Motherhood Uncensored

Forget "parent." Now you can be a "Life editor."

While I was enjoying Mom 2.0 this past weekend, Liz and I made our rounds of the expo area and after gushing over the Barilla pasta lunch to their PR reps (I think I might have eaten my weight in parm and prosuitto*) we found ourselves in front of the Clearplay** display.

If you're not familiar with Clearplay, the concept is relatively simple. Okay, not really, and I have no idea exactly how they do it, but in buying their DVD player, usb filter thing, and monthly membership you have the capability of censoring movies - or well, the large number of movies that they've programmed for you to censor.

At the first glance, it's not a bad idea.

If you want to watch a movie without the violence, blood, or guts, you can - which would save me having to leave or conveniently pee just when someone's about to get their fingers chopped off.

You can cut out sex scenes and nudity, which well, I'd prefer to be able to add more, specifically in all Ryan Reynolds movies.

And you can eliminate curse words or "blasphemy" as the rep called it.

And then, you have one hell of a chopped up movie that's safe for children and your very religious mother. Or something like that.

Now I can clearly see the appeal of this product, but really, it would be waaaay better if you could fill in your own voice with replacement words.

So instead of "Jesus" it would say "Pat Robertson" or something like that.

And so, I have to wonder if this isn't a good idea gone way off the deep end. I mean, there's a reason most movies are rated R, and I'm not sure it's really appropriate for kids to be watching them even if they've been heavily censored.

And even if you're dumbing down a PG-13 movie, I wonder if you're really doing your kids a service.

The idea of locks on television channels and the internet doesn't really bother me. I do believe that there are shows that kids should not see, and websites that little eyes should not be viewing.

So maybe that's why I'm not quite sure this is the answer. Isn't it better to explain to your kids that they can't watch the movie and discuss why? I mean, we can't censor life - though we might like to edit out things they see and hear.

Part of growing up is learning limits and boundaries. And it's about taking those moments when limits and boundaries are broken and using them as a chance to teach our kids about the nuances of life. Our existence is colorful - sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly.

But as a parent, I feel strongly that it's my job to give them the mediums for their artwork when they're ready to use them, not deciding which colors they should (and should not) use to paint their picture.

*I have no idea how to spell that word. I'm Chinese. To us it's just thinly sliced meat that's really hard to eat with chopsticks.

**I was not paid or compensated to write about this product, although the nice product rep did give me three Milky Way Midnights and a mini Twix after I rudely rifled through his candy jar to find them.

Embracing the cliche'

As I listened to Drew discuss the bony plates on the back of his new favorite dinosaur on the phone with my BFF, I realized that we are indeed a cliche'  - the family of five in big suburban house with a mom who wears gym clothes and drives around in her SUV, two girls who like ballet and princesses, and a boy who is infatuated with fire trucks and dinosaurs.

For the girl now mom who once sported pig tails, cut-off jeans, and heeled jellies in college, I suppose it's a little disappointing to watch your life become typical - ordinary even.

Admittedly, it's not anything I've tried too hard to avoid.

My eye for style and design is focused on my own clothes and shoes, saved for the rare occasion I get to dress up, but barely evidenced in how my house is decorated or how my kids are dressed.

And while I do my best to avoid the Bratz dolls and Barbies, and shoot-em-up, fight-em-dead boy toys, we still end up with mainstream toys (not all, mind you) that I'd just as soon burn and use to heat my home.

I suppose you could say that the toys, the clothes, even the make of my car, don't really matter that much to me. I mean, if I really cared about being a cliche', I'd try harder to stick my kids in cooler clothes, infest their toy boxes with educational games, and insist on a hybrid.

I guess when it comes down to it, those things just aren't a priority.

But what I do prioritize is their self-awareness, creativity, and imagination. I bask in our time together, whether it's an educational activity or couch pillow fights.

And what they lack in cool attire, they have in frank discussions about difficult topics, that I hope will clothe them well, in a different way, of course, when they're older.

I know there are parents, many of whom I admire, who have created a completely unordinary life for themselves and their kids. I secretly envy them in all their awesomeness.

It seems that all I can handle right now might be a little cliche. At least from the outside anyway.

But behind closed doors, well, I'm pretty sure there are only a few other kids that can find a few condoms laying around in plain sight and make some pretty damn awesome water balloons at the ripe young age of 5.

 

 Cliche' my ass.

Bad is the new good. So what the hell does that mean?

I started this blog back in November 2005 with the hopes of sharing the "other" side of motherhood. I knew my experiences weren't necessarily new or even unique really, but they were definitely ones that I hadn't seen anyone else discussing in my own sheltered existence in rural Mississippi. But I figured that if I could reach even just one mom who was sitting, dazed and confused in her milk-stained glider like the wind had just been kicked out of her by a 4 week old and make her laugh, all this madness I called "new motherhood" would have been worth more than what was just a rite of passage.

But the lines between this brutally honest, uncensored writing and the "bad mommy" syndrome have been blurred. I suppose a mom who curses on her blog about Crocs, kid leashes, and her in-laws might be considered "bad" based on the societal stereotypes that have been forced down our throats for hundreds of years.

