Discrimination. It's a word that gets tossed around a lot these days. And no one likes to use it more than Gloria Steinem and her minions, who recently got their knickers in a twist over the Democratic National Convention and its horrifying lack of... drum roll please... babysitting.
Yep. You heard me. "The Democratic party shouldn't put you in a position where you have to choose between your child and participating in a political convention," said delegate Susie Shannon.
Ms. Steinem and several chapters of the National Organization for Women agree: "This practice of discrimination needs to end in 2012."
Seriously, ladies? Not providing babysitting is discrimination?
Oh, for heaven's sake! Do you even hear yourselves? If I were Susan B. Anthony I would rise from my grave and smack you.
If you choose to have children you choose the set of responsibilities that goes along with having those children. Among those responsibilities? Finding your own dang babysitter.
The universe is not under any obligation to support your life choices with freebies or perks or even conveniences. No one -- I repeat -- no one, is required to provide you with childcare, nor are they required to allow you to take your little darlings wherever you please. To suggest that it is "discriminatory" to expect women to take responsibility for their own children is pathetic, not to mention incredibly insulting to women who are actual victims of discrimination.
Nothing cheapens a word or demeans its true victims like its blatant misuse.
For that, these women should be ashamed of themselves.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Monday, September 10, 2012
Fall Book Giveaway!
This morning I sat on the couch while Matthew and Leah fought over who got to take up the most space on my lap. Sensing he could win the battle, Matthew looked up at me with great big puppy dog eyes and pulled out his trump card: "Mommy... don't feel good."
Not to be outdone, Leah immediately chimed in, "Mommy, Matthew don't feel good but I sick!"
I told them there was room on my lap for both of them. (There is. I don't eat all those brownies for nothing!) So Leah tried a different approach. She pointed straight at me and said: "Mommy, elephant!"
Um, Leah, I understand that you love elephants, but let me give you a few hints about manipulating your mother. Hint #1: Never point at the woman who gave birth to you and say, "Elephant!"
So I got off the couch and decided my wounded self-esteem needed a distraction. Something fall-ish and crafty, which meant a few minutes later I was letting the kids use their fingers to stamp fingerprint leaves on skeletal-looking trees. I thought the craftiness of it all would cancel out their neurotic need for hand cleanliness, but I was wrong. Total artwork distraction time: 3 minutes.
Darn it! I thought I was being so fun!
But since that didn't satiate my need for something fall-ish, I ate leftover apple crisp for lunch. Ahem, I mean with lunch... And then I picked up the latest spooky release from four-time Whitney Award winner, Stephanie Black. Yes, that's FOUR TIMES she has won the award for Best Mystery/Suspense novel. In your face, Anne Perry! (No, seriously, Stephanie beat out New York Times bestselling author, Anne Perry, for the award last year).
So you should read her new book, Shadowed, because it's awesome. Also, because my name is in the acknowledgements, which means I am awesome by association. And did I mention I'm giving away a personalized, autographed copy for free? Just leave a comment on this post and I'll put your name in the drawing. Leave a clever, amusing, or obsequious comment and I will put your name in twice. Possibly three times, as long as you don't compare me to an elephant.
Happy reading!
Not to be outdone, Leah immediately chimed in, "Mommy, Matthew don't feel good but I sick!"
I told them there was room on my lap for both of them. (There is. I don't eat all those brownies for nothing!) So Leah tried a different approach. She pointed straight at me and said: "Mommy, elephant!"
Um, Leah, I understand that you love elephants, but let me give you a few hints about manipulating your mother. Hint #1: Never point at the woman who gave birth to you and say, "Elephant!"
So I got off the couch and decided my wounded self-esteem needed a distraction. Something fall-ish and crafty, which meant a few minutes later I was letting the kids use their fingers to stamp fingerprint leaves on skeletal-looking trees. I thought the craftiness of it all would cancel out their neurotic need for hand cleanliness, but I was wrong. Total artwork distraction time: 3 minutes.
Darn it! I thought I was being so fun!
