Sometimes I Want to Be Held By A Man, Naked, Without Having Sex – IS THAT OKAY?

Yes, yes, YES.

A Buick in the Land of Lexus

Apparently not.

If you are a human, then you’ve heard about the Aziz Ansari debacle. You know, the incident in which “woke bae” Ansari pushed and pushed and pushed his date to have sex even though she was clearly not into it.

Many women are uniting in solidarity over their own similar experiences. However, just as many are condemning “Grace,” Ansari’s date. She went to his apartment, she got undressed, what did she expect? Why didn’t she just leave??

Even the New York Times published an opinion piece by Bari Weiss in which she says, “I am a proud feminist, and this is what I thought while reading the article: If you are hanging out naked with a man, it’s safe to assume he is going to try to have sex with you.”

For most of my life, I bought into that same line of reasoning. If I get…

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My Scary Lice Story

Did you read my adventures with lice over at Scary Mommy? Check it out!

She’s Just Not That Into You

I am a nostalgic gal. There are many things about Life-as-it-used-to-be that I pine for, and you can often hear me grumbling like a curmudgeon about how things are today, and how I think they are ruinin’ our society (she says, typing on her magical box.) One such invention is the “play date.” I freakin’ hate them.

“Can you call Wilbur?”

“What?” I say, looking up from my computer. It’s a Saturday morning, and one of the few times that week I have been inspired to write something decent.

“I want to have a play date.  Can you call Wilbur’s Mom and ask if he can play?” It’s my 8 yr old son bugging me. (Again.) Wilbur lives right around the corner, mind you, but they are so busy with activities and family time, that most attempts for my son to hang with him “old school style” (aka walking over and knocking on the door) fail. I begrudgingly text her. Usually it’s a no-go, but sometimes we catch them at the right time. Not today.

The next half hour to an hour consists of him giving me a string of names, while I continually push him off to play on his own (you see, I think that boredom is good for kids! It leads to creativity…) “How about Jebediah? Zeus? Paris? Can you call Gomer’s Mom? I never get to play with him!” At the mention of Gomer’s name, I stiffen a little. Yeah, you never do…My son continues. “I really like Gomer! Why don’t you ever call for him to come over?” Sigh. I do call.

Here is what I say to my son: “I’ve called them many times. But they have a really big family. I’m sure his Mom is just too busy to get back to me when I call. People are so overscheduled these days. But don’t worry! You will get to see him in school on Monday!”

Here is what I should say: “Dude, he’s just not that into you!”

I am doing my kid a disservice if I sugar-coat this issue any longer. Not everyone wants to be your friend. No it’s not fair. (Life isn’t fair! Just wait until you fall in love with someone and they don’t love you back! But I digress…) I was volunteering in his kindergarten class one day, and a few children were squabbling over something. The teacher chose to explain to the entire group that they needed to be nice to each other, because they are “all friends.” Excuse me? No, they are not. They are classmates. They are members of society that need to be cordial to one another. But they are not all friends.  Some people have good chemistry and similar interests, and some don’t. This is not a judgment on either person: it just is. And the more we try to bang square pegs into round holes, or blame one person’s attributes for the problem, the worse it gets. No wonder people go into their dating years so confused! They have spent years being told by their teachers and parents that they should be friends with everyone, instead of recognizing the signs that maybe this personality isn’t the right fit for us.

In case this is news to you, here are 5 signs that a child is not interested in being your child’s friend.

