everyday life and other joyful fiascos
Raising children to be acceptable humans is hard. And when I say “acceptable,” I mean we’re doing our damnedest to raise our son and daughter to be progressive minded, inclusive, and unapologetically intersectional feminist people. It’s a daily challenge, but it’s full of magic, too.
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Continue reading “Opossum Opposites: Fosters Empathy & Environmental Awareness”
How long can I get away with calling it “baby weight” until it’s just weight? Not that I have to “get away” with anything. I don’t owe anyone but myself an explanations about anything pertaining to my body.
Continue reading “When “Baby Weight” Overstays Its Welcome: New Me vs. Old Me”My tender mother’s heart recently sustained a stinging injury. It was a minor pin prick of reality. But it hurt. I doubt if my son even registered what happened, but I did. Memories of the long, painful process of learning to fit my square peg self into the round hole world I grew up in came flooding back to me.
My kindergartener, “Sweetie Bird,” participated in his school’s annual fundraiser. For each goal level the school reached, they earned a reward. One day was no uniform day. Another day was crazy socks & hats day. I loaned Sweetie Bird a colorful striped hat of mine and some multicolored striped socks that he pulled up over his pants all the way up his thighs. At home, before he left for school, he was thrilled with his look. Those boney striped legs were killing me. I swoon hard over his whimsical tendencies.
Continue reading “Stay Weird, My Darling Child: How kids help us rediscover our strange & beautiful selves”I’m a 41-year-old white woman married to a 42-year-old white man. We have two children and we benefit from a lot of totally unearned privilege in this world thanks to the color of our skin and the size of our bank account. Our six-year-old son, “Sweetie Bird,” and our baby daughter are automatically set on a course to follow in our footsteps just for being born into our family. It’s our responsibility to make absolutely sure that they understand their privileges and that they share the world with others who have not been dealt such a lucky hand.
My son was an only child for five and a half years. They say that oldest children and only children listen to more adult conversation, so they learn adult vocabulary, too.
Just for fun, I picked a few recent gems that had me almost crying. Since my precocious little Sweetie Bird almost never stops talking, it’s a good thing he is funny AF. Otherwise, I’d need a lot more of daytime cocktails. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.
Two weeks before the miscarriage, the doctor showed us the lovely beating heart of our week seven fetus. Then she turned to me and said, “Gina, I’m concerned.” She said a lot of things after that about the size of the yolk sac relative to the other measurements and what this almost inevitably meant for the baby.
Miscarriage. Soon. But not yet.
My six-year-old son is, rightly, kind of disgruntled about the education he’s been getting around here – from me!
It all began innocently enough when we started watching RBG tonight during family dinner. It’s a school night though, so we’ll have to finish it tomorrow. It’s a special thing to watch TV during dinner, but a really special occasion to watch during dinner on a school night.
It’s not every day, or even every month that my son and I are infatuated with the same TV show, but the new Carmen Sandiego changes everything! I’m feeling pretty damn hip right now TBH because Netflix’s new re-boot of the iconic character has only been out for a few weeks and I have seen it all. Cutting edge – à la mode – Zeitgeist – finger on the pulse – that’s me.
The show impressed me so much, I’d watch it again. I can’t wait for the live action movie and the next season to come out! Season two is already confirmed! I’m becoming a total fan-girl and getting a red coat and fedora for my Halloween costume (maybe for everyday wear,) maybe even a temporary tattoo!
Continue reading “11+ Reasons Our Sons Should Definitely Be Watching Carmen Sandiego”My parenting anxieties are mercifully mild compared to my general social anxieties. Can’t worry about absolutely everything all the time, now can we? When it comes to being a mother, I’m pretty confidant that I am a solidly “good enough” mother. I don’t know all the answers and I mess up plenty, but I’m usually able to soldier on in spite of the certainty that I’m fucking my kids at least a little even though I’m doing my best.
But this morning, I think I got something right! Like, really right. It was my reaction to a challenge we’ve faced many times with my son (and usually had little success.) He’s just turned six and he’s too damn smart for us sometimes, so he often outwits us and himself when we try to help him calm down from his tendency to quick, hot, unrelenting rage strokes about relatively minor things.
Continue reading “I think I did a parenting thing right!”My neighborhood bookclub recently convened to discuss Michelle Obama’s memoir Becoming. It’s so very affirming to sit with other women for a few hours gushing over someone like Michelle Obama.
Plenty of people have already reviewed the book a long long time ago, but some of us were on waiting lists at the library for months, so this is not a review. More like a meditation. I loved it. I love her. I love everything Obama. I have a terrible memory at the moment with two kids sucking my brain power right out of me, so I just want to put down a few thoughts about some of the disparate things I managed to jot down as I listened.
