13

At brunch on Sunday morning, my sister-in-law was describing a conversation she heard her (smart, bug-loving, kind, funny) daughter have with 3 of her friends. They are all 13 and entering 8th grade. The girls were talking about boys and then which girls in their class were "whorish."

Excuse me?

She said this with non-chalance as though she were describing the girls talking about a school dance or Halloween costumes. She sort of laughed at it, and I got a pit in my gut. My niece was not in the room at the time, but I could not just sit there and nod. I noted that I was saddened and disturbed that 13 year old girls are calling each other whores.

My sister in law said that this particular girl had already had sex. So effing what? Now, of course no one thinks 13-year-olds should be having sex, and this is disturbing in its own right, but that does not excuse being labelled a whore.

I suddenly felt myself get so upset by this that I was shaking and I could feel my face go red and hot. When I spoke up, I didn't even realize how upset this actually made me.

Name calling is terrible. Name calling that attacks a person's sexuality and sexual choices is some of the most vicious and damaging name calling. Girls can be awful. They can also be wonderful. I firmly believe and always have that women and girls need to be on the same team. There will be enough forces in the world that attempt to shame us, marginalize us, and make us feel less than worthy. We cannot contribute to that. And we have to teach younger girls why words like whore and slut should not be part of their vocabulary.

Now, of course, adults can't stop what 13 year old girls say when we aren't around. But this was a sort of unique opportunity where the girls were at a hotel sleep over and having this conversation while they knew an adult was in the room. It was a missed chance to bring up the issue of treating other girls and women with respect and compassion.

My sister in law just didn't get why it was such a big deal. Sigh. I realize that parenting isn't easy and that sometimes things come up so quickly, it's hard to know how to react. But, at least to me, there is no gray area here. My reaction was so visceral. I don't know if I'll ever have a daughter, but I will do all I can to impart these values to my son. He will always know where we stand on referring to women as whores.

Since this happened, this old Dar Williams song has been running through my head. "As cool as I am, I thought you'd know this already. I will not be afraid of women." Might be time to bring my niece to a folk concert or at least sit down over coffee.

Gluten Minimus

I have fairly strong feelings about food allergies. I hate them and think they are mostly fake. Yes yes, I know some people will die if I say "peanut" in their presence, but mostly it's a farce.

In early August my mom and I decided to kick start a plan to lose some weight by doing the South Beach diet. It meant cutting out alcohol and all carbohydrates for 2 weeks. I almost immediately stopped getting heartburn. At first I thought maybe it was the alcohol. This was distressing. But then I reintroduced red wine and the heartburn did not return. So I started testing myself, and it's become clear that if I eat bread or drink beer, I get heartburn.

Gluten is the culprit.

What now? It's not an allergy. I mean, sometimes there is going to be pizza. Or artichoke dip and the only thing for dipping will be french bread. Maybe it's best described as gluten sensitivity. I'm trying to avoid it as it's nice to not have heartburn and it's also helpful in the weight loss plan. 12 pounds so far. Not too shabby.

The best news of course is that it was bread and not wine that was giving me trouble. And now that I'm not really eating bread, there's more time to drink wine. Salud!

A few weeks ago

...someone I know moderately well, but is by no means on the inside of my life, made some very hurtful comments about how I parent Johan, the life we have, and about Johan in general. I have always kind of thought that I only get offended by comments if there is some truth to them.

For example, I can be passive aggressive sometimes. So if I were to get called out on that, I would probably take offense. And I can be mercurial. I am sensitive when that is pointed out to me.

But this stuff? Of course I am not a perfect mom. And Johan is not a perfect kid. Our family is not perfect either. But we are pretty solid. Johan is a bright, vibrant, spirited, kind kid. He can also be mercurial. He comes by that honestly. But I try hard to make sure he is not spoiled or coddled. I try to teach him to be polite and respectful and to treat others the way he would like to be treated. He does a good job with these things a lot of the time. But he's also three. And if he's overtired or overexcited, sometimes he whines or acts out. He's not allowed to "get away" with that kind of behavior and I discipline him for it, although not in front of other people. I usually take him out of the room and discuss inappropriate behavior privately with him. Public humiliation and shame are not part of my discipline routine.

I've thought a lot about the comments this person made. I've wondered if I'm sensitive about it because I worry she's right. I've thought, maybe she thinks I'm not disciplining him since I don't do it in front of her. I've now settled into some comforting conclusions. 1) She's wrong. 2) She doesn't know Johan, me, or our life. 3) It's none of her business. 4) Her opinion of our life affects us in no way whatsoever. And 5) I've been angry not because her comments are true, but because I am not used to be people being bluntly unkind.

When I think about the good people in Johan's and my life, I feel overwhelmed with gratitude and fortune. Our universe of family and friends, both blood-related and not, are not just folks who pat us on the back and say "good job." They challenge us to be the best we can. They call me out when I've got a head full of crazy. They do so, however, in supportive ways. They are not mean.

