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Les Misbarack: One Day More!

Monday

1. I am trying not to remember how confident I was the day before the election in 2004 that Kerry would win. I am really trying not to to remember how heartbreaking that loss was. I am cowering behind my Obama poster and crossing my fingers hoping for the best. I do not have the stomach for any political commentary but instead take solace in the abundant satire.

2. We all have colds and Miriam appears to have conjunctivitis. We are all home today, sick, tired, and warm under blankets in my room, with juice and hand sanitizer, watching Stick It. We are trying to keep our distance from Miriam and her oozy eye. Yuck.

3. It was two days into Nanowrimo before I remembered that I'm doing it again this year. Obviously, I'm getting a slow start. What's today, day 3? Not too late, right? And with the time change, I have more time in the evening.

4. The time change, I love it. These sick cranky kids were asleep by 7 last night. This is the time of year where I am finally on time for things. I am usually running an hour behind, so by ignorning the changes and not bothing to do any readjusting, I show up to places when I need to and get the kids to bed super-early.

5. The Halloween candy is almost gone. The fast it goes, the better. As long as they eat some kind of protein (like a hardboiled egg) they are allowed to eat as much as they want on Halloween night. Then, I confiscate the candy, dole it out as bribes, and eat it when they're not looking. It's gone within a week, and then we can get back to our regularly scheduled Healthy Lifestyle.

6. Have you see the show Cash Cab? I would kill at that show. I saw it for the first time Friday and sat bouncing like a puppy in front of the TV shouting out answers. Next time I go to New York, I'm finding that cab, damnit!!!

Sports (I'll never write about this again)

You probably don't care, but this is a historic day in Philadelphia. The parade that's set to begin in 30 minutes looks to be one of the largest in our nation's history. There's no fan like a Phillies fan, and yes, Santa was famously booed (wasn't there a good reason? I'm sure there was.) but you can't beat Philly for passion and loyalty. This is a city that lives and dies with its sports teams. "Heartbreak" is a term tossed around liberally at every disspointing end of every losing season. And it's been nothing but heartbreaking losses since 1983.  I remember a few vividly: that Red Wings sweep of the Flyers in 97? I cried. And when the Sixers faced the Lakers in the 2001 final, I thought the city would throw a parade because we won one game (the first), even though we lost the four that followed. And then the Patriots beating the Eagles in 2004? I didn't cry, but the dejection hung over the entire city for days.

Judging from that first paragraph you'd think I'm a person who gives a rat's ass about sports. You'd be wrong. I'm very fond of saying that i'd rather rip out my fingernails than sit through another live baseball game. And my sportswriter brother rolls his eyes when I ask him if the sport he covers is the "one with the funny shaped ball". (I have no illusions about that joke being funny to anyone except me). The only major sport I'll get into is hockey; I am a Flyers fan in hibernation, waiting for fairer weather. (some would say this disqualifies me from being a "real fan". Whatever. I don't have time and energy to waste on a losing team. When you stop firing good coaches and trading good players, I'll start watching again).

In a family of sports fans, I'm not a sports fan. Black sheep. What a shock. I trace this back to the 1980 World Series, when a gem usurped my 3rd birthday party. One of my earliest memories is of hiding under a table while everyone screamed at the TV, wondering how long it would take them to notice I was "missing". (Just the other day I told this to Damon, and he was like "yeah, that sounds like something you'd do". He's got me totally pegged. Turns out I don't do "mysterious" all that well).

But this Not-A-Fan is ready to celebrate, because you know what I am a fan of? Philadelphia, Philly people, curse-breaking, winning, and parties. I love all those things. The baseball part is over, and other than listening to a few innings on the radio and being present at a local watering hole where the game was on, I was subjected to little actual gameplay. And for this city to win a championship, I can tell you for certain no city wanted it more. And it pisses me off when I see the bias against us. Of the seven other people who actually watched the series (being the lowest rated ever, wasn't it?) roughly five of those poeple wanted us to LOSE. (You people BLOW. I'm sorry, but you DO. How's that for sounding like a Philly fan?)

The curse that has hung over this city since a builidng taller than Billy Penn's hat was opened and the Flyers lost to the Oilers in 1987 has finally lifted. The cold, wet storm that caused the two day delay was the death rattle of Billy Penn's anger. He's at peace now, with his figurine atop the Comcast center and his view unobtructed, it might not be City Hall, but it's something, it's enough. Today it's clear, cool and sunny, a perfect day for ticker tape.

