So there’s this ad that runs at least once a day on one of the radio shows I listen to in the morning, on the way to and from Ginny’s preschool. In it, there’s a thirty-something woman raving about Dr. So and So Plastic Surgeon Man and his “Mommy Makeover.” Having children wrecks your body, apparently. But whatever your problem might be, this guy will hook you up. Boobs down to your knees in manner of aboriginal woman in National Geographic? No problem. No discernable boobs, in manner of twelve year old boy? No problem. Unsightly gut, in manner of Homer Simpson? No problem. He doesn’t actually claim to do anything about stretch marks, but I imagine they are part of his repertoire as well.
Every single time I hear this ad, I feel two very different and equally unpleasant emotions: uncontained rage, paired with a nagging fear that I’m a pretty good candidate for a number of these procedures, right down to the thing that he can probably do for my bellybutton. I’ve read Our Bodies, Ourselves, and I know that the changes that motherhood brings to the body are both natural and normal. I get that. I also know that our culture is youth-obsessed to an unnatural and unhealthy degree, and wanting the thighs I had when I was 17 is both unrealistic and self-defeating. I know that my husband would never ever let me go under the knife for anything less than a really really good reason, such as being tromped on by a dinosaur, sustaining massive trauma to my entire body. So it’s not going to happen.
But there are a lot of women out there who are even more insecure than I am (hard to imagine, but I know it’s true), and they are probably Googling this guy, trying to figure out how much a tummy tuck will set them back. That’s where the rage comes in—how dare this person who has taken a vow to Do No Harm go around making women feel like crap? I don’t need to hear it. My daughter does not need to hear it. None of us need to hear it.
Anyway, for his information, I’ve already had a Mommy Makeover. Only, it’s not the kind of makeover he probably had in mind. Yeah, I kind of shun bikinis nowadays. Whatever. But I guarantee that this guy does not have my super-special parent powers. As Mommy, I can awake instantly, at any and all hours of the night, and know what the noise is that I just heard. (Usually Dan.) I know what that strange rustling is (Ginny getting into her Easter candy, attractively stored in the orange Halloween pumpkin on my kitchen counter.) I can tell the difference between a whiney I-picked-my-nose-too-much-and-now-it’s-bleeding cry and an oh-my-Lord-this-requires-stitches cry, from almost any given distance. I have magic hands. I know when it’s a fever. I can tell if the sippy cup is warm enough to be breeding deadly germs, and when it’s ok to drink. I have telepathic powers. I can find things by reconstructing my children’s byzantine thought processes, such as when Dan put Adam’s car keys in a suitcase.
So anyway, this guy doesn’t have anything to offer me. Nothing that I need. Nothing that I want. Or, at least, nothing that I can’t live without (or with, as the case may be).
Anyhow I have to wrap this up. America’s Next Top Model is on and I don’t want to miss it. Just don’t tell Adam. Or my daughter.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Living Deliberately: The Year of the Blog
So it’s been a year since I started the blog, one purpose of which was to describe my family’s transition to living in a new place and in a simpler fashion. So what have I learned this year? Well…it’s a mixed bag. Here goes:
1) Building a house in the woods means that you only live near people who have also built houses in the woods. You don’t actually interact much with your neighbors except to notice in passing who is making a garden, who is successfully cultivating their grass, who has hired a cleaning service, etc. However, we have discovered that we DO have good neighbors. They respond when you are in need. They help you figure out what to do when the wiring to your well pump is screwed up. They let you and your 18-month old in their houses when you Can’t Stay Home One More Minute and have lost your car keys. The bad neighbors (the ones who fly a confederate flag and have a tarp exclaiming “FAT SLOB” strapped to their chimney) keep entirely to themselves. I kind of wish we got invited to their bonfire party last year, but not really. So far so good.
2) The Simple Life is a relative concept. One reason for our simpler lifestyle was the default setting that most everyone I know resorts to when we have children—no more movies, no more date nights, no more fancy vacations, no more discretionary income. It’s a little like being in college again, before you get a real job. You go to the library instead of the bookstore, buy all used stuff, eat a lot of pasta and beans. You feel slightly left of center, rather more virtuous than the people who can afford to consume more than you. You feel guilty about not recycling enough and try to reuse things like Ziploc bags, until you reach your gross-out threshold. Well, anyway—that’s been my experience.
As part of our experiment in deliberate living (and yeah, I’m square with the fact that this term is both stale and self-aggrandizing—deal with it, it’s the best blog title I could come up with on the spot), we also decided to build a smaller house based on what we thought we needed/wanted, and I decided to work less and spend more time at home with the kids (more on this issue later). However, I’ve learned that I could go much much further with the Simple Life thing. My friend Angie the Coupon Maven is a beacon of frugality which I would do well to emulate. I’ve also learned that when everyone around us is getting laid off, my version of the Simple Life looks like living pretty damn high on the hog, so I probably ought to not talk about it anymore. Ok, check.
3) The best thing about staying at home with the kids is that you’re getting to stay at home with the kids. The worst thing about staying at home with the kids is that you’re stuck at home with the kids. When you’re a full-time worker (or WOH mom, as it’s called on all the discussion boards), you feel guilty that you aren’t with your kids, relishing everything they say and do, giving them the best possible developmental context. When you’re staying at home with them all the time, you feel guilty because you’re not relishing everything they say and do (which involves a lot of fighting, to be honest), and not giving them the best possible developmental context, because all you want to do is eat your friggin bowl of grits so please go watch George, just for a minute, pleeeease???
