Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts

Monday, October 21, 2013

Dear Daughters: I Love You


I made a big announcement last month and last May that I would be blogging regularly.

No more big announcements.  But, I'm blogging.  And the blog, this space, is in the state of being overhauled--posts relabeled, tabs removed and added, I may even purchase a more simple url.  Nothing fancy.  No servers and me trying to program a site.  Simple.  But here and consistent.

So I was Instagramming all weekend and got minimal done here.  It's OK.  I love Instagramming.  It makes me feel good.  I like looking and seeing and trying to translate what I see to other people.  It's difficult to do so with an old Samsung Galaxy, but I manage.  And I love getting out of the house.  Love it.

I digress...and that's OK.

I am getting the blogging ball rolling with Monday Listicles.  One of my favorite memes.  The theme this week is love: 10 ways to say, "I love you."  Because it's midnight and I have to be up at 4:30 a.m. for work, I am going quick and easy.  Rattling off of the top of my head the things I do for my two adolescent daughters...the things I do because I love them so much that it hurts.  This stuff is the least I can do.

And here we go.

10 Ways I Show My Daughters I Love Them

Dear daughters,
The next time you are angry because I ask you about your grades or suggest you clean up your room try to remember that I love you.  How do you know that when I am scrunching up my face in disapproval?  Here's how:


I tell you.
I pack your lunch for school.
I tuck you in at night.
I sing for you.
I dance for you.
I wash your clothes (most of the time).
I do not require you to do many chores.
I  go to all performances (choir, plays, musicals, band)
I make you food to eat after school.
I cry when you do something wonderful.

There's more.  Much more.  But this is a nice list you can memorize and recite to yourself
the next time I embarrass you in public.

Love,
Mom


photo credit: profzucker via photopin cc

Monday, June 3, 2013

She Would Be a Freshman


I remember just about a year ago, it hit me:  A few months of summer and then she would be a freshman in high school.

That’s when I stopped breathing.

Would it be as awkward for her as it was for me?  Would the same things happen to her? 

Would she learn the important stuff, like how to be a friend, how to be safe, how to be happy?

Not all of her tests were marked as stellar.  Not all curfews met.  

There were disagreements with friends and flirtations with potential romantic interests.  She rode around in cars with teens who were her elders, yet her peers.  She made it home alive.

There were triumphs and disappointments, all accompanied by drama.  Her drama.  In her room.  In this house. 

Celebrations. 

Self-criticism.

Pep-talks.

Silence.

Loud music.

A beautiful face buried in an iPhone.

She became mysterious.  Inaccessible at times.   However, at times she needed me like when she was a toddler.  Her skills so much more developed, the challenges greater. 

The hugs were as easy to give as when she was two years old.

Her freshman year officially ended a few days ago and I allowed myself to breathe.

I missed it, the air, the oxygen, the freedom.

I will not miss the fear.

Her time in high school is not going to be like it was for me.

She is not me.

She isn't even mine.

Yes, I gave birth to her.  This is true.

However, she belongs to the world.

And she will be ready.



photo credit: kswx_29 via photopin cc

Thursday, May 2, 2013

Really?


“Isn’t this bag cute?” I asked her.

“If you’re a grandma or a 7th-grader,” she replied.

Really?

Really?

The five year old that I watch always says “Really?!  Really?!” to her 15-month-old little sister when she snatches her Barbie dolls.  She’s a tiny little thief who just can’t wait to get caught.

All smiles.

Sometimes there are hot tears of anger from the five year old who gets fed-up with the toy snatching.

But generally it’s all smiles, all around.
 
I left the 15-month-old’s diaper bag in my car, so it came home with me.  When I showed it to my teen daughter she scrunched her nose and said, “Mom, you’re a bad nanny!” 

It was cute.

Then I asked her to confirm the cuteness of the bag.  

She’s not mean.  She’s just honest.  I’m not as cool as I think.

I’m 43. 

