how to raise a better rejector (and be one, too)

If you were to search "the art of rejecting," which I have just now done, you will find 34,700,000 results. The only problem? They're mostly about how to deal with "REJECTION," not how to be a better "REJECTOR." This is problematic to me.

It's problematic because, like many other human beings out there, I have struggled my whole life with SAYING NO. I am actually really good at it now but only because I HAVE WORKED and WORKSHOPPED and matured into a scrappy no-shit-taker in my old age.  In fact, I'm experiencing a bit of a NOPE-AISSANCE in my ability to reject things/people/ideas I think are full of shit. I am also still recovering from many of the instances I should have said no but said yes. That said, my inability to say NO was, for many years, a struggle for me.

Because...

A. I didn't want to hurt any feelings.
B. I didn't want to burn any bridges.
C. I was afraid people would think I was a bitch/too cool for school/the worst

I have seen many people post about the importance of raising "nice" kids... and while I agree WHOLEHEARTEDLY in modeling empathy, kindness and preaching GOODNESS above all else, I also believe that children must also be taught that IT'S OKAY NOT TO BE NICE SOMETIMES. And it's our job -- as parents -- to equip our babies with the tools to REJECT.

At the same time that I am working on being a better No-er, I am helping my kids find ways to be better No-ers, too.

Peer pressure is a huge fear of mine -- specifically peer pressure in these modern days of social media.

What happens if someone sends you a naked picture?

What happens if someone TELLS you to send a naked picture?

What happens if all of your friends are sending naked pictures?

What happens if your friend is asked to send a naked picture?

What happens if you overhear a group of people trying to convince a girl to send a picture?

My son recently got his first phone. He's 11, in middle school and wanted to be able to communicate with his friends without using my phone. Over the summer, at the height of the Pokemon Go craze, he came home from camp and asked if he could download Pokemon Go.

I asked him why he wanted to.

"Because all of my friends have it," was his answer.

That opened up a very long, very (in my opinion) much needed dialogue about ALLLLLL OF THE TIMES he's going to THINK he wants to do things because EVERYONE ELSE IS DOING THEM.

We talked about how POWERFUL group think is and how challenging it is to step out of line and think for oneself. Especially when you're a teenager. I told him about the many times I asked for things because I thought I should -- all of the times I did things because everyone else was -- and all the times I went along with things because I didn't know how to say no or worse, I didn't WANT TO SAY NO and risk offending, embarrassing, making someone else feel uncomfortable.

I gave him 24 hours to come up with a better reason to convince me.

He did.

I explained to him that I will only consider saying yes to something he wants  if it is really something HE WANTS --not something he feels he needs to get because others have or want it.

That said, it's one thing  to talk about peer pressure and quite another to actually access the tools needed in order to bow out of a not-okay moment. One must have basic training in order to know how to handle people and situations that NEED TO BE REJECTED.

One must be willing to deal with the ramifications of being called  "a bitch" or an "asshole" or a "pussy" or a "loser" or a "fraud."

ED: I was recently at a coffee shop, having a meeting with a colleague, when a man approached us and interrupting our conversation, asked us if he could buy us a piece of coffee cake.

"It's THE BEST coffee cake, " he said. "You two can share."

"I'm okay," I said. She agreed.

"No thanks!"

We rejected him in the MOST polite way possible and while he was clearly NOT OKAY with the rejection, he walked away.

AND THEN CAME BACK.

"You don't understand," he said. "IT'S REALLY GOOD COFFEE CAKE."

That's when something shifted in me.

"NO, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. WE DON'T WANT YOUR COFFEE CAKE, DUDE."

"Well, I'm just going to buy it for you anyway. You don't have to eat it..."

"PLEASE LEAVE US ALONE."

It occurred to me later that day that even five years ago, I would have taken the cake. I would have eaten the cake as not to offend or make a scene. I would have said yes to something that made me feel uncomfortable because, well, it's easier that way.

That broke my heart.

I thought back to all the times I had eaten someone's shitty coffee cake to make it EASIER ON THEM and hard on myself. I thought about all of the times I chose to be "nice" instead of real. I thought about all of the times I was unable to reject even when my body was SCREAMING for me to do so.

I can't change the past. I cannot take back all the times I got into cars I shouldn't have. Wandered off with strangers when I didn't want to. Ate the cake when I didn't want to eat the cake. But I can do everything in my power to empower my children to be OKAY, or at the very least MORE OKAY THAN I WAS, at saying No.

Because:

A. It's okay to hurt someone's feelings if it means standing up for others and yourself.
B. Sometimes bridges must be burned in order to forge new paths.
C. You will never be liked by everyone. Someone will always think you're the worst.

And so. Here is how I'm attempting to raise artists of rejection.

Back-to-School with Stranger Things

I know, I know. Another blogger weighing in on Stranger Things with a think piece... or should I say a THING piece. But I can't not say something about this show -- especially because, this might just be the first time in my entire life that I've:

A. Watched something scary.

I don't watch scary/violent anythings ever. I can't even with Game of Thrones. I think it's despicable. Walking Dead? You would have to pay me huge sums of cash to even THINK about watching such filth! That said, I will pretty much watch anything that is teen drama related--ESPECIALLY period teen dramas that focus on the trials and tribulations of suburban tweens and teenagers. And while I was but a toddler in the early 80s, I know that world. I grew up with E.T. And Goonies. And smocked dresses and Huffys.  You got me, Stranger Things. You had me at de de de de de de de de...

B. Binge watched something this fast.

Hal and I watched Stranger Things over the course of a few days and now I'm all end-of-summer balmy with thoughts -- and in the case of today's post, attempts to draw parallels between Stranger Things and parents (and older kids/teenagers) preparing for back-to-school. Oh and P.S. THIS SHOW IS NOT FOR YOUNG CHILDREN AT ALL. THIS SHOW IS FOR ADULTS OR OLDER TEENAGE CHILDREN. (Common Sense Media says 14+ and that seems accurate.)

