It’s Our Turn

I’ve had several conversations lately with my sister-in-law and mother about our holiday “to-do” lists. The food, the presents, the travel, the child care. And my great grandmother. “Nanaw” is a one-of-a-kind dandy.

Not to be morbid here, but we joke all the time with her (and about her), that we will miss her when she’s gone. Her annual comment that “this could be the last” holiday she’ll get to spend with us has become a laughable moment at every family gathering. Our collective response is to point out she’s been one foot in the grave for 25 years!

Except this year it’s not so funny.

Her body’s failing. Her mind is foggy. She can’t find words for everything. She can’t hear all our witty comments, let alone respond to them. Her leg hurts incessantly, and perhaps worst of all, she seems helplessly aware of the sum total of her woes and what it means for her time with us on Earth.

And yet, she hasn’t given up her need to control the family dynamic and get what she wants. She has always been this way. But I haven’t always seen it. Despite the fact that she falls into the “great” grandparent ranks, and my own great grandparents were never part of our Christmas morning traditions, she has informed us- not asked- that she will be staying at our house on Christmas Eve night so that she can see the faces of our children as they wake to discover Santa’s blessings.

My mother, their grandmother, feels cheated, I know. She shouldn’t be jealous, but it’s her turn to be front and center with the grandchildren. If Nanaw’s there on Christmas  morning, she’ll have to run interference… translating the younger generations’ comments, and tending to Nan’s every physical need. Not that she’ll be alone in these tasks. We’ll all be there. But no one feels as responsible or as guilty as one’s daughter.

Which is why ultimately, I feel guilty and responsible for everyone having a good time and getting along at my new house. It’s our first time hosting everyone for Christmas. My husband says it’s not my job to keep them all satisified, and I put too much pressure on myself. But I want this to be great for them, the grandparents. They’ve done so much through the years to make our holidays special. It’s our turn to do it for them. Hopefully they’ll let us.

 

Diapers vs. Food

Today is my birthday. When I was born nearly four decades ago, disposable diapers weren’t a thing. Yet.

And of the 11 million or so American women with children under age 5, only 4 million were in the work force.

Today, 1 in 3 moms has to choose between diapers and food. Can you imagine?

As a full-time working mother of toddler twin girls, I’ve changed my share of dirty diapers and pull-ups in the last 3 years. It’s not pleasant. They stink. They leak. They stack up in their designated can. They’re expensive. And to add insult to injury, they go right in the trash after just a few hours (or minutes!) of wear.

But they do something a little less tangible, too.

When a mom can afford diapers for her child, that baby can attend daycare, thus freeing mom to work outside the home and earn a living for both of them.

When a mom has enough diapers for her child, she automatically faces less stress than the average postpartum woman during one of the most strenuous times of her life.

When a mom is able to regularly diaper her child, she is giving that child a chance at better hygiene and less illness in their home.

When a mom is capable of buying diapers for her child, statistics show she has a better shot at positive mental health for herself, while giving her child a better shot at avoiding social, emotional or behavioral problems.

Disposable diapers are a life-changer. They are not covered by programs like WIC. For the 2 out of 3 of us that can afford diapers and three square healthy meals a day for our little mouths, think about the other mom who can’t.

Consider giving to a charity that helps women be the mothers they want to be. Help another woman realize her potential — not just as a professional, but as a mom. As for me, I gave a gift to someone else on my birthday today. I donated to “Helping Mamas”. You can read about the great work they do in the metro Atlanta area on their website. I truly believe that saving the world starts at home, so I chose to give to a non-profit that operates in the region I’ve called home for the past 14 years.

If any of this resonates with you, #PassItOn.

P.S.: I was inspired to give to “Helping Mamas” in part because they were founded by a group of social worker moms. My best friend since childhood is a social worker who has shared stories with me through the years of some awful family living situations. I know this is just a fraction of what she has seen, felt, and helped. If my small gesture saves one mother or child from a negative outcome, it’s worth it.

The Morning After

Trump is a serial bankruptcy-filing misogynist. Clinton is a lying lifetime lawyer with blood on her hands.

Both are undesirable qualities in a leader. But these were our choices. Why?

Because both of them are millionaires.

According to CNBC research into the reporting by the Federal Elections Commission, as of Oct. 19, Clinton had raised some $513 million and spent $450 million on itemized expenses. The Trump campaign had raised $255 million and spent $239 million.

If 2016 proves nothing else to, or about, the American electorate, it should open our eyes to this: we desperately need campaign finance reform in this country.

