Backyard Picnics, Childhood Heros and Congress

If anyone knows me they know these two things--I am an unapologetic Democrat and also an apologetic fan of celebrities.  Not that these two things have anything to do with each other in Michigan usually, they are just fun facts about me. Like the fact that I hate having breakfast for dinner and I am a huge fan of The Avett Brothers and I love outdoor concerts and hanging out on my front porch. But last weekend, being a Democrat and a celebrity lover got a lot more exciting because I met Melissa Gilbert at a Democratic event.

It wasn't some Hollywood soiree because well, duh, I don't go to those. This event was a good old-fashioned political picnic in someone's backyard. I brought Lucy along to get an idea of what local hometown politics look like and to meet Melissa Gilbert who just announced she was running for Congress in Michigan. Lucy wasn't thrilled with any of it. But to be honest, we've sort of entered a pubescent stage where she isn't thrilled with any of my ideas.  When we first arrived she wouldn't get out of the car  because she didn't know anyone. "It's a backyard full of loving, open-minded people, you know...Democrats, they will love you," I told her.  A backyard full of Democrats is one of my favorite places to be.

Everyone brought a dish to pass and tried to find a shady spot to sit and visit. And talk about everything from the state of our state and our government to bug spray to how the kids are doing. I hadn't been to one of these in a long time and I hadn't realized how much I missed it. It being the feeling of community, of people caring and being invested and involved and wanting to know more and create change and work together and support each other.

Then I saw her, Melissa Gilbert, getting a hot dog and possibly some of the potato salad that I brought. All that comfort I had been feeling was replaced by butterflies and a oh-my-god-it's-Laura-Ingalls-my-childhood-hero-what-do-I-say feeling.  I had always identified with Laura on "Little House On the Prairie," the spunky middle kid always wanting Pa's approval and trying to be like her perfect big sister but also be her own person and challenge people and the satus quo. My friend who was sitting with me knew how I felt and she instantly introduced Melissa Gilbert to me and told her about my blog and my kids. (My friend, another Melissa, is one of those friends that makes you feel like you can do anything and be anything and is so kind and supportive and ahhhhhhh! I love her. Fun fact, I met her at a Democratic event/party years ago and now couldn't imagine my life not knowing her.) 

So yeah, there I was in the middle of a backyard in a pretty rural part of Michigan having a conversation about blogging and parenting with Melissa Gilbert. 

It turns out we have a few things in common besides me feeling connected to a character she portrayed in the 1970s. She has a blog. Her last post went viral and she ended up on Dr. Oz's show and yeah that didn't happen to me ever, but we are both bloggers.  We are both mothers to boys. We are both married to men named Tim that love Michigan. Her Tim is Timothy Busfield an actor and was on two of my all-time favorite shows "Thirtysomething" and "West Wing." My Tim is Timothy Youngblood an assistant principal of a high school in Metro Detroit. They both loved Michigan so much that she and I share the fact that we moved here to be with them. I moved here 18 years ago. She moved here two years ago.

Melissa Gilbert was lovely and kind and relatable. When she found out she was supposed to speak in front of everyone she seemed a little bit nervous.

Then she stood in front of the picnic guests and talked about why she wanted to run for Congress. 

She talked about her experience being president of the Screen Actors Guild. She talked about what issues she's passionate about. She talked about mistakes she made with taxes and explained she is "taking full responsibility for it and paying the money back through a payment plan with the IRS." She talked about her family. She talked about how much she loves Michigan.

As she talked, I forgot about "Little House on the Prairie" and Hollywood. I found myself nodding.  Melissa Gilbert and I not only share our blogging and husbands with the same name, and the fact that I too had to set up a payment plan once with the IRS after a mistake on our tax return, we share a passion for women's rights, fighting against the defunding of Planned Parenthood, the importance of equal pay and protecting the environment, especially the Great Lakes. 