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD:

***

NAVIGATING BACK-TO-SCHOOL WITH

LESSONS LEARNED FROM STRANGER THINGS

1. The Upside Down is basically The Internet 

A dangerous place that is essentially the inverse of real life? Where scary things can snatch you up and feed on your very soul? A place that is very hard to escape once you're in? I mean, let this be a cautionary tale, my darlings. THE INTERNET IS A MONSTER.

Not all the time, mind you. But here are some helpful (hopefully) tips for parents and children who are new to social media/the Internet.

- Keep social media accounts private.

I personally believe every child has his/her right to their own privacy and do not believe in snooping through text messages/etc. I do believe in non-judgmental communication and being super open and honest with my own social media/teenage missteps and mistakes. Being the example, in my experience, is always the best way to guide.

- Put time limits on social media - limiting screen time at night.

This is pretty self-explanatory but important to reiterate. Teenagers need A LOT OF sleep and studies are finding that these days (I just shook my cane in the air), they're unable to unplug and get the rest they need. Keeping phones out of bedrooms is a great way to enforce better sleep habits. (For parents, too.)

- Have the Internet porn conversation

If your kid has been on the Internet for longer than a week, there's a good chance he/she has stumbled into Internet pornland. More than once. If you're not talking to your kids about Internet porn, you really need to think about doing so. And regardless of whether you have parent controls on your own Internet/your kids devices, you cannot parent control everything. (Just because you have Hustler magazines underneath your bed, doesn't mean your kid's BFF's parents haven't hidden theirs.)

You can start by asking your kid(s) if they have ever seen anything they didn't understand online and go from there. For me, talking about Internet porn is very similar to talking to kids about ALL THINGS THAT ARE NOT REAL.

Just because it looks like people are enjoying themselves, doesn't mean they are.

Sex is something you will want to do someday but this IS NOT SEX in the same way science fiction books are not real life and talking animals are not real. 

Also, here's a GREAT RESOURCE for talking to your kids about Internet Pornography. 

- Discuss "likes" and their effect on social media users (of all ages and genders).

Likes are the worst. I wish there was a way we could select NO on making them available because they CAN ONLY NEGATIVELY affect. That said, they are a reality for anyone who uses social media.

- Model positive social media skills. 

How often are you on Instagram? At what time of night do you turn it off? What kinds of things do you post? And how would you feel if your child was posting the same things? All important questions to ask, I think.

2. T(w)eenage girls are the most powerful human beings in the world

This is important for both boys and girls to recognize and not in a sexist-toward-boys kind of way. Girl power is real and it affects boys (and men) in ways that even boys (and men) don't fully understand. This is why TALKING to our daughters about their power over their own lives AS WELL AS BOYS is important.

Typically, media shows girls as boy-crazy lunatics, but the fact of the matter is, boys are THE EXACT SAME WAY but aren't given diaries to write about it or love songs or games like MASH to play in the PE locker room (Do people play MASH? Did I just make that up?) Hell, boys aren't really given any outlet at all.

The truth is, in the same way teenage girls are struggling with their own sexuality and pressures therein, teenage boys are, too. A lot of boys don't know what to say to girls or how to say it and are modeled (care of music/movies/media) pretty horribly sexist shit.

As a teenage girl, I knew I had power. And as the mother of a soon-to-be-teenage son, I am only NOW seeing what life looks like from his POV and while I believe that all girls, teenage or not, should own their power, we need to give our boys the tools to better navigate their feelings about that power.

3. Assholes "slut"shame. Don't be an asshole

This goes for parents of teenagers as much as it does for teenagers, themselves. NEVER define nor degrade a girl based on WHAT SHE DOES AND DOES NOT DO SEXUALLY. EVER. If you have a problem with someone because of the way they provocatively dress, don't say so out loud in front of your young children. You are merely reinforcing that it's okay for them to do the same. (One can express worry about other children/teenagers behavior without shaming other children/teenagers.) Also, calling out women (or girls) for their sexual prowess (falsified OR real And let's be real, A LOT OF WHAT IS SAID during the teenage years is rumor-laden and falsified.) Saying or acting negatively toward a girl (or woman) based on her sexuality/physical identification is bullying, plain and simple. It also promotes rape culture, reinforces double standards, and is DANGEROUS. Remember, as a parent, your kids are LISTENING to your words. They are INTERNALIZING your judgement. And they are, most likely, passing it on. 

Signed, someone who spent much of her high school years trying to rinse the word "SLUT" off her driveway...

***

You can read my post in its entirety, here. And if you haven't already seen Stranger Things, dial that shit up tonight like whoa...

xoxo

The future is female and our boys are watching, too

I'm watching the DNC and I am crying. Ididn't think it would affect me the way that it has, but here I am, snifflingon the carpet with my computer in my lap.

My son, Archer is next to me -- my eleven-year-old son, who months ago wrote his own presidential speech and has been Hillary's biggest fan from the start. My daughters scamper in and out of the room as we sit transfixed -- every now and then they gather on my lap and we explain to them who we're watching and what they're talking about. 

Every time I explain, I get choked up.

"Mom. Why are you crying?"

"I'm just... really moved, I guess. All of this is just... "

"Long time coming, right?" Archer says.

"Yeah."

He nods and goes back to watching the DNC. He sits with me as we watch one woman after another take the podium -- powerful women -- strong, well-spoken, game-changing women, women who unite to celebrate the power and accomplishments of another WOMAN. Together we watch mothers. Sisters. Movers and shakers. We also watch fathers. Brothers. Strong well-spoken, game-changing men also celebrating the power of women. Of WOMAN.

This is a celebration of Hillary and her life of service and accomplishments, but the more we watch, the more it starts to feel like something else. Replace her name with SO MANY women of yesterday, even today and tomorrow... women who have worked ten times as hard as their male colleagues only to be discredited, discouraged, brushed aside. Women who for centuries stood in the shadows, pulling strings, changing the world without credit.

