Hello friends. Yes, I’m still here. But barely. I went for a run with my double stroller today. To say it was hellish would be an understatement. If there was any part of me that tried to pretend it would be slightly easier to run with a stroller (I don’t know, I imagined leaning on it a bit during difficult moments) - or not that much harder - that part of me is now shutting up. Running twice as far solo is infinitely easier. Thank goodness my running path is relatively flat because pushing one hundred pounds up even the smallest hills was just brutal. Not to mention the fact that I have my girls yelling at me the whole time: “Mom, I dropped my flip-flop; Mom, she hit me again; Mom, I need more snacks; (And, my all time favorite...) Mom, are you getting tired? Why don’t you just walk?” For a second there, while my arms and back were starting to go numb, I toyed with the idea of harnessing the Burley to myself and pulling the girls behind me like a horse and carriage. So, I think I need to make an apology. Here goes: Dear Treadmill at the Gym (lovely, lovely gym with child care), I am so sorry for all the mean things I said about you; I take it all back. Can we be friends again? I’ll visit you very soon. I miss you. And while I’m in the habit of apologizing to inanimate objects, I have another thing to say: Dear Blog, I am sorry for neglecting you so. I have been a fickle friend and, to be fair, I probably will be for a while. I had grand intentions of starting an interactive experience with discussing the whole “selling sexiness” business (and weren’t the posted responses wonderful?), but it just didn’t work out the way I envisioned. For one thing, Blogger has a habit of eating some of my friends’ comments. They pour their hearts out into their computers - share, pretend to care about what I say - and then their well-thought-out responses vanish into thin air. Frustrating for them and even more so for me! (I’m dying to read what you said, people.) However, I better not go blaming all this on Blogger or I’ll be making another absurd apology. To be honest, I just haven’t had time for my beloved blog lately. Between the kids’ crazy schedules and the fact that my house is a major construction zone, it’s just not happening. Try to imagine the sound of my house right now: the gleeful giggles, joy-filled songs - okay okay, it’s more like whining, nagging, and not infrequent screaming - drowned out by the sound of a jack hammer pounding away, rattling the west walls of my house so hard the plaster on the ceiling is shaking loose. Who knew (besides the Big Bad Wolf, of course) that bricks were so damn hard to deal with? So my brain is tired and my body is tired. And I can’t think, much less type. But the good news is the weather is amazing here. It’s Minnesota and April and the trees are green and the tulips are in full bloom. My son, who almost always omits Spring when reciting the four seasons, finally gets it. So that’s fun. And it’s nice that we can be outside, even if it is in the front yard. Hey, we’ve become so social, are really getting to know our lovely neighbors. They don’t even seem to mind that we’re the white trash family on the block, blemishing the lovely row of perfectly manicured lawns with the sight of our various athletic equipment, bikes, and sidewalk chalk strewn about; or even that we’ve taken to grilling (on our super cheap, temporary grill that only works on high and sends billows of smoke blowing down the street) in the side yard and dining al fresco in the front yard. The only thing missing is a cooler full of Coors Light (Hey, on second thought, my new fave beer, Surly, comes in a can, so that kind of works). So, it’s going to be a crazy summer. Either I’ll be blogging about the daily drama of a house remodel or not saying a thing at all. In case it’s the latter, I’ll apologize in advance: I’m sorry to you, too, my three readers, for what may turn out to be a summer hiatus (then again, it's running and blogging that keeps me sane, so you may be hearing from me more than you thought...).
