old boy that she was supposed to help care for. The 29-year-old woman remains in the Bexar County Jail. According to investigators, Miles met the teen at the Abraxas Youth and Family Services in San Antonio, a Texas Youth Commission facility, where she worked as a medication technician. The center is meant to help children and teenagers who have been physically or sexually abused or who have had an addiction to drugs or alcohol.

I grew up a bit of a tomboy. I’ve always lacked some very typical “girly” genes. Much to my daughter’s chagrin I’m not much into jewelry and lots of make-up. I don’t like to talk long on the phone. I’m soooo like a guy when it comes to talking (or not talking, as the case may be) about my feelings or arguing or even just communicating in a relationship. (I know, nothing to be proud of. I’m working on it.) I played softball but wanted to play baseball as a kid. I love camping out under the stars. I wore garter snakes around my wrists much to the delight of the boys in the neighborhood. And I’ve never liked to shop. Ever.

Still don’t. So when my 17 yr. old daughter asked if we could shop on Black Friday I laughed. Out loud. When she told me she was serious, I eyed her suspiciously.

“Only if we go at 5am,” I said, confident that she would back down immediately. You see, I’m a morning person. She’s a night person. A very late night person. She sleeps ’till noon every chance she gets. I knew I was safe.

“Ok!” she said enthusiastically.

Huh? What the…? How did that happen? I then tried to weasel out of it.

“Seriously? You’ll get up at 4:30? I don’t think so. Besides, I don’t think the stores you’ll want to shop even open up that early.”

Remember? I don’t like to shop. So in my forty-something years I’ve never shopped on Black Friday. I’ve avoided it like the plague. I thought only large discount stores and appliance stores were open at that un-godly hour the day after Thanksgiving. 

“No, I already checked,” she said, “The mall opens at 5am.”

Rats. I was stymied. I had no idea where to go from there to get out of it.

“Ok…….” I said, voice trailing. I still had 5 more days to figure out how to get out of it. Surely, something would come to me.

But Thanksgiving Day arrived and I still didn’t have a way out. And she was so excited. Sharing this story with my sister on the phone she chastised my lack of enthusiasm.

“You set that alarm for 4:30am and enjoy yourselves. You’re creating memories,” she said, “Just don’t forget your helmet and elbow pads.”

Yikes. That got me. Especially since my stomach sinks every time my daughter receives a letter from a college trying to recruit her. I’m trying to cherish every moment she wants to spend with me. What was my problem?

So on Friday morning, we woke up before the crack of dawn and set out. We drove past our local Wal-Mart at 5:15am. Every, and I mean EVERY parking spot was taken. People were parking on the grass, off the curb. I’ve never seen it so busy. What was I getting myself into?

We arrived at the mall by 5:30am. It was busy but not unbearable. We shopped. We laughed. We waited in lines. I had to go check out the deals at the Disney Store (of course) and she reluctantly tagged along. The line was about 10 people deep and she rolled her eyes. “This is just like waiting in line for the rides, ” she groaned. But when we went to Hollister (her favorite store) the line for the cash register winded, weaved and wove through the store. “This must be SOME roller coaster!” I said excitedly. She pretended not to know me.

We chatted on the way to other stores. We chatted over coffee. We chatted in lines. We chatted in the car on the way to lunch. We observed people and talked about that. She shared with me things that were going on with school and with her friends. We reminisced. Mostly light things but some heavy things came up, too. And when the heavy things surfaced it slipped into our conversation easy, calm. I was able to share things I’ve always wanted to say – things every parent should say. She shared with me her feelings with little awkwardness. (She is a teenager, after all.)

It was an amazing day.

I remember hearing Dr. Phil impart his wisdom on teenagers once. He said (and I’m paraphrasing here) that if you want your kids to talk to you about the big things then you’d better listen to the little things. In theory, I wholeheartedly agreed. But then, I was able to see it in motion.

I’ve always felt I was a pretty involved parent. But days like this remind me I can always do more. Listening to those little things – how many sisters we could tell were shopping together, who her friends were dating, the latest fashion must-haves, how awful school lunches were – turned into conversations and snippets of some really big things. (And since I’d like to preserve some of her privacy I’m just going to let you guess what those were.) I heard her thoughts. She heard mine. It was amazing conversation with a little shopping thrown in. We enjoyed ourselves so much we’ve decided to make it a yearly tradition.

