Motherhood Uncensored

Free to be you and me

Considering the last time I read an entire book from cover to cover was on the plane to the BlogHer Conference 2006, I've learned to put any and all reading material that needs to be read in the bathroom.

Perhaps that was one thing you didn't need to know about me, but I figured since you know my vagina tends to drop tampons, what's so bad about sharing my bathroom habits?

I suppose that's not something Rita Arens thought of when we she was asking us for "Sleep is for the Weak" quotes.

From contributor Kristen Chase: "Full of hilarious and heartbreaking essays that are the perfect length for those magical private poop breaks."

Anyhow, my point is, I don't read a lot.

And I'm completely embarrassed about it, because to be a good writer,  you really need to read more than the dosage levels on a Tylenol bottle and a shopping list.

So I suppose it's a little awkward that I get a lot of books to review, most of them completely unsolicited. I review a few for Cool Mom Picks - mostly the funny, short picture books or cool gift books that don't require actual reading or books by dear friends that you feel fortunate to read.

But when a PR person sent me an email about "Raising Freethinkers," the follow-up to one of my favorite parenting books "Parenting Beyond Belief" by Dale McGowan, I immediately said "Yes, I want one!"
Sadly, that doesn't usually ever mean I'll read or review it (note the number of book reviews I've done here - um, zero), but I've got that whole karma thing happening so I'm only saying "yes" to books that I'm absolutely 100% going to read.

I've written many posts about my difficulties with parenting with religion (or parenting without religion while your kid attends a Catholic School, or whatever you want to call it), and PBB really made me feel less like a heathen.

So if PBB was telling you it was okay to be a heathen, er secular parent "Raising Freethinkers" is basically a hands-on, practical guide on how to be one.

And it's amazing.

At first, I was just reading it to read it, and because as it turns out, Dale lives in Atlanta and due to a bizarre discovery (true story: I put my blog name in Amazon late one night when I was feeling sorry for myself to search to see what came up and this book came up), he included my blog in his book even before I had read it and it was still sitting on my night table and NOT in my bathroom.

Night table? That's my aspirational reading pile. Or my glasses holders. Or coasters.

Under 12 blogs we love:

Kristen Chase is a foul-mouthed, cynical, cut-the-crap mother of two with no sense of propriety or common decency. I adore her. Like me, she is a also a former music professor recently relocated to the Deep South.

I emailed him "Hi Dale, Just saw that I was in your book. Um, I think thanks are in order?"

I perused it during my bathroom breaks until family members starting dying and my daughter starting exhibiting some "learning about ourselves - yes that type of learning" behaviors and I figured I needed some guidance.

Now I'm not here to knock religion, but I think even religious people can admit that religious-related explanations for the "big stuff," like death, sex, marriage, you name it, are often times a cop out.

"Well, he went to heaven and he's in a better place."

THE END.

Huh?

It's one thing if you go into a bit of discussion about heaven and what that means, but most often, there is no discussion, because really, what parent knows how to discuss that stuff?

It's difficult and confusing and overwhelming.

So just saying "He went to heaven" is way easier. Like we need more stuff to complicate our lives.

But that doesn't really help my kids. And if they're asking the questions and they're experiencing new things about life, then I feel as though it's my job as a parent to answer them - as uncomfortable and as squirmy as it makes me.

That's my job.

And that's what "Raising Freethinkers" does.

Dale, along with his fellow authors, discusses everything from existing as a secular family in a religious world, to finding personal meaning in life (and explaining that to your kids) without religion as the sole purpose for our existence. There are chapters and explaining the idea of a physical and sexual self to your kids, as well as discussions on death and life.

Don't get me wrong. If you're a devoutly religious person, this book probably isn't for you. But I think even someone who is religious can appreciate their straightforward and very thoughtful approaches to sexuality, self-esteem, relationships, life and death, and personal morals and ethics.

They're not necessarily knocking religion, either. They just provide parents who are seeking another way a guidebook on how to deal with a world that is strongly faith based.

Like a dead pig in the road

On the way to school today, I was cruising along, listening to the kids sing and cough through "Brush Your Teeth" for the 4th time when I had to hit the breaks and swerve around a huge dead wild pig in the road.

Seriously. Where do I live?

I usually tend to look away from gigantic roadkill, but a big huge ass black pig was a little hard to ignore. And ever since I saw him resting peacefully in the middle of that road, I can't seem to get him off my mind.

With this whole parenting of three while alone a fair amount thing, I never fully feel like I get up to speed. I'm riding high for a few days, maybe even a week, with my organized bedtime routine and preplanned meals and thrice-weekly running program and my skinny ass and a nice new babysitter but then

BAM. I run into a big huge gigantic dead pig in the road.

And I have to slam on the breaks and go around him and then I can't stop thinking about the pig and how terrible he looked and how sad and awful and how all his piggy friends will be missing him and woe is me it's all about me and how tired I am and why won't my baby sleep and take a bottle so I can be freeeeeeeeeee for more than 2 hours at a time and my kids won't stop fighting and coughing and everything is a fucking massive argument JUST LET ME WIPE YOUR ASS BEFORE YOU GET SHIT ON THE COUCH.

