My 9 year-old cried bewildered tears Wednesday. This was a very black and white issue for her, and she is a sensitive soul. Naturally, I felt like crap for having exposed her to needless sadness. I just really, really thought she would value being able to tell her kids that she was there, for this important day. She pushed the button. Yes, I’m that idealistic. Wednesday morning we explained that, though it seems like people liked the bully more than the smart girl, there are many other things going on, and she was safe. I wish every mom could have been able to say that, Wednesday morning.

Policy, anti-establishment sentiment, those damn emails – these were all cited as justifications to vote for Donald Trump. Unfortunately, the multitudes cared more about those justifications than about saying “NO” to racism, sexism and a whole host of other crap we shouldn’t allow out of basic human decency. The prevalence of that mindset was not something I could previously conceive of in my NPR-listening, blue state-living, white, middle-class, privileged bubble. I didn’t realize that so many people actually thought policy was more important than people. Holy crap, America.

Thinking as a parent, since this is a parenting blog (most of the time), I’m offering the following: No, Clinton was not an ideal candidate with an ideal track record. There are NONE OF THOSE. They don’t exist. Ok, maybe Justin Trudeau. #dreamy The problem is that in this election we have journeyed past politics. We are now disassembling basic morality for our children. Think about what we teach kids: You treat people the way you want to be treated. You take care of people. You welcome new friends. Your body is yours alone, it is a good thing, and it should be respected. How about the one preschool teachers keep on repeat, all day: “Keep your hands to yourself!” Dear Donald, “grabbing” means you are doing it wrong. 

Not to mention the tired old slogan, “Girls can do anything boys can do.” *sigh* Hang on, girls. Change comes slow, but it does come. Look at where we started.

Speaking of girls, as Clinton was on Wednesday: “And — and to all the little girls who are watching this, never doubt that you are valuable and powerful and deserving of every chance and opportunity in the world to pursue and achieve your own dreams.” Forget the sadness that we have to state that at all. “Valuable” is my favorite word, here. I’m still more of a believer in the social commentary and symbolism of this election than in specifically electing Hillary Clinton – remember, I just wanted a girl to win, for once. I just thought this was immensely cool to hear. They knew, she knew, that little girls had serious stock in this election. And she asked them to hang on, too.

You know what else was cool? A friend of a friend of mine made a beautiful design of the above quote, and posted it on Facebook. I shared it, and the designer was kind enough to send me the high resolution version. I grabbed a frame, and this actually cheered my kid up. She moved a My Little Pony art project off the wall to make room for this! This was important stuff!!

Moving forward, I’m choosing to be hopeful and expect the best from people, including President-Elect Trump and his future cabinet appointees. I’m going to repeat the closing of my previous post. I’m praying it’s still true, though now it refers to a different “someone”. We’ve done enough of tearing people down. It’s my fervent hope as a mom and teacher that tomorrow our nation will raise up someone who will makes it their job to raise up others.

Also, I’m posting a link to a wonderful article containing the names of non-profits. If you liked this post, chances are you will find one whose ideals you agree with. If you’re feeling powerless in the wake of last week, and looking for something to do to feel more empowered, donating to any of these amazing charities is a great way to feel like you, too, are valuable.

Click here for the list of charities. Thank you.

Yes, these are (very young) adults and not teenage girls. However, teens are going to see this ad and assume it’s for them. They just are. Just like when we started reading Seventeen magazine at 13. Or was I the only one sneaking peeks at that at the dentist’s office?

Yes, this is a commercial for a costume store. Of course they’re going to show homemade costumes in an unfavorable light. They want you to plunk down $40 for an Alice in Sluttyland outfit, not make it at home!

Yes, Sexy Witch, Sexy Cop, and Sexy Pirate are your results when Googling Women’s costumes. Actually, I Googled “top women’s costumes” and got Sexy Cleopatra, Sexy Oktoberfest Girl, and – no lie – Sexy Freddy Krueger.

