Interview with Lisa Regula Meyer

Interview with Lisa Regula Meyer for The Next Family

 

TNF: How has it been blogging for TNF? 

It’s been great.  I love reading all the different perspectives here, and all the types of families.  I especially enjoy seeing the common themes across all families (“Am I doing the right thing?”  “My kid isamazing!”  “How do I explain this to a child?”  “Parenting is hardwork!”  those sorts of minutiae), and how those themes are interpreted through different lenses (adoption, surrogacy, same sex parents, single parents, etc.).  And let’s be honest- writing about something besides invasive plants and native amphibians is a great distraction from my dissertation, even if my advisor disapproves.

TNF: How is your family like every other family and how is it different?

We’re the same as every other family in that we love each other, even if we do sometimes struggle.  We have to juggle work, house work, social life, school, community work, extended family, and much more. We’re our own best support system, and know we can count on each other.  But, like every other family we have our own unique variation of life.  I’ve heard that most kids don’t attend professional conferences for vacation.  And I’ve heard a rumor that it’s not normal for a six-year-old to know more about TARDISes and Daleks than s/he does about sports.  I guess our main difference is our extreme collective geekiness.

TNF: Did your family accept you and your lifestyle? If yes, explain and if not, explain what you have done to help them to accept your decisions and your lifestyle.

Eh, some members of the family accept various parts of our life more than others.  I don’t think that there’s anybody in either Dwight’s or my family that 100% agrees with how we live and the choices we make, but for the most part, the differences are in the details, not the broad picture.  Some family members aren’t fond of surrogacy and/or our closeness with the LGBTQ community, others dislike our activism. A few family members disagree with our choice to pursue higher education, and some just wish we didn’t live where we do (usually wishing we lived closer).  But if we all agreed on everything, life would be dull as all get out.

TNF: How do you juggle the work at home with your jobs?

Hahaha!  I’ll let you know that answer when I figure it out, probably sometime after I conquer the mass of clothes to fold.  I don’t tend to balance things, more often than not there’s one area of life that gets lots of attention, while the rest is ignored.  And then something that was being ignored gets all the attention, while everything else is ignored.  And the cycle continues…

TNF: What lessons do you feel are the most important to teach children in this day and age? Are there any lessons they, or perhaps we as parents should unlearn?

Most important: There but for fortune, go you or I.  Don’t hold someone else’s situation against them, because you could find yourself in a similar situation someday, and then you’ll need others to be understanding and supportive, as you’ve been in the past.  Practice not sympathy, but empathy.  Lesson to unlearn: Judging others.  We’re all in this life together, and we can choose to either be a positive influence or a negative influence, and prejudice, discrimination, all the “-isms” preclude our being a positive influence on the world.

TNF: Any words of wisdom to pass on to our readers?

Look past direct effects.  Yes, they’re easier to understand, but they’re less interesting and don’t show the whole picture.  And you can do a lot if you just set the bar low enough.  Either do a few things well, or try a bunch of stuff.

TNF: Anything you want our readers to know about you or your family?

Know that I’m not trying to be a jerk or insult anyone ever, I just don’t often have the right words.  And I’m about as blunt as a club. But I do care- a lot.  So feel free to call me out when I screw up getting the point across.  I’m a work in progress.

 

Ten Places NOT to Visit Before You Die

By: Ann Brown

Who thought of that stupid Facebook thing, anyway? You know, that app where everyone lists all the places they’ve been and shares their bucket list and seizes the day and puts pins on the map and shit? What a load.

100 PLACES TO VISIT BEFORE YOU DIE. Fuck that shit. No one needs to go anywhere. Everything you need is here. Plus, when you stay at home, time passes slowly. Which is like you are living longer. And you are not part of the clusterfuck which is the Santa Monica Freeway. On which a person could die on their way to LAX to visit one of the 100 places. Has no one else thought this thing through?

Being an intellectually curious person, however, I decided to check out the list. Let’s take a look at the first 10:

1. Los Angeles –oh. Well, that one is okay. Because I’ve been there so there’s no further travel involved on my part. Also, they have El Pollo Loco in LA. Which, as far as I know, they do not have in actual Mexico.

