Sundays with Stretchy Pants

It’s like Tuesdays with Morrie, without all the wisdom.


We’re Supposed to do Things Right?

Dawn tagged everybody with this meme about 3 things we do well as mothers, and then she verbally assaulted me at the park yesterday and threatened my life if I didn’t do it. (Not really, she just asked me to do it and so I am. Because she’s the boss of me. But you can totally see her verbally assaulting me, right?)

1. I take an interest in what they find interesting even if I find it horrendous. You know, so we can talk about it and I can be excited about it with them. I think they like that.

2. I cuddle with them endlessly.

3. I’m teaching them that their feelings matter and that they don’t have to go along with something just to avoid hurting a friend’s feelings.

Number 3 has been more uncomfortable for me than anything I’ve ever done as a parent. And that includes saying the word vulva. This seems to come naturally to Maya so far, but for the rest of us, it is hard to say no to people we like. It is hard for me to allow my kids to say no to playdates or birthday parties, but if they don’t want to go, I’m not making them go, despite my extreme discomfort. It literally goes against my make-up as a precious pleaser to do this (right now, my Ohio friends are saying, “What? You’re the biggest bitch I know!” and I’ll take that as a compliment, thankyouverymuch.) In the past, Lena and Liberty have asked, “What if so-and-so gets mad at me because I don’t want to go to his birthday party?” And, while my instinct is to say, “You’re right! We don’t want people to get mad at us. What will we do if somebody gets mad at us? I guess we better just ignore your feelings for the sake of somebody else’s feelings. Get in the car,” I have choked down that sentiment, broke out in a cold sweat and said, “Well, darlings, it’s like this: Your feelings matter. If your friend gets mad at you just because you’re not comfortable going to his birthday party, that is your friend’s issue, not yours. You aren’t in charge of other people’s feelings. Chances are, your friend will come to understand and respect your feelings. If he doesn’t, then he’s not a true friend.” And then I passed out from the effort of conveying this most basic truth of humanity. Our own feelings matter? WTF?

This trip is hard. Dawn is right when she says other parents make all the difference in the world. We need other parents who can be open and honest about the struggles in their parenting, the struggles in their marriage, the struggles in their lives. And you know what? We need to be able to talkabout the good things without setting off a competition. If it comes up in conversation that I cuddled with Lena while she talked about her Pokemon DS game for ten minutes, it makes me uncomfortable when another mom comes back with, “Well, I cuddled with my precious for even longer while she was talking about something even more boring to me.” It makes me feel like I made her insecure with my very small good thing and I didn’t mean to do that. And then it makes me feel like I’m in a competition that I didn’t know I was in. I usually get a free t-shirt whenever I sign up for a competition. I don’t have one, so I didn’t sign up. Stop it.

This is not a new idea, but we really, really do just need to be able to share and not be judged or fixed or competed with. It’s amazing how many of the posts for this meme start off with something to the effect of, “I’m supposed to say what I do right as a mother, but there are so many things I do wrong,” even though the instructions clearly say we’re not supposed to say that. We can’t help it. We’ve been burned too many times by the mommy olympics and we’re afraid that if we say we’re doing three whole things right, 800 other mommies are going to feel insecure and point out exactly what we’re doing wrong, or what they’re doing better. Stop it. We don’t need that shit. Let’s celebrate ourselves because, no matter what we do, our kids are going to be pissed at us. Let’s just be there for each other when it happens.

Oh, I’m tagging Mechelle, TooTightPonytailGirl, Sharon, Alissa, and Kristen. Five chicks who are ever so hard on themselves and deserve to talk about what they do right because there is a lot. A whole effin’ lot.

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Oprah Heard My Prayers

It’s art day and it’s nice out. I suppose t’s possible that there is a cloud over the beautiful coffee shop, but I’m choosing to believe that Oprah heard my prayers and has forgiven me. Feels good.