But since that didn't satiate my need for something fall-ish, I ate leftover apple crisp for lunch. Ahem, I mean with lunch... And then I picked up the latest spooky release from four-time Whitney Award winner, Stephanie Black. Yes, that's FOUR TIMES she has won the award for Best Mystery/Suspense novel. In your face, Anne Perry! (No, seriously, Stephanie beat out New York Times bestselling author, Anne Perry, for the award last year).
So you should read her new book, Shadowed, because it's awesome. Also, because my name is in the acknowledgements, which means I am awesome by association. And did I mention I'm giving away a personalized, autographed copy for free? Just leave a comment on this post and I'll put your name in the drawing. Leave a clever, amusing, or obsequious comment and I will put your name in twice. Possibly three times, as long as you don't compare me to an elephant.
Happy reading!
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
The One Where I Spout Marriage Advice
Writing the previous blog post had me pondering the topic of an actual cure for divorce. And then I flashed back to my bridal shower where at least 3 of my friends told me that David and I should never go to bed angry. Since you already know how I feel about that, I thought I would share some of my other tips for a happier, healthier marriage:
1. Don't be a jerk.
I realize this should go without saying, but judging by the number of spouses I've seen treating their other half like garbage, a lot of people seem to have missed the memo. If you don't think you're a jerk, I have a few questions for you: Do you ever insult your spouse (in public or in private)? Treat him like a child (or tell people that he is a child, e.g., "I have four kids... including my husband")? Make demands instead of treating him as an equal ("Get off your butt and take out the garbage!" instead of, "Would you mind taking out the garbage for me?") Are you rude, sarcastic, or mean-spirited when you argue? If you answered yes to any of these questions, you might be a jerk.
2. Keep the in-laws out of your marriage.
Once you set sail on the marriage boat, the in-laws need to jump ship. You and your spouse are your own family now, and you need to do what is best for that family. This doesn't mean you don't have to accommodate both sets of in-laws or make any efforts toward them, nor are you excused from being kind and understanding, but if your parents are calling every single day or demanding that you come over for dinner every Sunday afternoon, and your in-laws have put dibs on every holiday and every Tuesday in between, they are not supporting your marriage. Also not supporting the marriage? In-laws who dole out unsolicited advice, criticize your spouse or her decisions, or interfere with personal family issues.
3. Don't speak unkindly about your spouse to anyone, especially not family.
You may forgive and forget, but your mother will remember forever, so if you have an argument with your spouse, do not talk to your mother about it. If your spouse does something that makes you mad, do not talk to your friends about it. In the same vein, if your mother insults your husband, defend him. If your friend disagrees with your husband's career choice, stand up for him. You and your husband are a team - do not give other people the ammunition to destroy your relationship.
4. Remember that your spouse is the most important person in your life. Your kids come second.
Oh yes, I know the little darlings have to come first sometimes. (They're so demanding, aren't they?) They have soccer practice and homework and doctor visits and they want you to play with them and cook them dinner and buy toys for them. (And nothing sucks the air out of a romantic evening like Junior barfing all over your shoes). But you must remember that your spouse is the most important person in your life. One day, if you've done your job correctly, all the little chickens will fly the coop and you and your spouse will be a couple of old birds with nothing to focus on but each other. So make sure you've spent enough time nourishing your relationship - regular dates, regular intimacy, regular kid-free time - that an empty nest is a blessing, not a curse.
5. Love your spouse the way he wants to be loved.
If you haven't read this book, read it. Once you know your spouse's primary love language, speak it. If that means having sex more often, do it. If that means watching a football game now and then, do it. If that means remembering anniversaries, writing love notes, or going to the opera, do it. Marriage is work, but it has the potential to be the most fun work you ever do (and honestly, what could be more fun than rocking your husband's world?)
So there you have it, dear readers. Get to work!
1. Don't be a jerk.
I realize this should go without saying, but judging by the number of spouses I've seen treating their other half like garbage, a lot of people seem to have missed the memo. If you don't think you're a jerk, I have a few questions for you: Do you ever insult your spouse (in public or in private)? Treat him like a child (or tell people that he is a child, e.g., "I have four kids... including my husband")? Make demands instead of treating him as an equal ("Get off your butt and take out the garbage!" instead of, "Would you mind taking out the garbage for me?") Are you rude, sarcastic, or mean-spirited when you argue? If you answered yes to any of these questions, you might be a jerk.
