Uppercase Woman

That Question

In light of my posting about the behavior of alcoholic women, someone asked me again the big question: what will we tell Tori about alcohol and drugs given our history?

I often hesitate to answer the question because I always feel like what I'm really being asked is "How can you tell your daughter not to use drugs or drink without looking like a total hypocrite?" The answer? I can't.

But the real reason I don't want to answer the question is because I know my answer won't be popular.

Although I, personally, am an addict and an alcoholic, I do not believe that there is anything inherently wrong, bad, or evil about either alcohol or even most drugs. I do not feel that it is imperative that I impart a strong "Just say NO!" message to Tori. My feelings? She's probably going to get drunk. She'll probably smoke pot. She might smoke a cigarette or two (I'm on the fence about whether or not cigarettes are evil). She might eat some 'shrooms or drop some acid. I generally hope she steers away from the big guns--cocaine and heroin--the same way I hope she steers away from conservative politics.

My friend Sandy had a great philosophy with her two sons. She told them not to put their penises anywhere without putting on a condom first, and to not get behind the wheel, or get into a car with someone else behind the wheel, intoxicated by any substance, even cold medicine. That was it. I think that makes a lot of sense, except, of course, that Tori doesn't have a penis. Of her own. Yet.

Ahem.

We will, however, be honest about our history. We will, OF COURSE, discuss the fact that most things on that list of drugs above are clearly illegal and that to partake of them is to risk considerable consequences. We will highlight, in depth, the fact that alcoholism is a genetic disease and her chances of having it are extremely high and she should approach alcohol and other drugs with great caution.

I will talk to her about how you become stupid and make dumb choices when you are intoxicated, and that you often put yourself at risk when high or drunk. I will talk to her about how often sexual assault happens to young women in those circumstances.

I will talk to her about how much I love her, how smart I think she is, and how much I wish for her to make good choices. But I will not behave like the world has come to an end if she gets drunk or high. I know lots of people will disagree with me on this, but there you go.

Now, do you want to know how I feel about teenage sex?

In Sickness and In Health

It's only been about a month since I started taking Tori to various story times and other structured play groups. While the benefits have been tremendous--Tori is getting socialized and is learning to play well with others, and is getting taught lots of cool new songs and stuff--there have been some side effects. Like the croup (which Tori is finally starting to get over).

Since we first went to our first story time only 35 days ago, Tori has had a nearly non-stop runny nose, at least one seriously bad cold, and now the croup. Charlie and I have both been sick as well, and I developed a bronchitis serious enough that it took two rounds of antibiotics to beat it back (I'm prone to lung stuff, being a lifelong asthmatic and a former smoker. Lung bacteria lurves me).

I realize this is pretty run-of-the-mill stuff for most people, especially those who have kids in daycare. Because Tori was pretty much sequestered from other kids until recently, she is only now starting to get sick (prior to this last month, she had one stomach bug, and one cold, in over a year). But since it's all new to me, I'm finding that I have a bunch of questions. First, is being sick actually good for her--does fighting off these minor illnesses help build her immune system (as I've been led to believe)? Secondly, is there any thing more I can do to protect her (other than keeping her home)? Third, what (if any) impact is her continuing breast feeding having on these illnesses?

I've always been pretty relaxed about her bacteria and germ exposure because I firmly believe that American society has become germ obsessed. Bacteria exist for a reason, and our obsession with killing them is causing major environmental problems. Bacteria are, after all, alive--and they want to stay that way. So when we beat them back with antibiotics, they fight back and become "super bugs" that are resistant to most antibiotics. Persistent use of antibacterial products in the home has the same affect. A study in 2004 by the Annals of Internal Medicine found that using those products in the home did NOTHING to decrease the number of illnesses the folks in the house had (think of all the money wasted on these antibacterial products--sheesh).

There is also a little something called the Hygiene Hypothesis. This theory holds that the massive increase in diseases like asthma are due to humanity becoming a bit too clean; that our immune systems don't have to work very hard anymore and we are therefore becoming ill more easily. This makes a lot of sense to me, based on personal experience.

When I was an infant, I had asthma. This wasn't all THAT long ago (not quite forty years)--and asthma was so incredibly rare then that no one was willing to diagnose me with it. Even though I started suffering asthma attacks when I was not much younger than Tori is now, I didn't actually receive the label of "asthmatic" until I was five. In school, my asthma was ignored and dismissed by nearly everyone--even my teachers--until I would wheeze so hard that I couldn't stand up. It was a new disease--and that was in the 1970s. Now, nearly 5% of all Americans are now diagnosed with asthma. 

I don't know about you, but that's pretty overwhelming information right there.

Hygiene Hypothesis suggests that children, in particular, benefit from exposure to both bacteria and allergens. Farm children are far less likely to have hay fever and other allergies than city kids. In a wild touch of irony, kids in countries that routinely get intestinal parasites NEVER get irritable bowel disease or Crone's disease. Younger children in large families tend to develop fewer allergies than other kids, possibly because of the bacteria exposure they get from their older siblings.