But: I do not like this ad, Party City. Besides perpetuating the Sexy Halloween epidemic, it’s just mean. I want to hug poor Alice. She does not deserve ostracization just because of a half-assed outfit. Actually, let me rephrase that: She does not deserve ostracization JUST BECAUSE SHE DOES NOT HAVE HALF HER ASS HANGING OUT. This makes me sad. It also makes me really, really proud that my daughters are going as Hermione Granger and a werewolf.  However, the sexy costumes are here to stay. So, in the spirit of embracing modern Halloween…

Submitted for your approval: My favorite “Sexy Halloween Costumes That Didn’t Need to Be Sexified”.  I will take votes as to which one I should buy and wear while I walk my kids around in suburbia.

And, sorry, but you can’t un-see this one…

I’ll take your votes in the comments.

Also, if your kid is going as something you’re particularly proud of this year, share it here! 

You can do whatever you like in your own house, of course. And if I don’t like a store’s policy of putting out Christmas decor or playing Christmas music before Thanksgiving, I don’t need to shop there. Oh wait, it’s Target and Walmart mostly, so yes, I do. But anyway. If it makes people happy, who am I to want them to delay their happiness?

However, I want to get up on my non-tinseled soapbox and explain why there is no Christmas music or decorations in my house before the turkey has had his due.

• Because I love Christmas. I love it so very much, and I don’t want it to lose its meaning or specialness by stretching it out earlier and thinner.
• I have an almost spiritual relationship with Christmas music (said the corniest dork in the world) and I don’t want to hate it because I hear it too much. Please. Occupational hazard: We music teachers start our Christmas concert rehearsals in September. Ugh.
• It’s not “the most wonderful time of the year” if it’s like 1/4 of the calendar.
• The pushing-it-earlier thing really seems to be mostly about consumerism. You can see this in the big controversy of whether stores should be open for Christmas shopping on Thanksgiving. I vote “no”, but with gratitude for anyone who is there for me to buy Tums or cooking supplies I forgot to get the day before. Love you. Hope you get off early. 
• The giving part of Christmas isn’t emphasized in the earliness much, it seems. I’ve seen lots of ads for flat screens and toys, but not one Salvation Army bell ringer person yet. We have taken gift suggestions off the giving tree at work, though.
• Remember the “War on Christmas”? I also embrace it as a cultural holiday that doesn’t need to have anything to do with religion, if you want to tar and feather me for that while we’re here. Shouldn’t we be outraged about a lack of (Christian, or whatever) gratitude?

• My BIG (hippie, buzz-kill, left-wing, Scrooge) reason: This is very “Ugly American” to me. We are sweeping under the rug the holiday in which we celebrate the cooperation with and gratitude towards the native people who made it possible for European settlers to, oh, I don’t know, not DIE, and the only holiday for pausing to recognize that we are SO. DAMN. LUCKY to be alive and well. We should push for more GIVING in the “Thanksgiving”, too. I’m working on that in my own home this year, slowly but surely, I swear.

All of that is some important S#*T!  That is not Christmas Part 1!! I go on little rants about this to my own children and they stare blankly and think I’m weird. 

In your own home, you should do what you want. I will roll my eyes when I drive by your tree-filled window, and you can roll your eyes at this post. Whatevs. Nobody is over here telling me when to do stuff. Except the smoke alarms. The fire department is pretty keen on us checking those every time we celebrate Daylight Savings. 

Christmas is awesome. There are traditions and parties and special moments that are like yearly spiritual renewing in our busy lives. It’s a connection to our childhood and a stepping stone into the future as we build traditions with our kids that they will remember just as fondly.

But we owe it to the universe to emphasize the importance of truly counting our blessings first. That’s all.

“What would you do if all the adults disappeared?”

M: Wait. Everybody? She is dumbfounded.

E: Wait, does that mean my friend _____? She thinks her 10 year old friend is an adult.

Me: No. Besides eating all the candy in the world, after that, what would you guys do?

M: We would eat a lot more candy, and play video games. So would her father.

E: Do everything. (Spins on seat.)

M: Let’s just say I’d do whatever I wanted.

E: We would erase all our stuff on that. (Pointing to chore chart.)

M: I would invite a bunch of friends over and have a party. Lots of food. And go in the pool. All night. So would I.

Me: What would you do about food?