I saved a good bit of money on Black Friday. I lost a little sleep. Looking back, it was a simple gesture that became grand. And I can’t believe I tried to get out of it. What a shame that would have been.

Timmies, Tantrums and TSN Prospects:  Chronicles of a Serendipitous Puck Mummy

I don’t understand the Rocky Lake Dome rink (aka “the Bubble”) in Bedford.  So much so, it made my list of notable rinks.  My biggest issue with this rink is that it has NO SEATS.  Yup, you read that right – no seats.  Why one would ever build a rink with no seating for the public is beyond me.  I am not alone in my view on this.

My perspective on this rink changed today when Noah told me today he thought the Bubble was the best rink he had ever been to.  I could not even begin to conceive of why, so I asked him.  According to him, the fact it has no seats is actually a plus.  Because then “the parents have to stand at the boards and watch us for the entire game”.  I told you they are little self centred narcissistics….

Perspective is such an eye opener!

I then had a conversation with an adult in the know. The absence of seats was explained in reference to some weird HRM bureaucratic issue.  An occupancy permit on the way but not issued….  Anyway, the adult in the know assured me seats were coming.  Thank god.  Noah may be saddened by this but I find if comforting.  Literally and figuratively.  Fans just need seats. For many many reasons.

I call it my 3 day cure. When I was caregiving my mom who had Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s–and I was a sandwich generation mom–which for me meant having 2 teenagers and one pre-teen (all girls to boot), stress could sometimes mount to a hair-pulling, screaming and crying at the same time fiasco. I wanted to walk out and slam the front door–and become somebody, anybody else. But that’s just it–you can’t quit–not and be the mom, daughter, human you know yourself to be. But there is something you can do….

I stumbled on this cure out of sheer desperation. It’s not easy, not in our society, and you might not believe that it works but I dare you to try it.

Here’s the cure: Stay home for 3 days. I mean home. I know better than to suggest you get 3 days of respite care. While that’s ideal, it just isn’t always doable. This is. Don’t run to the store. Don’t run to the pharmacy. Don’t take your kids to ballet or your mom to the dentist Reschedule. Shut down.

But, but, but…I hear you say.

Let me assure you, the world will not come to a screeching halt. You will not starve and your children–and mom–will get over hating you. If things are bad enough, and you’re stressed enough, you might be willing to give this a try.

The first day–stay in your p.j.’s all day. Declare it pajama day. My kids loved it. I forbid them to get dressed (school, yes, they have to go to school, but hopefully you either don’t have to drive or you can arrange a substitute). We all hunkered on the couch, watched movies, flipped through magazines and books. Make a pot of veggie soup. Eat what you have in the pantry–(even junk food) I doubt you’ll starve and who cares if you don’t hit all the food groups. Don’t answer emails or hang on the phone. Today you need to disengage. stare out your window and watch the birds and squirrels. Take a morning nap and an afternoon nap. You’ll feel odd, guilty, bored, zombified, and have that nagging feeling that you’re wasting your time. That’s the point.

The second day, ask yourself what you want to do. Remember, it needs to be in or around the house. Do you want to clean? Get out a craft project? Call some friends? Don’t try to spring clean your house, but do a bit of putzing, especially if something is really bugging you. Put on some music and take a walk in your own yard. Visit your plants and trees. Dead-head some flowers, pull a few weeds (not a lot). Today, avoid the junk food and eat some more of that veggie soup you made. Pour yourself a small glass of wine. Drink water. Eat and apple. The point of the second day is to putz and eat simple, but good.

On the third day, take care of your body. Bathe well. Shave your legs, color your hair, pluck your eyebrows, and trim your cuticles. Do your mom’s hair, too. Be girls together. Do your toenails and then hers. Go through your jewelery box, go in your closet and pull out ten old items to donate. Guys need grooming too. Trim those nose hairs, ditch those ratty socks, straighten up your tool room. Sit outside for 30 minutes, in the sun (or partial sun if it’s summer). Breathe deep and feel yourself recalibrating.

Feel these last three days. Feel your own rhythms. Weep is you need the release. Sleep if that’s what you’re craving. Read a few lines of your favorite poem or lyrics from your favorite song. Eat all the veggies and fruits you have in your house. Put on your headphones and dance to some tunes. Allow joy to flow back into you. The point of this day of deep self-care in whatever form you need it.  

