This Old Motherfucking House: the Prequel

The Prequel: Kenmore Blues

I wrote this prior to the realization that problems with This Old Motherfucking House were going to be frequent enough to warrant a series. Consider this the Prequel to the series.

OK, so timing in my life sucks ass recently. I feel like I've basically had 2 full time jobs lately, with this parents group and regular work. Then I've had situations going on with the Offspring.

There should be a patron saint for mothers of teenagers.

Anyway, within this maelstrom of madness, my washer breaks. Damn it! My friggin' washer broke! It's times like these when I could use a sweet hook up with a Maytag repairman.

Well, I may not have an in with a hot repairman (because my Maytag repairman would not be that guy from the commercial), but I do have a strapping young son. Who likes taking stuff apart. Plus it was his crazy unbalanced load of sheets and smelly football jerseys which broke the washer.

Digression: Speaking of smelly football gear, here's a little aside from Friday:

Son, getting ready for football practice: Hey Anyu, have you seen my cup?

Me: No.

Son: Are you sure? You didn't see it out here?

Me: Yes, I'm sure. It better not be out here -- and you probably need to wash that thing.

Son: Not really...

Me: Oh, I'm quite sure you do.

Son: Huh?

Me: After all those football practices? Please.

Son, holding up handful of ibuprofin: ......... um, my glass? My cup of water?

Hooo-eee, I about fell over on that one. Hey, the boy was readying himself for football practice, getting his gear together, what do you want? Like you wouldn't have thought the same thing. An honest mistake.

Anyway. Back to the washer.

I figured if we installed a new toilet together, using only directions from The Internets, we could fix a washer. The old toilet, by the way, was from 1964. Older than I am. The new one is a veritable throne. Anyway, I formed a hypothesis about which part we needed for the washer, ordered it through a local shop, and Teen Demon was kind enough to pick it up.


That evening, the son and I faced our adversary, armed with screwdrivers and a flashlight.

The part in question involved wiring and connectors. Great. The son gets the new part put in. I clean the nasty gunk built up in various and sundry places around the washer's innards. This stuff is a sticky mess borne of fabric softener, soap scum, sweater lint and dog hair.

Seriously people, everyone should dismantle their washer and get that crap out of there. It's nasty.

The first time we reassembled the washer, I realized I had forgotten to reconnect the bleach dispenser hose. Crap. I poured water in the bleach receptacle, hoping I was wrong. Water came pouring out the base of the washer. Crap. The son went on for a while about how could I have forgotten to reconnect the bleach dispenser, yada yada.

The second time we reassembled the washer, it still wouldn't spin. By this time, tempers were a bit short, because we could smell the burritos that Teen Demon was preparing, and the son wanted to watch the movie we'd rented: Blades of Glory.

Oh please -- get off your high horse. You try living with teenagers, and tell me you don't watch stupid movies.

Anyway, a semi-heated discussion followed, as the son was convinced that there was, in fact, something ELSE wrong with the washer after all. I had checked the rest of the washer while it was layed open, and was of the opinion that my Boy Wonder had also neglected to connect something, or something was hooked up backward, upsided down, or otherwise not fitting with Kenmore's finicky standards. This meant I may be able to live down the bleach dispenser oversight after all. Gotta love those silver linings.

We took it apart again. We knocked a small part down into the guts of the thing. Crap! Oh, and a long plastic piece, known to us as "The White Thing" had been falling off and getting jammed between the cabinet and the back since we started. Every damn time we touched any part of the washer, The White Thing would slip off.

I figured if we could get The White Thing to stay, that would free up my hand, enabling me to help with the cabinet, and protecting my foot from getting crushed by the cabinet, since I had to stand so close to the damn thing in order to hold The White Thing in place. So I'm yelling for Teen Demon to bring some scotch tape to hold The White Thing in place while we're farting around with the cabinet.

Teen Demon informs me that there is no scotch tape.

I know there is scotch tape, because I personally commandeered a fresh roll out of the gift wrapping basket (which sounds very organized but is pretty much a joke) and installed it in the tape dispenser which I commandeered from the surplus pile at work, and currently resides in the "school supply" section of our desk. I know there is scotch tape as surely as I know there are ballpoint pens: not only did I raid the gift wrapping basket for tape, I had also wisely purchased 3 dozen cheap ballpoint pens at Office Hell one day, while in a rage over how there are never any pens or sharpened pencils in my house when I need to write a check or take a friggin' phone message. Cheap pens because "good pens" don't last but overnight. Good pens disappear into backpacks and out into oblivion in the blink of an eye.

Then I realize that I had just been in another pen rage not 2 days ago, as the run of the mill Bics I had so thoughtfully purchased were now gone. If the pens are gone, chances are the tape is gone as well. There is, however, a dried up gluestick available, with approximately 1/2 millimeter of old glue that I could possibly dig out with a fingernail.

Crap. I continue to hold The White Thing in place with one hand, while adroitly holding the flashlight in the other so the son can fish out the tiny part from the innards of the washer. Then there is the requisite discussion about how to prevent the tiny part from falling out again, ending with the son's exasperated, "I got this!"

We finally decide to leave the washer until after burritos and the movie. Thank goodness for Teen Demon's burritos that night. I call them Détente Burritos. Burritos, however, need lettuce, and there was only a sad tiny pile of limp lettuce available for burritos. Lettuce is not high on Teen Demon's list of burrito ingredients. It is pretty much a necessity for my burritos. I take off for the store with much squealing of tires to procure some lettuce. I should've got pens and scotch tape while I was at it, but I didn't, so we're still out.

After a rousing round of burritos and Men on Ice, the son ventures back out to the garage.

Um ... the washer's fixed. I kind of forgot to connect the ends of the wires.

Thankgawd. That kid rocks.

If I ever win the lottery, I'm going to break my new bigass washer on purpose, just so I can enjoy calling a friggin' repairman, and let somebody else fix that shit for us.

The Underdogs Get a Bone

Well, well, well. So yesterday was our first "working meeting" with the district. They did sort of try to drive the bus, which we expected, but I have to say this for them -- they were very open to all of our suggested adjustments. I think they actually do realize that this is a growing issue in the district, and I'm pretty sure they had long been at the point of, "Oh shit, this isn't going away, it's getting worse and our methods aren't working ... what now?" They seem genuinely appreciative and respectful of our "expertise".

Hmm.

We're kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's almost too easy. However, we asked directly what kind of training/awareness they have, and I was happy to hear that all three of the ass't superintendents have been through the Undoing Racism training facilitated by the People's Institute out of New Orleans. That's encouraging. It's some pretty intense training on institutional racism. It is most likely a large part of the reason we're facing cooperation rather than opposition.

One of the assistant superintendents worked in Arlington, VA, and said there were some really dynamic parent groups there -- she seems really passionate about getting things going here, and glad to have our input. Another, whom I will be working with on Personnel, is more quiet, but she seems on board so far, as does the last guy.

Huh.


So they were all gung-ho about splitting up into the work teams. We said we feel it's important to talk about our understanding of the issues, where do they believe these problem stem from, what training have they had, what is their level of understanding. We also said we'd like to spend time discussing how institutional racism and privilege are affecting students as opposed to personal prejudices, so that we're operating from the same base.

Once they put it out that they'd been through the Undoing Racism training, I expected them to just say, oh, you can see we're up to speed, we're good as far as that goes, let's move on. But they didn't.

When we said we believed that training for them, for the group as a whole, was important before we could move on, they suggested setting an entire day set aside for that. Asked us what type of training we envisioned. Said they'd support bringing in facilitators. Asked us what we thought would be most effective. Said maybe it could be used as a model to train teachers, counselors and other personnel later, as an addition to Undoing Racism, as that is expensive, has limited capacity, and is only offered at certain times. (that and it doesn't sugar coat it ... we figure they want to start out more warm and fuzzy. Sigh.0

Huh.