1. They don’t choose to play with her at school. Your kid might really want to be close with someone, but when probed, you find out that this kid consistently does something else at recess. “I need to have Xena over for a playdate! I never see her at school, because she is always playing tag and I’m not invited to join.” You’ve gone through the obligatory, “well have you asked if you can play too?” and discovered that your child is being told that there are too many players. Or their shirt isn’t red. Or their hair is too long. Uh, I’ve got news for you, if Xena is playing a nebulous game where the children run around on the grass, and your kid isn’t allowed to join, that is on purpose.
2. They don’t sit next to him at lunch. You find out that even though everyone can choose where they want to sit at lunchtime, Merlin consistently sits with other people, and might even “save seats” for friends and not let your child sit next to him. Your child will be tempted to justify this behavior. “Mom, it’s nothing!  They are really good friends with Benji, and I got to sit 3 seats away from him. He said I could sit next to him tomorrow (which never comes.)
3. You invite them to parties, and never get an invite in return. Just because a kid shows up to your birthday party does not mean that they like you. It means that they like cake. I don’t know of a single kid under the age of 12 who has turned down a party invitation because they don’t like the birthday boy or girl. But are they reciprocating? Does this mean that if you didn’t get invited to one party that they hate you? No! Birthday parties have become over-the-top, ridiculous stressors in people’s lives these days, and they cost way too much money, and take up way too much of people’s weekends. (I swear if my friends liked me they would stop inviting my kids to all of these parties.) However, when trying to figure out if you are getting valid excuses, or the big brush off, it is one more variable to throw in the mix.
4. They say mean things to her or change their personality when other kids are around. Kids have no filter – they can be really rude, especially if they aren’t that into you in the first place. If your child is reporting consistently mean behavior from said child, that is not a friend. I have seen “not into them kids” be nice to my children when they are alone, because, well, no one else is around and they want the company. But when other more desirable kids are around…forget it. They morph into snooty “I-can’t-be-seen-with-you” right then and there.
5. You do all of the inviting (and they don’t accept or reciprocate). No matter how many times you call to invite them over for play time, outings, pizza parties, sleepovers, there is always an excuse…until you look back on months, even years of excuses with no results. I’m not talking about one or two slights that you are now blowing up and being sensitive about. Don’t make up stories: we are all dealing with private battles that most people know nothing about. There could be a death in the family, a divorce, a chronic medical problem, etc. But if all of these signs are ringing true, and there is a pattern of non-response, then maybe it’s time to have a heart to heart with your kid. It might be hard for them to hear it. They will probably continue to justify the other child’s behavior. This is a Life lesson that takes time and patience. But you can help them learn what good friendship looks like by having them spend time with kids that they really gel with. They will feel better when they realize it’s not them. It’s just chemistry.

Of course, it might not be our kid they are trying to avoid. It might be us…

Use Your Inside Voice

I have a dominant personality-type. This makes it challenging for me to understand how other people do (or do not) face their issues. “Just do it,” is pretty much the gist of my advice, and it challenges me as a friend and a parent. Patience is not one of my virtues, but I try. I understand the need for my kids to be strong, independent people, and this is a process that needs to come from within.

My daughter has many of my qualities, but dominance is not one of them. She is introverted, a peace-keeper. She was in 4th grade when our “how was your day” talks took a turn. At first the stories were about control and the loss of it, “Bertha wanted to stand in the front of the line today, but I was the line leader! And she cut anyway…Ethyl wanted to stand behind Bertha, and she got in front of me.” I would ask her the same question I ask every person who tells me something happens to them: “What did you do about it?” What I would get was: (whine, whine, cry) “I wanted to stand there!” (blah, blah.) This conversation played out with my daughter reporting the daily line news, and me gritting my teeth and explaining that, unless she tells them how she feels, locking herself in a control battle over a place in line is sooo not worth it. “But it’s not fair!” she wailed. “Life isn’t fair,” I said. This is not the first time I have heard this story from her – I have endured the “line play-by-play” since pre-school, and I was sick of it.

Then the story changed. “Ethyl pushed me into a wall today,” she whispered. “I fell on the floor and it really hurt.” I saw red. I have to admit, my “What did you do about it,” probably came out a little more accusatory than normal. Nothing. She laid on the floor. The teacher didn’t see, and she didn’t tell. This was my daughter’s passive personality rearing its ugly head, and here was my dominant personality about to do the same. “How could you let someone do that to you? She has no right to touch you! Why didn’t you tell? Why didn’t you yell ‘Hey! Why did you push me? That hurt!’ Why didn’t you stand strong and not let yourself get pushed?” My daughter’s face said it all: she slumped over, tears streaking down. She didn’t, because she couldn’t. “But Mom, I’m not strong,” she admitted in a small voice. Wow. My kid is petite, but the girl that pushed her over is the shortest kid in the entire grade. I cried.

