Being a Politically Active Mother

In light of the dumpster-fire happening in Washington right now, I feel like I should take this opportunity to discuss the issues that have been weighing on my mind since the November 2016.

On election night, I watched the early predictions pour in in favor of Hilary. I was confident. I had seen the polls saying she was a good 9 points ahead. I took my daughter to bed, and my eyes welled up as I laid her down and whispered, “Tomorrow you will wake up, and we will have our first female president. You can do anything.” My heart burned with pride in how far we had come.

Then you know what happened. The rural districts started reporting, and I started to panic. I initiated a Benadryl black out because I couldn’t watch. When Donald Trump won, I felt like I was in mourning. And in a way I was. I was mourning the triumphs we had made as a society, as I saw us take a giant leap backwards. For the perineum between the election and inauguration I did what we all did. I cried, I ranted, and I laughed a Biden memes. I tried to make sense of how this could have happened.  

I read the comments on social media from conservatives calling liberals crybabies. But I don’t think they understand what this win means to us. For me, as a child of the 90’s I grew up with the social narrative that we are all equal, that women can do anything  a man can do. We have the same opportunities, and you should never feel stepped on. The night Donald Trump won the election that narrative changed. I cannot tell my daughter she is equal in this society. I will tell her:  You will always have to be smarter, work harder, and go farther than your male counterparts. You can do anything, but you have to be better. You cannot expect the same treatment. But that is on them for being a shitty person, not you. You hold your head high. You must always have integrity and love yourself.

I attended the Women’s March in Cleveland. It was a powerful experience onto itself. Roughly 15,000 people in Cleveland alone gathered to show solidarity, and that helped me find energy. I watched the pictures from around the country of marches in solidarity, and I thought “We really have something here”.   

As I watch the absurdity unfold, I find myself becoming more and more filled with rage. I don’t understand the validation of “we need an outsider” for appointing someone like Betsy DeVos to the Department of Education. You want an outsider? Here’s a novel idea: hire a teacher. I think with the appointment of DeVos, the republicans have inadvertently awoken a sleeping army of angry moms. These mom’s aren’t always political, but you don’t fuck with our kids. This is a battle we will fight. And you will lose.

So here are a few thoughts I have gathered on fighting the good fight:

1.      First: Vote. Always vote. Even if you can’t win. People have bled and died for the right to vote. It is the most important American responsibility. This election has taught us this big time. November 6^th 2018 is the next mid-term election. 33 Senate seats, 435 house seats, and 14 governorships are up for reelection. Spread the word, this election is important, go vote.

2.      Write, call, tweet, and email your congressmen, senators, representatives, and governor. THEY WORK FOR YOU. Let them know what issues are important to you. I write a weekly letter to Rob Portman, I consider him my pen pal, though a bad one, since he never writes back. And take advantage of face time. Late this month Rep. Dave Greenspan will be at the Westlake Library for “Donuts with Dave”, we are bringing the kids to help us tell him the issues that are important to us.

3.     Use your children as motivation. In one of my first letters to Senator Rob Portman, I sent him a photo of my children. I told him I wanted him to look at the faces of the future generation and remember everything he does is for them. I have two Hispanic children (my husband is Puerto Rican); I will not allow them, or any other children, to be marginalized by a xenophobic society. This is where I draw most of my strength.

4.      Give money to organizations that do good work. I am fortunate enough to be able to give, so I do. I give to Planned Parenthood because I believe in women’s rights, I give to the ACLU because I want to keep the Trump Administration in check, and I give to NPR, because I believe in the integrity of journalism. Pick the ones you believe in, and give what you can.

5.      Stay active, but don’t burn out. The toughest pill for me to swallow is that we are going to lose. Until the mid-terms, the Republicans have the majority in the house and the senate, so despite best efforts; we are going to lose some big battles. It will be devastating. But you cannot allow yourself to succumb to angst. Pick the issues most important to you, and fight for them. But if you become a warrior for every bill, your sword will become dull.

6.      All politics is local. Stay active in your local government. Be aware how your city and state government works. Get to know your council people. This is where you can have direct impacts. Remember, the squeaky wheel gets the grease.

These are tough political times. If you are a ball of anxiety like I am, it is easy to become overwhelmed. But remember, you are not alone. Hillary did win the popular vote by over 3 million votes after all. We must live the ideals we voted for. We must be kind, and considerate of others. We must show integrity in everything we do. We must be better, because that is what us woman do… when they go low, we go high.

 

Cooking with Kids

I am a big believer in cooking with your kids.  It teaches them cooking skills, so they don’t grow up thinking food should just appear in front of them.  It usually gets them to actually eat dinner, whereas typically in my house it is like a hostage situation to get The Boy to take 3 bites. And it teaches them healthy eating habits.

