My phone rang today…not unlike any other day….

Is this the woman that was on CNN?

I just want you to know you are a babykiller! Lady you are nothing but an unamerican babykiller! You are going to hell and you are nothing but a no good babykiller!

Why was this man so angry? Today I helped CNN commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Pill.

“Giving women control over reproduction means giving them control over their own fate. I am a wife, a blogger, a mother — when I want, how I want, and with the freedom to remain sexual. The pill means I can have it all, and sacrifice nothing. It has taken the dream of my Mother’s generation — that of “Superwoman” — and turned it into my reality.”

So to even things out, I also helped Woman’s Day talk dinners. You know, since we women clearly need to stay in the kitchen.

Enjoy.

Tomorrow I get flower-pot number six, and the flower I’ve been dreading since my son was two.

Let me explain.

I have five hand-painted flower pots. All from preschool Mother’s Day celebrations. The flower pots have come with the same songs and the same sandwiches and lemonade, from the quaint little preschool that’s been part of our lives for so many years.

Tomorrow I get to be one of the Moms that marches to the front of the school at the Mother’s Day celebration and accepts a single flower. This honor is reserved for the Moms who’s last child will be graduating and moving on to Kindergarten.

I’ve been watching those Moms stand up and be applauded and walk to the front of the playground to accept this flower since my very first Mother’s Day.

The weepy Mom casually strolls to the director and in a bitter-sweet motion says thank you for the acknowledgement. She wipes tears and begrudgingly walks back to her picnic blanket with her child, petals of love in hand. It has torn my heart out to watch these Moms for six years now. I’ve known it would, eventually, be my turn but it all seemed so far off I pushed it out of my head over and over again.

Tomorrow, I get the flower.

Tomorrow I can no longer deny that one era is over and another is about to begin.

Tomorrow I’m going to wipe away tears and hold the single flower with a mixed bag of emotions.

Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe I will feel relief and joy. Maybe I will be too steadfast in showing my daughter my strength to dare let her see me break down over a silly flower.

Maybe later tomorrow night, after the kids have gone to bed, I will curl up against my husband and sob over that stupid flower and stupid time and how it stupidly seems to not STOP when I’d like it to. He will remind me of all the great things that happen as children grow older and the positives of the situation.

Then I will hop online and whine to my friends…other mothers… who get it. Who will feel my pain and understand exactly why I could hate a single flower so very much. And we’ll decide, together, what I can do with that flower of finality.

Part of me wants to preserve it…dry it out or press it in a book. Part of me wants to set it on fire. But most of me just wants to cry and hold it close, because maybe if I hug it hard enough and cry long enough it won’t hurt me as much as it does.

Ugh. I hate this flower. I’ve hated it since the very first time I saw it given to another, reluctant and weeping Mom.

And tomorrow…it’s my turn.

While listening to some music at our house over the weekend my son caught a glimpse of Sade’s left boob. It was a beautiful photo scrolling by on our tv with the singer floating in a pool of water.

My 7-year old’s eyes darted at me and he grinned, he giggled, then he went about his day after we had a brief discussion about body parts and why they are neither funny nor anything to be ashamed of.

Seems Virginia’s Attorney General doesn’t feel the same way:

Virginia’s attorney general Ken Cuccinelli is hard at work on the important issues of the day — like making sure the Roman goddess depicted on his state’s official seal isn’t exposing herself.

The current seal shows “Virtus, the goddess of virtue, dressed as a warrior,” with her foot resting “on the chest of the figure of tyranny, who is lying on the ground.” She is holding a spear and her left breast is exposed.

Or at least it was exposed. At a recent meeting, Cuccinelli provided pins to his staff with a new seal on which “Virtus’ bosom is covered by an armored breastplate,” the Virginian-Pilot reported. These new pins were not paid for by taxpayer dollars, Cuccinelli’s office insisted.

Rather ironically, my daughter mentioned breasts at our house this weekend as well. She was getting a temporary tattoo applied and mistakenly asked for it to be placed next to her brown “nipple” – when she meant to say “freckle.” Of course we all giggled and then she asked “But Mommy, why are nipples funny?”

I explained it was a silly sounding word, and that actual nipples were amazing and mine helped to feed her and her brother for nearly 4 years total.

“Cool” said my son.

“Cool” said my daughter.

Too bad they don’t think breasts and all they entail are so “cool” in Virginia. Instead the message is to be ashamed, be very ashamed and for heaven’s sake cover up!

Not cool.