Over the next few weeks, this conversation played out again and again, with more pushing incidences from both girls, and the B word a nightly conversation as my husband and I argued about what to do. My first instinct was to charge into school and shout from the rooftops that my child was being bullied. But he did not agree. “This is not a problem with those girls,” he said. “This is a problem with our girl. She is going to need to learn how to stand up for herself today or tomorrow, and it’s just going to get harder.” By knee-jerking an emotionally-charged term like bullying at this point, we would be denying the part that our child played in this. There were 23 other kids in that classroom that had no problem with these girls. They picked on her, because she let them.

We saw this as a self-esteem problem, not a bullying problem. Believe me, had the physical aggression been more severe, we would have addressed it differently.  But as a “bullying problem,” the problem and the solution focused on those two girls, their parents, and the school. We had very little control over those outcomes. As a self esteem issue, we could focus on developing our child, and making it less likely for this to happen with other people down the road.  Besides, I was warned about using the B word in school by a friend whose son had been B’d. When she went to the administration and complained, they responded by removing her child from his classroom instead of dealing with the offender. Uh, no thank you. She had advised me: before you pull that trigger, use all other words to describe your situation. We did not want our daughter removed from her class, and we felt very strongly that any attempt that we took to fix her problem would ultimately fail. I held her close after she tearfully asked me to just make it all go away. “Honey, I can’t go to school with you every day. Even if I got in their face and told those girls to leave you alone, it wouldn’t fix the problem. The problem is you.” I hugged her tight as she cried. It is one of the hardest and best things I have ever said to my kid.

I met with her teacher, alone and off record, no B word, because I wanted to make sure that I was getting an accurate picture from my child. Though he hadn’t witnessed any pushing, he corroborated that the other students were “difficult,” and that my kid was making herself a target by being “mousey.” He appreciated being put on alert that they have been physically aggressive (sadly, he said, kids are smart enough to not do it when teachers are around.) He encouraged her to report any incidences to him, but one of her fears was that she was going to get in trouble by speaking up. (Both of my children say this. Thank you, “no tattling rules…”) “They will tell the teacher and I will get in trouble!” Sigh. “You have every right to stand up for yourself, and you will not get in trouble with a teacher, but even if you do, the worst thing that can happen is they will call me, and I will never get mad at you, OK? I will hug and high-five you.” This message has not magically worked with my kids, and it has frustrated the Hell out of me.

I called a friend who is a 5 ft tall black belt in karate. She agreed to work with her weekly. “There is nothing more therapeutic than learning how to punch and kick something. Girls are not taught that growing up.” The lessons consisted of hitting and kicking pads, while yelling from the core: “Hah!” This was really hard for her – it took weeks to do it right. Lest you think I was advocating for my daughter to learn how to hit someone (I wasn’t), she also met with the guidance counselor to work on self esteem, and she started Cotillion where she had to dance with boys, go through a receiving line, and give eye contact to adults. I think she preferred the punching bag.

Slowly, she transformed. The pushing incidences tapered and eventually stopped. I would love to tell you that in a movie-finale moment, she told these girls off, and I never had to hear their names again. But like a moth to a flame, she flitted in and out of relationship with these frenemies, and I did a very good job of not choking them. I wanted to order her to stay away, but I knew that she had to make this choice on her own (OK, my husband knew that, but I eventually accepted it.) She is now in middle school in another town (buh bye Bertha and Ethyl.) But I would be lying if I thought moving schools ended her problems – it’s middle school! At 72 lbs, just walking the hallway makes her a target in a sea of older, bigger bodies. Recently, I told her that defending yourself gets harder and more important as you age. “I know how to defend myself Mom. I just need to use my inside voice.” Huh? I thought that an “inside voice” was what I threatened them to use whenever they got too loud in a building. “You know,” (speaking like a sweet little girl) “this is my polite, outside voice,” (speaking in a HUGE, harsh voice) “AND THIS IS MY INSIDE VOICE – DON’T MESS WITH ME!!!”

(wow! it worked…)

Teach your kids to use their inside voice. Use it loud and clear, from their gut, to tell someone not to mess with them. Ever again.

On The Road!

This week you can find me over at Do Well talking with Dinah Ostenso about how I eat and why. Come on over and pull up a chair!

