On this 'Conflict' thing

My husband is great. He brought home this Marie Claire article (ripped from a gym mag) because he knew it would be right up my alley. I hadn't talked with him about the Badinter book which asserts that certain aspects of motherhood are oppressive and lower the status of women, but he knows how I feel about this stuff. I won't bother discussing too much of the overarching concepts, it's been done, and done well, already. One of the best discussions I've seen has been between Katie Allison Granju (of whom I'm not exactly a fan, but somewhat indifferent) and the notorious (to me) Hannah Rosin on Slate (it's a six-part thing, as of now). I'm just going to ramble a little about my personal thoughts and feelings on this thing.

I just have to say, I really, really don't care what other people do. I might used to have an axe to grind, but I am over that now. There have got to be little minor sparks of light that make people different and these things can just be more of those. What I do care about is when people sniff and snuff at the things I choose to do that are actually quite normal and suggest I am oppressed or brainwashed. I'm not. And I am certainly put off by the idea that as an "educated" woman, I have a responsibility to all of womankind to express my privilege and "liberation" in the manner prescribed by the leading feminist voices of the time, so as not to, you know, lower the status of women. Sorry, I'm more interested in the status of my daughter. Call me selfish.

I didn't even know about "attachment parenting" (AP) or that the things I would do quite naturally out of the box as a new mother were part of a philosophy. I did them mostly because they seemed like obvious choices (to me) and were easy (for me). Or, easier than the alternatives. (I recall a quick past post, Crunchy by Convenience...) Using formula and not being able to breastfeed just never even occurred to me. I don't remember my mom breastfeeding, though I know she did. I remember giving a baby I babysat bottles, but I guess I was kind of clueless about the formula versus breastmilk thing. I hate having to have a bunch of very specific supplies for things (I use wine bottle as a rolling pin and have minimal kitchen gadgets, for example, I like running because all you need is shoes, you get the idea) and I hate cleaning, so bottles, for me, would have been a nightmare. Easier to just whip out my breast as needed! It was no problem having to be with the baby all the time because I wanted to be with the baby all the time. I'd gone out partying for, like, at least 15 years before having a baby at 35, so I wasn't really itching for that. I was, you know, a grown up with a baby!

As far as co-sleeping, quite frankly, it was the best way I could actually get sleep while my kid was a baby and it rolled into an arrangement I'm quite comfortable with still to this day. I lay down with her and read my Kindle (or pass out) while I cuddle her and she falls asleep. Then after a while I break out and enjoy the rest of my night, if I'm not too tired. She can go to sleep on her own, of course, it comes with some argument when it must happen, because who wouldn't prefer to be cuddled to sleep? Oh right...my husband! Which is why not sleeping in bed with him when I don't feel like it doesn't matter. Sex and sleep are two very different things, which many co-sleeping critics just can't seem to get their heads around. And they must be very unimaginative. 

This is one of Badinter's gripes, that co-sleeping and such creates a rift between husband and wife. It doesn't have to, though. After skimming the article and homing in on Badinter's emphasis on the importance of not letting sex fall to the wayside after becoming a mother, I asked my husband if he thought breastfeeding and co-sleeping, or having a kid in general has affected our sex life. He said, "Well it's more vanilla..." I argued that the frequency was about the same (and better than most from statistics I read) and that I am not willing to pay a babysitter for us to go "swing" (haha). So we'll have to be like those 60-year-olds we saw on our honeymoon when we went to Cap D'Adge. But, I digress, quite frankly, it's not the childcare that saps my sex drive, its the vicissitudes of life and my own head. Nothing about the logistics of where people sleep.

And, more about husbands and AP. All I have seen from the culture, now that I am aware of it, has been really involved dads who babywear, et cetera, and are on-board with it all. My personal take is that early infancy is largely the domain of the mom, and for me there was little escaping that and I didn't want to. As my child started getting older, though, and certainly now, my husband plays a huge role, especially for someone who works full time outside of the home. He often spends whole Saturday afternoons with her while I read or do some other stuff I want to do and have "me" time.

As far as diapering, I did use disposable for about 9 months. I felt like I didn't want to be bothered with diapers til I had the mothering thing down. Then my baby got so deliciously fat from all the breastmilk she was drinking around the clock that the disposables didn't fit her chubby little legs right so I explored cloth and fell in love with the cute styles and that was it. It was no big deal to wash them either. Really, no big deal. 

I could go into the same boring details about making my own baby food. I mean, why shouldn't babies, when they're ready to eat, just eat mashed up versions of real food anyway? And how hard is it to mash up an avocado, a banana or a baked sweet potato? Uhm, not hard.

When it was time for my maternity leave to be over (16 weeks where I live, which I funded through acquired sick leave over the course of my 7 years with the organization), I decided she was too precious and I couldn't leave her. Thus began my lovely now nearly 5-year sabbatical from full-time office drudgery, including the hour commute, and my foray into independent consulting. I fear (fear is not the right word, but am not exactly chomping at the bit to...) going back to the grind one day, actually, as inevitable as it seems as my kid gets older and goes on her way through school.

So, I don't get the oppression. It's "oppressive" to have to work for a living, but most adults accept that.

My part-time hobby has been hate-reading (I've really got to stop, but...) and so I would actually love to read The Conflict, but I refuse to give this bitch any of my money, and it doesn't appear to be in the library system, yet. I've purchased other books of people I don't particularly care for, but I can't do it for this one. As Granju points out in her Slate posts, Badinter is a billionaire executive of a PR company representing some of the biggest formula interests out there. And while I am not as much a formula/big business hater as some, I do think they push the envelope when it comes to being the ones who truly pressure women, so it is more than a little disingenuous for Badinter to come out with these high-minded views about pressure on mothers today.

It seems to me the AP contingent is pretty limited and it's still looked on as "funny" (or quaint, or "isn't she a cute little hippie) to do a lot of the things we do, like extended breastfeeding especially and the co-sleeping. So I would hardly say there's this huge pressure. Also, most moms, whether they want to or not, do go back to work after six months probably at the longest. I'm the one that feels a little like the freakish weirdo here—not that I don't secretly like that a little bit!

On a broader scale policy level (because I guess I just do have to go there) I think that denying women's biology—we have babies, we lactate, most of us actually want to be with the babies for at least a good number of months probably beyond six when they're first born—and forcing them into the mold of maleness in the name of equality is not the answer. Setting up state-run creches, having moms strap machines to their breasts while they're working, or manufacturing faux milk so they can work (work, work, work—how some idolize work) seems all like trying to jam square pegs in round holes to me. I think a truly progressive society allows for different types of people to contribute and does best to be innovative in coming up with ways to enhance what people naturally want to do instead of patchworking or slapping band-aids on reality to make a woman match up perfectly with a man.

New perspectives on family support, no thanks to contemporary feminists

The recent discussion of The Conflict (French "philosopher" Elisabeth Badinter's screed blaming what she calls "natural" and "intensive" mothering for lowering women's status) has predictably turned into a moanfest among Americans on the NYT Motherlode, and other internet venues, that we just don't get the same support they do in France (and other European countries) and doesn't that suck.

In my last post I questioned how so many Americans are saying that they can't afford to stay home OR to put their children in day care. I mean, they afford it because they have to do one or the other, obviously, but is it really such a crunch? I was accused of living in a bubble and so on and so forth and I will admit here and now that maybe that is somewhat true. The people I know all can afford it—either staying home or using childcare. I suspect most of the people who read and post to the NYT can also afford it, which is what gets me so cranky. These are the people who have cable, smart phones, minivans, multiple children, get professional portraits taken of their multiple children, shop at Gymboree for their multiple children, have parties at non-home venues for their multiple children, go on nice vacations, eat premium foods—you get the picture. No slam against these people, but please don't tell me how hard it is to get along. But, maybe that's just my bubble.

Now, if you're talking about seriously poor ghetto or Appalachia types, that's another story. Of course. I guess the problem for me is—where one ends and the other begins. Is there a sharp line, is it just a matter of degree, and, I am sort of coming around to the idea that collective help for everybody might be a good idea. I just can't escape what I know about how everyone I know, and even people with less money than my peers and I, live. It seems like there's a lot of excess there and why can't we just help the people who really need help rather than sign up for some weird feminist/socialist utopia that seems to me to be more about bolstering over-educated women who didn't marry well and want to be assured of their fulfillment that they are not open-minded enough to find in the children that nobody is forcing them to have.