Melissa said one of the things she loved about living in Michigan is the feeling of community she's found. Looking around that backyard, I get it.  She said the minute she moved to Michigan it felt like home.

"I'm a very hard worker," she told the small crowd. "I've been working since I was two-years-old and I hope I can work on behalf of the good people in Michigan."

Melissa Gilbert was candid and likable. She got real about mistakes she's made, painful experiences in her family and how she really couldn't have predicted that this is where life would take her. Who knows where life will take us, I never would have predicted hanging out in a back yard with a childhood hero agreeing with her politics.   I'm excited. I'm excited that I got a chance to meet her. I'm excited that I get a chance to help her get elected to Congress in my state.

"Wasn't that just incredible?," I asked Lucy on our way back to the car. She shrugged in a very teenager-y, unimpressed way. Lucy is young, who knows where life will take her. Hopefully she'll remember this day and see that women can be politicially active and run for office and be mothers and get involved and change directions and have full and vibrant lives in their 40s and 50s and forever. Or she'll become a Republican and write about how her mother dragged her to so many Democratic picnics in people's backyards. Which I'm totally fine with! I just want her to see that she has options and to find a community that supports her and helps her feel like home.

If you'd like to get involved with 

Melissa Gilbert's campaign, click here.

Seriously Sirius?

I may never go upstairs again. Nope, never. At least not into my daughter's room upstairs.  That's because she is now the proud owner of a rodent for a pet. Yup, we bought her a hamster.   It all happened so fast and my guard was down and well, now a little fuzzy, black, rat-looking rodent sleeps in a cage next to my daughter's bed. She named him Sirius Black after the Harry Potter character.  

All I can do is scratch my head and ask Seriously, Sirius? 

I hate hamsters. I hate chipmunks and mice and squirrels and rats and raccoons and ahhhhhh! I don't wish these creatures any ill will, I just choose to not ever be in the same space with them outside or inside.  That goes for birds too. And deer. And even the dog that lives down the street.  I'm not really an animal lover or a nature lover (like I've said before, I support nature I just don't love being in it).  

A few weeks ago Lucy wrote me a letter asking for a hamster. She detailed all the good work she'd done over the past 11 years.  She made hefty, yet seemingly realistic, promises like "If I get a hamster I'll keep my room clean for two weeks."

Maybe I was feeling guilty because Lucy goes to 5 million baseball games of her brothers and really doesn't like sports.  Maybe I was still tired from our month of traveling.  Maybe I was overheated from my crazy hormones and the 90-degree weather we are finally having here in Michigan.  Maybe I was too busy reading about Ben and Jen's break-up and hoping the nanny rumors weren't true.  Whatever it was, I said "okay" without really looking up when Tim said that he and Lucy were going to the pet store to pick up a hamster.  Okay? What the hell was I thinking?

This non animal/nature loving person now has two dogs, two fish and a fucking hamster in the house.  What is going on? I mean what the seriously Sirius hell is happening?

I have to hand it to Lucy and her tween brilliance.  It's like she knew-- if I get this hamster, mom will be so afraid to come in my room, she just won't. I win. I beat mom. And I got a hamster. Boosh.

I love my daughter, but I detect some tween smugness in this picture don't you?

What she doesn't know is that my desire to figure her out and not let her get away with any tween/teen tomfoolery is bigger than my fear of the fuzzy, black, rat-looking rodent that sleeps in a cage next to her bed.  For now, I'll let her think she's won. When she grows up I will tell her about all the sacrifices I made and fears I conquered to protect her. 

The boys were getting a kick out of the rodent
and out of my fear of it.

While the kids and Tim were setting up the rodent's cage/home, I was reading all about the little guy. It turns out hamsters only live about two years.  I can do two years, I think. Right? 

But I will never, ever clean the cage. Ever. I mean seriously.

File Labeled "Mothers"

"You are exactly where you need to be," the older woman told me. 

"I feel like I really am," I told her smiling. 