Bring Sexy Back

I’m gonna pop some tags, only got $20 in my pocket ~Macklemore

I am a die hard thrift shopper. Everything I wear is from Goodwill or a Consignment shop. But you would never know it – I find the best stuff! Designer labels, sexy, boutique-esque clothing. Much of it with tags still on it! For me, thrift shopping is not only my way of being Green, it helps offset the huge medical bills that pile up (can I get an Amen?) Also, I loves me some retail therapy, and being able to peruse Goodwill whenever I want is a heck of a lot better than having to explain a mall binge to my husband.

I had a seriously good haul today (snakeskin pants for $5.20!). And then…stop the freakin’ presses. I found this:

It was magnificent. There were so many things about it that I loved. Jack the Pumpkin King (check), a hoodie (check), it was warm for my poor, cold body (check!) Separately, all of these attributes were awesome in their own right. Together, though…I was an adult in footie PJs. Something I swore I would never, ever don. Right up there with sweatshirts that have Disney characters or pets on them. But it was soooooo cozy…Maybe it wouldn’t completely kill my street cred as a sexual being…Just to be sure, I texted this selfie to my husband at work. Here is an excerpt of our conversation:

Me: I want you to know that it is taking all of my restraint NOT to get this…

Him: OMG.

Me: I know, right?! Awesome!!! Like wearing a hug.

I love messing with my husband. (Case in point, he has specifically asked that I never blog about him. Technically I am blogging about ME and just mentioning him…) I think sending him this photo keeps it real and makes him appreciate what I do normally look like as opposed to what I could look like. True, I spend too much time in my “physical therapy” outfit somedays, and never get to the cute outfit, but more days than not, he comes home to a wife that looks good. And as we all learned from Dinah Ostenso’s post “She Looks Fine to Me,” sometimes that’s all we chronics have!

It wasn’t always this way in my house. While I worked in the hospital as a nurse (ugh, night shift!), and then after I had babies, I did not have a cute wardrobe. I spent years as a tired new Mom, undiagnosed with the right syndrome, and spiraling downward: fashion was not my priority. But, lest you think I sound superficial, it affected me. I look back at photos of me with my babies, and feel sad that I looked (and felt) frumpy. I also know I have every opportunity to continue looking and feeling frumpy each and every day. I do not work outside of my home. I spend my days in rehab, writing at my computer, or with my dog in my garden. I am exhausted all of the time, and have persistent pains and headaches that cause me to rest and nap when I allow it. This is a Lifestyle that screams sweatpants and footie pajamas!  And it is for this reason that I fight so hard to look young and vibrant on the outside, even when I feel old and tired on the inside.

My latest tattoos, about 2 years old

This is the exact reason I gave people when they asked me why I got tattooed 20 years ago (to date, I have 5, and I love them all!) I pierced my nose. I cut and dye my hair in different funky styles, and I let my kids do the same. I love tight pants, animal print, ironic tee shirts, sequins, studded bracelets, smokey eyes…I look like I’m going to a rock concert when I go out with my friends (or school events, who am I kidding?) I might be dying on the inside, but I’ll be damned if I am going to look like it!

Maybe you live with an invisible illness, or maybe you are just a tired parent. My advice to you is to make it as hard as possible to look frumpy for each other: work to blend comfort, fashion and recycling by having clothing swaps or visiting your local thrift stores. Our Grandmothers did have it right: putting on a “nice dress and some lipstick” can make a difference – but that difference is for me as much as for my man.

One. Way to Sleep

It has been a goal of mine to learn how to vlog (that is weird word, but essentially it means video-blog). The editing process seemed very intimidating, especially for someone who has a near constant three martini-high from fatigue/Topamax side-effects. But, the blogosphere is a generally warm and supportive place, and I quickly found a mentor in Jenn Rian who runs a vlogger Facebook group and offers a lot of advice and hand-holding. Make sure to check out her crazy, awesome pages I Make Myself the Queen and The Coolest Family on the Block.

Jennifer Balducci, PT, MSPT, Cert MDT from One. Physical Therapy Fitness and Wellness and I have been talking about teaming up for an informational video series for a while now, because we have opinions, and we love to share them! So, it has happened, and here is the first one. She is the brains and I am the…body. And the bozo. We all like to learn, but I’m going to make you laugh while you do it. That’s my MM promise.

Hope you enjoy it! And if you do, share it to Facebook or with someone you know who suffers from back pain. They will love you for it.