So if you buy into the Hygiene Hypothesis, Tori is going to ultimately benefit from being sick now, even if I hate it, and she is uncomfortable. Truth is, Tori doesn't get all that sick when she's ill, and never stays sick for very long. The virus that gave me the bronchitis only lasted two days for Tori. The stomach flu that caused Charlie to vomit over 70 times in three days made her throw up only once. Personally, I believe that breastfeeding is one of the reasons why Tori is able to combat these illnesses so easily, and this article here agrees with me (in fact, that article claims that "premature" termination of nursing can make kids sicker, which could explain my asthma since my mother--like so many moms--was only able to nurse me for a few weeks. I mention this not to make moms feel bad--I promise--I just found it interesting personally). However, Tori's buddy Sam who lives two doors down from us is also still nursing (at two) and he's been chronically ill with various ear and respiratory ailments his whole life (and his mom is vegan and pretty healthy herself). So, basically, who fucking knows? It seems like a crap shoot.

The last point I want to consider is this: how can I help Tori's immune system more? I hope to keep nursing her until she's at least two (I'm going to try--my constant migraine battle may interfere), but what else can I do?

Ironically, lately we Americans have come to embrace some bacteria--the bacteria that lives in yogurt. Of course, no one calls that bacteria; we call it "live cultures" and "probiotics." But no matter how you slice it, it IS bacteria--but good bacteria. This bacteria actually helps your intestinal track provide you with immunity. There are lots of new products out there capitalizing on this trend, and even Moxie agrees that probiotics can help a number of ailments and overall health (and we all know that Moxie's word is law). We do try to give Tori yogurt daily (she likes the "tubes" which I can cut a teeny tiny hole in and she can toddle around sucking on), but she doesn't always want it. Moxie suggests using unsweetened Kefir, and I might try adding some of that to Tori's milk.

What about vitamins? We haven't been giving Tori vitamins. It appears that the experts don't agree on the vitamin issue, but most agree that as long as they aren't too high-test they can't hurt. What about herbs? Sites like this one suggest that herbs such as echinaceia and others can help boost Tori's immunity, but I don't know. I use herbs personally, but since they aren't very well regulated and some herbs have been found to have both much higher and much lower chemical elements in them than the bottles claim, I'm not sure how safe it is (I know there will be plenty of you that know of some brand of herbs that is really! truly! safe! but still).

One lucky stroke of fate that may help Tori's immunity in the long run is that she has not yet been exposed to antibiotics (other than what may have filtered in through my breast milk). That's not due to any line in the sand we drew or anything, it's merely the luck of the draw and the fact that Tori has not been sick enough--yet--to need them. That's apparently good news, though, since recently a link between antibiotic use and asthma has been found. There is also little doubt now that antibiotics also kill off the "good" bacteria in our systems (that's why we women always get a yeast infection when we take antibiotics--I've always been able to fight this off by eating yogurt every day I take any antibiotics), and the lack of "good" flora and fauna in our intestines can decrease our resistance to viruses.

Ultimately, I have no more answers after reading through all of the links I provided above than I did before. I do feel like my basic instincts are correct, and I can list things in good and bad categories. "Good" being probiotics, extended breastfeeding, vitamins, and basic hand washing in soap and water. "Bad" is (unnecessary) antibiotics and anti-bacterial products*.

So I guess I will mostly continue to go on as I have been. The only things I plan to change is to put more effort into keeping things out of Tori's mouth (the toys at the library--yikes), washing her hands more, and adding in a daily vitamin and more probiotics. Other than that, I guess Tori is just going to have to spend some time being sick.

Next, working on my own immunity issues so that I don't need two courses of antibiotics to get over a serious bronchial infection. Sigh.

*You will note that I did not bring up vaccines. That's because I don't want to talk about them here. If you feel like you must discuss them, do it kindly and without judgment. I do not want a vaccine war here, please, I'm begging you. If we can be civil about abortion, surely we can be civil about the whole vaccine issue. And if you are wondering, yes, we vaccinate. But I have no feelings WHATSOEVER about whatever decision you've made on that issue. M'kay?

Gone Daddy Gone

Voting is still open until tomorrow on the blog title! Currently, Uppercase Woman and Writ Large are fighting for the top spot. Cast your vote now!

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According to the 2000 Census report, 20 million kids under the age of 18 lived in single-parent households at that time. 16.5 million live with single mothers, and 3.3 million live with their fathers (of that 3.3 million, about a third live with their unmarried partners, while only a tenth of mothers live with an unmarried partner). That's about 6.7% of all children living with a single parent.

In 1970, when I stopped having two parents, about 5% of kids lived with just one parent. I didn't feel like an oddball kid, not having a dad. For a year, my mother and I lived with a group of women who were all also divorced and raising a kid alone, so I was one of many kids without a dad. But once I started going to school, I felt the difference. My mother was treated differently (it seemed to me) by my teachers. Other kids made fun of me for not having a dad.