I do not wish to be a 7th-grader or a grandma. 

I sometimes wish to be somewhere in between, or, maybe, farther along.

I am uncomfortable.  Sometimes the thoughts swirl: “I should be more successful.  I should have saved.  I should have a career.”

The celebration of another year is on the horizon.  I feel it in the unseasonable heat of the day.  Summers end will bring me to 44.

Perhaps I’ll settle into now.

Really.

What type of bags are the 40-somethings carrying?


NaBloPoMo May 2013

Your Place at Equis Place

I've committed to blogging everyday in May with BlogHer's NaBloPoMo.  The theme this month is 'comfort'.  

Why would I do such a thing?  

To challenge myself.

And because I was inspired by Xiomara who did it three months in a row.  Yes, she blogged everyday for three months in a row!

This post is included in her new weekly link up called 'Your Place'.  Click the badge above to check it out.

photo credit: goaliej54 via photopin cc

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Steubenville Can Be Prevented



It was mid-December when I first heard about the horrific gang rape of an unconscious high school female.  She was repeatedly sexually assaulted by drunken, egomaniacal, high school football players that she knew in Steubenville, Ohio.  In her lifeless state, she was dragged from party to party where many witnesses, including adults, did nothing to stop the assaults.  Some involved posted their crimes on social media and thankfully someone saw it.  Even though the female prosecutor in Steubenville told the victim not to press charges because it would cause her more trouble than she needed, the organization Anonymous ran with the story.  Recently, two of the perpetrators were brought to justice but not without retaliation on Facebook towards the victim.

When I first heard about Steubenville, I could not bring myself to write about it. It was too close to home for me.  I grew up very close to Steubenville, in a small, Rust Belt, Ohio town that put football players on a pedestal.  When I was in high school I got drunk one night and was taken advantage of by a football player while another football player stood by and did nothing.  The entire school found out about it.  My reputation from then on was diminished.  I felt shame.  I felt I was at fault.

Several years later in my adult life, that football player admitted his wrong-doing and apologized to me.  Yet, to this day, I struggle with the though of how I could have prevented it.  

Even though my situation was different than that of the victim in Steubenville, I feel for her.  I know a bit of that pain, alienation, and shame.  

I know the anger and I am angry for her.  Angry at the Steubenville community.  Angry at the kids who stood by and allowed it to happen.  Angry at the adults who supplied alcohol and/or did nothing to stop the partying.

I am also afraid.  Afraid for a society that continues to blame the victim, claiming she was a “slut” and deserved to be raped.  I’m afraid of the sympathy offered to the perpetrators, a sign of the entitled male code that is tightly woven within our culture.

Mostly, I am afraid for my daughter who is a freshman in high school.

There are many aspects and layers to the tragedy in Steubenville that need to be addressed: the culture of football, violence towards women, shaming women who have sex, etc.  It’s overwhelming.

What can I do?

As a mother of a daughter who is a freshman in high school, I can begin at home.

So, I have been been discussing Steubenville with my daughter a lot.

She doesn’t like the subject matter.  When I bring it up, she usually says something like, “Oh no, not this again.”

Topics surrounding Steubenville that we have discussed have been drinking, sex, social media and what constitutes labeling someone as a “slut.” 

These are all heavy topics, topics which lend themselves to me sometimes lecturing rather than listening, so I understand her unwillingness to discuss the situation.  But I won’t back down.  One of the main problems or causes of Steubenville was lack of parenting.

These topics aren’t easy to address with our children.  Some, maybe most, parents simply don’t address these issues out of fear.  And yes, I can tell you from experience that these matters are scary to bring up.  But we can’t guide our children safely to the doorstep of adolescence and simply stop parenting because we are afraid.  When we stop parenting we fail them.  Small incidents turn into crimes because our children have not had the opportunity to discuss these issues.  They’ve been denied the opportunity develop skills to handle difficult situations.