2. Keep the in-laws out of your marriage.
Once you set sail on the marriage boat, the in-laws need to jump ship. You and your spouse are your own family now, and you need to do what is best for that family. This doesn't mean you don't have to accommodate both sets of in-laws or make any efforts toward them, nor are you excused from being kind and understanding, but if your parents are calling every single day or demanding that you come over for dinner every Sunday afternoon, and your in-laws have put dibs on every holiday and every Tuesday in between, they are not supporting your marriage. Also not supporting the marriage? In-laws who dole out unsolicited advice, criticize your spouse or her decisions, or interfere with personal family issues.
3. Don't speak unkindly about your spouse to anyone, especially not family.
You may forgive and forget, but your mother will remember forever, so if you have an argument with your spouse, do not talk to your mother about it. If your spouse does something that makes you mad, do not talk to your friends about it. In the same vein, if your mother insults your husband, defend him. If your friend disagrees with your husband's career choice, stand up for him. You and your husband are a team - do not give other people the ammunition to destroy your relationship.
4. Remember that your spouse is the most important person in your life. Your kids come second.
Oh yes, I know the little darlings have to come first sometimes. (They're so demanding, aren't they?) They have soccer practice and homework and doctor visits and they want you to play with them and cook them dinner and buy toys for them. (And nothing sucks the air out of a romantic evening like Junior barfing all over your shoes). But you must remember that your spouse is the most important person in your life. One day, if you've done your job correctly, all the little chickens will fly the coop and you and your spouse will be a couple of old birds with nothing to focus on but each other. So make sure you've spent enough time nourishing your relationship - regular dates, regular intimacy, regular kid-free time - that an empty nest is a blessing, not a curse.
5. Love your spouse the way he wants to be loved.
If you haven't read this book, read it. Once you know your spouse's primary love language, speak it. If that means having sex more often, do it. If that means watching a football game now and then, do it. If that means remembering anniversaries, writing love notes, or going to the opera, do it. Marriage is work, but it has the potential to be the most fun work you ever do (and honestly, what could be more fun than rocking your husband's world?)
So there you have it, dear readers. Get to work!
The "Cure" for Divorce
The title grabbed me - "The Cure for Divorce". This will be interesting, I thought. I wonder what the author's theory is? So I clicked on the link, and I found it so fascinating that I'm sharing the secret with you:
The "cure" for divorce is -- are you ready? -- not to commit for such a long time in the first place. Really.
The author (who is appropriately named "Tad Low") explains his philosophy like this: "Let's say you've successfully dated a girl for a while. Rather than agreeing to "till death do you part," you agree to a "time-limited marriage": At regular intervals, you either renew or walk away . . . and remain friends. You still have the fancy ceremony, the heartfelt toasts from college roommates, and the slew of candlesticks and Calphalon. But you don't have the pressure of permanence or the soul-draining despair of divorce."
Well, let's toast to that!
What do you say to your girlfriend when you propose? "Well, honey, I plan to love you, but only for about 1.5 years. After that I get the goldfish, okay?"
And what happens when kids get thrown in the mix? Never fear, Mr. Low has an answer for that (I am not making this up): "Who cares [about the kids]?"
Heartwarming, isn't it? So sweet to think of a father not caring how his kids feel about their mother getting thrown off the family train. "If their parents' contract ends," Mr. Low insists, "they're still better off than being stuck in the middle of a traditional divorce."
Are they? Are kids really better off knowing that their parents marriage is set to expire? That dad has a specific end date when he is allowed to trade mom in for a younger model?
This is, frankly, disgusting.
The fact is that marriage is not, and never can be, only about two people and their feelings for each other. Marriage is the foundation of a family. And a family cannot stand on a foundation that isn't built to last.
But, I've got to hand it to Mr. Low. He's already made me feel like my marriage is stronger.
After all, I was smart enough not to marry a jerk like him.
