Life is a Banquet

Mommy Police

I got blindsided by the mommy police* recently. More than once actually.  More like two weeks of mommy police. These are the been-there-done-that (BTDT) mothers who are happy to share their jaded world view with the now-obviously pregnant woman. Any affirmation of joy is met with a lengthy explanation of why that is BAD! FOR THE BABY! and wouldn't work anyway. 

Of course, the mommy police are not a unique species either. The dearly departed cancer baby wrote eloquently about the mood oglers, many of my favorite infertility bloggers have addressed assvice, and in the writing world, these jaded creatures have no name, but they pop up with alarming frequency, spewing negativity on bulletin boards and at meetings. And I'm sure, at my most discouraged, I've been guilty of being a newbie writer police or the diabetic police. And for that, I'm truly sorry, and wish to complete my woo-woo head shrinking and share  joy, not horror stories.

As women, we face a pretty tough road anyway--so many cultural and societal forces still conspire against us, so WHY do we do the most damage to each other? Especially when it comes to mothering, our uniquely female domain? Shouldn't we try to be supportive of each other's choices? I think my recent encounters with the mommy police bug me so much, because in each instance, it was someone who ostensibly SHARES my politics and world views. Yet, they let absolutism and black and white thinking run away with their tact and empathy.

I feel like I am back in junior high, where hours later, I come up with good comebacks and zingers to put them in their place. Of course, in junior high, name calling worked really well. Here, (while some name calling might be fun), I'm more concerned with sticking up for myself and wanting to showcase the need for moderation.  Because, really, I truly do get it: Organic = Great! Breastfeeding = Best! Home Birth = Affirming! Cloth diapering = nifty idea! Limited Weight Gain = Smart! Attached parenting = Common sense! Vaccinations = Proceed with Caution! Home schooling =  Best for Some Kids! But, within each SHOULD, there's a lot of grey area, and we shouldn't confuse SHOULD with MUST, ALWAYS, or EVERYONE. Possible comebacks  (feel free to borrow for your own run-ins with the mommy police):

• No, I'm pretty sure that relaxing didn't help me get pregnant. Actually ovulating once helped me get pregnant.
• No, it won't "scar" our potential biological child if we adopt later. I mean, you know, hearing over and over "you were our second choice, cause we really wanted to adopt," might, but you know . . .
• No, I don't plan to do {insert fad diet of choice here} afterwards. Why on earth would I want to waste all those good breast feeding extra calories on rabbit food?
• Beta ENJOYS the chemicals in {gum, splenda, ham, sugar-free ice cream, non-organic veggies}. Heck, who wants to gestate when you can pickle.
• Not giving into a single craving sounds like a pretty joyless way of life.
• Why, yes, I do want to have my baby in a {baby factory, ceseran machine, hippie birth}. Because, you know, why bother with having a live birth or an experience that suits my needs when I can make a political statement.  In fact, I'm going to get a tee-shirt made: This birth brought to you by extremists everywhere.
• Yes, telling my husband he has no say in naming sounds like an excellent idea. I'll call you from divorce court.
• Gee, if my health care provider is a "quack," and I'm following his/her/their advice, what must you think of me?
• Tuning out during office visits sounds like a really good waste of a co-pay don't you think?
• Banning {disposable diapers, cribs, pacifiers, gender specific items, plastic, Disney} sounds like a way to ban grandmothers and free help too.  Heck, why not ban gifts while we're at it?
• I totally agree. A bottle will permanently scar my child. As will a pacifier. Breast only until they're 21, and can move to someone else's breasts. 
• That's a great point. In fact, I don't think I should take the kid into a store EVER. Because, you know, he might SEE a bottle, or a pacifier, or an Elmo Diaper, and then, I'd be screwed, because he'll know what they look like, and he'll beat me with tiny fists and demand the crack.
• See the way I figure it, Bill Gates is really hip on the whole vaccine thing. If I get at least SOME, he will think I am HOT! And totally leave Melinda for me, and then I'll be set.
• Yeah, I'm pretty sure that if you just ignore it, depression totally goes away on its own. In fact, I'll back some bags for it before I begin the silent treatment. 
• Yes, letting my mother wheel the baby in a stroller probably isn't the best idea. Maybe we shouldn't let her touch the baby in case that impedes AP too.
• Home school under all circumstances? Heck yeah! We plan to home medical school!

