Obama to a Two Year Old

Saturday, we scarfed some free food at the little hut of Obama followers signing up volunteers.

I was a bit surprised by the overwhelming majority of older white folk…

Still, we got free stickers, cookies, and watermelon, and to my toddler, that was great.

But trying to explain what was going on was hard.

It kind of went like this:

I show her the word on the sticker. “Obama.”

Obana?
Yes, he’s a man who wants to be president. Of our country.
Our country?
Yes, the country we live in.
We live in?
America.
Am-er-ica?
Yes.
Ok.

Later, she points at the sticker again: What is it?
Obama.
Obana?
Yes. He will maybe be president. He will try.
Pres-dent?
Yes, in charge. We will all vote - choose - who gets to be in charge of our country.
Ok.

Later, again pointing to the sticker: Obana? He maybe pee in potty?

I can see the headlines now…Of course, her big thing right now is trying to pee in the potty. It’s the greatest achievement she can imagine.

A Taoist Approach to Parenting

Things get hard when I fight them.

I just want to get past them. I don’t want them to exist. I hate them.

All of these approaches turn tasks into boulders, thick and heavy and impossible, as I try to shove them out of the way.

While this post sat here, I read this:

Eckhart Tolle, author of A New Earth, Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose, says that stress can be defined as wanting the present moment to be different than it is. Dr. Dr. David Simon, co-director of the Chopra Center for Wellbeing in Southern California, agrees. He says that stress is caused by anything getting in the way of our desires.

It’s especially hard, I find, when the Things in the Way are human beings - and when these human beings happen to be my beloved children.

Nothing gets me more frustrated than trying to get my two -year-old to do something she doesn’t want to do, like put her shoes on, pick up trash, eat, follow me up a hill - oh, it could be anything. We can’t tell if she is by nature a contrarian, or if it’s just her age (both her father and I tend to be stubbornly contrary, so if in her nature, would not be surprising) - but it is SO annoying. And it’s annoying because I face the tasks of Cleaning Up, Getting From Point A to B, Leaving the House, etc., - transition tasks - boring tasks - as themselves Pains in the Ass.

(Of course, I can hear that freaking Spoonful of Sugar whirring in the background, and it d o e s  n o t  h e l p.)

Fighting a toddler is like shoving your shoulder against a giant rock. It doesn’t work. It gets harder the more you push. I get angrier the harder it gets. I don’t want to have to work with her. I don’t want to have to -

- wait, who is sounding like a toddler now!!???

So, if taking a Taoist/Buddhist approach to these tasks that I am currently fighting so much, I think the antidote is the following:

1) Stop trying, pushing, forcing. If I think about it, toddler tends to willingly join in when I am going about my business. It may be that I need to let her join in - and let her opt out, and not stress about whether or not she is ‘doing her duty’ and if I’m ‘tough enough.’ It may also be that the alternatives to her cooperating will have to involve me waiting - doing something on my own, perhaps, but waiting.

As in, “You need to pick up your trash. I am going to go write on the computer. When you have picked up your trash, we can eat cookies and play games together.” If she dawdles, instead of yelling/steaming/boiling/pickling with frustration, I will happily be writing - and maybe she’ll do it. I mean, it may take time, but… fighting her does nothing.

2) Slow down, breathe. In order to do this, I need, for right now, to throw schedules and being on time out the window. Not always practical, but it will have to do for now. Build in extra time for everything. Go slowly. Take my time.

3) Give up the expectation and desire for total control. This may sound an awful parenting strategy, but I don’t mean it like I’m going to stop discipline or expectations. I mean that, I am not living alone. I live with a partner and an animal and children, and I can’t control them all the time. I can’t do things at my own pace. I can’t do things at will. Neither can they. It’s like driving in traffic. Everyone has to compromise and follow some agreed-upon rules so that we don’t crash into each other while doing our own thing.

Actually, the Tao te Ching makes an interesting parenting manual. I must revisit…

Bearing without possessing,
Nurturing without taming,
Shaping without forcing,
This is harmony.

Take a Break

What if I took a break this year?

Took a break - broke myself of the habit of - broke out - for a whole year - of needing to achieve something?

What if I took a break from guilt?

What if I broke myself of the need to accomplish anything this year?

What if I just enjoyed myself, took pleasure in my life, relaxed in the moment, relished my children and relationships, didn’t face each day with the burden of needing to do something Big, feeling bitter and guilty by the end of the day that I had done nothing worthy?

