Motherhood Uncensored

The Mominatrix Does Tampa & Washington DC. But not at the same time. Ahem.

I'll be hitting the road these next couple of weeks on my book tour (which, by the way, still sounds so ridiculous when I say that I'm doing a book tour), and I hope that if you happen to be near Tampa or Washington DC that you'll come out and say "hello."

Or smack my ass.

Details for Tampa:

Thursday, March 4, 6-9pm (My "segment" is at 6:30pm)

Hosted by Neiman Marcus, International Plaza

Admission is free, but by RSVP only, so be sure to email or call to reserve your slot. I'll be hanging out in the lingerie section, offering my picks for mom-friendly pieces (read: pieces that cover the lovely post partum crap that will not come off with exercise), as well as demonstrating a 5-minute make-up face. Or really, 4.28 minutes because who has 5 minutes these days? Books will be free with purchase, or feel free to bring your own (available at Amazon* or your local bookstore).

Also, Ben from Project Runway will be there, so if you're not so keen on seeing me, you can at least meet a real celebrity.

RSVP: rsvptampa@neimanmarcus.com or call 813-356-7412 (rumor has it that the email is not working, so please call, or email me if you're having trouble).

Details for Washington DC:

Sunday, March 14, 4-6pm

Hosted by Baby Brewing at Jordin's Paradise

Tickets are $5 - all ticket proceeds will be donated to support Haiti Relief. Please purchase your tickets in advance so we know how much wine and chocolate we need. And don't forget your t-shirt and shorts for the mini pole dancing class following the party. Oh yes. Oh yes indeedy. All, including dads, spouses, and partners, are welcome. I'll be selling and autographing books as well.

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?

Empathy Time

You might be surprised to know that my husband has not been alone with all three of the kids for longer than an evening.

Well, with his job, and with mine, which rarely requires that I travel and if it does, I can generally bring along my little breastfeeding baby without an issue, it usually leaves him with only two out of three to handle on his own.

And even then, he somehow is able to schedule a visit from family or friends to give him an extra set of hands.

So with my sister and brother-in-law visiting through my return, my short trip to Boston sans kids was not going to be any different.

But then my BIL threw the temper tantrum and I was delayed a day, and well, all hell sort of broke loose.

Well "hell" that is my regular and now quite enjoyable existence, give or take the few, fleeting moments where I'd just as soon walk on hot coals.

Hell is relative, after all.

And even though I really wanted to be home, it was no consolation for my husband who was, for the first time, dealing with all three children completely alone.

Still, I tried to offer him my apologies, reminding myself how miserable I've sounded on the other end of the line when he calls to check in from the free happy hour in Vegas aka "work" and let him complain and gripe about the challenges I know all too well. I refrained from giving him any sort of "Yeah, that happens to me every time" type responses, with my eyes rolling back so forcefully that you can hear them on the phone, and reminding him that it was only just one day.

Plus, I left the guy three completely cooked meals, for God sakes.

But even so, when I returned, I listened to all the stories and gave him some well-deserved time alone, and that was the last I heard about it - until yesterday when I took the kids on our Valentine's Day cupcake delivery and a neighbor pulled me aside.

"Oh, so I have to tell you this," she said. "When you were gone, your dog got out and ended up in my house."

"Oh yeah, I heard about that," I replied, sort of chuckling at the thought of my husband chasing him up the street.

"And when your husband came in to get him, he looked pretty frazzled and said 'I don't know how she does it.'"

"WHAT?" I said. I certainly had not heard that part of the story - a very very important part of the story. It was like I had just won the lottery.

So yes, apparently my husband finally said what I've never once heard in our 6 years together. Those precious words that have the truly have the ability to change the course of a marriage and a co-parenting relationship.

Granted, he didn't say them to me. But the Valentine's Day flowers and romantic card he left for me before his trip said volumes.

I guess when I said "empathy time," I wasn't kidding.

Hell. Yeah.