However, if you read carefully, even blogs like "Her Bad Mother," there is not actual bad mothering happening. On the contrary, this writing is our reaction to the mothering standard, our way of kicking the pressure of "being good" in the nuts. It's how we maintain our sanity in an otherwise challenging existence.

But unlike this whole "I'm wasted and watching Dora with my kids" movement, that one could speculate is actually bad, we're not really bad at all.

Not surprisingly, the opportunities that are afforded to the tamer folks - those who politely use asterisks in their curse words or just avoid them altogether - are not as frequent. And yet, because a mom curses on her blog does that mean she can't adequately represent a brand.

Don't moms sometimes lose their shit?

And if so, can her word then not be trusted? Is her approval not worthy of some sort of seal?

Some companies don't seem to think so. Even some traditional companies are attempting to jump on the float, but like Motrin Moms, they do so with little success. But these rumblings are hopeful and as we tell and publish our sometimes harsh stories of motherhood, that we can change the image of what a mother is. Not just to open up opportunities for ourselves, but to pave the way for our daughters and our sons. 

I'll be moderating a panel on this very topic tomorrow at Mom 2.0 Summit and I'd love to know your thoughts. Do you think an inaccurate view of mothers is perpetuated? What would tell marketers and companies looking to reach moms?

Work

I really shouldn't write a post right now, after spending the morning chasing after unavailable seats on oversold flights (some canceled, then uncanceled) and the rest of the day waiting for the practically non-existent snow to arrive.

Even worse was seeing opportunities where I could have made it home on Wednesday on flights I didn't think that I would have been able to get on.

So as the sparse snow settles, the clean up begins and I stare at negative numbers on a screen, I hear my daughter's sobs on the other end of the line because she misses me.

And I miss her too.

I only left Monday and the expectation of getting home early yesterday, back to the regular old but pleasantly familiar grind, has left me weepy. Nearly heartbroken.

But it's also given me a chance to take a step back and reevaluate my priorities. Lately, I've been wasting away more hours than necessary on completely unimportant things. Choosing to sit, plopped in front of a screen, or at least, with a computer near by, as my kids play alone or watch their favorite show.

And while some of my time is spent on actual work, there's other parts of it that could be better managed - between actual work and better, time with my children.

It's easier said than done when you're sitting and actively playing with another blogger's child, completely undistracted by piles of laundry, dishes in the sink, or whatever excuse I could come up with not to engage my own children. 

But I had to ask myself the tough question: Why am I not doing this with my own kids? What is so freaking important that I can't sit for even just 30 minutes and play with them?

Don't get me wrong. I sit and play countless games of "Go Fish" with Drew, and spend time making miles of craft projects with Quinlan. And I spend naps and bedtime nursing Margot.

These kids are not ignored.

But being without them, and better, without the distractions that I've allowed to interfere with my parenting, I realize that time is of the essence. Those moments are fleeting.

And I feel as though I'm missing out on some of them.

It's time to sit down and figure out what "work" really is. And what's not. It is the challenge of being a part of a new, undiscovered frontier.

But I need to do this before all I have are the memories of those moments, and no little ones around to make them with.

[Edited: I did eventually make it home yesterday, after 10 long hours at the airport. And today, school is canceled here in Atlanta due to "snow."].

E.T. snow home

I shouldn't be surprised that I'm stranded in Boston for the next day (or so) thanks to yet another winter storm barreling across the Mid-Atlantic.

I am from the Northeast, and I do realize that it's February.

Of course, I did only bring a jacket with 3/4 sleeves, but really, how important are sleeves when you're hold up in a lovely house with Christine from Boston Mamas?

Not very, I tell you.

But it's hard to compete with the weather, especially when you're flying standby and there are 30 paid standby passengers ahead of you.

And while I'm disappointed to not be making it home today, I'm still riding high from an amazing Mominatrix event last night.

Plus, my husband is getting some much needed quality (or should I call it "empathy" time) alone with the kids.

But best of all, I'm avoiding the ridiculous drama at my house courtesy of my lovely brother-in-law, who along with my sister-in-law, were visiting for a few days.

Funny how I just so happened to have to leave the day after they arrived, eh?

Unfortunately, there's only so many ways to say "the flights are cancelled" and "the weather is bad" but instead of just realizing that he may be stuck in Atlanta for another day and just enjoying a lazy day of more beer and eBay (his obsession of choice), he dragged my SIL in a $50 taxi ride to the airport today to try to catch a cancelled flight to New Jersey.

But only after he threw a temper tantrum all day yesterday, to the point where my husband doesn't even want him to come over again.

Ever.

The last I heard, my brother-in-law was attempting to cash-in his buddy passes for actual seats on a plane for a flight. That is cancelled.

So in case you were wondering, apparently my husband is responsible for the bad weather. I'll have to ask him to use his God-like powers to create a self-changing diaper.

I mean, the least he could do is put them to good use.