Last night my son pointed to me, smiled and said:
Mom I want to marry a girl just like you when I grow up.
My heart skipped a beat and I smiled back.
In my head I was thinking, oh, no you don’t. No. No. No you don’t.
You don’t want someone like your Mom kiddo. Trust me on this.
“How do you do it? The kids, the job, all this travel…you make it seem so effortless…”
I stared back at her and blinked.
There in a crowded conference was someone accusing me of having my shit together. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Do I tell her I forgot to pack enough underwear because the kids had thrown mine out of the suitcase in a fit before I left? Do I tell her my husband had to miss a very important day of work because one child was sick and no one could go to my girlfriend’s house? Do I tell her I had to miss having a girl’s day with my daughter at Barbie’s real Malibu Dream House in order to fly to this stupid conference?
No. I just blinked back and smiled and nodded.
Tonight I’m picking up the pieces of my life. As I do every night. Tonight those pieces include another sick child, strewn across my bed, puking on towel after towel and soiling pantie after pantie. I’m washing the towels in between attempts to entertain her still not 100% brother, and a good 10 hours worth of work.
I’m canceling dentist appointments, scheduling doctor’s visits, and wondering exactly how a new washer and dryer will get delivered between important work calls, school pick ups and drop offs, and my in-laws arriving in town.
I’m piecing together the schedule for this week and next, juggling a generous friend’s help with babysitting, a nanny I can afford a few days a week, and a double-birthday party that will be thrown somewhere in between another trip to San Francisco and a work/vacation to Florida.
I’m screaming in my head that this MUST get better. It WILL get better and it’s just what everyone does to get by.
It is…right?
I’m going to scream ONLY in my head from now on. Those that know and love me too well hear me scream out loud and then keep things from me. Well intentioned but maddening.
Hey, how’s today going? Things are good here. Busy, meeting a lot of people, networking…what? What do you mean you’re home? What? What do you mean he’s sick? What? Why didn’t you call? Did you call the school? Do you have Pedialyte? Is he upset? Did you give him a towel? …
…and on and on.
I have a friend who jokes that I’m never zen when away from my home. It’s true though. I’m worried. I’m wondering. I’m also feeling the guilt of leaving. Of NOT being there for the first, scared puke. NOT being there to comfort. Not being there to find the favorite shirt. NOT being there to paint Barbie on our toenails and sip pink lemonade.
Of course, there are speeches to be made and careers to further and sacrifices for all. A paycheck needs to come in the mail. A job needs to get done.
Up and down. Back and forth. Around and around until I’m dizzy. Where am I supposed to be today? Dentist. Then conference call. Then emails. Then school pick up. Wait, do I need to do school drop off today? No…today’s Dad’s day for drop off. Then pack. Then blog posts, then maybe follow up on that other thing. Then the other conference call. Then more emails. Then a memo. Then I need to start dinner, then get kids ready for tomorrow…what was tomorrow again? Right…make sure I’m packed and nanny comes over, and she has the instructions for school and the permission slip and that snacks are packed before I board that plane…. what day is it again? Was I supposed to pick up that prescription? Oh…and it’s sharing day at preschool…
Dizzy.
I chose this. A very wise woman reminded me of that recently. We don’t all choose to be mothers. We don’t all choose to have careers. Both are choices and there are ramifications for those choices. I can’t hold anyone else responsible for the dizzy but myself.
Of course there are days both choices make perfect sense. I am lucky to work from home the majority of the time, to be able to be waiting in the school pick-up line instead of being in an office cubicle.
I get to speak in front of hundreds of people. Meet wonderful friends in other cities. I get to host a show, I get to make my voice heard. I get to help others do the same, all for a paycheck.
I also get to stroke my daughter’s hair tonight, as she lays next to me while I type. I get to see my son build a lego space ship and fly it over to me at 2 in the afternoon. Not after hours, not before I leave for an office. But in the middle of the day.
I can finish memos and emails as I tuck kids in bed. I can write scripts as I pack tomorrow’s lunches.
Staring at the woman at the conference I smiled and nodded because I knew it was at least partly true. At that MOMENT everything was under control. I had navigated my duties at the conference, I had planned and prep’d my kids for me being gone, their Dad was ready, the nanny was ready… I HAD IT ALL BABY!