Of course, part of that was because while there were plenty of other kids of divorce around, they saw their dads on weekends. Those dads showed up at the band concerts and the teacher conferences. But not me, and not my dad. My father simply vanished out of my life.

My childhood memories of my father are nearly non-existent. I have a very dim memory of him visiting once when I was three or four years old, and I thought he was a fireman because he had a huge (to me) red pickup truck. (This is ironic, of course, because my father later went on to become a firefighter, and then died in a house fire he caused). But other than that hazy memory, I don't remember him as a young man.

I had a lot of substitute fathers. There were a few men around my mother and I that were kind to us (not men she dated--she kept her dating habits away from me), like John Pugh, an acupuncturist married to a beautiful Mexican woman and built adobe houses for the poor. But most of my substitute dads were famous--John Lennon (who my father did bear a passing resemblance to), Jim Henson (don't ask me why--it's not like I saw him on television or anything, but I cried like a baby when he died), and other singers like Pete Seeger, and even John Denver (any man with round glasses like my dad was a substitute).

When I was in high school I read an article about the psychological impact of not having a father. Girls who lost their fathers to death tended to be grasping and clingy in relationships with men, and girls who lost their fathers by divorce often push their partners away. Although at that moment in my life I'd only been in one serious relationship (Paul, my boyfriend throughout high school), I felt a chill of recognition-- only two days before I'd dumped Paul mercilessly, then let him walk about thirty feet away before running after him and begging him to take me back.

I've talked before about having a Daddy-shaped hole in my heart, and how deeply the absence of my father has effected me. Now that my father is dead and I'm a mother, that absence has become even more intense and overwhelming. Especially now. Now that Tori is the age I was when my father left.

Maybe Tori is too attached to us--after all, she's home with both of us all day. But if Charlie leaves the house, even if it's just to take the trash out, Tori cries loudly and intensely (although it only lasts a moment). If he's gone for the afternoon, when he comes home Tori's face lights up and she shrieks with joy.

If he was gone--really gone, for good--she would know.

Earlier in my life I comforted myself when I thought of my father by saying I didn't know what I was missing--after all, I didn't remember him. But Tori would know it if Charlie left, and she would grieve his loss intensely and it would effect her for the rest of her life. How could I have imagined that I was left unscathed?

I'm trying to acknowledge and accept the feelings (which have been constant and intense) I've been having about this. The feelings have been coming out all sideways, of course: I've been rotten to Charlie lately, fighting and bullying him for no reason. I did a photographic self-portrait about it for my 52 Weeks project on Flickr, and now I'm writing about it here. But I know I'm barely scratching the surface.

Tori is lucky. There is no way that Charlie would ever leave her. It's why I married him, and why I wanted to have children with him. She will never have a daddy-shaped hole in her heart; instead, her heart will be, god willing, full of love and hope because not only does she have a daddy, she has one that loves her beyond reason.

I wish every little girl could be so lucky. The truth is, there are 20 million other kids out there that are currently running around with parent-shaped holes in their hearts. I don't know what can be done about this--you can't force someone to parent, and frankly, some people shouldn't BE parents--but it makes me sad to think about all of us with our broken hearts, trying to live in this world and be in relationships with each other.

Not to sound like a completely ridiculous and trite romantic, but I do believe that love is possible, and that love can heal. After all, after years of floundering, I managed to find it. And when I watch Charlie with Tori, a little bit of the sadness I feel about not having a father is lifted away. I doubt that I will ever be whole in that way, but I can rest easy knowing that I was lucky enough to stumble on a good man that will love my daughter (and me) for the rest of our lives.

Broken hearts can be mended, after all. Even the hearts of little fatherless girls like me.

Consistency, the Impossible Dream

Hello Daily Kos visitors! If you are interested in my story about having a "partial birth abortion", a great place to start is here.

We now resume normal blogging.

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Now that my daughter is a bit older and walking around, it has become significantly more challenging to keep her out of trouble. She's only been walking for a little over a month and she is into EVERYTHING.

I know all you other moms are nodding your heads and saying, oh, yes, I know what you mean. I'm not sure you do. When I mean everything, I mean EVERYFUCKINGTHING. At the story hour at the library, Tori doesn't just pull books off the shelves, grab all of the toys, and steal pacifiers from other parent's infant car seats. She will also rummage through your purse if you left it on the floor, go through the trash behind the librarian's desk, and attempt to operate the CD player being used during story time.

I watch everyone else's kids, and I have spotted exactly THREE other kids as mobile, insistent, stubborn and grabby as Tori. And while I realize that many of the kids at the story hour are older than Tori is (usually we go to the ones offered for kids two and under, and she's not quite 16 months old), they ALL seem to listen to verbal commands better than Tori does.

