For the Love of Anonymous Vitriol

Unfortunately, in recent weeks, the job that pays has taken precedence over everything except my family life and I haven’t been able to be as productive in my writing (obviously) as I would like. I feel like we haven’t talked, you and I, so let’s do that. Tonight, let’s talk about choice. More specifically, let’s talk about lifestyle choices – to have children or not – and what, if anything, that really means. Let’s talk, too, about how we teach our kids to deal with the choices they make and how things have changed since we were on the playground.

I got to thinking about this after reading Erica Noonan’s latest column, Will the Real Childfree Movement Please Stand Up? Ms. Noonan has, apparently, just learned of the existence of the so-called, “Childfree Movement” and is a little put off, as is evidenced by her writing.

Drink...More...Ovaltine?!

This week, we have entered the newest chapter in the book of our Life as Parents - Chapter XX, Daycare (Play Skool), Trials, Tribulations and...Who Knows What.

The night before day 1, no one slept. Why? Because Miss A kept crying. And crying. And crying. And when I finally got her to tell me why, she looked at me pitifully and said, "Pay skool, Mommy?" Aha! Anxiety. Of course. I reassured her that there would be fish. And slides. It worked.

Day 1 drop off went far more smoothly than expected. I got a hug. I got a kiss. I got a look that said, "When we get home, I'm peeing in your shoes," as I walked out the door.

At pick-up, I was rewarded with a loud and excited, "MOMMY!!!!" before I even opened the classroom door. I was tackled and then given a tour of every toy in the room. Twice.

Day 2? Ah. Here's where the lead in will make sense to some...

Happy Hallmark Holidays

Yesterday was Valentine's Day, a fact that I only just remembered today when I found a small bag on my bedside table and said to myself, "Er...WTF is this?" It was, of course, the card I had gotten for M. And neglected to give to him.

It's one of those "holidays" that I have never cared for or gotten excited over and would probably forget altogether if it weren't for the relentless and endless hearts fluffies displays that are vomited up all over stores just after the New Year. Even A got into the magic this year, pointing out every single heart in every single storefront window as we walked the neighborhood.

Learning to Leave

When I first started reading other, so-called, “Mommy Blogs”, I was both amused and surprised by the types of questions the authors would pose to situations that I had previously considered nothing more than one of life’s “givens”. For instance, this question, did your mother work and if so, did that inspire you?, gave me pause – not for the deep or profound nature of the question (as it is neither deep nor profound), but because someone actually found it worth asking! In retrospect however, it is worth asking.


For the record, yes, my mother worked and works still and no, it didn’t inspire me. It was simply what parents did and still do. They work. I was raised to know that I would work too because, well, bills need paying, necessities (and niceties) need buying. In short, I do not come from an area or time when mothers stayed home. In fact, there was only one stay-at-home mother that I can remember in my group of schoolmates and friends. It was an anomaly.

Of course, in the macrocosm, it isn’t an anomaly, it's a norm. Then again, no child thinks macrocosmically and frankly, if you grow up and remain in a larger version of your childhood microcosm, it’s tough even for adults to think that way (or acknowledge that a vast majority of others might).

So it was with this sort of thought in mind that I realized this weekend that the decision I make now will unwittingly and unknowingly impact my own daughter later and I wonder how she’ll reflect or even if she will, on the choices she’ll know that I had to make for the sake of my family.

MoR Reviews Toddler TV!

I’m a bad parent. We are bad parents. We let our toddler watch TV. There. I’ve said it. Feel free to pelt me with granola and pamphlets, but if you do, it’s a safe bet that this article is not for you. It is, instead, a not-so-in-depth review of Toddler Time TV Shows. Yes, today, I am…The Critic. So let’s dive right in!

Talk About a Moot Point

See yesterday's post.

Today, our long wait for daycare at my place of work ended. It began before A was born and I was assured that though my records would remain on file, I shouldn't call them, they would call us. The waiting list for the Center was...long. (Oh, hello, Understatement of the Year.)

Thus began our new roles, M as the SAHD and myself as the so-called breadwinner.

And suddenly, it's over. A will start full-time daycare in less than a week and a half and M has 90 days to find employment (the Center's policy, otherwise, A gets the boot).

With this huge shift, the shift we'd been talking about and the shift that I thought I was looking forward to in a way, comes a larger than anticipated sense of loss. You see, I've learned that M and A are part of the fabric of this neighborhood now. The butchers at the meat market around the corner see her every day on her walk as she stops to moo at the cows in the window - and they give her a lolli. The women at the drapery shop anticipate the time she'll come by, press her nose against the glass door and wave. The women at the Dunkin' Donuts must watch the clock because when they get there, M's coffee is ready, along with a bag of goodies for A. They lavish her with adoration.