I think yappy feminists have ruined it for me.

Let me just say that I consider myself a feminist in the sense that I think women should have full sovereignty over their own bodies and lives. Articles like this, highlighting the egregious flaws of "personhood" measures, for example, make my blood begin to boil. I think women should be able to do and be whatever they want to be. BUT the voices that proclaim women who want to dedicate themselves to motherhood (or for whatever reason, NOT doing all the stuff feminists say they should want to do) make me seriously want to distance myself from feminism. Those who warn of husbands leaving, women losing themselves, those who say they'd be so bored at home with a small child (implying it's because they are just so intellectual they couldn't bear it), these are the types that ruin it for me.

But then I learn about people that actually are disadvantaged, that actually do need help and I can change my tune about not wanting to support others.

A couple nights ago we watched a doc called The Interruptors. The film tells the story of three "violence interrupters" who try to protect their Chicago communities from the violence they once employed. It examines a year in which Chicago drew national headlines for violence and murder that plagued the city. A key player in the film is Gary Slutkin, M.D., Executive Director of Ceasefire, an organization that uses a public health model to mitigate urban violence in Chicago. Dr. Slutkin, an epidemiologist, explains in the film that violence is like a disease. His group's strategy is to treats it like a disease and prevent its spread. He says "When one event doesn't occur, other events don't occur and the neighborhood remains safer. Treating violence like a disease is something that we began to do about 15 years ago when we began to see that violence had characteristics like other infectious diseases. That is to say, one event, in this case a shooting, leads to another shooting just the way a case of flu or case of measles leads to another case of flu or another case of measles. So therefore, of course, we need to interrupt the spread."

And it dawned on me that these people are the people who need the free quality childcare and got me thinking that problems with education and general development, beyond violence and criminality, can also be viewed as a "disease" and that the people are not necessarily bad people, they are just afflicted with this disease.

I don't want to sound greedy. I don't want it to sound like I don't want to be taxed for a program that might help people who don't really need it—like my peers and those a little "poorer" than us—if such a program would also help those really in need.

At the same time, I feel like my way of life and the way I grew up with—mom at home with small children, the freedom, the creativity, the opportunity to bolster individuality—is under attack to some extent. We are called "privileged" when all we've done is work, get an education and prioritize, things that seemingly anyone could do, but for some reasons they don't. We are derided as living in a bubble when what we are doing is focusing on making our lives work.

All I can say at this point is that I am very grateful to have had the opportunity to give my kid the kind of early childhood I want for her. The rest will have to simmer in the murky gurglings of my brain for a while, because I don't have a clear cut position.

Sick of it all, going to hang with my 'Friends'

I want to stop blogging. So stop, right?

Like one or two people read this, aside from the random times I might post a link in a comment to something else on the web.

I find that so much of what I read online is hate-reading. I know I am going to disagree or get riled about something and I read it and I do. Is this a valuable use of my time? Am I wasting precious moments of my life on foolish things?

When I first made the decision to stay home with my kid for a few years I told a friend I would have so much fun...on the side, you know...learn Portuguese, learn to play guitar...while caring for my child and working part-time, of course. She sneered, "Good luck with that!" Knowing, I guess, because her sister had kids that it might have been a bit of an ambitious hope. I also wanted to learn to code (that very generic phrase people use about getting more technical: maybe Javascript, Ajax, JQuery, Ruby, Python—but so far, it has not been something I've enjoyed after trying and I have to admit, I'm not feeling motivated toward that). Thing is, it would NOT have been all that ambitious if I didn't waste so much goddamn time reading and arguing about "parenting" (and related feminist, political, etc....) issues online!

There are just so many annoying things out there that stick in my craw and I feel compelled to respond to. But why? The people putting out that stuff surely don't care what I say. And there is a whole, huge, big nation of people in middle America...Kansas, Indiana, Minnesota...small towns in my home state of Illinois, even blue-collar background types like myself in the city of Chicago...who think all this political/feminist/parenting philosophy stuff is hogwash, bullshit, waste of time, nobody's business and they are just going along with their lives, working their low-paying retail jobs part time, or even staying home in their crappy fixer-upper houses with their 2.5 kids and having wonderfully happy lives. So, I need to stop getting stuck in the idea that everyone's a NYT-reading socialist feminist that I have to argue with.

The places I land on the web tell me different, of course. The latest annoyances being: feminists who actually think griping to Lego about their cute "Friends" line is important, worthwhile work; another article that devolves into highlighting the Lego Friends gripe as an example of modern feminism at work; and a discussion on the NYT Motherlode about the Badinter book on Conflict, bemoaning the "Depressing Lot of the Conflicted American Mother."

On the last point, a discussant caries on about how it's not an ideology that is causing the conflict for American mothers, but rather, economics. (In her post she also notes how Hanan Rosin's breastfeeding article had freed her from the notion that breastfeeding was very important, and so I can make the judgment that she's not very bright—beside the point, but worth noting.) She writes:

I suppose my parting thought about this would be that for most women who don’t have incredibly high paying jobs or wealthy spouses, these “choices,” about work and family aren’t actually choices. We weigh our particular circumstances and attempt to figure out the best course of action. The notion that scads of women are chucking fulfilling jobs to be handmaidens to idealized, natural motherhood just doesn’t ring true to me.

And my thought was that, what on earth are people spending all their money on that they can't afford either staying home, or child care, without thinking that the government should kick in to help them manage their personal affairs? Aside from any value judgment on what is better, both options seem reasonably affordable for normal middle-class working people who don't expect the world for nothing, right? Data shows that 30-40% of mothers with children under 6 do stay home, so it's not unheard of or impossible. I had neither an "incredibly high paying job" nor a "wealthy spouse" and I don't think our family is all that unique. Maybe we are? I don't know. On one hand, I am not completely closed to the idea that some government help might be, overall, in the long run, valuable to society and might help elevate everyone. But on the other hand, I don't see philosophically why these sorts of things should be the government's business and I would worry about abuse of benefits and huge waste, as well as the danger of giving the government a foothold into our personal lives...

In any case, I am so over all this. So, for my own well being I am going to take a break from the sphere of parenting "news" and instead of reading and commenting on stupid articles slamming Lego Friends blocks, I am going to play with my kid with her Lego Friends blocks...and maybe learn some Portuguese and guitar in my spare time, too! I may not have much longer in this at-home-mom gig and I don't want to waste my time!

Perfection ends at home

* colors are weird! see footnote!

I'm a bit of a perfectionist professionally. I've never missed a deadline. Once my computer died right in the middle of a client's newsletter cycle. I went out and bought a new one, installed all the needed software and got the job done on time—with my near two-year-old in tow the whole time. Somewhere on the internet there is a press release posted to a website, dated my child's birthday. The actual day my kid was born. I think I posted that early in labor, sometime mid-day. Not only am I on time for clients (and employers) but I'm on point. Everyone makes mistakes once in a while, of course, but a perfectionist genuinely feels bad about a mistake, fixes it promptly, apologizes and does better next time.

In my personal life, it's a whole other story!

The past couple of weekends I've been doing some home improvement projects and my lack of perfectionism in my own life for my own things really was thrown in my own face—by me. I paint as well as I can. I hate the process of taping off ceilings and trim, though, and while I told myself this time I'd do it, I did about 4 feet of taping, got impatient and decided—screw it, I have a good and steady hand and I can do it without tape. For the most part I did and it looks fine. That's me. Fine. The hallway by our bedrooms still isn't done and I don't think I'm going to make my self-imposed deadline of this Friday because I'm just over it, and I am totally OK with that. It will get done when it gets done.

Another weekend project was installing a backsplash in my kitchen. Overall, for a non-handy person, I think it looks pretty good and I am proud of it. Is it perfect? No! And I'm not going to waste my time detailing all the ways it's not perfect. No normal person who comes to the house would probably notice (OK, they might, no slam against them, but would they care? I sure don't think so!)

As long as we're talking about imperfection and missed goals, let's talk about my body! I've been scribbling out and rewriting weight loss goals on my calendar all year. I have been losing weight, and I am generally fine with my body, but ideally, I need to lose 10-15 pounds. I have small victories, in fits and starts, and I have no doubt that eventually I will reach my goal, but, if I was doing this weight loss and getting in shape work for a client, I'd have been fired by now!