The "cure" for divorce is -- are you ready? -- not to commit for such a long time in the first place. Really.
The author (who is appropriately named "Tad Low") explains his philosophy like this: "Let's say you've successfully dated a girl for a while. Rather than agreeing to "till death do you part," you agree to a "time-limited marriage": At regular intervals, you either renew or walk away . . . and remain friends. You still have the fancy ceremony, the heartfelt toasts from college roommates, and the slew of candlesticks and Calphalon. But you don't have the pressure of permanence or the soul-draining despair of divorce."
Well, let's toast to that!
What do you say to your girlfriend when you propose? "Well, honey, I plan to love you, but only for about 1.5 years. After that I get the goldfish, okay?"
And what happens when kids get thrown in the mix? Never fear, Mr. Low has an answer for that (I am not making this up): "Who cares [about the kids]?"
Heartwarming, isn't it? So sweet to think of a father not caring how his kids feel about their mother getting thrown off the family train. "If their parents' contract ends," Mr. Low insists, "they're still better off than being stuck in the middle of a traditional divorce."
Are they? Are kids really better off knowing that their parents marriage is set to expire? That dad has a specific end date when he is allowed to trade mom in for a younger model?
This is, frankly, disgusting.
The fact is that marriage is not, and never can be, only about two people and their feelings for each other. Marriage is the foundation of a family. And a family cannot stand on a foundation that isn't built to last.
But, I've got to hand it to Mr. Low. He's already made me feel like my marriage is stronger.
After all, I was smart enough not to marry a jerk like him.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
All in a Day's Work
Yesterday we celebrated Labor Day by sending David off to work. I'm sure I don't get as many points as my sister once did for delivering a baby on Labor Day (she's such a show off...), but I feel like I should at least be able to put some sort of cosmic tick mark next to my name for my efforts. Um, I mean David's efforts, seeing as he is the one who had to work.
Although, I do feel like I should get some credit for the fact that, after a long day of willful disobedience on the part of my children, I did not lose my temper when I discovered Matthew and Leah had opened a package of goldfish crackers and used cups of water to making a swimming pool for them all over my back porch. When our resident tattle tale, Michael, alerted me to the mess he asked, "Are you happy, Mom?" (Obviously, why wouldn't I be happy about a bunch of wet fish crackers swimming in their own moosh all over my door mat?) Then he looked at my face and I must have looked terrifying because his expression faltered a bit and he took a step back before he said, "You're not happy at all."
I told him to help his siblings clean up the mess before I blew my top. "Blow your top!!" he exclaimed. "How would you do that?" Then he dissolved into giggles that sounded like a highly amused fog horn. I excused myself to the bathroom and remembered to lock the door.
By the time bedtime rolled around I was ready to call every single general authority who has ever stood up in conference and said that his darling wife never raised her voice at their children and say, "How do you know?! You weren't ever home!!"
But I didn't, because I have a thing about making phone calls.
And then Leah managed to make me laugh when she saw a bug and yelled, "Holy yikes!", Matthew melted my heart by climbing onto my lap and asking to "nuggle", and Michael made his bed all by himself.
Ah, parenthood. It's the best.
Although, I do feel like I should get some credit for the fact that, after a long day of willful disobedience on the part of my children, I did not lose my temper when I discovered Matthew and Leah had opened a package of goldfish crackers and used cups of water to making a swimming pool for them all over my back porch. When our resident tattle tale, Michael, alerted me to the mess he asked, "Are you happy, Mom?" (Obviously, why wouldn't I be happy about a bunch of wet fish crackers swimming in their own moosh all over my door mat?) Then he looked at my face and I must have looked terrifying because his expression faltered a bit and he took a step back before he said, "You're not happy at all."
I told him to help his siblings clean up the mess before I blew my top. "Blow your top!!" he exclaimed. "How would you do that?" Then he dissolved into giggles that sounded like a highly amused fog horn. I excused myself to the bathroom and remembered to lock the door.
By the time bedtime rolled around I was ready to call every single general authority who has ever stood up in conference and said that his darling wife never raised her voice at their children and say, "How do you know?! You weren't ever home!!"