I don't know jack about baseball, whether the Phillies team this year was really good or just lucky, but I do know this city deserves a win, and deserves a fucking parade. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some celebrating to do.

I love Amanda Palmer. And I LOVE this video. (NSFW)

beauty comes from love. so does mothering.

my favorite thing about being a LLL leader (breastfeeding counselor, for those who don't know) was the phone calls. What would start out as a technical breastfeeding question would inevitably evolve into a therapy session.

A woman would call me, usually panicked, and I'd give her pointers for the problem (usually a referral) and then we'd start talking about the universally complicated transition from one's own self to one's mother.

A question about storage and pumping would become about the mother's fear and trepidation about returning to work, and about the conflict she's never thought she'd feel. a mother's doubt about her milk supply would reveal her anxiety about being an adequate guardian of her baby's unbelievable helplessness and trust.

I'd often spend an hour on the phone with a new mother, listening, reassuring, offering information without judgment along with the experiences of other mothers. I'd direct them toward books and websites*. someone would call me scared out of her mind, and by the time she hung up the phone she'd be restored and ready for the next challenge.

* (i've sent more people to ask moxie than i could possibly count and one of these days i'm going to print out her archives and hand out copies to new mothers because i think she's the best thing going as far as parenting advice goes. Yay Moxie!!)

i relished those phone calls. i miss them now. new mothers are so raw and vulnerable. i loved to watch them rebuild their personal scaffolding and find themselves, anew, as mothers.

i see haircutting the same way. someone might sit down in my chair feeling unpretty, and through listening i can find out what she needs and give it to her, and leave her feeling like a new person.

a haircut can have tremendous power, i have seen this in myself.

in early 2005 my hair reached the middle of my back, straight and limp and light brown that would go slightly golden in the summertime. it would usually be in a ponytail. sometimes i would braid it into pigtails.

i'd been resisting cutting it for years; my hair is delicate and hard to grow. i couldn't bear to part with a single hard-won inch. cutting it off represented a wasted investment.

but i got tired of the constant ponytails and the split ends that could entrance  me. it was a habit i picked up in high school which flourished into something more like an obsession after having ellie. i could become so absorbed in inspecting and picking at the ends of my very breakable hair that i'd drop out of reality entirely, missing whole conversations and sometimes even trailing off mid sentence when a strand ripe for picking would catch my attention.

so one day early in 2005 i sat in a salon at the mall and told them to cut off my hair. all of it. with nothing more to go on than my vauge ideas about what might look good, this stylist gave me one of the best haircuts i've ever had. it was short and fluffy, longer in the front, and angled parallel to my chin.

the change was so striking that people i'd known for years failed to recognize me on the street.

and also there was nothing for me to pick. the social wall i'd built around myself with my anti-social little habit began to crumble. without the opportunity to hide in my hair the persistent sense of isolation began to recede.

i felt good; i held my head up high in public, and thus engaged with people much more often (it didn't hurt that they'd usually be complimenting  my new look). i made actual eye contact. i became a part of the world again.

with hindsight i can see this as the first domino falling in the sequence that would lead to the eventual disintegration of the marriage. stepping outside our unspoken fear-based boundaries i upset the balance that maintained us through all our years together.

as it happens i never got another good haircut at that cheap salon and eventually resorted to the self-cutting i do now. it didn't matter so much; the transformation happened with the first haircut. it fundamentally changed how i interacted with the people around me, and set off a chain of events that altered my life and others. cutting it all off represented freedom.

being someone's hairdresser is to participate in an intimate dance of self-image, much like coaching a woman through her transition to motherhood with breastfeeding as a flashpoint. i look forward to showing people their beauty, just as i loved showing new mothers their capacity for  resilience.

beauty is in everyone. beauty comes from happiness and satisfaction, not from a certain set of physical characteristics. just like the good mother can be found in all of us, no matter what our socioeconomic status, our skin color, our dress size, or our mental health history happens to be.

one day i'd love to combine the two: start a business where i'd go to the homes of mothers who've been in it long enough to feel disgusting but still unable or unwilling to leave the baby in another's care: give her a haircut, a facial, a pedicure, a good talk about motherhood, breastfeeding expertise and babywearing tips and books. all in her home with her baby in arm's reach. leave her feeling beautiful and confident and strong. because every mother needs to feel that way.

