Depression really is a thing. I haven't had a lot of conversations
with other Busy Black Women about it, but recently when asked about
postpartum issues, I realized there is a reason why I've never had such a
conversation. Depression is stigmatizing. To admit to having suffered
through any form of depression is taboo.
A few weeks ago I
posted an ominous FB status that opened a window into my life. I was in
a very dark place, and in a moment of desperation and despair, I told
the world. The response was unexpected. Several people sent me the usual
messages of sending prayers and hugs. Some people inquired and others
wanted to reassure me that I was not alone.
One post from
a classmate stood out because she acknowledged my fragility and
supported my transparency. Her message compelled me to start this piece
several weeks ago...
So now I want to address why I
never finished that effort and am now writing about how nearly
impossible it is for us to discuss our mental health. I have written
about my bouts of depression on this blog a few times, but a lot more
over at the Cafe. One of the reasons why I use that venue for deeply
personal revelations is because this blog is the public persona. Busy
Black Women do not admit to spending the better part of a Sunday evening
in bed, crying into a pint of double chocolate salted caramel gelato
while watching a Tyler Perry movie. Ain't nobody got time for that!
Except...when
we ignore every possible sign that we need to relax, recharge and
release. I will admit that I often dismiss the notion of self care as a
luxury. Not just as a matter of time, but also cost. Who can afford
these fabulous girls' only weekends in Dubai? Or these spa retreats in
the mountains, folks without children or whose student loans are paid?
So I trick myself into believing my nail appointments are really
three-hour escapes because paying someone to clip one's toenails is
surely a luxury, right? Well, I got my nails done on Friday and I still
spent my Sunday evening indoors blubbering under the covers gaining
weight and killing brain cells on a really bad movie.
Self care should not look like self pity, but too many of us have to fall down before we sit down.
Heart disease is the number one killer in women. I don't want to cite a bunch of statistics because you can find what you need here,
but consider the fact that one of the factors we overlook in our
overall physical health is our mental well-being. How many of us
self-soothe through poor eating, excessive alcohol or just by doing
nothing at all (holding it in)?
I should not be the
only person with her hand raised in the air, but if I am, then fine. I
have allowed my sadness, lethargy and general desire to detach from
everything and everyone to overwhelm me at times. And when asked to
discuss it, I have deflected or eaten a cheeseburger. Neither is an
adequate coping strategy.
So while I don't actually
have a solution, I have resolved that I will speak up more often. I
promise not to turn this blog into a online therapy session, but I will
acknowledge in some meaningful way that Busy Blackness can be heavy. And
I will also make different choices about how to cope, because certain
bad habits I have developed lately have done little to lighten my moods.
So I will invest more in both the concept and the reality of
self-care.
Hopefully that means a child-free beach. Or
a massage. Or a happy hour outside of the house. Or perhaps a happy
hour on a child-free beach after a massage. In no particular order.
Wednesday, April 5, 2017
Sunday, April 2, 2017
No Shame in My Game
(I had forgotten I had started this piece after the Super Bowl. Fortuitous in way, given some recent personal developments.)
A friend posted on the Book of Faces that the internet trolls had been body shaming Lady Gaga after her Super Bowl performance!!?? And of course, several of us expressed our outrage and dismay, but then of course, we moved on to decry whatever nonsense #45 chose to tweet about instead of running the country.
Not that anyone needs to read another women's empowerment puff piece or see an airbrushed advertisement campaign encouraging us to love ourselves and our bodies in all of our wonderful shapes, sizes, colors, etc. Especially when we know that those messages are fleeting and conflict with the real life social pressure to lose weight, get cosmetic surgery, or invest heavily in Spanx in pursuit of physical perfection. What does a "real" woman look like anyway?
Let me admit that I noticed Gaga's tummy. Then I happened to look down at my own tummy pouch. And I recalled that at one time my stomach was flatter before I had the Babe; however, I also had some days when I had a visible food baby, fluid retention, monthly bloating, beer belly, or winter weight. In other words, nobody is perfect.
So I decided to take this pic of my 40+ year old pouch:
I was unsure if I was going to post this because it might be considered obscene, especially with the Babe posing just outside of the frame (but we're joined at the hip you know). And I wanted to emphasize the point of this piece: no tummy, just like no body is perfect.
I read that Gaga had suffered with an eating disorder in the past. And as I look down at my own changing body and consider the many reasons why I can't blame it all on the Babe, I want to send the message that body shaming, even in jest, is just bullying with a more politically correct name. I have been guilty of saying unflattering things about other women, and I am ashamed that it took years for me to realize how cruel I sounded. I never anticipated that the day would come when I would stand in front of a three-way mirror, totally mortified by my own imperfect reflection.
My shame is not about not being what I once was...well, yes it is because I once was a skinny asshole. I have been blessed to live long enough to know that beauty is much deeper than appearance, a perfectly sculpted physique, or any of the other superficial measures our society promotes. If you have been blessed to weather life's twists and turns, and have more than a few battle scars to prove it, then you are perfectly beautiful.