Watching, I feel the spirits of our foremothers and their brilliant potential -- a history of muted voices suddenly LOUD. I try to make out what they're saying. The ghosts. The wives. The mothers. So many names we'll never know, and I desperately want to hear them all.

"Think of all the women... through time. The women all over the world who are screaming without stages. Who are orating without microphones. Our history is dark with oppression. But this -- THIS -- your life -- you get to witness what feels like REAL CHANGE."

THE FUTURE LOOKS so different than the past, Archer. The PRESENT looks so different from the past...

I was recently out with my kids when a stranger approached my son. His sister was wearing her FUTURE IS FEMALE shirt and he cocked his head to the side and squinted with disgust.

"Is that your sister?" he said. "What do you have to say for your sister's shirt?"

"What do you mean?"

"I hope you have a shirt at home that says 'the future is male.'"

"I actually have the same shirt she's wearing," he said. "Mine is just in a bigger size."

I smiled.

"This isn't a pissing contest, sir. A more female future means a more equal future. Equality benefits the brothers of the sisters wearing the shirts AS MUCH as it benefits the sisters wearing the shirts. There is plenty of room for men AND women at the table. And yet, for thousands of years men have taken up most of the seats. Have you done anything to change that? My assumption, after listening to how threatened you are by four words on a little girl's t-shirt, is no..."

I wish I said all of those things. What I said was far less eloquent. I stammered, got defensive, tried to cover his voice with my voice. I did say something about the table though. And I did storm off in a very stomp-footy-stormy-offy-way.

The thing is, that man was not alone in his thinking. There are plenty of men (and women) who have commented on my posts throughout the years who feel that PRO-FEMALE means ANTI-MALE. And I get it. I used to be one of them.

I wonder, though, how many of them -- of you, if you're reading -- have been excluded from your own conversations? I'm not just talking about women whose rights have been dictated by men since the beginning of time, but people of color whose rights have been dictated by white people...  LGBTQ people whose love has been questioned by heterosexual leaders who cannot possibly know the struggles they have taken it upon themselves to define.

This is why we need ALL voices -- diverse voices -- leaders, spokespeople, teachers, writers, artists, actors, presidents of the United States of America.

For centuries, white men have called the shots in this country. Trump represents what feels like the patriarchy going out with a wet fart. And if it wasn't so terrifying, it would almost be poetic -- biblical even -- Here we have a more inclusive, more female future battling closed-minded white men who live for the past  -- men who represent the very worst the patriarchy has to offer.

And the whole world is watching....

You can read my post in its entirety, here. Go, Hill! 

pubic service announcement

I recently finished Peggy Orenstein's new book, Girls and Sex, which I highly recommend to every single human out there over the age of 13, ESPECIALLY men and fathers. Men and women, boys and girls ought to be more communicative when it comes to sex, and I think it does FAR more harm than good when we separate our girls and boys during sex education. Boys should hear what it's like for girls FROM GIRLS and girls should hear what it's like for boys FROM BOYS. How can we possibly grow and change and empathize with one another if we're whispering in different locker rooms?

(ED: My biggest issue with the book is the fact that it’s hot pink and is called GIRLS AND SEX. I don't know many men who would feel comfortable reading a hot pink book called GIRLS AND SEX on, say, the subway or in a doctor's office waiting room, and I find the pink cover problematic and annoying, but that's a diss on the publishing house, not the book. I think Orenstein is wonderful and I respect her voice and her non-judgmental attitude towards young people. This book is a MUST READ, you guys. Real talk.)

Anyway, we can talk more about the book later, if you want. Also sex education and teenage sexuality, which I think we SHOULD be talking about more openly. Because the only thing we should feel shame about is shame itself, and I am ALL FOR shame-free dialogue when it comes to sex and sexuality and pleasure and masturbation and periods, puberty, sex, OMG YOU GUYS THERE IS NO REASON WHYTHIS STUFF SHOULD BE EMBARRASSING! WHY ARE WE SO AFRAID TO TALK OPENLY ABOUT THIS STUFF? DON'T WE REALIZE THAT WE ARE DOING FAR MORE DAMAGE BY KEEPING QUIET AND YES I AM YELLING IN CAPS RIGHT NOW BUT, DUDE... SEX IS WHAT PEOPLE DO WITH EACH OTHER AND HUMAN BEINGS ARE BASICALLY JUST WALKING ORGASMS. SERIOUSLY, THOUGH, YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE SOMEONE CAME. SO IS YOUR CHILD. LET'S TALK ABOUT IT, PLEASE. PLEASE? LET'S TALK ABOUT SEX WITH OUR DAUGHTERS SO THEY KNOW IT ISOKAY TO ENJOY IT!

Hell, if it was up to me, I would bomb the world with vibrators. VIBRATORS FOR ALL!

Which, in a round-a-bout-ish way, brings me to today's post...

... About pubes. TODAY I WOULD LIKE TO TALK ABOUT PUBIC HAIR and how for the last twenty-something years I have resisted having any—until now.

Like many (all) of the girls questioned in Peggy Orenstein's book, I also started shaving off my pubes the moment they started growing in. Because, ew, being am adult woman is GROSS. Not that I said those words, but in my head I was like, what am I supposed to do with this hair stuff? From a very young age (13) I shaved my pubes every few days in the same way I shaved my pits and my legs... I was disgusted with hair and I hated the way it felt when it was growing in.

Also? (And here's the rub...) Everyone else was doing it. I assumed it was a rite of passage -- that girls like me who shaved themselves pube-less were EMPOWERED. Somehow, that was the message we instilled in one another. THIS IS US STANDING UP TO ADULTHOOD AND REBELLING! Oh and also? This is what boys are into, so like... that's cool, too. 

