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.

Not scary in the way you think

I am so tired of hearing about how hard parenting is, and, at the same time, how no matter what you do, that the kids will be just fine.

Confessions of a Scary Mommy: An Honest and Irreverent Look at Motherhood: The Good, The Bad, and the Scary (2 colons! Really!!) covers both of those themes, and summarizes just about everything that rubs me the wrong way about popular chatter on "motherhood" these days. Blogger Jill Smokler goes on about how being a mom is just so not easy and that we need to all just tell it like it is, cut each other slack, not get hung up on perfection, et cetera. But when everyone is telling the same boring "I hate my kid sometimes and need wine" stories, what is anyone really "confessing"? And at what point does giving up on "perfection" cross over to just giving up altogether (on your own health and that of your child, on your marriage, your body, your intelligence)?

I had a feeling this book wouldn't be "my thing" but thought I'd give it a try—something fun, something light...maybe even a little provocative, considering the title. After all, the author was a graphic designer in her previous life (like me), now living in Baltimore (cool city chick?). Maybe there'd be some common ground there. Creative thinking. Grit.

Turns out, not really.

Smokler is a blogger and I quickly discovered the book was basically a ton of short, banal, chapters that seemed very obviously to be blog posts (I haven't followed the blog so I won't say for sure, but that is what they seem like). Each chapter started with a round of "mommy confessions" that people have made on her site—very few of which resonated with me, though there were some here and there that did.

Generally, I found the book and its confessions to be rather trite and nothing "scary" or that way out. In fact, it was laden with clichés and sounded like the typical drivel that would come out of any middling suburban housewife's mouth (which I guess is why it's so popular). I do think it reflects a general lack of depth and real introspection that many mommies who want to pretend they're "so bad" have these days. Smokler admits to spacing out during childbirth classes then is shocked to learn she'll poop on the delivery table. Well, duh. She doesn't do any learning to prepare for breastfeeding, then finds she "doesn't have enough milk"...what a surprise! But, those moms who actually do take the time to learn a few things about birth, babies, nursing, kids...they are viewed with disdain as "perfect"? Apparently, the middling mommies are threatened by those who might be just little more intellectually rigorous and actually enjoy learning about the best ways to care for the most important people in their lives. The only "scary" things about this book were the author's ignorance and this whole reverse judging/anti-judging thing wherein the self-proclaimed "slacker" moms judge those who try.

One thing I was excited about was when I read in a promo that Smokler hated the pool. I hate the pool, too! I'd get this chapter for sure! Reading it, though, I learned we hate the pool for different reasons. She, because of a weird skeevishness about body fluids, a neurosis about her kids drowning and a burning jealously of a woman with a better body than her. Me, because of the cheesy classic rock they play there, a neurosis about chemicals and the environment, but mostly because the other children at the pool are so. very. annoying. I can't understand being jealous or hating on women who are more attractive than me—at this age, it's just basically ridiculous. Younger women will often be more attractive just because they're younger, and others will be just because they work so much harder at it, and others, still, just because of genetics. It's not really worth hating over. Either work at it, or give up and accept your lot.

A part of her book I knew I wouldn't be able to relate to, and therefore thought wouldn't offend me, was the chapter on loving one child more than the other. Smokler cleverly works around this nontroversy by explaining she loves them all equally overall, but at different times likes one more than the other—basically determined by who's pissing her off the least at any given moment. Cute! I get it. What's not so cute is her weird gender pigeonholing in this chapter. She admits she "never wanted boys" and that she always envisioned herself as the mother only of "little creatures dressed in cute little pink bloomers and polka-dot ruffled bathing suits." She admits to not being proud of crying when she found out via ultrasound that her second child was going to be a boy, so I guess she gets points for that, but what bothers me more than her not wanting a boy is what she thinks girls should be. Later in the chapter she says her daughter is "the girl I always wanted. She loves her Barbie dolls and playing with my makeup and trotting around in my high heels..." OK, get me my barf bag!

I was on the fence about writing a "review" of this book. On one hand, I felt a little foolish for reading something I knew probably wouldn't resonate with me. Also, I don't want to be so negative about this poor woman. But, she's probably not actually poor, as the book seems to be pretty popular, as does her blog...and, well, just the vibe behind this book was so ridiculously DUMB, I had to respond. I think it's actually dangerously dumb and the fact that so many people are giving it 5-star reviews on Amazon and throughout the mommy blogosphere is kind of concerning.