And...this is so unlike me...this Sketchbook Project thing I signed up for? Due postmarked next week? I'm scrambling to get it done. I never scramble at the last minute on projects for others. But, that's just how it goes sometimes when you are self-employed, your own projects come only after your client projects—and all the work of holding the house together—are done. (I won't even go into detail on how far behind I am on my Code Academy lessons!)

Taking a break from all the home improvement projects, I went to hot yoga yesterday. Here, my imperfection smacked me upside the head like a 2x4! Sweating my ass off, struggling to hold poses I'm not nearly as deep into as I should be, feeling so tired, almost broken. But instead of breaking, I melt. I ooze into my imperfection and my thoughts go to my dear husband and child at home, playing together, somehow getting along with out me so I may have this time. And I think of how much they love me, as imperfect as I am, and it's so wonderful!

Clients and bosses don't love you. They may like you a lot, you may do a great job for them, like I do. I get so much satisfaction from a job well done and having people paying me for my work being very pleased with what I've done for them. But, oh, how much more satisfaction do I get from people who love me NOT for my perfection, but without even a thought of my imperfection! They love me because I am me and because I am theirs! They just appreciate that I do things like paint and try to keep up our house and make them food and cuddle them. I don't have to be a professional at any of it for them—though I am a damn good cook!

* A word about color: The color in these photos looks a little off and I don't have time to futz with the settings, but in person, I'm happy with it! A friend asked which shot best represented the color and it kind of depends where you stand and which lights are on. Neither pic looks quite right to me, but the rosier I think are closer. I would say the colors are fairly neutral bluish greys, but the darkest grey, when you're in the room picks up the purple-ish counters (which I don't want to keep forever anyway, but felt like I had to work with for the time being...) just wanted something very basic and neutral without being just plain white or cream.

Unexpected wisdom

So I mentioned in last week's post that I was reading Bloom (finding beauty in the unexpected) by Kelle Hampton and that it was helping me fall asleep (perhaps implying it was boring). I never read her blog, but I'd heard about the book and thought it would be up my alley in the sense that I like to read about how people overcome hardships. It's inspirational for me and I like to be reminded that I should be grateful for my life. See, she had a baby who was born with Down syndrome, Nella, and she was totally not ready for this. I thought the book would detail the hardships, the sorrow, the awful feelings, the difficulties.

It wasn't like that at all, though, it was mostly about joy and how she had so many friends that helped her through it, and so, yeah, it was a little boring, til somewhere along the line, about halfway through, she seemed to dig deeper into the challenging feelings she was having and it started to hit me. And I saw, too, that including so much good stuff is really necessary in her telling her story.

Sure, in the beginning, she admitted some pretty heavy feelings of disappointment that Nella was not the "perfect" baby she'd imagined, even saying she wanted to take her older, "normal" child and run away. I totally got this and didn't judge at all. I am pretty sure I would have felt the same—and worse. But the sadness in the beginning was quickly (and I mean quickly) trumped by the fact that she had a really, really strong support system of friends and family. Hampton is one of those women who is really into ceremony, pretty things, celebrations, making big, crafty, coordinated deals out of stuff—which is soooo not me and was mildly grating at first. But, in a way, it made her memoir all the more intense because of the contrast that provided when she didn't have the "perfect" baby. In the end, though, her flair and attention to beauty, and her inclusion of her baby Nella in her cutesy ways, I think was part of what helped her overcome the emotional challenges of the situation (that and her network of friends). Hampton just tried to approach life one day at a time and keep things are "normal" as possible—and Nella is absolutely adorable in the many pictures included in the book.

It wasn't the friends and the keeping things normal and the one day at a time that hit me most, though, it was her observations toward the end, after she faced thoughts of the future, realizing having an older child, or grown child with Down Syndrome would be very different from having a baby with it. She says:

The thing is, we don't really know what the future looks like. And that thought takes my breath away just as much as it calms me into a place where I am forced to enjoy this very moment.

How true are those words for anybody and everybody?

And what really got to me, and what is really lacking for me personally, is her revelation about the interconnectedness of people. She says:

I realized that day, for the first time, that finally Down syndrome meant something to me beyond my own girl. It was a part of my life, but I recognized it was a part of a lot of other people's lives too. And if it wasn't Down syndrome, it was something. I felt connected to everyone there is a way I hadn't in a long time, but I also felt guilty—ashamed that it took my own pain, my own connection to this new world to bring me here, to the larger picture...

...Since Nella was born I have contemplated my own selfishness and the need to feel comfortable in life to the point that I could write a thesis on it...challenged myself...to...open my comfort receptors to the vast degree of misfortune that exists in the world but ultimately thrusts us toward growth and understanding.

Just when you think someone is all matching jumpers, hot pink flower headbands and fluff, they go and drop serious knowledge like that on you, and you, too are so humbled. (At least I was.)

In researching for this post, I Googled "Kelle Hampton" to try to find other reactions and material on the web, and was a little surprised to find Google self-populate with terms like "Kelle Hampton hate" and "Kelle Hamtpon annoying." How can you actually hate on someone with a disabled child who is earnest and sweet and open, no matter what little personality clashes you may have with them? It seems like other people with disabled children feel they have license to hate because they're living it, too, and they resent Hampton's alleged veneer of "perfection." That's their prerogative, I guess, but it rubs me the wrong way in much the same way the Scary Mommy book in that it seems like so much bitterness and sour grapes to hate on someone who is "doing it," who is happy and having success, and totally rocking it. And make no mistake, Kelle Hampton set out to "rock it" with mothering Nella (and her older child) and she is. She worked hard putting herself out there and with fundraising for others before that baby was even a year old! She glows, her children glow and she is inspiring!

Bloom reminded me of the importance of people coming together, the importance of being open. I have a tendency to close myself in. To think I am so different from most people. To be judgmental. Even when I try to work on my spirituality for a couple of weeks, I then backslide into my old self. I shudder to think of what awful lessons and pain I might have to suffer through to internalize the lesson I obviously need to learn. I stop myself and am so grateful I have not, so far, had to suffer, and think I better take the lesson from books as I can and get more serious about an attitude change.


POSTSCRIPT:
I think if I had a child with Down syndrome, I would end up approaching it just the same way Hampton did in terms of trying to live life and "normally" as possible. Dressing the kid up cute. Doing as much as you could do NOT differently. I, too, would have trouble with support groups and I wonder if I would "succumb" as she did. I remember when I was pregnant I had what I felt was a "scare" about Downs syndrome. That she didn't test is huge, to me. I would always test, which I know says something kind of awful about me that I just don't know what else to say about. At the same time, I think that if I birthed a baby with a disability such as this, I would, too, fiercely rise to the occasion. Following is an old blog entry from that time.

From February 2007

So I’m feeling a little wacked out with what I guess are typical pregnant mom worries and just need to get it all out.

My stats: I’m 34 years old, 21 weeks pregnant with my fist child right now, will just have turned 35 when the baby is born. In my first tri, I had the nuchal fold screen for Downs, etc. done and got back very encouraging results showing a very low risk (like 1 in 6,000).

Then at the appropriate time, I got the quad screen. When my midwife called to tell me the results, she told me I was negative for NTDs and Trisomy 18, and that we didn’t need to worry about the Downs results, since I had already had the nuchal fold and those were so good. I accepted this at the time, and we discussed how the nuchal fold tests were much more reliable than the AFP/quad screen tests for Downs. But, what she did NOT tell me was that the results from the AFP were actually in for the Downs risk and they showed an increased risk of about 1 in 135 or something. I just happened to find this out yesterday when I came in for a checkup and actually looked through my chart myself.

Now, I understand that the AFPs are notorious for “false positives” and that the nuchal fold is better for detecting Downs, so I shouldn’t worry. And I understand that this is perhaps why the midwife who reported the results of my second screen reported them in the way she did…perhaps to avoid alarming me. I spoke to another midwife at the practice yesterday, and she concurred that I should not worry about the AFP results because the nuchal fold results were so good. She even said that once patients get the nuchal fold, they don’t even usually get screened again with a quad that includes Downs, but only a screen for NTDs.