The Label of Slut

One of the most interesting things I have found out by discussing Steubenville with my daughter is the conundrum of the “slut.”  Before I go any further, I need to state that I detest the term and am only using it because it is relevant to the circumstances.


When Steubenville first came up in December and I brought it to the attention of my daughter she seemed unmoved.  I’m not certain, but it seemed she had heard the victim was a “slut.”  So, I asked, “If the victim was one of your friends, how would you feel?”

She said, “I would be really very upset.”

Therefore, we had to discuss this whole “slut” business.

As I said, I don’t like the word.  And within my daughter’s high school community, I don’t understand the use of the word at all.

One definition of “slut” is an offensive term for a woman thought to be sexually promiscuous.

OK.  I get the definition.  What I don’t get is how the kids in high school--in Steubenville and in my daughter’s high school--determine which promiscuous female is awarded the label “slut.”

My daughter has confirmed and has even been upset by the fact that the popular girls at her school are sexually promiscuous.  But are they “sluts” or are they “popular?”  In her school, they are not one in the same.  Does a female’s popularity keep her from being labeled “slut,” and if so, why?

About a year ago her school community labeled a student a “slut” for being involved in giving her boyfriend oral sex.  It got so bad that the girl changed schools because her reputation became too much for her to handle.  To my knowledge, the boyfriend was not labeled anything and is still a student at the school—an example of that destructive, mysterious and acceptable male code.

However, remember, my daughter has confirmed that the popular girls in her school do have sex, but do not deal with an undesirable reputation.  What makes them different?

I’m not sure of the answer.  It could be socioeconomics.  It could be determined by which group the females associate with and how much social status the group has within the school.

Let's be real.  Teens have sex regardless of social or socioeconomic status.  And regardless of social or socioeconomic status, having sex does not mean one is a “slut”.  

The labeling, name-calling, and bullying of teens who have sex is a destructive micro-cultural phenomenon that has been used as a device to create social hierarchy in high schools and it perpetuated by parents, teachers and administrators who do not address the issue.

The negative connotation of being labeled a “slut” is so bad that during the Steubenville case it was posted on social media by several people--students and adults--that the victim deserved to be raped because she was a “slut.” 

Labeling one as a “slut” is a power move has nothing to do with sex.  Such is rape.  It’s about power, not sex.

This power-play usage of the word "slut" (and words like it, as in whore) is incredibly damaging.  Those labeled as "sluts" feel shame and feel trapped into behavior they may not even like or be comfortable with.  Those doing the labeling are not only hypocrites, but are also getting their need for power fed that can can never be satisfied.

When I have talked to my daughter about it it's tricky.  She struggles with wanting to fit in with the popular crowd.  She struggles with wanting to be noticed by boys.  In anger, in a way to gain her own power, I could see her labeling someone as a “slut.”  Meaning, I understand from where it derives, but that doesn't make it OK.

I’m not sure I’ve persuaded her that labeling promiscuous females as “sluts” is very wrong.  But I’m getting there.  And I urge every parent of a teen to have such conversations with their children.

Alcohol

The victim and the perpetrators in the Steubenville tragedy were drinking to the point of intoxication.  In my own high school experience wherein I was taken advantage of by a football player, I was drunk.  I know for certain that the absence of alcohol would have prevented my situation.  It seems the absence of alcohol could have prevented Steubenville, too.

Where did the alcohol come from and who knew they were drinking?

In my situation the alcohol was provided by a parent, my mother.  I don’t know who provided the alcohol to the students of Steubenville, but there are reports that adults knew they were drinking and it was commonplace for the football team to party.  In fact, in one account, the first party the victim was taken to was allegedly the home of the assistant football coach—an adult and a mentor to these kids.  Why didn’t he stop the party? 

I talk to my daughter about drinking.  I tell her the things that can happen.  And I know stuff has happened  in our community.  

Many parents in our community allow kids in their homes when they are not in the home to chaperone.  This is a point of contention between my daughter and me.  I won’t allow her in homes where parents are not present.  It’s difficult because it seems she is the only one of her friends with the rule.

