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.

Explaining the Unexplainable

I received news on Sunday evening that my mom's boyfriend passed away. With my mom being a fairly private person, I only met him early last year, though they had been dating for the entire year prior.

He was a gentle man, a retired loving grandfather who enjoyed my mom's vibrant company, and doted on her incessantly.

Admittedly, I was a bit jealous of my mom's time whenever I came to visit because he was always around, but considering the only other man who truly loved her was a complete asswipe, she deserved everything that her boyfriend gave her -- his love, his time, and his undying attention.

I could never complain about him, however, since his love (and his family's, who lent us car seats and playpens on a recent visit without ever have meeting us) extended to us as well. He'd hold Drew for hours, rocking him gently to sleep for our whole visit, or take Quinlan to the beach with my mom to give me some time alone. He spoke of them like they were his own grandkids. 

And quite frankly, on most days he was more of a grandfather to my kids than their own.

And so, I decided that since Quinlan knew he was sick and still often mentioned him when we talked about my mom, it was only right for me to tell her.

Except, how exactly do you tell a child about a lost loved one, particularly when you're trying to keep heaven, Jesus, God, and any other specific religious connotations out of it?

I decided that angels are indeed good company for our special people when they leave this earth, whevever they might be. I know they are fairly religiously related, but I could at least avoid the heaven conversation, something for which I'm not ready to delve into with my 3-year-old.

"Do you know who else is with the angels, Mommy" she replied, matter of factly.

"Who?" I asked.

"GAWD" she said, in a very knowing voice.

"Well then, I suppose that's a very wonderful place to be."

It's the best that I could do. Religion or not, here's hoping that in one way or another, I'm not that far off.

You'll be missed, Poppy Bill. 

Motherhood Uncensored... Once a Jew?

I've always thought there was something to this whole concept of reincarnation. Granted I'm not so much for this whole "I'm coming back as a large Jersey cow" thing, but I've always believed that we were all someone else at one point in time. You know -- old souls, relatives that have passed...

Or in our case, old Jewish ladies.

Considering my 100% Chinese mother is a card carrying member of Jews for Jesus and the only Asian non-Jewish woman I know who can make a mean Matzoh-Ball soup, I don't think I'm that far off. In fact, the first guy she dated after my dad died was an 82 year old Jewish man who owned a deli and played for the 1940-something Israeli soccer team. And she owns a menorah.

Enough said.

Now, you won't see me chowing down on Gefilte fish anytime soon, but I do have fairly authentic usage of the word "oy" to which I extend to other sayings like "oya boya." When I lived in Mississippi, someone keyed "dirty jew" onto my car. And I tend to make up exclamations like "holy basmoyka" -- a Russian Jew, perhaps?

But lately, my daughter has been taking the Tezpishti with her unique and very Jewish sounding names of her "friends." There's Biza and Giza (bee-zah and gee-zah, the evil Jewish step-sister Barbies), Ho-ha and Schroda (the Jewish hooker and her aunt/pimp), and Kinsa and Quo-sha (the two missing Jewish Disney Princesses).

C'mon. You have to admit. "Schroda" does have a pretty nice ring to it.

And my favorite part of all of this, aside from inserting my own name in the Adam Sandler song, is that the very idea that we might have been Jews in a past life would totally piss off my in-laws. That in itself is worth celebrating.

Mazeltov!

So who were you or your kids in a past life?

Rosie O' Donnell... Not a Racist

We couldn't hear enough about Mel Gibson's drunk Jew bashing rant. Then there was Michael Richard's ridiculous scene that the media could not stop playing on a loop. Kanye West? He's said his share of ridiculous anti-white comments. And now Rosie O' Donnell has jumped on the bandwagon.

It's a joke. It's funny. It's how "their" language sounds to me. 

And so we endure yet another idiotic half-assed apology that includes the phrase "I'm not a racist" -- ironically from folks that you would never think (read: minorities -- women included here people) would say such things. But racism and all its many facets is all around us. We are not immune to it - regardless of our skin color and cultural identifications. In fact, for the most part, we've probably all had our moments -- perhaps they don't manifest as actual words, but we see a situation, hear a comment, and our experiences guide how we react.

And sometimes, it's not pretty. In fact, those comments could be considered down right racist.