M: We would eat it? (Ba-dum-tsss.) Oh, I mean, we would go to the store.

Me: How would you get to the store, would you walk?

M: We could drive! I know how to drive!! Well no… but I could figure it out. Wait. Who’s gonna be running the store?

Me: I don’t know… who do you think?

M: Teenagers.

Me. Ok….

E: I want to drive the car!

Me: What would you do about your clothing?

E: We would wear it.

Me: You’re hilarious.

M: We would make our own?

Me: You know how to make your own clothes?

M: We would wash them. I know how to do the laundry! Note to self, in that case, she’s gonna start doing her own.

E: I want to be like Rarity. My Little Pony reference. She makes dresses.

M: Wait – so like, ALL the adults in the world disappeared? It would be only kids on the road! And no policemen… we could speed. That would be fun. Another note to self: Maybe time to limit MarioKart tournaments at home?  …nah.

E: What if they weren’t coming back?

Me: That’s what I’m saying. What would you guys do?

M: Miss you. Awwwwww.

E: I would never get to see you!

M: It would pretty cool to get to do whatever you want though.

E: Mommy can we have candy?

So, what would the kids in your life say?

My husband tells me that I have the worst self-esteem he’s ever seen. And not just about body image. The funny part is that most people think I’m pretty confident. (No, friend. No. It’s all in how you fake it.) Wait that sounded wrong…

Crap. Do you still like me?

**********

I would advise my girls to love and value themselves, no matter what.

Cheeeeeezzzzy. But really: If you’ve got that down, you’ve got a lot. And you wouldn’t have to go out the next day and replace a giant black mumu.

Kids are not born comparing their bodies to perfection and finding them ugly. While I would like my kids to pull up their pants because nobody wants to see their impression of a plumber, I don’t want them thinking their body shouldn’t be seen in the daylight. I want them to enjoy the pool.  I shouldn’t feel that way either. Girls, you’re all kinds of beautiful.

It goes beyond body image, too. If a kid that my daughter approaches at the playground walks away from her, I want her to know that it’s not because there’s something wrong with her; he just didn’t want to play right then. He probably just doesn’t want to play Mario-meets-My Little Pony-meets-Monster High. And neither do I. Girls, you are good to be around and people like you.

If somebody doesn’t text them back or return their call or pick up their Facetime chat (or God knows what technology is being used by the time I consent to buying them a phone) I want them to understand that it probably isn’t because they’re not important enough to that person. That person is probably busy right now, and wrapped up in their own stuff, unrelated to how much they like them. Girls, you’re enough, and you’re valued.

I want to advise them to take a defeat as a challenge to work harder and a rejection as a sign, not that they weren’t worthy, but that there is something better out there. It’s not that you’re ugly, fat, dumb, boring, unimportant, un-valued, or whatever else that negative biotch in your head tells you. Girls, if you wake up every day being able to tell yourself that the world is a better place because you’re in it, then you won’t need anybody’s attention or affirmation, and that is freedom. Girls, I’ll let you know when Mommy gets there. It’s something we’re all working on. 

There is a lot of “BAD” that can happen to a kid, as he or she grows. But a kid who has a healthy amount of self-worth will hopefully duck and weave when those poor choices come at them swinging. Personally I think I did ok, if I say so myself, and I was (am) a secret self-doubter, always.

So if I had to pick one piece of advice to give my children, that would be it.

Yes, this is basically Stuart Smalley. What? That was a very good era for SNL…

If you could give your kids one piece of advice, what would it be? No really, I’m curious, and I bet it’s pretty cool advice. Some smart people read this blog…

1.  I was really sick and I didn’t know it. Always tell your parents and go to the doctor when you feel like you can’t breathe right.

2. My heart doesn’t pump very well right now. (My phrase for this is “wussy heart syndrome”. They eat that up.)  It might get better and it might not, but either way there’s no reason to think I won’t be ok. I am tough.

3. I have to take medicines that  will hopefully help my heart get stronger. But, they make me very tired sometimes, and dizzy. If anyone ever faints, we do NOT touch them. We find the nearest adult to help. This is not likely to happen to me at all, so relax.