Take, for example, the much-touted "Scary Mommy Manifesto" part of the book that Smokler also blogged about on Huffington Post the other day and met with much approval, nodding and high-fiving. Most of it is good and right on, basically don't judge other people. But...can't I have an opinion on things? I asked a friend who posted this manifesto on Facebook if it was OK for me to have an opinion as long as I didn't judge? (Very fine line there, I suppose.) And he replied brilliantly, "You can give a shit, just don't give them shit." So I can give a shit that you're, say, feeding your toddler M&Ms to shut them up in the grocery store (#2) and at the same time trying not to pass down your messed up body issues to them (#9)...but I can't tell you that you, yourself are CREATING body issues by sating the child with junk food and setting them up for overeating to comfort themselves? Here's a hint: don't let them get fat and they won't have body issues.Of course, I would never say something to a real, live person at a grocery store giving their kid junk food. On an individual person-to-person level, it's none of my business, but, this book and its resonance, as social commentary, can very much be my business, if I happen to be disgusted by the stupidity of it all.

This book is Idiocracy in the parenting microcosm. It's America's "we can be as stupid as we wanna be" because we're American attitude (as described by Tom Friedman in Flat, Hot and Crowded, which is more typical of the books I read, and is by contrast, brilliant, but I know, I know, different genre). Let's be as ignorant and lazy as we want and then make fun of people who strive to do better (those moms who bake from scratch, or are successful at breastfeeding, or actually enjoy spring break or snow days, don't hate their husbands, et cetera). I have yet to run into any of these moms others claim make them feel so horrible and low. I have yet to run into anyone who lords their choices over others in real life.

Yes, many of us have our educated opinions about what's best that we write about or believe, but we generally don't harass strangers on the street about them (or in my case, I don't even let on to people I actually know). I think a lot of the grumpiness on the part of the "Scary Mommy" types comes from within. They know they kind of suck, aren't really sure how to break out of their suckage, and are threatened by those they perceive to be doing better. Meanwhile those they perceive to be doing better are just earnestly living their lives, doing the best they can, but maybe are a little smarter and actually give more shits about their kids than being cool bad-girl mommies. The "Scary Mommies" take comfort in this weird sorority of mediocrity. It's cool. I get it. I just don't want it. I'd rather hang with my husband and kid than kvetch with malcontent mommies any day.

I don't care what you feed your baby

(Image: Human-Stupidity.com—and an interesting post there...)

The latest New York Times Motherlode blog post kind of pushed me over the edge when it comes to "advocating" for breastfeeding. Focusing on the "true cost" of breastfeeding, as in the opportunity cost of work time lost, "freedom" to go out and do whatever you want whatever time you want lost, "dignity" lost (!?!) and on and on, the post put the onus for breastfeeding success on "society." But, I am left wondering why "society" should care or make breastfeeding a priority when, clearly, a huge number of individual women don't. If a mother can't be bothered to do something that is so basic for the well being of her own child, then how on earth can employers, taxpayers, etc. be compelled to care? It just doesn't seem that important to most people.

The post closes with:

If we as a society truly place a high value on nursing — if the American Academy of Pediatrics’ recommendation that mothers breast-feed for 12 months or more (and breast-feed exclusively for six months or more) is meant for all women, not just those with the resources to withstand economic loss — then we need to support breast-feeding by putting in place laws, policies, programs and social structures that make it easier, rather than attempt to gloss over its hidden costs. Breast milk isn’t free. But it’s within our power to make it affordable for all.

Naturally, in the comments there were assertions that only the wealthy could make breastfeeding work...what about this, what about that...I got formula and I was fine...I couldn't make enough milk, so I supplemented with formula and my kid was fine...I hate those sanctimommies who lord breastfeeding over everyone else...on and on. There were some who countered the cost issue by explaining how they kept their jobs and put in lots of effort to make pumping work, but they did it—only to be trashed for their privilege. I have read so many excuses and so many comments dismissing the importance of breastfeeding that reveal willful denial and ignorance that I just can't care anymore what some other woman chooses to feed her baby.

My comment got a few "likes" but also was met with indignation. I said:

Some things are priceless. Sadly, not all Americans place much value on a child's early development in general, whether it's breastfeeding or other things. I am one of those who made a conscious choice to take the financial hit to stay home with my baby. And I'm not much of a maternal type, either. It was difficult in terms of my sense of self with the ennui and all that, but I did it because it was the right thing, and eventually I grew into it...and because of it. Frankly, I don't have the hustle/stomach for daycare drop offs, pumping, seeing my new baby for just a few hours a day and leaving it with a stranger. (I may have felt better about a grandma or something.) I feel deeply for those who can't afford the lifestyle shift that's optimal for babies. But, for all those who can, and don't...and there are many...how can we trumpet about what this country values when the people themselves don't value it? People generally find a way to make what they value a priority in their lives. That said, I would love to see a year of subsidized maternity leave for women, for up to 2 children. That, too, seems like the right thing to do.