Guest Post: She Looks Fine to Me….

I’m really excited to have a special guest post from Dinah Dowell Ostenso. She told me this story as we chatted in the middle of Whole foods for 45 minutes (that counts as a date, right?) I knew that it was the perfect tale to share with my readers during this special week honoring those of us who live with an “Invisible Illness.”

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“She looks fine to me. She looks really, um, good.”  he said.  HE was the physician in the Pediatric ward of our local hospital Emergency Room.  And “she” was my sixteen year old daughter.  I took her to the ER late one Sunday afternoon after a weeklong complaint that her right lower abdomen area hurt. The pain came and went in intensity, but it had been there almost a week. She was starting to take Advil every day – and we don’t like to regularly use those medications. She no longer has her Appendix. That is another story for another day. The important part of that story is that she was only six years old and she waited all night long in pain without complaining and woke up with a fever the next morning at which point I knew exactly what was wrong. She was rushed to a city hospital with a call ahead to the surgical specialist, but by the time she was prepped it had already burst. So this girl of mine – she has a high tolerance for pain. She is a dancer. And she dances every day with grace and beauty while her toes are covered in bleeding blisters and her legs are covered in bruises. So when she came to me and we discussed whether to wait to see her regular pediatrician or to go to the Emergency Room – and she chose the ER – I knew there was a reason to go. Like most moms would say – I know my kid.

But after a ten minute interview with the ER physician, he determined that she looked just fine to him. He literally swept his arm toward her with a big cynical smile on his face and kept repeating, “She looks really good to me.” I am positive that he sees way too many patients who should not be using the ER for the everyday cold or sniffles. And that this has added to his level of disbelief when dealing with someone who he deems “looks fine.” I do get that.  But, we were very clear that we had thought through our decision to come to the ER, that she really didn’t want to be there either, and that she has a high tolerance for pain. He finally ran down the list of items that he suspected could be the problem and begrudgingly decided to run tests for a few on his list. After an hour, they came back negative. He told us the news and said that he only had two other things to test for – but, since she “looked just fine” to him, he suggested we not test for them and just head on home. In exasperation, my very funny teenage girl said, “Um, oh my God, I put on mascara this morning. Of course I look fine!”  At such a young age, this girl has the wisdom that all adult women have come to learn – leave the house without mascara and you will definitely run into someone you know and you will look like death. Put on mascara and voila – you look just fine and dandy! But, mascara or no mascara, how she looked was NOT the point. How she FELT was the reason we were there.

Another round of explaining my point of view, and he ran the last two tests. Bingo! We had a diagnosis. Did she need Emergency surgery or treatment at right that minute? No. But she did need a diagnosis, a referral to see a specialist, rounds of regularly scheduled follow up sonograms and most importantly a list of what symptoms would indicate that emergency intervention and surgery were needed immediately  – which are possible consequences of her diagnosis. An attempt to see her pediatrician for this would have resulted in a few days wait for the first appointment, a few weeks wait to see the specialist, a few more days wait to have the initial sonogram and a few more weeks wait for the follow up appointment with the specialist – before anyone would have told us about the emergency possibility of what she has going on. That would not have been a good path for this issue. I am so glad that I have experience in this area of – “she looks just fine to me” and knew to be persistent in my quest for medical care.

You see, I have Multiple Sclerosis. For many, this is a completely invisible disease. With Multiple Sclerosis, it is possible to barely be able to see and be completely unable to drive from Optic Neuritis or Double Vision (or Diplopia) and appear fine to everyone you meet. It’s possible to completely lose feeling in your arms and hands and still “look good.” It is even possible to sleep 12 hours and wake with utter and complete exhaustion as your body has been fighting itself all night long due to the autoimmune disease source of the illness – and put on mascara to face the world without anyone noticing that you can barely function.  By the grace of God and a determination to heal my body through nutrition and lifestyle changes, I only spent one year with these types of symptoms. For several years now, all of the work I have invested in my immune system has given my body the nutrients, rest, movement and stress control that it needs to support healing and keep symptoms at bay. When you meet me, I hope that I look healthy! But, I do still have plaques on my brain – literally the meaning of “Multiple” “Sclerosis” – plaques on my brain that you cannot see.  I am happy to look well. But, for me and for many people with an invisible illness, the issue is the same as it was for my daughter that day. The issue is not how I look. How I feel is really the issue.