4. I have to wear a special undershirt that has little circle things in it to check how my heart beats, day and night. It’s connected by a wire to this box I’m wearing like a purse. If my heart stops pumping right (“wusses out”), the special shirt will zap me with electricity so my heart will work again. The black box might ‘ding’ sometimes when the shirt isn’t working right. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong.

5. This is not something that is likely to happen to you, or anybody else you love.

This has been a nice time to sit down and just talk to my 500+ kiddos. Their concern has been real and their questions and responses have been a little too real.

But hey, if you can’t laugh at cardiomyopathy, what can you laugh at, right?

So these are questions and responses I have gotten from my 5 – 11 year old students when I explain the above list to them. I started writing them down to share, because I love these little nutjobs.  My responses are italicized.

“Will your heart tell you when it’s fixed?” No, they will take pictures again, but that would be cool.

“Do they let you keep the pictures?” I doubt it but if it’s good I’ll frame it.

“My grandpop had a heart attack because he ate too much red food. Did you do that?” You mean did I eat too much red meat? No, I –  “No! Meat is brown.”

“Did it hurt when you died?” Um…No. I’m good.

“Will it hurt if it zaps you?” No. I would have probably fainted by then. “But it will zap us if we’re touching you?” Possibly, but you’re not going to touch me or anyone who has fainted, you just get an adult. “Will it reach out and like lightening, and zap us?” NO. You’re picturing Return of the Jedi.

“Can you use the box to save somebody else’s life? Like the school’s one? [Defibrillator]” Yes, I’m going to be the new super hero, Defibrillator Woman. Zap zap. Just kidding. But cool question.

“What are you gonna do if you can’t go swimming in the summer!?!?!?!” I will most likely be done wearing this, one way or another, by summer. Hopefully. Otherwise, I will cry.

“Um…it [the box] blinked red. Are you OK?” That just means it’s on. I’m good.

“What would happen if ALL the adults in the school fainted at the same time?” I’d say we would leave (extremely unlikely, quiet student) in charge.

“So, like, you can’t take it off? Are you not gonna shower?! For months?!!” Um… I take it off to shower. EW.

“What happens if you faint in the shower with the shirt thing off?” Well this is getting personal. It’s not likely that I’ll faint at all. But I guess then it would turn into taking a bath.

“What happens if you faint when you’re going to the bathroom?” Well that would be bad, but wouldn’t I have worse problems, at the time?

“What happens if you drop it [the monitor box] in the toilet?” Thanks, now I’m going to worry about that, too.

BUT the winner is:

“Did you know that the hospital is where they take babies out of your tush?” Yes. Yes I did.

Follow My Example:

Jersey suburbanites that we are, we pride ourselves on dragging bringing the kids along on outings in the city of Philadelphia.  We feel it is an important center of American history and culture for the area, and they should experience this vibrant, growing metropolis. And Mommy and Daddy like the food and bars.

On one of our visits there this past summer, we took a stroll in China Town, enjoyed eating our way through the variety of fresh and ethnic foods at the Reading Terminal Market, hung around and rode the carousel in Franklin Square park, and viewed Independence mall…from the lovely beer garden across the street. What? They’ll go see the history stuff in 5th grade anyway.  The restaurant had a bocci court that was a perfect mini-playground – they could draw pictures in the dirt! Then we got ice cream at the Franklin Fountain, because children who let you do all that for 8 hours straight without a care in the world get rewarded with tons of ice cream.  It’s the law. We did remember to order them food at the beer garden, and I’m pretty sure it was deep-fried. Hubby’s sister and her boyfriend, who live in town, met us and we took turns with the occasional bathroom trips. We were at one place just eating, drinking, talking, and watching the kids play in the dirt, for over 4 hours. We tipped very well there.

I have used this picture before, but I was so damn proud of my kids that day, it may go in the Christmas card. 

Everywhere we went, people in their mid-to-late 30’s smiled indulgently at us and our adorable children. I could tell they thought we made it look so easy to enjoy your children and still enjoy yourself. We probably inspired a couple girlfriends to ask their men where this whole relationship was going because…babies!