Look at the pool of candidates on both sides of the aisle all the way back in primary season, which now seems a lifetime ago. Only the richest of the rich can now lead the pack in a presidential primary. It is obscenely expensive to run a multi-media platform, months- or even years-long campaign across five time zones.

Then there’s the “news media”. Perhaps “infotainment” would be a better description of what our press has become.

From TV’s and tablets, to podcasts and smartphones… there is a 24/7 insatiable appetite for information. We now have a press dependent upon such tight, competitive turnaround times that the deadlines they must meet lead to sloppy, non-substantive information-sharing. They peddle in stats that barely scratch the surface of real issues, instead throwing just enough red meat scraps to the throngs of semi-informed  audiences to keep them fed until the next buzzworthy Tweet or leak.

It takes time to research, to check out stories and vet sources. It takes time and money to go to the places in America where the issues are actually impacting the voting public. Why would a news organization spend that kind of time and money on substance when their ratings and click-through rates are soaring on the bare minimum of efforts (i.e. puffed up pundits in an air-conditioned studio). The electorate isn’t demanding it of them.

Will Donald J. Trump be the first president to cheat on a wife? No.

Will he be the first president to run a failed business? No.

Will he be the first president to speak inappropriately of women, minorities, or the disabled? No.

Will he change his tune from campaign season to inauguration stage? Most likely, yes.

When I take a step back and consider all that has happened in our nation’s young history, and all that could happen in the next four years, my biggest concern is this: I want my daughters to be raised in a free society, where they can be who they feel they are, where they live among people who are- and are not- like them, and learn from both, where everyone has a chance- whether they squander it or not- to be successful, where they have a right to participate in, or even lead, the democratic process.

That’s all I want.

I just can’t help thinking that reforming the system that gives us these types of candidates as our only options would be the best way to sustain our great nation in the long run.

Fifteen.

The average 15-year-old American boy weighs 126 lbs and stands 5’7″.

He was born in 2001.

After the advent of OBL & Al Qaeda.

Before ISIS.

He’s never known an American life without technology.

Or terrorism.

He’s a high school freshman, or about to be.

Remember that? 9th grade?

How awful and wonderful and terrifying and exciting it was?

Now imagine you’re that kid, and your dad goes to work one night.

It’s 90 hot and humid degrees outside.

The weatherman on TV said it feels like swimming in gumbo.

Your big hero dad, who makes you feel safe when you’re scared, because even though you want to be a man, you’re still a kid whose voice just barely deepened a year ago.

You hug him and tell him good night, then go to play video games and Snapchat with your friends before turning in for the night.

Now imagine your mom wakes you up.

Some lady didn’t like how Dad was making money to feed you, and she called the police.

There was confusion.

Yelling.

Bad words.

A scuffle.

Those officers sat on him.

Put a gun to his head.

Shots fired.

5 of them.

How do you ever get over that?

How do you not grow up with hate in your brain and loss in your heart?

I hope Cameron Sterling grows up to do something great, with goodness and love in his heart, knowing his dad, Alton, died for something.

It can’t be for nothing.

Surely not a pile of CD’s.

When you started reading this — what color was the average American boy I was describing?

White?

Black?

Hispanic?

Mixed?

Why ask that question?

It shouldn’t matter.

A life is a life is a life.

Just like love is love is love.

I’ve been pondering whether to engage in this discussion on social media.

As a privileged white woman, there’s nothing I can say to defend some of the behaviors I see. I’ve spent so many years trying not to offend.

So I’m sorry if you don’t like it.

Actually —  no I’m not.

Prioritizing Deaths

Why does one death matter so much to the general public, causing an outpouring of sympathy and tears, while another one is simply overlooked, seemingly under-reported and undervalued in our death-obsessed society?

I’m asking that today as the world mourns the passing of Prince. And I’m admittedly one of those music fans posting clips and “liking” the purple symbols of a funerary variety. But an acquaintance over at NBC News reminds us all that two other non-famous people died in the same news cycle as the Artist, and their deaths have meaning too.

A 16-year-old girl in Wilmington, Delaware got into a fight – reportedly over a boy – with another female student in the high school bathroom. When other girls joined in the brawl, Amy Joyner fell and hit her head. The blow was fatal. And unnecessary.

In Chicago, new surveillance video reveals the last moments of a 32-year-old cocktail waiter’s life. Not only was he jumped, left lifeless in the street, his wallet and cell phone stolen from his pockets — but a taxi cab ran over him, and no fewer than 12 people can be seen walking by the distressing scene, doing nothing.