A friend posted on the Book of Faces that the internet trolls had been body shaming Lady Gaga after her Super Bowl performance!!?? And of course, several of us expressed our outrage and dismay, but then of course, we moved on to decry whatever nonsense #45 chose to tweet about instead of running the country.
Not that anyone needs to read another women's empowerment puff piece or see an airbrushed advertisement campaign encouraging us to love ourselves and our bodies in all of our wonderful shapes, sizes, colors, etc. Especially when we know that those messages are fleeting and conflict with the real life social pressure to lose weight, get cosmetic surgery, or invest heavily in Spanx in pursuit of physical perfection. What does a "real" woman look like anyway?
Let me admit that I noticed Gaga's tummy. Then I happened to look down at my own tummy pouch. And I recalled that at one time my stomach was flatter before I had the Babe; however, I also had some days when I had a visible food baby, fluid retention, monthly bloating, beer belly, or winter weight. In other words, nobody is perfect.
So I decided to take this pic of my 40+ year old pouch:
I was unsure if I was going to post this because it might be considered obscene, especially with the Babe posing just outside of the frame (but we're joined at the hip you know). And I wanted to emphasize the point of this piece: no tummy, just like no body is perfect.
I read that Gaga had suffered with an eating disorder in the past. And as I look down at my own changing body and consider the many reasons why I can't blame it all on the Babe, I want to send the message that body shaming, even in jest, is just bullying with a more politically correct name. I have been guilty of saying unflattering things about other women, and I am ashamed that it took years for me to realize how cruel I sounded. I never anticipated that the day would come when I would stand in front of a three-way mirror, totally mortified by my own imperfect reflection.
My shame is not about not being what I once was...well, yes it is because I once was a skinny asshole. I have been blessed to live long enough to know that beauty is much deeper than appearance, a perfectly sculpted physique, or any of the other superficial measures our society promotes. If you have been blessed to weather life's twists and turns, and have more than a few battle scars to prove it, then you are perfectly beautiful.
Turning the World on With a Smile
(I'm going back to several of my unfinished pieces to belatedly post.)
I did not mean to let so much time go by without paying homage to Mary Tyler Moore, who died recently at the age of 80. I am not much on obituary writing and because I am not a TV critic, I can't write a much of a glowing appreciation, but I can offer up a tribute to one of the women who influenced me and so many others.
When Gwen Ifill suddenly passed a week after the election, it was an absolute shock to my system. Every time I see an accomplished woman of color at the anchor desk, I think of Gwen as if I knew her. But before there was the real-life Gwen to inspire women in journalism, there was the fictional Mary Richards who inspired women in general.
So this is the part where I am supposed to offer up how much the Mary Tyler Moore show influenced me, but I was really young and barely recall any specific episodes. Everything I remember comes from watching reruns many years later. And I probably have a better memory of her turn as Laura Petrie on the Dick Van Dyke Show because those reruns were on more recently.
However, I know that MTM was a major influence on the lives of so many woman, not just for her pioneering turn as the star of her own long-running sitcom, or as the name on the masthead of a juggernaut TV production company, and not because she was one of the nicest TV personalities next to Florence Henderson that we've lost in recent months. I know how important her show was based on the tributes offered by the likes of Jane Pauley and Leslie Stahl. I might not remember Mary Richards that well, but I remember all of the women who have anchored the local news here in DC or who have had prominent roles on the network news.
I remember that my Mom liked Mary's very hip 70s wardrobe. I remember her bff Rhoda wore head scarves before it became controversial. I remember that her show spawned a spin-off for her boss, Lou Grant (which was not a comedy). I remember that several of her co-stars, including Rhoda (Valerie Harper) went on to have shows of their own. I remember the cat at the end during the credits. I remember the theme song and the iconic hat toss.
From what I remember and all that I have seen by way of tribute to her, Mary Tyler Moore succeeded in creating a beloved character that had far more influence than the actress herself. Often actors hate to be associated with their alter egos once their shows end, but the blessing for MTM might be that she created someone who heralded a new era for working women. And I need to emphasize an important point--she was an unmarried working woman. Opinions on the significance of that might vary, but consider the fact that she was not cast as a librarian, teacher or other surrogate miserable mother figure. She was a career woman, looking to have it all (what woman isn't) and she made it look fabulous.
In the end, Mary Tyler Moore has something far more enduring--a legacy.
I did not mean to let so much time go by without paying homage to Mary Tyler Moore, who died recently at the age of 80. I am not much on obituary writing and because I am not a TV critic, I can't write a much of a glowing appreciation, but I can offer up a tribute to one of the women who influenced me and so many others.
When Gwen Ifill suddenly passed a week after the election, it was an absolute shock to my system. Every time I see an accomplished woman of color at the anchor desk, I think of Gwen as if I knew her. But before there was the real-life Gwen to inspire women in journalism, there was the fictional Mary Richards who inspired women in general.