See, especially as I approached my birthday this year, I’ve been struggling hard with the sense that my life is going by so fast and I’m doing nothing with it, and I’d better finish those manuscripts and get published and do some art and focus so I can finish projects to have Something to Show for Myself, some evidence of adequacy, some great career or good work begun that will use all my skills and maximize my talents and give back and balance out my negative footprints and contribute something to the greater good and fulfill all my promise…

Everyday I am mentally straining against the thick heaving tide of life to Do Something. It’s extremely tiring.

What if I just gave up?

What sweet relief - how decadent and indulgent and selfish but oh, what a delicious prospect. What if I just gave myself one year to live happily, without needing Make the Most of It?

Somehow, I feel that following my bliss, indulging in what pleases me, will somehow make me more productive in the long run. And there’s something very Taoist about not trying to do things (wu wei) that adds some principled morality to the idea.

But would it be a cop out? Would I be lazy, lacking ambition and follow through? Would it mean a wasted year? Is this an excuse to not believe enough in myself to work hard to achieve things?

Could I do it? Give myself permission to just raise my kids and do my work and love my husband and weed the garden and read books and watch movies and swim in the sunshine and be myself?

Why Single Parents Will Change the World

It’s because men I know raised by single or mostly single parents end up being Awesome Husbands.

Why? Because

a) they have to learn to do things around the house/pick up the slack, cooking, cleaning, taking care of themselves/siblings instead of having a parent (mother) doing it for them

b) they don’t get exposed to screwed up male-female patterns of privilege that exist in most marriages

My ex’s mother, for instance, walked out on her family when he was around 11. It was sad and tragic. The young boy suddenly was cooking dinner for his father and sibling, had to make money for his own clothes, do his own laundry, clean the house, watch his sister - basically, his dad forced him to take the place of the missing mother.

But I benefited because in a relationship where domestic chores don’t have a gender attached to them, when it’s just What You Do to keep the house clean and organized, to make food and do laundry, to look after other people, to be considerate and caring, when that is second nature because you had to do it growing up - well, lord, it is a breath of fresh air to any woman.

But it’s that kind of equality in the domestic sphere that needs to happen. It’s not enough that women are rocking it in the workplace sphere - the balance has to occur in the home as well. And this means that something has to change for men - for the way we raise our sons - single parents or not.

I look at my little boy. He is my mission.

Single parents have to do it by default. But more than that, single parents themselves break down gender barriers - mothers work, fathers clean - there’s no division of labor, they have to do everything (my mom was a single parent for a while; she was amazing). Boys, like girls, take their cues from what their parents do. If their mother does all the cleaning and their dad doesn’t, that will seep in, no matter how much the mom (!) tries to get them to clean up. Why should the son clean up if dad doesn’t?

If we can, let the rest of us do it by choice. Nothing so harsh as making our boys serve us pot roast the way my poor ex had to - but by expecting, requiring, everyone in the home to pick up after themselves equally.

And that includes the husbands.

Finding a Cohort

So, I’m feeling like the last girl in fifth grade to get a bra.

That’s not exactly it. But sorta.

We don’t fit with anyone. Maybe what I really feel is like a hand-me-down bra.

Ok, forget the bras. Here’s the point. I don’t have any compatriot mother friends whose children’s ages match mine. It’s not a big deal, except that, with the ones with older kids, I’m watching them cruise into new heights of maturity and ease, I’m watching the mothers getting sleep and getting jobs, I’m feeling left behind in diaper land, they have Made it Through, so to speak, and I have not.

Other friends have only one kid, which means I feel saddlebagged, while they move about life with relative ease (not to say one child isn’t a hefty load, just that I feel like I’ve got extra.).

And then a few friends are just starting to have babies, and compared to them, I feel old, worn out, so far from the land of early mothering bliss that I’m like one of those saggy old ladies on those awful greeting cards that are all sarcastic and bitter and depressing.

Is this ridiculous? Do I somehow think that finding a woman with children exactly my kids’ ages would offer me comfort and relief?

Probably not. I’m thinking back a few months ago, being at a playgroup with a woman whose baby was only a couple weeks’ older than mine, our toddlers within a month of each other, and for some reason, I felt like there was this HUGE gap between her baby and my baby, and her baby was all smiley and mine was all asleep, and there were a few miserable moments of me feeling like -

well, just not fitting in.

The silly thing, of course, is that weeks and months and even years will hardly matter as time passes - none of my close friends are my age, for goodness’ sake - and with my toddler, at least, predicting a good play friend has less to do with age than with temperment.