If you live in the ‘hood, stop by anytime. You’ll see us - we’re hard to miss.
p.s. I have to say Happy 30th Birthday to my beloved sister (hmmm, she must be my older sister, since I happen to be permanently twenty-nine), who happens to share her special day with Earth Day. It seems fitting since she has taken to living off the land in her little Hawaiian paradise of a home, owns a boutique which specializes in reusing and repurposing vintage designer clothing - and more than anything else, because how on EARTH would I live without her???? Happy Birthday, Beast! I love you love you love you.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Too Sexy for My Tricycle
One of my biggest fears for my blog, lately, is that it’s becoming a mommy blog, chronicling the milestones of my three children as they grow. Now let me explain that fear: it’s not that I feel a blog that is a family scrapbook is a bad thing, not remotely. Actually, I wish I were doing something so noble as recording my children’s lives for them, for me, and for my family - in addition to this blog. Alas, I’m not. I’m too selfish; since I only have time (and barely that) to do one, I’m doing the blog that’s for me. And I want it to stay that way, dammit! After years of living my life solely around my children - my conversations with other moms, even on our “nights out” at the wine bar, sounded something like this, “What do you think is better, organic Whole Foods O’s because they’re, well, organic, or Cheerios since they’ve had many more years to test that the texture safe and unlikely to cause my 8-month old to choke?” and “What’s better for potty training boys, teaching them standing up right away or starting with sitting down?” And conversations with my girlfriends, well, didn’t exist, because if they didn’t have their own kids they nodded and smiled for a generous period of time, then, eyes glazing over, made some excuse to get off the phone. And conversations with my husband revolved around what our the toddler ate (or didn’t), how often the baby pooped, and which of us got less sleep the night before - I, at some point last summer, decided enough was enough. I was bored. I was boring. I was sad and confused. And I didn’t know who I was anymore. As a person. So, after my little mommy nervous breakdown, I started a blog, to help me find myself.
Now that I’ve bored you with that little preamble, here’s something else I must say: my biggest fear (as a person, not as a mom, my fears for my children are countless and often incapacitating if I allow myself to dwell on them long enough, so I’m not going there) is that I could become invisible, become one of those mom-jeans-and-over-sized sweatshirt-and-tennis-shoes-wearing moms who’s devoted herself so much to mothering that she’s lost all sense of self. I know I know, it’s a fine line to walk, as a mom, between being a woman and being a mom. But I feel it’s one we must walk. We must be selfless enough to put our children first. Sometimes. But not all the time. I think of it as putting my family first, not my children first - and, remember, I’m in this family too. (There may not be an “I” in “Team” but there is an “I” in “Family”). So, that’s my philosophy: family first. Some days that means Princess Pink needs one-on-one time with mom at all costs, and my hair appointment needs to be rescheduled (Note: I didn’t say canceled, just rescheduled) and sometimes Terrible Two needs an extra long nap because she’s missed her naps two days in a row so I have to forego my run so she can sleep longer. Then again, some days dad comes home from work looking like he got hit by a truck and I know he needs me most, so the kids spend a little quality time watching Berenstain Bears while mom and dad have a talk. And some days, yes, that means when dad gets home, I say, “Tag, you’re it,” and high-tail it out of the house so fast he only sees a blur with car keys, followed by the sound of squealing tires as I pull the minivan away from the curb. So, that’s what works for me, putting each of us first some of the time.
We, as moms, are accountable for our children and ourselves. We can’t just let ourselves go, can we? We can’t chuck all our Us Weekly magazines to make room for piles of Parenting. We won’t have real friendships if we don’t have anything to talk about that’s not a subject covered by Dr. Sears, in one of his books. We won’t be happy with ourselves if we stop trying to lose the baby weight and stop wearing make up and only throw on sweats day after day. That’s not right, is it? That’s not the role model I want to be for my daughters. And it certainly doesn’t make for a fulfilling life for me. And, really, what fun are we to our husbands if we’re unattractive and boring? But I wonder if I’m in the minority here. My friend, who selflessly and beautifully (and hilariously!) writes a blog about her children (and inadvertently brags about her incredible abilities in the kitchen, her talents with photography, and how she’s pretty much the perfect mom), sent me a link about blogging, which in a nutshell stated that you can’t blog in a vacuum. If you want to have a successful blog, you must form a community, get people talking. I know she (and the author of the article) were right. I get that. I just don’t know if I’m more concerned about whether or not I write a successful blog or just that I can write, put myself out there, imagine that a few people care enough to read it, and somehow feel a little calmer for having done it.