2. Lake District –I don’t even know where or what that is. I have been to a few lakes, however. Not a fan. I don’t enjoy swimming in standing water that isn’t chlorinated. Or that houses life forms other than humans swimming by me. I’m barely okay with humans. Because you totally know they are peeing. Naturally occurring warm current, my ass.

3. Ngorongoro Crater — Wikipedia advertises it this way: “The main feature of the NCA is the Ngorongoro Crater, a large, unbroken, unflooded volcanic caldera –” Yawn. I don’t even want to finish reading about it. Also, the words “large, unbroken, unflooded volcanic caldera” sound, I don’t know, vaguely vaginal. Yuck.

4. Loch Ness — Another reason to avoid lakes. I do, however, enjoy the gutteral “ch” in the name because it’s like Yiddish. Which would make the monster Jewish. Which would ROCK. A treyf-eating, college-eschewing, rugby-playing, Navy Seal-joining, mother-estranging, hairless back-sporting, tattoo-ed spendthrift. Run for your lives! Hide your blond daughters!

5. Republic of Seychelles — I like that its name is also a command – “say SHELLS”. Every time someone says the name of the place, I could say, “Okay, SHELLS”. And I’d laugh merrily. I could probably stay there for two weeks on that joke alone. I would kill in the Republic of Seychelles.

Seychelles. Okay, SHELLS. Hah.

6. Ibiza –people wear bikinis there. Pass.

7. Patagonia — A few years ago I ordered moisture-wicking socks from the catalog. They refunded me TWICE. And they never realized it. What a bunch of boobs. Still, I better keep a low profile and stay away. Don’t want to wind up in some Patagonian prison getting funky moisture-laden crud on my feet.

8. Great Barrier Reef — Again, I suspect that bathing suits are required. Again, pass. As God is my witness, I am never holding my stomach in again. EVER. Unless I meet Theodore Bikel. Or I am interviewed on CONAN. To promote my novel. Which I have to finish writing. Which is why I cannot visit any of these places. I have real work to do.

9. Nine Hells — Of course I was drawn to this place. I Googled it but the only description of Nine Hells was about Baator, from Dungeons and Dragons. And frankly, I lived through one of my kid’s obsession with D & D; I really don’t ever need to hear one more thing about it. I imagine this Nine Hells place to be the back room of a huge comic book store where dorks in capes ridicule you with elvish insults. And you have to wear a bikini.

10. Ring of Fire Volcanoes — Oh for fuck’s sake, do the creators of this list even know what a vacation is? A destination called Ring of Fire Volcanoes does not sound relaxing to me. I bet they don’t even have a chlorinated pool there. Also, any place called Ring of Fire Volcanoes makes me worry about hemorrhoids.

I tell you what: I am going to get working on my own list. As soon as I get dressed, run to New Seasons Market and pick up a couple of cranberry panini rolls. They are to die for.

Smells Like Giorgio

By: Selina Boquet

 

I had tried to talk him out of it. As soon as I saw my dad making a present for my mom, my stomach twisted in anxiety, knowing that giving presents was not my dad’s forte. It was hard to burst his bubble, though. He had such a silly grin on his face as he joyfully prepared his special gift. As a teenager it was sad to see my dad try his best to make my mom happy, yet always end up failing. The previous year had been a disaster because the poor guy had forgotten Mother’s Day altogether. The year before that, the book he gave her was hurled through the air, gently grazing the top of my head. My mom’s tendency to throw objects at high speeds had perfected my evading techniques throughout my childhood. However this particular year, my dad was determined to give her something she would never forget.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” My little brother, my dad, and I sang in unison as we carefully laid our cards and gifts in front of her on the bed. Our mood was hopeful as every occasion we tried to be, even though we still braced ourselves for the worst. I imagined our gifts as a ceremonial offering to an easily angered god. Mom loves surprises and she was already astounded that her usually forgetful husband had remembered to give her a present this year. As she carefully opened the cylinder-shaped package I’m sure she had all sorts of high hopes. Maybe it was a new bottle of her favorite perfume called, ‘Smells like Giorgio’! The small, orange perfume came in what looked like a spray can and it didn’t last her long as she bathed in the cheap, imitation fragrance daily. Or perhaps he had gotten her a Victorian figurine! She could always use one more for her collection.

