Possibly Overly Self-Centered Ramblings (at least I'm honest...right?)

ABC, or at least the Boston/Manchester ABC affiliates, pulled a bait and switch with today's Oprah broadcast. The guide told me that today was the blooper show. Promos have run all week for it, in fact. Instead, what I saw was the first few minutes of the show the guide claimed played yesterday, about a little boy whose father and step mother were unbelievable monsters who kept him chained and locked in a bathroom closet. I don't know that I would knowingly have watched that episode - thinking it was on yesterday, I sure didn't. But it caught me off guard and I started to watch. I think I shouldn't have.

There are certain news stories, or stories on Oprah, or what have you, that stick with me. Most of them are about little boys. I'd say it's a result of my being the mother of a little boy, which I think is part of it, but this actually started long before I had him. It probably started when my second grade teacher described, in detail, what had happened to Adam Walsh (which I think I've mentioned here before). Or maybe it started because I had two little brothers, of whom I was, and am, fiercely protective.

There was the case maybe a month or so ago, wherein a mother and her boyfriend beat and kicked a three year old to death for wetting his pants. I don't remember how I stumbled across that one, but it quite literally made me physically ill to think of it, particularly since I'm also in the process of potty training a three year old, and while I realize how frustrating it is to do this, I cannot, cannot, cannot imagine ever hurting him for wetting his pants. He gets so upset when he does it that I can't imagine making that worse.

I think what really killed me with this Oprah was when they played the police recordings of this kid, at six years old, describing what had happened to him. Sure, it would've been horrifying regardless, but hearing that little voice describe it was physically painful.

Those ubiquitous "they" always say that when you become a mother, you suddenly cannot hear these kinds of stories without relating them to your own child/children. I guess that's true. But since this is a lifelong thing with me, there is this part of me that feels like it's my higher self or intuition telling me I should DO something about it- help in some way. But...what? That's what I need to figure out.

If I Were a Sociology Grad/Post-grad Student...

I've been thinking quite a bit lately about the new war on women in the U.S. Recent developments, like the changes in recommendations on routine breast screenings, the all out war on Planned Parenthood (where women do NOT, contrary to ignorant belief only receive abortions, but routine pap smears, cancer screenings, birth control, education and a host of other services), the ridiculous proposals in Congress for things like IRS investigations of abortions to assure they were paid for "properly" and investigations of miscarriages to make sure they were "spontaneous"...the list goes on. What I wonder is, where does this resentment come from? The proposals I've read about have all come from men. In the GOP. Mostly in the southern and midwestern parts of the country. Hmm. So...here's what occurs to me.

These areas are also among the hardest hit in the current economic crisis. Not that we haven't ALL been hit hard, but just bear with me for a minute. Since 2008, we've probably all read about rampant unemployment and how it has had a far greater impact on male breadwinners than anyone else, right? We've probably all read about how women are, for the first time in history, taking on a greater role in this country as breadwinners, because they are cheaper (on the whole) to employ than men are and have therefore been less likely to lose jobs. Not to mention that the direct-sales industry, of which I'm a part and can attest, has grown during this period, because it's such a great way for a woman to support her family or to supplement lost income while still being a caretaker for her family.

Do you see yet where I'm going with this? Maybe the resentment comes from a feeling of futility. A feeling of losing power. A feeling that the longstanding fear of men around the U.S. - that women would "take over" is coming true for many of them. I mean, it just can't be a coincidence, can it?

So, that's what is making me wish I were in some kind of program in which I could study this phenomenon for a dissertation. Fascinating stuff, and I'm pretty certain I'm onto something here.

Growing Up

I've been feeling like a rather inadequate parent today. Rainy Mondays, you know. It got me thinking about my own parents, and about the kind of parent I WANT to be.

Growing up, my four siblings and I had it good. We didn't have a lot of "stuff," necessarily, although I think in the grand scheme, we did ok on that front. But we had so much love. There was never so much as a shadow of a question that we were the most important things in our parents' worlds. Our Mom all but literally turned herself inside out to make our lives everything hers growing up was not. (Hers, growing up, went back and forth between difficult and downright horrific.) Our Dad worked his fingers to the bone to make sure we had enough, and he did his best to create the aura of love and security his parents represented to us all (I think, in some ways, he may have even surpassed them, with his ability to truly accept us as we were). We were, and are, really, extraordinarily lucky.

Of course, some of this, I really only realized after becoming a parent myself. My early twenties were marked by an obsession not to have the same financial struggles they had. This is the number one reason I don't have five children myself, nor will I. Because having four siblings was really amazing in so many ways, but that shit was expensive for my parents and it's certainly not getting any cheaper these days. I had a fixation on not making their mistakes, financially. And I think some of that did me some good, for sure. But I've also come to realize that we all have financial stress. It's a fact of adult life. The best we can do is to live within our means and work as hard as we can to achieve success.

But I AM a parent now. And when I think about the mother I want to be, I think of combining the best qualities of each of my parents - my mother's passion for education, nutrition, and closeness, my father's warmth and support. Am I succeeding? I hope so. It doesn't always feel like it...

We all question our parenting from time to time. Again, a fact of life. But what I do know is that my son is happy and that he knows, without a shadow of a question, that he is loved. The rest may be a work in progress, but he's got the foundation.

Love and Fear

The other night when I couldn't sleep, it was because, as occasionally happens to me, I became fixated on the thought that something (I don't know what, precisely) was going to happen to B. I've gotten better at managing that anxiety, which all mothers experience, I know, over the past three plus years. I've gotten better, too, at being truly IN the moment and enjoying my time with him as much as I can. But still, as a lifelong insomniac and anxiety sufferer, there are still those moments, late at night, when that fear grips my chest and won't let go until I swallow some Benadryl (I'm pregnant, so I only take Benadryl) and finally pass out.

Today, probably because I'm still overtired, and the weather is crappy (yet again), and I'm annoyed at my bandaged finer (long story, but the ring finger of my right hand is all gauzed up and it's annoying), I've been kind of cranky. E came home early from work and has born the brunt of the crankiness. He's enormously patient with this, thank God. But then I read a blost post on one of the blogs I follow, about a woman who lost her husband, and it reminded me once again that I shouldn't take that stuff out on E, because a) I'm so lucky that he's here and healthy and b) he's like the greatest husband that ever lived and does not, in any way, deserve my crankiness.

Love and fear are so intertwined, aren't they? When you love someone, isn't there always an element of fear that something will happen to take them away from you? And sometimes, it can be so easy to fall prey to that fear, and hold ourselves at arms' length, or to try to actively prevent those things. But can we, really? Isn't the best thing we can do just to make the most of the good times? To cherish the important people in our lives while we have them? To open ourselves up to as much love as we can, since in the end, the love is what gets us through those tough times, whether real or imaginary (the times, not the love)? I think so.

So, instead of being ruled that fear, I try to seize as many moments as I can. Of course, I still have those rough nights. I'm a work in progress. But I'm trying.