The flipside is it can be pretty messy and potentially dangerous if you are not prepared. When cooking with just one kid, it is pretty straight forward. I started cooking with the boy around 16 months old, so now he has the routine down. With two toddlers it gets a little more interesting. Here are a few tips for cooking with toddlers.

 

 

1.      Start them young. I remember the first time I bellied my 18-month old son up to the bar in front of my mother in law she nearly fainted. But she tends to be more coddling than me anyway. But little kids know what to do; it’s basically making a controlled mess, which is what they love to do best. Now my 3 year old can make pancakes like a champ.

2.      When they are little, start with really basic things like scrambled eggs and pancake mix. Basically anything to get them stirring. Don’t have to get fancy here.

3.      Pick recipes that are basically dumping and stirring. One of our favorite things to make is Black Berry Cobbler. This recipe is basically a cup of milk, a cup of sugar, a cup of self-rising flour (you can make your own self-rising flour if you don’t have any), a stick of butter, and then 2 pints of black-berries. Super easy, and really good.

4.      When you have two kids that are helping at once, you add an extra layer of unpredictability. So go through the recipe before you start, and make sure each kid knows what they are going to get to do:

Kid 1, you get to measure the cheese.

Kid 2, you get to dump in the milk.

Mommy will crack the egg.

Kid 1 will stir for 10 beats, and then Kid 2 gets to stir for 10 beats.

5.      Explain measuring things out to them. My kids love dumping things in the bowl.  They would put 10 cups of flour in if I let them. This loaf of bread could very easily become a flour sandbox. I show them all 4 of the measuring cups and explain that the recipe tells you how much to put in or it will taste bad if you put too much in.

6.      When cooking with multiple kids, it’s best to have a spotter. Toddlers are unpredictable, and if dad is one step away, it is easier when someone drops something while you have stuff on the stove.

 

7.   Prep things that require knives ahead of time. This is pretty self explanatory. Toddlers plus knives are bad. I do think when they are older I will invest in a set of kid knives, because chopping skills are important, but that is for down the road.

8.      The stove is obviously off limits for them to touch, but I do let them watch. I think sometimes parents treat it like the hot hands of the devil, and keep their kids 10 feet away at all times. And yes, obviously the stove is no place for kids (unless you are Handsel and Gretel). But I do think they should understand what it does; in fact I think it helps keep my kids from touching it. So I get one kid on either side to watch what happens when you cook the food. Just make sure to go over the rules ahead of time:

1.      Hands at your sides at all times.

2.      No jumping around the stove.

3.      Mommy is busy at the stove, so she can’t help you get things.

Here are a few of my favorite recipes for cooking with kids:

Guacamole (they love the mashing)

Ramen Noodle Slaw

Quinoa Enchilada Casserole

 

One last idea, is an easy meal that is also a way to get them eating more. Make “colorful sandwiches” (this idea is stolen from Creative Galaxy). Basically cut up different color veggies, cucumbers, tomatoes, yellow peppers, carrots, as well as cheese, salami, whatever you have. Then give each kid a slice of bread, and let them go to town. I swear, my kids will eat 10 times more when they do this than any other meal.

 

 

 

 

Lastly, there is no reason to exclude kids from clean up. They made the mess, they can clean it up.

 

Bon Appetit!

 

Dine and Dash

Before having children the husband and I used to love dining out.  We did it probably too much. There is nothing better in my world than going to a great little tapas place and gorging yourself on warm olives and focaccia with roasted garlic and flights of Spanish wine. Or brunch!  Remember brunch?! Leisurely strolling into a place around 11 and eating omelets and having a spicy bloody Mary? This has been one of the hardest things for me to give-up since becoming a parent. My kids can be pretty good in public, but they are 22 months and 3 years old, they don’t do “waiting” well. So we are mostly stuck at home, ordering in, or at best hitting a chain.

I recently read lifestyle piece in the Washington Post where the author described going out to restaurant with her kids, and an old bitty came up and told her “You’re children are charming only to you”. I couldn’t believe anyone in their right mind would ever have the gall to say that to a mother with 2 kids under 4. I took to the comments section expecting to read similar rants to the one I am about to give you. But I was shocked to find comment after comment about how her kids are coddled too much if they need entertainment to sit through a whole meal (I reiterate, they are under 4!), and how if your children can’t be quiet through a meal don’t bring them to a restaurant.

Now, gone are the days of dining anywhere with flights of wine on the menu. The best we can hope for is a place with a plane on the menu. Let’s get one thing straight: I have no interest in family restaurants. They are bad, especially as a vegetarian. You are either ordering a shitty southwestern chicken salad without the chicken, or they are defrosting a veggie burger from the deep freeze for you. But the one thing I do like about these places is that I can bring my kids there. They move fast, the waitresses know to bring the side of fruit out right away, and they have the plastic cups with the bendy straws. Do my kids make noise? Yes. But fuck you; I’m eating at Bob Evans. I don’t want to be here, I have to be here. And guess what, if you don’t have kids, you don’t have to be here. Go to the place with the tapenade if the sound of children makes you want to hurl. You elected to go to a place that advertises that kids eat free on Tuesday. This is what you get. Do see me?  The mother who hasn’t slept, ketchup stain on my sleeve, trying to show my kid how a connect-the-dot picture on the menu works? The fact I do not have to cook, or do the dishes from this meal is the one grace I get this week from an otherwise never ending list of chores.  So I dare you to tell me my kids are too loud. I would suggest you duck after doing so though.