I'm sure that more experienced moms are chuckling along and rolling their eyes at my plight. Sure, it doesn't rank very high on the world peace scale, but it's still scary. Tori will pick up everything from the ground and put it in her mouth. No, really, everything. She eats the dog's food. She eats dirty Kleenex if she can find it. She has pulled a lamp in the living room off the table four different times and shattered the light bulb. Not too long ago I found her sucking on a bottle of insect repellent that was zippered into her diaper bag.

I understand, from reliable sources, that children do not learn anything resembling impulse control until they are two. But Tori is nearly as agile as the two-year-olds we know (really, she is--I'm not just saying that cause I think she's special), which leaves me with a smart, physically talented kid that has no desire or willingness or (OK, I'll concede the point) capacity for responding to her parent's shrieks of OH MY GOD STOP STOP STOP.

What's even more frustrating is that when I mention this to some parents I know, they say things like, "Oh, we never even put up a baby gate--we just trained him/her/them to not go in areas they weren't allowed." Really? With what, a fucking cattle prod? Cause short of electrical shocks, I'm not sure Tori is trainable. And knowing her, she'd just laugh cause they tickled.

Advice from this site says:

Toddlers need to feel independent and capable.You can help them use their developing language skills to label their own and others' actions. Learning to describe actions, thoughts, and feelings with words is key to having good impulse control.

Oh, thanks. That is so helpful. Now I'll just say, "Tori, you are really great at pulling the lamp over and I know you think it's fun. But it throws the lamp to the floor and makes the bulb shatter into a million pieces that will cut up your little feet--whoops! See what I mean?"

I'm sure THAT will help.

I understand that the key to success in this area is consistency. When I was discussing this with my best friend this morning, she was discussing how much easier it is to be inconsistent. When you're tired, you don't want to have to fly off the couch and go grab the kid away from the bowl of dog food. It's not like it's poison for fuck's sake--let her eat it. I (much to other mother's shock and chagrin) allow Tori to chew on sticks she picks up at the park (I guess it's my vet tech experience that's to blame there--after all, dogs like chewing sticks, why not kids?). But of course she can't be expected to know the difference between a stick and someone's half-gnawed candy bar or a tasty bit of dog poop.

I do try. I really do. But toss my husband into the mix and consistency becomes utterly IMPOSSIBLE.

When Charlie and I first met, I had a wonderful little dog named Misty. I'd trained Misty to not beg while I was eating. She knew that when I was done eating I'd put the plate on the floor (oh, stopping saying ew--dog's mouths have an enzyme in their saliva that is practically antibacterial) and then it would be all hers. But when Charlie started hanging out at my house, he was so eager to get in her good graces that he began feeding her little tidbits off his plate constantly, and just like that, poof! Eight years of dog training went out the window.

So if I try to tell Tori that everything on the top shelf of the end table is OFF LIMITS and take her hands off the things she's trying to grab, a half-hour later I'll catch my husband obligingly unplugging the baby monitor that sits there and letting her play with it.

But it's not just him. He's way more safety conscious than I am, so when Tori crawls to the edge of our bed he will say "No!" and pull her away from it, while I allow her to push the boundaries there--the end result being that she's fallen off the bed three times in my care, and none in his.

Sarah said it's like training a dog, but it's not. Dogs are way easier. Dogs start at loud noises instead of turning around and laughing and indicating that the noise (usually consisting of me yelling NO or STOP or DON'T) should be repeated cause it was so funny. Not one dog that I've trained has ever done that. Dogs spit out things that taste bad instead of trying a different section of the same thing because it might be different on that corner! Dogs also don't usually pull lamps off end tables. Well, OK, sometimes they do.

There is, of course, one way to instill impulse control or train kids Tori's age--hitting them. Slapping hands, spanking, whatever. I won't, and can't, do it. I don't think it really helps the kid in the long term, and I can't be the one that causes pain (at least not until she's a teenager and then it will be angst and not pain).

Short of that, I'm totally at a loss. It makes it difficult to take Tori places, even the houses of my friends with kids. Where most children are content to play with the offered toys, Tori wants to play with the stereo equipment and pull nails out of the wall or screws out of the screen door (no, really). She's smart, stubborn, clever, willful, and a problem solver--and short of six-foot high brick walls (or, OK, a well-placed baby gate) nothing will keep her out of what she wants to get into. Nothing.

Shit. That sounds an awful lot like her mother...

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I just want to add a quick note about the current debacle concerning the new social website owned by Google called Orkut (like Myspace and Facebook). Apparently, every single teenager in Brazil has decided it is hilarious to steal images of little kids Tori's age from Flickr and creating fake profiles for them on Orkut. If you've been checking out Tori's photos on Flickr, you may have noticed that I've marked them all friends and family only now to try to prevent her from getting her very own profile (you can send me an email within Flickr if you want me to friend you so you can still view them). Sarah has more info about it here. Orkut has apparently been in trouble already with the law regarding child pornography, so if you have public images of your kiddos out there on the web, you might want to check it out. Yuck.

