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. 

The Reluctant Yuppie

Saturday Night Freak and I watched Hotel Rwanda. Few movies have ever moved me more or made me feel so utterly helpless. Not to mention ashamed beyond belief at my status as a white, American female. For me, some of the most haunting images were those of the orphans, their little faces pressed together, holding hands, their gangly limbs betraying their vulnerability. I often make light of my unending desire to have a “United Nations Family” (Angelina, wench, I had the idea first. Mine. Mine. Mine. Oh, and P.S. please send me Brad Pitt too.). But, this movie unearthed emotions much more powerful than just “oh, wouldn’t it be cool.”

Anna Roland Rocks the Socks Off My New Camera

I wonder how as Americans we can be so connected--too connected almost and yet, be so removed from each other.   I'm sitting at a coffee house in town, texting Freak while the Gas Fast Tour gets going, surrounded by Zen and Scientist, trying not to think about why there's only twenty of us here.  Even as I slide my cell phone out of sight, I'm still apart, one with my camera--metering and balancing, drawn in, instant by instant. 

Anna Roland and Thistle are touring the Northwest by bike (hence the Gas Fast Tour), a political and personal statement about our dependence on oil, a war with no end in sight, and some really amazing folk music.  Anna and Thistle are angrier, nervier Ani's, Alanis long before she sold out, the heiresses-apparent to Joni Mitchell.   Zen knows Anna from St. Louis.  I vaguely know her in the way all of left-leaning St. Louis is never more than six-degrees of separation from each other. Wireboy is beside himself that I get to see Anna.  If he knew I was seeing Anna through the lens of my new camera, he just might wet himself. 

I used to be a biker chic too--tearing up the Kady Trail, yelling with Critical Mass, biking my way to killer hamstrings and glutes.  Long before diabetes, before all the fatigue, before divorce, before bitterness, before Oregon, and Freak, I was a radical righteous babe.  Now, I am never more than a cell phone, an email, a text message away from anyone, never further than my Jeep or Hotwire can take me.   

Yet, I know the real distance.  The radical activist in me hasn't succumbed so much to the suburban buzz that I'm not aware of how far apart we really are these days.  I 've never seen 99% of my food growing, my bargain-clothes come from countries I'm not sure I could locate on a globe, and I know the names of the neighbors on my block and no other.  I can walk in my downtown neighborhood and see no other pedestrians.  The nearest "corner produce market" is four big box grocery stores, 3 miles, and two huge roads away. 

I am so far removed from my life in Vancouver (was that ever really my life?), from Zen's life in China, from the life of my grandparents.   Why is it that this is the first time in two years that I have walked at night to the coffee house?  I live with four other people, and yet, this is our first group outing.   Board games and chess sets sit idle while Ipods and cell phones hum.  Yahoo! shows all four of us online, separately together, alone in our little Internet bubble.  I live in one of the most bike friendly states in the nation, and yet, I still can't trust the cars. 

I want to tell you how amazing Anna Roland's music is, how you must go see in Corvallis (Interzone, Tomorrow, August 19th) or in Eugene (Mystic Pizza, August 26th), how she'll silk screen her logo right on the shirt you wear to the concert, how her CD's are a mere $5 (which didn't stop mine from getting lifted from the ladies room), and how Thistle is starting a community in Iowa.  But, all I can think about is how I'm not doing enough, how I'm sitting in a circle of plastic chairs, the intoxicating odor of tobacco and apple pie sedating us, and I'm talking the radical talk, and I keep thinking, "This is not my life, I'm not really here." 

But, I am here, and this IS my life.  I'm doing so much, and yet, still not enough.  My garden died a horrible death sometime in July, recycling and composting are sporadic events in our house, and I give too many of my dollars to silliness, and I have to work too hard to do the common sense things that should be second nature.  All these "Big Ideas" rolling around in our heads, and to 90% of the world, it's so simple, it's laughable.   We need each other.

Bankruptcy Bush

Link: Yahoo! News - Bush Will Sign Bankruptcy Bill.  I usually try to avoid getting TOO political on here.  But, this, this is a travesty.  A complete travesty.  In England, long before our fore fathers founded this country, debtors were put in prison.  Later, many were shipped here and to Australia.  History tells us that our founders deliberately wanted to avoid imprisoning or criminally punishing debtors.

I've read a lot in the weeks leading up to this about how a growing majority of bankruptcies arise from medical crises.  This is no surprise given the rising cost of medical care, even with health insurance, in this country.  These bills don't disappear when you die either.  Already in pain, many families are forced to declare bankruptcy after the loss of a wage earner--not because they wish to continue their former lifestyle but because they are drowning in hospital bills.  Chapter 13 repayment plans won't solve this, nor does the Bush-whacked bill provide an out for these families.  Instead, it provides loopholes for the wealthy, those with huge houses and luxury items--the kind of credit card abusers the bill supposedly targets are in fact, protected. 

Because this is NOT about curbing rampant credit card debt.  It's about increasing it.  By having this new law in place, credit card companies can now extend credit to many lower income, prior bankruptcies, already over-extended families.  They can now rest assured that they will receive payment, so what motivation do they have to restrain themselves? 

Although I don't talk about it very much, I'm not ashamed of the fact that the unfairness of divorce and medical crises forced me to declare bankruptcy last year.  MBNA, Citibank, and Discover were all discharged in due course, but look at my statements--prior to the divorce, every month was paid in full. The charges that were discharged were moving expenses, rent and bills, medical expenses, mounting expenses in the face of increasing stress.  Two and half months without work, a return to work part-time and decreased earning power made bankruptcy inevitable.