God, he's such a retard. Dude, that's pretty gay. Why do black people insist on wearing fake hair? I don't mind black people, just ghetto folk. It's a mentality. Women are such shitty drivers.

But why are we so surprised that there are so many "racists" lurking among us? Are we pissed because "they" should know better, you know, being celebrities and all (some even minorities themselves), or is it because we realize that perhaps they're not the only ones who have said stupid shit that could be interpreted as racist?

If you don't try to expose your child to other children of different races, are you a racist? If you use a fork at a Chinese restaurant, are you being racist? When you ask a person "What are you?," is that racist?

When you make a stupid comment on national television, are you really being a racist?

Or is there more to being a racist -- perhaps when you continually and repeatedly perpetuate negative stereotypes that have infiltrated our brains for years and years? Doesn't it take more than one stupid comment? Or are we likening Rosie to a KKK member?

I don't deny that the comments made by the above-mentioned celebrities are racist in nature, with some being worse than others. and let's face it. Surely a comment made about a big butch lesbian would have set Rosie off - I mean, Kelly Ripa's comment about Clay Aiken was apparently homophobic. But I wonder if it takes just a little bit more than a stupid (and reprimandable by all accounts) comment about the Chinese language to make someone "A RACIST."

Because if takes one stupid comment, I imagine there are way more racists around us than we'd like to think. And we've got a way bigger problem on our hands.

If you're interested in more great discussions, news articles, and a fabulous podcast on race, make sure to visit Addicted to Race (and the Anti-Racist Parent). I'm co-hosting their podcast today (which will be up tomorrow) with Carmen Van Kerckhove. You can catch it here!

But What About Our Sons?

Upon his birth, my son (yes, you read that correctly) will have automatic membership to one of the most privileged clubs in this country.

The White Male Majority

He won't have to do a single thing except be born (and keep his balls and weener), and he will have something that I may never see in this lifetime, and be afforded opportunities that I might not have ever dreamed for myself.

And the more I think about the prospect of raising someone who I have secretly loathed and envied for many of my days, and who, in one form or another, has taken away opportunities, money, and recognition from me and other women before me, I wonder why I'm spending so much time worrying about my daughter.

Maybe it's time to think about our sons.

Don't get me wrong. The slut dolls, big naked butts on MTV, and the ongoing fight for our equality are always present on my mind. But thanks to the work of many women that have come before me and who now still work to forward the cause of women (including many of my fellow bloggers who continue this important discussion), I think we're doing fairly well.

But when I look at the number of rapes and assaults against women, the spousal abuse that continues in this country, and the negative stereotypes that are constantly perpetuated, I don't think about my daughter so much as I think about my son.

All our sons.

Maybe we don't need another woman calling herself a feminist. But perhaps we need her husband, her brother, her father, and her son to stand up for what's right for their mothers, daughters, and wives.

I don't excuse the male bashing that's associated with the women's movement, however if you take two seconds to research oppression, you'll find that anger, hate, and acting out are not uncommon. People look at the bitter gay man, the angry black woman, and the bra burning feminazi with disdain. But frankly, who can really blame them?

Years of oppression and inequality would make me pretty fucking bitter.

And the more I see how uneven things are in this world, the more I can feel my own negative feelings rumbling within me. Bitterness that I won't make as much as my equal (or even less that equal) male counterpart. Anger that some men still treat women like objects and property. Confusion as to why we women put up with it.

It pisses me off.

But part of me wonders if the feminist movement really needs another fist-shaking mother. Granted I'll be happy to shake my fists as long as I have a breath in me. And damnit, I'll raise my daughter to shake her BOTH of her fists.

But a fist shaking man with a mother?

YES.

A resounding YES.

They can speak to the masses where a woman is turned into an emotional hormonal freakazoid.They can rationalize when we are labeled as "just women." They can stand up with us when all our legs are tired from carrying the weight of many on our shoulders.

Don't get me wrong. My fight doesn't end here. Believe me. It's only just begun.

But maybe we need to worry less about our beautiful daughters who will no doubt hear the words of their mothers sounding loudly in their ears and think more about how we can foster these truths in our sons who might just be able to help us make a louder noise than we ever thought possible.