So this is the part where I am supposed to offer up how much the Mary Tyler Moore show influenced me, but I was really young and barely recall any specific episodes. Everything I remember comes from watching reruns many years later. And I probably have a better memory of her turn as Laura Petrie on the Dick Van Dyke Show because those reruns were on more recently.
However, I know that MTM was a major influence on the lives of so many woman, not just for her pioneering turn as the star of her own long-running sitcom, or as the name on the masthead of a juggernaut TV production company, and not because she was one of the nicest TV personalities next to Florence Henderson that we've lost in recent months. I know how important her show was based on the tributes offered by the likes of Jane Pauley and Leslie Stahl. I might not remember Mary Richards that well, but I remember all of the women who have anchored the local news here in DC or who have had prominent roles on the network news.
I remember that my Mom liked Mary's very hip 70s wardrobe. I remember her bff Rhoda wore head scarves before it became controversial. I remember that her show spawned a spin-off for her boss, Lou Grant (which was not a comedy). I remember that several of her co-stars, including Rhoda (Valerie Harper) went on to have shows of their own. I remember the cat at the end during the credits. I remember the theme song and the iconic hat toss.
From what I remember and all that I have seen by way of tribute to her, Mary Tyler Moore succeeded in creating a beloved character that had far more influence than the actress herself. Often actors hate to be associated with their alter egos once their shows end, but the blessing for MTM might be that she created someone who heralded a new era for working women. And I need to emphasize an important point--she was an unmarried working woman. Opinions on the significance of that might vary, but consider the fact that she was not cast as a librarian, teacher or other surrogate miserable mother figure. She was a career woman, looking to have it all (what woman isn't) and she made it look fabulous.
In the end, Mary Tyler Moore has something far more enduring--a legacy.
April Foolishness, March Madness, Forgotten February
I've allowed too many weeks to pass without posting. It was not exactly intentional...it was just busyness as usual. I had plans, and instead of going into another lengthy explanation of what had happened, I will offer a summary of the pieces that I had intended to write. Although I was not posting here does not mean I was not writing or planning to write. In some cases, I still hope to try to write some flesh onto the skeleton pieces I started, but in the meantime, here is the list of what was supposed to be:
February
Black History Month for Dummies - This was supposed to be my follow-up to Going to Meet the Whizard, a piece I started on this blog then decided to post over at the Cafe (back when I was still trying to figure out what content was best for which blog--still an evolving concept). Anyway, the plan was to devote an entire piece to Omarosa Manigault. Sadly, I haven't begun to write it yet, even though I got a second chance when she allegedly started a fight with WH correspondent April Ryan, and then a third chance with the recent incident involving Ryan and WH press secretary Sean Spicer. I am sure that there will be other opportunities, so this goes in the pending column.
Oscars So Chock Full of Busy Black Women - Another piece that was intended as a follow-up, this time to Oscars So Black because right after I finished that piece I realized that there were so many other big black moments that I neglected to mention. And each one related to the presence of black women. I missed the window on this for both the Oscars aftermath and Women's History Month, but because I'm convinced that it was unintentional and unlikely ever to happen again, I will find a reason to post it eventually.
HBCU President's Meeting - Actually, I did not plan to write anything about that nonsense but I feel the need to acknowledge the plain tomfoolery of it as another swipe at Omarosa.
This is Us - I forgot that I wanted to blog about that show, because there was a specific episode that I wanted to highlight. I'm not sure when I wrote this piece on depression during the season, but as anxiety and family pressure have been weighing heavily on me since the beginning of the year, I know that the themes I wanted to emphasize will resurface at some point in the future. And yes, I think it is one of the best shows on TV.
March
International Women's Day - I started a piece about the Day Without Women and then never really worked out what I wanted to say. I didn't take the day off, but I wrote this on the FB page, wore red that day, and so I think we're good.
Free Melania (Again) - I wrote a quick plea to Lady Ivanka and planned to revisit the issue of Step-Mum...but really do we care? Of course we do, but I think we need something outrageous to happen and so far Melania has been a total class act. I do not intend to join the chorus of folks who critique the First Lady for not living in the White House, despite the hypocrisy and excessive costs to taxpayers. I regard her decision as a private one that she is entitled to make, period.
Nepotism - Don't ask me to explain why I believe Melania is entitled to privacy when Ivanka isn't, but as far as I'm concerned Ivanka is the public figure. So yes, she deserves every bit of scrutiny since she takes full advantage of being the boss's daughter. I just asked this question on the FB page after news of Ivanka's new job became public because there are several big questions, namely: (1) how does nepotism negatively impact women's advancement; and (2) are we harder on the boss's daughter than we are on his sons?
Black Women at Work - I tried to remember if I had been impacted by being a black woman at work, and I was in different ways. I was too young to know how to process certain scenarios, but then there were the times that I was mistreated by other black women for being different...so I am going to leave this one alone for now.