When you look just fine, but how you feel is anything but fine, you have to become your own health advocate. Being your own health advocate means:

• You have to be persistent in getting care because regardless of how you look, you do not feel well.
• You must be in touch with how you feel and you must be eloquent in describing it to the doctor in order to get the care you need and deserve. Physicians are trained to “look” for certain clues or cues. Looking good can throw them off! It is your job to explain to them that how you look and how you feel are two different things.
• Be armed with research about your symptoms, diagnosis, and possible treatments (both traditional and holistic). Read everything that you can find in relation to how you feel. Read stories of other people with similar symptoms or diagnosis.
• Be willing to stand up for yourself, over and over again. Go with your gut in being determined, especially when you are told by a medical professional that it is all in your head or you look just fine.
• Move on to another medical provider if the one you are seeing doesn’t listen to you. Don’t be afraid to try a different “type” of physician or medical care provider as well – you may find an ally in an acupuncturist, chiropractor, physical therapist, functional medicine doctor, naturopath, etc.

And finally, if you have to – tell them that you look good because you put on the darn mascara that morning! Just because you are wearing mascara, doesn’t mean that you feel well.

Dinah Dowell Ostenso (Do Well, llc) is a Certified Health Coach, blogger and advocate for healing through nutrition and healthy lifestyle habits. She earned her Health Coaching Certificate through the Institute for Integrative Nutrition and is a member of the American Association of Drugless Practitioners. Personal experience in healing and living abundantly with Multiple Sclerosis gives her great insight into helping others do the same with their chronic disease. Her previous life includes a Bachelor’s Degree in Business Administration and many years in health care marketing research. She lives in Annapolis, Maryland where she spends many of her hours playing taxi for her three teenagers. Thankfully, she is married to her high school sweetheart who is as high energy as the kids! When she is not chasing three teenagers, two shih tzu’s and two guinea pigs, she can be found trying new healthy recipes in the kitchen, writing about healing and healthy living and helping others to do well in their lives too. You can read her blog at www.dinahdowell.com and follow her at http://www.facebook.com/DoWellwithDinahDowell or http://www.instagram.com/dowellwithdinahdowell.

 

An Open Letter to the Creepy Guy

Dear Creepy Guy Talking to My Kid:

Let’s be frank. I don’t know you. Or at least, not that well, if you are a person we see consistently. An alarm bell just went off inside while I watched you try to engage my child in conversation. Maybe he picked up on this, and maybe he didn’t, and years of being forced to smile politely and speak to “strangers” have done their work, and my kid is now dutifully answering your questions. He is shy, and everyone new sets his alarms off when he first encounters them: relatives, neighbors, teachers. For years we have forced him out of his comfort zone “for his own good,” so that he could function in society.

So now my alarm is sounding. It’s not that you did anything overt. It’s just…something about you.

You are “creepy” to me.

Comic Alonzo Bodden says that “creepy” is a woman’s word. We know exactly what it means, who is, and who isn’t. He’s right: I can’t put words to it – it’s in my gut.  That’s not fair? I’m sure it’s not. It might also be prejudiced. And that is not necessarily a bad thing. We are being told over and over in our society that being judgmental is wrong. In some cases I would definitely agree. And in others, not being judgmental, or not using judgment, has cost people very dearly. I once listened to a lecture from an FBI agent who had the terrible job of tracking down lost children. In the majority of the cases, she said, the parent (usually the mother) had a gut instinct that something was wrong about the situation or the perpetrator (who is in most cases, known to the family), and she ignored it, to the fatal end of her child.

Believe it or not, I am an optimist, and I generally like people. There is a good chance that you are a nice person, in which case, you probably have a nice Life (karma, and all that). I could be way off the mark, and you are a kind, good-hearted guy, who loves kids, so when you encounter them in public, you like to engage them. Or, at the very least, you are harmless.

I don’t give a crap. I can’t.