That young woman had just started her life. The waiter twice her age was enjoying his. The Purple One had seen more and created more in his life than most of us ever dream possible.

Three people’s deaths made the national news on April 21st:

Their names were Amy Joyner, Marquis Gaines, and Prince Rogers Nelson.

Transgender Bathroom Hysteria

The NYT published an eloquent op-ed about the outrage in our country over newly proposed legislated bigotry in states like North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Mississippi. It boils down to these two questions:

1. Should a trans/man-to-woman be required to use the toilet in the men’s restroom because her birth certificate says she was born a male (and vice versa)?
2. If the answer to #1 is yes, how do you enforce it?

Or maybe the better question (and one our distinguished lawmakers apparently didn’t ask themselves): how the heck do you expect law enforcement to protect their jurisdictions from terror groups, deranged lone gunmen, natural disasters, drunk drivers, and the occasional natural gas explosion if they’re busy policing potties?

“In the 41 years I have been in law enforcement in South Carolina, I have never heard of a transgender person attacking or otherwise bothering someone in a restroom,” Sheriff Leon Lott.

I love Sheriff Lott’s attitude, mainly because it’s so unexpected from a man who wears a badge in the stereotypically non-secular south. But more importantly it proves our law enforcement officers know who the real potty predators are.

Of children who are sexually abused, 20% of them experience that abuse before the age of eight. The Darkness to Light organization reports while no child is immune, there are certain “child and family characteristics that can heighten the risk of sexual abuse.”

Those characteristics don’t include any mention of the letters L-G-B-T. A child is more likely to be abused by someone they know, someone they trust, someone even their parents trust. A female child is more likely to be abused than a male, and abuse happens more often in homes that are low on the socioeconomic scale.

 

Offenders come in all varieties. We can’t predict who will prey on a child or even another adult in a public restroom. What I do know, is that parents need to use common sense! I don’t feel comfortable allowing my children to use a public restroom without me yet, but when they’re older – they’ll get an eye-opening talk before that step toward independence. I can’t afford for them not to understand this this dark aspect of our society, even if only on an elementary school level. Parents must measure risks to their children every second of every day. It would be nice if our lawmakers would measure the risks just once.

Instead of attracting negative publicity to their states, and convincing millions of Americans they’re returning to a draconian era, these lawmakers would be better served to spend their time and money on legislation that would protect children where their predators live: in their homes, in their schools, in their churches, in their lives. Not in a random bathroom stall.

Front Row to Rudeness

I’m a movie buff.

Well — more accurately, I’m a movie theater buff. My version of heaven will smell like buttery popcorn and glow with the flickering lights of a five-story silver screen.

Some of my fondest childhood memories involve an evening at the drive-in with my dad and stepmother, or visiting the Keith Albee in Huntington, West Virginia with its resplendent basement powder rooms.

My mom and grandmother learned how protective I would be about my theater-going experience when I was barely a teenager. Unintimidated by the rowdy group of older kids seated behind us, I turned around to face them mid-flick and asked if we should all just do a 180 and watch them, since their disruptive show was garnering more attention than the one we’d paid good money to see.

These days I go to the theater with a husband who finds it difficult to sit through an entire film. His mind wanders in the slow parts. He finds it difficult to hold his bladder for more than an hour in the stillness of a dark room filled with strangers. (I’m convinced it’s why he’s mostly a Netflix binge-watcher these days). And frankly, he grows despondent when out of contact with his smartphone for any length of time.

That’s why I know he and I will have different opinions of the news today from AMC Theatres — the company will NOT create a “texting section” in its theater floorplans.

Delivered via Tweet (which seems to be the preferred dissemination method for many corporate PR offices these days) the message is a reassuring response to disturbed moviegoers on social media. News of the company’s testing phase apparently leaked to a less-than-adoring audience. So AMC’s abandoning the plans on the cutting room floor.

In his statement, the CEO refers to the immediacy of the feedback the company received. And while I applaud a corporate response that shows appreciation for its core customer, I wonder… am I being a curmudgeon here? Am I holding on to old-fashioned ideas — like theater etiquette? Is my husband’s tight embrace of new technology — even in a dark theater– the rule, and not the exception nowadays? If your customer feedback was broad enough to include “potential” customers, and not just the frequently-paying loyalists, would it change the way you vet new concepts in an evolving industry?