After three days of staying home, keeping it simple and giving your body and mind a little time to reboot, you’ll feel remarkably okay with your life. Nothing is fixed, and maybe cure is too strong of a word, but you will feel different. Yes, it all cranks up again, but you have a quiet center now. You realize it’s possible and permissable to check out of the rat race for a few days. You’ll come back to your life, to caregiving, to loving those around you with a new resolve that’s gentle and honest.

You’re also teaching your parent and your children how to care for themselves. We spend so much time being jacked up on caffeine, medicated for physical and emotional illnesses, and then we pop yet another pill in order to sleep at night.

The truth is, our bodies can do all this naturally–if we give it a chance. We don’t need to go to work and school when we’re fighting the flu or so burned out we cry for no reason and bite someone’s head off when what we really need is some down time.

I naturally do this about 3 times a year. I can feel it building, and I know when I need it. I also give myself a media fast about 4 times a year–no tv, phones or computer for 48 hours. It takes a bit of discipline, and honestly I feel so lost in the beginning, and then I remember to sing, to walk, to draw, and to sleep, and to be.

No, you can’t just stop caregiving. You can’t stop being a parent, and you can’t go too long without having to run a gazillion errands and all that it takes to keep your crazy busy life going. But you can put up some healthy boundaries and give yourself the gift of time–and home.

Despite the vehement protestations of my formerly nine-year-old self, chances are that I’ll have kids of my own at some point in the future. Even were that not the case, I’m still the kind of gal who routinely plunges her head into the ice-cold waters of the blogsphere, and am therefore reasonably up to date on the current furor vis-a-vis motherhood. Specifically, the fact that nobody seems to know what to make of it. As Lynn Harris points out, a lot of hate for the feminine side of parenting is being bandied about by non-parents; Emma Gilby Keller is making the case for women who haven’t heard the ticking of their biological clocks and refuse to see this as a personal failing; Gen Y mum Nicole Madigan is, not unreasonably, fed up with being treated as though mothers as a demographic are still entrenched in the 1950s; and more than one person is wondering about how children should (or shouldn’t) fit into the public sphere. No matter whose side you’re on, any discussion of modern motherhood seems to imply a certain amount of outrage, anxiety and general handwringing, which, given that the prospect of giving birth is already terrifying, let alone being responsible for a tiny helpless being encoded with an unspecified, potentially lethal mix of yours and your partner’s DNA, is about as close to notions of ‘helpful’ or ‘comforting’ as the Oort Cloud is from Earth. Which is to say, very fucking distant.

I’ll admit to being fascinated by the whole malarkey – not just because I’m an opinionated snark, or because the entire buisness reeks very faintly of rubbernecking, but because it’s something in which my future self is, presumably, invested. Like everyone else, I want to know how to do this right, but despite my historical belief in the idea that moral/social absolutes are arbitrary if necessary human constructs rather than universal fixtures, it is still something of a rank shock to discover that there is no inviolable Way of the Parent, let alone Way of the Responsible Adult. Except for that part about not sticking forks in electrical socks, which, really, is only common sense.

But I digress.

The point being, there’s a lot of parenting turmoil to wade through, most of it directed towards or inflicted upon mothers themselves. And while I’m hardly about to cut in on the stroller-bashing queue, I think I’ve finally pinned down what makes me, personally, uncomfortable about the whole buisness. It’s not the idea of the Yummy Mummy that stings, although I dislike the emphasis it puts on what are frequently unrealistic standards of beauty. It’s not the helicopter, cotton-wool parenting, either, although it makes both my inner sixteen-year-old and my outer twentysomething roll their eyes. It’s not even the obnoxious, ignore-the-kids-as-they-go-on-a-public-rampage non-approach to parenthood, or the designer stroller brigades. I might lament each one in turn, but they’re not trends I feel personally threatened by: call it crazy, madcap optimism, but I’d like to think that whatever neuroses I develop as a consequence of motherhood will have less to do with social ephemera than the quirks and peculiarities of my own offspring. No: what makes me edgy in all of this is the idea that motherhood has once again become a lifestyle.

It’s a thought which simultaneously intrigues and repulses. On the one hand, everyone has the right to choose their own life. Who am I to criticize anyone for wanting the best for their children, or for taking pride in the process? Feminism has failed, and failed roundly, if it says that a woman ceases to be a feminist the moment she decides to be a stay-at-home mother, or if she cares about the type of stroller in which she perambulates her child. But on the other hand, it feels as though the current argument that children should comfortably pervade every facet of adult life – pubs, restaraunts, movies – is a reprimand on the notion that parenthood is something adults might want to take a break from. That’s not to say that it shouldn’t be easy for parents to take their children places, but even within the realms of shared public space, some areas – like parks – are more intuitively child-friendly habitats than cramped pubs. Children aren’t a disease or a nuisance, some squalid facet of humanity to be sequestered from polite society until their debutante ball: they are people, they are important, and every adult, no matter how vociferous on the subject of ‘breeders’, was one once. But neither are children accessories, undetachable scions that can’t be left off the parental radar without risk of permanent personality failure.