One Tiny Battle in the Mommy Wars

Most people, when they talk about the "mommy wars" are discussing the endless debate about whether or not it's better to be a stay-at-home mom or a work-outside-the-home mom. There's the shaming of "oh my god, you've "opted out" and are now bringing down all women everywhere." Then there is the lengthy discussion about "who makes a good mother." Then there are the "but I thought being a mom was an important job but now everyone thinks I'm boring" articles.

But I don't want to talk about any of THOSE aspects of the "mommy wars". I want to talk about the dynamics of the story hour.*

Since I wrote about my first story hour experience, I have gone to five story hours at four different libraries. Why so many? Well, I'm lucky enough to live in a large urban area and have probably a dozen libraries or more within ten miles of my house. Also, because I know Tori needs to spend more time around other kids and this is a great way to do it, and I want Tori to value libraries the way I do. But the real reason is because hardly anyone speaks to me at any of them, and I keep hoping I'm going to find the perfect fit.

Here are the stats and a brief accounting of each library:

Library 1

Located in the center of my inner-ring very old suburb, this one had the smallest attendance with only about ten parents and kids. While my town is demographically about 50% African American and 50% Caucasian (with a smattering of other races), two thirds of the children and parents present were white. Mostly moms present, but there was one dad. The story "hour" consisted of three books and three songs, with books and songs alternating, and a lovely and engaged story time coordinator. The parents all sat with their kids in a circle and participated in the activities (singing, clapping, mooing, etc). After story time, everyone hung around and the kids all played with the library-provided toys and books. This was my most friendly experience; almost every mother chatted with me a bit, although during play time the group split clearly along racial lines with the African-American moms going off to their own corner. Tori was mostly well behaved, not hitting or grabbing too much (with the major exception, of course, being the binky stealing episode).

Library 2

Located the next town over, another old inner-ring suburb, but one significantly more well-to-do than mine, and much less racially diverse (in fact, most folks in this town are white Catholics). This story hour happens to be at my library of choice (featuring the best book selection for adults, and cool trans-gendered librarians). This story hour was huge-- 32 kids and moms--and everyone was white, white, white. Here we were all shuttled off into special room for story hour, and the format was again three stories and songs alternating and the reader was enthusiastic and engaging. All the mothers eagerly participated, singing along and clapping, etc. The only mother that spoke to me at any length was also there for the first time, and a bit worried because she'd brought her three-year-old daughter to the "infant" story time and was afraid it would upset people. All other mothers ignored me completely, even when I spoke to them directly (all I got was faint smiles). Tori was very good and danced and sang and clapped and didn't steal any toys or binkys.

Library 3

Located two towns over, in an outer-ring suburb where all the big chain stores live, this one is in a solidly middle-class neighborhood. The format again included books and songs, but also included some counting games and other things, and was also in a separate room from the main children's section. About 25 kids and moms (and the same one dad that came to Library 1) were there and the group was almost all white but with two Indian moms and kids. This library offers two story hours, one at 10am and another at 11am, nearly every day of the week and has two librarians (additional bonus--a playground right next door). Who spoke to me? The two Indian women, and another mom with a ten-month-old daughter (her baby was wearing a black t-shirt--the only time I've seen a girl at these story hours not wearing pink or flowers or frills--and that includes Tori). Everyone else said "Thank you" to my complements about their kids and promptly turned away from me. Tori was well behaved and roamed the room at will, and I will say that every mom she stopped by included her in their singing and gave her big smiles.

Library 4

Located in West Philadelphia, near two major universities and the home base for the local anarchist movement, I thought that HERE was where I'd find my people. West Philly is pretty much like the United Nations; you name a country, and someone from there lives in West Philly. At this group the format included books, songs, and a craft (making play dough pizzas), but the librarian was very nervous and didn't let all the kids see the books while she read them, and she read too fast. None of the parents sang along to the music, so neither did the kids, adding to the librarian's anxiety. While there were only a dozen kids and parents there, this was by far the most ethnically diverse group--Tori was one of only three Caucasian kids and the crowd included at least four different languages being spoken. While everyone spoke to me, only one mom chatted with me at length and then the group split along racial lines again (there was another lone dad there, but he didn't even make eye contact). Tori was more tired and hungry this time and she had a hard time sitting still; she stole the librarian's puppet, tried to knock over the CD player, and ran out of the room three times. But because this library doesn't have a regular story hour, most of us were there for the first time.

...

So it seems that no matter what I do, I cannot crack the code and get these other moms to chat with me. I've included a lot of information above, but I really want to make it clear that I'm not basing my impressions on just one library, or just one town, or even one demographic or type of neighborhood. At each library I've wandered around the room, following Tori, and I've tried to say something chatty but mild to each mother I've met (like, "your daughter is beautiful!" or "I just love that dress on her"). The only folks that spoke to me long enough for introductions were at Library 1 (although today at Library 4 I thought I recognized someone, and we introduced ourselves). At each one I've kept my tattoos demurely covered, and I've arrived clean and unstained. But still, no luck in making new mom friends.