But as I said, I know things have transpired between high school students in our community wherein alcohol is involved.  Just last year, a group of male and female students were drinking in someone’s home and it evolved into a rainbow party.  If you aren’t familiar with a rainbow party, it involves oral sex and lipstick.

A rainbow party with consenting participants (even if they were drunk) is far from a female being passed out, drug from party to party and raped.  However, my point is, if the rainbow parties are not addressed, if the drinking is not addressed, Steubenville can happen here.

Talking to Your Kids

When stories like Steubenville come up in the media, talk to your kids.  Ask them if they have heard about it.  Ask them what they think about it.  Ask them if they know how it could have been prevented.  Let them talk.  Of course, let them know what you think.  Let them know what you feel is appropriate for your family in regards to sexual behavior, drinking, social media behavior, and bullying.  See if you can come to a place of commonality.

Help your child to develop tools to deal with situations that may arise.  Does your child know what to do if she finds herself at a party where there is alcohol?  Would he know what to do if he saw someone being bullied or sexually assaulted?

Ultimately our kids will make their own decisions.  However, if we send them out without knowledge, without a developed conscious of what is right and wrong, we can’t expect them to do the right thing when placed in a position of difficulty.

Lastly, let your kids know that you know it isn’t easy.  Let your kids know you love them and will be there for them to pick them up from the party where there is alcohol.  Let them know you forgive them when they make mistakes.

Talk to your kids.  The last thing you want is for your daughter to be raped, for your son to be a rapist, or to find yourself in a courtroom apologizing to the world for your child’s catastrophic mistake.

Steubenville can be prevented.


More on preventing Steubenville:

V-Day and The Nation will be holding an open discussion with male leaders in the field moderated by Eve Ensler to be held in New York City on Tuesday.  You can email questions for the panel.  MORE INFO
Sign a petition at Change.org for CNN to apologize on air for sympathizing with the rapists.
Sign the petition to educate coaches about sexual assault 





Linking up with Honest Voices




Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Time for Patience

Remember when you were little and the school year seemed to drag on for an eternity?  Forget the school year.  Each class seemed to last longer than summer break.

I remember staring at the giant, industrial, white-faced clock hanging on the classroom wall, watching the second hand slowly tick around its sphere.  Each time the second hand met the big hand, I felt relieved.  One minute down, 40 to go before the bell rang, signaling it was acceptable to move my body out of boredom, discomfort and anxiety.

As an adult, it's different.  Time flies.  Does anyone know why this phenomenon occurs?  One day seems to last a second, a year is like a day.  And now, January is almost at its end and I have yet to set any definitive goals for the year.

I know you are saying, “Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself.  It’s OK.  You can start, or change, any time.”

This is true.  However, as one who struggles with depression, when I give myself permission to stall, or get to it tomorrow, it means three days on the couch.  

Three days on the couch means the depression is fed with a powerful fuel that helps it continue for three more days.  Then I am left with nothing but a fried brain full of terrible self-talk and a sweaty bottom stuck to my jammie pants, jammie pants stuck to, you guessed it, the couch.

I do not remember the word I chose to focus on last year in order to focus on having a good year.  I think it was “fearlessness” or “courage”.  I think I exhibited some of both.  Each time I let bravery simmer to the top it was met by the outside world with enthusiasm, empathy and encouragement.  I was and am grateful for that.  But my inside-world, my self-talk, quickly drove any success into a massive car wreck.

Although the destruction did not go noticed by anyone, I saw it.  I saw it in the things I did not do.  Instead of taking advantage of the momentum of success, my focus fastened itself on the things yet to be accomplished.
 
I have experienced success.  I know I can do it.  That’s not the issue.

The issue is that I have no patience.  If it’s not done now I tell myself "I can’t" or "It’s not for me" or "It's something I do not deserve."

That’s all pretty harsh. 

No one deserves that kind of talk, so why inflict it upon myself?