She went on to tell me about seasonal shifts and time and mindfulness and feelings and embracing change and how we should stop using the words crazy and weird and be kind to one another.

"Thank you," I told her. 

Then she hugged me. 

That woman was a stranger, but she changed my life just a little bit.  I just happened to walk into the small bookstore that she owned in Detroit.  She told me things that I needed to hear, things that were in my heart that needed validation.


I tucked the memory of my new friend into the file in my head labeled "Mothers."

                            ***********

Years ago I sat in an Olive Garden with my mother talking about how we will never understand each other.  I was 16 and after a terrible fight with my mother, had been staying with friends.  She was in her early 40s and was mad at me and the world. The Olive Garden was neutral ground. We sat across from each other trying to relate, trying to understand each other, trying to move on and trying to remember and forget at the same time.  That one night stands out so clearly to me because somehow I knew we would never be able to do any of those things, ever.

The situation with my mother was/is complicated.  She suffers from mental illness and addiction.  I suffer from co-dependency, denial and confusion.

I talk a lot about getting older because, duh, I'm getting older all the damn time.  I also talk about my mother because here's the thing, the older I get, the more I wish I had a mother.  When I was 20 I was a badass who didn't need anyone and I felt proud that I had survived my mother.  I wanted to be on my own and make a life for myself, by myself. I worked hard, set boundaries, put up walls and didn't take any crap from my mother or really anyone.

And then I fell in love and got married and had kids, and got soft.  
Over the years, I've tried to have a relationship with my mother. Even though not much has changed since the Olive Garden. I do have so much more compassion for my mother and what life and bad choices and bad wiring have done to her. But loving someone who struggles with addiction and mental illness is complicated and full of slippery slopes. Being vulnerable and open and hopeful and empathetic are not helpful traits. Sure some therapist might tell you that they are, but really it just sets you up for disappointment. At times having hope is like wearing a big target on your heart. My mother can bring me right back to that table in Olive Garden in an instant with hurtful words and accusations. Even though I know she is not rational, it hurts.   

The last time I spoke to my mother she said a lot of unkind things.  Things that I've heard so many times. Things like I'm a horrible person and I don't do anything right. That was a couple months ago.  

What's funny is that I don't even need to speak to her to hear those unkind things about me. It is the inner voice in my head and heart, full of insecurities and messages that yeah, she probably planted.  But I take full responsibility for replaying those messages over and over.  Especially when I'm stressed or unsure.  Like when I am planning a show and I'm not sure I'm good at it.  Or when I'm parenting and I'm pretty certain I have no idea what I'm doing.  It's my mother's voice, it's my voice, telling me I am horrible and can't do anything right.

Then I get angry and I say fuck that.  Anger has always saved me and helped me move past all the shit that my mother put in my head growing up.  But now love saves me too.

The other day, I told a friend (who is also a mother mentor) that I was feeling a little anxious. She sent me this message: be brave, little buckaroo. you got this 

Yes, I am vulnerable and soft, but I am also open.  I am open to the idea of filling the folder in my head labeled "Mothers" with advice and validation and moments and hugs and names and love from women who are my "mothers."

The file is full of people like Brenda, Melissa, Satori, Lil, Sylvia, Jeanne, Nancy, Minerva, LeAnne, Anne, Susan, Donna, Carol, Judy, and the woman in the bookstore and more.  Women who have encouraged me, loved me, given me advice, held my hand, shown me the way or told me to go my own way, took my call, told me it was going to be okay and helped me when it wasn't, told me stories, paved the path and shared what they knew.

It's the pharmacist who told me "things are going to be okay" when I went to pick up JT's ADHD medication.  I told her we were new to this diagnosis and just trying to figure everything out.  She told me how "it was a long road" but that her son was on medication on and off and is now 35 and doing really well and has a job he likes. She cried, I cried. It was in the drive-thru at Walgreens, so we couldn't hug, but it was another moment for the file. I find mothers everywhere.