But, I still am feeling a little weird about all this…I really don’t think getting an amnio is a good idea at this point, since by the time I get the results, it would be too late to do anything about them. So, I’m just trying to have a positive attitude and trust that all will be well…

I decided to go for an ultrasound as soon as possible, just to sort of assuage my fears by looking at the little organs and stuff, and since I heard that the 20-week ultrasound is standard practice in the traditional medicine. We’ll see how that goes. For now, we’re off to New York for a weekend getaway.

Hideous, kinky

I'm so over the male domination in sexuality thing.

I don't want to be dominated. I don't want to be spanked. I don't want to be tied up, pissed on, cummed on or passively fucked in the mouth. (I will give blowjobs, though...uhm to my husband, just to be clear, that's not an open invitation.)

Last night we watched A Dangerous Method, a historical drama wherein a patient of Carl Jung falls in love with him as they work through her issues, which include being turned on by humiliation and what I see as abuse. I just rolled my eyes and groaned. It was very timely in the wake of the much maligned Katie Roiphe essay in Newsweek linking BDSM to women's economic success, and its mention of the wildly popular book, Fifty Shades of Gray and HBO's new show Girls. Apparently, getting off on getting treated like shit is all the rage among the younger set. Or is it?

I can't really tell what sex-positive feminists (as they like to call themselves) think for sure except just that maybe everyone should do what they want to do, and if that includes getting spanked, then go for it? It does seem that they just like to dis Katie Roiphe because she copped to really digging her newborn baby (and stuff like that...)

I know old Dan Savage, who I like, and mostly find myself agreeing with, would say that as long as it's consensual and "safe," it's a go, and most other forward-thinking sex experts would agree.

My husband even agrees. When I say there's something wrong with you if you like pain, he says "But it's a controlled pain."

On one hand, I get it. I used to have fantasies about being dominated and humiliated, although not hit per se, but maybe spanked, sure. I remember thinking Secretary was hot, back in the day. When I was a teenager I had an Arab guy fetish for a while because of all the cultural stereotypes about how they boss around their women and are domineering (no matter that the Arab guys I had crushes on were totally Westernized and just hot). And I ended up marrying a Greek guy who actually did hit me and not for role-playing purposes (and the domination fantasies persisted even after we broke up).

But, all that stuff just seems so over to me now, though. And I remember when the news came out last year about the supposedly enlightening and groundbreaking live sex demonstration as part of a very liberated class at Chicago's Northwestern University, I was so disappointed to learn that it featured male penetration of a female, with a power-tool-like dildo. This is forward thinking? Sounds rather cliché to me. Same ol, same ol.

Does this mean I have not achieved the level of success and independence that would have me longing to play out the fantasy of being submissive? I don't think so. Even though I am sort of a housewife, who lives in a household wherein my husband's salary plays a huge role in supporting us, as I make half of what I used to when I worked full time outside of the home, I know that at any point I could go out and get a bigger job and somehow make it on my own, if I had to. And, more importantly, I work part-time in my field doing something I love, and isn't that what they say most moms want? So, while I am appreciative of my husband, I don't feel a huge, ultimate dependence on him. I feel pretty equal in ways that it matters.

With all I know about the horrible things that happen in the world like trafficking and abuse of women, with what I've read about the years and years of history in which women were systemically subjugated by men, I just can't now get turned on by the idea of someone being brutish to me, or doing the thing of "hurting" me, followed by sweet comfort, or humiliating me. I don't think we're out of the woods yet enough to play that way, and I'm not sold on the idea that it would ever be a good, healthy idea to play that way. Would I want my daughter, when she is of age, being treated this way? Maybe I just don't compartmentalize my life enough—sex here, work here, friends here, family here. It's whole for me, to a large degree. It's not that I'm not imaginative or capable of fantasy, either. Really, how imaginative is it for a woman to be dominated by a man? Like I said, it's been going on for millenia.

Right now, I want to be massaged. I want to be pampered. I want to be serviced, maybe even worshipped a little, like the goddess that I am.

Why I would have been turned on by abuse (feigned or not) in my younger years, I'm unsure of. It may be because I had a domineering father who hit me, but of course loved me, and that was my vision of what men were supposed to be? How did I grow out of that? Lots of living and reading, maybe. Maybe becoming a mother to a girl. What about men who like being dominated? Is growing out of it something all women should do, but just have not yet? I think most sex-positive types would say NO, it's not a pathology or something you need to grow out of or overcome, it's a choice. But, I'm not so sure...

My gift

I was supposed to get a massage today and have lunch with my husband in the city. It is his Christmas gift to me. I was so riled up this morning about how I was going to get down there (at least 30 minutes, but up to 45 or more depending on traffic and parking), get the massage, meet him for lunch, have lunch and get back in time for preschool pick up. It was really stressing me out. I rushed my daughter around to be sure we could drop off at school right when they opened. I felt bad about that. Then I knew I had to get gas. I was so nervous, I hit wrong keys on the pump and the thing froze so I had to go to a new pump. I only filled up halfway because I was in a such a hurry. I realized I forgot my gift certificate at home so I rushed back, got it, but left my sunglasses on my desk, and I am totally a sunglasses person! Then I took off—45 in a 25 through my neighborhood. I gunned the gas and passed some old man on the road. I was a little bit of a menace, actually. I was so nervous. So anxious. I knew I shouldn't be dashing around in a car like this. Something was sure to go wrong. I called the massage place and asked if I could cancel. Since it was a gift certificate they really couldn't impose their penalty on me, and I explained to them I just didn't think I could make it in time and I'd reschedule for a Saturday. They seemed cool with it. Then I called my husband and told him we were off for today. He protested mildly, but had no choice but to accept my decision.

I'd told him before thanks for the gift idea but it's really too much to pack in during preschool time with the driving and all. I'd be so freaked out and mortified if I was late for pickup. Plus, an hour massage doesn't just take an hour. You have to get there 10-15 minutes early. You have to ease out of it and not dash right off. And, you're really not supposed to down beer and pizza (as was his plan) right after a massage either. He just didn't get it and kept pushing.

He often pushes me into things that I'm not thrilled about. Too tight schedules. Too many errands. An outing I don't really want to do when I'd rather just spend time at home either relaxing to doing some much needed work that needs to be done (and there is always something.) I'm glad he's there to balance me, so that I do go out and do things and enjoy life, maybe stretch beyond my comfort zone sometimes...but I'm glad I put my foot down and said no this time. This massage, this lunch, these things are supposed to be my gifts. They are things I should be able to have on my terms, not rushed, not adding to my stress level.

So I turned around before I got on the highway and headed home. I got an iced Americano from Starbucks and set about getting my living room back in order after it had been torn apart for the last three days for painting (with items spilling over into our office). Things like this make me nuts, too. The disarray. Like an itch that needs scratching and won't be quelled. I put the furniture back. Hung pictures back up. Much better. Order. I listened to samba, sipped my drink. At times, I just sat on the sofa taking breaks and listening to the music, feeling the cool breezes from outside waft through the house. Now this was actually relaxing.

Practice what you preach: Do we value moms in early childhood or do we not? And what is government's role, anyway?

The left is now taking umbrage at remarks of Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney made concerning moms on welfare going to work. (Note, I am not pro-Romney by any stretch, and plan on voting for Obama, even though I'm not altogether thrilled with him, he's what we have right now and he's centrist enough to not be too dangerous either way, in my opinion. This is not the first time I've felt at odds with the "progressive" agenda.) "Women who stay at home to raise their children should be given federal assistance for child care so that they can enter the job market and have the dignity of work," Romney said in January, according to the Huffington Post article linked. Questions about whether staying home with kids is work and what constitutes "dignity" aside (for now), I don't see the problem with this when we consider it through the lens of the post-feminist world we're now living in.

All around the internet I constantly see working- and middle-class women and men calling for federally-subsidized childcare. You can't even question whether daycare is good for little ones or not without getting flamed. That infants and young children spend their days in centers or homes other than their own, being cared for by paid workers, not mom (or dad) seems to be normal and very much accepted in our society today. This situation, in fact, is even encouraged by many as good for socializing the baby/child and, of course, good for the mom, whether she needs to work for money or her own glorious personal fulfillment, which of course, could not possibly be found in caring for her child(ren) (if only for a few short years). I hear cautionary tales from women who felt they had to stay in the workforce just in case their husband left them and because they wanted to be independent. I guess those calling for subsidized childcare don't have a problem being dependent on a government program, though. Who's your daddy?