I suppose there's something to be said about driving on a long boring road. But after awhile, I guess you'd fall asleep and long for a little action - a couple of twists, a rickety bridge, even some roadkill to stare at.

But those smooth drives, where things are good, tears are few, and smiles are plenty, are simply magic. Granted they never seem to last longer than a few minutes, but even so, I try to remember to bask in boring.

Right now, this very day, I'm forcing myself to drive around the damn "pig" and I'm trying to remember that while there will inevitably be another one in the road, that doesn't mean I need to let him completely ruin my day or worry myself about when he'll pop up next.

Because when it comes down to it, he's just a pig after all.

(No offense, Mr. Pig. RIP).

Make it right

Quinlan and Drew vacillate between love and hate on a conveniently unpredictable schedule. They'll play like bffs right when dinner is ready or when the timer has gone off for bedtime, but when I'm about to hop on a conference call, they decide to initiate World War III.  

Quinlan gives me a running commentary like she's reading from a set of cue cards. 

"Mom, he's kicking me. Now he's jumping on me. He just hit me on my leg."

She's slowly learning to actually do something, other than perfect her tattle telling skills, but even when she pushes him off, or gives him a well-deserved shove, I know she's probably still annoyed. And rightfully so. Little brothers can be a big fat pain in the ass.

So a few nights ago, we were getting ready for bedtime stories when we couldn't find Drew's book. It had literally disappeared into thin air, and after searching high and low for it, I asked Quinlan if she had seen it.

She shrugged her shoulders a few times and gave me the "I know exactly where it is but if I don't talk then it's not technically lying so I'm just going to keep shrugging my shoulders" look.

As it turns out, she had hid it. Not as a joke, but because she had just taken it one too many times from her bratty little brother that day and was going to jab him in the side when he wasn't looking.

Yep. She's already refining her womanly skills at an early stage.

Teaching kids about emotional expression is one of the hardest lessons because they very often get in trouble for expressing them. Annoyance, frustration, and anger get an almost automatic time out or punishment (hello tantrums), so trying to explain to kids that it's okay and even good to express them seems counterintuitive.

Sure, there's the whole thing about expressing it appropriately, you know, like counting to ten, or screaming in your pillow, or telling the person that you are mad "dag gummit" - all of which are clearly not as satisfying as throwing a big ass hissy fit and screaming a few choice obscenities. Did you really think we all actually outgrew tantrums? Please. We just get better verbal skills and the ability to raise a finger or pull down our pants. I've told her 4000 times to tell the person how you feel in actual words and in the back of my head I'm going "And then give 'em the finger!"

But on that night, as I was talking out of my ass, I had a rare mini-epiphany. 

If you don't express your feelings at the time that they occur, you don't give the other person a chance to make it right.

And a light bulb went off in my daughter's head. 

The truth is, when you don't tell someone how you feel when you've been hurt by them (which is what anger generally stems from, really), you're not giving them the chance to learn from it, apologize for it, and most of all make it right by you. You're not holding them accountable for their words and actions.

The backhanded, passive agressive bullshit that many of us (yeah, me included) engage in does absolutely nothing to resolve anything and basically gives them a free pass. And not only does it do nothing to allow the other person to atone, it doesn't give you the opportunity to forgive, which is just as important a process as apologizing.

It's one thing to be able to say you're sorry. It's another to be able to forgive.

I know the kids will still fight. And I know that she'll still want to swipe his toothbrush in the toilet when he's not looking, but I hope that she'll feel empowered by her own emotions, and not powered by them.

There's a huge difference.

7 Months (Belated) - Swinger

 

 

I thought hazing was illegal

The kids made it through four days of car napping, later night partying, and walking down the aisle like a couple of champs only to completely lose it on the plane ride home.

I knew it was bound to happen sometime.

The hour plus long wait for take off in Philly, along with a take off that seemed to take forever, sent Drew into a 20-minute complete and utter breakdown. Even after I had given him all the organic lollipops, gummy bears, coloring books, and backhoe loaders I could muster, followed by creative tasks, like cleaning the tables and arms of the seats with a baby wipe, looking out the window for birds, and allowing him to place stickers all over my arms, he still went into a chorus of high pitched screams and heavy breathing, accompanied by a kick line unlike anything I've ever seen.

Radio City! HERE WE COME!

After a few sips of "apple beer" (my son calls everything in a can "beer" - I'm not sure who I blame for that one) in the back of the plane, we returned to find my husband's pants covered in a cup of water, strategically dropped so he looked like he had accidentally wet himself. Apparently Margot had decided she wanted water and was willing to fight for it.

I'll be honest. Amidst what was clearly one of the worst plane rides I've ever had, part of me was more worried about joining the club of parents whose kids you see laying on the ground screaming and kicking while the parents stare down at them in utter disgust, or hold their kids' arms tightly and scold them through their locked jaws and gritted teeth.

But then I realized, that's basically all parents at one point of time or another. Despite our best efforts, we still get stuck in the middle of hell week every now and then. 

Except if that's the case, then this should really be cause for celebration and a whole hell of a lot of beer.