Husband and I felt very smart for having the kind of easy-going (HA) children who are agreeable (HAHA) enough to take anywhere. What excellent examples of parenting life we had set for those around us.

Caution, hazards ahead:

Then one recent Friday, our favorite Mexican place in Jersey was inexplicably closed. We decided this meant we had to hop on the train and visit hubby’s sister in the Philly, at her restaurant. The kidlets had had a day off of school that day for teacher in-service, and had gone out to lunch with their Nana to Friendly’s. We forgot that this meant they had recently gorged themselves, and then eaten ice cream sundaes bigger than their heads, because that is what you do at Friendly’s.

Our bigger kid said on the train that she didn’t feel so good. Her tummy hurt.  We pretty much wrote her off, because frankly, the bigger kid is a hypochondriac.

We ordered them two kid-friendly meals off the kid-friendly menu at their Aunt’s restaurant. We proceeded to order drinks and food and kick back because of course, it was going to be another care-free night in the city like so many we have had before.

…Ha.

First, neither child would eat their food. Sometimes the little one just doesn’t eat, period.  The fact that she had the most perfect chicken fingers known to man in front of her had no effect on that situation. “Not eating” for the big one (who is usually a vacuum) meant eating only half of her local-cow’s-milk-cheese quesadilla. This should have been our sign to turn back…NOW. Sadly, I had started the meal with a double ‘Fiddich, and I wasn’t going to win any awards for keen Mommy observations at the time.

We then went walking in Rittenhouse Square park. It was after dark, but it was a crisp autumn evening, and friendly people and doggies were everywhere. We met a family by the fountain with two chatty little boys. We decided to go to the book store across the street next, and find one new book for each of us. Then maybe some dessert? Where would you like to g  – WHAT? The big one says she has to WHAT?

We found a trash can. It was kind of tall for her – an iron, city park trash can. She aimed as best she could and got it on her clothes anyway. Joy. I pictured how lovely that smell would be on the ride home, and we made a B-line for the book store. For a bathroom, not for books. Really.

After stopping to puke a couple more times we made it into the store (a narrow, 3-story Barnes & Noble which was at once soothingly familiar and confusing as Hell because the bathrooms are usually in the same place in all the suburban stores).  We had to drag a screaming, clawing 4 year-old onto the escalator, because said 4 year-old has a long list of things she’s deathly afraid of and these apparent death traps are near the top of that list. We also had the fun of wondering what happens when you puke on the steps of an escalator, but thankfully never had to find out. The older kid reached the top floor and made a run for it into the restroom stall –  past people who were waiting in line. There she got on her hands and knees on the floor (that last sentence alone made my germophobe mom friends wanna puke, themselves), and wretched for a good 10 minutes. Good times. Other people came and went from the rest room. I couldn’t close the stall door, because the kiddo’s body was right there, so I just had to rub her back and apologetically wave people past. And hold back her hair. Gee, I hope we can bond like this when she’s much older, too…

Now, get this: We actually believed that, after that puking spell, she was done. I know, right? So naive.  Well she said she was, so we could continue on our carefree evening, beginning with the quest to buy everyone a new book, as a treat. I think the big one bucked up because she really, really wanted the newest My Little Pony novel. By the time everyone else had picked their book but me, the big kid was heading for yet another too-tall trash can, this one by the front door of the Barnes & Noble.  Right next to the poor security guard, right where everybody was coming and going, our kid was puking. At that point I just got in line to pay for their books. What? Where were we gonna go? She was still puking! Might as well leave with some reading material.  Notice that it was Mommy, not the kid who probably just ate too much soft serve at the previous meal, who didn’t get something new to read?  Boo, mom life.

I requested the largest bag they had for our three small books, for vomit-security, and we started walking back to the train station. We figured this was a safer option than hailing a taxi for the kid who sometimes gets carsick for no reason anyway. No puking in taxis; is just not good karma. So, polite child that she is, she just puked right there on the sidewalk. Oh, and in the bag. And on her clothes. And in front of onlookers, who gave us giant-eyed, accusing stares, us as if we’d dragged a child carrying the plague out for a fun night on the town. Good times, I’m tellin’ ya.