Of course I am looking at this list and realizing that I did a fare amount of writing, just not on the topics that I planned in advance. I have taken more time to write about some of my personal issues (read here), and while all of that is still going on, my hope is to find some humor in this so that I can get back to being my normal Busy Black self. Stay tuned!
February
Black History Month for Dummies - This was supposed to be my follow-up to Going to Meet the Whizard, a piece I started on this blog then decided to post over at the Cafe (back when I was still trying to figure out what content was best for which blog--still an evolving concept). Anyway, the plan was to devote an entire piece to Omarosa Manigault. Sadly, I haven't begun to write it yet, even though I got a second chance when she allegedly started a fight with WH correspondent April Ryan, and then a third chance with the recent incident involving Ryan and WH press secretary Sean Spicer. I am sure that there will be other opportunities, so this goes in the pending column.
Oscars So Chock Full of Busy Black Women - Another piece that was intended as a follow-up, this time to Oscars So Black because right after I finished that piece I realized that there were so many other big black moments that I neglected to mention. And each one related to the presence of black women. I missed the window on this for both the Oscars aftermath and Women's History Month, but because I'm convinced that it was unintentional and unlikely ever to happen again, I will find a reason to post it eventually.
HBCU President's Meeting - Actually, I did not plan to write anything about that nonsense but I feel the need to acknowledge the plain tomfoolery of it as another swipe at Omarosa.
This is Us - I forgot that I wanted to blog about that show, because there was a specific episode that I wanted to highlight. I'm not sure when I wrote this piece on depression during the season, but as anxiety and family pressure have been weighing heavily on me since the beginning of the year, I know that the themes I wanted to emphasize will resurface at some point in the future. And yes, I think it is one of the best shows on TV.
March
International Women's Day - I started a piece about the Day Without Women and then never really worked out what I wanted to say. I didn't take the day off, but I wrote this on the FB page, wore red that day, and so I think we're good.
Free Melania (Again) - I wrote a quick plea to Lady Ivanka and planned to revisit the issue of Step-Mum...but really do we care? Of course we do, but I think we need something outrageous to happen and so far Melania has been a total class act. I do not intend to join the chorus of folks who critique the First Lady for not living in the White House, despite the hypocrisy and excessive costs to taxpayers. I regard her decision as a private one that she is entitled to make, period.
Nepotism - Don't ask me to explain why I believe Melania is entitled to privacy when Ivanka isn't, but as far as I'm concerned Ivanka is the public figure. So yes, she deserves every bit of scrutiny since she takes full advantage of being the boss's daughter. I just asked this question on the FB page after news of Ivanka's new job became public because there are several big questions, namely: (1) how does nepotism negatively impact women's advancement; and (2) are we harder on the boss's daughter than we are on his sons?
Black Women at Work - I tried to remember if I had been impacted by being a black woman at work, and I was in different ways. I was too young to know how to process certain scenarios, but then there were the times that I was mistreated by other black women for being different...so I am going to leave this one alone for now.
Of course I am looking at this list and realizing that I did a fare amount of writing, just not on the topics that I planned in advance. I have taken more time to write about some of my personal issues (read here), and while all of that is still going on, my hope is to find some humor in this so that I can get back to being my normal Busy Black self. Stay tuned!
Saturday, February 18, 2017
Dear Ivanka
Yesterday morning as I listened to analysis of the daily disaster that is President 45, I had an epiphany of sorts...one that goes against my better judgment in terms of offering any sympathy to this Administration at all. But, here goes:
Ivanka, your Daddy needs you. But more importantly, so does your country.
No, we do not need more of those tastefully bland dresses, bangles or shoes from what you call a fashion line. You know, the one that is being designed by someone else who is probably pissed that s/he ever made that deal to gain exposure by hitching onto your family name? Because as much as I feel bad that you are losing high end retailers left and right (not really), I think that is the least of your worries. But I promise if you have someone read this to you, then there is a slight chance of a turnaround (for your fashion empire, not your Daddy's disastrous presidency).
And a quick word about Step Mummy before I make my modest proposal--yeah girl, your country needs YOU, not her.
So dear Lady Ivanka, will you please step up to the plate and start acting like a First Lady? Instead of staring at Justin Trudeau, who is admittedly quite dreamy, would you please do something traditionally First Ladylike so that you can inspire the nation? Because after four weeks of hating your Dad, we need a break.
Traditionally we tend to like our First Ladies, even when we are deeply divided by opinions on their husbands. In my memory, the most polarizing First Lady was Nancy Reagan, but that changed once she became an advocate for Alzheimer's disease. Actually that isn't true when I consider how much folks still hate Hillary Clinton some 20+ years later, but I dare you to find anyone other than a few curmudgeons out there who harbor bad feelings towards Rosalyn Carter, Barbara Bush or the Lovely Laura Bush. And only the racists hated on the recently departed Michelle Obama, so what do you have to lose? Especially since Step Mummy wants no parts of the Washington fishbowl.