It’s a mess, in short, one we all have to sort through in accordance with our individual beliefs and intuitions, which goes some way towards accounting for all the different types of motherhood on offer. Sometimes, in the absence of absolute moral certainty, you just have to agree to disagree. But it’s the lifestyle element of modern mothering I baulk at: because lifestyles are all about appearances, and if there’s one thing I think childhood and parenting – and life in general, for that matter – shouldn’t boil down to, it’s an emphasis on how things look to other people, as opposed to how they actually work. And yet, this is exactly what I end up doing: looking at other mothers, who are after all the only rubric available, and judging, via their appearance, how likely they are to be engaged in the persuit of motherhood-as-a-lifestyle as opposed to motherhood-in-general. If I mistrust designer prams, Yummy Mummies and kids on parade, it’s because I worry that these are the trappings of motherhood-as-a-lifestyle, and while they certainly can be, particularly in conjunction, they are not definitive indicators. They are the accessories of stereotype, not its core. But with mothers and motherhood now so visible in public – which is a different part of the debate in and of itself -  it is frequently the case that these external signs are all we have to go by.

We are, in short, trying to find a definition for modern motherhood that suits. Women are juggling children and careers, personal lives and dedicated play schedules, the desire to spend time in adult company vs the practical difficulties of foisting one’s offspring off onto anyone else, even for an afternoon, in a climate where childcare costs approximately nine zillion squared to the power of sod off. We are having children at older ages, where an increased amount of disposable income to spend on the trappings of childhood – clothes, strollers, toys – often equates to time poverty, resulting in guilt and the desire to take the kids out wherever possible, even where that means sandwiching adult social time into a playdate at the local pub. And, as was ever the case, there is no easy answer. Society has changed, and mothers, intentionally or not, are changing with it. There is value in trying to stick up for what we think parenting should be, but if all that means is talking about the Good Old Days and judging by appearances, it won’t get us very far.

by Danielle Koprowski

When children are not delightful to be with, their behavior is telling us they have a need that requires our help. Those needs are Physical, Emotional or Sensitivity/ Temperament Issues. Let’s take a look at Sensitivity/ Temperament Issues.

Have you ever noticed how different one sibling can be from another? How is that? They have the same genetics, the same or similar environment, but they are so different.

Children come into this world with their own unique temperament and sensitivities. As the brain develops we each create our own unique way of processing information. The are some general patters, but each of us is unique. For some children their brain develops in a way that causes them to have a different way of processing the stimulus around them. A child like this might be said to have Sensory Integration issues, Hyper Activity, Explosive Temperament or they might be called High Spirited.

These types of issues can show up in many ways. A child might avoid stimulus or they might seek stimulus. So you could have a child that is very sensitive to loud noises and avoids them or on the other end a child who yells and screams to stimulate that sense.

There are exercises, games and interactions that can help children with these issues.

If you have the feeling that your child might have some of these issues, below is a list of websites and books that will be very helpful in giving you the information and tools you need to help your child.

Out of Sync (Sensory Integration Issues)-
http://www.out-of-sync-child.com/
http://school.familyeducation.com/sensory-integration/parenting/36660.html
High Energy/ Hyperactive-
http://www.amazon.com/Stopping-Hyperactivity-Solution-Nancy-ODell/dp/0895297892
http://www.amazon.com/Smart-Moves-Learning-Your-Head/dp/0915556375/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_1
http://www.braingym.org/

Explosive (Easily Frustrated)-
http://www.explosivechild.com/

Spirited (Intense, sensitive, perceptive, persistent)
http://www.parentchildhelp.com/SpiritedChild/tabid/59/Default.aspx

Danielle Koprowski
Free To Be Parenting Support
ACPI Certified Coach for Parents
www.freetobeparenting.com

Happy Thanksgiving, once again! I said I would post this amid the pangs of over-eating, so here it is…

Since the lack of the legislation in the U.S. is threatening to derail the Copenhagen Agreement (unless the developing countries manage to push it through), the U.N. is resorting to a rather odd solution to the climate problem. The report comes from Channel 4 News that women are the key to saving our climate!