In recent years, I toyed with various hairless styles (no relation to Harry Styles) including various landing strip-esque situations which felt like a good compromise between NOT WANTING ANYTHING TO DO WITH HAIR and feeling like I needed to model some kind of hair acceptance for my children -- because pubes happen, kids. And there is absolutely no reason for anyone to feel shame... And yet…there I was, FEELING it. I found myself regularly saying one thing and doing another -- preaching "pube-love and acceptance!" while being pube-free. 

It wasn't until I read Orenstein's chapter on porn and pubes that I started to rethink my teenage "empowerment." All those years, I had remembered feeling TOTALLY in control of my body.  I assumed that shaving my pubes off was BECAUSE I WAS MAKING A STATEMENT, THAT I COULD CONTROL MY BODY, DAMMIT. 

But wait... was that it? Was that why my friends and I shaved our hair completely off? Because we felt like we were in control? Or was it something else? Did we do it for ourselves or for the boys who thought it was hot? I would like to think it wasn't the latter but also, I'm an adult now and I realize that there were a lot of things I thought I was doing for me... when I wasn't. 

Fast forward to now. I am a thirty-five-year-old mother of four and I have never in my life had a bush to call my own. I don't even know what it looks like to look down and see hair. And I think that might be a problem. Hell, I KNOW it's a problem. It's a problem because, once again, I feel shame for something my body NATURALLY does. I feel shame for something men my age do not feel shame over. (Unless you're a man who is reading this and DOES feel shame about pubic hair. Do you? If you do, please come forward. I don't want to discount your experience. Please feel free to prove me wrong.)

Orenstein writes: 

"...Herbenick is concerned that young women's genital self-image is under siege, with more pressure than ever to see their vulvae as unacceptable in their natural state. She recalled a student who started shaving after a boy announced—during one of her class discussions—that he'd never seen pubic hair on a woman in real life, and that if he came across it he'd walk out the door.

There's no question that a bald vulva is baby smooth—some would say disturbingly so.Perhaps in the 1920s, when women first started shaving their legs and armpits, that act seemed creepily infantilizing, too, but now depilating those areas is a standard rite of passage. That early wave of hair removal was driven by flapper fashions that displayed a woman's limbs; arms and legs were, for the first time, no longer part of the private realm. Today's pubic hair removal could be seen the same way: We have opened our most intimate parts to unprecedented scrutiny, evaluation, commodification..."

Here's the thing ... I want to expose my children to a natural looking body -- shame-free. I want my kids to be like, oh, pubes aren't so bad. My mom's got some of those and she seems pretty chill about it...

Girlfriends or Two Women Friends by: Gustav Klimt, 1916

So, yes. Maybe all those years ago, I bic'd my pubes for the boys... But now, for the first time, I'm growing these bad boys out for the girls...not just my daughters, but for myself and all of the teenage girls out there who are like, EW PUBES ARE GROSS PUBERTY IS GROSS HAIR IS GROSS I AM GROSS. Because in simple terms, I want to be the change. I want to show my past self and my present self and also my future self that all of the things we have been told as females to be GROSS and UNSIGHTLY and SORRY YOUR CONTENT HAS BEEN FLAGGED FOR BEING HAIRY AND NIPPLE-Y AND REAL, aren't even at all. Nipples, pubes, hairy legs... all of the things boys and men show all day long with nary a word...

You can read my post in its entirety, here.

under our clothes, we're all just naked

I recently spent an afternoon in a hot spring amongst nude bodies of all ages and sizes and genders, and realized how warped my sense of body image truly is. Here I was,surrounded for the FIRST time in my life by dozens of REAL bodies that looked nothing like one another -- naked people unfazed by their own (and eachother's) nakedness, none of whom gave a shit about lopsided breasts or belly folds, penises of all shapes and sizes, flaccid and chilling like whatevs. REAL life. REAL bodies. No shame. No praise. Just... People being naked and themselves. 

About a month ago, I happened upon a link to an article via Pitchfork's twitter,"Why are People so Mad About The Hotelier's NSFW Cover for Goodness," and to this paragraph, particularly: 

Unlike other recent NSFW covers, Goodness spotlights ages and shapes rarely seen on album art, naked or otherwise. The online complaints, like those that flooded Pitchfork’s own Twitter feed last week upon publishing our Goodness review, have been dispiriting, particularly the detractors who complain about the type of nudity: imperfect, unfiltered, human. In an era when nothing really shocks us, when nearly naked and highly sexualized bodies routinely grace album covers without even a second thought, seeing the desexualized nude forms that resemble how we will all eventually come to look—apparently that’s offensive. We only want lightly airbrushed body positivity, if at all. 

People were PISSSSSSSSED that real life (older) and very NAKED bodies were just... you know... existing in their natural state on an album cover. 

People were SHOCKED to see bodies. REAL bodies. AGING. SAGGING. BODIES. People were offended and angry that truthiness was on display... smiling like NBD whatever. 

***

There is so much going on in the world right now -- so much madness that I haven't even known where to begin lately. I have so many thoughts and words and they're all getting tangled... but in the end, I find a commonality to ALL OF THE ABOVE, and that commonality is FEAR and a seemingly universal INABILITY to see one another -- to recognize the SAMENESS in each other...

....There is something to be said for being surrounded by naked bodies -- there is a vulnerably to that -- a relief -- like, oh wait, we're all just flesh and bone... we're all just skin and fat and muscle and hair... we're all the same, even when we're not. 

WE'RE ALL THE SAME, EVEN WHEN WE'RE NOT. 

I'm not interested in those who choose to shame Kim Kardashian for posting nude selfies but I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was equally tired of those who applaud her for her "feminist statement." If we're going to make REAL progress we need to give fewer shits about other people's bodies. 

In a country that prides itself on puritanical values, patting itself on the back for its ability to either shame or praise, it felt revolutionary to watch people do neither. Like, oh hey, there's a middle ground CALLED EXISTING HAPPILY IN ONE'S SKIN. 