So sorry, folks. My compter, which is only a year old, bit it last week. The screen became corrupted from the bottom up, like LCD screen cancer. Everything else works fine, but I can't get online because all the important bits are in the corrupted part. So I haven't been posting. I've not been reading much either. I"m writing this from my mom's computer, which she lets me use every few days.

To make this post marginally interesting, I'll include these (old) links, because we all need some funny sometimes.

Like this thing about the stereotypical girly date, culled from the best of craigslist.

And then there's this from Shakesville debunking the myth of the "nice guy".

Note to the Universe, if you're listening: I know that fall is traditionally the season of reaping what's been sown, but COME ON. I get it. I haven't been living well. I trash all the good things in my life and I burn my long-term potential for short term fuel. I GET IT. Can you please stop breaking my shit and give me a chance to catch up? What's on the list now? Computer, phone, water heater, dryer, which is all fixable, and the broken relationships, which may not be fixable. I'm not saying you should let me off the hook, because you shouldn't, these are important lessons and it's high time I adressed this self-destructive tendancy of mine. I'm just saying turn the gush into a trickle. Please?

Oh, and Universe? Thanks for Damon. Love isn't going to fix my water heater, but it will make my cold showers much warmer :)

What do I think?

*this post is a work in progress; I have links to add and more points to make but right now my hands are shaky from hunger, and I have errands to run and children to dress. So if something looks outlandish and unsubstantiated, keep your pants on, chances are I have a link for that.*

Lilian queried in the comments to the last post:

"What do you think of the latest news?

And, regarding old news and your reactions to Juno, what did you think of the teenage moms of Gloucester, MA? I was glad that they all kept their babies and I've been wondering what you thought of that."

And i'm going to try to answer this question, even though whenever I try I get bogged down in the hugeness of the issue. She specifically mentions the Gloucester teenagers. When that story broke I wrote feverishly for days and never posted anything, i was never able to express things to my satisfaction. Basically, I'm happy for them, I wish them the best, and I think that to band together that way was the smartest thing they could have done under the circumstances.

As for Bristol Palin, I hope she can get through this without too much damage from her mother's candidacy. And I wonder how much differently we''d be talking if Sarah Palin were a father instead of a mother, would be be faulting her "naked ambition"? Would we be scrutinizing her parenting choices so closely? (I'm not saying we shouldn't be, I'm just saying that when a father runs for office he should be suject to the same scruitny. Fathers are parents too.)

I'm not against teenage pregnancy, not even a little bit. I think it can be a good thing, a positive life choice for many women. With proper support, motherhood needn't end a woman's choices in life. Think about it: a woman has a child at 16. By the time she's 22, the child is in kindergarten and she can concentrate on college (if she hasn't finished already) and working. By the time she's in her late 30's that kid is out of her hair. Plenty of time for work and fun; boy and parties are not out of the question either. Notice, in this scenario, there's no halt in her career; "opting out" becomes irrelevant when the intensive phase of young childhood is already over.

The key phrase is "with proper support". Which means money, time, effort, and infrastructure not provided by the girls pushing out the babies. But providing that would condone the choices of these women: imagine a world that the only consequence for teenage motherhood is motherhood itself? I mean, isn't that enough?

I wish it were a real choice: "do I want to be a mother or not?" instead of "Would becoming a mother destroy me? How much am I willing to sacrifice? Will that be enough?"

Instead, we withhold the village as punishment for her misbehavior, resign her to difficulty and poverty, and screw her kid(s) in the process. Now, I have no idea how to implement this in real life, but I do know that for policy and resource allocation to change, what first must change is our values as a society. Motherhood is valuable in all its forms, because these children are going to be the ones running the world someday, and we want them to be good people.

If motherhood is punitive it's because we've set up our society that way, not because teenagers are inherently bad mothers. Funny, that to become a mother without fear of shame you must wait until your body is much less able to recover from the punishing effects of pregnancy and childbirth. Motherhood gets you one way or another.

"Horrified" doesn't even begin to cover it

Bristol Palin rightfully should be able to embrace her child in public as her own, with no shame, and no quarter. And a mother should be just as accepting.

Oh my GOD. What if it's TRUE??

I hope Bristol Palin tells the truth, if there is anything to tell.

I'd like to believe that this shit doesn't happen anymore. It's no secret that right-wingers like Palin would push us back to the days of secret births and maternity homes. At least now there is lip service paid to choice and respect, and this kind of brutal shaming is unusual.

Unusual. But still happening, apparently.

As if I needed another reason to violently distrust this woman. How could you do that to your own daughter?