Furthermore, they asked us if we'd be willing to give our presentation (ohgawdnotagain) at one of their regular administrators' meeting. This is ALL the administrators. All the principals, assistant principals, advisors, program managers from transportation, food service ... la-dee da-dee everybody. They said our presentation was so powerful that they want all their administrators to see it, so they will know where this work is coming from.

OK ...

We were all kind of looking at each other trying to communicate "Do you believe this shit?" to each other without being obvious. One of our members said that sounds very good, but we don't believe it would be effective to just bring our dog and pony show without the express support of the top level district -- you know, looking like a plea for support from the bottom that they can buy into or not. (One of the points in our presentation was that diversity efforts are currently decentralized; each principal has authority over his/her school -- we believe it has to come from the district for consistency, so that every student benefits, not just some) Their immediate response was absolutely, that's the purpose -- it will be presented so that everyone knows we are there at the request of and with the backing of the superintendent.

Huh.

So we agreed to do that. It will happen September 18th.

Teen Demon was there, and is going to work on a project to bring the Multicultural Clubs/Diversity Clubs from all 4 high schools together in some sort of event. She is also going to share the student survey that she helped do for her Multicultural Club, and get that implemented district wide. Watching her talk to these guys, you'd think she'd been doing this for years. This is going to be great experience for her.

Now we have to figure out what we want to see for the training day --- this is a tremendous opportunity to get this info where it needs to go: to the guys who hold the power. The gatekeepers. We did not expect to have that chance.


So we're going to run with it. The other shoe may be waiting to drop, for now, we're going to run with it. Who'da thought?

Maybe You Can Fight City Hall

Whew! I know I said I would update on my parent group's big Meeting With the District, but my life has been thrown a few curve balls the last couple of weeks. I feel like a goddamn outfielder. Blindfolded with no glove.

So, the meeting: the result was better than we had even hoped for. Our goal was for the district to hear our concerns and to work toward addressing them, our hope was that the district would agree to partner with us in some capacity in order to do that. We knew the partnering thing might be kind of a longshot. A representative from one of the community advocacy groups has been sitting on our meetings for support. She has been involved with parents in other districts who have tried similar things, and their districts have told them no, they don't need the parents' or communities' help. So we didn't know what to to expect. We thought maybe they'd throw us a bone and let us sit in on some board meetings, maybe take our info and say thanks, they'll take care of it and get back to us. We figured they would be defensive and bring out all the info on programs they've implemented, and why this shouldn't be a problem because they've done A, B, and C.

We worked really hard, starting out with stories from the families, and pulling from that a document covering what we believe to be the root causes of what our kids deal with. From there we came up with a presentation to bring before the district. We had prioritized all our issues and decided to focus on addressing the top three: Personnel (hiring, training), Discipline, and Expectations & Programs. Sounds simple, but it was a lot of work and emotion to get to that point.

They agreed to meet with us, as you read in the other post. The superintendent himself, and all three of his assistant superintendents, as well as others from the district. We had some support from a couple of community groups and also a representative from our city's new Diversity Commission. We were nervous, y'all. We're just parents, we've got no budget, we're not a non-profit, we don't get paid for our hours on this, we haven't had facilitator training or community organizer training. We work, some of us are single parents, and when it came down to being in a room facing this row of white faces with Ph.D's ... it was a little intimidating.

But we did it, and I think we did a really good job. The district was not defensive. They thanked us for coming, for bringing our expertise in this area. Said they realized there were problems, and they would like some help in how to go about addressing those problems. They agreed that the face of our district is changing, as far as the students, but it is staying lily-white as far as the teachers and administrators.

They agreed to work with us.

Not just "hey you can come to some meetings, thanks for these resources, we'll keep you updated," either. They agreed to form three teams to address this. Yes, I said three. One for each of our areas, so that the process wouldn't be too linear and drawn out, because nothing would get done that way. Wow! And, check this out: they agreed that this effort needs the backing of those actually in positions of power, so on their side, each team will be represented by a top level administrator. I'm talking the assistant superintendents themselves, y'all. Each of them will be on a workgroup. We will be the other parts of the workgroups. We said we believed the students themselves need to be involved, and they said yes to that as well. The workgroups will come together as a whole group periodically.

How 'bout them apples?

Hell yeah.

So we'll see. We're cautiously optimistic. One concern is that we all be operating from the same level of understanding. At the meeting, we brought up the issue of training -- it needs to be deep, ongoing, and across the board. Not some hour-long diversity training that you take once a year, makes everyone feel good, and checks off the institution's diversity requirement for that year. That's not good enough. And it's not good enough to send 2 or 3 people from a school to a deep useful training, and say we're done. What about the other 350 teachers, administrators, counselors at that school?

The sensitive issue will be their level of training -- they let us know at the meeting they themselves have had loads of training, they recognize the importance, yada yada. We'll see. I want to know their understanding of the issues. I want to know how they define institutional racism, white privilege, I want to hear their understanding of how that differs from personal prejudice, because it's a whole different thing. In order to be effective, we need to operate from a common base.

It's one thing for them to say "yes, there issues, yes we need to address them," but if our understanding of where those issues stem from is fundamentally different, then the process of coming to solutions will fall apart. As one of the parents put it,

It's about seeing the light, not just feeling the heat.

Bingo. We want to see the consciousness raised, not just compliance under pressure.

Another concern is they seem very much to want to take charge, so we're going to have to be mindful of how WE want to organize ourselves and the direction that we want to move. There are different ways of doing business, and as encouraged as I am by their positive response, we'll have to be mindful of being "guided" to where they want us and along their path. They, of course, are the experts with school administration, but we are the experts in this arena. We just have to remember that.

Anyway, it was a very positive result, and I'm really encouraged. It's more than we expected, that's for sure.

I was so proud of Teen Demon at the meeting! She "drove" the powerpoint for us, clicking the slides and all. After the presentation, she spoke up and told the superintendent about a survey that her Multicultural Club had done at her high school. The survey to was to find out how students of color feel about the school climate and where they fit into it. The superintendent said that sounded like a great idea, he'd be interested in seeing the results. At this point, Teen Demon could've just said, great, thanks and the meeting would've moved on, but she spoke up again and told him that she would like to see this survey implemented district-wide. She said she believes it's important for the administration to understand what the students themselves are feeling about their environment and their experiences, and that it's necessary to do that for the whole district, not just one school.

Go, baby! She was so confident, too. She told me she definitely wants to be on one of the work teams, and wants to start now. She friggin' rocks. She should run for President.

I am going to work on the Personnel work group. I kind of had to adjust my thinking on that; that was the section that I presented at the big meeting -- again with the "it's better for them to hear it from a white person" in that subject: if a white person says we need more teachers of color, it must be true, because they don't have an ulterior motive! It's not self-serving if they say it, they are just being objective! Whatever. I really hate that and it makes me very uncomfortable, but there it is. (And we could totally see the different reactions, too, both to my section and to my summary. Grrr.) Anyway, that was the section I presented, but I really didn't feel qualified to take on that workgroup, because it involves hiring as well as training, and I just felt that a white person meeting with different groups for recruiting purposes might be kind of off-putting. So I had volunteered to work with Expectations & Programs. I actually do have some experience with implementing programs when my kids were younger.