Authenticity is the woman in the hot spring who’s taking her clothes off, not because she wants to make a statement, but rather because, what-the-fuck-ever. 

THAT's radical. 

***

We are at a societal crossroads. Hell, maybe every generation is. But for me, right now, this moment, feels as hopeful as it feels dangerous. I happen to think that our puritanical values as a nation/society combined with our inability to be transparent and honest (and fearless and non-judgmental) with one another has paved the way for those who FEAR AND JUDGE to lead. 

Our fear of judgment and shame has caused us to COVER ourselves in ways that are alienating -- we cannot come together if we are hiding our TRUE selves. 

We, as a species, worship perfection. Isn't that what God is? Not just the Judeo-Christian God but GOD in every. single. religion? Is it possible, that through worshipping so-called PERFECTION we are paralyzed when we realize it doesn't exist? In ourselves? In our partners and relationships and lives? 

Humans are imperfect. But like REALLY FUCKING FLAWED. That includes everyone... 

And yet, we seem to have very low tolerance, as a society for imperfection. We have no idea how to accept ourselves (and each other) for who we really TRULY are... We only know how to judge one another (and ourselves) against what we HAVE BEEN TOLD is right, wrong, beautiful, normal... 

Judgement is a great way to distract ourselves from our own denial. 

Here's the thing -- one cannot judge a naked body when she herself is naked, too. I mean this physically but also everythingelse-ly. It is very humbling to admit one's humanity. And you know what else? People like that in others. People appreciate when you say, HEY, WHAT'S UP, GUYS. THIS IS ME. I'M RAD BUT I'M ALSO A MESS. I HAVE LOVELY SHOULDERS AND LOPSIDED BREASTS AND CELLULITE ON MY ASS AND MY BELLY BUTTON HAS CAVED IN ON ITSELF POST-PARTUM BUT I ALSO HAVE THIS AMAZING BACK AND A SCAR ON MY SHIN THAT MAKES ME FEEL YOUNG AND INTERESTING...

So many of us are afraid to reveal the parts of ourselves we KNOW go against societal norms -- that are unusual, even strange... but the more we are able to reveal those parts--the more we are able to SEE that bodies are bodies--the better we will be at  RECOGNIZING  that we're all a bunch of human animals...

....I hope someday more of us will be willing to climb naked and imperfect into the hot spring so that we can all be naked and imperfect together and eventually forget to notice that we're naked and imperfect. We'll instead realize we are all just human beings existing at the same time, in the same place. WE ARE ALL JUST PEOPLE. Lopsided, hairy, beautiful, unfiltered ... different, the same, but TOGETHER.

(You can read my post in its entirety, here.) 

"How do you get to be yourself? By questioning authority."

Last week, while in Ashland, Oregon, interviewing my Great Aunt Dot about her life as a social activist, Dot shared with me two succinct yet completely revolutionary ideas that immediately struck me as crucial to every parenting manifesto...

1. "Nobody but you can do what you can do." 

SO KEEP DOING WHAT YOU'RE DOING! SIMPLE. PERIOD. THE END. 

2. "How do you get to be yourself? By questioning authority." 

I have been thinking a lot about this, especially lately, as I watch my children navigate transitions from toddler to child, child to young adult-- how we routinely label these moments in our children's life as TERRIBLE.

Terrible twos. 

Terrible teens. 

Teenagers are the worst. 

Wait until you have teenagers... 

Why are we so closed-minded when it comes to rebellion? When did questioning authority become negative? I mean, sure, rules are ALSO important to recognize and USUALLY follow. We need stoplights and laws -- and to follow directions in order to respectfully navigate life, our peers, each other... but we also NEED TO QUESTION those directions in some cases -- and even, and at times, break the rules... 

"I never stopped questioning authority,"Dot explained. "I never stopped being curious." 

The most emotionally intelligent people I know recognize the importance of dissent and are open to criticism, allowing themselves (and others) the need to SAY SOMETHING even if/when it is unpopular.

This is not to say we shouldn't raise our children to respect boundaries, follow directions, but to everything there is a season and embracing our children (and each other) for our dissent, I believe, is healthy and important. And while some children WANT even NEED to stand in a line, others can ONLY grow if/when they step out of one. 

I respect your rebellion, kids. So long as you're not hurting anyone or yourself. 

For some children, getting to know themselves as unique human beings separate from their parents is only possible if/when they push us away.

I was that way.

And so far, 3/4 of my children are the same. 

Perhaps this is why mothers seldom exist in classic coming of age stories? A child cannot grow to his/her full potential with his/her mother hovering/planning/making all the decisions... 

The truth is, it's not about us. All those years slamming doors on my mother weren't because I was rejecting HER but insisting on MYSELF. Alone. In my bedroom.

"Leave me alone..."

I've been thinking a lot about authoritarianism since reading this piece a reader linked to in the comments of this post several months ago.

This part, specifically:

...Then in the early 1990s, a political scientist named Stanley Feldman changed everything. Feldman, a professor at SUNY Stonybrook, believed authoritarianism could be an important factor in American politics in ways that had nothing to do with fascism, but that it could only reliably be measured by unlinking it from specific political preferences.

He realized that if authoritarianism were a personality profile rather than just a political preference, he could get respondents to reveal these tendencies by asking questions about a topic that seemed much less controversial. He settled on something so banal it seems almost laughable: parenting goals.

Feldman developed what has since become widely accepted as the definitive measurement of authoritarianism: four simple questions that appear to ask about parenting but are in fact designed to reveal how highly the respondent values hierarchy, order, and conformity over other values.

1. Please tell me which one you think is more important for a child to have: independence or respect for elders?
2. Please tell me which one you think is more important for a child to have: obedience or self-reliance?
3. Please tell me which one you think is more important for a child to have: to be considerate or to be well-behaved?
4. Please tell me which one you think is more important for a child to have: curiosity or good manners?