Yeah, I think I do got this, maybe. I hope so. With a little help from all my mothers, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Feminist Pilgrims

I have four children, three sons and one daughter.  I want all of them to be strong, healthy, happy people with equal rights.  I want them all to be feminists, not just my daughter but my sons too.   

While I am extremely passionate about my sons being able to express themselves and be sensitive, compassionate, empathetic human beings.  I feel an intense urgency right now to make sure that my daughter understands that she can be strong and powerful and get in the game and have a voice and be heard and seen and unafraid.  

Maybe it's because I was a girl once and I remember what it feels like to not truly know those things.  Maybe it's because she's almost 11 and things are about to get very real in girl becoming a woman land.

I try to explain, I try to show by example.  We talk about things, a lot of things.  I don't know if she gets it, or if it's sinking in.  Sometimes she seems so uncertain and I worry.  Sometimes she doesn't speak up when I think she wants to.  But then she does something or says something that makes me know my little girl is listening, and putting her own spin on things, figuring things out in her own way.

The other day at bedtime she was telling me about how they are studying the Pilgrims in school.  At first much of the conversation focused on how she really thinks it would have been better to study the Pilgrims around Thanksgiving, duh.  But then she started to tell me how appalled she was about how the women and girls were treated.  

"They did all the work mom, all of it!," she told me.  "And the guys were just hanging out. It just wasn't right, I mean geez."

I want Lucy to feel pissed about the Pilgrims.  I want her to see the injustice in the stories. I want her to use that passion to make sure she doesn't back down and that she honors the history of struggle for equal rights for women and men.

For a report she had to do on George Washington, Lucy was adamant about including the fact that he was "a liar" in her report.  She was extremely upset that he didn't free his slaves like he promised Martha he would.  

"I can't believe he didn't do what he said he would!," she said looking both heartbroken and angry.

Watching her learn about life and history and struggle reignites my own passion. I feel fired up for my one daughter and my three sons and everybody.  I want all of us to feel heard and seen and unafraid, and have equal rights.  I want all of us to be feminists.

I asked Lucy if I could video her talking about the Pilgrims and if I could put it on YouTube.  She agreed.  Check out the moment that Lucy discovers she is indeed a feminist.



(Click here to watch the video.)

Lucy and I watched THIS speech from Emma Watson together.  It.Is.Ahhhhhmazing. I watched it last year and was inspired, but found it even more powerful watching it with my daughter.


  (Click here to watch the video)

Lucy and I didn't watch this together yet, but it is pretty damn powerful too.

The First Lady & My Daughter

Last week I let Lucy miss a day of school to go to a Democratic rally.  A rally where the First Lady Michelle Obama was headlining. 

It was a beautiful day in Detroit. The kind of October day that makes you love Michigan--blue sky, chilly but not cold, leaves turning colors, the kind of Fall day you see in movies and commercials.  

The energy was just as amazing as the blue sky.  People were excited and energized and anxious to see the First Lady.  Volunteers from the local candidates' offices were asking people to sign up to help in the last few weeks before the November 4th elections.  And people were signing up!  People wanted to be involved. 

For Lucy this was school.  She got to see the democratic process in action.  She got to hear how voting matters, elections matter, the people matter.  

Lucy even brought her notebook to take some notes.

For me, it was sort of my church.  I saw old friends that have become like family, I watched as candidates I helped plan small house parties for years ago now introducing the First Lady, I connected with young people that I met years ago when they were interns and now they are working for senators and campaigns.  I was amen-ing when speakers talked about fair pay and equal rights.  I hooped and hollered my support.  I nodded my head and felt solidarity and hope and inspiration.  

I said we went, I didn't say we got the greatest seats in the place.  But it was still unbelievable.

I leaned over and asked Lucy if this made her want to run for office.  "No," she said emphatically.  