4) Sometimes, you have to come out of the woods. Seriously. Being alone a lot (ok, without other adults) can really mess with your head. This year, I joined Facebook, which was both good and bad. I got connected to some old friends whom I haven’t spoken with in a long time, and have really enjoyed catching up with them. I’ve also been inspired to keep going with some of my writing projects. But I’ve also spent way too much time on there, investing far too much energy in building an online persona—for people whom I may not see again until the next reunion, if at all. So, I have almost got my Facebook addiction under control, which is very good. But I’m still working on making actual friendships here, friends of the non-virtual variety. My success has been limited by the fact that I’m an introvert, not a joiner of anything (except Facebook, obviously), and don’t have much in common with many of the people I meet. However, I have at least one friend whose place I can crash at almost anytime, kids in tow. So far, so good.
In looking back at the blog entries over the past year, I do think I’ve learned quite a bit. I’ve also found that many of the issues and questions I have about life and how it should be lived are destined to be revisited again and again. I’ve also learned that I’m my own harshest critic. But that’s as it should be, right? I mean, I’m the only one who knows what I’m really thinking, the only one who knows what I really mean, the only one who knows how severely I should be rapped on the knuckles.
But at the same time, I’ve discovered that pretense is unsustainable. I’d like to be a better person but I’m probably going to have to settle for being the person that I am. I don’t know for certain, but I strongly suspect that there are a lot of us like that out there, somewhere, thinking we should be doing something better with our lives, but sensing that we’d better get our heads wrapped around where we are and what we’re doing. Like the motto of Garrison Keillor’s Lake Wobegonians, sumus quod sumus. We are what we are.
So far, so good.
1) Building a house in the woods means that you only live near people who have also built houses in the woods. You don’t actually interact much with your neighbors except to notice in passing who is making a garden, who is successfully cultivating their grass, who has hired a cleaning service, etc. However, we have discovered that we DO have good neighbors. They respond when you are in need. They help you figure out what to do when the wiring to your well pump is screwed up. They let you and your 18-month old in their houses when you Can’t Stay Home One More Minute and have lost your car keys. The bad neighbors (the ones who fly a confederate flag and have a tarp exclaiming “FAT SLOB” strapped to their chimney) keep entirely to themselves. I kind of wish we got invited to their bonfire party last year, but not really. So far so good.
2) The Simple Life is a relative concept. One reason for our simpler lifestyle was the default setting that most everyone I know resorts to when we have children—no more movies, no more date nights, no more fancy vacations, no more discretionary income. It’s a little like being in college again, before you get a real job. You go to the library instead of the bookstore, buy all used stuff, eat a lot of pasta and beans. You feel slightly left of center, rather more virtuous than the people who can afford to consume more than you. You feel guilty about not recycling enough and try to reuse things like Ziploc bags, until you reach your gross-out threshold. Well, anyway—that’s been my experience.
As part of our experiment in deliberate living (and yeah, I’m square with the fact that this term is both stale and self-aggrandizing—deal with it, it’s the best blog title I could come up with on the spot), we also decided to build a smaller house based on what we thought we needed/wanted, and I decided to work less and spend more time at home with the kids (more on this issue later). However, I’ve learned that I could go much much further with the Simple Life thing. My friend Angie the Coupon Maven is a beacon of frugality which I would do well to emulate. I’ve also learned that when everyone around us is getting laid off, my version of the Simple Life looks like living pretty damn high on the hog, so I probably ought to not talk about it anymore. Ok, check.
3) The best thing about staying at home with the kids is that you’re getting to stay at home with the kids. The worst thing about staying at home with the kids is that you’re stuck at home with the kids. When you’re a full-time worker (or WOH mom, as it’s called on all the discussion boards), you feel guilty that you aren’t with your kids, relishing everything they say and do, giving them the best possible developmental context. When you’re staying at home with them all the time, you feel guilty because you’re not relishing everything they say and do (which involves a lot of fighting, to be honest), and not giving them the best possible developmental context, because all you want to do is eat your friggin bowl of grits so please go watch George, just for a minute, pleeeease???
4) Sometimes, you have to come out of the woods. Seriously. Being alone a lot (ok, without other adults) can really mess with your head. This year, I joined Facebook, which was both good and bad. I got connected to some old friends whom I haven’t spoken with in a long time, and have really enjoyed catching up with them. I’ve also been inspired to keep going with some of my writing projects. But I’ve also spent way too much time on there, investing far too much energy in building an online persona—for people whom I may not see again until the next reunion, if at all. So, I have almost got my Facebook addiction under control, which is very good. But I’m still working on making actual friendships here, friends of the non-virtual variety. My success has been limited by the fact that I’m an introvert, not a joiner of anything (except Facebook, obviously), and don’t have much in common with many of the people I meet. However, I have at least one friend whose place I can crash at almost anytime, kids in tow. So far, so good.
In looking back at the blog entries over the past year, I do think I’ve learned quite a bit. I’ve also found that many of the issues and questions I have about life and how it should be lived are destined to be revisited again and again. I’ve also learned that I’m my own harshest critic. But that’s as it should be, right? I mean, I’m the only one who knows what I’m really thinking, the only one who knows what I really mean, the only one who knows how severely I should be rapped on the knuckles.
But at the same time, I’ve discovered that pretense is unsustainable. I’d like to be a better person but I’m probably going to have to settle for being the person that I am. I don’t know for certain, but I strongly suspect that there are a lot of us like that out there, somewhere, thinking we should be doing something better with our lives, but sensing that we’d better get our heads wrapped around where we are and what we’re doing. Like the motto of Garrison Keillor’s Lake Wobegonians, sumus quod sumus. We are what we are.
So far, so good.
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