And for the record, we don't hate Step Mummy; we feel sorry for her. We get that her refusal to move into the White House is a declaration of independence of sorts, a means for her to plot her eventual escape. She just wanted to be an Upper East-side lady that lunches. But you dear Lady Ivanka were born for this. And besides, it offers you an altogether different and more lucrative opportunity...
To be our First Working Lady, the title that eluded Hillary Clinton in the 90s. The title that Laura Bush really didn't need since she was retired, and that Michelle Obama had to eschew for other historical considerations. However, you have a gold-plated opportunity to update the ceremonial persona of Presidential-consort by presenting us with a different, bolder, and more modern role-model. And you don't even need to wrack your brain to select any issues to highlight since you already identified plenty in your convention speech last summer. You said that your Daddy would be the champion for working women, so now is your chance to help him do more than launch another hashtag rebellion.
Here is the deal: we don't like your Daddy and there is a snowball's chance in Hell that will ever change. His dismal approval ratings might not be of concern to you now, as you bask in the afterglow of winning but you need to consider that he is a political novice who has limited political capital. Regardless of his oft-repeated mantra about an electoral landslide, he is vulnerable. All you have are his first 100 days when he gets only so many chances to fuck up.
Therefore, Lady Ivanka, we need you to deflect attention from his bizarre pressers, poorly crafted Executive Orders, and groggy 6am tweets. Find a magazine willing to put you on the cover wearing one of *your* designs. Address the unique challenges of being the First Daughter/Lady. Get accidentally photographed at a soccer game for one of your kids while touching a stroller containing another kid. Fire your undocumented nanny, have her deported, and then kvetch about how hard it is to find good help that doesn't waste taxpayer money.
It's almost time to announce the White House Easter Egg Roll, so here is what you should do: (1) make the announcement at an inner city DC public school where only "the blacks" and "Hispanics" attend; (2) have Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos invite the entire student body of W.E.B. DUBOIS Elementary School in Chicago; and (3) in a savvy nod to the changing of the celebrity guard from Jay Z and Beyonce, make sure that Tom Brady will be there with Gisele Bundchen and their brood.
People will love that shit.
To be clear, I am not advising you to sell out and order cupcakes for some charity function. Nor am I suggesting that you need to feign interest in poor people by riding past a soup kitchen. We don't need you to adopt some cause other than promoting yourself. Working women need to see you excel at what the rest of us barely manage because it will reinforce what we already know--First Ladyhood is easy when you have a staff and access to great makeup at your beck and call.
Ivanka, your Daddy needs you. But more importantly, so does your country.
No, we do not need more of those tastefully bland dresses, bangles or shoes from what you call a fashion line. You know, the one that is being designed by someone else who is probably pissed that s/he ever made that deal to gain exposure by hitching onto your family name? Because as much as I feel bad that you are losing high end retailers left and right (not really), I think that is the least of your worries. But I promise if you have someone read this to you, then there is a slight chance of a turnaround (for your fashion empire, not your Daddy's disastrous presidency).
And a quick word about Step Mummy before I make my modest proposal--yeah girl, your country needs YOU, not her.
So dear Lady Ivanka, will you please step up to the plate and start acting like a First Lady? Instead of staring at Justin Trudeau, who is admittedly quite dreamy, would you please do something traditionally First Ladylike so that you can inspire the nation? Because after four weeks of hating your Dad, we need a break.
Traditionally we tend to like our First Ladies, even when we are deeply divided by opinions on their husbands. In my memory, the most polarizing First Lady was Nancy Reagan, but that changed once she became an advocate for Alzheimer's disease. Actually that isn't true when I consider how much folks still hate Hillary Clinton some 20+ years later, but I dare you to find anyone other than a few curmudgeons out there who harbor bad feelings towards Rosalyn Carter, Barbara Bush or the Lovely Laura Bush. And only the racists hated on the recently departed Michelle Obama, so what do you have to lose? Especially since Step Mummy wants no parts of the Washington fishbowl.
And for the record, we don't hate Step Mummy; we feel sorry for her. We get that her refusal to move into the White House is a declaration of independence of sorts, a means for her to plot her eventual escape. She just wanted to be an Upper East-side lady that lunches. But you dear Lady Ivanka were born for this. And besides, it offers you an altogether different and more lucrative opportunity...
To be our First Working Lady, the title that eluded Hillary Clinton in the 90s. The title that Laura Bush really didn't need since she was retired, and that Michelle Obama had to eschew for other historical considerations. However, you have a gold-plated opportunity to update the ceremonial persona of Presidential-consort by presenting us with a different, bolder, and more modern role-model. And you don't even need to wrack your brain to select any issues to highlight since you already identified plenty in your convention speech last summer. You said that your Daddy would be the champion for working women, so now is your chance to help him do more than launch another hashtag rebellion.
Here is the deal: we don't like your Daddy and there is a snowball's chance in Hell that will ever change. His dismal approval ratings might not be of concern to you now, as you bask in the afterglow of winning but you need to consider that he is a political novice who has limited political capital. Regardless of his oft-repeated mantra about an electoral landslide, he is vulnerable. All you have are his first 100 days when he gets only so many chances to fuck up.