One of the very best comments I've ever read was this:

...It's far out, but what if we could all be ok with acknowledging that pumping sucks (t'hee) and no one should have to do it to feed their baby? What if we could just come out and say that women should be given the flexibility to work from home, or have onsite care at their offices? It wouldn't be putting down women to say that their bodies require them to stay in close contact with their newborns would it? Or would it? Why?

Sometimes I wonder why we can't take feminism to the next level and demand that our society just tolerate and accommodate our mammal needs. Providing the space for women to extract their milk and feed it to their babies later is really kind of weird if you think about it. How about just making it normal for a woman to be with her baby, and make the jobs accommodate to that role. Half of us are women! Many of us will have babies. They are babies for such a short period, and then it's over.

But, I am afraid, people just don't really want it. When women who do have the power to breastfeed because of their privilege of good white collar jobs with leave, or the means to take time off indefinitely, or a high-earning spouse, or whatever and they choose not to, even when they can, they are sending a message to society that it doesn't matter. If these women who can have "the best" blithely eschew "the best," what makes the low-income woman who needs to work think she should be entitled to help achieving "the best"? And how are we supposed to convince the non-mommy policymakers that women need support?

The benefits of breastfeeding are obvious. We don't even need to go into that. People who want to breastfeed will, and those who don't, wont. DISCLAIMER: I know there are some very rare people who truly can't who may have wanted to and so yeah, no statement is absolute and covers all people. But, the bottom line is that most people can and would if they really wanted to. Nothing we can say at this point is going to get people to do things they don't want to do. The science is there and it's been beaten into people's heads. If they don't want to take the steps to learn how to do it...If they don't have the tenacity to see it through...If X number of things are more important to them than breastfeeding, then who cares?

Some would argue that we're all going to have to pay for healthcare for these babies who would grow into adults with less than the optimal health they could have had if they'd been breastfed. That may be true. I think I am OK with that. We're already paying in one way or another for people who eat mountains of crap food, won't exercise and just basically don't give a shit themselves. Just add more on to the pile, I suppose. It's kind of inevitable. The world is not perfect.

All I can control is myself, and what I feed my own child (be it breastmilk as a baby or junk food as a bigger kid, though it's harder to control the junk food since they're not under mom's watch 24-7 anymore...) I've been told countless times in web comments (because I would NEVER impose my unsolicited views on some person I don't even know in person, in real life) that breastfeeding and staying home may be right for me, but isn't right for everybody and that I should just shut up and mind my own business. I've even been told when I expressed a sadness for those who wanted to breastfeed (or stay at home with their baby) that that was somehow insulting and my "pity" was not needed and the child(ren) is doing "just fine thank you very much"...so, yeah, I guess it's time. If anything I can feel smug that my kid will have an edge, without feeling bad about their kids, because after all, they will be just fine. Right? Right?

Maybe if was actually a breastfeeding educator or true lactivist actually doing something it would make more sense. But all I've been doing is trumpeting something I think is best, that the science shows is best, that is actually really just the normal way mammals are supposed to feed their babies, biologically speaking, and something that happened to be pretty easy for me. It was so great that I guess I could say I felt kind of evangelical about it, like spreading the good news or something (though that's not necessarily reflected in my most recent Motherlode comment). But now I kind of just feel stupid for caring.

I love you and want you to be happy, so I am going to slowly kill you

April 1 I saw a segment on 60 Minutes highlighting data I'd already read (and chose to willfully ignore) in the New York Times last year—sugar is really pretty bad for our health and we eat way too much of it. I can't ignore it anymore and I thank dismissive friends and online commenters for showing me just how dearly we Americans—including me, until now—guard our sugar addiction and the role it plays in our culture and lifestyle. The first day of the month is a great time to turn over a new leaf, start fresh and try to do the right thing, which is, to cut waaaaaay down on sugar. It's unfortunate, though, that as soon as tomorrow our family has plans to go get our free Ben & Jerry's ice cream and that is not something my husband is going to let go of. I don't even like Ben & Jerry's ice cream, but he is a free stuff junkie and already talked it up to the kid. My solution will be to have my daughter and I share our scoop, then avoid treats as long as we can.