I ended up questioning that though, based on the reactions of the other 3 women I'm doing this with. I called one of them later and asked her to talk about her opinion on that. Turns out they believed that I should be doing Personnel, that it would set off fewer defensive reactions, that a white person insisting on changed hiring practices will be taken differently than a person of color saying we need more people of color. Well. Basically, "they're your people, honey, they'll work with your ass."

I really didn't feel all that comfortable with that assessment. But this work is not about my comfort level. It is not about me deciding what's best. I think that being an ally in this kind of work involves working with people of color and deferring to their judgement on things that they have a deeper understanding of than I do. I have a role in this work, but it is ultimately not "my" work, if that makes any kind of sense. White people as a whole (not all individuals, don't get your panties in a bunch) have been making choices and deciding "how things will work" for people of color since this country got started. Our comfort level (as a whole) has always come first. If we want to challenge how the power structure of our society supports that, we have to learn to work in different ways. So I needed to listen to my friends and trust their judgement of this, even though it kind of makes me squirm.

Again, I know I sound all soapboxy with this stuff sometimes. As I said in my last post about it, it's not like I woke up and decided to make this shit up. It's a result of having a unique "window" into this shit, via my children and the experiences of our family. How can I deny this shit, when I SEE the different reactions I get when I walk out of the house alone, when I walk out with my kids, and when I walked out with my Ex in the past? How can I deny it when I see the different reaction I get from the principal as compared to the reaction parents of color get? It is there, and no, you wont' see it often as a white person. Of course we don't see it, it doesn't happen to us. It is not our reality.

Damn, I started off just to tell about the results of the meeting, and I did go ahead and get up on that box again, didn't I? It's just that this stuff is real and it's important, and it's frustrating when people don't see it or believe it's there, or realize the impact it has on these young people.

OK, that's all. We meet with them today at three for our first big group meeting.

Dubya In the House

In addition to Alberto Gonzales doing the so-long shuffle today, there were other big doin's on the political scene. Dubya was in Washington today. No, the other Washington. Washington period, not DC.

As in State.

Dubya evidently came West to help raise funds for Congressman Dave Reichert, R-8th district. The 8th District, in case you were wondering, is the Bellevue area. Bellevue is the only place West of the Cascades where Reichert could get elected and Bush could gather a supportive audience. They have never elected a Democrat in the 8th District, which is somewhat of an anomoly in this neck of the woods. Bellevue is the land of McMansions and Hummers. Which is a good thing, because lunch with Dubya runs a cool $1000 a head 'round these here parts. $10,000 if you want the VIP reception package.

Can you imagine paying $1000 to have lunch with Dubya?


The guy on the left can. Here's what I can't imagine: holding a sign that says "W in '08". In public.

I really don't even know what to say about that guy. Not only would he actually vote for Dubya again, but he apparently has no idea that the 22nd Amendment pretty much makes it impossible for Dubya to be elected to the office of President again.

Behold, the Republican in all his glory.

The guy on the right is pretty good with that Sharpie. I'd say it's a pretty good likeness, what that 'stache Dubya's sporting on the poster.

Bush spent much of his half-hour speech in a ballroom at the Bellevue Hyatt speaking about homeland security and the increasingly unpopular Iraq war.

"I would rather defeat them overseas than face them here at home ...What happens in Iraq matters in America," Bush said. "We will not be intimidated by thugs and murderers."

Seattle Post-Intelligencer

He just never gets tired of that rhetoric, does he? And the "W in '08" guys never get tired of hearing it.

Apparently the Secret Service had some blockade action going on at both I-5 and I-405, too. Twice. During rush hour. For those of you not living in the vicinity of the Emerald City, I can not even begin to explain the effects of shutting down these mega-ribbons of vehicular hell. But hey, what's bringing a city to a screeching halt when compared with safe passage for the presidential limo?

----------------

There is more to this story though, than an overpriced lunch for an overrated clown in cowboy boots. I can barely bring myself to say it.

Matt Hasselbeck is a Republican.

He is also quarterback for the Seattle Seahawks. A really good quarterback. You can see him here, presenting his leader with an official Seahawks jersey; "Bush #43", in honor of Dubya's spot as #43 in the Presidential Hall of Fame.

Goddamn.

As soon as I saw it, I made the connection. Of course! How could I not have known? After all, Matt's little brother, Tim Hasselbeck (backup QB for the Giants), is married to former Survivor winner and current shrill-woman on The View, Elizabeth Hasselbeck. You know, the one who had that infamous political catfight with Rosie O'Donnell on the show? Crazy! Anyway, I knew about that, but just because Matt's SIL is a flaming Republican mouthpiece doesn't mean Matt is, right? I mean, my sis and BIL are conservatives, but that doesn't make me one, right?

Well, a picture's worth a 1000 words.

Worse, though, worse is the fine looking man to the left of Dubya's grinning visage. That man is Mack Strong, amazing Seahawks Fullback. Mack is my favorite player. He is also, apparently, "a notable Republican".

Et tu, Mack?

I am bereft. Apparently, Mack's mom, Rose Strong is some sort of hard-core Republican. I mean like the kind of hard-core Republican who works on the Bush/Quayle re-election campaign in '92, and the Bush/Cheney campaign in 2000. I mean the kind of hard-core Republican who co-founds something called Black Republican Women International.

Talk about your oxymorons...

Her mission statement:

To provide the leadership and support necessary for the Republican Party to become Washington State's majority party.

What?! Mack Strong's mom is trying to turn us into a friggin' red state! What the fuck? I had no idea. I mean, Hasselbeck I can see. Straight, corn-fed, all-American midwest white boy. It happens. But Mack Strong?


Why, Mack, why?

Now, my problem is not that Matt and Mack, best QB/FB combo going, are Republicans. It's a (conceptually) free country. They have the right to belong to whatever party they choose. Long as they kick ass on the football field, we're good.

What gets my goat about this whole deal is that Matt & Mack, being the team leaders, are representing the Seahawks -- as a team -- when they do this jersey giveaway deal. I'm sorry, but when the star quarterback and the fullback who is a friggin' fixture on this team present the Warmonger in Chief with his own special jersey, they are giving the impression that the team endorses and supports Dubya.

That is just wrong, boys. So wrong.

Now if this were Texas? No problem! Let the Cowboys support their Cowboy. But this here is a blue state. A strong one. Our friggin' uniforms are blue forgawd's sake! And our star quarterback, along with our star fullback, are going to go and pull some shit like this, making it look as though our whole damn team is on board the Dubya Wagon? Not even right.

Crap.
------------------
PS: Seahawks stomped the Vikings 30 - 13 last week. More than made up for our pounding at the hands of those cheese-eating Packers the week before.
------------------
PSS: Slight editing, last few paragraphs.
------------------

Men in Tights AND Women in Pads

I. My boys are on the field. It's still pre-season, so it doesn't "count", but who cares. A game's a game in my book.

Last week ... the Packers handed our asses to us on a platter. A cheese platter. We did beat San Diego the week before though

Here's hoping the boys turn things around tonight.

I, unlike Lorraine with High School Musical, will not be live-blogging the game tonight. (except to say we've already recovered their fumble, and scored, not 2 minutes into the game.)

Hey!! The exaggerated sighs of relief are not even necessary. I can hear you from here. Yes, as a matter of fact, I am aware enough to realize that most of my readers are infinitely more interested in musicals than football games.

Punks.

--------------------------------

II. You all want to know about some badass women? Check out the Seattle Majestics. They are women football players. You heard me right. And I am not talking Powder Puff. Tackle. These girls are on the line. In pads, with helmets.

Badass.

Today they got to play a post-season (for them) exhibition game before the Seahawks game, in front of a full crowd at Qwest field. Hell yeah. They play through the Independent Women's Football League (IWFL).