Therefore, Lady Ivanka, we need you to deflect attention from his bizarre pressers, poorly crafted Executive Orders, and groggy 6am tweets. Find a magazine willing to put you on the cover wearing one of *your* designs. Address the unique challenges of being the First Daughter/Lady. Get accidentally photographed at a soccer game for one of your kids while touching a stroller containing another kid. Fire your undocumented nanny, have her deported, and then kvetch about how hard it is to find good help that doesn't waste taxpayer money.
It's almost time to announce the White House Easter Egg Roll, so here is what you should do: (1) make the announcement at an inner city DC public school where only "the blacks" and "Hispanics" attend; (2) have Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos invite the entire student body of W.E.B. DUBOIS Elementary School in Chicago; and (3) in a savvy nod to the changing of the celebrity guard from Jay Z and Beyonce, make sure that Tom Brady will be there with Gisele Bundchen and their brood.
People will love that shit.
To be clear, I am not advising you to sell out and order cupcakes for some charity function. Nor am I suggesting that you need to feign interest in poor people by riding past a soup kitchen. We don't need you to adopt some cause other than promoting yourself. Working women need to see you excel at what the rest of us barely manage because it will reinforce what we already know--First Ladyhood is easy when you have a staff and access to great makeup at your beck and call.
Monday, February 6, 2017
Modern Inconveniences
So here's another life-is-hard-outchere-in-these-streets-for-a-new-mother rant...
I desperately needed to decompress from some of the stress I have been experiencing (and unleashing on others), so I decided to take in a few movies this week. I wanted to see one film in particular today because it has a limited release. So last night I took out my movie app, found a theater, selected the appropriate movie time, and generally planned my day to balance appropriate child-centered activities with a little Me-time.
On a typical day, my child is well-behaved. I can take her to most places and expect that she will not cause any major damage to property. That being said, she did not cause any major damage to property despite her unusual rambunctiousness. So I am not here to complain about her; I am here to complain about everyone else.
We started the morning with the aforementioned child-centered activity, which was story time at the local library. On a typical day, she would have expended a great deal of energy before, during and after story time sufficient to allow me to have enjoyed the matinee while she napped. In the event that she was not asleep, my plan B was to provide her with her own popcorn and snacks to keep her occupied until the end of the movie (which was not that long). And I chose the Monday matinee, so what's the worse that could happen???
Well, I saw about 20 minutes of the film before she got antsy, needed to be taken to the bathroom, proceeded to squirm and wiggle, and then she needed be taken to the bathroom again. She also decided to chat and sing and chat and sing, so I never made it back to my seat.
This is where the veteran parents should offer to deconstruct what went wrong for me so that I know how to plan accordingly next time. But I suspect most of them will simply offer me a knowing shrug, pat me on the head, and assure me that I will be able to sit through a movie again one day. The film will air on TV at some point, so I'm cool.
What was not cool, however, was the judgment of the other patrons, beginning with the person who felt the need to shush every time my kid made even the slightest sound from the moment we took our seats. And then the look of disgust that one couple flashed at us as they left the theater (while I was standing outside in the lobby). And then the way that it seemed like EVERYONE was so fucking offended that I had the gall to bring my kid out in public!
Apparently no one has enough patience, tolerance or compassion for anyone or anything that disturbs how they wish to experience life. Meaning, I can never venture outside of predesignated kid zones without suffering the consequences of rudeness, impatience, and lack of common courtesy. Had I brought a howling dog to the movies, I would have generated less ire.
So allow me to issue my sincerest apologies to any parent whom I might have maligned in my BC (before child) past. I regret if I ever shot you an annoyed glance when your child whimpered a little too audibly or if I got testy if you took too long to bring their tantrum to an immediate end. Let me also remand any final judgments I might have made concerning your lack of complete control over any number of situations. Like any judge presented with new facts, I have reconsidered my initial verdict and have found in your favor because you were doing your best...children are unpredictable and quite possibly insane.
And to those who have forgotten what it was like to be the parent whose entertainment options on most days was limited to whatever animated character the kid demands to watch over and over again, it is a minimal inconvenience to simply be kind. Be understanding. You got to see the movie--I paid $11 to watch my child run around in circles out in the lobby.
On the way home from this debacle I recalled how I humiliating it was for me on that flight home from Chicago when my daughter essentially screamed the entire flight. I have no idea what was wrong and trust me, I tried EVERYTHING I could think of to quiet her. I felt horrible even though we had to pay extra to sit together and when I accidentally sat in the wrong row with my inconsolable child, some woman insisted that I move because I was in her seat.
I don't want the world to cater to my needs; I just want to feel that my existence is not a societal inconvenience. Like if you are standing in the curb cut when I am approaching from the opposite side of the street with the stroller, MOVE. Make room on the elevator, ask me if I am waiting for the larger bathroom stall before walking past me, and seriously, can someone hold the damn door open for me instead of letting it slam in my face!?!