But in case I do care, I thought I’d give it a try. So, here we go. I’m about to share a hot topic that I’ve been stewing on for a couple weeks. It’s all due to a flyer I received about the opportunity to participate in a little citizen parent group that’s being formed in our town called the “Selling Sexiness to Children” group. The parents who formed the group are concerned (aren’t we all?) about how quickly children are growing up these days and how our culture is consumed by sex and sexiness. They are certain our children are suffering because of their overexposure to sexy images at too early an age. So far so good, right? I have two little girls. It seems ages away that I’ll be thinking about sex with my kids (Terrible Two has taken to screaming, “Mom, DON’T TOUCH MY PEANUT!” every time I try to change her dirty diapers, thanks to a run-in with big brother in the shower. Since she thinks she has a “peanut” in the first place - oh, and you might be able to imagine the look of consternation on her face when I told her she couldn’t eat some of her M&M’s at Easter because they were the kind that had peanuts - I imagine we won’t be having The Talk anytime soon. Then again, there are rumors of nine-year-olds “sexting” (Am I naive to think nine is an absurdly young age to have a cell phone in the first place?) so I’m worried. Of course I am. But imagine my surprise (again, naive?) when I attended this meeting to find that the most outspoken of the participants think Hannah Montana is the devil (Is she? I don’t know, I haven’t yet had a reason to see the show), that Ugg boots and skinny jeans on little girls are signs that they’re growing up too fast, that putting my toddler in a two-piece bathing suit (imagine her round belly sticking out the middle, her diaper hanging out of the bottom) is on par with child pornography. I wanted to participate in the group, to be part of a potentially important movement. I was intrigued to discover what a “sex positive” message might be for our children, but this is what I got. So, what do you think? Has our culture gotten so immune to sexy images that even I, Spazzy Mom, don’t see the harm in skinny jeans (aren’t they just the opposite of bell-bottoms?) and tankinis? Or do you agree with me that this group isn’t going to get anywhere if they’re so extreme? Some of my friends have referred to these super conservative moms as “just crazy,” but I don’t know. They’re bright and personable and seem normal in every other way. I’m sure they feel justified in their beliefs; I just don’t think they’re going to get a lot of people to listen if they talk like that - and the ones who will listen, well, they’re ostensibly preaching to the choir, right? So, what do you think? Do you agree with The Maybe-Crazies? With me? Do you think that maybe we're missing an opportunity to have the right conversation because some people are getting bogged down in the wrong one? That there’s some cognitive dissonance going on here (yes, JT, I’m back on your social psych bandwagon): either that the moms who think fashion is bad are just thrilled to finally have the opportunity to justify the fact that they stopped trying to be attractive or that I am trying to justify my (vain?) need to keep up with the fashion mags and maybe occasionally still turn a head or two on a Saturday night? Talk to me.
Now that I’ve bored you with that little preamble, here’s something else I must say: my biggest fear (as a person, not as a mom, my fears for my children are countless and often incapacitating if I allow myself to dwell on them long enough, so I’m not going there) is that I could become invisible, become one of those mom-jeans-and-over-sized sweatshirt-and-tennis-shoes-wearing moms who’s devoted herself so much to mothering that she’s lost all sense of self. I know I know, it’s a fine line to walk, as a mom, between being a woman and being a mom. But I feel it’s one we must walk. We must be selfless enough to put our children first. Sometimes. But not all the time. I think of it as putting my family first, not my children first - and, remember, I’m in this family too. (There may not be an “I” in “Team” but there is an “I” in “Family”). So, that’s my philosophy: family first. Some days that means Princess Pink needs one-on-one time with mom at all costs, and my hair appointment needs to be rescheduled (Note: I didn’t say canceled, just rescheduled) and sometimes Terrible Two needs an extra long nap because she’s missed her naps two days in a row so I have to forego my run so she can sleep longer. Then again, some days dad comes home from work looking like he got hit by a truck and I know he needs me most, so the kids spend a little quality time watching Berenstain Bears while mom and dad have a talk. And some days, yes, that means when dad gets home, I say, “Tag, you’re it,” and high-tail it out of the house so fast he only sees a blur with car keys, followed by the sound of squealing tires as I pull the minivan away from the curb. So, that’s what works for me, putting each of us first some of the time.