I like that they're not called The Lady Seahawks. I hate that shit. Like our high school's girls basketball team is called The Lady Warriors. (Knight type, not the stereotypical Native American type, as my high school was) There's just something about that which I find demeaning. Like they're not the real Warriors. Like aw, aren't they cute, the little ladies. Fuck that.

Anyway, the Majestics have been getting more publicity, and I'm happy they got to play at Qwest today. Just like the big boys, right? Next season I'm taking the kids to some games. I'm sure they'll be cheaper than Seahawks tickets, which is another fucked up aspect of women's sports, as far as the message it sends about what they're worth, but it works for my budget.

You go Grrlz!

Taking on the Man

OK y'all, wish me luck. Today is the big day when my fledgling parents' group meets with the school district's superintendent and his minions. We've been working our asses off for this meeting. It's sort of a grassroots group -- ooh, doesn't that just sound all activist and shit? It started off with a few of us parents sharing our stories, and realizing how many stories were out there, and how many "isolated incidents" were not isolated incidents at all, but a reflection of a systemic lack of awareness of the issues that students of color deal with every day. The more parents we spoke with, the more commonalities emerged.

Each parent thought it was "just them". In each case, the child was seen as the "issue", not the system. The commonalities were too blatant to ignore, though, and the kids are the ones internalizing this shit. It's amazing what's been going on with these kids! I mean, I could start a wholenother blog [har har] just on that. None of us knew the big picture until we started digging and talking to other parents, hearing their stories.

Anyway, it's been been me and 2 other women organizing this, and we recently pulled in a 4th woman to the core group. This is on top of us all being single moms/aunt to teenagers and working. Yeah. Monday we put 4 hours in. Yesterday, 3 more. I spent the weekend doing a power point presentation. Last night I wrote the summary AFTER the airport, got to bed about 0230, then got up to go with the son to freshman orientation at the high school.

Orientation -- what a joke for the parents. I was expecting to get some actual information -- but the "parents' activity" was coffee and muffins in the staff lounge. What? I don't have time for chatting over muffins, are you kidding me? Where's the friggin' INFO? I got pressured to sign up for the opening BBQ, some bake sale, some other fundraiser, some ticket selling thing -- hello, been there, done that, working-single-mom now, thank you. I don't have time to bake for my friggin' family, let alone some function. I also got hear about where so-and-so had bought her cute bag; how Sally was SO devastated about not making cheer, and she was better than that other girl anyway; how so-and-so misses her husband so much and doesn't know HOW she'll survive with him being gone for a week on business! She doesn't work. Please. You can't handle a week without your man and you don't even go to work? Buck up, honey, you'll live, I promise. I was out of there in 5 minutes.

I do digress. This was supposed to be a quickie. And you all know how good I am at brevity. (Stop the fake coughing JP, I see you.)

Anyway, today's the meeting, I ditched the orientation and am going over my summary. How I got stuck with the damn summary I have no idea. Well, yes I do. Let the white girl do it, she's less of a threat to white men in power, they'll listen to her. Which is sadly true. "If a white person notices racism, then it must actually be true, because they don't have 'ulterior motives' or a 'chip on their shoulders'."

It "goes down easier" coming from another white person, this has been documented. Which is ridiculous, because really, I'm not the one who has the innate understanding/experience to explain this shit. But, I've seen how it works: person of color starts a dialogue about his/her experience with racism; white person's sphincter immediately tightens, s/he goes on the defensive, secretly thinking that the PoC has "pulled the race card" and is "too sensitive"; white person either clams up and nods with a tight smile, or attempts to explain to the PoC why they have not actually experienced racism, they have in fact simply misunderstood, or been overly sensitive.

I really hate when white folks try to tell folks of color what racism is and isn't.

OK y'all, I know I'm on about this stuff a lot. I know some of you may be like,

Damn, Cowbell, lighten up, can't we all just get along? I never see this stuff going on. Pull the racism stick out of your ass and get back to writing about how your mom wants you to marry a preacher!

I know it sounds right soapboxy to those who don't have to live with it or see it going on. I realize this.

You all think I just woke up one day and say, hey, I'm going to all of a sudden get a stick up my ass about racism and white privilege! That would be fun! No, it's not fun at all. What happened is that I see the effect on my kids, subtle and blatant. Particularly since my son has been hit with the puberty stick -- folks' perception of him has changed before my eyes, which breaks my heart and pisses me the fuck off. (He's good, he's kind, he's a kid for godssake, don't be scared of him, he's not going to steal your stupid greeting card store knick knacks, bitch.) I see the bullshit in the media. I hear the comments. I see how it is subtly woven through our institutions. And when I talk to other parents, I hear stories worse than mine. Much worse in some cases.

My kids are kids of color, but the reality is that they are riding the coat tails of my white privilege. A teacher may make an assumption about my son, may send him out of the classroom while smiling at his white buddy who was also talking in class. To my son. When I show up to talk about it, the look of relief is plain to see, ("Oh, his mom is white! Whew!" Because I will "understand", I will not "be difficult".) On the phone, the administrators may not want to put my son in advanced classes, may not want to answer my questions about why I didn't receive the application packet in the mail. When I walk in though, when they see me, suddenly he is of the caliber to qualify for these classes. Their perception of his home life, his support, his ability is suddenly different.

On the other hand, boy do they value his ass on the football field, the wrestling mat, the track. They are sending my son a message about where he is valued, where he is expected to excel.

My experience in the school principal's office is much different than the experience of my friends of color. Which is bullshit.

Whew, goddamn but I do digress.

Anyway, I'm doing the summary, in order to avoid the tight sphincter phenomenon brought on by "playing the race card." Well these boys don't know it, but I'm about to pull the white card on their asses. I am going to connect with them on their level. I am going to talk about how, as white people, we are not born with an awareness of this. I was not born knowing about this. I floated along for years, blissfully unaware of what other people were living every day. I had to learn it. It was my responsibility to learn about it, in order to effectively parent my children. And the district has that same responsibility to educate themselves, because our children are their students. It's their school too, and they deserve to be appreciated and valued for who they ARE, not for how effectively they can assimilate into the dominant culture to avoid problems. Not for how well they learn to suppress that shit.

Anyway, they think they can "relate" better to me, OK, I'm expecting something from them. So we'll see how it goes. It's been a lot of work, and the damn overhead projector had best be working right.

[climbs down off soapbox] I really do suck at brevity, don't I?

Leaving on a Jet Plane

The eldest daughter left to go back to college tonight. It was harder than last year. We both cried like babies. OK, maybe not babies, but whatever. OK, I did, but not until I was in the car. I hate airports. They could use it for a question on the SAT: Airports are to Cowbell what hospitals are to most people. With all the times we've moved, and with so many of the people in our lives leading the same traveling type of life, airports usually mean saying goodbye. For most folks, an airport goodbye is usually temporary, like a vacation or business trip or college. For us, it's more often permanent, so I guess I've got some sort of Pavlov's dogs reaction going on. This goodbye isn't permanent, the daughter will be back at Thanksgiving. But hey, Fido's still going to drool even if you don't put the bowl out after ringing the bell, right? Airports still suck, it's ingrained.

Where did the summer go? I friggin' hate Seattle summers. It's like you keep waiting for it to hit, and then it's gone. I just can't believe it's the end of August.

My So Called Strife

Hey y'all. Happy Friday. Or whatever.

I have nothing of import to say, just checking in to say I'm alive but am suddenly dealing with situations on several different fronts. The sudden lack of time to wipe my ass really isn't allowing for the pouring out of erudite thoughts via keyboard.