But anyway, about if daycare is "good enough" (or again even good—as is argued) for middle-class kids, then why is it not good for poor kids? Ideologically, you can't have it both ways. Is daycare bad or not? If it's not bad, as everyone seems to say it's not (I have my own views on this) then what's the problem with having a poor woman be working or seeking work as a condition for her federal financial assistance? If middle class people supposedly must send their kids to daycare to make ends meet, why should a poor person NOT have to send their kids to daycare, and then get assistance? Just because it breaks certain people's hearts to not be with their young children doesn't mean daycare is bad, right?

Or maybe it is?

Anyone who's familiar with me or my writing knows that I would not put my under-two in daycare if I had any choice whatsoever in the matter. That said, do I think it is permanently damaging or horrible to the point that I couldn't bear it if I was in the situation that I had to, truly, truly had to? No. The kid will muddle through. I kind of have a problem inasmuch as it's my business (it's not) with people who can afford to not work, or scale back, who put infants in daycare, but at the end of the day, it's not my business. When you talk public policy, though, it sort of becomes the business of anyone who pays taxes or has to share the country, and its public schools, public problems, etc. with the other millions of Americans out there.

So, maybe we need to ask again and not be afraid of the answer—is daycare good for kids under 2, or 3, or whatever, or not? And what role or responsibility does the government have in this area of people's lives? I don't have all the answers, but the feminist voices on the left seem very inconsistent on this to me.

I understand what the left is trying to do. They're trying to spotlight what they perceive to be inconsistencies with Romney's position on the value of stay-at-home moms (SAHMs)—all of this, by the way, is a stupid deflection away from much more important economic policies that need attention. They say that the Romneys took umbrage at Hilary Rosen's assertion that Ann Romney "didn't work" because she was a SAHM. Whether she "worked" or not is certainly up for debate, though it's unimportant and petty, in my view. And it should noted that Romney didn't say he's getting his info on what women want from his wife based on HER personal experience, it's based on what she's been hearing from the women she's been talking to on the campaign trail...so, it doesn't really matter whether Ann Romney worked outside of the home or not. It's about what the women she interacts with are saying...for whatever that is worth. But the left now says that Romney's insistence that welfare moms have to work "for their dignity" implies that women who don't work outside the home lack dignity and is also inconsistent with the respect we're supposed to have for Ann for staying home. Well, yes, poor choice of words for Mitt. Wouldn't be the first time.

What they don't seem to understand, or want to admit, is that Ann Romney married well (at least in terms of money) and therefore is not at the mercy of what the state doles out and the rules the state makes in order for her to get the dole (though she may be at the mercy of Mitt, which is a whole other story). For one thing, you can't enforce fairness. Everyone gets dealt a different hand. Another issue is, this ties in to another lie of feminism—that men don't matter. They totally do matter if you're going to have a kid and it shouldn't take a genius to see that having a well-earning, engaged partner is a plus. Some lose out to bad luck in the daddy department and for them, yes, there should be safety nets. We should help. But the notion that a person can do it on their own (or with help from the government) as opposed to respecting the value of an actual family unit should not be a basis for policy.

Alternately, women who can support themselves financially by whatever means (college degrees, successful careers, etc.), aren't at the mercy of the state, even if they are professional, single-by-choice moms, which I'm not a fan of, but, that's their choice and they're self sufficient, at least.

Not everyone has a good man or a good job, and that's just how it shakes out sometimes. When the state provides benefits it has to do the basics and is not always concerned about what's best for people (think of the formula-focused WIC program, the government funded food programs—school lunches and such). These programs are concerned with people getting by (and perhaps providing kickbacks to companies and interests who supply the "free" shit that the need y get) not really flourishing. It's up to us as individuals to make the flourish part happen.

What Mitt should have said was that we can't be paying moms to stay home with kids because some will just take advantage and have kid after kid after kid and never work. This, of course, would be more politically incorrect than what he actually did say. Now if you wanted to get really socialist and we could come to some consistent standard about what's good for moms and kids, I could see having mandatory classes that could include moms WITH their little ones together, and that might be a good requirement for mothers on welfare. You know, they have to learn a marketable skill, they have to learn some home economics, they have to learn about child care and development. But, is there really a will for that? I don't know. And I can already hear the argument that that's paternalistic, and maybe it is.

Maybe the best thing economically is for the welfare moms to put their kids into daycare and get their own jobs. This means jobs for them and jobs for the daycare workers, right? I don't know. I am not an economic expert. Both the jobs the moms are likely to get and the care provider jobs are low level, low paid jobs, though, so I'm not real impressed. I understand the government might have to do what's more economical /best for the economy. Can we expect government to care about what's best for children? And is what's best for children better for the economy in the long term? And do they care about the long term. It doesn't appear that the U.S. government cares about what's best for children or what's best for the long term right now and judging by past practices. Maybe this will change. I don't know.

In my view life is about more than a balance sheet, though, obviously, because I'm taking a financial hit to be with my kid more. Like with the breastfeeding issue, how can we expect the American people to support policies that are good for the nation's kids if individual middle- and upper-class parents who can won't even take the hit for their own kids?

"Choice" (the choice to stay home or go to work) is not a right. It is a privilege and one borne much out of luck, though also a good deal from hard work or merit, and often a mix of both. For women, the fact is, it's still a lot about who you marry if you are going to be a mom. How deep do you want the government to go into our personal lives to ensure some vague idea (since nobody seems to be able to agree) about what's good for kids? Or, do people want to come out and say that daycare is really not that great for little ones?

Probably neither. Each side just wants to cherry pick inconsistencies in each others' sound bites to fuel their petty political squabbles. This is why I tend toward limited government. Building roads, regulating energy, food safety and such are large-scale issues that make sense for government to handle (though I'd argue they haven't done great on even these). It doesn't appear to me that Americans have a consistent set of values and I certainly don't trust the government to know what's best with regard to the day-to-day details of my family and how I raise my children. At the end of the day, like with breastfeeding, I don't care if you put your baby in daycare or not, but I am sure glad I didn't have to—and I don't want to support policies that would threaten my ability to choose what I think is best, according to my family's means.

A day in the life...

Lots of mommy bloggers do "my day" posts, saying what they do all day. Some, I think, celebrate the fact that they don't do much. Others, reveal that they don't know how to say "no." Some are just typical, with lots about feeding, tantrums and such. One is an athletic mama who apparently spends a lot of time driving. A homeschooler. A whole buncha enterpreneur moms. And more, and more and more. These can be alternately fascinating or boring, depending on the reader, the writer or the reader's mood.

Anyway, I thought I'd do one.

Wake up 5:50 not by choice or alarm, it’s just when I happened to wake up…lay around and read crap on the internet…

Don’t want to start anything like a workout because not sure when my kid is going to wake up and want breakfast.

Can’t really start work-work because I am waiting for replies to things before I can go forward.

Check my e-mail and read total wackiness from the preschool moms about putting together a yearbook, making the kids tie dyes to change into for the BBQ after graduation since they'll be dressed up (they will?) and what we should buy the teachers and director collectively for teacher appreciation week and end of year gifts...ahhhh...I opt to throw money at them and tell them to do whatever and thanks for the cute ideas (I decline the yearbook, I don't need a $30 book filled with one or two pics of my kid and tons of kids I don't really know and she will forget in a year—they're four).

Reading the free preview of Jackie Warner’s Lose 10 Pounds in 10 Days book. Was going to buy it, but now I don’t think I have to. The concept of rapid weight loss scared me, but reading her rationale and knowing the foods she’s proposing, I think I am convinced it’s OK. I think I might go to Barnes and Noble and thumb through the rest, maybe buy it, depending.

7:20 kid still not up, think I’ll try to squeeze yoga in, could have done it by now if I started right when I woke up!

7:24 No sooner than the DVD starts, she pops out of her door. We exchange a few pleasantries. Luckily, I have some oatmeal peanut butter breakfast bars made that I toast up and ? of yesterday’s smoothie still good, so I can get her breakfast quickly and get back to my yoga.

She drips pee on her pajamas and wants to change. I figure she might as well get dressed then. I have to get her ready for school an hour before we really have to go because I have a work call at 10 (school normally starts at 10, but is late opening today at 11 for an all-important teacher meeting…what luck! And so I have to have her prepped and ready and set up with something to do by the time of my call so right after the call I can dash her off to school…) BUT, I smartly don’t put her real SHIRT on for the day in case she drips smoothie on it.