Unfortunately, some truly horrible people have completely ruined that for you. It is a small percentage of the population, I know, but the cost is too great. I am not willing to risk the life of my child in order to make you feel better. It is my job to protect him. It is my job to give him a healthy relationship with that alarm bell in his gut, and it starts by me honoring my own. I’m done with “Political Correctness” dictating that I am not allowed to judge you based on your appearance. You appear creepy to me, and I judge that unsafe. It doesn’t matter what race, age, sexual preference, socioeconomic status, or size and shape you are. From my personal experience, creepiness knows no boundaries.

Oh, don’t worry: I am cordial to everyone. I won’t embarrass you in public. You will hardly even know that I feel this way about you. You won’t notice the slightly clipped way I speak to you, the tightness of my smile, or that it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. I am a very warm person by nature – just not to you. Our conversation will end quickly, and my child and I will move on with our lives. And then he and I will have a very warm and loving conversation, reminding him about “don’t knows,” “kinda knows,” and “safe side adults.” (from the best video about “stranger danger”)

If I am wrong about you, and you are a good and kind person, I wish you well. And if I am right, and you are a creepy pedophile, lying in wait for your next victim, I hope you die a most painful death before you can even lay one finger on another person.

Either way, my behavior towards you is not going to change.

Sincerely,

A Mom

P.S. To the female perpetrators: Even though my radar doesn’t pick you up as easily, I’m working on it (for more on how to ID a pedophile).

The Birthday Grinch

I took my daughter to the Cheesecake Factory for the first time. We were there from 8-10pm after an appointment at the mall ran way too long, and we were overdue for a date before she went off to middle school. While we were there, having pleasant conversation, we heard a group of wait staff sing “Happy Birthday” to someone. Five minutes went by. It happened again. By the third time, I was silently putting up fingers in the middle of our conversation to tick them off.

We got to seven.

At seven, I pulled aside one of the young waitresses and asked her, “What’s the record for the number of times you have had to sing Happy Birthday to people in a night?” She chuckled and said that one of her coworkers admitted to eleven times, (Eleven! Smh) and that she often accidentally sings “the Cheesecake Factory version” instead of her own relative’s name at home. I asked her if it drove her crazy, and she politely said that she doesn’t mind, and that she thinks it’s nice.

Liar.

She’s a sweet girl, and I’m a customer. She has to say that. I thought about the fact that we were there on a late Tuesday night, not even a weekend during peak dinner hours, and that these poor minimum wage staff had to dance around like trained monkeys and sing to their tables, interrupting my and everyone else’s conversation – for what? Because it’s your birthday? Well excuse me, but I don’t get it.

There was once a time where I participated in this ritual (no, not having wait staff sing to me. That has never happened.) I mean celebrating my birthday like I have accomplished something. It wasn’t until I heard some viciously funny bits by some of my favorite comics that I began to change my philosophy on the matter. The day of our birth (they joke) is a celebration of the 9 month mark of the time when our parents…did it. And that is their accomplishment, not ours. If you need an awesome laugh, check out these bits by Patton Oswalt and Christian Finnegan (warning: rated M for cussin’, and the humor is VERY blue). All joking aside, I don’t understand why the tradition in this country is for us to receive gifts on the anniversary of the day of our birth. Now that I have birthed two humans, I realize that the only person who accomplished anything on my birthday is the woman who birthed me. I think she deserves the gifts.

I’ll be the first one to admit that I am in a full-fledged, mid-life crisis. I have been thinking a lot about what makes my life meaningful and precious lately. I certainly think that just having it is a start. The blogosphere lights up every day with people worried about how we are creating generations of entitled children. So why, then are we teaching them from the get-go that they are eligible to earn fabulous prizes every year just by being alive? Where is the gratitude lesson there? I’m not trying to get all Jehovah’s Witness on you: I believe in celebrating things. I love the tradition of giving and receiving. But observing a bunch of underpaid, and most likely, underappreciated waiters sing to adults over a piece of cheesecake on feedback loop really bothered me. And the over-the-top ridiculousness of birthday parties these days and the Great Goody-bag Crisis that’s coming to a head also really bothers me. I believe that these traditions are damaging our children, and turning them into adults who expect hard working people to “dance” for them without so much as a glance. And, lest I be accused of making generalizations, I do not know the whole story behind these restaurant celebrations. One of those people might have really and truly cherished that moment for reasons that I don’t know. I certainly hope so. But I doubt it.