My mom loved all things Victorian and we would often enjoy tea and crumpets on a blanket in the yard amongst the Douglas Fir trees, with our floppy Victorian hats and horribly fake English accents. Time seemed to move slowly as we enjoyed one of the few Oregon days where the sun had managed to momentarily break through the stubborn clouds. My most familiar memory of my mom is of her sitting on the Victorian rose-print flimsy foam couch, in the living room where she had painted the walls bright purple, watching Days of our Lives. Characters from the show like Roman and Marlena are family to me as day after day they watched me grow up, awkward and bewildered. I can still hear the fizzle of the bubbles from her Diet Coke and the crunch of her Sour Cream and Cheddar Lays Chips as she snacked away while paying homage to her daytime soap opera.

My mom has always been a perplexing creature. Just when you think you can predict her reaction, she throws you for a loop. Her own mother had the Southern charm that allowed her tell people off while sounding like she was giving them a compliment. Christian values spoke strictly against gossip of any sort, yet it seemed as if anything could be said as long as a sympathetic, “Bless her heart” followed.

“She’s having such a hard time losing weight, bless her heart. You know that’s why she hasn’t found a husband, bless her heart.” It always fascinated me to listen to my grandma and aunts skillfully insult other unsuspecting family members with deep criticisms, disguised as concerned interest. My mom, on the other hand, has never had the patience for that. She tells you what she thinks exactly when she thinks it.

A friend once described her perfectly. He observed, “Your mom is the nicest and meanest person I have ever met.” It’s true! My whole life my mom was always helping to clothe, feed, and house complete strangers who were down and out on their luck, sharing what little we had. She taught me the importance of smiling at everyone you see on the street and always thought of creative ways to entertain us with little to no money at all. She was the first one to arrive at a party and the last one to leave.

Yet, even during the fun times, one of her infamous temper tantrums was always just around the corner. One quiet afternoon, my brother and I were watching after-school cartoons. Our dad, as usual, was putting around the house, fixing this and that in his familiar bustling way. Suddenly, a horrendous scream broke through the peaceful house.

“This place looks like a nigga shack!” In the dead silence following her eruption, we all looked at each other, shocked. Mom’s screams usually jump started us into a frenzy of cleaning fools, yet this time we all burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of her simile. Here it was, 1997, and she was comparing our house to those of the dirt-floored slaves’ homes of the Old South! Unfortunately, her racist roots would boil up from time to time. Even though some of her best friends were African American, the world in which she was raised had left its footprint on her subconscious.

Now that I’m an adult and I have my own kids to discipline, I realize that there is no perfect mother. We each do the best that we can. Some moments are successful, and some are embarrassing, yet hopefully our children turn into decent human beings. I thank my mother for all of the beautiful things she taught me, and the courage to laugh at the mistakes she made with me.

Waiting on that Mother’s Day so long ago for my mom to open the present my dad had made her was like bracing for the impact of a crash landing. Despite my hope that she would see the heart behind his gift, I knew she would not be pleased. Finally, the brown paper bag wrapping was torn away to reveal….a Victorian pencil holder! My dad smiled wide with pride, waiting for her gasp of pleasure.

“What is THIS?! A toilet paper roll??!!!!” my mom instantly exploded. My dad had taken an empty toilet paper roll and had lovingly stuck Victorian stickers to it. He had then glued the decorated toilet paper roll to a small piece of a wooden board from the shed. In his mind, it had been a fantastic creation she would cherish forever. Instead, we spent another Mother’s Day morning in our pajamas at Walgreens hunting for cheap flowers, cards, chocolates, and of course, perfume that ‘Smells like Giorgio’.