Actually, I did have something to say, then shit started hitting various fans. I had started a longass draft, then decided to rethink the merits of posting it as it started out as one subject, then somehow morphed into something I don't usually post about. No, not my whip collection or the story behind my self-imposed tequila limit. More along the lines of normal non-bloggable topics that folks tend to keep away from the keyboard. You know, like work, sex life (well, except for RG's blog, plenty of that over there), the latest fight with your spouse if he reads your blog, jock itch, the Ex, those kinds of things. Seeing as how my sex life is currently non-existent, I don't have a spouse to bicker with (thank the goddess of all things holy), and I don't have jock itch, that leaves work and the Ex. I'm not blogging about work.

Oh, and I lied. I don't have a whip collection.

So anyway, dealing with a few things, a couple of which I'd sure like to pass off to someone else to worry about, but that's not how this shit works, is it? Like hey, maybe if the other parent could take on a bit of the actual parenting responsibility, that might be nice. I mean, I get the stretch marks and the whole damn job? Is that really the most efficient way to get these kids raised up? And while I'm at it, who the hell thought up the system wherein your mom stops taking care of shit and telling you what the fuck to do once you reach a certain age? Seriously. Can't my mom just come in and make everything OK? Is that too damn much to ask?

Oh. Yes, as a matter of fact, it is too damn much to ask. Because that would worry my mom, and she doesn't need that shit. Her friggin' cat just died, and oh yeah, she already put in her time. Also, her plan for taking care of things would most likely include me being married to a preacher and washed in the Blood of the Lamb. And, that system would also mean I'd be dealing with shit for the rest of my children's lives. Fuck that. Fine, never mind.

Anyway.

Oh, and guess what I get to do tonight? That's right! Go to the airport during the I-5 Charlie-Foxtrot! And there's a Mariners game going on as well! Yeefucking-Haw, y'all. I almost never have to drive that far south, but the Offspring all are returning from the vaunted Visit With Dad this week -- separately. That's right, 3 different flights, all scheduled during the I-5 Charlie-Fox. What are the odds?

And the "alternate routes" they recommend? I'm sorry, but after what happened to that bridge in Missouri -- not to mention the one near Sling and the one in China -- driving on the double-decker bastion of cracked concrete that is The Viaduct is not an option. Every trucker and his brother will be on that bridge tonight, trying to get around the I-5 mess. In fact, tonight may well be the night The Viaduct finally goes to rubble.

My ass will not be on it, nor will the ass of the Male Offspring.

Last night they apparently cut I-5's remaining lanes down to ONE LANE. Knowing that there's a Mariner's game tonight. Those of you in this area know that is nothing if not pure fucking insanity. And I get to drive to the airport.

Is it so wrong to ask my 14yr old son to get himself to a hotel until tomorrow morning?

Anyway.

So I'm still reading and commenting around, but this is as good as it gets here for now. Sorry kiddies. Go have a nice frosty glass of Iced Tea.

------------------------------------

Oh, and PS: I can't believe I only got 3 comments on my beloved Seahawks' ass-kicking skillz. And one of them was mine. Y'all suck.

-----------------------------------

Oh, and PSS: I missed my 100th post anniversary. That's not really an anniversary, is it? Whatever. I posted 111 times, bitches. Wheee.

Mad Hattery

So I know you all are all stalking my blog like a bunch of vultures in breathless anticipation of details from my trip to Hatland.

Hello?

[chirp, chirp]

Guys? Anybody out there?

Fine. It's not like I was blog-stalking either, when Lorraine went to Chi-town, or when the Hat came to Seattle. Please. I have a life, you know. Hmph.

So, what to say? How do I put it to words? The Hat has become Real. Like the Velveteen Rabbit.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you."

Well, The Hat certainly didn't have a stick-out handle, but after a certain number of tasty drinks, she may have had things buzzing inside her. Regardless, she is now Real, with a face and a voice and a fetchingly contagious smile.

I have to tell you all, I was amazed that she'd only been in her charming abode for little more than a month. From the gorgeously curvy (and oh so fitting) chaise lounge with funky pillows, to her Princess bed, to the flowers on her hat box end table, to the pictures on the walls - it was neat as a pin and looked like she'd been there for years. Lorraine would be proud.

I've been in my house for nearly a year. Ain't shit on my walls.

And yes, she actually does have an end table made of hat boxes. See for yourselves. Perfect? I think so.

Also, she had this hostess business down, y'all. I arrived to find a fancy spread of shrimp cocktail, mussels on ice, veggies, spinach dip (in bread bowl, of course), dill dip, 3 different cheeses, kalamata olives, and petite quiche.

Oh hell yes. The Hat rocked the kitchen.

She prepared some refreshing Iced Tea, perfect after my long and arduous journey. This tea was zippy and left me strangely giddy, yet able to grasp all the mysteries of the universe. It's some sort of Italian tea blend a la Lorraine. I liked it so much I snagged the recipe.
(Disclaimer: Italian Ice Tea not intended for those under the age of 21.)

The Hat's hostessing skillz really came to light with her change of attire for every course. The evening began with a flowy skirt and blouse ensemble, went to a frilly summer frock, then to basic black. She rounded up the evening with silky PJs in the color scheme of her chaise lounge, bedecked with flowers and a snappy trim. Impressive. I suspect she may have Superman phone booth skillz to boot, as I never actually saw this happen.

I brought a fine Chilean wine, based on my intimate knowledge of funky wine labels. You wine aficionados out there may recognize this particular blend as Voluptuous Beauty. Exactly. I really had no choice but to bring it, did I? Perfect for an evening at the Voluptuary. It didn't suck. I was proud. You can't tell so much in the cropped shot, but the backdrop for this shot was, in fact, beauteously voluptuous.

Sadly, there isn't as much photographic evidence as we'd planned. But really, who has time to snap pics when you're busy quaffing tea and untangling the mysteries of the universe? Anyway, here are a few of the pics. See, not too incriminating.

Below you'll see her Hatness chatting up one of her Real friends. We both had Real friends checking up via telephone, in case either of us turned out to be an axe murderer. We had to use code words and everything. Doesn't actually do much good though, when you laughingly tell the potential axe murderer about your code word.

(It does pay to be careful though, as this Australian farmer recently found out. He was kidnapped during an Internet meeting gone wrong. Of course, his visit did involve marriage and a dowry of gold bars, but whatever. It happens. Be careful out there.)

"So, things are going WELL ... yes, I said WELL."
(hello, adorable! Can we get a cyber wolf whistle here?)

"Wait! You should wear a hat!"
"Right! And pull it down over one eye like in the movies!
Do I look like a princess detective?"

"My! He really is a Dirty Rotten Kitty!"*

Frivolity abounded in direct proportion to the amount of "Iced Tea" consumed. (airquote emphasis mine) And it really was just her chaise lounge that squeaked when she reached for her wine glass that time. I ended up crashing on the Hat's lovely chaise lounge, as we realized at one point it was 3:30 am. Oops.

Frivolity aside, I'm so glad to have met her. I never would've thought that this blogging business would lead to connections like this. I know there are people who don't see any difference between a blogging addiction and an online gaming or TV addiction.

The difference is the connection.

Meeting the Hat validated my feeling that these are, in fact, real connections. That these keyboard people with unknown faces, cyberly tied by the wisp of a broadband connection, are friends. As I got into this whole blogging thing more and more, I'd sometimes question myself. OK, Cowbell, what's up -- is this online stuff isolating me from connections in the real world? Am I deluding myself that these are connections at all?

No. This online stuff is about building connections, and these folks are very much in the real world.

What I think about blogging is that it strips away all the things people normally connect over. Looks, age, gender, employment, location, orientation, education, income level, hot-factor, whether you're married or single, whether you have kids or not -- all of that is gone. Out of the equation. What's left is our insides, the core. Our beliefs, feelings, fears, humor, interests. The things that matter.