My basic objection here is simple: If someone AGREES with you in part or expresses a willingness to explore more in a given area, beating her over the head with absolutism is not a way to win new advocates for your cause.

All of the above situations happened in casual conversation where I AGREED with the mommy policewoman, but stopped short of adopting an absolute view.  I DO plan to breastfeed, cloth diaper, be smart about vaccines, research my birth options, consider home schooling, eat organic whenever possible, and be as AP as possible. But, I'm not going to beat myself up if one of these plans or ideas falls through. I  am the QUEEN OF GUILT, and I don't need any extra. If I need to adjust my plans, I will. If adjusting my values enables someone to help me, then I'll probably do it. If I feel something is medically necessary, I'm going to do what needs to be done at the time, and try not to beat myself up for my choices later.  If it means the difference between a happy, sane mama, and a crazy, stressed-out or broke mama, I'm probably going to choose sane. 

Over the past few years, I have discovered the pleasure of living in the gray area of most choices. I lived a number of years in absolutism land, and I have absolutely no desire to return. That I'm pretty absolute about. I want to learn as much as possible about mothering, and talking to BTDT moms is invaluable. As women, we have so much collective wisdom to share with each other.  I just wish we could share in a way that affirms each person's right to find her OWN little patch of gray.

*If you've given me much-needed advice or answered my endless pregnancy questions, I don't mean YOU. 98% of these were random encounters with friends-of-friends, boards I participate in, and acquaintances. So, if you're reading this, you can safely assume that I don't mean you.  YOU I love and totally consider you the wise women with lots to share. 

Vigilant Gourmet

Eating is the most political, most expensive, most time-consuming activity I engage in these days.  It is also single-handedly the most frustrating and depressing part of my life.  And I know that I am not alone. Not at all. My ex used to remark that he wished humans could just take a pill for nutrition and forgo the burden of eating. I never used to agree, but now I think there may be some logic to that wish. Eating is scary act, where even drinking tap water is a risky proposition. Eating “right” changes daily and becomes an uphill battle of money, willpower, and time.

The weirdness of Reno

Reno is a weird city.  Reno is a buffed, polished guy.  You know--the body-builder type, whose complete lack of a personality leaves you cold, but still you can't help but look? Yup, that's Reno. Reno is tan, and taut, no wasted colors on this town of beating sun and gleaming metal.  Any available square foot or item of historical  interest is given over slot machines.  Seriously--pump gas & play Slots at 711.  Get an ice cream cone & play a little video poker.  It's all about ONE thing:  Money, money, here.  Like the body builder whose just about muscle, Reno has no further depth. 

Our hotel is a concrete oasis of 27 floors, and several hundred thousand square feet. It has a Casino (Of Course!), a mall, a dozen restaurants, a video arcade, go-karts, and more.  But, it started to feel like a cruise ship after a few days, and Friday we were ready to jump ship. 

Armed with the local Indie paper, we headed off in search of Thai food.  The first place gave new meaning to hole-in-the-wall: a windowless enclave in the middle of a sketchy rent by the hour motel.  We didn't slow down.  The second place on our list had two fire trucks, an ambulance, and a police car in front, lights flashing.  We kept driving.  We ended up at Claim Jumpers, a western chain that looks just like a dozen others around the country, and whose food was interchangeable with that we had at the hotel. 

While eating, the sky opened up, and being true Oregonians, we barely noticed.  Native Reno chicken littles, however, ran around declaring the end of the world, wringing their hands over a half hour of flooding (due to their lack of drains), and driving like they were being recruited for "Day After Tomorrow 2." 

We took refuge from their SUV water-skiing antics in a Borders.   I can't believe I'm typing this, but I was a little burnt out on books, having had books, books, and more books for three straight days.  Then, it hit me as I wandered around--I KNOW her, and oh! That one! I saw HER too, and Oh! I heard HER speak! Imagine the thrill of seeing so many books of people I've met at the conference!  Suddenly Reno didn't seem so bad . . . .

To-Donuts

I like to start every morning with a full cup of expectations.  It’s the type A breakfast for champions.  Guilty flakes with a side of stressmeal and to-donuts. My therapist says that my problem is that I’m a perfectionist and can’t see that my standards are unrealistic.  Ha! I say! I’m just ambitious! And time impaired! It’s not my fault that the world won’t listen to me and increase the number of daylight hours and decrease my need for sleep.  When I get to heaven, God and I are going to have a very long chat about optimization of human potential through increased productivity. And this whole calories = pounds thing–I think we could do without it.   Better we fuel the productivity revolution with cheesecake.  I’d better start working on some flip charts. This will be incredibly useful if God does indeed turn out to bear a scary resemblance to Ross Perot. 