This should be a little easier this week, since my kid is on spring break from school. At school, it's always more difficult. Last week, for example, one child one day brought cookies for the class and later the same week, the same child brought brownies. (This is a lovely child with a very attractive and thin mom, just as a side note that I find interesting but is probably completely unrelated.) She was "star of the week" that week (a little thing they do at the school) but were two treats really necessary? We brought fruit and cheese kabobs when my child was star of the week!

Now I am totally guilty myself of giving too many treats at home, but I don't like to have them be a part of school. I like to administer them when I want to, at strategic and thoughtful times and only after nutritious and healthy food has first been consumed. I recognize, also, that I need to change (as opposed to being completely in denial). Even though our family eats arguably less junk with sugar than the average American family, too often I find myself making cupcakes to celebrate...a Tuesday? Or because I am in the mood for homemade chocolate chip cookies. It really has to stop. I have to save the treats for holidays, outings (like the Ben & Jerry's but no, not all outings) and such. That it is "hard" is a sign that it's a problem.

When I spoke to the director of the preschool after the first week of school, having heard my child had 3 treats in that one week alone (I guess they were catching up on birthdays?), my request that they stop the practice of bringing birthday treats in was met with "No, I won't do that. Birthdays are special for the children, they like to celebrate and bring treats...blah blah blah..." Well, couldn't they do a once a month group birthday celebration? I think that many people just don't get the gravity of it and have no clue how much sugar is in things and what it does to the body. That, and it's just not something we want to focus on. We all want to be happy and have fun. It's a little sad and uncreative, though, that we need junk food to have fun, isn't it?

It was interesting to me last night that the reaction to "news" that sugar is bad for us and we eat too much was...a whole lot of defensiveness and denial (discussing on Facebook and reading comments on the 60 Minutes website). Some people were like, "this is news? of course sugar's bad for you, but not toxic and we don't eat that much, anyway..." They weren't paying attention at all to the latest data indicating that sugar is much worse for us than we think (leading to more overeating, poor memory formation, learning disorders, depression, as well as heart disease and obvious things like diabetes) and they certainly weren't facing the reality of how much excess we're consuming (156 pounds a year).

When I posted the link to the 60 Minutes story on Facebook, an average-girl-mom-friend countered that "kids DESERVE ice cream on a hot summer night...or just a 'family together time'" and how mad it made her that "what we did and ate as kids is now killing or bad for our kids...and I will not stop letting my kid be a kid..they need sunshine.....and sometimes that comes in the form of sugar..." a sciencey engineering friend (who drinks at least one Mt. Dew a day, but considers himself healthy) dismissed it as vilification of one ingredient saying " ...it does no one any good blaming individual ingredients" and saying that all things in moderation are OK.

I can buy the moderation point to some extent, but the thing is, the data shows we've lost all grasp of what moderation is. So many people seem offended by the suggestion that something we all do all the time, and that we did as kids, and our parents did is bad for us. They say, "but I ate all this and I am fine" in one post, while in another one complaining of all their ailments as they creep up toward age 40 and beyond. So, not fine, actually! This data is an attack on our culture to some extent, as well as a threat to our addiction. And we are totally addicted. Even I, who eat more healthfully than most Americans (I keep saying that because from everything I read Americans as a whole eat awful diets and at least I try—no soda, no red meat, lots of veggies...) fall into the trap. The science shows that the brain responds to sugar essentially the same way it does to cocaine (this is in the 60 Minutes segment).

In considering how much added sugar one should have, I remembered a figure I'd read a couple years ago when I had started a push to get in really great shape. Jackie Warner in her book, This is Why You're Fat (And How to Get Thin Forever), explains that the body doesn't register less than five grams of sugar, so we should eat things that have five grams of sugar or less per serving (and stick to one serving, natch) at a sitting. This is moderation for day-to-day. Most cupcakes, for example, have at least 20 grams of sugar. I can't imagine a life of never again eating a cupcake, but I now believe that the instances of these pleasures should be memorable, and therefore rare.

Barbies, beauty and keeping girls busy

I came across an intriguing post on Facebook the other day about what Barbie's actual measurements would be if she were a real woman.



I reposted because the numbers had never hit me quite like that before and what first came to mind was poor Barbie—she can't even walk upright and doesn't get to eat much. I didn't think poor me, I have to try to attain this body and it is so very hard to do so.