Here is the gist of the article:

UNFPA executive director Thoraya Ahmed Obaid said: “Poor women in poor countries are among the hardest hit by climate change, even though they contributed least to it”.

According to the UNFPA mission web page:

UNFPA, the United Nations Population Fund, is an international development agency that promotes the right of every woman, man and child to enjoy a life of health and equal opportunity.

For another idea of what the UNFPA is all about, refer to this article regarding a Turkish soldier and his wedding night.

The Channel 4 News article is dated November 18, 2009, but many of you have undoubtedly seen the advertisements stating that President Obama wants mothers to go back to school (the advertisement clicks through to this page). These advertisements have been prominently shown since Obama signed the omnibus spending bill in 2009. Lucky for us college students, the bill was more of a success than Obama’s HOPE Act as a Senator in 2005. According to Govtrack.us, the HOPE Act has not been touched since October of 2005–a lifespan of six months.

If the Copenhagen Agreement becomes a reality, would the U.S. still be able to support its own citizens (both men AND women) in this capacity? Or would the all-knowing U.N. use our finances as a developed country to assist women in developing countries? As a college student, I can tell you that the foreign exchange student numbers (in this state, alone) reflect the eagerness of the U.S. to educate foreign students who wish to make the trip. In fact, this country is practically giving green cards away lottery-style. I stumbled across that website about a year ago (around the same time I found Mexico listed as a U.S. state while filling out my FAFSA). I am sure Mexico can still be viewed in the drop-down list of states while filling out the FAFSA on-line.

Regardless, it is nice to see the U.S. (specifically, President Obama) was ahead of the curve…four years ago.

I have just started on a new project which I’m really excited about but can’t reveal much. You’ll know about it in a few months.

Anyway, it’s sad that there’s only 26 days left to the end of exchange. As much as I’d love to be back in Singapore to see Tim (and the rest of my dear friends), I’m also upset that I’m gonna leave this life. Somehow, I feel that I’m more of the real me here, having no inhibitations, living the way I’ve always wanted to live and being the me I’ve always wanted to be. I don’t have to be afraid of people judging me, don’t have to behave ‘correctly’ and I can pretty much say and do whatever I want. I’ll also miss living in a student accommodation. You can walk out of your room at any time of the day and find someone there always. There’s always new things to discover about everyone. We have endless topics to talk about despite the language barrier. I’m glad that I’ve forged stronger friendships even in my last month here. By stronger friendships, I don’t mean the hi-bye friends I meet in Akademien every Wednesday but people in the house. I used to think Julia is cold and rude like the typical Germans. I even thought she didn’t like me much because of the lack of interaction between us. But after the booze cruise, I realised she’s really easy to speak to – you just have to give people a chance before you start stereotyping them. We started having little girly pillow talks and partying together. Kudy has been a great friend too. I’ve spent the past few nights chatting and watching movies with him till wee hours of the morning. Tired as I am the next day, I’ve enjoyed our conversations a lot and some things we spoke about are thought provoking and set me thinking. We have actually gone beyond being ’superficial’ friends.

As we were talking about parents of our other halves, this thought came to my mind. I don’t know how true this is but I realised that out of the past few parents I’ve met, those boyfriends who are the only son in the family actually have parents that treat me better than the one who had two other brothers. It all started with Nic. I was fifteen then. His mother didn’t like me much because of my colored hair. I wasn’t exactly the girlfriend to bring home back then and was a bit of the wild child in the early stages of rebellion. However, I believe I was brought up well and still know what manners are and the way to behave infront of a boyfriend’s mother. After Nic put in some good words for me, she began talking to me and fell in love with me too. It was really nice being together with him and his family almost everyday. He’d always call his parents up when we ran out of money and his dad would fetch us from wherever we were and the four of us would head off for a cosy family dinner together.

After Nic came Leo. I was glad when he told me that I am the first girlfriend (out of 22) that his father actually liked. But that’s probably because I’m his only girlfriend who is not an uneducated ah lian. Heh. He was an English speaking ah beng back then. Love it when he tries to speak Mandarin! So his mum was extremely nice to me as well. She pampers me almost as much as she pampers Leo. I’d help her with all the pastry making before CNY and she’d always cook curry for me because I told her it’s my favourite dish of hers. We’ve been in contact for all of these 6 years after Leo and I broke up. I meet her for lunch every now and then and sometimes visit her at home when Leo’s girlfriend is not around. When I do remember, I’ll send a card over on her birthday or remind Leo about it because he is terrible with dates and numbers.