Feldman's test proved to be very reliable. There was now a way to identify people who fit the authoritarian profile, by prizing order and conformity, for example, and desiring the imposition of those values.

One of our biggest problems as a society (at least from where I stand) is our willingness to choose "good manners" over "curiosity" when it comes to our children. And our system, specifically our school system, is set up to award those who "obey" with popsicle parties instead or creating safe environments for children to question authority -- question rules -- AND FIND THEMSELVES.

Spending time with a lifetime (self-proclaimed) "radical" who used her body to block trains carrying nuclear warheads, went on hunger strikes protesting Vietnam and once chained herself to a logging truck to protest deforestation, was for me a pertinent reminder that rebellion is often our greatest gift to the world.  WE NEED DOTS on this planet! In the same way we need doctors and lawyers and writers and painters and plumbers. 

One cannot empower a child without embracing her will to fight a system that is trying to strip her of her power. This is why toddlers have tantrums. And teenagers hate their parents.

Because, we, in a word, ARE THE MAN our children must challenge and question and, yes, sometimes rail against in order to grow.

Not that it doesn't suck to be rebelled against... but it has been really helpful for me to recognize that IT ISN'T ABOUT ME when my kids want to be left alone... or when they're embarrassed of me in the halls. Or when they think bedtime is idiotic...

How do you get to be yourself? By questioning authority.

Sitting down with our children and encouraging them to seek out places in their lives/the world that they feel strongly against is AS important if not MORE important than asking them what they love, or who they want to be when they grow up.

Dissent is not negative. Disagreement is CRUCIAL for people trying to formulate their own ideas.

Certainly not all of us will feel the same -- I realize it is, perhaps, controversial to believe a child should be supported for her rebellion, but I think it's worth discussing the importance of creating a home environment where our children know it's okay, even IMPORTANT to question our authority sometimes. 

Helping our kids find the things in the world they want to rebel against and encouraging them to take positive action to make change--in the same way we encourage them to "listen" and "respect boundaries"--is crucial.

Perhaps a child is pissed they have so much homework? How do they USE that to take action? Write letters? Create an anti-homework club to work on a petition? Engage in peaceful protest in the halls? This is the time, people. Learning to engage and take on what is wrong with our system is as important as respecting and adhering to what works.

GET TO KNOW the thing you want to change and then work on what it means to PEACEFULLY RESIST. 

Because the truth is, in this life, there will be times when the only way to get out of the woods is to trespass through the tall grasses that surround it. 

for all mothers and the houses we must build with limited brick

This week on Mom.me, I wrote a little something for Mother's Day...  unedited, unfinished... mirroring my current state of motherhood... selfhood... all-of-the-abovehood. 

...The other day I was watching Bo build houses with her Lincoln Logs when all at once she ran out...

It wasn't just one house she was working on. It was several. Four, maybe five... six... she became frustrated when she realized she had used all the blocks in the box -- that there weren't enough logs to finish the roofs... that all of her little houses would remain unfinished unless she... BAM!... knocked them all over.

Which is exactly what she did.

"But Bo!" I said. You can't expect to build all of those little houses with that one box! There just aren't enough..."

Blocks.

***

In the beginning it's just us... little girls who come of age. We have our box of blocks and every morning we work on building our little wooden houses just so...

We have enough blocks to build something complete, even grand. Something that is ours. THIS IS WHO I AM, we say, finishing our houses. THIS IS JUST FOR ME. 

Years later, when we grow up a little bit, start working entry level jobs... we realize, we need to build another house. A house to work in... to make money in... a house that allows us autonomy --- to support ourselves financially... to pay rent, bills... a car payment. 

Our little box of bricks gets a little more difficult to navigate... we have enough blocks to build two houses -- personal and professional -- but it would be really nice to have more bricks. So we peruse... look around... ask a friend, a parent, strangers... to borrow a brick here and there. For those of us who have a hard time asking, we attempt to make our own out of paper and glue... sticks from outside, stones...

For many of us, we will prioritize our professional houses. Because they need to look presentable. They need to bring in money. Respect. Our livelihood. Professional houses must look strong, especially for women. They must look sturdy. Dependable. Modern...

And our personal houses... well, they have to take a backseat. They just do. 

Later on, when we find a partner... we realize we have to build another house. A relationship house. We go back to our box, realize its empty, shift some blocks around in order to build our third house. Some of us have an easier time than others. Some of are natural engineers. Some of us, not.

Most of us don't have enough blocks to build three sturdy houses at once, let alone two. We have to choose which house is most important. We pull from our first house because we are willing to sacrifice ourselves above all...

So we rearrange the furniture and split our blocks in half...

Meanwhile our professional houses suffer. Because gender roles are in ALL OF OUR ears. Because we cannot help but want to be taken care of...

I need you to support me. 

But I need you to support me, too. 

We don't know what that looks like because for thousands of years, everything was different. And progress cannot change the past. Osmosis cannot be reversed. Not yet, anyway. There is too much we have inherited through bloodlines and bedtime stories...

We can't help but want certain houses to look certain ways.

So we build and rebuild and work with what we have...

And then.

A child is born. 

And that child needs his own house. He has his own needs that are not personal. Or professional. And these needs become priority because he/she is too small to build his/her own house. We pull more blocks from our various houses. Relationships change. Career goals change. Our personal house falls to the side. 

Some of us will then go on to have another child.

And another and another...

Pulling blocks from everywhere in the process. 

From the relationship house. 

And the career house. 

And the other children's houses...

But most notably, from our personal houses. The ones that were just for me and you. The ones that resemble something else entirely now.

Sometimes we think maybe it's altogether gone. 

Certainly some of us have days where we can't find it... where we're not sure it exists anymore.

"Is a feeble house a house at all?" we ask ourselves.

"Can we seek shelter inside rooms without walls?" 

People warned us years ago and we rolled our eyes because we were strong and capable. Of raising confident children. And maintaining a sturdy marriage. Pursuing a career...