What is more real, connections based on those surface things, or a connection based on our insides? I'm thinking that a friendship based on shared beliefs is a lot more real than a friendship based on someone's hotness factor or income level.

If you take the step to meet a cyberbuddy in real life, you have already discovered shared beliefs, interests and humor. You have weeded through dozens of other blog sites before finding one that you connect with, and when you do connect, it's because there's something there beyond surface cosmetics. Well, unless someone has a really kickass template, that is.

I'm thinking this blogging thing is a pretty damn efficient way to meet Real friends.

If you're wondering, yes, I did actually call her The Hat. No, there were no awkward silences. No "holy shit, what the hell am I doing here?" No code words. We were not strangers. It was effortless. OK, commenting over at The Club wasn't exactly effortless, but that was because of all the "Iced Tea" we'd consumed at that point. The rest of it though, was effortless. We talked about stuff way below the surface. Which didn't seem odd at all.

The Hat is every bit as lovely as I'd imagined. As I've already fawned over her pics at Lorraines, you know I think she is more delicious than a Daiquiri Shake (don't ask). And hello, the neighbor guy's comment? Well, let's just say, don't be too hard on him. Poor guy. The pressure was just too much. So yeah, the sparkly captivating hotness that comes through on her blog? Her. And yes, her smile really is that sunny.

*That last one is a long story. I stole Dirty Rotten Kitty from a friend on the east coast a few years back, before her dog could destroy him. (He's actually a dog toy, but like the Velveteen Rabbit, is quite Real, and had to be rescued.) Since then he's kind of become like the world renowned Traveling Garden Gnome. He's been spotted in many places, and has much photographic evidence in his travel logs. He now has a new friend.

'Tis the Season

Football Season, that is.

First preseason game, Seattle @ San Diego.

Seahawks spank the Chargers, 24 - 16.

That's what I'm talking about.

- Coming soon to a blog near you: The wonderful world of The Hat. -

Hats Off!

OK kids, this is just a quickie. Oh do not even give me that attitude -- everyone needs a good quickie now and again. In fact, I am long overdue for one.

Anyway, I don't have much time, and there's a reason for that. Three guesses where I'm going today. No, I am not going to Honey's on 99. Sheesh. OK, here's a hint:

photo credit: Corsets and Crinolines

No, I am not going to High Tea with the Queen. Forget her, I am going to pay a visit to The Hat. I'm aflutter with excitement. Of course, I am a bit worried about seeming out of place. The only hat I have is my Seahawks ball cap. Well, no matter. What it lacks in feathers, it certainly makes up for in spirit. And, I have procured the perfect wine. Well, ok, the wine might suck ass, who knows, but it's all about the bottle. Just ask Lorraine. She got a fish vase out of the deal. I do not have a piscine bottle, but I think this will fit the bill.

And Hat, I have a confession to make. Better it come out now, than on your doorstep. I know I told you that I really do look like that blue tile Goddess in my profile pic, that it really was my picture. OK, that was sort of a lie. I'm sorry. But to prove that I did once have a suitable hat, and so I won't be a complete and utter stranger, here is a pic. I'm the one on the left of the bar, holding the whip. (Just add about 40 pounds, and there you go. -sigh-

So, I must away -- I still have to wear the canines out at the park before I leave, run to the store, shower so as not to offend, print out my map, and tend to the rabbit. Now where's that whip ...

The Visible Vote

If you all are on your computers reading my crap instead of watching The Visible Vote on LOGO, get thee to a television. (words I never thought I'd have occasion to utter.) Democratic candidates addressing LGBT issues directly, live. More later...

-------------------------------------------

OK, I have to say, I just loved listening to Dennis Kucinich. I have no idea why they didn't have his (hot!) wife on the stage, but hey, whatever. I mean, OK, he sounded kind of hippie new-age in a few spots: (and I may not get the verbiage word for word, so cut me some slack)

I see the Equality sign here. I've got the same sign up in my office, in Washington DC. Now imagine that sign, encased ... in a heart. (draws a heart shape in the air)

He went on to talk about the power of love. Later, he spoke so passionately and sincerely about love, and also the depth of love he feels for his wife, and how devastated he would be if they were not legally able to marry. He went on to talk about how important GLBT rights are to him -- spoke for some time about it, and damn did this man sound so sincere. He did not sound like a politician, he sounded like a guy just talking about what's important to him. I mean, you could practically feel his belief in these issues coming through the screen. I got teary eyed. I clapped alone in my living room when the man was done.

-sigh-

I know he's too much of a left-wing hippie boy to get elected. And personally, I am not convinced he would actually be the best man for president on all the issues. The president will need to fix this global mess we're in, and need to be really strong and experienced on international issues. (Thanks, Dubya.) But damn. He sure would be the best man for the job on the issues affecting the gay community. And for healthcare.

------------------------------------------

OK, Bill Richardson just blew it:

Melissa Etheridge: Governor, do you think being gay is biological, or is it a choice?
Bill Richardson: It's a choice.

ME: I'm not sure if you understand the question; do you think we are born this way, or around 7th grade, we just decide, 'oh, I wanna be gay',"

BR: (looking pained) Well, I'm not a scientist .... ... I don't like to answer definitions like that that are perhaps grounded in science or something I don't understand.

Oops.

----------------------------------------

Doh! Melissa just called Hillary out.

----------------------------------------

OK, I did not mean for this to turn into some kind of review thing, I basically just wanted to remind everybody to watch, because I meant to do that earlier today.

I liked Obama, because I like Obama, although I do wish he would step forward about the marriage thing. I see what he's trying to say about how marriage should be completely separate from the state anyway, but still. It isn't.

I actually liked some things Edwards said, more so than I usually do, even though he's not my man. He came out pretty strong in support of separation of church & state. He seemed a little ... trying too hard to convince on some things. A little hokey at times.

Gravel ... y'all that man is just a trip. Weird. He just leaves me scratching my head. Watch him for the entertainment value, if nothing else.

Clinton, well, she's not perfect, but I have to say, I am impressed with how she comes across as such a strong leader. I thought she did well tonight. I don't agree with everything she's about, but I'm never going to find a candidate I'm 100% happy with. I'm still undecided, but am leaning more from Obama toward Clinton. Slightly. Still undecided. She seemed comfortable tonight. Some, like Richardson, and even Gravel, seemed downright ... well, not comfortable.

But, I'm tired of of writing about this, so you all watch it on YouTube if you didn't get a chance to see it.

Here's The Confession

OK, y'all, I'm pretty freaked out. I am freaked out on two counts, both musical. Here's what I know:

1) I do like some 80s music after all. In fact, I like a lot of it.

2) Lorraine and I sang two of the same songs for church in years past. It's true. Amy Grant's El Shaddai and Father's Eyes. Given that I found this out purely by chance while cruising old comments, I bet if we actually compared notes, there could even be more.


These are the things one discovers whilst passing time alone in a night club way past closing time on a Sunday night.


I am a child of the 80s. I'm pretty sure there was a mistake with that. I think I was supposed to be a child of the 60s. I may have missed out on Free Love and fringe, but I stole the music. I love me some 60s music, now. I believe I've mentioned that I worship at the church of Joni Mitchell. The 60s was a cool decade. Woodstock, the Black Panthers, free love, natural hair, acoustic guitars. Dr. King. Flowy tunics that flattered everyone. Down with pretense. Make love, not war. Revolution. They made a difference, man. Far out.

Those days, however, were not mine, but my mother's. The 60s were her heyday, she of the GoGo boots, embroidered vests and protest buttons.