I'm not really sure of the thesis of this, but I can tell you that I no longer think that I am only sensitive to criticism I fear is true. Sometimes cruel words, even if entirely untrue, can seep in and get to you. Their sting is hard to forget.

But, I get daily reminders from Johan that he is a wonderful kid with a mom who, while imperfect, is doing the best she can. When he offers to share his treat with a littler kid and then "read" her a story; when he wants to help clear the table; when he cuddles up to me in the early morning when I'm still half-asleep and kisses my cheeks, I know that we are doing just fine.

Anniversaries

You all know how I feel about religious and cultural holidays- way too played up and usually end in disappointment.

Birthdays and personal holidays like anniversaries and graduations are different. I firmly believe those should be celebrated with much pomp and circumstance.

My 30th birthday was done right. On the Saturday before my birthday, we had a bash at Brianna's parents that involved almost all of the people that matter to me within 50 miles of Minneapolis, a swimming pool and jacuzzi, a strawberry souffle cake, mustard dip, glow necklaces, bubbles, wine "tasting" (read: guzzling), beer pong, and laughter that makes your kidneys hurt. At one point I was standing on the deck looking out at people, and I noted to myself that my life is damn good. It was a very similar feeling I remember having as I looked out into the ballroom at the Embassy Suites on July 17, 2004. Holy smokes, this life is beautiful.

Today is my wedding anniversary. I just thought of it about 30 minutes ago while taking a shower. And, unexpectedly, I became very emotional. I can't really articulate why. I remember that day so well. It was an incredible day. So much love. So much fun. So much laughter. So much. Kind of like my 30th birthday party actually (but for that the birthday party had a few key players missing and a few people present who didn't exist when I got married.) This is the first 17th of July that's come around since I got divorced. I can't remember what we did for our anniversary last year. Probably nothing.

It's weird how anniversaries work. Like, I never have any idea what I've done on any June 4th or December 9th or February 10th. Ever.

But there I will always know how I've spent November 15th (since 2007- never before that year) or July 11th. And I guess I will always think about my wedding on July 17th.
8 years ago, we were getting ready to head to the courthouse.

7 years ago, we were in the rose gardens at Lake Harriet taking pictures and then danced at least 5 times to "Heyya."

6 years ago, we ate at Kinhdo and drank rum on the balcony of our apartment.

5 years ago, we danced at Conga. Eduardo drank too many Pina Coladas.

4 years ago, I was studying for the bar exam and we waited until I was done and then spent a weekend at the cabin celebrating the bar exam finishing, our anniversary, and the baby growing in my belly.

3 years ago, we had take out from El Meson because Johan had a summer fever.

2 years ago, we stayed at a hotel downtown and ate an incredible meal at Masa. We drank champagne and toasted 5 years. There were chocolate covered strawberries.
And my dad gave us a Wii.

1 year ago...can't remember. Not sure why. Did we do nothing? Maybe so. Things were careening toward

And today. Today I am going over to Pauly's for a BBQ with my oldest friends in the world. Spending the afternoon and evening with people who were at my wedding, and who will be there when things are celebratory and when things are low. Getting through a day that is unexpectedly emotional and kind of hard. And more than "getting through," living it up.

It's this one life we've got and July 17th isn't a day that Eduardo and I will commemorate together anymore, but it's still a day. Today Johan and I will do something else and make new memories with our fictive kin and celebrate all the things we have for which to be thankful.

What?

We're supposed to do that on the 4th Thursday of November? It's a holiday? Thanksgiving? Uh-uh. We will have Thanksgiving on July 17th. We will grill shrimp and pineapple and eat potato salad with bacon and drink white wine and play with squirt guns. That's Thanksgiving.

I guess I really do like holiday traditions, after all.

Funny how that works...

I've noticed over the past few years that a vacation comes just when I need it. Sometimes more frequently, sometimes less- but it never fails that when I feel like the rat race is about to become too much, just around the bend is a long weekend with people that nourish my soul. Not chicken soup. Don't be an ass.

The past few weeks have been trying and last night I went to sleep feeling exhausted, defeated, and angry at the day for treating me like that. This morning I awoke to these names running through my head.

SarahMoiraMichelleRoisinNateBadSarahLauraLibbyDalasieTuckerAlliKathie...and more. (You guys, can we do the Stevie Wonder performance again? Please?)

Take THAT, yesterday! In just 2 days, after bringing Johan to my dad and Ev's to begin his superherosuperfun long weekend at the cabin and swinging by Aveda for a haircut, I'm flying off to the left coast to celebrate the wedding of a fantastic couple with the rest of our fantastic friends.

Fine, call it chicken soup. You're probably right.

Oh, hi. Want to catch up?

Did you think I was gone forever? Nope.

It's been a busy, interesting, enlightening few weeks. There have been parties, Twins games, Mille Lacs time, late night discussions, foiled plans that turned into better plans, old friends meeting new friends, family time, Johan's religious exploration, movies, house sitting, pools and Jacuzzis, tee-ball, the beginning of Montessori school, a spring program at the old school, swimming lessons, and me deciding I'm ready to think about meeting someone and be out there, as it were.