My first thought was "What!? Why not? Don't you feel like going out and changing the world and becoming a Senator and maybe even the first woman to be the President of the United States, but dude really hopefully I hope you are the second or even third before you run because you are only 10, but how could this not make you want to run for something?"

But that's not why I really brought Lucy.  I brought my daughter to the rally to show her a part of how politics work in our country.  I brought her to be a part of history, so she can say "I heard the First Lady speak when I was a kid."  I brought her to show her a part of me that isn't just asking her to pick up her room, bugging her about homework and driving everyone everywhere.  While I find such overwhelmingly tremendous value in caring for my family and giving them life skills and making sure they are involved in afterschool activities, I want my kids to know I am even more than that.  

Michelle Obama was a powerful, passionate speaker.
She owned the room.

Watching how she interacted with people was special.  She was gracious and encouraging to everyone from the young girls to the teenage boys to the elderly women who stood in line to greet her, hug her and get a picture with her.  

I want my daughter to see that she can be a mother and an activist.  I want her to see first hand that she can be a mother and a First Lady or a mother and a Senator.  I want her to know she has a voice in the world through running for public office or just getting involved and most importantly by voting.

"If you grow up to be a Republican Catholic like your dad, I think that would be wonderful, as long as you vote," I told her.  Just because I take her to a Methodist church and Democratic rallies doesn't mean I want to raise a Methodist Democrat.   I want her to be whatever she wants.  I just want her to experience not being on the sidelines of life.  My wish for all my children is to be an active participant in their lives, to get involved and build a community for themselves, to be passionate about issues but open to people with different opinions.  

Here we are with my friend Dodi and U.S. State Rep Gary Peters who is running for the Senate.

But the biggest reason I took my daughter last Friday is because I love having the opportunity to spend a day with my girl.

Blurry iPhone pic, but all kinds of perfect.

The Cat, The Sewing Machine and My Mom

She moved and left the cat behind.  I knew she was in a hurry to start her new life, ready to move on, get away, run away.  But it still surprised me that she left the cat.

"Well, she never liked me anyway," she said.  It was the same thing she said about me when she told me she was getting married and moving to California.  She was right, I didn't like her that much but I thought it was normal for most 16-year-olds to not like their mothers that much.  

I can't remember the final good-bye with my mother all those years ago.  But I do remember going back to the house and looking for the cat every day after school.  The new owners hadn't moved into the house yet, it was empty.  "Kitty, kitty," I called.  That's what we called her, even though her name was Furry Socks.  A dumb name my sister and I had given her a decade earlier.  My sister, the smart responsible one, wanted to name her Socks because she had white spots on her paws, yeah, like socks.  I wanted to name her furry because yeah, she had fur.

The cat really didn't like my mother, or me.  The cat liked my sister, but she left for college several years earlier.  The cat liked my brother, but he moved to Nebraska to live with our father a few months earlier.  My memories of the cat included moments of terror.  She used to pounce on my legs as I came down the stairs, clinging to my jeans with her sharp claws.  My mom would run and get the broom and hit her until she finally released my leg.  

Even though I hated the cat and she hated me, I went back every day for her after my mom moved.  Nobody should be left behind, not even a really mean cat.

She finally showed up and I swear she looked at me like "you? really? you are the one to save me?"  I picked her up and found her a home.  The family I was living with didn't want a cat, so one of my mom's old friends took her.


                                                             
             *******************************************

I don't write about my mother as much anymore because well, it is complicated.  Mental illness is complicated, addiction is complicated.  Being the daughter of someone suffering is complicated and frustrating and sad and upsetting and confusing.

My mother moved to California when I was 16.  It's a long story.  One that I understand with such deeper compassion and empathy now that I am an adult.  But at 16, I felt deserted, rejected, left behind, unwanted. My father moved away.  My sister moved away.  My brother moved away.  And finally my mother moved away.  I was the one that was left behind. 