Lately I have noticed my daughters who are 12 and 14 have very little kindness for themselves.  If their hair is not just right, they are ugly.  If their shirt hangs slightly different than they imaged, they are fat.  It’s frightening.  Although I never verbalize my negative self-talk, they must be picking up this technique of beating oneself up from me through motherhood osmosis.

Enough.


I am choosing one.

Patience.

Just.Be.Enough
I unofficially put my focus word into practice starting two days ago.  On that morning I had dishes done, the floors swept and mopped, and the living room dusted by 8:30 am.  I finished all of the girls’ laundry.  I got help moving the treadmill from the basement to the first floor so that we use it.  I showered, put on make-up and took the girls out shopping.  I even said “hello” to a friend I saw at the store, which is unusual.  Typically I hide.

At 8:00 pm I was contemplating scrubbing down the treadmill and hanging blinds in the room wherein we will be using it.  But I stopped.  I had done enough.  I didn't want to overdo it, waking up the next day with exhaustion which would be permission to go back to the couch.

Patience.

Everything takes time.  Everything has a process.  Change does not happen overnight.  Success isn't awarded in an instant.

I will be holding myself accountable for being patient by linking up monthly with Just.Be.Enough.

You just read month number one. 

Time flew, didn't it?





photo credit: BramstonePhotography via photopin cc

Saturday, January 19, 2013

If My Daughter Had Time

Within one year, she quickly moved from a budding fashionista to a promising musical theatre performer.  Now she just wants time to turn the music she loves into movie soundtracks.  Becoming a D.J. also interests her.  However, high school academics are demanding.  After hours spent at school she has hours of homework.  Just the other night she said, "Mom, I just want time to curate my music, learn how to edit and mix music, finish reading The Catcher in the Rye, write a screenplay, and play with my hamster.  But I never have time with all this homework!"
I have been lobbying to homeschool her, but she gives much resistance.  I know that if I could provide her education at home, she'd have time for the things that interest her. Her interests would be incorporated into the curriculum.  
Maybe someday soon I'll figure out that I am the mom and her education is ultimately my decision.  I am conflicted because I also want her to be happy.  I fear she'll resent my demand for her to be homeschooled.  
In the meantime, I'll capture the moments (pictured below) wherein she is experiencing joy, free from the academic pressures of traditional education.  These moments are extraordinary, maybe not to her, but to me they quietly scream she is an amazing woman in the making.
Sophia, age 14, enjoying her music.
Linking up with ladies holiday Photo Friday
Photo Friday Blog Hop
photo (top) credit: Myxi via photopin cc

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Best of 2012 According to My Daughters

Having two adolescent daughters is challenging on many levels.  One obstacle that pops up is their lack of willingness to answer my questions, such as, "How was school?"  Their never-fail answers are always something like, "It was fine, but I don't feeeeeel like giving you all the details."  End of discussion.

Last week after I composed and posted my list of 2012 Favorites, I thought it may be a good conversation starter with my girls.  I was right.  At first, they begrudgingly read it.  But after one simple question from me-What were your favorites of 2012?-they miraculously opened up.

I found out there was a group of girls on Twitter cutting themselves due to the horror of Justin Bieber smoking weed (truly shocking).  I found out that my 14 year old has quickly moved on from thinking pop music is cool to thinking it's "stupid" and helped her choose different words to express this opinion in order to not hurt her 12 year old sister's feelings.  We talked drugs, the objectification of women in videos, the good and the bad of pop culture.

I am not certain if they realized we were talking about such significant topics.  That was not the point. For me, the priority was and is to be available in the moment, when the important emerges.

Out of our discussion came their willingness and desire to share their favorites from 2012 here.  Of course, I was and am willing to do so.  And of course, I am hoping this post will spur even more conversation.