So what’s my problem? I think, basically, I’m just experiencing a general exhaustion from parenting - with all the self-examination, self-doubt, and self-lessness it can entail. I am so happy for my friends who have gotten the hang of it - and I guess I’m worried that I never will. That they’ll leave me hanging.

Thank goodness this isn’t fifth grade!

80s Prom

Last year, I was newly pregnant. I was chubby in my material girl desperately-seeking-fashion-help outfit, not drinking, and I STILL had a blast - everyone jamming to the classics - in big fluffy flashy prom dresses and Rick Springfield gear - oh, it was deliciously obnoxious…

So I highly recommend it. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it - right before Father’s Day and my birthday - but darn, you should go in my stead…

(Oh yeah, and as for the fact that this is a benefit for Planned Parenthood: I just want to say that PP was there for me when I was 17 (and later) and needed a check up and my family didn’t have health insurance. Health services for women and girls, reproductive education, can be vital support for people, having nothing to do with abortion…)

Info on the Dance:

Old Michie Building (aka Old Live Arts) 609 E Market St, Charlottesville, VA 22902 US
When:	Saturday, June 14, 8:00PM
Don’t go dancing with yourself; get into the groove with others who’ve got the beat to support Planned Parenthood Advocates of Virginia (PPAV). On June 14th, we’ll be partying like it’s 1989 with the Second Annual 80s Prom. So get pretty in pink, jump in your little red corvette and have the time of your life!  Must be 21+. Featuring DJ Steve Richmond spinning the 80s tunes, costume contest, prom court and much, much more…. Tickets $10*/ $20 with PPAV membership *only available at the door Pretty sweet sponsorship levels $35 Polaroid picture under balloon arch $50 Polaroid picture under balloon arch plus song request Super cool sponsorship levels $100 VIP Lounge entry and champagne for two $250 Two 80s Prom tickets, VIP Lounge entry for up to four guests and bottle of champagne For advance tickets & sponsorship, who you gonna call?  www.ppav.org\80sprom.html

Warts and All: A Random Suggestion

You know the phrase “warts and all,” as in, “She loves me, warts and all!”

Well, I think it’s time to change it to “farts and all.”

Why? I’ve done a lot of thinking on this this morning (so much for my meditation session), and there’s a couple reasons.

1) In these days of laser dermatology, warts can be removed, so it really doesn’t matter if someone loves you, but not your warts - you can solve the problem and get them removed.

2) Farts are much worse than warts. You can fall in love with someone, date them for a year, get married, and THEN discover that your beloved farts all night long and isn’t adverse to giving you the dutch oven experience at random points throughout the night. Warts you can see right off the bat; farts can be held in or released in other rooms. Warts are ostentatiously offensive; farts insidiously so.

3) “Fart” is just a worse word than “wart.” To me.

The only way in which “warts and all” is a more powerful a mark of love is if the warts being referred to are genital in nature. Maybe that’s what the phrase has referred to all along. If so, this was a completely pointless post.

You might think it is either way!

Good Morning!!!

When Did Work Start to Suck? (or has it always?)

Toddler and I at Hoos Brews today, the place empty, and she starts asking me for a real-time play-by-play of everything the kind woman behind the counter is doing - “Emptying the soup bowls,” I say, diligently. “Scooping ice cream, I think.”

“What she doing?”

“Making a smoothie, maybe.”

The woman notices, and erupts: “Enjoy your childhood, because this is work, and it sucks!”

“Yeah,” I say, sympathetically. “To kids it seems like so much fun.”

“You just wait,” she says.

And so I start thinking about my daughter’s play activities - imitating cleaning, imitating cooking, making things, pretend shopping… her playtime is all about going through the motions of what I do, what adults do, most of it perceived and experienced as drudgery… rote, boring tasks…

But what makes domestic chores burdens - and what makes a job feel like compulsory torture?

Part of it, I think, or most of it, is the compulsory piece - the fact that you have to shop, you have to clean, you have to Bring Home the Bacon, to survive - you don’t really have much of a choice. Most jobs require that you follow someone else’s rules and procedures, subverting your own ideas and questions, your own style your own imagination your own rhythms to a hierarchy that often doesn’t seem to deserve its power.

Would working in an ice cream/coffee shop be fun if it was play time? If you could do it fearlessly, lovingly?

Would your job be fun if you didn’t have to do it everyday? If you could do it your own way?