Being rejected, being left behind brands you.  The scar fades but it never totally goes away.  

Over 20 years later, I have so much love in my life. I have not let the scars on my heart ruin me or make me a victim.  I have worked hard (and had a shit load of therapy) to use my pain as a tool for more empathy, more compassion.  In the last few years especially, I have learned to embrace my emotionality rather than be afraid or ashamed of it.

I have also tried to have a relationship with my mother.  She moved back to Michigan after being away for 15 years.  We weren't in the same town, but close enough that I could help her a little or at least try to help her.

The doctors called, I went.  When I showed up in her hospital room, she often gave me the same look that our old cat did "you? really? you are the one to save me?"  I felt like I could take her insults, her misplaced pain--the result of her addictions, her mental illness and her plain old meanness.  I tried to help her through several episodes of withdrawal from the million prescription drugs she took like candy, surgeries, tried to help her quit her addiction to the Home Shopping Network, make peace with her neighbors, find the right doctors, clean her house and find her a driving service.  I stopped going to her house alone with my kids because she would either pass out in front of them too much or be rather mean to one of them.  I took a break when she accused me of stealing things from her home and called the Better Business Bureau (again) on the service I hired to help take care of her.  

It was all kinds of complicated.  But I wanted to do it because it was the right thing to do.  Because she had no one else.    And maybe just maybe, if I am really honest about it all, I thought there might someday be this moment of clarity, a moment of real mother/daughter connection.  It seems so silly and ridiculous to even write that, but it's true.  It's sad and upsetting and confusing.

I thought it was going to be like this until she outlived us all.  But a few weeks ago, she informed my sister and me that she was moving.  She'd found an "Over-55" apartment complex that had an activities director, access to an emergency button and people that checked in on her.  It was cheap and in Alabama and she was leaving.  When she told me my heart raced and I instantly felt 16.  I felt like I hadn't done enough, been there enough, helped her enough.  but 40-year-old me knew it was never enough for her. 

                  *************************

"If you don't want this old sewing machine, I'm going to give it to Good Will," my mother told me last week as she was getting ready to move. 

There is a more modern sewing machine built inside of my great-grandmother's original foot-pedal sewing machine.

She was leaving the sewing machine behind.  The sewing machine that belonged to my great-grandmother.  The sewing machine that my mother used to sew all of my Halloween costumes when I was a kid and so many of my clothes.  I remembered playing at her feet while she made matching sundresses for my sister and me.  Years before any complicated-ness.  

How could she just leave the sewing machine behind?  Nothing that important should be left behind for just anyone.  I decided I had to go get it, even though I don't know how to sew.

                        **********************

Last week, the movers packed up my mother's things in a truck.  My sister got ready to drive her down to Alabama.  And I loaded up the sewing machine in my minivan and said good-bye.

All the feelings of being the person a mother can't wait to get away from came back.  It overwhelmed me.  There would be no more caring for my mother.  There would be no more real hope of a moment of mother/daughter connection.  

It's complicated and sad and frustrating and confusing.  

While my sister and I helped pack up my mother's things, two of my children laughed and played in the back yard.  They had no idea that anything was heavy or weird or sad or complicated.  They  laughed and chased and played make believe and distracted my sister and me.  And reminded me to get out of the past.

I got back on the highway after the good-byes and headed back to my very full life of busy, laughing children and so much love.  A life I never want to leave behind.

Beautiful

When I was little I shaved my arm.  I remember nervously taking my mom's pink disposable razor and  putting it directly on my skin.  I slowly moved it up my forearm a few inches.  I was being very careful.  And then suddenly I heard my mom coming down the hall and I threw the razor into the shower and ran to my room.

I shaved my arm because I thought my arm hair was ugly.  I was embarrassed.  I was ashamed.  I was 9.  Shaving my arm didn't make me feel more beautiful. I felt guilty for using the razor without telling/asking my mother.  I felt silly walking around with a two inch bald spot on my oh-so hairy arm.  I felt stupid.