I have no doubt that Tori is benefiting from all these story times. She has a great time, and we're getting her lots of kid exposure. But I have not felt this ostracized by other women since I was in middle school. I realized that this was bothering me when I began contemplating going shopping for clothes for the first time since I left an outside-the-home job. I need to get some new clothes for cooler weather, and without even realizing it, I started looking online at outfits I've seen the other moms wearing at story hour--meaning, t-shirts covered with light hoodies and matching track pants.

Because I have noticed a uniform, and it's not just the clothes or the moms. The women all look very similar; hair is usually in a ponytail, and they all wear mascara but not lipstick. The little boys are all dressed in casual but rugged clothes, but the girls are always very girlie and almost ALL have something in their hair; barrettes or ponytails or ribbons or bows.

I do realize that this could change; after all, I have only gone to one place twice (tomorrow will be my third time at Library 2) and it could take a while for folks to become chatty. But the one factor that is present at each story hour is ME.

Sigh.

I know I intimidate people (this is a chronic problem for those of us with strong personalities) so it could be that. I have been the only "fat" mom at each library (although I'm sure some of those moms would claim they were fat, they weren't). I've been the only tattooed mom, and often the only one with just one child, and sometimes the only one without a ring (I get a rash under my wedding ring if I wear it all the time, and these days it's off more than it's on). But I do have a cute baby wearing cute clothes (often brand name!). So why can't I get any traction with these other moms?

I probably wouldn't even care if my little fledging play group hadn't died; the other mom in the group simply stopped responding to my emails. So I'm beginning to feel like there is something seriously wrong with me. What gives? I'm not really someone with low self-esteem, but MAN. Make me regularly face a bunch of women I don't know, and damn if I'm not just as awkward and uncomfortable as I was in seventh grade. Why do we, as moms, do this to each other?

I'll keep going to story hour, but I might have to stop thinking it's a place I'll make friends and instead just know it's a place that Tori will get to play with other kids and hear some good books being read. But that makes me very sad. I will say this; I'm not going to bother covering my tattoos anymore. Fuck it.

*I just want to note that all of this nonsense is the luxury of the middle and upper classes; poor women don't worry about this shit. They face other, more compelling issues like were discussed in the comment section of my last post, such as "If I get too big a raise I'll lose my state-funded health care and my kids will have to use the emergency room for their medical treatment" and "I can't afford regular daycare, so do I trust my kids to the woman down the street that runs an unlicensed daycare out of her house and chain smokes?" The so-called "Mommy Wars" are the luxury of the well-fed and the well off. So please know that I understand that as I talk about my recent experiences on the "mommy war" battlefront.

Manners

I think I know, now, why I can't get paid to blog. It's because I'm not making myself understood, and regardless of what that pesky Saint Francis prayer says, it's really more important to be understood than understand. Right?

Heh.

To make myself clear, I wasn't mad at the binky woman. I was confounded by her response, and her unwillingness to let me help her by washing the binky off. Having spent only a little time around moms I don't know well, I wasn't really sure if my behavior was what was expected and appropriate (after all, the last big gathering I went to with a lot of kids was at a fellow blogger's and there was much stealing among the kids of sippy cups, and no one minded). Her reaction--meaning not giving the binky back to her kid--made sense. I'm the only freak around who is totally pro-bacteria, and that's only because I feel certain that the current anti-bacterial craze is going to lead to most of humanity dying off in the future from the common cold.

But I digress.

Someone mentioned that perhaps my tattoos intimidated the woman, but no. I carefully wore a t-shirt that covers my arms up so that I won't have to jump that hurdle at our first story hour. In unknown groups, I always opt for the tattoo reveal to be later rather than sooner (ever since someone referred to me and Charlie as "bikers with that big pit bull" I've been cautious).

I realize, in the scheme of things, that this incident wasn't at all a big deal. I mean, today I met a woman who's daughter-in-law just delivered a stillborn daughter at 35 weeks. That's big stuff, and it's horrible and sad and tragic and critical. My failed bonding with a stranger that lives in my small 'burb pales in comparison.

The reason the incident struck me, however, is because I've been thinking a great deal about manners--about teaching manners to Tori.

If I can give Tori four things in life, I want them to be intellectual curiosity, a love of reading, trust in her mind and body, and manners. I want Tori to say "please" and "thank you" and to not interrupt adults unless it's an emergency. The importance of manners in children came through to me big time this summer at our pool club--which was full of manner-less, toy-stealing, bullying children (one kid actually stole a toy out of Tori's hand and then told me it was his, the little jerk). Our local magazine even has a huge cover story on "How well-meaning Philadelphians are screwing up their kids," so I'm not the only one that has this stuff on my mind.