I may have come into being in the 60s, but I came of age in the 80s. Big bangs varnished with Aqua Net. Jheri curls. Side ponytails. Clown make up. Jeans desecrated with tapered ankles, pleats and acid wash finish. Shoulder pads. Leg warmers with Flashdance sweatshirts. Reagan. What a hellish legacy to leave for a generation. And it's all immortalized in our yearbooks -- bad hair, bad make up, bad fashion, bad politics, and bad music.

Or so I thought.

Fast forward, summer 2007. Sunday night it was me, my dogs, and a some Black Dog Ale. I'm cruising around the Internets, and decide to check out that totally rockin' hot spot, Here's the 80s. This was new for me. As you know, the proprieters are the hilariously irreverent and bitter Lorraine & JP. Although I am thoroughly addicted to both their blogs I have not been a regular patron at the club. Here's the 80s? I thought. Are you kidding? I finally got my bangs to lay down and merge with the rest of my hair. My pants no longer come up to my ribcage. No way. I have been shed of the 80s since belting out Auld Lang Syne on New Year's Eve, 1989.

Or so I thought.

Here's the confession: I do too like 80s music. It's true. I'd forgotten how much of it I actually did like. Granted, a lot of it I missed, because I was doing the Contemporary Christian Music thing at the time (thus the aforementioned church solos I have in common with Lorraine), but you can't go through a decade and not hear this stuff. Plus, after I left the cornfields of my youth for the firing ranges and red clay of Fort Jackson, South Carolina, I added secular music to my list of allowable indulgences. I still had over half the decade to go, at that point.

Leaving smalltown Ohio brought other music to my experience. Thus my affinity for old school rap and groups like DeBarge. (Don't you judge me.) Purple Rain? Are you kidding? Prince was a god.

So anyway, I was sucked through a vortex of black lace and big hair last Sunday night. I was sucked back into the 80s. I was there for hours. Alone, inebriated, on a Sunday night. Guys, you'll see plenty of my comments scattered around the place. In fact, I made myself stop after a while, realizing that they were taking on an "I love you, Man!" quality, most likely due to the freely flowing beer. Sling wasn't there to serve up anything more interesting, so I made do with Black Dog Ale.

I'd forgotten about Huey Lewis and the News. Then Dire Straits made me think about my first boyfriend ever. He was great. To this day, I can't hear Sultans of Swing without thinking of him. Damn, that boy could kiss. I credit him with my high kissing standards of today. (Also, to this day, Dan Fogelberg's Auld Lang Syne will make me get misty behind that guy.) Culture Club, Cyndy Lauper, the Commodores, Linda Ronstadt, Aretha, Foreigner, Beastie Boys, The Pointer Sisters, Journey ... yeah. I was liking some 80s music y'all. I even found a bit of old school -- LL Cool J, MC Lyte, Oran Juice Jones, Young MC, Run DMC ... hell yeah. Even the Fat Boys were there. (Trust that Kurtis Blow, Whodini and UTFO will be on the request line soon.)

So now you know. Shoot, now I know. Here's to the 80s. *clink*

Baby Boom, Redux.

Have you all heard of this "competitive birthing" deal? I heard about it on NPR this morning, while taking the eldest daughter to the airport at o'dark-thirty on a Sunday morning. May the Ex be stricken with an aggressive case of pubic lice for setting up those tickets.

Apparently, upper crust mommies are getting caught up in the "competitive birthing" phenomenon sweeping through gated communities across the country. According to NPR:

Historically, the country-club set has had the smallest number of kids. But in the past 10 years, the number of high-end earners who are having three or more kids has shot up nearly 30 percent.

Some say the trend is driven by a generation of over-achieving career women who have quit work and transferred all of their competitive energy to baby making. They call it "competitive birthing."

Yep, the newest twist on keeping up with the Joneses is the mega-family with four or more kids. The uptown mommy is popping out babies like a well-coiffed brood mare. Mothers behind the curve with only one or two children admitted feelings of inadequacy next to their fructiferous peers.

One mother of two, who'd left her child bearing years behind her, reconsidered upon moving to an affluent Connecticut suburb. Even after a third child, it wasn't long until she felt the pressure to be fruitful and multiply once more:

I was bike riding at 6am with a friend, and she said 'I'm pregnant with #4!' and I was like, 'I'm so jealous of you,' and sure enough within the month, we're biking again, and I'm like, 'Guess what, I'm pregnant with #4 too.'

Competitive birthing indeed.

I'm sorry, but if your ass is out biking with your girlfriend at 6am, that means there is a nanny at home watching those kids. That means you're getting enough rest to be up and perky at that hellish hour of the morning, because somebody is helping your ass with laundry and dishes and carpooling and shit, and it means you're not going to work.

You are not Supermom, honey, you're team-mothering. Hell, I'd be competitive, too.

According to Virginia Smith, director of Wellesley Nursery School in the Hills, that's a big part of the high-society baby boomlet. These moms are having more babies because they can.

They're hiring consultants to do the toilet training, to teach them to ride the two-wheelers, to teach them to tie their shoes, it's like the kid gets head lice, and the nit-picker comes and picks the head lice out! Is it ok? I don't know...

These posh moms drop the little darlings off at Wellesley In the Hills with lipstick in place, a fresh manicure, and bags that match their designer workout clothes. They've got the time and energy to hit the gym and the tennis court, have coffee with the girls, get the school-agers off to soccer or tap, and still have time to freshen up before hubby gets home from work. Why not have an extra kid or three?

Another mom, from an article in the Boston Globe:

Every person I know who has four kids has full-time help.
40-year-old former investment banker and current Wellesley mother of three.

Well, no fucking wonder! See, I am just not impressed. You don't punch the 9 to 5 clock, you've got help with the cleaning, yard work, cooking, and chauffeuring, you've got babysitting or even nanny services to boot, where's the stress in that? Please! Moms, back me up here -- what makes parenting hard is that we have to handle everything else in life while we're doing it, right? If all I had to do was parent, damn, I could do that.

Shoot, if I had that set-up, my ass would be toned, I'd have a bouncy haircut with highlights, a pedicure, and shaved legs. My damn bag would match my cute workout shoes. I would kick ass if I didn't have to work and had "full-time help".

Who the hell has "full-time help" anydamnway? What the fuck is that about? Is that even real?

Five bucks says these prolific parents don't have to worry about things like college tuition or sports equipment or the cost of Driver's Ed classes either. That would go a long way toward reducing stress and anxiety, wouldn't it?

I'm thinking that can't be all there is to it, though. Besides the obvious financial reasons, why do these women do it? Why not spend that money on travel or Botox?

*One former attorney says being a mother of four validated her choice to leave the work force more than being a mom to a single child would. I guess I can see that. Easier to justify leaving behind a high powered job and letting that Vassar tuition slide down the drain to raise four kids as opposed to one. Proof to the world (and yourself?) that your life is challenging, that you're doing something not everyone could do. That you're not sitting around sucking down bon-bons. Because you know that's what we moms do.

Another mom puts it like this,

I think it's because we're compelled to be successful and to be achievers. If you're an Ivy League graduate, who's always balanced all of the things in your life, and done it well, you don't decide to be a mom and have one kid. You're going to do it in a big way, full stop, 3 or 4 kids.

Really? I guess I can see that. There is more affirmation for parenting multiple children. I get that sometimes, even with my three, and if I'm honest, yes, it is validating. Then again, I'm definitely not using the team-mothering approach, and my ass goes to work every day. Shoot, I could use the other parent being present, let alone a damn housecleaner.