We’re very excited around here to be having some more awesome company for the next 3 days (Mechelle, her kids, and one of my nieces–yay!) We’ll be wandering around doing the fun things that we can do in Columbus, so I won’t be around here checking my blog stats obssessively. Much. I don’t know how the 8 of you who check my blog regularly will get through the week, but I’m sure you could read a book or maybe interact with other humans to pass the time. I know those things don’t sound like viable alternatives, but I read on the internet that that’s how some people choose to spend their days. For real. Ok, bye.

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Meme: Passion Quilt

Dawn tagged me with a really hard meme. But I still love her.

# Think about what you are passionate about teaching your students.
# Post a picture from a source like FlickrCC or Flickr Creative Commons or make/take your own that captures what YOU are most passionate about for kids to learn about…and give your picture a short title.
# Title your blog post “Meme: Passion Quilt” and link back to this blog entry.
# Include links to 5 folks in your professional learning network or whom you follow on Twitter/Pownce.

I’m tagging Mechelle, Sharon, TTPG, Alissa and AmazonMidwife.

The most important thing I want these extraordinary kids to know is that they matter. What they think matters. What they feel matters. What they want matters. What they don’t want matters. I’m trying to come up with something more, but that’s it. I want them to know themselves in different ways that might be unexpected even to themselves. I want them to be boundless in self-discovery and fearless in self-expression. I want them to know that they are powerful.

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Nuffin’

I just want to say, just like Liberty, I’m very excited for Thanksgiving. We have friends coming to run the Turkey Trot, then we’ll be eating, drinking, and lazing around. What’s not to love? No gifts, no decorating, no pressure. Lots of busyness with the shopping and chopping and cooking and baking, but that’s not pressure. That’s just preparation for feasting. Feasting is my favorite.
I’m extra happy to run the sweet, sweet 5 miles of the Turkey Trot after my last pressure-filled race debacle. Running and I have a precarious relationship that was very much in danger of ending during the summer and early fall. It goes against all of my sports needs: I have no chance of winning, there’s no ball, there’s no one to run away from, there’s no goal to run toward (intrinsic goals don’t count for anything), there’s no opponent to mock (because I have no chance of winning). Also, the really, really good runners look anorexic, and I have a sturdy body type more suited for sports like softball and beer bonging. Anyway, running and I are hesitant with each other at best, so I’m glad to be experiencing some excitement about the Turkey Trot because I feared that the 1/2 marathon might have taken all of the fun out of it. It didn’t. Yay. Happy Thanksgiving!

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Know Thyself

I’m more of a 10K kind of girl. I know this now.I ran the 1/2 marathon here in Columbus yesterday. It was a gorgeous day and the race route was awesome and my great friend Mechelle came down to run the marathon and we had tons of fun together except for the part where we ran farther than sane people should. I did better than I expected at 2:28:26, but the mental mind-f*ck that is required for somebody like me to run 13.1 miles was something I was unprepared for. I had a great first 6 miles, beating my previous 10K (6.2 miles) and 5-miler times by a healthy margin. I was feeling good physically, but once I hit that 6 mile point, my mind said, “Good, only 7.1 more to go……..What the hell do you mean only 7.1 more to go? Is that 7.1 more miles or yards? ‘Cuz I can totally do 7.1 more yards, but miles is going to be iffy.”

I had 2 goals for this race: 1. Run it in under 3 hours. Check. My other goal was to not walk at all for the entire way. No matter how slow I had to jog, I just wanted to keep it at a jog. This goal was going well until the water station between miles 9 and 10, where I let myself walk to get my drink. Just to get my drink! All of the other runners were slowing to a walk at the drink tables, so I figured it must be part of protocol. So I grabbed my water, breathed a pathetic thank you to the best race volunteers ever and slowed to a walk, at which point my legs said something like, “Good luck getting us to speed up to a run again, sucker!” After that, I walked, ran, walked, ran, and begged my brain to tell my legs to run. My brain kept saying, “How ’bout I just make sure the rest of your organs keep on a-workin’ for you, ‘k?” At the last mile, I was ready to run and I did. I ran the last mile. I ran across the finish line. I got my medal, I got my warming blanket, I got a banana, a water, and two asiago cheese bagels from Panera. And I took comfort in the fact that I was done. I waited for the elation and the thrill of accomplishment to wash over me, but all I kept thinking was, that was too f*cking far. Who runs that far? Why would anybody do that? And why would anybody run twice that far? It doesn’t make sense! In fact, I think running that far is a sign of psychological illness (no offense Mechelle). There’s just no reason to run that far unless you’re trying to outrun, say, a lion or something. No, even then, I think I would rather be eaten. Yes, I would honestly rather be mauled by a lion (it would have to be a very slow, and maybe even an injured, 3-legged lion with arthritis) than have to run 13.1 miles to safety.