Joshua’s Mum was probably the first bitchy mother I’ve met. It was scary when she started bitching about the last girlfriend and how she made her sweep the whole house etc. Err, I was thinking I’d better not offend her else I’d die a horrible death. She was one I knew if I were to ever marry Josh, I’d never stay together with her. It’s not like I don’t like her but you know, familiarity breeds contempt. Luckily Josh and I didn’t work out. Maybe because we were a little older, they treated me like their daughter-in-law, paid for my trip to BKK so I don’t stay alone in SGP while they were away and made me join all the 123123 extended family outings (which I really enjoyed). Josh’s Mum wasn’t as easy to please. She was neutral towards me but after helping with the cooking and to set the table before meals 123123 times and joining/interacting with the family in the living room instead of what typical girlfriends do – hide in the bf’s room – they love me more and more. (Hazel, I hope you are reading this ‘cos you wanted to know how to please Cay’s parents. ) We were on such good terms that I often went out with the rest of his family and extended family without him. Too bad Josh was sucha jerk else it would have been great.

When the last three breakups happened, I could get over the guys fairly easily but it’s the family that I couldn’t get over. I really miss those times together as a family. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m in love with the guy or their family. There were times when I knew we wouldn’t be able to make it together but because of their family, I stayed on in the relationship. It’s not the correct thing to do but trust me, if you lack family warmth as a kid, these things will appeal to you and affect your decision a lot. The guilt I felt when I broke up with Josh was terrible, especially so because it was straight after the BKK trip. I didn’t wanna go for it anymore but Josh begged me to so as not to disappoint his parents. I think it is worse for me that I went and break up after. They would have thought I was just waiting for the free trip before breaking up. I think I owe them an apology. They were so nice to me yet I had to disappoint them and break their son’s heart… I think this whole family warmth thing is the reason why I want to get married so much and start my own family. I want to give my kids the warmth I never had and hopefully I will be able to feel that warmth again myself. Sometimes, I felt I yearned too much for the warm and fuzzy feeling that it made me a little confused. I was actually unsure if I was more in love with the idea of love and the things that might come after or the guy himself. It was almost as though I was just making use of the guy to get what I want.

Bah. This was supposed to be about being the only child/son but I don’t know how it turned into this. Joanne never ever keeps to her point. Just so I end off with what I started… Jason’s mum treated me a random woman. I guess she was used to her three sons bringing girlfriends back home and didn’t really care much about them. I was just ‘one of them’ and I didn’t like it at all. When you have three sons, you probably have to divide the love for each girlfriend by three so there wasn’t much left. After evaluating the four, I realised that the mothers who were especially nice are so probably because

1. My bf is their only precious son so they love whatever their son loves.
2. They didn’t have a lot of kids to shower their love on.
3. They want to see their son get married one day and didn’t want to eliminate the possibility of me being their daughter-in-law so they were nice – just in case I would not want to marry if they weren’t.
4. None of the above. They really liked me for me which is why they were nice. Heh.

I’m too tired to continue.

God has answered the prayers of a couple of my friends this week.  One delivered her baby girl on Sunday; another a baby boy this morning.  My sister-in-law & a friend from school are both due in about a month.  So this goes out to the mamas and the papas!!

Taking responsibility for a brand new life can seem like a scary thing… so I’ve been told .  Even for amazing people like these new parents I know.  At a baby shower for one of them last Saturday, we shared this song by Watermark.  It celebrates God’s gift of a baby.  It also speaks of the need to trust God to give wisdom & insight for parenting, and the need to entrust the child to Jesus.

My friend (whose baby we were celebrating at the shower) is considering the name Elliana, so the fact that this song is called “Elliana’s Song” meant a lot.  Elliana means “God has responded.”  When I heard that my friend who delivered today gave her son a name that means “the Lord has heard,” it also reminded me of the message of this song… May God be with these families, and those who are still awaiting the arrivals of little ones.   We are celebrating with you!!!