We, as moms, are accountable for our children and ourselves. We can’t just let ourselves go, can we? We can’t chuck all our Us Weekly magazines to make room for piles of Parenting. We won’t have real friendships if we don’t have anything to talk about that’s not a subject covered by Dr. Sears, in one of his books. We won’t be happy with ourselves if we stop trying to lose the baby weight and stop wearing make up and only throw on sweats day after day. That’s not right, is it? That’s not the role model I want to be for my daughters. And it certainly doesn’t make for a fulfilling life for me. And, really, what fun are we to our husbands if we’re unattractive and boring? But I wonder if I’m in the minority here. My friend, who selflessly and beautifully (and hilariously!) writes a blog about her children (and inadvertently brags about her incredible abilities in the kitchen, her talents with photography, and how she’s pretty much the perfect mom), sent me a link about blogging, which in a nutshell stated that you can’t blog in a vacuum. If you want to have a successful blog, you must form a community, get people talking. I know she (and the author of the article) were right. I get that. I just don’t know if I’m more concerned about whether or not I write a successful blog or just that I can write, put myself out there, imagine that a few people care enough to read it, and somehow feel a little calmer for having done it.
But in case I do care, I thought I’d give it a try. So, here we go. I’m about to share a hot topic that I’ve been stewing on for a couple weeks. It’s all due to a flyer I received about the opportunity to participate in a little citizen parent group that’s being formed in our town called the “Selling Sexiness to Children” group. The parents who formed the group are concerned (aren’t we all?) about how quickly children are growing up these days and how our culture is consumed by sex and sexiness. They are certain our children are suffering because of their overexposure to sexy images at too early an age. So far so good, right? I have two little girls. It seems ages away that I’ll be thinking about sex with my kids (Terrible Two has taken to screaming, “Mom, DON’T TOUCH MY PEANUT!” every time I try to change her dirty diapers, thanks to a run-in with big brother in the shower. Since she thinks she has a “peanut” in the first place - oh, and you might be able to imagine the look of consternation on her face when I told her she couldn’t eat some of her M&M’s at Easter because they were the kind that had peanuts - I imagine we won’t be having The Talk anytime soon. Then again, there are rumors of nine-year-olds “sexting” (Am I naive to think nine is an absurdly young age to have a cell phone in the first place?) so I’m worried. Of course I am. But imagine my surprise (again, naive?) when I attended this meeting to find that the most outspoken of the participants think Hannah Montana is the devil (Is she? I don’t know, I haven’t yet had a reason to see the show), that Ugg boots and skinny jeans on little girls are signs that they’re growing up too fast, that putting my toddler in a two-piece bathing suit (imagine her round belly sticking out the middle, her diaper hanging out of the bottom) is on par with child pornography. I wanted to participate in the group, to be part of a potentially important movement. I was intrigued to discover what a “sex positive” message might be for our children, but this is what I got. So, what do you think? Has our culture gotten so immune to sexy images that even I, Spazzy Mom, don’t see the harm in skinny jeans (aren’t they just the opposite of bell-bottoms?) and tankinis? Or do you agree with me that this group isn’t going to get anywhere if they’re so extreme? Some of my friends have referred to these super conservative moms as “just crazy,” but I don’t know. They’re bright and personable and seem normal in every other way. I’m sure they feel justified in their beliefs; I just don’t think they’re going to get a lot of people to listen if they talk like that - and the ones who will listen, well, they’re ostensibly preaching to the choir, right? So, what do you think? Do you agree with The Maybe-Crazies? With me? Do you think that maybe we're missing an opportunity to have the right conversation because some people are getting bogged down in the wrong one? That there’s some cognitive dissonance going on here (yes, JT, I’m back on your social psych bandwagon): either that the moms who think fashion is bad are just thrilled to finally have the opportunity to justify the fact that they stopped trying to be attractive or that I am trying to justify my (vain?) need to keep up with the fashion mags and maybe occasionally still turn a head or two on a Saturday night? Talk to me.
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