Dating sounds so silly, in a way. I am from the generation of hanging out and hooking up. I'm pretty sure that's still what the kids do, although I imagine it involves facebook and texting now. Hanging out, hooking up, logging on? Anyway, the word "date" reminds me of sitting across the table from someone at a diner having an ice cream soda and then going to a drive in movie. Am I thinking of "Grease?" Probably. Well, here goes nothing. And maybe someone will give me a letter jacket and we'll go steady. Dreamy.

In other news, I saw "Bridesmaids" with Addie on Friday night and it was the funniest movie I've seen in a long time. Addie and I decided we want to be friends with the women from the SNL cast (mostly former at this point.) If anyone has any ideas about how we could have a dinner party with Kristen Wiig, Maya Rudolph, Tina Fey, and Amy Pohler, I'm all ears.

It is less than a month until my 30th birthday. I haven't enjoyed my birthday that much for the past few years. It's starting to be like how I feel about Halloween: such high expectations followed by inevitable disappointment. I have an irrational fear that I will somehow spend my birthday weekend and the actual day alone and sad. All evidence points to that not happening, but worry I do.

Johan's last swim lesson was today. The next session starts already tomorrow evening. I'm glad a new session is starting because, while I think the Foss school is great and I'm happy with the progress Johan has made, I am not a big fan of his teacher from this session. Johan's class was only 2 kids- a 5-year-old girl and him. The entire time, the teacher was more vociferous in her praise of the other child, spent more time with the other child, and did not re-direct inappropriate behavior of the other child. I felt like Johan was getting minimal praise, being somewhat ignored, and only told that he needed to do things better and longer. I tried to ignore this at first because I do not want to be that mom who is always gunning for her kid. There is a delicate balance between being your child's advocate/ally and standing back to let them know the world is a place where they have to make their own strides and speak up to be heard.

But, it kept happening. For awhile I thought maybe the teacher just preferred girl children. When we did our mid-session reviews, I noted this on the form. Nothing changed. In last couple weeks of lessons, though, I realized what I think the problem actually is. Johan is 3 and the other girl is 5. But they are almost exactly the same size. Obviously the 5 year old is faster and better coordinated and has a longer attention span. These are all things that make teaching swimming easier for the teacher. I think the teacher either did not know or could not grasp the fact that Johan is a full 2 years younger than his classmate. It seems that the teacher was looking at them side by side, expecting similar skill sets and behaviors, and since Johan is 3, he could not keep up with the other kid and with what the teacher came to expect since the girl performed at that level. She thought she was comparing apples to apples, but it was really apples to broccoli (Johan's favorite). Since the teacher was expecting a sweet and tangy fruit, rather than a fibrous crunchy vegetable, she responded in kind. Imagine taking a big swig of Sprite or vodka when you're expecting water. We've all done it. You know what I mean.

Johan is in the 95th percentile for height and weight and 99th percentile for head size. He can pass for 5 easily when you look at him. But his physical skills, emotional maturity, and abilities are that of a 3 year old. He's broccoli, just how he should be, but people sometimes are going to expect him to be an apple. I remember vividly going to the park with my cousin when we were kids. I am 6 months older than her, but was always a full head taller than her. My grandma would tell me to "take care" of Carla at the park. I just seemed older because I was bigger. Instead of taking care of Carla, I would spin her really fast on the swings until she got dizzy and fell over. Then we would eat blow pops and climb up the slide. We were both broccoli.

Well, the session is over and I hope that Johan's new class has another 3-year-old in it. I may mention to his new teacher that he is 3, even though he looks older. Don't worry, though. I won't tell the swim teacher about my extended apple and broccoli metaphor. That would be weird.

All right, enough for now. But it felt good to sit down and write. I'll be back soon.

College

Tonight during Johan's bedtime routine, one of the books he chose was Toy Story 3. Yes, it's a book too.

Well, in TS3, Andy is going to college. As such, Johan likes to talk about college. Tonight he told me he can't wait for college. I told him college is great and he will love it. And then he told me he wanted me to come with him to college.

I snuggled closer to him and said that I would bring him there but that when big kids go to college, mamas don't stay. He pouted and insisted that I stay at college with him. "We'll talk about it when it gets closer to the time," I said.

It makes me feel happy and sad at once to think of it. It's so far away but I know that one day I will wake up and be writing a letter to him as he graduates from high school reminding him of when he made me promise to come to college with him.

Then, for Johan's last bedtime story of the evening(it's not TS3, but I do my best), I told him a story of some very good friends who went to college together in a sunny place where the huevos rancheros were spicy and the political marches were passionate and the learning was deep and the fun was never ending. And I started to miss those friends something fierce and felt profoundly lucky to have them (even though they are far away now) and I got very excited for my upcoming long weekend with them in just a month.

College. Oh, Johan, you don't even know. It's going to be so good.