Elliana’s Song–Watermark

Baby woman, tiny in stature now
But your heart is a treasure
Little princess come follow behind me now
I am reaching for you

(chorus)
Elliana, God has answered my prayers
Elliana, God will conquer my fears
To mother a daughter, to look you in the eye
To know that I had everything, to walk with you in life
To give you to Jesus that He would impart
The wisdom that I’m longing for to mother your heart
Elliana, God has answered my prayers

There will be others to lead and to guide you girl
But only one you’ll call Mother, the honor is all mine
To show you what a woman’s like
I’m so glad you’re mine

Tenderness of God is twirling around
In our living room tonight
Lighten up your daddy’s eyes
And know that he just wants to freeze you in time

If anyone has a double stroller, to donate, I have pregnant client with a 10 month old and a 2 year old baby.

 Low income, no status, very difficult situation, even clothing will help.

 If you can donate or if you have questions please contact Sandra Bergantim at sbergantim@ccspeel.org.

I was telling a friend about Julia’s dead babies. She responded brightly “RH Negative!”

Que? “RH Negative. If Julia and her husband were incompatible, the first baby would have lived (my greatgrandmother Mary did) and the subsequent children could have died. Then, if she changed partners (she married George) their children, if they were compatible, would have lived.”

Perhaps Julia Keyes was Rh negative, and John Roddam was Rh positive. (Wow, isn’t this a level of detail I hadn’t expected) and therefore, if her babies were RH positive, she may have created antibodies that crossed the placenta and attacked her baby’s red blood cells. “Untreated babies may be anaemic, at risk of brain damage or even die before birth. Doctors call all of these problems “haemolytic disease of the new born”. (See: http://bridgeclinic.com.au/media/docs/antid.pdf)

I am pondering, not diagnosing. But it is possible. Approximately 15% of the population has RH negative blood.

I remember my mum telling me that I had nothing to fear because I was O+. She must have known about the incompatibility problem. Sure, she could have read about it, but I was left with the impression that it meant something to her that I was O+. It was as if she’d overcome an obstacle and that I was a prize baby.  (Hey. It’s my blog. OK?)

Isn’t life grand, the way it throws up surprises….

Thanksgiving is the time of year we gather those we love under one roof. Pass the stuffing, hold the sarcastic remarks. If you’ve ever had your mother, your teenagers, and your toddlers all at one table, you know it can get dicey. No iPods at the table, yes you have to eat two bites of broccoli, and thank you, mother–I have gained a few pounds lately–glad you noticed and thought it worth commenting on!  Multigenerational households are petri dishes for family issues. The best way to combat the exhaustion and stress is with a splash of humor.

Your mother might not ”get” the challenges of raising a teenager in today’s world of texting and Youtube. She might have a comment or two about your toddler pitching a fit at Target and even state emphatically that you and your siblings never acted out in public (although you distinctly remember a few incidents). You can either laugh it off and not let it get to you, or…take it personal. It’s best to act like a duck and let the water roll off your feathers.

Change the subject or stand your ground, whichever the situation calls for. Remind yourself that you’re a “good enough” parent. You know how to prioritize and you give your heart and time to those you love. That’s good enough.

The only person who can give you that inner resolve to choose to not let your kids or your mom get to you–is you. For me, it took some alone time first thing in the morning and then a few times during the day. I’d sit in the car and give myself a pep talk. I’d walk back to my room to get something, look at myself in the mirror and give myself a smile. When one of those arrows struck me good and hard, I’d go cry, yell, or punch my pillow a couple of times. What was worse was when I didn’t take the high road and I was the one having to go and apologize. It comes with having too much to do and letting the pressure get to you.

Being mom to two generations–one on each side–is exhausting, frustrating, and at times you question yourself. It’s also rewarding. There’s something pretty cool about being the axis at the center of the wheel. Even though I got my fair share of scowls since I was caregiving and raising kids, (my mother had Alzheimer’s) at the same time. It felt like I was the bad guy all the time. I remember one day when I was arguing with my mom (who also had Parkinson’s) that she couldn’t drive in busy traffic, and then turning right around and giving my 15 year-old a driving lesson. We had plenty of tiffs, laughs and hugs, and that’s family life.  

So if you’re sitting down at Thanksgiving tomorrow, say a out loud thanks for being a multi-gen house. Grab hands, say a blessing, and pass the rolls. Your life may be really full and crazy right now, but know you, that really is a good thing.  

Suddenly, my child is 8 months old.  Suddenly, I come home from work and she’s standing at the coffee table on her own knocking everything off the flat surface to the floor and laughing hysterically.  Suddenly, she is eating 3 huge meals a day, plus bottles and still needs snacks.  Suddenly, she crawls away only to come immediately back for a hug.  Suddenly, I’m a mom to a baby, not an infant.