I grew up checking the back pages of the newspaper for the local theater listings, or calling a 1-800 number only to sit through an entire two-minute recording of show times, pencil in hand, to catch the one I might want to see. To this day I prefer to arrive before showtime so I don’t miss a single preview. (I do like those fancy new reclining seats, though.)

But what I find to be rude behavior — texting, talking, or chewing popcorn loudly during a movie– others may consider the new norm. Maybe AMC and I both need to find a path to the theater experience of tomorrow, even if it means a special section where technophiles can stay plugged in at all times.

Just don’t get rid of that popcorn smell.

Our 1st Muslim-American Female POTUS?

I listened to a rare interview with Huma Abedin last night. Kudos to the ladies over at the “Call Your Girlfriend” podcast for landing that booking. She ain’t easy to get, folks. I’m guessing from their line of questioning, there were some carefully worded pre-game commitments made to avoid certain unpleasantness in the conversation. I’ll admit, I was a little disappointed they didn’t ask any probing questions about her boss’s handling of the Libya debacle or her husband’s embarrassing departure from Congress.

But my overall reaction as I listened was, “She should run in a few years.” And as I stepped through that hypothetical — it’s absolutely possible that we’d see our first Muslim-American Female President of the United States in my lifetime. Think about it. Abedin is 41. She was a White House intern in 1996, the year I graduated high school. (The same year Monica Lewinsky interned in the West Wing, I might add, but that wasn’t mentioned during the CYG podcast). She’s got incredible policy chops, contacts with heads of state, international cred, and campaign trail know-how, not to mention access to money. Lots of it. And by the time the Boomers are senior citizens and Fox News has seen its viewership of old white men diminish (nature taking its course), the next generation of leadership and active voters will be made up of Millennials and Gen X’ers who care less about ethnicity and religion, and more about humanity and spirituality. You don’t see many of them in public office now, but it’s only a matter of time ’til we’re running this country. For what it’s worth, I think Huma Abedin fits nicely on a bumper sticker. Huma ’32.

 

 

 

 

 

We Were Raised On This Stuff

If you’re of a certain age, you remember your mom or grandma wiping down the griddle or frying pan with a chunk of this creamy vegetable shortening before nearly every meal.

I just realized last night — as I opened up my nearly empty 1-lb. canister to prep an empty casserole dish with a smear on a folded paper towel —  that it’s been at least a year, maybe more, since I purchased the stuff!

In fact, my mom was mortified when she was helping me after the birth of my twins — when one sleepy morning she couldn’t find my Crisco. She had already cracked eggs in a dish for scrambling! That was 2013. Now that I think about it, she probably purchased this little can for us soon after that.

When we were growing up, my mom bought the 6-lb. tub. Regularly. She also had three kids, a hungry husband, and a menu plan that consisted mostly of meat and potatoes.

I should probably file this under “My How Times Have Changed”. But I just read a really great piece over on HuffPo Parenting — you can read it here — which reminded me of all the ways child-rearing has changed since the 70’s. We’re really lucky to be alive at all.

What’s Up With This Couple?

Our reception at Jerryl Lawns in Nagpur, India

Angela Kae Massie and Amol Anant Khotpal are so mad about each other (or just plain crazy), they decided to get married twice… once in Angie’s hometown of Ironton, Ohio, and once in Amol’s birthplace of Nagpur, India. Except that Indian weddings aren’t really an event you can describe as a “once” kind of deal. It was several days of preparation, pooja, and partying in a traditional northern Indian marriage celebration this past February.

Now let’s get to the business at hand. If you’re reading this,  it means a) you probably aren’t one of Angie’s immediate family who witnessed the exchange of their vows in Ohio, or b) you probably don’t live in Nagpur India where you witnessed the aforementioned Indian wedding.

It’s your lucky day. That means, you’re one of the few (ok, 100-ish) people with whom Angie & Amol really want to mark the beginning of their marriage.  By now you’ve heard the whole “two-weddings-in-two-countries” spiel (from Angie), and you’ve received an invitation to the Atlanta reception. You just want to know more about what this shindig involves before you commit yourself to the mileage.

While we appreciate your willingness to travel and celebrate with us, we know you can’t possibly spend all of your time in Atlanta fawning over us.  We’re just not that interesting. So this blog will provide you with the information you need on how to get here, where to stay, how to get around, and what are the must-see’s while you are in the capital city of Georgia. It’s our effort at some 21st century Southern hospitality, y’all.