2012 Favorites

                     Antonia                                                              Sophia
                     (age 12)                                                               (age 14)

Movie:        
                    Pitch Perfect                                          Perks of Being a Wallflower


Album:        
                    Red, Taylor Swift                                   Centipede Hz, Animal Collective


Song:          
                    Boyfriend, Justin Bieber                       Myth, Beach House


Tweeter:      
                    N/A                                                           N/A


Blog:          
                    Sperk*                                                      "I don't read blogs."


TV Show:  
                    Arrested Development                           Arrested Development 


Instagrammer:
                    Boo the Dog                                            Pudge the Cat


Moment:      
                    "Having a facial                                     Tie between trip to D.C. -
                     on my birthday."                                   performing in spring musical                                                                                                                                                    


Conference:
                    Junior Winds Camp                                Ohio Junior Thespians


Viral Video:  
                    Star Wars Kid (not from 2012,                 Gangnam Style
                       but still her favorite)



What were some of your kids' favorites from 2012?
How do you start conversations with your kids?


                                                                                                                                                                       
                                                                                               


Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Wednesday's Woman: Light in a Dark Place


Depression, Women, the Holidays and Hope.





Thanksgiving, the official start to the holiday season, is upon us. 

Are you feeling happy, grateful, and excited, anticipating the wonderful food and laughter shared with family?  Or are you feeling stressed, anxious, and tired?  Possibly, and most likely, you are experiencing a mix of emotions. 

For those suffering from depression, the anxiety that accompanies the holidays can be unbearable.  It can be frightening:  the expectations, the money, the time…

….did I mention the expectations?

Contrary to popular belief, occurrences of depression do not increase during the holidays.  However, what is found to be true is that women are more likely to suffer from depression than men.

From the National Institute of Mental Health:
  • One in four women will experience severe depression at some point in life.
  • Depression affects twice as many women as men, regardless of racial and ethnic background or   income.
  • Depression is the number one cause of disability in women.

Wednesday’s Woman is a space to honor women who are doing great things, on a grand, global scale, or on a smaller, but not less significant scale, in the home.  For many women, their greatest feat is getting out of bed.

Today, for Wednesday’s Woman, I am honoring all women who are suffering and/or surviving with depression.  To help me do so, I am grateful to welcome Kristen from the Preppy Girl in Pink:

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



Hi, I'm Kristen from The Preppy Girl in Pink. I am a wife, a mom to two girls and work from home part time. I am not always strong but I am rarely weak. My daughters constantly remind me how good life can truly be. 


Light in a Dark Place

It was hard to get out of bed today. The curtains were drawn to keep the street lights out at night but weren't allowing the natural light of the day in either. I hit snooze on the alarm clock again and again. 

I stretched my arms, my legs and my back. I rolled over and faced the curtains. I had to force myself out of the bed and to them.

I pulled the panels apart and there wasn't much change in the light in the room.

It was another grey, cold, damp day. The days that make it hard to get out of bed. 

Could I lie and say it is because of weather like this that I want to sink back into bed and enjoy the coziness of my bed? Yes, I could.

But I won't.

It is the darkness outside my window that awakens the darkness in the soul. 

All of the heartache.

All of the doubt.

All of the guilt.

All of the pressure.

I know I should move one foot at a time in the direction of both of my two daughters' bedrooms. They need to get up and ready for school. 

I can't though.

My feet move me back to my bed. 

I tuck myself back in and feel alone as I lay in the fetal position.

I think to myself, 'Maybe I can just let the day go on around me. Maybe...'

But then I hear a giggle.

And then another.

I glance up and see the light from my 8 year old daughter's bedroom pouring into the hallway. That can only mean one thing, she is reading before the morning routine gets started. Her favorite way to start the day is with a book in her hands. 

She calls out to me, "Mom, do you remember when Ron did this? He cracks me up!" and then reads a few lines from one of the Harry Potter novels that she is currently devouring. 

She belly laughs this time.

And that is when I can feel the sunshine even when I can't see it.

That is when I turn off the alarm clock instead of hitting snooze again. 