And as I sat in the small room that day last summer, I saw dozens of stories like mine.  I saw many, many elderly couples, crippled by infirmities, farmers struggling to keep family farms, women escaping abusive marriages, HIV patients, and families dealing with loss and tragedy.  I personally know many other such stories. 

Bush may be looking forward to signing this bill as he says.  But, I'm not proud.  I'm ashamed of America right now. 

An Open Letter to My Veteran

I know you don’t consider yourself a hero. You tell me Navy stories for entertainment, not out of any great pride at having served. But still, when I think of you, at 18, fresh out of high school, signing up, I think of bravery. In my role as a indignant liberal, I spend a lot of time bashing on the military, bashing our foreign policy, and generally avoiding overt demonstrations of patriotism. But, I do have a deep love for this country. More than that, though, I have a deep respect for those who choose to serve and this is what this day is all about.

It’s not about wars we disagree with.  It’s about you, and the thousands like you. It’s about men who have worn the uniform with honor. And there’s something about a man in uniform . . .

Justice wept today

I saw a judge cry today. Perhaps the saddest thing to come out of all this election drama is the deeply personal effect it has had on unexpected people.  She warned us before she began her presentation on Indian Law that she had spent the last three days crying. I admit, I thought she might be joking–after all everyone has been making jokes at the expense of the election. But then she began to explain to us, that she had been prepared to give her standard presentation about being a non-Indian lawyer presiding over a tribal court, and give her standard recitation of info about her group.  But then something changed. 

Learning to Love The Republicans

On our morning walk, Caylis seemed like the only cheerful sign in the neighborhood.  The yards we passed looked forlorn, many stripped of the signs that had become familar beacons on our rounds. It seemed fitting that a thick, murky fog had rolled into the valley overnight, and blanketed everything with its surreal tint. Yesterday we passed many other dogs and owners, exchanging cheerful hellos, and the world seemed filled with possibility. What changed? Perhaps all my fellow democratic neighbors with their multitude of signs that just yesterday seemed to speak of a new direction, and today seem cruely mocking, many hastily turned over or stacked in piles on front porches, are all inside plotting their move to Canada. I wouldn’t be too surprised, after all many of my liberal friends threatened to do it if Bush won, and the lyrics to Oh Canada! were already making the rounds in my in box, stirring up controversy.

Others I know will be protesting tonight. What they will be protesting, I’m not sure. The problem. That’s right. They’ll be protesting THE PROBLEM. Otherwise known as the Bush conspiracy. But wait? Is this what we really should be up in arms about? Is this bumbling Texan who can’t even make it through a children’s book without screwing up really the problem here? Is the problem really the republican regime? John Kerry seemed plenty able to raise money, at some points out fund-raising Bush, so the problem can’t be that they simply overpowered the democrats with their funding. The gay marriage ban passed here in Oregon despite being outspent by the No campaign by almost 3 times as much money.  Is the right simply wrong?

What if “our guy” simply let us down? What if “our” anybody-but-Bush forgot to be somebody-but-Bush? I think this slate article explains it best: Kerry’s message failed because it wasn’t simple enough. See Kerry made the big mistake of trying to offer us lots of great things: better schools! Healthcare for all! Jobs! Deficit reduction! Legal reform! Better forgien policy!. This made it easy for Bush to keep repeating the mantra "he has a plan for everything–how’s he going to pay for all this". Maybe if Kerry had stuck to his brillant convention line "we can do better" he might have had more of a chance. Perhaps voters remembered all Clinton’s grand promises and plans, many of which never came to fruition, and he had the luxury of a democratic congress. Or perhaps Bush won because we are a soundbite society and he’s the sound bite candidate, and Kerry is the essay candidate? Or, just maybe, the problem is us.

VOTE

VOTE.  Drag your neighbors, your co-workers, your family with you.  VOTE now.  We all  know, especially here on the west coast, the early polls will start coming in, and you don't want to put off voting, and then get too discouraged to do it.  VOTE. 

My mom was remarking last night how overwhelming the ballot seems--people running for medical examiner she has never heard of, annex issues she doesn't understand.  Here's an idea: there is no rule that you have to fill out every blank.  This isn't a multiple choice test.  If you feel overwhelmed, just vote for the candidates and issues that matter to you.  The important thing is that you show up.

This is indeed a sacred responsibility of ours, and we need to ensure that we perform our duty.  If you are concerned about long lines, try for off peak times--10 am, 2pm, times when fewer are getting off or going to work. 

VOTE. 

Friday Night Voting Rights

On my way home from work today, I passed a guy about my brother’s age wearing a nice suit, and a big plastic Ronald Reagan mask.  He was holding a huge Reagan for John Kerry sign and good naturedly waving at traffic and moving aside for Pedestrian. This is the kind of creative activism by young people of my generation and those a little younger that I love to see. A few weeks ago, when voter registration was in full swing here in Oregon, I tried to always tell the college kids I passed to keep up the good work, and how much I appreciated what they were trying to do.  They were out there in the rain, the heat, braving rude comments, and forsaking reward just to get a few more people to vote. I really admire that. Disillusionment is rampant among today’s youth, and yet these kids are out there, participating in democracy and making their voices heard. There is of course another way to make your voice heard.  You could just grab a can of red spray paint and X out any messages you don’t want to hear.

Drive By Voting

A week from today, it will all be over.  I wonder what the drive to Portland will look like without the signs, each owner of rural land staking out his or her beliefs out of patriotic duty or the lure of green more profitable than their fallow fields. On so many levels, the election is rather abstract, a collection of colors, filling out the landscape, leaving a collective blurred impression of their intended message.