I haven't thought about the arm shaving incident of 1985 in a very long time.  But I did last night after watching an amazing short film about beauty that explores how mothers can pass down insecurities to their daughters.  According to a recent study,  72% of daughters learn about beauty from their mothers.


(If you are an email subscriber, click here to watch.)
The film is 8 minutes loooong, but totally worth watching.

Oh hell.  After watching the movie, I went into Lucy's room where she was still up reading and I asked her if she thought she was beautiful.  She said "yeah" like she wasn't sure.  I was surprised.  I asked her if there was something she didn't like about herself.  She said "my arms are hairier than all the other girls' arms in class."

I have to believe that hairy arms must be a pretty common insecurity among 9-year-old girls.  Right?  I mean I haven't mentioned hating my arm hair.  I haven't given a rat's ass about my arm hair since 1985. She didn't get that one from me.

But the whole thing got me thinking.  What have I mentioned?  Have I talked about my big thighs?  My pretty impressive weight gain over the last six months?  Have I mentioned my crooked teeth from  never wearing my retainer when Dr. Seabold told me to?  Have I mentioned my wrinkles that keep appearing?  What has she heard?

Over the years, I've been very careful about what I say in front of both Lucy and her brothers.  Not just about my physical insecurities, but all the rest too.  I'll admit when I am uncomfortable in social situations and point out that we're all different.  Or I'll apologize for not being so organized and then point out that everyone deserves compassion and forgiveness.

But Lucy is at the age when things start to get crazy for girls.  The other night we talked about a lot.  We talked about beauty.  We talked about changes, yeah all those changes, that girls and women go through. [Think it's too soon to talk about this stuff?  Nope.  Not even if there's 'nothing going on.'  Check out this article my friend wrote for AllParenting- Is Puberty before age 10 the new normal?] I gave Lucy a book to read.  

This book is a good starter.
We are making our way to Are You There God? It's Me Margaret

I actually really enjoyed talking with her about all of it (um, it's a much easier talk than the dreaded sex talk I've had with my older child).  She was witty and funny and thoughtful about all of it.  I fell in love with her even more. I mean come on, a tween girl that can be witty and funny about a period?  She's brilliant.  It gives me hope that she'll be able to handle some of this scary you-aren't-beautiful-unless-you-are-a-certain-weight-height-hair-color girl bullshit that will soon be shoved down her throat from everywhere.

The movie, the book, the talk, my amazing daughter...they all made me think about what I hear about my own beauty.  And what I accept and put out into the world.  I'm taking part, sort of, in the 365 Feminist Selfie project.  Have you heard of it?  The point of this project is to take selfies, yes selfies, to show and see real women.  Veronica Arreola from the blog Viva La Feminista started this project.  She says "the photos are about the real you.  They aren't supposed to be the glam you (although those are welcomed).  The foundation of this challenge is to conquer the fear of seeing yourself every.single.day.  We might look at ourselves to put our contacts in, even makeup on, but taking a selfie and posting it means really looking at yourself.  And hopefully at the end (or much sooner) you will find it less painful and more enjoyable.  I don't want to turn us into Paris Hiltons, but rather individuals who don't cringe when we need to take a photo."

I don't do it everyday.  But the selfies I have taken have been raw, honest moments.  Pictures of my life and me that are beautiful.

Instagram  Caption: Determined to be healthier & more accepting of myself this year. #365FeministSelfie

Instagram Caption: Skating outside w/my kids=happy. #365FeministSelfie 

Instagram Caption: WAHM-Night shift #365FeministSelfie

Instagram Caption: This is what happens when I say I'm going to lie down for a few minutes. #fullhouse #imnotmad #blessed #365FeministSelfie

The movie, the book, our talk, this project and my amazing daughter all have me thinking about what is beautiful.  Beautiful to me is acceptance of ourselves and appreciation for our bodies and NO SHAME.  Beautiful to me is creative self-expression, respect and love and truth.  These values of beauty are what I hope all my children carry with them into adulthood.