That is when I tell myself that I have two daughters that need me. They need all of me. Not just the person going through the actions of the day.

They need my heart. They need my soul. They need to see that I can keep the darkness out with the light they shine upon me.

And I need to allow their light in so that I can let my light shine too. 

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

Resources for coping with depression during the holidays:

Please know I am grateful for you. . . Happy Thanksgiving!

photo credit: PHOTO/arts Magazine via photopin cc

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Wednesday's Woman: Dreams for My Daughters


Today's guest blogger sent me the following post and it was so well done, it needed no editing. While watching the election returns, I thought, "Wow. I can just copy and paste this right into a post and then continue focusing on this news stuff."

But I can't do that.  I need to share this with you:

Last spring, like a lighting bolt, Ashley appeared to me as a jolt of renewal in the hope that compassion is a reality.  I had just found out that I was selected a BlogHer 2012 Voices of the Year Honoree and she offered me her ticket to BlogHer 2012 in New York City.  I accepted but, unfortunately, I could not attend.  That killed me because I wanted to be there in honor of her and everyone I knew like her--a devoted mother, an advocate for young women and girls, and one who is not afraid to tell it like it is. However, Ashley's bravery is not in pointing out reality, her courage is in delivering the punch with empathy.    

After you read today's Wednesday's Woman, be sure to check out Ashley's space, The Dose of Reality, follow her on Twitter, and like her on Facebook.  

I am beyond grateful to have Ashley, The Dose of Reality, here today.

Ashley is a mostly-stay-at-home mom to Emma (8) and Abby (4), wife to my husband Robert (41ish), and an occasional nurse (turns out she would rather just play a nurse on TV). At this point, she stands a better chance of creating world peace than keeping her house clean and organized. She considers it a good day when she remembers to pick up both kids at school and also only raises her voice at bedtime. Her main goal in life is to surround herself with people who are real and tell it like it is.The Dose of Reality

The Dose of Reality



Wednesday’s Woman: Dreams for My Daughters
By Ashley Taylor

My girls are still so young, relatively speaking, despite the fact that like all clichés, I feel the time rushing by. I know that in practically the blink of an eye they will go from now to then. The same way that it has gone from then to now. I wonder if I have squandered the time that has already past. Have I missed moments that I will never have back again? Do they know that my presence with them, even when it feels distracted, is real? Will they ever truly be able to grasp the fierceness of my love?

I feel like I still have the chance to control things in their world to a certain extent. I can make sure that homework is complete and a healthy lunch with an encouraging note awaits them in the school cafeteria. I still have the power to push through the stubborn silence and find the cause of the hurt feelings. This time, this moment, this period feels like my chance to impart all of my knowledge for the future when they will quite likely choose their own food, their own clothes, their own friends and their own beliefs.

So, what do I need to make sure they know? What do I want to ensure they believe?
I hope they never forget what it is like to have each other. The power of the sister bond. I hope they never stop needing each other and my messages of that bond, as demonstrated by my own sister relationship, reinforces their closeness. As I say so often to my girls, a sister is a forever friend.

I want them to always love to read. To become so engrossed in a book that they forget everything around them. I want them to know in their core that knowledge is power and that reading is a gift.

I wish I could spare them the experience of real heartbreak, but I know that I cannot. So, what I hope is that when they come to those moments that their ability to rise back up and keep going is strong. I hope that their sense of self is intact enough that no one else will be able to make them doubt their own worthiness. Because I will not lie, the thought of one of my girls believing herself to be less than makes my own heart break.

As a woman who struggles with her own body image, mostly in part to a mother who struggled with her own so severely, I would love to believe I can stop that cycle in my own children. I would love to believe that they will be immune to the societal media pressure to be a certain size. To look a certain way, to be a certain something. I would love to believe I am teaching them that being healthy and loving their own unique bodies is far more important than what the number on the scale says.