7:34 Back to yoga (that actually took longer than I thought, but oh well…).

8:05 Put dishes from last night away and make MY breakfast, make the child a snack (yes…just had breakfast but…) ? apple and peanut butter and packed her lunch.

8:27 Ate breakfast while watching Spanish DVD with kid while she plays, too, read more internet, specifically, annoying stuff stemming from the Hilary Rosen/Ann Romney buzz…more on how “hard” it is to be a SAHM, more on how society needs to pay for everyone else’s personal lives…I just can’t even take the time to post again how I feel about all that. But I will just say, 1 year loosely subsidized maternity leave (need based and for up to 2 children only) is what I think would be good for the U.S.—nothing more. No childcare subsidies (other than the current tax breaks). Manage your life, for heaven’s sake!

I really, really have to stop spending time reading these kinds of issues. I’ve totally neglected learning code like I was supposed to do this year, and my little art book project that needs to be done by April 30 is not close to being done. But these little bits of time and barbs of comments are just so much easier to fit in than focused time on real projects!

But, I digress from my schedule…

8:53 What’s this? She got marker on her pants. Guess I should have not put her in school pants either. Sigh. Take them off and spot clean. She agrees to run around in her underwear while they dry. I again marvel at her slim, lithe little body (forgot to mention this before when I was dressing her, I do this often, she is so beautiful). Reply to annoying work e-mail…

9:00 Might as well fit in a quick workout while she plays, she is playing so nicely…

9:30 Wash up, get me dressed, get kid dressed and ready for school, hang out, chat, comment on some stupid internet things (must stop) try to play with kid, but she just wants to watch the Dora I said she could watch while I am on my call, want to hold off starting til the call actually starts, hope this client is not late to the call, as she often is…

10:07 Waiting for the client’s call, though I just got an email from her for something else, adding that she’ll “talk to me soon.” Late! I hate when people are late for business things. She knows I have til 10:45 only…

10:12 Still waiting…more web surfing…can’t really get started on anything.

10:20 Sent email, she thought call was AT 10:45.

10:50 Oh well, great call. We discuss a book I am laying out. It's fun and exciting good stuff. I love talking to her when I do, so all is well. Time to take kiddo to school.

11:00 After drop off which is always annoying with people going through doors the wrong way, inarticulate little kids running amok shouting things at me and me having to pretend I know what they're saying and respond. Errands, errands, errands which are annoying. I opted to go without my kid on the errands after asking her if she felt like going after school or she wanted me to go on my own. They say you should use your time that you have childcare for important things like work or something, but I am still waiting for some replies I need before I can really dig into work, and my kid said she didn’t want to go on errands, so I figured I’d honor that wish and I could always work at home later while she played, since she likes to do that anyway and is independent.

I decided to go buy that Jackie Warner book, in one of my obsessive tears. I also needed to pick up some pottery kiddo and I had painted at one of those paint your own places. And I needed to pick up a library book that was ready for me that I'd placed on hold (Teju Cole's Open City).

I sneak peeks at the Jackie Warner book at red lights and notice there seem to be some pretty major errors in the grocery shopping lists, menus and calorie counts for her diet. I wonder how the hell this could have gotten past professional editors, especially in light of how I know we are spending so much time checking and re-checking things on that book I am working on, so I'm familiar with the process.

All the errands were pretty inconsequential, but annoying. I already had a bad taste in my mouth about that pottery place because when we went there, we had to wait quite a while even though there was nobody there and I'd made a reservation, then they tried to pass off old paint that was already out on the tables on me (and their prices are not cheap), and they were blasting awful classical music. I don't know why people assume all classical music is good or elevated or something. Sometimes it's just annoying. Anyway, so I am picking up the pretty butterflies we painted that we're going to give the grandmas (pictured above) and I go to the counter. Wait a bit longer than I think I should. Woman lumbers to the counter asks if I'm here to pick up and if they called me. I think, yeah, of course they called me, why else would I be here to pick up? I just say "yep" and give her my ticket. She gets the pieces and starts to put them in a bag, putting the thin paper ticket slip between the two ceramic butterflies as I watch. She says "Sorry I am out of tissue, I'll just put this paper between them." Well, seriously, the paper is not going to keep them from chipping. Really? I sigh. "Can't you just put them in separate bags?" Again, trying to cheap out on me, first the paint, now this? "Oh, OK," she says. I sigh again. She says in some weird way that I can't place exactly as snide or patronizing, "Deep breaths..." I am like, WTF? Seriously. Get me out of here. So then I'm done.

Driving home, I get stuck behind someone going ridiculously slow and traffic behind me is even backing up. The person is on their fucking phone. I honk and flash my lights. I know this is obnoxious but I don't care. When we finally get to the light and stop, the person is next to me to go right (I am going left). I give a look. I roll down my window. They roll down their window. It's a young, pretty black girl. "What is wrong with you?" I ask. "I'm just going the speed limit," she replies curtly. "I don't think so!" I reply and close my window, thinking maybe she is paranoid as a black driver about getting unfairly targeted by cops or something and I feel lame. But seriously, whenever someone is driving like an asshole nowadays its no longer guaranteed to be an old person, it's someone on their phone!

12:30 Finally home, catching up on e-mails and long lost friend guy IMs me on Google. I feel a time suck coming…so I have to keep it quick. I want to ask him if he ever got my Christmas cookies I sent him (that he never acknowledged), but think that would sound petty and weird so I don’t. Eat lunch, shovel a lot of food frantically down my face and a beer. I am feeling that wild feeling of needing to decompress so. Get some work-work done, too along the way.

1:43 And…the big task for the day—edits for the newsletter that I need to incorporate into a layout and publish—comes in right before I have to leave to get my kid. It happens a lot. I wish I could have gotten these edits an hour ago or so, but that’s how it goes. Walk to pick up kid. I like to walk both ways when I can, but had those errands before. We chat about what she did at school and the weather. It's a beautiful day. Kiddo has made up a season called "Geegu" (or something like that) that comes between Spring and Summer and is very warm (ah, she is a child of the global warming age, the Energy-Climate Era...)

2:25 Get home, unpack, wash lunch containers and my lunch dishes, set to work, kid plays and watches shows.

5:00 Stop working, turn off TV, hang out with kid, read some stories, color, dinner is already ready because I made some black bean and sweet potato enchiladas a while back and had them frozen, so now we’re just chilling and waiting for husband to come home.

She continues to make little things out of paper and asks me how to say them in Spanish. How do you say juice box in Spanish? She had drawn a blue one. “Brik de zumo” I say. She says “azul brik de zumo.” So cute!

5:50 Husband informed he’s going to be late and doesn’t know whether he’ll be more hungry or horny when he gets home. So, I have my work cut out for me.

In the mean time, kid is starting to get tired and her project of making a Spanish-speaking lunch bag that actually holds food is giving her trouble and she’s getting weepy. Ugh. Must be kind even though I am not in the mood for troubleshooting crafts.

6:20 I make some quesadillas for me (this way there'll be leftovers of the enchiladas for his lunch, since we're not eating together anyway, who cares...) and heat up some of my homemade cheese pizza from the other night for her, with carrots and hummus. She eats not as much as I'd like, bogarts my chips and sour cream, then asks for strawberries. Whatev. Why not?!?

7:00 I clean up a little in the kitchen and put kiddo in the tub, then clean her millions of cut up paper pieces in the living room. All the while screwing around on the internet, mostly Facebook. Throw in a load of laundry. I don't understand the issues some people have with laundry. I mean, it kind of does itself. You throw it in the machine. Then you throw it in another machine. The most work is sorting and putting away. Of course, I only do mine and my kid's. My husband does his own. I guess most moms at home would do all the laundry and I'm lucky my husband does his own. I do ours whenever a hamper is full or I think about it, so it's usually very manageable and something I just do "in my spare time" that dosen't feel like it takes any time. Also sweep by kitchen table, in kitchen and take out the trash. I like to have all the housework I am going to do done by the time bath is over so I can relax and read to her, then read my Kindle while she falls asleep, then the night is mine or for office work, not housework.

7:25 Get her out of tub (wash, brush teeth, PJs) while dinner warms for husband who is expected at 7:35.

7:35 Exchange pleasantries with husband then go off to start bedtime stories, he joins me around 7:55 and reads some.