"I'll never be like that," we said.

"I've got this. Muscle arm emoji."

We were right. WE ARE STRONG and capable. But somedays we catch a glimpse of ourselves in the mirror, shaking our heads... Somedays we yearn for the house we had all those years ago -- the house that was JUST for us. The house that we cannot, even if we wanted to, rebuild...

***

Lately I have had a hard time finding my own little house... The one I started with. The one I have always told others to maintain. The one that belonged SOLELY to me. The one that had nothing to do with my marriage, career, children...

And when I do stumble upon its remains -- survey what's left... I can't help but remember how it used to look... when it was just one house -- THIS house... before I had to break off a rib and then break off another rib and then break off four more... 

It's hard to breathe when you've pulled your ribs out of your chest. 

It's hard to rebuild your primary home when you've run out of materials. 

You would have to make them in order to create something for yourself. Or take from another house. 

Adam was a mother, you see. And Eve was her child...

....

...

..

.

Because my daughter's house and my other daughter's house and my other daughter's house and my son's house have been the houses I've hung my mirrors from. Perhaps that is where they are safest.

My mirrors.

My identity. 

After all, their structures have always been the sturdiest of the bunch.

***

"But Bo!" I said. You can't expect to build all of those little houses with that one box! There just aren't enough..."

Blocks.

... And I started to think about all of the women... all of the mothers... whose personal houses are shrinking, falling, caving in... and how frequently, quietly... we go looking for our starter homes -- searching for the smoke that once swirled from our chimneys... only to find that it's gone...

The chimney.

The fireplace.

The hearth.

I thought of all the women -- all the mothers, who some days find themselves resenting the other houses... and all of the bricks they had to pull from their own roofs to build new, structurally sound homes ... for spouses, and jobs and children... 

And how sometimes we can't help but crack under the pressure of having no place to call our own. Sometimes hearing our names called from all the houses at once makes us want to run away...

"Mom!"

"Mama?"

"Mommy!"

"Honey?"

"Hon?"

But those aren't even my name....

You can read my entire post, here. 

***

...Sending love and light to every one of you -- wherever you are -- in whatever house you're struggling to build/rebuild/mend/find/realize. 

"Use this speech as a resource."

image via HuffPost Women

In her speech 18-year-old Nadia Goldman says, "It doesn't matter if you can hear this speech because I know that I am speaking."

But I hope you will HEAR her. 

Especially this: 

"Parents, stop invalidating anger as childish, allow your children to say no, teach your sons what respect and consent means, support your children in whatever life they choose for themselves. Praise women for being women and allow your mind to expand its definition of what a woman is."

ED: She talks fast because sometimes that's the only way to get the words out. (I know because I do the same thing.)

faces pressed against the window, I showed him the staircase

It's just the two of us tonight. His Hebrew teacher is producing a collection of one-act plays for adults--but he can come, she told us. Children should be in more audiences of plays, I think. Archer thinks so, too. 

We share an arm rest during the show, pass back and forth the water bottle. When I drop my program he picks it up for me. I don't even have to ask.

During intermission, we stand outside next to the smokers and watch the stray cats wrap their tails around the fences on the other side of the parking lot.

"Wanna go back inside?" I ask him.

"Nah. I like it out here," he says, adjusting his lapel. "The time change makes it feel so much earlier..."

I agree.

I don't remember the last time we were alone -- just the two of us, without friends, without school, without guitar practice...

"When was the last time you and I were alone?"

He shrugs as we link arms and take a seat on the curb.

He's almost as tall as I am these days. We're one shoe size apart. He's going to be eleven in May. Start middle school this summer. We got him a phone as an early birthday present. He was the last of his friends to get one and was such a good sport about it that I surprised him one day after school, and now he texts me from sleepovers.

"What's up, Mom?"

It's getting cold outside so we make our way back into the theatre. We take our seats and unwrap our tootsie pops. Our theatre tickets came with them and we both agreed we weren't in the mood for candy but we've both changed our mind.

There's a star on my wrapper and the "Indian chief" with a bow and arrow, and later on, after the play, I will tell him that it's good luck. That when we were kids, we'd always check to see if we got the star, the bow and arrow... the Archer shooting his luck across our treat.

Some of the plays go over his head but not the ones I assumed would. We both have our favorites and they're the same...

It's already after bedtime when we get into the car to go home, but I suddenly feel hungry and Archer reads my mind when he says, "A Gardenburger sounds GOOD right now."

I make a U-turn a few blocks from home and head back up Fairfax towards Santa Monica to the Astro Burger on the corner of Gardner street -- a block south of my old apartment on Lexington.

***

"Two Gardenburgers," I tell the cashier, as Archer finds us a table. There are juke boxes on every one and he asks me if I have any change.

I pull out three quarters and he chooses his selections carefully... And then our burgers come and I tell him the story about the time I jump-started a stranger's car and how the stranger ended up being someone who worked at Astro Burger -- and for years I got free burgers because I was the girl who helped him when he needed help. I must have been nineteen at the time. And I ended up being super late to work because it took forever to jumpstart his car, but good karma is real and whenever I eat a Gardenburger, I think of him -- the man -- and how helping others will always pay off in strange and unexpected ways.

"But wasn't that stealing...?" Archer asks.

I say nothing as my moral compass blinks at me from across the table.

"It's kind of like stealing..." Archer says, biting into his burger. "You weren't paying for them, so..."

I shrug like I'm the one at the table who has much to learn and we go on eating to the sound of Bohemian Rhapsody.

Everywhere the wind blows.... 

***

"You wanna see something cool?" I ask him, passing our car in the parking lot.

It must be 11 now. Or even close to midnight. I don't care or want to know and neither does he. We're time traveling now.

We link arms and retrace my steps towards my old apartment on the corner of Gardner and Lexington. It still looks the same as it did... new coat of paint, trimmed tree--updated fixtures, but other than that, still the same.