Where has the time gone?  I feel like it’s been a whirlwind of maternity leave, going back to work, dieting then not dieting, caring for the baby, feeding baby, making baby food, fighting depression setbacks, visiting family, hiding from family, smelling her neck, co-sleeping, trying not to co-sleep, and trying to find balance that always eludes me.

Did I mention we even moved in the meantime?  We moved to the burbs.  How cliché, I know.  It was a fast move sparked by a shady landlord, a drunk guy smashing beer bottles in our building, and rising costs of living in the city.

I miss that stupid dirty tiny apartment more than I care to admit.  It was where we brought her home, where she was conceived, where my pregnant self cavorted for 10+ months, the shelter we found upon moving back to the city we loved all those years ago when we escaped our hometown.

The night we moved out we met our new (now old) downstairs neighbor. They are artists from Italy and so very sweet.  They helped us move the huge furniture and refused payment.  Our bottom floor neighbor gave us her address so she could come to our kid’s first birthday.  On the flipside, we’ve been in the burbs for over 2 months and no one has said shit to us other than nearly kill us with their SUV.  I feel so outside and alien here.  Not to mention poor white trash.

I know I hate it here internally for selfish reasons.  For kid reasons?  Oh god it can’t be beat.  A spectacular library with all sorts of kids programs, great books and music and DVDs for us, you name it.  Everything we can walk too, safely at night.  We’re taking her to see Santa soon, who will be riding up in a fire truck in the middle of town.  We’re signing her up for swimming classes, little gym, we take her swimming weekly as a family for free…the schools?  Oh dear sweet god I almost can’t wait for her to start school they are that good, and public.

For her, I love it.  I adore it.  For us, I’m bored out of my fucking skull.

The fact that I haven’t even felt creative enough to hang any artwork or decorate, take pictures, something I used to devote whole weekends too, has not escaped me.  I’m adrift in this white walled, way too quiet apartment lately just trying to find my footing.

Sure, my new life lately is 100% taking care of the little lady, so I wouldn’t have time to wipe my ass if it weren’t for the 8 hours I spend at work.

It’s amazing how all of those moms used to smile and nod at me, they knew.  Those bitches.  They knew the second my daughter was pulled from me I would never be the same.  Not in ways I expected though. I thought I’d worry about protecting her or worry about providing for her sure.  I knew I would find happiness in new ways, but I never thought I would need to mourn the old ways a little too.  I would happily put off my personal interests for storytime at the Library.  My new hobbies are bathtimes, stories and snuggles.

And I am so insanely happy and fortunate.  I don’t lose sight of that.  Oh dear god am I so in love with that little girl.  I get surprised at how these new details of our life excite me.  I find myself telling coworkers no to invites for cocktails after work so I can delight in giving her a bath every night.  I hurried and got groceries yesterday so I wouldn’t miss putting on her PJs.  I long for weekends so I can sit in our house and just play on the floor with her.  I smile when I feel her climbing up my legs for me to pick her up.  Hell, this morning I found myself on Google looking up joining a MOM Group that I could take her too on the weekends.  Dear sweet baby Jesus, what has happened to me?

Yet I admit, there are times I feel restless.  So are these the sacrifices we make for our kids then?  Willingly, we give up our dinner parties, our high heels, our shopping, naps, showers, sex…all those vain materialistic things from our 20’s for a new life of Yo Gabba Gabba and finger paints and suburbs full of stuck up white people.  We do it whole-heartedly, but is it okay to daydream about those vain hobbies for a bit while emptying the Diaper Champ without feeling like you are being a bad mom?

Just to secure my place as a huge entitled asshole, I’ll throw this out there: Is being a mom enough?  How come I keep looking back at that stupid apartment and that big overpriced city and wanting both lives still?  Why don’t I just settle into this role and shut the hell up?

She will leave one day.  I don’t want to find myself 20 years from now not knowing my husband or what in the hell to do with myself now that she’s backpacking in Europe.  I refuse to be a shell, not knowing who I am after she’s gone.  I refuse to get lost completely in raising my children, but at the same time I don’t want to take them for granted either.  I want her to know I’m a person, a whole person that loves her no matter what but still makes time to stay me.

Dear Life: I’m patiently awaiting my guidebook for all this.  Please Mr. Postman, note my forwarding address.

-Lulu

Next week’s subject: Nap?  Nap, hell.  You clean when they sleep.