8:15 Lights out for her, I read my Kindle and fall asleep. My latest Kindle read is Bloom, which I'll review later, but which I can say now has consistently been helping me fall asleep.

8:50 Wake up and get out of her room, go on to fulfill the second H of my husband's needs (I want it too...)

We sort of do it, then end up having an argument in the middle, the details of which are really, really dumb about who's cold and who needs a blanket during the act, and we'll leave it at that. Total coitus interruptus there. We go watch TV and argue for an hour or so, I thumb through the Jackie Warner book and those glaring errors just annoy me so much, decide to return it when I can and do my own diet. Louis CK is on TV. Louis CK is so gross, I am grateful to be married to my husband so I suggest we try again. Success! All's well that ends well.

11:35 Go to sleep...next day to be woken up by kid at 6:20 who is woken up by loud chirping birds—each day is just a little different. For what it's worth, I only billed 2.75 hours this day. Many times I bill more and drive around running errands ALOT less. That was kind of unusual, which is good because I'd rather be working (and billing) and I hate driving around.

French parenting? Comme ci, comme ça

I have to stop posting because I actually have a ton of work to do, but I realize I never wrote about the "French parenting book," Bringing Up Bebe: One American Mother Discovers the Wisdom of French Parenting, that was all the rage about a month ago.

I thought we'd heard the last on that one and I'd missed the window of blathering on...I mean...blogging...about it, but apparently, it lingers. Yesterday's New York Times had an opinion piece that springboards from the book, bemoaning the American "activities" culture and how it wears on us poor parents.

This latest piece is kind of iffy in its applicability, to me, because the writer's kids are now teens and so shuttling them to activities in general seems less ridiculous than shuttling toddlers and preschoolers or even gradeschool kids to activities. By the time kids are teens, these activities—sports, theater, music, etc.—might actually matter as far as rounding out their resumés for college acceptance and even if you're not that kind of person, the kids are old enough themselves to know what they want to do, how they want to spend their time, and so if they actually want to go to the activities, I can see why a parent would be compelled to make it happen. Although, apparently even activities for teens are less hectic in scheduling and less oppressive to parents in Europe (that huge amorphous place) than in America.

For me, right now, though, I detest kid activities. (This is in contrast to preschool where I can drop her off and go away for four hours.) Whenever I have tried to sign my kid up for a class or activity, we've dropped out (or want to). It's either been because the classes were so very lame and it seemed like the kinds of things they were doing we could do better on our own at home without the aggravation (art, gardening, music), or, it simply wasn't my kid's cup of tea (soccer) or the instructor's approach was too one-size-fits all (swimming). I don't judge cheap park district classes too harshly. You get what you get. But, I don't see the point of forcing a little kid to "stick to something" they don't like, that they didn't even ask to be signed up for. My kid seems to really like playing at home and so that's what we mostly do. For my part, I hate having to be a certain place at a certain time when it's not work related. Part of the glory of being a stay-at-home (or work-at-home) mom is the lazy schedule, right? It's not that I don't like to do stuff, I just like to do it when I like to do it. And that varies. But I digress...

What the future holds for activities, I do not know. I want to be fully open to let my kid do things she wants to do. I am very mindful of providing her with the opportunities to be in the mix and cautious about guarding her too much from the public, her peers, etc., as is my tendency. I do not want her to be an outcast like I felt I was. At the same time, I did participate in ballet, band, plays, chorus and in high school, sports. (And was an outcast anyway...I am just realizing...)

But enough about activities. There were lots of other parts of the book more applicable to my life as a mother of a young child. I thought I would love the book because of the results being touted (and complained about ) in the press surrounding it. Well-behaved kids! American parents miffed because their kids are just fine and, so what if they are demanding brats, we're American! Yay us! But, I found that although I feel I've had similar results (a smart, curious and relatively sensitive and well-behaved child that is generally a pleasure to be around—recent whining on day trip notwithstanding) I've arrived at them by a path very different than the typical French parent described in the book.

I had zero interest in early weaning, for example. I didn't really have a breastfeeding goal, I just did it one day at a time and figured I'd stop when she wasn't interested anymore. I had to coax the disinterest toward the end, but I'd say 33 months is good and long. Certainly longer than the 3 months (or less in France) and probably groan inducing for the average French mama. It was only in France that I was ever ridiculed for public breastfeeding, in fact. And, another instance, in France, was not ridicule but the funny curiosity of an elderly woman in a shop that was absolutely fascinated and amazed by my nursing my one-year-old in her Ergo as I checked out some groceries.

I also had no interest in sleep training or having my child "do her nights" as the French say. For better or for worse, so this day, I still lay down with my child as she falls asleep. It's my quiet time too and I love it. I never understood what the hurry was in making a baby fall asleep by themselves. Of course, my kid eventually learned to sleep through the night and so once I do put her down and she falls asleep 9 times out of 10, she won't make a peep til morning. I guess I could see someone wanting to "train" a kid who woke up in the middle of the night repeatedly and called for mom. (Note, I say KID not baby.)

I am very intrigued by the French and their eating habits and do think that adherence to meal times and having respect for food is probably a better way to go than constant snacking and letting kids say things are "yucky" (which I won't allow, though I will allow someone thinking something's yucky but keeping it to themselves). I tend to think people who go on about how much variety their kids eat are exaggerating. At least during the preschool years. And I know from experience that little kids' tastes seem to change from day to day. My girl used to love broccoli and even said it was one of her favorite foods as recently as six months ago. Now, she won't touch the stuff and she's on to carrots as her go-to veggie. Whatever the case may be, what she eats is not something I am going to sweat or argue about. I have argued about it, but I made a decision after finding that arguing is fruitless and draining not to.

I also believe in clear cut discipline for kids, making sure they know what's acceptable and unacceptable as far as public behavior, practical manners (not forced pleases and thank yous, but an awareness of those around you and not being disruptive to them) and such. These things I often find lacking in tales I read shared on attachment or "positive parenting" message boards and even in observing some of my kid's classmates. They often seem a little wild to me, and you do often hear Americans go on about how they can't take their kids anywhere or their kids are such terrors. But, that's their problem, I guess.

Overall, I came to the conclusion that I am clearly not French and that, while I enjoyed the book, I couldn't take it as any kind of gospel. As some of the commentary surrounding the book observed, the French parent the way French parents do largely because of the way their society is set up. It's generally more congruous than American society. I don't get the sense that there are all those subcultures there (crunchy mommy, slick working mommy, sarcastic scary mommy, Christian mommy, homeschool mommy, et cetera). And, of course, the maternity leave, state-sponsored daycares and cultural expectations for professional Parisian moms all come into play in the parenting culture in ways that just don't have parallels in America. At the same time, I don't know that I can say I feel I fit in with any of the American parenting archetypes (or stereotypes) either. That's something I'll have to give more thought to.

For today, it's time to tear my kid away from Curious George because we're going to try to squeeze in a nature hike before swimming lessons (which I was planning on ditching after earlier protests, but now the child wants to go to)...

Now for something REALLY scary...

I think I am a damn good mom...until I'm not.

I breastfed for almost three years. I co-slept (and still sometimes do). I stay home, for heaven's sake! I am sweet, patient, attentive, long-suffering, strategic, oh so loving...until something tips me over the edge and I basically crack. Then, I am a really, really shitty mother.

Case in point: This past weekend we took a day trip to Philadelphia. It's about a 2.5 hour drive. With just one child, a nearly five-year-old girl who has a bladder of steel and a love of DVDs, the ride was totally no big deal. We arrive painlessly and set out about our plans to visit some playgrounds and pubs. We're prepared with layers of clothing to fine tune our comfort level for sun or shade, sitting or walking briskly, in the 65 degree but windy day. We're prepared with snacks and sandwiches in case the girl doesn't want to eat the restaurant food—we know she'll eat the Belgian fries but probably little else, and she'll be better for it anyway, with the healthy Tofurky and cheese for lunch and natural peanut butter and jelly for dinner. I even packed and chilled down some milk for the child, as well as raw carrots and strawberries, and some other things. Well prepared!

The first chunk of the day was great. Franklin Playground. She rode the carousel and my husband and I proudly watched as she tried the different things on the playground with just the right mix of caution and courage. Then, she wanted to be pushed on the swings. No problem. It was lovely. She didn't argue when it was time to go. In fact, she suggested we go have lunch. So we went.