What I think I hope most in the world is that they own their potential as women, but never use it to hurt other women. Secretly inside, I have this belief that perhaps seeing their mother as a blogger who so strongly supports validating other women will somehow rub off on them. I would feel a great sense of pride if my girls grow up to be independent and self-assured and use their strength to help others.

This mothering gig comes with such overwhelming responsibility because I feel like I am here to shape these little girls into women, and I just want so badly to do it well. I want to look back someday and say to myself, “Yes, your girls know that they are loved, they know they are protected, and they know they are everything amazing you always knew they were”.
Those are my dreams for my daughters.


Wednesday's Woman is a weekly feature dedicated to spotlighting women who are role models for our daughters. . . and the world.



photo credit: Sunciti _ Sundaram's Images + Messages via photopin cc

photo credit: Pink Sherbet Photography via photopin cc

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Obama Rally: We Were There


I heard the familiar ringtone at 8:37 a.m.  It took me a second to realize Sophia was calling from downstairs and not from her dad’s house.  I shook M’s shoulder to wake him and alert him of the time.

“Oh, shit,” were his words.  Or maybe that’s what I was thinking.

I crawled out of bed and said hello to Scruffy who was peering out from his kennel with his e-collared, cone-head.  With a tiny sting of guilt, I left him there to attend to my caller.  Once I reached the bottom of the stairs and peaked into Sophia’s room, I heard the question.

“Are we really going, because I don’t want to go?”

At that moment, I didn't want to go either.  In fact, with depression looming, every morning was a challenge—the fight with wanting nothing but to stay in bed was like that annoying feeling of knowing I needed to put gas in the car but of not knowing if I had enough fuel to get out of the driveway.  It didn't help that I knew everyone needed to shower and I had to pack Sophia and her sister, Antonia, for going to their dad's after the event.   

I answered, “Yes, we are going.”

“Should I get in the shower?”

“Yes.”

The girls showered.  I showered.  M took the dogs outside for business.  The girls packed themselves.  

Nationwide Arena

That’s how we made it to downtown Columbus by 10:30 a.m. for the Obama rally. Despite Antonia’s mysterious headache, M’s Sunday Night Football hangover, Sophia’s teenage pleas, and my depressive paralysis, we were there.  Standing under the mid-morning sun with thousands of others, lined up close on the cold, concrete sidewalk, a black mesh gate keeping us at a safe distance from the impressive brick, glass, and metal structure that is Nationwide Arena.

Me, Antonia, and Sophia in line at Nationwide Arena
The doors did not open until noon.

In line, we played I Spy.

We danced the cold away.

We watched the news helicopter.

We tried to identify people who may be Secret Service.

Sophia saw several high school peers, some who came up to her to say "hello," validating her presence at the event.

When the line began to move, we became aware of our bladders and our thirst.  But I was excited.

I said, "Sophia, if you wouldn't have called this morning, we wouldn't be here!  I'm so grateful!"

Her adolescent brain was annoyed by this.  Her real brain was proud.

The line-cutters did not squelch our enthusiasm, nor did being physically scanned by Columbus Police once we got inside.  We followed the herd to our seats and were pumped up by campaign videos and speeches from local officials.  We pledged our allegiance to the flag, held hands for a prayer, and stood for the Star Spangled Banner. Then we waited.  And waited. For what may have been an hour.

After a lullaby of a performance from Bruce Springsteen (I loved it, but it did nothing to wake the girls). . .

. . . Finally. . .

After a rousing, sign-waving raucous from the stage at the opposite end of the arena, Jay-Z introduced President Barack Obama.



They felt it.  They got it.  It was big.

***

Today, I voted to protect their rights.  I voted for moving forward, not for returning to old ideology.

I couldn't answer all the questions after yesterday’s rally at Nationwide Arena:

“Why can’t teenagers vote?"

“What are some good, unbiased things you can tell me about Romney?”

I am still researching the best answers.  But, I know for certain, today my girls understand that the President and honoring our right to vote is a big deal.  I am looking forward to kindling their new fire.

Me, walking from my polling place