It started up a bit of a conversation between some who tended to agree that Barbies weren't great for kids to play with and others who thought they were just fine and had fun memories of playing with them themselves. One commenter joked that she'd be every man's dream and I wasn't sure if she was being straight or facetious, but I thought, no, the average guy appreciates a nice set of boobs, but a figure like this would be, I hate to say it—laughable, and not truly desired by most men.

Personally, I don't have a big problem with Barbie, but I think a lot of it might just be because she holds little power or interest in our house with my daughter. She'll play with the dolls she has from time to time, but she prefers to build with blocks or make things out of paper, play doh, and stuff like that. I wondered, though, what Barbie means to my daughter. Now, I don't know if she even knows Barbie, as in the blonde, name-brand iconic doll. She only has a Belle version (yeah, Belle from Disney's Beauty and the Beast, which she has never even seen, I think this just happened to be the doll they had at Giant when I got the idea to buy her a doll) and some cheap Japanese anime-looking thing my mother-in-law got her. So to her, they're just dolls. But, do they hold any influence in terms of being "models" to her for what a woman should be?

I asked her some questions about the Belle Barbie and contrasted it with a flat wood child dress-up doll, as you can observe in the video opening this post. I think her responses reveal a mixed bag of meaning. She says that the doll looks like a real lady and in fact, looks like mommy. (Really? Gee, thanks!)

When asked what the doll does for a job, she assigns a job based on what she is doing at the time—art—as well as what she perceives my job to be (art). Beyond that, she seems mostly focused on hair length and style and doesn't read the doll as particularly skinny. This in itself could be problematic to some, since, according to real measurements, she would be rather skinny, but then again, the child said the doll looked like me, who is not particularly skinny—which makes me think that maybe children are not as focused on weight as adults are (or at least my child is not).

However, when asked if she thinks everyone should look like the doll, she says yes, albeit with a mischievous looking grin. But when asked what happens to people if they don't look like the doll, she says we have to make them look like "you," meaning to me, like the real people. The rest of our conversation gives a bit of a jumbled perspective. She point blank says she feels good about herself and that the dolls don't make her feel bad, and when pressed, she decides she's had enough and exclaims "I'm busy!"

This is the part I love the most about the whole thing, I think. She was busy painting and humored me for a bit about the dolls, but then she just wanted to get back to what she was doing which was clearly more important than the dolls. It seemed to me that she wasn’t really interested in how the dolls looked in the same way adults would be (hence the disconnect between my questions and the kind of answers she was giving).

I don't love Barbie, I just don't see the doll as dangerous as some people do. I'm not saying that Barbies don't represent an unrealistic image of the female form. It's fairly obvious that they do. Some more than others. Nowadays there are a wide variety of Barbies. But what is less clear is how girls at various ages interpret this unrealistic form. And whether it matters. Few toys are realistic. Children have huge imaginations. And I just don't know if younger girls are seeing these Barbies the way adult women (or ever older girls) do. Maybe my kid is not the best barometer of the damage Barbie can cause, since she's not that into them. Still, I think her reactions to the questions about the dolls and their appearance and her own feelings were interesting in the way they didn't fall in line completely with the kind of reaction one might expect—no noting the stark difference between the real mommy and the doll, no saying mommy was fatter, no giving the Barbie a fluff "job" like "princess" or something. She was very focused on the real people setting the tone for what went on and the dolls just being stand ins for us (even the flat little girl who played with wolves was a stand in for my daughter, herself, who is forever playing such make-believe stories). Most of all, though she just wanted to get back to painting her own picture!

I think what's probably more important and effective than blaming plastic dolls for girls' self doubt and unrealized potential is to make sure they have other stuff to do and other "role models" in the form of real, living, breathing women who are involved with them and not themselves emulating the Barbie lifestyle.

I went through a rough patch with weight when I was about 10–13 or 14. At first, I didn't even know I was fat and I didn't care. My mom, whether it was by strategy or by accident, was pretty nonchalant about it. I got lead roles in school plays as Evita (in a production highlighting various Broadway shows) and as Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, so no discrimination there. (Not bragging, these were small potatoes, just saying to illustrate that I was obliviously confident back then, until....). It was only over some time and a series of events—a family member made a comment about my weight, kids were making fun of me, and an ineffective doctor asked me "Is there anything you want to talk to me about?" (to which I replied, uhm, no) and then he mentioned my weight—that I started to feel bad about myself. It had nothing to do with plastic dolls, but about real people in my world. Let's not pass the buck to Barbie while failing to watch what we as people actually do and instead make sure we actively engage with our girls. Surely, living people can have more impact than dolls.