Look what I was invited to at my son’s preschool:
Clearly it's a portrait of him and I.
It’s my first mother-son-type thing, and the cutest invitation ever.
I would only suggest one minor change.
perfect
Because I need one.
I would also be very open to Mother’s Day nap time.
It’s the 8th of the month, folks – so time to honor my split pubic bone with the 8 Line Challenge.
Our challengers today are Christine who writes over at Love, Life, Surf, and Julie who writes at Zero to 140.6.
Here’s some interesting stuff about them:
Christine was a vegetarian until she got pregnant with her second child. Then all she wanted was bacon and fried chicken. She’s allergic to lentils and chick peas, so it’s probably for the best that the whole vegetarian thing didn’t work out. She’s also a smarty pants and got ridiculously high scores on her MCATs. She probably could’ve been a doctor, but she didn’t want to. So there.
Julie started blogging to chronicle her training for an Ironman triathlon (her lifelong dream). Then, last year she actually did it, so now… she just writes to write. She continuously puts challenges in front of herself, and if there were a quadrathalon I’m sure she would be training for it.
Their prompt was: uphill.
Here’s what came out of their brains:
Julie:
Tripod headstandI’d mastered a new trick in yoga that morning: tripod headstand.It takes a lot of shoulder and core strength to do it confidently in the center of the room.So of course I showed everyone at my husband’s birthday party.“Wow, you are amazing,” he said in a tone only I would understand as sarcasm.“Wow,” my dad said. “Forty years old and still good at headstands.”“Actually, I’m forty-one now,” I corrected, shoulders and core engaged.“Yeah,” said my eleven-year-old. “When she was forty, she was still good at Ironmans.”So now I don’t know if that’s progress or what.
Christine:
when i look in front of me, i can’t see the horizonjust a long strip of concrete stretching out in front of me, edging up to the skyone foot forward but the slippery strip pulls backwards like a moving walkwaygoddamn iti grit my teeth, pull and clawmuscles tense and ache and sweat pours downat the top, hands and head to the ground, butt up in the air, back archtumble tumble head over heels
*You can read the original 8 line series here.
I checked my inbox and spam folders… nothing from the New York Times. I’m not going to make a big stink about it, though. I would hate for anyone to get fired over me.
In The Opinion Pages of The New York Times, a very interesting debate took place a couple days ago. The big question was this, “Has women’s obsession with being the perfect mother destroyed feminism? In particular, has this trend of ‘attachment parenting’ been bad for working moms?”
Several women of differing views weighed in on the subject.
click to enlarge
Here’s what I have to say:
Women’s obsession with being the perfect mother has not destroyed feminism. The quest to be the perfect mother existed well before the feminist movement. Since the beginnings of the family unit, mothers have wanted to be the best, provide the best food, the safest living space, and the perfect emotional and learning environment. It’s instinct – it’s to ensure the survival of our offspring. Our babies come into this world owning nothing (they don’t even know their hands are their own), so we have to be their everything.
There is no nobler or more anxiety-ridden job than that of being a parent.
A mother is responsible for another human life. If the feminist movement had never happened, mothers would still be killing themselves trying to be perfect – “My pie has less sugar than your pie,” “If I didn’t take so long to pee, my baby wouldn’t have hit his head,” “I should’ve flipped the cave rock over to make a better pillow.” There is no perfect, but the desire to be it is instinct. Striking the balance is tricky and endless, but has nothing to do with feminism.
“Attachment parenting” also does not have it’s claws in the working mother, nor does the parenting style demean the feminist movement in any way. Mayim Bialik, in her essay for the debate states that most women who choose to attachment-parent are “educated, humble and devoted women who believe it is just as much a feminist choice to be a parent as it is to not be one.”
Though her choices may not be mine, I tend to agree.
Attachment parenting has not been bad for the working mom. Judgement and guilt has been bad for the working mom.
The only thing I see that has the potential of destroying the feminist movement is other women. Sure there are some politicians out there right now who are giving it a good college try, but women are the majority, and if we’d stop being distracted by each other’s choices we’d be a powerful force.
At the core of feminism is defending equal rights and opportunities for women. We have the opportunity to work, the opportunity to stay home, the opportunity to do one for a while and then the other. Feminism is also about choices, and it’s our job as fellow women to honor the choices that other women make. In honoring another woman’s choice, we in no way take away the freedom to make our own.
There are, of course, women who work because they must put food on the table, and we live in a time now where they are able to do so. These women work their butts off, and miss their little ones enough without other women reminding them. We should be lifting them up, they deserve the support.
“Mommy guilt” is relentless no matter what choices we make, but no one helps lessen that guilt like another mother.
Before the feminist movement, women were told they had to stay home and raise the kids. Right after the feminist movement, women were told they had to get out there and work to feel complete. The pendulum has finally reached the middle, and now women have the choice to do either.