Focusing on this issue has made me review MY manners. Which suck ass. I often ask things of Charlie without saying please or thank you. I yell at the dog to get out of my way without being kind to him and I toss the cats unceremoniously off the table without an explanation or gentleness.

And I see Tori's big blue eyes watching, watching, watching. So, lately, I've been much more aware of my behavior and I've really made a concerted effort to be pleasant, kind, and respectful of everyone--including that damn cat that thinks she can be on the dining room table. I want Tori to have empathy, and to be kind, and to realize that she broke that little boy's heart a teeny bit (only in the moment, of course) when she stole his binky. He cried because of what she did, and what she did was rude.

I know she's too young yet to have anything resembling impulse control, but I still know that I have to change how I behave if I'm going to effect her behavior.

So while it wasn't a big deal, I just wanted reassurance from you guys that I wasn't out of line, because I'm still learning here. And while it may be a small thing, it fits into the bigger picture. Now do you see what I mean?

OK! OK! I'll GIVE THE TV UP!

It's funny. Out of all those comments I got, only a handful of folks said, "That's too much TV!" OK, plus a bunch of people sent me private emails. But those are the ones that are sticking with me.

I do feel uncomfortable with it. I guess that's why I brought it up. So we're going to try to cut it down and see how she does. But I do have to say a handful of things in my defense. Ready?

1. Tori is not, at all, mesmerized by the television. When it's on, she looks it at now and then, but mostly she runs around the living room. She plays with her toys, she reads her books, and sometimes--if there is music on the television--she dances to it. If she plopped down on her butt in front of it and was hypnotized, we would have cut it out a while ago.

2. I don't allow her to watch anything that is too loud, to frantic, or too stupid. She watches few or no commercials if I can help it. We like to choose shows that feature music.

3. Sesame Street taught me to read.

Let's talk about that third one.

My television time was pretty restricted as a kid. I watched those early PBS shows, like Sesame Street (first generation!) and The Electric Company. There was also Zoom!  My mom let me watch M*A*S*H sometimes, and I hovered around when she watched the news (I still remember footage from Vietnam). I wasn't allowed to watch cartoons (too violent) but I did sometimes turn the TV on with no sound before my mom woke up to watch them (sorry Mom) on Saturday mornings. Of course the TV died when I was five and my mom never replaced it, so after that my viewing was restricted to other people's houses (which really fucked me when I played TV tag at school).

The summer before I started first grade I went to stay with my paternal Grandmother for a few weeks. She had been an elementary school teacher, and to entertain me (or distract me) she gave me a bunch of early reading workbooks she still had lying around even though she'd retired. Thanks to the solid foundation I had in the alphabet from Sesame Street (and my mom, too, but Sesame Street made it visual), I taught myself to read.

By the time I got to first grade, I was able to easily read books (even chapter books).

Admittedly, this caused no end of trouble for me. When I returned the first grade reader to the teacher a day or two after she distributed it and asked her for the next one, she was completely flummoxed. She asked me to read some of it to her, which I did, then to read some other books to her, which I did. Finally she pulled a novel out of her purse and had me read that to her.

Eventually, she and my mother managed to argue my way into second grade, but I still read better than all my classmates. Today I still read voraciously (three books a week or so), and quickly (I read so fast that when Sarah and I were first roommates, she thought I was faking it).

So even though Sesame Street isn’t now what it once was (I have a DVD of the old show, though), it’s still pretty good. I’m going to let Tori still watch an episode while she eats breakfast.

But right now she’s sitting at my feet playing with pointy kitchen utensils* while we play classical music on the radio. That’s better, right?

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So here is something that is really fucking weird.

A few weeks ago I decided to join the 52 Weeks project on Flickr; so every week for the next year I'm going to take a self-portrait and post it to the group. Sound familiar? It is--I'm totally imitating Sarah and her 365 project (now in year two!). But imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, no?

So my first shot was nice and tame, my second one was funny, and I decided to really go for it with the third one. Don't click on it at work--might not be work appropriate. After all, with Sarah as my mentor, it means there has to be nudity. I thought that it would be really wild to take close up shots of my nipples with milk coming out of them.

So I did, and they came out cool. But in the process I got milk everywhere, and I ended up tasting some from both nipples (what? you don't lick it off when it gets on your hands?). And here's what's fucked up and weird: the milk? from my left nipple? IT TASTES BITTER AND SALTY. But the milk from the right boob? Just as sweet as ever.

Tori hasn't been nursing on the left side for a while, and no fucking wonder! Has this happened to anyone else? For some reason I'm completely freaked out by this.


*Tori's playing with a whisk and a bowl. Obviously I was kidding.

Mother Experts

It's clear to me that you all know what you're doing, while I am floundering in a sea of ignorance and confusion.

It's also clear that there are about five ways to treat diaper rash (with a few interesting additions involving hair dryers): butt paste of some flavor; using a stomach acid product like mylanta or maalox; the airing of said butt; treating it as a yeast infection; and changing the diet. All that out of 100+ responses.