"See that window up there?" I ask him. "That was my old bedroom."

"And see that window in the middle? That was my old bathroom. You could only get there through the closet, and there was a built-in bunk bed above an office next to the shower where friends from out of town used to sleep. That was where I found out I was pregnant with you. It was late summer in 2004 and I was wearing a long white skirt..."

We peer through the downstairs window and I give Archer a tour through what appears to be a dark and empty apartment. Either that, or the tenants are... minimal with their decor.

I tell him everything -- the whole story about the night I found myself pregnant with him. How my roommate had to hold me up because I couldn't stand. How I cried and wondered what I would do now. How I prayed even though I wasn't a pray-er...

"I wasn't ready to be a mom," I explain to him. "But I knew I was ready for you. I knew someday I would look back on that moment and it would feel like a beginning instead of an end."

He has a lot of questions -- questions he wasn't old enough for me to answer last time we talked about my pregnancy. He's always known the story. That his dad and I weren't married -- not even close -- when we decided to have a baby together. But this time, I explain to him how hard it was for me in those early weeks and months... the doubt... the fear... the love... the excitement... the fear... the doubt... the doubt.

We talk about CHOICE and why it's so important that women are given the freedom and support to recognize and act on their own instincts... that I don't know what I would have done had I felt forced...  Because FORCING choice turns it into something else entirely. And one cannot possibly know that she has made the right decision if it has been decided for her.

"You are here because of love. You are here because I KNEW."

I KNEW.

He understands.

We press our hands against a window that used to be mine and it becomes ours.

Déjà Vu

I have been here before--eleven and a half years ago when I first picked myself off the bathroom floor --before I could even THINK of how I would handle my very unplanned pregnancy.  I pictured this exact moment...  standing here... in this very spot with my son--on the outside looking in at my old life with its old staircase and blue couch.

And that's when I knew...

That I would be here one day.
With him.
Like this.

Like now.

I knew. 

I watch his eyes scan the apartment as we stand in the quiet darkness for a few moments before a dog starts sniffing my ankle and we fall back down to earth.

On the way home, Archer sits up front with me. I ask him if he's tired and he says no.

Cool 'cause neither am I.

"Time travel does that to a person," I say.

I thank him for humoring me tonight -- for listening to my stories and sharing his own. We agree that we need to get out more often, just the two of us, that we never do that and it feels... important. Like revisiting those early years when it was just us two.

Archer pauses, and then recalling how our night began, says, "You're pretty lucky you got the shooting star, you know."

He plucks the wrapper from my bag and flattens it, holding it out for us both to see.

"I know," I say.

we cannot shelter our children from the things we want them to stand up to

Depending on how old and how interested in politics your children are, chances are the topic of Donald Trump has come up. And if it hasn't, it probably will. And if it won't,well... you might want to bring it up anyway. Because for the first time in our living history, a PROUD BULLY is winning his party’s presidential nomination. 

Don't get me wrong. I don't understand how anyone could support Cruz, either. His ideas are just as scary (if not scarier) to me than Trump's. But he doesn't deliver them like a frat boy before a hazing.

And surprisingly (but at the same time, not at all surprising at all) a large part of America LOVES that about him. Because he's "tough" and "speaks his mind." Because he knows what it's like to be a rich white person struggling in America? Because bullies make you feel safe when they're your friends.

Bullies make you feel like you can do and say anything without consequences. 

Racist things. 

Sexist things. 

Hateful things. 

Trump is what happens when bullies are rewarded with attention, which is why I think Trump, in all his awfulness, is presenting parents with a FANTASTIC allegory to discuss and dismantle. Like The Emperor's New Clothes in real time. Or Yertle the Turtle with a Combover. 

Trump is a cautionary tale come to life. And I believe the ONLY good we have to gain from his presence is our willingness to discuss WHERE Trump comes from and WHY we must do what we can do to keep hate-built Frankensteins from rising to the top in the future. 

And Trump? Well, he's a child. And it’s VERY easy for a child to understand him because he is no different than the bullies on the elementary school playground. He’s an insecure kid who is acting out violently because he KNOWS he will continue to get attention when he does. 

Kids get that. 

Hell, Archer got that within two seconds of hearing Trump debate for the first time. 

"This guy is more like a toddler than a man." 

"Yup." 

...I've always felt it dangerous to teach children to do as I say... Hell, even the idea that all children must respect their elders is bullshit as far as I'm concerned. There are plenty of elders who do not deserve to be respected. There are teachers who get away with treating students like shit. And there are leaders in our nation who do the same. 

Because challenging authority is, in many cases, doing what is right. And Trump is a great example of what happens when the bully emboldens half the playground to join his team. 

...Last week I read the following article about a girl who recorded her teacher saying HIDEOUSLY insulting things to her in class. HE WAS WRONG and she knew it, so she stood up to her bully, even though he was her teacher -- even though she (and every other student) is taught to LISTEN and RESPECT authority figures.

Yeah, except when, NO. 

Just because you're a teacher with tenure doesn't mean you can get away with abusing your students. Just because you're an officer of the law doesn't mean you can get away with shooting people. 

Calling out authority figures for DOING THE WRONG THING isn't just "OKAY," it's IMPERATIVE. 

And our children should know that. They should know that growing up doesn't absolve a person -- or group of people -- of childish behavior. That children have just as much a right as anyone to challenge authority -- to call out bully behavior whether it's from a peer at school, a teacher, or a presidential candidate.

...Trump is representative of what our country has ALWAYS tried to hide about itself -- its systemic racism, classism, sexism, thirst for violence. He is, in a way, releasing all of the skeletons America has in its closet. Trump forces us to look in the mirror and to face our shit head on. ALL OF US. Children, included. Because when we don't include our kids in the global conversation, we are saying that their voices don't matter -- that their opinions aren't valid -- that they don't have control to make change. 

And they do. 

We all do...

You can read my post in its entirety, here...