We made it back to the station and boarded our train home to New Jersey, and the big one did not throw up on the trip once! Gold star, baby. Both kids quickly passed out, and I got to relate the story of the Barnes & Noble bathroom floor to hubby. However, walking down the narrow steps of the train station at around 10PM, the poor kid let loose again – with passengers behind her in line on the narrow stairs. We were kind of helpless – we couldn’t move her, because of the narrowness of the stairwell, they couldn’t move around us very well, and OH! Have I mentioned how my body reacts when another person vomits? I can’t help it; I have to fight hard not to be part of the “fun”, let’s put it that way. GOOD. TIMES. Great times, for the people trying to squeeze past the actively vomiting child and her parents (and one sleepy preschooler who really had no idea where she was, at that point).

And the next day? Yeah, she was fine. Maybe she’d caught a little bug, or ate too much at Friendly’s. She always was a reflux/throw-up kid.

Hubby and I are heading out this weekend sans kids because we totally get a do-over after all those “good times”.

I am sure that anybody who ran across us that night got set back a couple years in the family planning department.  I think I saw one of them run straight to the CVS to buy condoms. 

Sometimes you’re the awesome parents. And sometimes…well, you’re just that type of reminder.

Of all the compliments that I’ve believed received, one of my favorites was:

 “You’re like a 70’s mom.”

The fields of child psychology and parenting have come a long way since 1970, so this could sound less than complimentary. And I have way better hair than Kitty Foreman.

A friend said this to me at a little gathering at my place.  I had off-handedly ‘suggested’ that all the darling but LOUD children there be banished outside until dinnertime. Or until someone was bleeding, whatever came first.

This favorable comparison came to mind again when I found this post by the fun blogger at Wide Lawns and Narrow Minds, called “If 70’s Moms had Blogs.”  I highly recommend you go read it, it’s a good time. Enjoy it with a cup of Sanka, I’ll wait. 

Welcome back. It worth the click, right?  I love where she’s all pleased with herself for warning the kids against combine Pop Rocks and Pepsi. Later the kids play until they fall asleep, unsupervised! Because it’s “Grown-Up Time” downstairs. It’s like she’s in my head and knows my wildest dreams…

Now, her hyperbolic post was intended for entertainment purposes only. So naturally I’m going to take it way too far, and decide that when I grow up, I’d like to be: *cue superhero music*

(I told you I like messing with graphics.)

That means that my children need to be seen and not heard, right?  Cause that will happen.  The 70’s can sound like a harsher, adult-centered time, when kids were not valued for their feelings or opinions. Fast forward 40 years, and it looks a little different from where my mom sneakers are standing. Kids “need”:

• Numerous activities and engaging toys. (This is done to give children the best opportunities. And to sell parents lots and lots of stuff.)
• Constant supervision, everywhere. (This is to avoid lawsuits.)
• Regular conversations about their feelings on major issues, like whether they’d like to eat that pile of green beans: “I hear that you don’t want your beans, and I validate that, sweetie.”  I don’t know whose fault this one is, but I want to punch him. More about food bargains another day.

I buy into these needs too. The 70’s Mom frame of mind seems preferable at times, but I’m not going to take up smoking and stop putting the kids to bed. Nor is Hubby is about to ignore the tots and retire to the living room with his glass of something, to read the paper. If anything, that would be me. Guilt, norms, and kids’ incessant need for intervention will keep us from becoming absentee parents in our home. But it’s a fascinating concept; they were allowed to make and take Tang, outside! On concrete patios!  In glass glasses! *gasp*  Their competence was trusted. Their brains and motor skills and imaginations were trusted. The ability of the older ones to to help the younger ones, teaching all of them the importance of caring for each other, was trusted.

In another time, a kid my big one’s age might have been helping with younger siblings all day. Not asking me to open her Capri Suns, still.  So, we children of later generations – did we ruin things for future kids? Did we all wander off cliffs and drink Drano while our parents played Bridge, causing this pendulum swing in the other direction? We must have chewed on things we shouldn’t have, right? I doubt the intensity of parental love has changed at all, but…

Do you think parents TRUSTED kids more back in the 70’s?