My mini-brood did not come about through some sort of Wisteria Lane competitive birthing deal to seal my status as an Ivy League mom, I'll tell you that much.

No, that shit came about because I temporarily lost my damn mind, no thanks to that damnblasted Barry White. That and baby shoes. Don't ask.

Actually, having reached Older & Wiser status, I do feel guilt about adding to the planet's burgeoning population with my three, particularly since we Americans are not down with Kyoto or any type of greening down as a whole. I rationalize that, though, with the knowledge that my kids are geniuses who will change the world. Plus, the eldest doesn't want kids, the 2nd says she'd adopt, because there are too many kids of color already needing homes. Hey, we adopt shelter dogs, same deal. Plus, no stretchmarks. See? Genius.

I do find it interesting that once again, it seems to be about women feeling the need to prove their worth. If they're not proving they can hang with the guys in the corporate world, they're justifying their choice to stay home and mother by supersizing the family. As if mothering one kid isn't mother enough.

Of course my Radical Bohemian daughter found it interesting that while this is reported as the latest fashion trend among the jet-set to be aspired to (Four Is the New Two! ), regular folks with large families aren't viewed in quite the same way. Far from being trendy and chic, working class families with several kids are seen as irresponsible. Out of control. Not in the same class as the super-sized family elite, are they? (Hey! I was not out of control -- that shit was planned before Barry started singing. The baby shoes didn't help, though...)

So, for those of you who haven't hopped on the breeding bandwagon yet, it's something to think about. Little Topher and Jennifer (and Jayden and Madison) can be walking, breathing status symbols. You too can be a high society competive birther.

Just make sure you've got your support staff and your Hummer in place.

Photo credits: first two photos: Pam Berry/Boston Globe Magazine

Jesus Land

I just finished reading Jesus Land, a memoir by Julia Scheeres. Her story is written from the perspective of her 17-year-old self, and is both sweet and brutal. Her writing is very honest, sometimes disturbingly so, and her sarcastic dark humor flavors the agonizing experience that was her childhood.

Julia spent her teen years in rural Indiana, raised by fundamentalist Christian parents in the 80s. Her parents adopted two African-American boys out of a sense of Christian guilt. Much of the story revolves around Julia's close relationship with her "twin" brother, David.

Their parents had no clue about raising a child of color in the cornfields of the Bible belt; the brothers' daily experiences with racism, both out in the world and at home, are central to the story. The parents were emotionally distant and abusive with all their children, and were physically abusive to Jerome and David. They were heavily into the whole Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child deal, to the point of having that bit of Biblery engraved on the 2 large paddles hanging on the wall.

My high school years were spent in the rural midwest in the 80s, immersed in "The Way, The Truth, The Life" as well, so parts of the book had a familiar feel to me. Fortunately, I did not have the home life that Julia and her siblings dealt with -- my parents were not abusive, and though my mom was very religious (as was I), she was not a fundamentalist. The community though, from the school to food, dress, landscape and attitudes, could've been my town.

One thing that personally freaked me out a bit, was the music. Throughout the book, Christian music is the backdrop for the story. Mom continuously blasts Rejoice Radio over the home intercom system, and hymns and religious songs are often referenced. (the intercom is also used to eavesdrop on the kids' conversations, in case any heathenism is going down.)

I knew every single song in the book.

Every single one, y'all. Every hymn, every "contemporary Christian" song, every camp song. After all these years, the words, melodies, harmonies, in some cases multiple verses and even the tenor harmonies, all still in there.

These songs have been running through my head for the last three days. It is freaking me the fuck out. I'm talking songs like,

Just As I Am
Power In the Blood
Were You There When They Crucified My Lord
All to Jesus I Surrender
Old Rugged Cross
Go To Dark Gethsemane

... like that. The Rejoice Radio hits too -- Sandy Patty, Amy Grant, Keith Green, Petra, those were my tunes in the 80s.

Secular music was sinful. It encouraged wild kids to have sex and become drug addicts. No bump and grind for me, no sir, I put my Keith Green in the tape deck and got my religion on.

So apparently, religious music is still in there, locked away among my neurons and synapses. Scary.

Anyway, this book kind of got in there for me. The racism that David and Jerome dealt with just tore at my heart. Adoption across racial lines is a wholenother post, and I am not saying I think it's wrong in every circumstance, but I do believe that in many situations it is not the best option for the child. I may get a lot of disagreement on that. I'm in no way saying that every situation of interracial adoption is detrimental. I do think that it is often done by well intentioned white folks trying to do a good deed who have no understanding of or connection to that child's culture.
So the way of dealing with differences lots of times is to just assimilate the child into white culture, as a way to "make things easy" for them. So the child will "fit in" and be "accepted".

That shit doesn't work, in the end. You can assimilate your ass all day long, but it will never be white enough for society to afford you full membership privileges, and then you've lost connectivity to your culture and ethnicity to boot.

I'm thinking the parents in this book should not have adopted any child, black or white; they had no concern or understanding of the issues that they brought upon these kids. Mom's answer to everything was "turn the other cheek". It broke my heart and pissed me off, to think of David living this life with no control over his situation, no one to understand, no one to get him the fuck out of Dodge. He was taken as a baby and given unto Jesus and and a white world of ignorance and hatred.

This book made me think of my own choice not to move back to the Midwest. It breaks my mom's heart to have us so far away, and I can't help but feel I'm going to reap what I've sown big time in the Karma department. I have this fear of my own kids scattering to the winds after they leave home, that I will not really be part of their lives, that it will be my Karmic reward for not being an actual presence in my parents' lives as an adult. (not fishing for comments about how that's not true and it will be fine -- I know in my head it's some weird guilt game, but the feeling is still there. Whaddya gonna do.)

My reasons for not moving back to the Midwest revolve largely around the conservative mindset there, and the levels of racism, right-wingery, and Bible thumping the kids would be regularly exposed to. Oh, and rednecks. Not that you can avoid it anywhere in this country, but let's face it, some places are a whole lot worse than others.

I can't say it's just for the kids -- I don't think I could deal with living in that environment any more. Every time I go back to Ohio, it just sets my teeth on edge. A lot of it is subtle. A lot of it is blatant to me, but not really noticed there. I like living in a blue state, I like progressive thought being the NORM.

So I struggle with that -- did I make the right choice? I don't know. My mom has MS and can't travel. I knew that, and that's part of the equation. I don't make the kind of money that would allow me to travel back and forth with 3 kids.

I miss my parents terribly.

On the other hand, the thought of raising kids of color in the Midwest was not something I could reconcile. We -- my ex and I -- made the conscious choice to bring each one of them into the world. I may not have understood all the ramifications at that time, but it's my responsibility to do the best I can with what I know now.

My folks say it's changed, it's not that bad, but their perception of "not that bad" is not the same as mine. Mom says, "There are a lot of East Indian and Asian kids in the schools now; they're so smart! Such good students." (I am just "looking for negatives" when I bring up the whole Model Minority thing.)

Anyway, this book got me thinking and remembering. I kind of got off on a tangent there. I'd suck ass as a book reviewer. I don't want to give away the storyline, so no spoilers, but the story goes a lot deeper than I've mentioned here. I'm glad I read it, and will be looking for future works from this author.

-------------------------

The Radical Bohemian daughter and I are heading to Value Village to drop off some donations and see if she can find any funky clothes to get her style on. Then tonight we are going to see The Tallis Scholars, hello, at St. James Cathedral. Yes, I said The Tallis Scholars, hell yeah! OK, so it's only 4 of them, performing with the students from their annual summer school, but still. The daughter and I saw the whole group at St. Mark's once -- I have no words to describe that experience. If you like Early Music, you've got to check these guys out. They rock.