Identity Crisis of a Pre-Mother

By: Lex Jacobson

 

I find out tomorrow if I’m pregnant. I don’t know how people do this again and again and again for more than the nine months that we’ve been at it. This nine-month mark marks the due date of the first child had we gotten pregnant the first month we did an IUI. It feels like forever, yet it’s flown by as well.

I am struggling a bit with my identity right now. I’m not yet a mother, but I don’t feel completely childless. I feel as though we have a son or daughter, because we dream about them and put energy into them daily. They are in my every thought and almost every decision I make is for them.

It sounds silly, but one of the hardest things is during the two-week wait to find out whether you’re pregnant or not and saying no to things like brie cheese or alcohol or medicated cough syrup, the latter of which I’ve really, really needed this month. While about half of women have the luxury of not realizing they’re pregnant until after they miss their period, I have this awkward two weeks of maybes and best-be-safes. It’s maddening. It’s two weeks full of hope and double guessing and doubts and fears and planning for this baby that you just hope to god is going to evolve this month.

While my partner, Devon, does get excited when we may be pregnant and sad when it doesn’t work out, she doesn’t get that strong urge of motherhood – that ridiculously powerful feeling that I imagine starts in the uterus and overtakes every single nook and cranny of my brain. It’s so hard to explain it to people, and though Devon does get it more and more, I imagine it’s tough when I can’t turn off and move on quickly. She’s been amazing though and puts up with my obsessive personality. I drive myself nuts, so I can’t imagine how she feels.

I don’t think you can talk sense into a woman who wants a baby so incredibly bad. While it’s comforting to know there are many others like me out there, it’s also disheartening to know that there is no way to turn this feeling off until we get a new life out of this whole experience. Here’s to hoping again…

International Family Equality Day

By: Joey Uva Enoch

This past Sunday, May 6, 2012, LGBTQ families around the world celebrated the first annual International Family Equality Day.  The day of celebrations officially started off in Helsinki, Finland ending with the closing celebration in Los Angeles, California.

In celebration of the day, the Southern California Pop Luck Club held an International Family Equality Day Picnic for its members and other LGBTQ families at Lake Hollywood Park.  Trevor and I attended with Grace to celebrate with the other members and families that came out.  It was a beautiful afternoon and really great to see all the parents there with their children to celebrate the day.   It was also nice to see those who had friends or extended family come with them in support; those individuals do a lot to help us make our voices heard.

Hopefully this yearly event will grow both globally and nationally in order to bring more visibility to the growing numbers of LGBTQ families and help pave the way for greater social acceptance and equality for all families.  Our families and our children deserve that.

Video by: John Ireland, Pop Luck Club Member

How May 6th became International Family Equality Day:

In July 2011, LGBTQ family activists from around the world gathered for the first ever International Symposium of LGBTQ parenting organizations. The symposium provided an opportunity to establish ongoing international cooperation in areas such as research, visibility and advocacy, and the development of resources and programs for LGBTQ families worldwide. One of the key outcomes was the establishment of the first International Family Equality Day to take place on Sunday, May 6, 2012.

To read more and to see which countries participated in this global event you can visit  - International Family Equality Day

 

The Opening Door

By: Wendy Rhein

This passed weekend we celebrated Nate’s birthday with three of his buddies. In typical Nate fashion he wanted an event unlike any other. That dream was translated into an afternoon picnic and romp at an old battlefield fort, now a national landmark. Each of the four seven-year-old boys had his own compass, his own canteen, and a bandana to tie over his head as they explored and played spy games around Civil War era cannons.

As we trekked to our picnic site from the car, each kid carrying something we needed, one of the boys asked Nathan about his father. Before Nate could answer, the same child turned and asked me, “Nathan doesn’t have a father, right?” I replied that yes, he does in fact have a father but he’s not part of our family. Another boy chimed in, “yea, that happens. Same with my cousin, except he has two moms now.” Yes, I said, that’s a family too. “Yea. And sometimes parents have to leave. They can’t stay married even when they love their kids.” Yes, I said. Sometimes that happens too. The third boy asked Nate, “so where is he, your father?”

“He’s in another state. I don’t see him. But my mom keeps the door open just in case we want to see each other when I’m older. Right Mom? (with a big smile on his face and a slight leaning into me) You keep that door open.”