It’s just good to know these things about myself.

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Lady Parts

Breastfeeding is legal? In Public? But, but, there are breasts and feeding involved. Offensive.Ha ha on you, Fossil, Inc. I’m glad that this case went beyond your typical staged nurse-in with media coverage. I’m glad this mom threatened to sue and I’m glad she walked away with a little bit of compensation from Fossil. It does get me wondering, though, if this kind of thing will stop happening any time soon. Every time there is a publicized case like this, I tend to think, “There, now we’re done with that nonsense.” Um, rose-colored glasses anybody? In my many, many years of baring my breasts for the purpose of sustaining life or, quite frankly, to get a kid to just be quiet for a minute, I was never asked to leave anywhere and I never even endured any mean looks or comments (well, except maybe from family and/or friends and/or other people in the privacy of my own and/or their own home, but that’s to be expected. Ahem). And more than half of my breastfeeding years were spent in a very small town where that kind of thing is just not typical. It’s a little bit shocking to me that this particular case happened in a Manhattan show room. I would think a big city would be the last place a breastfeeding mother would have to endure that kind of harrassment. Small towns, excuse me, some small towns are not typically tolerant of people who do things a little bit differently. Maybe that’s the difference. A small town might have its hands full bitching at the librarian for asking if it would be a problem if she put the award-winning book And Tango Makes Three on the shelf*, so they wouldn’t have time to wig out about public breastfeeding. I wonder if there is a master list somewhere that ranks the wig-out worthiness of these offensive things. Maybe I was never harrassed for breastfeeding at, say, the library in my hometown because the people who would have harrassed me were too busy scouring the shelves for gay penquin porn. GASP! “There’s that Aldrich girl breastfeeding one of her toddlers right here in the library! I’m gonna give her a whatfor. Wait, let me look at the list:
1. Gays
2. Protestants
3. Breastfeeding mothers
4. Murderers”

Who knows? Maybe I was saved by that list on more than one occasion.

*Last time I was visiting family, I attended the hometown book club with my very special friend Mechelle and the librarian asked us what we thought about having that book on the shelf. It’s pretty sad that she had to ask, but it’s super extra sad that one mother (speaking for the majority there) said with a shudder, “I wouldn’t want to explain that to my 4 year old!” Irony of ironies, the book we were actually discussing at the book club was Maus. Well, I thought it was ironic anyway and I had lots of trouble restraining myself from drawing comparisons between this mom’s ideology and that of Hitler’s. It was tough, but I held back. I want it noted that I held back even after she implied that the fact that I don’t have a problem with homosexuality is because my mom is, um, more active socially** than her saintly mother. Huh? I know, it was hard for me to follow too. And it was hard for me to not stand up and say, “Oh, you did not just bring my mama into this!” and stuff. That would’ve been very Jerry Springer of me and that is where I draw the line.

**In this case I’m using the phrase “active socially” with a wink and a nudge. I’m not talking about volunteerism and stuff like that. Just wanted to clear that up.

ETA: If this story leaves you with an overwhelming urge to donate a copy of And Tango Makes Three to this library, do not hesitate to contact me and I will get you the info. I’m donating a copy with a bookplate inside that says “In honor of God and The Holy Spirit who, with the help of their surrogate, Mary, were able to become fathers to their beloved baby Jesus. Amen.”

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