But I didn't, because I have a thing about making phone calls.
And then Leah managed to make me laugh when she saw a bug and yelled, "Holy yikes!", Matthew melted my heart by climbing onto my lap and asking to "nuggle", and Michael made his bed all by himself.
Ah, parenthood. It's the best.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Notes from the Universe
I recently taught Michael how to tie his shoes. I'm sure there might be mothers out there who enjoy this sort of thing. After all, it sounds nice -- sit your kid on your lap, sing a few songs about bunnies and holes and going around trees, and voila! The shoes are tied!
And for Michael and me, the process was exactly like that... except there was no singing and we almost killed each other. (I suddenly understood why, 20 years ago in the middle of a piano lesson, my mom actually ripped one of my piano books in half).
But, I consider this experience the voice of the universe telling me that I should never home school. Which has made me wonder, what else is the universe trying to tell me?
Apparently that running is "fun," for starters. Not only is our upcoming ward (church congregation, similar to a parish) activity a 5K, they keep talking about it like it's supposed to be enjoyable for the whole family. Hmmm... You know what would be more enjoyable? Sleeping in and going out to Kneader's for breakfast.
But then yesterday I got an email from Michael's school about a fundraiser involving, you guessed it, a "fun" run! I think the universe is hoping that if she uses the word "fun" in connection with "running" enough times, I might be duped into re-boarding the exercise wagon. Unfortunately for the universe, not only did I fall off the wagon, I hacked it into little splinters and enjoyed a tasty smore by the light of the bonfire it kindled. I'm not even sorry.
The problem is that I am blessed not to have body issues. I don't look at myself and think I look fat, I look at myself and think I look like me. Which is not to say I wouldn't like the look of me in size 8 pants, but it's so much trouble to get there...
And I have to laugh at the memory of my newly-engaged self being horrified when my future mother-in-law took a guess at my dress size and came up with "12." (Tip to all mothers-in-law: Guess smaller!) Considering I could have zipped up a size 6 at the time, I was devastated that anyone would think I looked like a 12. Now I'd be like, "Thank you very much for noticing! I skipped breakfast this morning!"
Ah, it's funny how things change. Well, some things, that is.
Running is never going to be "fun."
And for Michael and me, the process was exactly like that... except there was no singing and we almost killed each other. (I suddenly understood why, 20 years ago in the middle of a piano lesson, my mom actually ripped one of my piano books in half).
But, I consider this experience the voice of the universe telling me that I should never home school. Which has made me wonder, what else is the universe trying to tell me?
Apparently that running is "fun," for starters. Not only is our upcoming ward (church congregation, similar to a parish) activity a 5K, they keep talking about it like it's supposed to be enjoyable for the whole family. Hmmm... You know what would be more enjoyable? Sleeping in and going out to Kneader's for breakfast.
But then yesterday I got an email from Michael's school about a fundraiser involving, you guessed it, a "fun" run! I think the universe is hoping that if she uses the word "fun" in connection with "running" enough times, I might be duped into re-boarding the exercise wagon. Unfortunately for the universe, not only did I fall off the wagon, I hacked it into little splinters and enjoyed a tasty smore by the light of the bonfire it kindled. I'm not even sorry.
The problem is that I am blessed not to have body issues. I don't look at myself and think I look fat, I look at myself and think I look like me. Which is not to say I wouldn't like the look of me in size 8 pants, but it's so much trouble to get there...
And I have to laugh at the memory of my newly-engaged self being horrified when my future mother-in-law took a guess at my dress size and came up with "12." (Tip to all mothers-in-law: Guess smaller!) Considering I could have zipped up a size 6 at the time, I was devastated that anyone would think I looked like a 12. Now I'd be like, "Thank you very much for noticing! I skipped breakfast this morning!"
Ah, it's funny how things change. Well, some things, that is.
Running is never going to be "fun."
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
The Cracks Begin to Show
Yesterday was one of those days. You know, the kind where you get to the end and think, did I really just spend several hours dealing with the fact that my son jammed a marshmallow up his nose?
What is it with boys and holes?