I could not have been more proud in that moment. Proud of how these boys talk to each other and to me. Proud of how they can acknowledge how their lives are different and the same as other people’s. And incredibly, abundantly, and gratefully proud of my own child’s confident response.

Yes, love, we keep that door open.

No fears, no worries, just the honest truth.

And off they ran, this band of brothers, to tackle the fantasies of invisible enemies and “us versus them.” It gave me hope that the “us” is widening and expanding with each year as these boys and others like them grow into men.

Grass Clippings and Cat Hair

By: Allison Norris

The part where the grass shoots out on the side would always get clogged. This was, of course, before we had a riding lawn mower. We would take turns mowing the half of an acre of grass. Pushing and stopping to empty the bag of clippings. A mountain of old grass and some new had formed in the woods just beyond the property line. Around the red fence which kept the goats and chickens in captivity, the only hill in our yard felt like a mountain. My hands smelled of gasoline and fresh cut grass for the rest of the day no matter how many times I washed them, and my shoes remained stained despite the attempts at making them white again. Who mows the lawn in white shoes, anyway?

We had a carport and a “shop” where my mom kept a bunch of old junk like antiques and a food dehydrator. I don’t know if she even knew what was in there. It was dark and scary with exposed beams that supported more junk items above your head. Our old cat Chippy slept in there before he died, and you could find a flattened area of old clothes littered with grey cat hair… maybe even a little cat poop. There was a gravel walkway lined with fragrant flowers that connected our main house with the back yard, with the “shop” in between the two. We’d argue over who had to go into this shop if we needed to get a hammer or a shovel to toss dog poop into the woods. A separate shed kept our mowers and other lawn supplies… and whatever crap my mom could fit in there. Everything had a door or blinds to cover the sight, but we all knew what was in there. Junk.

It’s funny what you start to remember after memories are created with your own kids. Baylor and Toby were mowing the lawn yesterday and it got clogged. Like a movie flashback, where all of the images flash quickly by, I remembered mowing our lawn when we were young girls. Dancing around in a bathing suit or spraying each other with a hose. It would take us hours. It would be one of our “jobs” of the week, one that we would dread and complain about. We would blast Carly Simon or Red Hot Chile Peppers from the stereo on the deck and make a day of it… Oh what fun it was.

The car port, shop, shed and crappy little deck where we performed many a dance routine and celebrated a few birthdays was torn down when I was in college. My mom rebuilt the house and made it gorgeous – thank goodness. I have some coasters made from the peach tree we used to hang on in our yard that also had to go during the remodel. I haven’t thought about mowing the lawn or the contents of the scary shop in a decade.

It’s weird to be a mom. A grown up…. Responsible for helping Baylor to make his memories and hoping that he’ll have positive flashbacks when he is a man one day.

A clogged mower is happiness.

What if YOUR Kid is the Bully???

By: Tanya Dodd-Hise

“Often the right path is the one that may be hardest for you to follow. But the hard path is also the one that will make you grow as a human being.”
― Karen Mueller Coombs, Bully at Ambush Corner

This is hard to talk about.  It is embarrassing, humiliating, and somehow a reflection of how my parenting has somehow taken a wrong turn.  I am one who has no tolerance for bullying – EVER.  When my oldest son was bullied in high school by some redneck kid (because his mom is a lesbian), I took action, went to the school, talked to an administrator, and it was straightened out and over.  When my youngest son was bullied this year in middle school by a snarky girl (because his mom is a lesbian), I took action, called the teacher, who spoke to the counselor and together they dealt with it.  So imagine my absolute horror this morning when I receive a call from the assistant principal of the middle school:  my son was in her office…for bullying. 