Feminism isn’t on the way down, it’s expanding…
defending the many strengths, facets, and differences a woman can have…
And if we’d get out of each other’s way, we’d see it’s better than ever.
I walked into that gym studio with my knuckles white from anxiety. I thought about how ridiculous it was that I was attempting to work out for seven hours, learn test material, and do it all again the next day in an effort to get certified to teach my favorite dance fitness class. I stressed about my current state of physical un-fitness, as I had done nothing but bounce a baby for six months. I worried about my pubic bone, and if it had really healed enough from the split after giving birth.
I thought about how I hadn’t, slept because of an awful night waking habit my six month old had fallen into. I thought about my poor family that drove with me over fifty miles because we couldn’t get Meatball to take a bottle. I worried about the course material I would be missing every few hours to sneak down to the parking lot and nurse the baby.
Even after the music started pumping and a dozen of us started moving, I still thought about my two boys missing their naps, and Hot Nerd left to entertain them for an entire two days. I blamed myself for not having the time to go over the course materials before hand. Above all, I couldn’t for the life of me stop obsessing about my post baby belly jiggling to and fro.
Then, in the middle of some seriously high cardio, I saw her.
She was smiling the biggest damn smile on the planet, and for a second I lost my place in the movement. Her arms were much shorter than her legs, and her bottom half was significantly rounder than her top. Her face was all aglow, and her eyes were just a little unfocused and wandered on their own. There was something about her. She was odd. She was at peace, and a fire cracker all at once. I was instantly fascinated.
The strange thing about it all, was that she was just a millisecond offbeat… in the front row… smiling away. Her limbs over extended the movement, and flailed a bit. The flailing is what mesmerized me. Perhaps it was a little awkward, perhaps even a little dangerous – but I wanted a taste of whatever freedom she was feeling at that moment. She was dancing with pure, reckless abandonment.
She was joy personified…
and I was jealous.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of her for the next five hours. Everything she did was times ten, and straight from the soul. Her moves forced me to move. Her smile made mine bigger. She made me want to draw some of whatever magnetic mojo, and neon spirit she had out of her, bottle it, and drink it cold right there on the dance floor.
I forgot about my worries. I forgot about myself. I fell in fucking love with her.
It wasn’t until the next day of the course that we found out she was blind – legally blind.
She could see some movement, but legally… the woman was blind.
The rest of my day was split between cramming moves into my muscle memory for the practical exam, and daydreaming about how she came to be there with us. She didn’t seem scared or nervous. What made her want to do it? What hurdles had she overcome before even showing up? Did she even think what she was doing was hard?
These, of course, are all questions I didn’t dare ask her. In fact, I said nothing to her. In my social awkwardness, I simply stood in awe… also danced around her general vicinity like an orbiting planet. But I am incredibly grateful to her. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t writhing in my own anxiety. Even when I found out she was legally blind, I didn’t bring it back to myself. Let’s face it, when we find out something like that, most of us naturally bring it back to ourselves, and think about how lucky we are to have sight, or to have different circumstances – It’s in gratitude, but ego centric nonetheless. There was something so powerful about her that it demanded my full attention.
I remember when we were all introducing ourselves she said, “I just love to dance”. It was the simplest and best reason to be there.
Maybe she passed the certification exams. Maybe she didn’t.
Something tells me she’ll be okay either way. She’s a force.
From the moment I saw her she took my breath away. Or perhaps I should say from the moment I felt her.
I’m thankful to have been in her presence.
She sees life differently than most of us do. She sees from the heart.
Which just might be the clearer way to see.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for me to share with you some of my latest goodies and tell you where you can get them.
It’s because I love you.
“Where can I get designer clothes for my tots at a HUGE discount?” I hear you asking.
I sent this over to Kimberley at Girl In The Green Apron as a gift to her new baby boy:
Cutie Hu Baby overalls
This cool hoodie is Bam Bam’s new favorite shirt:
Striped hoodie by Charlie Rocket
Little meatball got a converter gown:
By Petit Bateau
And because Bam Bam is fascinated with “things you put things in”, I got him this lunch box from D&N Kids:
Cutest crocodile lunchbox on the planet.
Since he already has a lunchbox that he loves, he has been using this as a “little things box”. I love the idea – it keeps all the tiny crap from ending up scattered all over the living room.
I lovingly refer to this as the Choking Hazard Keeper.
Since we have eleventy billion other teeny tiny toys, I foresee another lunchbox in our future. But like Bam Bam says, “There is no too many of lunch boxes.”
Thanks, Kids Exclusive – for dressing my kids well…
keeping tiny crap safe…
and saving us all from choking.
PS – Want to see other awesomeness from this company? Check out more swag here.
*Full disclosure: Kids Exclusive gifted me with merchandise credit to shop with. I love them, and so should you.
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