I desperately needed to decompress from some of the stress I have been experiencing (and unleashing on others), so I decided to take in a few movies this week. I wanted to see one film in particular today because it has a limited release. So last night I took out my movie app, found a theater, selected the appropriate movie time, and generally planned my day to balance appropriate child-centered activities with a little Me-time.
On a typical day, my child is well-behaved. I can take her to most places and expect that she will not cause any major damage to property. That being said, she did not cause any major damage to property despite her unusual rambunctiousness. So I am not here to complain about her; I am here to complain about everyone else.
We started the morning with the aforementioned child-centered activity, which was story time at the local library. On a typical day, she would have expended a great deal of energy before, during and after story time sufficient to allow me to have enjoyed the matinee while she napped. In the event that she was not asleep, my plan B was to provide her with her own popcorn and snacks to keep her occupied until the end of the movie (which was not that long). And I chose the Monday matinee, so what's the worse that could happen???
Well, I saw about 20 minutes of the film before she got antsy, needed to be taken to the bathroom, proceeded to squirm and wiggle, and then she needed be taken to the bathroom again. She also decided to chat and sing and chat and sing, so I never made it back to my seat.
This is where the veteran parents should offer to deconstruct what went wrong for me so that I know how to plan accordingly next time. But I suspect most of them will simply offer me a knowing shrug, pat me on the head, and assure me that I will be able to sit through a movie again one day. The film will air on TV at some point, so I'm cool.
What was not cool, however, was the judgment of the other patrons, beginning with the person who felt the need to shush every time my kid made even the slightest sound from the moment we took our seats. And then the look of disgust that one couple flashed at us as they left the theater (while I was standing outside in the lobby). And then the way that it seemed like EVERYONE was so fucking offended that I had the gall to bring my kid out in public!
Apparently no one has enough patience, tolerance or compassion for anyone or anything that disturbs how they wish to experience life. Meaning, I can never venture outside of predesignated kid zones without suffering the consequences of rudeness, impatience, and lack of common courtesy. Had I brought a howling dog to the movies, I would have generated less ire.
So allow me to issue my sincerest apologies to any parent whom I might have maligned in my BC (before child) past. I regret if I ever shot you an annoyed glance when your child whimpered a little too audibly or if I got testy if you took too long to bring their tantrum to an immediate end. Let me also remand any final judgments I might have made concerning your lack of complete control over any number of situations. Like any judge presented with new facts, I have reconsidered my initial verdict and have found in your favor because you were doing your best...children are unpredictable and quite possibly insane.
And to those who have forgotten what it was like to be the parent whose entertainment options on most days was limited to whatever animated character the kid demands to watch over and over again, it is a minimal inconvenience to simply be kind. Be understanding. You got to see the movie--I paid $11 to watch my child run around in circles out in the lobby.
On the way home from this debacle I recalled how I humiliating it was for me on that flight home from Chicago when my daughter essentially screamed the entire flight. I have no idea what was wrong and trust me, I tried EVERYTHING I could think of to quiet her. I felt horrible even though we had to pay extra to sit together and when I accidentally sat in the wrong row with my inconsolable child, some woman insisted that I move because I was in her seat.
I don't want the world to cater to my needs; I just want to feel that my existence is not a societal inconvenience. Like if you are standing in the curb cut when I am approaching from the opposite side of the street with the stroller, MOVE. Make room on the elevator, ask me if I am waiting for the larger bathroom stall before walking past me, and seriously, can someone hold the damn door open for me instead of letting it slam in my face!?!
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
The Weary Blues
Toddlers are...
And I wouldn't trade mine for anything. So instead of complaining about the little cherub (because right now, she is amusing herself with the training potty, the box it came in, and that donut stacker toy). We didn't make it to play group today because I haven't been able to get myself together since Sunday. At least I finally got a shower.
I have had a crappy week and I am in no mood for anything. I barely want to eat. I just want to sleep. I imagine all mothers hit this wall where every little thing becomes annoying and difficult, but my blahs aren't about dealing with the Babe. It is about my mother.
Today is her 70th birthday. I thought that I would organize a party for her, but she has been out of sorts since Christmas. The details are all over the place, but suffice it to say that between some of her health issues and the accompanying family drama, I have absolutely nothing. Other than a card.
Since I missed playgroup I should be getting us ready to go out to wherever my Dad wants to take my Mom for lunch, which is probably Red Lobster (my least favorite place to go with them) but I don't even have the energy to protest. I just want to go along to get along at this point. The Babe is partially dressed and playing with the potty while watching one of her shows, so I am taking this time to vent.
Let's start with the Babe and our adventures in potty training. I have no plan, no clue and no guidance because I have no Mommy friends, no Mom, etc. Yet, I thought that it might be time to start the process so I brought the toilet up from the basement yesterday. When she saw the box, she decided to push it into the dining room to use as a prop for whatever imaginary game she was playing that involved needing a box. This morning I got the bright idea to introduce her to the toilet while watching Sesame Street, and so far, she gets that she is supposed to sit on it. Or stand on it. Or get her legs stuck in the hole where the bowl is supposed to go.