The lunch spot was just under a mile from the playground. I did my best cheerleading on the walk, pointing out the pretty cherry blossom trees, cranes at work, doggies trotting down the street, to keep it exciting for the child. But, it was not long before the whining began. Children seem to have so much energy for play and whatever else they want to do, but often when it comes to just going for a walk in a city, they get "tired" quickly. But tired is often just another word for bored or somehow otherwise uncomfortable. My child this time apparently had some chapped lip problem. The space between her upper lip and nose was red. She hadn't mentioned it until now. She claimed the sun shining on her face was hurting her. I offered sunglasses. She said, no, it's lower! It's my lips! (So smart, so articulate, she is.) We walked on the shady side of the street to keep the sun off her face. The whining subsided a little, but not enough for me.

"Look you are not the only person here. I'm sorry your lip hurts, but that has nothing to do with your walking. You need to stop whining. You're just going to have to suck it up and move on. Daddy and I are people too and we just want to go for a nice walk and have a pleasant time, so you just can't carry on like this! We'll be at the restaurant soon!" I said to her. She got weepy, but did suck it up. Good for her!

Finally we got to the restaurant and she whined a little about random things but quickly got involved with me in a game of animal tic-tac-toe in her sketch book as Daddy studied the draft list and decided on his meal. I already knew I'd be getting moules-frites, and I'd leave the beer choice to him. The child was her typically well-behaved self during lunch, deconstructing her sandwich, but eating about half of it (maybe a little less), cutely stealing as many fries as she could and finagling some of my baguette, which I gladly shared. She groaned under her breath at the crying baby across the aisle, "I need some quiet time!" Her dad and I both explained to her that not so long ago she was a baby, too, and we brought her to places like this then and that she should be nice. Babies cry. It's what they do, we told her. We had a great time reminiscing about her babyhood and all the places we went together.

After lunch, we headed out to walk around the city a bit before going to the next playground, the big super-duper Smith playground. She was cute, noticing letters and signs asking what they spell, knowing some things they spelled. She walked up at our height level on some brick fences. She was cute, then she was whiny. The lip thing again. Didn't bother her at all during lunch, even while eating and drinking, but now, somehow it did. I got the idea of getting her a little hat to cast a shadow on her lips and keep the sun off, since that's what she claimed was bothering her. I had to pee already at this point (one and a half beers did it, I guess). And, another complaint, "Mommy, I'm hot!" So I removed a layer and stuffed it into my bag.

We saw an expensive looking sports boutique and a CVS. My husband talked me out of both, saying there would probably be some more middle ground place where we could get her a cute hat down on South Street. Navigating South Street would have been cool and fun in my twenties without a kid, but as it was, it was just crowded and annoying. We popped into a couple shops that looked like they might have hats. One had only grown up hats. Another shop for kids had only Polo Ralph Lauren hats for $21. Desperate as I was to shut the child up with a hat, I was not ready to pay that price for a hat and a label I didn't even like. So we pressed on.

"Mommy, I'm hungry!" She said. Now, we'd left the restaurant probably 20 minutes ago by now, so I was like, WTF?!?! For real?

"You should've eaten more at lunch," I told her. "The time to eat is when we're sitting down at the restaurant, not when we're walking through the city." But, I was not going to subject myself to more of her whining, so I dug through my bag, now overstuffed with our unneeded extra layers of clothing, emptying everything out and rearranging it all to find the banana I so smartly packed for her.

After a couple of ridiculously fruitless and annoying stops, the child still whining, me having to pee more and more, I came upon a Claire's boutique-type shop and found the child a hat. $12.95. Fine. I went to go buy it and told my husband to hang back with the child by the door or outside instead of by the crowded register area. I was waiting. Waiting. Needing to pee. Argh. Kid comes toward me with the banana, "Mommy! Mommy! There's something yucky in this banana!" Oh, seriously?!?! I tell her to go back to her father and have him take care of it. Jesus Christ! I mean, couldn't they just live without me for five minutes?

Finally, hat in hand, I go back to them, put it on her and we all say how cute she looks and how now she will be all set, shielded from the sun, ready for that cool other playground, just as soon as we walk a little more to see the city and stop at some bottle shops (we're beer geeks). We're OK for about a half a block til she starts whining that she's cold. "Oh so cold! So, so cold!" She keeps saying. It's not actually cold, but I offer a jacket. She declines the jacket but keeps moaning and groaning that she is cold. I have to pee so bad. This is where I break.

I stop on the sidewalk, pull her aside out of the crowded walkway, way too roughly. Gripping her arms I yell. "Enough!" Her face crumples into tears. "All you do is whine and demand things you little bitch! I can't take it anymore! Here! Here is your jacket!" I rummage wildly through the overstuffed bag, find her fleece and roughly yank it over her head. I don't know what my husband thinks or is doing. It's just me and her and anger and tears. I see him looming above us, though and shove her toward him. "I'm so done with you. You need anything, you ask him! You stick with him! I want noting to do with you!" And I walk in front of them a few paces til we approach our next stop, Whole Foods, where we were all going to pee.

My husband does a good job of comforting her, as he often does. He never loses his cool. Of course, he's never the one carrying the bag who gets demand after demand after demand. But, he never does lose his cool. I, by contrast always lose my cool. It happens fairly regularly. It's not always this intense, thank goodness. It's just the kind of person I am. I don't like it. I've gotten better. But there it is, the dirt on me.

I'm writing this post because of the whole scary mommy, mommy confessions and perceptions of people being perfect or having perfect lives thing. To me, calling your precious child who is more well-behaved than most a bitch *is* actually a little scary, and a lot wrong. I don't think people really want to talk about the truly scary things because maybe we're scared that it's a slippery slope to Andrea Yates-ville? Or at least Joan Crawford land? I don't know. Maybe, on a positive note, it's just because the good really does far outweigh the bad?

At the other playground later that day my daughter said, "I love Philadelphia! I will never forget this day!" And I felt like an asshole, but lucky. "What will you remember about the day?" I ask her. "The long, long slide and the restaurant," she said. "And the carousel!" I ask her if she can forgive me for yelling at her and she says yes. Thank goodness!

I did have a little sit-down with her earlier in the day, right after the big blowout. My husband was looking around a shop and I sat with her and apologized for yelling and being mean to her. I always apologize for losing my cool, and I think this is the only thing that redeems me. At the very least, it teaches my kid I am human, not a martyr and certainly not a saint. I also explained very directly that she can't make demand after demand on a person like that and constantly nag them for one thing after another. I think she got it at the time, but, she's little, and I'm sure she will do the same thing again.

I hope I can react better next time. I think part of it is packing my bag more strategically so it's not so hard to get things out (it always starts so neatly packed, but then the shuffling on-the-go to meet demands tends to destroy the order). But on a less physical, more abstract level, I might have to learn to tolerate the whining more instead of feeling compelled to do things to make it stop. When she was a baby it was easy to stop the crying. You just cuddle them and give them the breast. Magic. They're at peace. Now, it's not so easy. And sometimes they need things just to need things, I suspect, for attention, or because they're bored. Traipsing through a city on foot possibly does not have the charm to a little one as it does to a grown up. After the blow out, I carried her big, 40 pound body through the city. Partly because we had to go quickly to get back to the parking meter, and partly because I wanted to re-collect her, re-establish the closeness we normally have and make sure she knew she was loved. (Me handing her off to her father in rage lasted about five minutes!) Holding her, though physically draining, was so sweet. She loved being high up. She joked about being as tall as me. We all joked about her being big enough to go out and get a job, and what job would she want to get.

It's scary how quickly we reconnect and make up. I worry, am I setting her up to be comfortable in an "abusive" relationship where all her partner has to do afterwards is hold her in his (or her) arms and say sorry? I remember when I was in an abusive relationship, even after the guy hit me, I so craved the resolution of him coming and holding me and saying sorry. The parallel with my kid makes me sick. I actually tell her very explicitly not to let anyone hit her. If someone hits her she needs to tell them, loudly and firmly, "No! you can't hit me!" I tell her over and over that nobody should hit her. I haven't spanked in a long time, now that she's bigger, but I have to admit I have spanked in her lifetime. It makes me sick.

And there's really no good way to end this post except to say that, yeah, nobody is perfect, parenting can be messy and not easy, but, not in the ways popular culture tends to be so glib about, I suppose.