What is beautiful to you?  Are you taking part in the 365 Feminist Selfie project?  Do you take selfies? 

On Instagram?  Follow me here  http://instagram.com/jumpingwithmyfingerscrossed

Something About Lucy

"I want to learn how to ride a unicorn."

This is a famous Lucy quote.  She was five years old when she said this in reply to this question, er, series of questions: "Honey, what sport do you want to play? Soccer? Tennis?  What do you want to sign up for?  What do you want to learn to do?"

While I love my daughter's imagination and creative thinking, it can also be maddening.   We have never pushed her to join a group or a team.  Encouraged? Yes, but never pushed or pressured.  Lucy is a brilliant, funny, creative, brave little girl.  I've always thought/known she was a go-to-the-beat-of-her-own-drum kind of girl, which I can kind of relate to.  

Lucy is a throw your head back and soak it up kind of kid.
"Mom, I LOVE being alive!," she exclaimed while we were on a nature walk the other day.

But in this world of Tiger Moms and Helicopter Parents, I feel conflicted.  I don't know if I should be pressuring her more, pushing her more.  I don't care if she is the best tennis player or the best actress in community theater, I just want her to feel connected.  I want her to have a place where she belongs.  I want her to have a group she is a part of.  I want her to know how wonderful she is.  I want her to hold onto this sense of wonder and joy forever.  I want her to have opportunities to express her self and learn and grow and shine and share that something, that special something about Lucy.

"Guess what, you are going to an audition," I told her yesterday.

"No I'm not," she replied.

I knew she wouldn't be thrilled with my great idea of trying out for the youth theater down the road.  I mean come on! Lucy plus drama + creative people + audience= perfect combination.    But Lucy is more street performer than theat-ah diva.  She is the girl that goes for the laugh or the look from strangers in line at the grocery store or on the playground rather than the school play.  She is the girl that likes making her own rules, being her own group, getting lost in her own imagination.  And again, I totally get it, but I'm the parent, I'm supposed to push and pressure, right?

"I'm not going and you can't make me," she said both defiant and hurt, with how-could-you?-sad-eyes, like I had just told her we weren't going to celebrate Christmas anymore.

Our "discussion" went on for a long time and neither one of us walked away feeling very happy.

I explained how I wanted her to try new things, how it gets harder to try new things as you get older, how much I love her, how I want good things for her.

"Thank you, but the answer is still no," she said.

For a minute I turned into a wacky mom from a bad reality show and promised milkshakes and presents if she'd just go to the damn audition for Christ's sake.  But only her brothers got into that idea, pleading with her to go so they could all get milkshakes.  Lucy was unimpressed and called me out on my bribing tactics.

After a few tears (mine) and some time, I stopped fighting it and she did not go to the audition.  While I struggled to let it go, she moved on.  She moved on to writing stories and making up stories.  She and Wade were candy superheros at her brother's baseball game, fighting crime with their secret weapon--Swedish Fish-- and her pink cape/scarf/headdress.  

She came over to me at the game to talk.  I thought it might be about our my somewhat emotional afternoon, but it wasn't.

"Do you know how to read comic books?," she asked/challenged, handing me a comic book she just happened to have in her bag.

I read with gusto and she replied, "Not bad mom, not bad at all, for a grown up."

There's just something about Lucy.  She's magic and light, wit and wonder.  

I'm madly in love with this little girl, but that doesn't mean I know how to parent her.  It doesn't mean I know how to not put all my fears and my own issues onto her.  It just means that I love her and I'll keep trying to fill her up with love.  I will honor her sense of adventure and joy and imagination.  

But I will still try to get her to audition next year. I mean right?

Do you have kids that go to the beat of their own drums?  Do you feel conflicted between letting them be themselves and pushing them to try new things?