Moms are Sexist

I asked if I could blog about this experience today because it didn't happen to me, unless "by proxy" counts. I was given the go-ahead by my husband, M, to put this out there for the world (or the tiny slice that reads MoR anyway) to read and I just realized that I am actually...angry. Fortunately, not too angry to write now, but a few hours ago, as I was thinking about what happened to him today, I can safely say I've never chopped shallots or basil more finely in my life.

First, some background. We live in a diverse neighborhood with loads of young children, most of whom we only catch fleeting glimpses of. The parents of the kids A's age don't tend to take their tots outside, no matter what the season, and those who we have encountered have unfortunately not spoken English or wanted to talk. So, A has no local friends. This is, I might note, part of the reason we're trying to pursue day care again this year. She's highly social and would only benefit at this point by being around children her age during the day. But I digress.

M started taking A to the Malden Library's Toddler Story Time and Sing-Along on most Tuesdays, each week. We thought that it would be great to get her out, get him out and maybe everyone involved could meet someone. M isn't a big socializer, but he's opened up a lot in the last year especially (he blames or thanks both myself and A depending on the day), so each time he's gone, I've been disappointed to hear that he wasn't really able to talk to the other parents there.

Today though...he stayed after while A played on with some of the kids and, to my amazement, approached a group of moms about a playgroup being organized. He was telling me this on the phone on my way home from work and finally blurted out, "Moms are sexist!"

He had been turned away from the playgroup because it was a mom's only affair. No boyz allowed.

I was stunned. Well...no, I tell a lie. I was really disappointed. I was disappointed because I suspect it took some doing for him to talk to them to begin with and because A lost out on a potential play date with other kids simply by virtue of her father being her caregiver. I was disappointed because there are 10,002 Mom Cafe type groups in this area, but apparently, local moms need to create more.

As if to reinforce my own thoughts on this subject, A chose tonight to be her Catastrophic Meltdown Over Everything Night. The one person who finally calmed her? Daddy.

Then I cried. I cried because her father is her go-to-guy when she needs comfort, but these women can't believe that men can be that person. I cried because I've had it up to here with the double standard we inflict on ourselves. I cried because it was just one of those nights where I felt totally impotent as a parent and a mother and a wife.

After that, I got angry again. I'd like to channel that anger into something productive though. I'm considering promoting the idea that an all inclusive playgroup, for all stay at home parents and working S/Os should be formed. Meetup.com is OK, but I want something better. Thoughts?

Turning the Tide in Custody Battles

It's no secret now that the number of working mothers who are considered breadwinners in their households is on the rise, but Working Mother Magazine recently reported another new trend on the upswing: the number of working women losing custody battles to fathers who either work less or not at all.

At first blush, it seems a 1 - 2 punch. First, here we are, working ourselves to the bone to support our families. Many of us work long hours and miss out on time we may rather be spending at home. Then, to top it off, that very fact is increasingly being used against us when the unthinkable happens and our marriages dissolve...with kids in the balance.

It's Her Story, His Story & Our Story

Whenever we endeavor to start something, we have a vision. We see how it “will” go, play out, and we set about to make that vision unfold outside of our heads, in real life. So it was that I had a vision for this blog and the vision inspired the name. I would write about all aspects of being a mother in the reserve, the wings, the auxiliary – and that also included blogging about being a birth mother, one of my two roles in the adoption triumvirate. On several occasions, I sat down to write about it. Something I saw, something I read, something that triggered a desire to talk, share my opinion, do what it is that a blogger should do.

Each time, I stopped. And chose another topic. I realized that my role as a birth mother to a wonderful young man (now – wow) was only a small part of the story and to take his story, and that of his family, and put it here for all to see was something of a violation of his, and their, privacy.

The Year of the Rat? Nooo... The Year of the Fruit Bat? Nooo...It's the -

After a much needed hiatus, wherein I took the time to focus on my actual life (as opposed to my electronic life) and also to unwind and regroup, I am back. [cue the lone kazoo] With my return, I bring the fruits of much soul searching to share with you. Are you ready for it? [cue a drumroll, lone kazoo optional]

I am officially declaring this year to be: The Year of the Parent.

Well, duh, you say as you roll your eyes. We’re parents. Every year is our year. Right?

NO!