Thank you, thank you.

Tori is getting better. It's still red, but not nearly as much of her butt is involved, and she's clearly in less pain. We're doing as many hours sans diaper as we can, using the Triple Paste, and also using an anti-fungal antibiotic cream. Hopefully in another day or so it will be gone completely. I feel much relieved.

By the way, if you ever want to feel better about your child's diaper rash? Do a google image search for diaper rash (not for the faint hearted). I feel MUCH better now--Tori was not nearly as bad (although she did look most like the poor girl in the center with the tastefully placed tongue depressor-- although Tori had less vulvar (?) involvement). Poor kids. You'll note, also, that the images of yeast infections are just as bad. And they don't look all that different. But Tori is getting better.

Speaking of google searches, it's been nearly TWO YEARS since I've posted some of the searches that land poor folks on this blog. One made me laugh so hard last night that I thought I just had to do another one of those posts. So here are a few of my favorites, with my comments.

1. Fat cunt. I am pleased to still be #5 on the list of google searches for this one. I don't know why I think that is AWESOME. But I do. Other variations include "big fat cunts" and "fat ho."

2. Birth control weight gain. Oh, I can tell you something about weight gain. But not much about birth control. Note title of blog.

3. Wedding crap educate. Seriously? And I'm #5 on this list too. Are we teaching folks how to take a crap at a wedding? What an interesting idea. Bet that's an untapped fringe segment of the seriously bloated wedding market.

4. My sister is a fuckhead how do I kill her. Good lord. My recommendation? Don't. Instead, go to therapy. Just a thought. I'm #4 on that search (wtf?). Note to self: perhaps consider decreasing use of the word fuckhead.

5. Floating boobs. Now I know why I get this one; it's this post where I talked about how buoyant I am and how my boobs float when I swim. Luckily, I've found the cure for this one: Breastfeeding! Now my boobs stay politely below the water line. It's so much easier to swim without them bopping me in the face constantly.

6. My breasts soar when I menstruate. Wow! Really? That must be something to see. For some reason, that makes me think of this. And then I laugh myself silly.

Help! Severe Diaper Rash **Edited**

Tori has an absolutely HORRIBLE diaper rash. So red and raw it's actually bleeding... and she screams and cries when we change her! It's awful.

She was a bit red over the last week and I faithfully applied Balmex and it got better, than all of a sudden it was flaming red, then it was blistering and bleeding.

I called the pediatrician and we got a different butt paste (we've been using it for 24 hours) but it's not improving. We stopped using wipes (per the doc) and are using damp paper towels instead. We've been using Aveeno bath to try to sooth it a bit during bath time. She's currently sleeping in her crib sans diaper to try to get some air to it.

I feel AWFUL.

So, what the fuck caused this? Is it that juice that had some citrus in it? Is it the pool? Is it because I switched from Strawberry to Blueberry Smoothers shampoo? What did I do wrong?

I've tried the doctor, now it's time to ask the REAL experts. Moms, HELP! What else can we do?

**Edited to add**

Dudes, really? It doesn't look like the yeast did last time--no bumps, just red, blister-y skin! Totally looks different. Also, it's not in the folds as severely as it is on her actual bum...

10 Things I learned While Camping This Weekend With A One-Year-Old: In the order in which I learned them.

1. Hey, this isn't so bad! All you need is someplace safe to stick the baby while you set everything up, and it will be fine! (we brought Abubabe with us and set it up as it was intended and it worked well).

2. The tent--which usually causes a HUGE FIGHT during set up--goes up very quickly if you simply do not read the instructions. Because the instructions are WRONG. No, really.

3. If your one-year-old decides she's had enough, she will sit in her little play yard jail and weep piteously.

4. If you allow your one-year-old to toddle happily around the outside of the play yard, she will be nearly as confined and will do laps contentedly around the outside--until she remembers she can crawl.

5. If you allow your one-year-old to toddle around the picnic table, however, she will very gently slip just the tiniest bit and end up whacking her cheek on the edge of the seat bench and even though she didn't hit it very hard it will begin to swell rapidly and fill with blood.

6. Your injured daughter will NOT understand why you need to apply some mad pressure to her boo boo to prevent a major hematoma from occurring on her face and will cry and cry and cry and you will feel HORRIBLE.

7. Ten minutes later she will not remember the injury and will demand to toddle around the table again.

8. If you are camping, your child will get filthy. And I mean FILTHY.

9. If you are patient, she will, eventually sleep outside. Well, in the tent, but you know what I mean.

10. If you decide after the trip is done that you really aren't ready to go home, and choose to instead stay at a dog-friendly hotel overnight, but you are out of clothes for you and the baby and your husband so you have to go to the nearest store to do a bit of shopping, and that store happens to be a Walmart, you will totally blend in with your filthy camping clothes and your baby with a black eye. No one even blinks.

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Full photos of the trip here. It really went very well.