Anyway, the over-achiever in me won’t quit despite medical advice, and evidence that reducing my expectations of myself would probably be beneficial in the long term.  Not to mention make me a nicer person to be around.  But it’s this over-achiever in me that was giddy, yes giddy at JellyBelly’s post today.  Man, I love unrealistically huge to-do lists. Which I too, insist on making, like a sick compulsion despite my inability to cross anything off.  Here’s mine (and yes, hitting the road is sounding better all the time–challenge is could I possibly manage to not have a to-do list for the year):

Beware the Return of the 80's

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

PLEASE POST

Recently, fashion police have noted an alarming trend.  It seems a notorious gang of fashion criminals, known widely as “The 80's” have resurfaced and are wrecking havoc on the lives of many innocent Americans.  Citizens need to be uber-vigilant against these nefarious criminals as they can be found in beauty magazines, discount stores, high end emporium, and salons alike. For most of the late 90s and early part of this century, the 80's could only be found at remote and isolated locations, South Dakota, Line Dancing Bars, Trailer Parks, the Goodwill, occasionally at a Mormon or Baptist church gathering, and at certain discount store chains.  But they were by and large hidden by a sea of black clothing and straight hair, masking their re-infiltration into everyday society.

The 80's re-emergence can no longer be ignored.  Just last night, an innocent Salem, Oregon woman went to her local Fred Meyer and was assaulted by displays of leg warmers, hair crimpers, fishnet stockings, large plastic earrings, and polo shirts.  This is becoming near epidemic.  Fashion magazines are showcasing unflattering hairstyles all prominently featuring bangs.  Shoulder pads are gradually creeping back into women’s suits.  Rhinestones and glitter are being used to excess again. 

Horrors, of horror, mullets are becoming more common outside of North & South Dakota and the deep south. Make-up shades have been inching more towards neon for the last few seasons, and now one no longer has to look hard to find instances of blue eyeshadow, racoon eyes, and sticky lips. 

Those who were children last time the 80s wrecked havoc on American culture are particularly at risk for succumbing to the 80s sinister allure.  They are drawn in by the kitsch and nostalgia of My Little Pony and Strawberry Shortcake motifs.  They start small, a Carebear’s tee shirt here, an ID bracelet there, but before you know it, they are developing a unhealthy fondness for mixing floral prints, and driving a Hello Kitty Ferrari. 

Those children who are now parents themselves are especially targeted by The 80's.  Nostalgic toys and board games were all the range this past holiday season, and unfortunately, parents fell hook, line, and sinker for the intense pressure to abuse Nostalgia. Board games and cabbage patch dolls are fine toys, but for the love of all that is decent, don’t subject your child to Rubbix cubes and the annoying electronic game Simon.  Crimping your child’s hair and dressing him or her in Polo Shirts and V-neck sweaters is NEVER acceptable parenting practices.

Here are some steps you can take to protect yourself and your loved one from the return of the 80s:

The most dramatic Apprentice Boardroom yet . . .

MSNBC - Bradford's firing: Absolutely deserved

Last season, on the Apprentice, I was drawn in by its newness and novelty, and also because it seemed that here were 16 people who actually wanted careers, not acting gigs. But, the luster has faded as Bill, the "winner" is off to shill for Trump, not as a "CEO" as promised, but instead as a spokesperson for Brand Trump, honored not with a great career opportunity but instead with the chance to worship at Trump Alter and make special appearances on this Season's Apprentice.

So is this season worth watching?

Athens, we have a problem

MSNBC - Hamm perseveres for boo-tiful silver

What the heck is up with olympic gymanastics judging? And what is with all the commentators calling for Paul Hamm to give up his gold?

I have enjoyed watching these olympics more than just about any I can remember.  It is with renewed appreciation for the simple joy of watching the olympics that I have embraced these two weeks in August, after a seven year hiatus as a sports fan. But I have to take issue with an archaic system of gymnastics judging.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Freak and I have been discussing respect all evening. Its interesting how differently we grew up. Freak had to earn respect, from his grandparents, from his brothers, from his superiors in the military. My family didn’t really operate like that, and neither have any of my relationships. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that respect has played a very limited, if any, role in my life up until recently.