Heh.
No, I just knew how to lie in the face of such absurdity. I mean, I could have blurted out “BWHWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” at the very nice woman’s face. Maybe I should have.
But I didn’t.
I blinked.
And I will keep blinking as I walk this tightrope and attempt to not fall on my face.
There is a lot to be said about where I’ve been the past few days. I have many thoughts in my head on the state of the momosphere, our place in the larger social media community, our responsibilities… these are posts that have been brewing for a very long time that came to a head in Austin.
While I continue to wrap my head around my SXSW experience, watch a brand new blogher backtalk.
I blame Dirty Jobs and it’s horse breeding episode that had me explaining things like “artificial vagina” and “ejaculation” to my soon-to-be 6-year old.
Uh huh.
*Let me just state here and now I have ZERO issues discussing sex. I have ZERO issues with children learning about sex in an age appropriate manner. I have ZERO issues with taking responsibility and doing my parental duty*
However…
I wasn’t ready.
And it’s unclear if I started my son down the path of perversion or education.
There he was, innocently laying in my bed after having 3 teeth pulled at the dentist. My son will be 6 this month and we’ve always had age appropriate sex discussions. Boys have a penis, girls have a vagina…that sort of thing. I had never gotten into the “mechanics” of sex because it didn’t seem necessary yet. A man and a woman were together, they have different parts, there was love…general terms were always used.
Never the low down and dirty fun-stick in the whoo-ha talk.
I was quietly working at my desk, my son was lazily watching the Discovery Channel. I was listening but not too closely.
Type type type type goes Mom.
…and the horse will need to ejaculate into this artificial vagina…
stop typing
…wow he’s really going to town!
get up quickly walk over to bed and tv. I look at the tv. Look at my son’s WIDE AS SAUCER EYES and then watch him roll over in bed and fake that he’s not watching.
Honey, do you want to talk about what you just saw? Do you have any questions?
I’m panicking right now. Do I talk about this with him RIGHT NOW? Is he too young? Will he understand? Of course he will understand. Will he GET IT and then, you know, try to do it? Oh sweet Mary Mother of God WHAT do I do? IF ONLY I COULD USE TEH GOOGLE TO HELP ME NOW.
So you saw that the horse used his penis to do something, right? Yes…well, that’s how people work too. Except usually the boy puts his penis in a girl’s vagina. A real one. Not like the fake one the horse used.
Son looks up at me with a “huh” on his face
And this is only when you are a grown up. And when you are really really in love.
Do I say married? Should I? I don’t really believe that. Maybe I should just say it so he thinks that’s really far away. No..moment has passed. I won’t.
Son starts playing with a scab on his arm. I can’t tell if he’s still paying attention to me.
You know that’s what Mommies and Daddies do to make babies. Then you were in my belly and your sister was in my belly.
For some reason I left out the “YOUR mommy and daddy did this” language. I have no idea why. It was like admitting the obvious outloud…yes, Your Dad put HIS penis in MY vagina. Why I couldn’t say this, exactly, is just stupid. I mean, I had already said that’s how it worked. Why couldn’t I take that extra step?
And some people do make babies other ways, in ways kind of like what you saw on tv..and they put the sperm into a woman’s body.
Son looks up at me
You mean they just shove it into her belly and a baby comes out?
Well, not exactly. They put it in her uterus or up her vagina.
Now I’m not even sure if that’s right. Crap. Why haven’t I read more infertility bloggers…do I go on? Do I really explain more about this?
Hey Mom, look at my legs…
Oh god, body part show and tell?
Aren’t they getting long? My legs are cool.
And with that he jumped up on the bed and proceeded to show me the splits.
Our bodies are COOL.
I nodded.
I went back to my desk.
I messaged my husband to let him know that I probably just permanently fucked up our kid.
He messaged back with a “OH MY, I’m SO sorry baby.” Clearly feeling my pain.
I feel like I missed a bunch of things I should have said to him. Or maybe I didn’t. I was just so caught off guard. Stupid show. Stupid Discovery Channel. Stupid stupid stupid Mommy.