Or is it that people tend to be doing jobs they don’t like in the first place, at all, ever?

Because I don’t think the answer is that things are “hard.” Hard work that you love, that you find challenging and rewarding, can be a heck of a lot of fun. I loved studying for the SATs, for instance. I liked mastering the analogy portion of the test. I also enjoyed sweating while swinging a hammer to help build latrines at a women’s music festival. I also loved writing papers in school, having to think out hard issues and find the right words to explain and clarify my points.

On the other hand, I hate doing financial paperwork. I hate data entry. I like the challenge of typing fast. But I don’t like having to be on time to a 9-5 job. I like when I get to question how things are done and develop new, better ways to do them. I don’t like when I have to go through the motions someone else invented that feel slow and redundant.

Meaningful, engaging, fun work that makes one feel like a whole, worthy, respected, happy person - what does that require?

Why does my two year old love sweeping and mopping and I hate it??? And what do I do to reclaim my joy for the mundane and to help my child retain it as she ages?

Answer me, people!!

Chitty Chitty is Sh-tty Sh-tty

So, we do allow our toddler to watch media - short clips on Youtube of Little Bear and Miss Piggy, movies like Mary Poppins and the Muppets -  a limited number of things on video or dvd, mostly for those moments when we’re single parenting or as a special treat. We usually watch with her, talking about the show during and after. And we read to her and she reads by herself four times as much as she watches anything. So we feel okay about it.  I know some who don’t let their kids watch anything, and others whose children have their own tv. So we’re kind of in the middle, I guess.

But boy, do I feel AWFUL about exposing my child to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang the other night.
I had seen reviews of the movie that put it up there with Mary Poppins in terms of its acceptability for young children. So I didn’t expect:

1) A man yelling that he was going to beat up the little kids in the opening scene

2) An unexplained missing mother - “Where’s their mommy?” my daughter kept asking worriedly -

3) The granddad making fun/putting down the father figure.

Yikes! Depressing, scary, and traumatic, and the movie was just starting…

But it was the scene where the dogs bust into the candy factory that made my daughter erupt into tears. “Where dogs?” she cried, when the next scene popped up. “No, dogs don’t eat candy!” She started wailing.

She was so upset by the dogs eating candy and getting into trouble possibly that she couldn’t sleep. At 9, 10, 11, 12 pm that night, she kept coming out of her bedroom to declare: “Dogs don’t eat candy. Dogs eat dinner.” and “I don’t like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I like Mary Poppins.”

I have apparently scarred her for life.

Which just goes to show that you cannot always predict what is going to upset a young child - and that if you’re going to let your kid watch stuff, be prepared at all times…  and don’t just go on reviews… stick with Little Bear…

My Love Affair with Julie Andrews Continues…

Listen to Julie Andrews being interviewed on Fresh Air regarding her new memoir and you will know what it’s like listening to a goddess.

Okay, that’s a bit much, I know, but I adore her. In talking about her childhood, she responded to Teri Gross’ attempt to spin her childhood as hard or difficult because of growing up during WWII by saying (I paraphrase) : “It wasn’t a hard childhood - it was a childhood -” -

I was thinking the other day about how many of us feel like we spend our adulthoods recovering from our childhoods, and then you’re left with seniorhood, the period in which you remember or forget the other hoods while you wait to go into deathhood… and this seems kind of sad and weird and again I realize how I have a false template in my head of How Things Should Be and if I didn’t have that, I would just be Living, instead of Getting Through or Getting Past or Getting By all these hoods.

Speaking of hoods, I was reading Little Red Riding Hood to my toddler the other day and she ran to the other side of the room saying “I’m not red riding hood!” and I realized she was terrified of the Big Bad Wolf - in the Three Little Pigs, he’s not so awful, so she enjoys pretending to be the wolf - and I felt awful for scaring the crap out of her. But really, tying up Grandma in the closet is a pretty darn scary thing to do… and that’s the nice version…

Anyway, I guess I have such an affinity with Julie Andrews because we had similar childhoods in some respects - well, sort of. She was a child prodigy, touring in vaudeville acts with her mother and stepfather, singing on stage when she was just little… I started acting on stage when I was 3 years old, and we toured and I sang and performed with my parents, as well. I wasn’t exactly a prodigy, but I was a young talent - the young talent - in my parents’ theater troupe for a long time, and just as Julie says, it was a lot of fun as well as being really hard.

Of course, Julie went off at 19 to star on Broadway, and I did not… which is kind of a bummer… sigh…