I pulled up a video that claimed to offer the secret to potty training in three days, but after wasting ten minutes watching an animation about a woman who allegedly perfected her method after she spent $329 on a pair of black silk Prada pants only to realize that she was selling a book and not providing any actual tips, I am sitting here now half dressed and even more flustered and overwhelmed.
I don't want to finish getting dressed. I don't want to leave the house. I don't want to bother with potty training. I don't want to go to Red Lobster. I don't want to sit through another wrenching lunch experience with my Dad, Mom and her home care aide. I don't want to see my mother wearing an ankle boot (she sprained her ankle somehow...but I won't even ask how that happened since she doesn't do that much). I don't want to be confronted by another family member's passive aggressive accusatory bullshit.
I don't want to celebrate my mother's 70th birthday today.
I am not being selfish, I am just being honest. I love my mother and know how blessed I am to still have her given the dreadful prognosis of early-onset Alzheimer's. I know that I need to take every possible moment to celebrate her, what she has meant to others (like her former students who took us to see Fences), and what she has meant to our family. We should all be together, but we aren't.
However, I do not wish to waste another day in my house and watch my child spin herself into butter because she has cabin fever. So I am about to shut this computer off, finished getting dressed, head over to my parents' and go to lunch with them at Red Lobster. I will give my mother her cards, listen to my Dad talk about westerns and politics, then wait around for my Niece so that she and the Babe can play together. I will muscle through the day even if it takes every ounce of strength because today is not about how I feel or how pissed I am or about how mad or pissed anyone else might be with me.
Happy 70th Birthday to my Mother!
And I wouldn't trade mine for anything. So instead of complaining about the little cherub (because right now, she is amusing herself with the training potty, the box it came in, and that donut stacker toy). We didn't make it to play group today because I haven't been able to get myself together since Sunday. At least I finally got a shower.
I have had a crappy week and I am in no mood for anything. I barely want to eat. I just want to sleep. I imagine all mothers hit this wall where every little thing becomes annoying and difficult, but my blahs aren't about dealing with the Babe. It is about my mother.
Today is her 70th birthday. I thought that I would organize a party for her, but she has been out of sorts since Christmas. The details are all over the place, but suffice it to say that between some of her health issues and the accompanying family drama, I have absolutely nothing. Other than a card.
Since I missed playgroup I should be getting us ready to go out to wherever my Dad wants to take my Mom for lunch, which is probably Red Lobster (my least favorite place to go with them) but I don't even have the energy to protest. I just want to go along to get along at this point. The Babe is partially dressed and playing with the potty while watching one of her shows, so I am taking this time to vent.
Let's start with the Babe and our adventures in potty training. I have no plan, no clue and no guidance because I have no Mommy friends, no Mom, etc. Yet, I thought that it might be time to start the process so I brought the toilet up from the basement yesterday. When she saw the box, she decided to push it into the dining room to use as a prop for whatever imaginary game she was playing that involved needing a box. This morning I got the bright idea to introduce her to the toilet while watching Sesame Street, and so far, she gets that she is supposed to sit on it. Or stand on it. Or get her legs stuck in the hole where the bowl is supposed to go.
I pulled up a video that claimed to offer the secret to potty training in three days, but after wasting ten minutes watching an animation about a woman who allegedly perfected her method after she spent $329 on a pair of black silk Prada pants only to realize that she was selling a book and not providing any actual tips, I am sitting here now half dressed and even more flustered and overwhelmed.
I don't want to finish getting dressed. I don't want to leave the house. I don't want to bother with potty training. I don't want to go to Red Lobster. I don't want to sit through another wrenching lunch experience with my Dad, Mom and her home care aide. I don't want to see my mother wearing an ankle boot (she sprained her ankle somehow...but I won't even ask how that happened since she doesn't do that much). I don't want to be confronted by another family member's passive aggressive accusatory bullshit.
I don't want to celebrate my mother's 70th birthday today.
I am not being selfish, I am just being honest. I love my mother and know how blessed I am to still have her given the dreadful prognosis of early-onset Alzheimer's. I know that I need to take every possible moment to celebrate her, what she has meant to others (like her former students who took us to see Fences), and what she has meant to our family. We should all be together, but we aren't.
However, I do not wish to waste another day in my house and watch my child spin herself into butter because she has cabin fever. So I am about to shut this computer off, finished getting dressed, head over to my parents' and go to lunch with them at Red Lobster. I will give my mother her cards, listen to my Dad talk about westerns and politics, then wait around for my Niece so that she and the Babe can play together. I will muscle through the day even if it takes every ounce of strength because today is not about how I feel or how pissed I am or about how mad or pissed anyone else might be with me.
Happy 70th Birthday to my Mother!
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