She proceeded to tell me that he and another student had gotten into trouble during band class for talking too much, and when they didn’t stop, they got sent to the office.  The other student had told my son to “shut up,” but when pressed for the reason, the truth came out that it was because my son had been picking on him for weeks during band.  Teasing him and making fun of him when he got notes to the music wrong, or for making a mistake while they were all playing.  I hung my head as I heard her tell me that while my child had told the truth and admitted his role, that it was indeed a form of bullying, and she had just suspended another for ten days for the same thing.  What do I say?  What do I do?  I was immediately at a loss, and wanted to crawl under a rock.  I told her that I absolutely did not understand where it was coming from, considering he had gone through the same thing just a short time ago in the school year.  She also knew about the previous incident, and therefore didn’t quite understand herself.  So she said that she wanted to put him into in-school suspension for today, and for the two days following; I told her I was absolutely behind her one hundred percent.  But now I have to figure out what to say and do when he gets home – there has to be consequences here as well.  I am just at a loss. 

I have thought about it all day, since I got the phone call.  When I called Erikka, she was at a loss as well.  We have both seen how he can be with other kids, and have had talks with him about the way that he treats others.  We know he is very intelligent, but with that comes the problem that HE knows he is very intelligent.  We have seen and heard him with other kids, talking down to them like they are dumb, or not as smart as he.  So now he is apparently talking down to kids in band, speaking to them like they aren’t as good as he is as well.  After years and years, for as long as I can remember, he has been taught tolerance and to treat others as he would want to be treated.  We don’t believe that we are better than anyone else, so I’m not sure where he would obtain this arrogant attitude.  It is very troubling to me, as his mom, just as it was troubling when he was being bullied by someone else.  I absolutely cannot abide my kid being THAT kid – but how do I stop it?  I will, of course, call his dad this evening, and I am sure that he will want to talk to him.  It just seems that no matter what any of us say to him, or take away from him as punishment, nothing seems to get through.  I think this is what is the most disturbing to me – consequences don’t seem to phase him.  How do I get through to him, to make him see all of the potential that he possesses in that magnificent brain, if only he would use it for making himself into a productive and successful person on planet Earth?

What do you do when it’s YOUR kid who is the bully?

I tearfully told him of my disappointment, embarrassment, and disgust over his actions.  I told him about the little boy who lived a few miles from us, who killed himself three years ago at the age of nine, because he was bullied.  That boy would be twelve today, and in the sixth grade.  I told him that I could not tolerate my child being part of this horrible problem of bullying in this nation.

“Noah, you absolutely cannot be part of the problem, and it is a very big and very real and very wrong problem.  You MUST be part of the solution.  That kid that you picked on may not have very many friends, and what if you were the factor that pushes him to suicide – you don’t want to live with that kind of guilt.  Every one of those kids that have killed themselves over bullying experienced someone who was part of the problem – the bully.  You don’t want to be that person.  You can be part of the solution.  You can be his friend.  We can never have too many friends.”

“You will never reach higher ground if you are always pushing others down.”

~ Jeffrey Benjamin

The 7 or the 3, which are you?

By: Carol Rood

 

 

I have read so many blog posts about “The Hunger Games” lately.  Parents talking about why they don’t want their children to see the movie.  Some talking about not allowing their children to read the book.  They feel it is not appropriate for their children.  As if they somehow feel the need to apologize for making a decision they feel is best for their own kids.  Concerned about being judged by other parents as “too conservative” or not “with the times”.  Then there is the other side of the coin.  Parents who feel they have to explain why they DID allow their children to read the book or see the movie.  They worry about judgment for seeming too “permissive” or not caring about the scars their kids might get from the message of the books or the violence.

I have a difficult time with both of these points of view.  Not because I think there is a correct age or time for a child to see a particular kind of movie or read a particular book.  Not even because I disagree with the message or storyline of the book and/or movie.  (By the way I just finished reading “The Hunger Games”, and have not yet seen the movie.)

The problem I have with those two trains of thought is why the parents even feel the need to explain their decisions to every one else.  I am of the opinion that 7 out of every 10 people are reasonable, intelligent, caring individuals, with the other 3 being the jerks in this world.  That being said, why should the 7 reasonable, caring and intelligent people feel as if they have to justify or explain their decisions or actions regarding their children?  Especially since they are probably explaining it to the other 3…the unreasonable, uncaring, and unintelligent people.