Initially I thought the Lucky Charms crescent would get slimy enough that it would ooze its way down, but then Matthew snorted it up his nose to the point I could no longer see it, at which point I emailed my family to ask for advice and my brother jokingly (?) said I should have Matthew snort milk because milk dissolves those kinds of marshmallows.
I laughed, but I didn't try it. Not because I didn't think it was a decent idea, but mostly because I figured I would have a hard time explaining it to the doctor, and I didn't want him to put a flag in my file identifying me as one of those moms.
But, it turned out the doctor wasn't any help either - he couldn't see or get anything out, so for now we are assuming the marshmallow made it through Matthew's nose and down his throat. Or, possibly, it's lodged in his brain, which -- if it doesn't kill him -- could prove to be a convenient excuse when he makes dumb decisions in the future - "Oh," we'll say, "It's just the marshmallow in his brain."
After the doctor we headed to the library, which was a really bad idea seeing as the kids had just spent an hour quietly waiting and had worn out their quota of good behavior for the day. I returned a library book that Leah had ripped and then we got home and Leah tore a page out of another one. I'm thinking I will renew this book so I don't have to go back in three weeks and have the Woman in Charge of Page Rippers give me the stink eye because this happened the last time they let us check out books from the library.
Seriously, they should never let us check out books from the library.
As we get further and further into busy season dinners are getting less and less balanced as I throw a few carrots on everyone's plate and figure that magically transforms Ramen Noodles into a nutritious meal. Michael is spending a significant amount of time each night propping his eyelids open so he can stay awake until his dad gets home, though he has yet to succeed. Last night he managed to make it till almost 10:30 (two hours after I put him in bed) before he conked out. Poor kid. It's hard to have your dad gone so much.
As for me, I may or may not have developed a twitch, I may or may not have have cried when Michael hit me in the forehead with a ball even though it didn't actually hurt, and I may or may not have eaten half a pan of Reese's peanut butter bars for breakfast one time last week. Okay, that's not exactly true. It was more than one time.
It was a Costco-sized box and I'm totally buying it again.
What is it with boys and holes?
Initially I thought the Lucky Charms crescent would get slimy enough that it would ooze its way down, but then Matthew snorted it up his nose to the point I could no longer see it, at which point I emailed my family to ask for advice and my brother jokingly (?) said I should have Matthew snort milk because milk dissolves those kinds of marshmallows.
I laughed, but I didn't try it. Not because I didn't think it was a decent idea, but mostly because I figured I would have a hard time explaining it to the doctor, and I didn't want him to put a flag in my file identifying me as one of those moms.
But, it turned out the doctor wasn't any help either - he couldn't see or get anything out, so for now we are assuming the marshmallow made it through Matthew's nose and down his throat. Or, possibly, it's lodged in his brain, which -- if it doesn't kill him -- could prove to be a convenient excuse when he makes dumb decisions in the future - "Oh," we'll say, "It's just the marshmallow in his brain."
After the doctor we headed to the library, which was a really bad idea seeing as the kids had just spent an hour quietly waiting and had worn out their quota of good behavior for the day. I returned a library book that Leah had ripped and then we got home and Leah tore a page out of another one. I'm thinking I will renew this book so I don't have to go back in three weeks and have the Woman in Charge of Page Rippers give me the stink eye because this happened the last time they let us check out books from the library.
Seriously, they should never let us check out books from the library.
As we get further and further into busy season dinners are getting less and less balanced as I throw a few carrots on everyone's plate and figure that magically transforms Ramen Noodles into a nutritious meal. Michael is spending a significant amount of time each night propping his eyelids open so he can stay awake until his dad gets home, though he has yet to succeed. Last night he managed to make it till almost 10:30 (two hours after I put him in bed) before he conked out. Poor kid. It's hard to have your dad gone so much.
As for me, I may or may not have developed a twitch, I may or may not have have cried when Michael hit me in the forehead with a ball even though it didn't actually hurt, and I may or may not have eaten half a pan of Reese's peanut butter bars for breakfast one time last week. Okay, that's not exactly true. It was more than one time.
It was a Costco-sized box and I'm totally buying it again.
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