Ah, cable tv. You showed my son something he probably would haven seen on a farm back in the day. Or, at least, something close to it. Should I have looked to see what exactly today’s Dirty Jobs episode would be? If I knew, would I have let him watch it anyway? Were the nuts and bolts necessary in this conversation since he’s so little?
I have no idea. I have no idea. I have no idea.
But hey…look how long my son’s legs are getting! Aren’t they cool?
crossposted at BlogHer.com
I wasn’t expecting to get emotional over stem cells. I’ve heard the arguments, I’ve seen the promise, I’ve listened to the pundits drone on and on. I never really thought of it until I began reading and researching in order to write this post.
First, came the announcement from the White House:
“From tiny embryonic cells to the large-scale physics of global warming, President Barack Obama urged researchers on Monday to follow science and not ideology as he abolished contentious Bush-era restraints on stem-cell research. ‘Our government has forced what I believe is a false choice between sound science and moral values,’ Obama declared as he signed documents changing U.S. science policy and removing what some researchers have said were shackles on their work.”-yahoo news.
I have to admit this brought a smile to my face. President Obama went on to address the “controversy” surrounding stem cells head on saying the order was designed so it “never opens the door to the use of cloning for human reproduction.” Such cloning, he said, “is dangerous, profoundly wrong, and has no place in our society or any society.”
I realize this is a touchy subject with a segment of the population. I can’t pretend to understand the objections, because I very truly do not. Even Time acknowledges the “fake” controversy.
Feministe sums up my thoughts pretty well,
“Obama also said that he hopes Congress will continue to support stem-cell research legislatively. All of this is incredibly excellent news, and I cannot possibly express how very happy I am about the development. It looks like we may in fact be moving towards a real ‘culture of life,’which values the lives of actual people. Go President Obama!”
Of course that “culture of life” reference is not a mistake. The controversy surrounding stem cells is directly related to the potential for human life and the anti-choice movement. Me? I am reminded of Galileo and others, and the notion that religion can repress discovery.
I am also offended that stem cells destined for destruction anyway are being protected by people OVER the protection of those I know and love.
Because I learned a lot reading the many, many articles about stem cells- almost more than I bargained for. You see, my father has a low-grade form of leukemia. Did you know they are using stem cell research to attempt to advance treatment and find a potential cure for leukemia?
Did you also know stem cell research may one day help someone right here at BlogHer?
BlogHer Contributing Editor, Nordette writes,
“At some time in the future, I will need kidney and stem cell research offers hope beyond hoping I find a matching donor and get approved for transplant…I remember while I was going through domestic violence counseling, the counselor and I discussed my being ill, needing a kidney for reasons the doctor’s don’t understand, and I told her that I was realistic about the news I’d received at age 43, that by age 53 I’d need a kidney. I said that I’d accepted that it was unlikely I’d get one because most people don’t, and so, I wanted to live my life like I’d never be approved as a recipient.
She looked me in the eye and said, ‘I don’t want to hear you talk like that. Medical science is making progress in all areas and for all you know by the time you need a kidney they’ll be growing them in a lab.’
Her words comforted me six years ago, and sometimes I try to look at life that way: What if I make it? What if I have another 40 years ahead of me and not another 5-10?”
And here’s where I cry and get angry. Why Why Why would anyone deny this chance to my father, to my friend Nordette, to the many millions of people suffering from various things? All for a clump of cells destined for destruction? They value the clump of cells more than my father? MY OWN FATHER.
Which is why, when my tears dry, I’m glad we have BlogHer Contributing Editor Catherine Morgan to break a complicated issue down with FACTS and a great video:
Of course, speaking out on stem cells will get you mocked by some on the Right. Some who may or may not be the leading voice of the Right… but, I digress.
I hope President Obama’s actions turn into solutions and science will lead the way in helping not just my father, not just Nordette, but all those in need of help.
The President’s words ring true and it really is about time we “make scientific decisions based on facts, not ideology.”
BlogHer is non-partisan, but our bloggers aren’t! Read more News & Politics. Contributing Editor Erin Kotecki Vest also blogs at Queen of Spain blog.
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