The parents who need to justify and explain their actions are the ones who neglect, physically, emotionally or sexually abuse their children.  They are comprised of the 3.  The other 7 are making a decision regarding the things they think are appropriate for their children in a thoughtful and meaningful way.  That is not to say that every decision they make will be the right decision.  Parenting is fraught with mistakes and learning curves.  There is no manual that a person gets to help them when they become a parent, and even if you did get a manual with your first child, you would need to toss it in the trash when the second child comes.  Each child is unique and what works for one child won’t work for another child.

For example, my oldest, Joe Cool, was a very easy baby and toddler.  He listened and responded very well to time out and removal of toys as discipline.  I can still discipline him by taking away his toys (now a cell phone and PS3 as opposed to legos and trucks), and I can still “get” to his conscience by letting him know I am disappointed in him.  I thought I had this baby/toddler thing mastered and then came along my second child, The Genius. COMPLETELY different in every way shape and form from his older brother.  Time outs and taking things away didn’t phase him in the least.  I had to use physical discipline with him, and even then he would act as if he was going to do as he pleased.  I am not proud of using physical punishment on him, but it was my last resort, and the only thing that worked.  However, since I am one of the 7, I know I did the best I could, and I knew the most appropriate way to discipline my kids.  Even now The Genius will try to argue, cajole, redirect, and excuse his behavior.  I no longer have to use physical discipline, as he is 12 now and removing computer time works best.  But he is very different from his brother in many ways.  He is definitely the more sensitive and considerate brother, while the older one is more musically inclined and has an amazing sense of humor.  I love them both tremendously, and I STILL know what is best for my boys.

I used to feel as if I had to explain my actions and motives regarding my decisions about my kids, but no longer.  They are pretty awesome people, and I know that the only person that knows them better than themselves….. is me.  I know what makes them tick, what motivates them, what they are afraid of and what they want from life.  I know their hearts and most of the time I know their minds.

My point is that I want those of us parents who are part of the 7…….the people who are reasonable, caring and intelligent….to own that we are part of the 7, and know within ourselves, that we do not need to justify or explain our decisions regarding our children to anyone besides our partners, ourselves, and sometimes, our kids.

So if you want your kids to see a movie, or read a book, or not, it is your decision to make.  So decide, and own that decision knowing that you are always trying to do the best for your child.

Suckage

By: Shannon Ralph

I got a new bathing suit in the mail today. I ordered it online. I wanted the same suit that I had last year. The same suit that no longer fits me. It fit me beautifully two years ago. It was a bit snug last year. And this year? After a fifty-pound weight gain in two years, there is NO getting it on my body. So I ordered a new one online. I knew exactly what suit I wanted, so why torture myself by actually going to the mall and trying on suits? I don’t need that kind of trauma. Therapy is too damn expensive.

The suit I bought is a Miraclesuit. It supposedly sucks you in. In all the right places. The problem is that there really is not enough suckage in this world to do the job properly. As a matter of fact, a black hole would have to descend from the far reaches of outer space and land on my body for there to be enough suckage to make me feel comfortable in a bathing suit. Alas, I have to have one since we are taking the kids to the ocean next month. So I forked over the money for the expensive sucking suit and ordered it online.

Let me tell you, there is no greater feeling in the world than pulling a bathing suit out of a manilla bubble envelope, declaring to the entire house “My God! This is freaking HUGE!”, and then barely being able to wedge your body into it. Yes, it looks like it would fit any and all major appliances in my kitchen. But instead, it fits me. My entire head—from chin to the tippy-top of my skull—would fit in one of the boob holders. Seriously. I think my 40-pound boxer could comfortably curl up in one of those cups and nap the day away. But I needed a bathing suit. So a bathing suit I bought.

Now I need to find a cover up. Yes, I bought a bathing suit. Yes, I intend to wear the bathing suit. But, in no uncertain terms, will anyone actually see me in the bathing suit. I will be covered at all times. You know…to protect against skin cancer. Yea…that’s it. I don’t want to risk exposing my alabaster skin to the sun’s harmful UV rays.

Or something like that.

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