The flip side of this is, on the very rare occasion (roughly once a year), The Husband and I get to go out sans children, and we go to the wine flight place, please do not bring your kids. I have kids, and I’m telling you, go to the shitty paper napkin place like the rest of us.

 

Spirit Animal

My three year old is intense. He’s not your average toddler. Some would call him strong willed, I call him a maniac. Our most spiritual friend of said once “he is just pure fire”. Our daycare lady talked me off the ledge one day by explaining, “think of this way, he is incredibly strong-willed, which will mean when he is an adult he will be goal oriented and always do what he sets out to do.  He will not take “no” for an answer. It just makes it tough when he won’t stop jumping on the couch. It makes for tough toddlers but successful adults”. I cling to that sentiment all the time. But, this means he never forgets ANYTHING, he has the kind of perseverance I wish I had.  I just wish it wasn’t about possums.

Last fall I was going through the usual slap-dashery it takes to get us out the door in the morning. I shuffled the kids into our attached one car garage, tripping over the recycling bags The Husband was so kind to leave directly in front of the door. I had gotten Baby Girl in her car seat, handed her a graham cracker and moved on to The Boy. As I was trying to maneuver his hand, clenching to track master Thomas, though the car seat restraint when I looked over to see a possum, stiff as can be, sitting on the cart we have in the corner for toys. I lost control of my body. You know those videos when moms lift cars off their babies to save them?  I did the opposite.  I jumped into the backseat, on top of The Boy, screaming at the top of my lungs. It’s actually a miracle I didn’t kill The Boy. Luckily The Husband hadn’t left yet. Look, I am a feminist and as progressive as they come. I am the one who mows our lawn, I literally work in the dirt for a living. But a possum falls in The Husband’s column. All I hear is The Husband yelling “Get the fuck out of my house!” then “all clear”.

 

 

 

Ever since this event, roughly 6 months ago, my son has been obsessed with possums. “E, what do you want to be for Halloween?...A possum”.  Have you ever had to call a bakery and ask if they could do a possum birthday cake?  I have. I ask him if he wants to play a game, he says “let’s just look at pictures of possums on your phone”.  I have to have the county library system hold every book there is on possums.



 



 

The possum has become our family mascot. I suppose it is more like his Spirit animal.  I think he must think, “what is this mystical creature that made my mom scream like that? I must learn its ways and tap into that power”. Either way, I don’t see the possum fad going anywhere. I guess it could be worse, it could be Caillou.  I really fucking hate Caillou.



Accidents Happen

As my mother likes to remind me about once a month, I was never having kids. They are disgusting, expensive, and so annoying. Not interested. I was a married, young professional with dual income and low expenses. I drank red wine with my friends on nights I stayed home (still do, if you count paw patrol action figures as my friends).  I loved happy hours and reading in coffee shops. I had just bought my beautiful century home within walking distance of the beach. And who needs kids anyway.  I don’t need a baby to validate my life. I’m doing great. And another thing... the world is over populated as is, the environmental studies degree I cling to from my fancy liberal arts college beat that fact into my zine reading, tea sipping -hipster brain for 4 years. Kids? Nope, not for me. I’m good.

Then the strip turned pink. Well, shit. The husband and I starred dumbfounded for a minute, waiting for the other to speak first. I’m not going to say it was the immediate decision, but we decided this was our next step. We were going to be parents. We WERE parents. From that moment forward, we watched the perpetual un-doing, and re-doing of our world. Two kids later, we moved to the burbs, pay our taxes, and spend Sundays doing laundry and trying to pick playdough out of the carpet. Hell, last week we even met with a financial planner. #adulting. Though I will not buy a minivan. This is my last stand. I will just pile the stroller, diaper bag, toys, and all the other shit I have to take everywhere I go, on the husbands lap until Donald Trump pries the keys to my Matrix from my cold dead fingers.  

Our son is now three, and our baby girl, 20 months, are they are the little dictators of our lives. We ebb and flow with the tides of parenthood. It is the most exhausting, messy, and joyful learning experience. The days with no sleep and screaming make it hard. But when the last thing they whisper to you before falling asleep is “I love you mom” it burns in your heart the kind of love not even Shakespeare could verbalize.  

I will be clear: I do not know what I am talking about.  I am like any other mom. I ask other moms a lot of questions. I google a lot (how to get a baby to stop biting you?). And above all else, I wing it.  But one thing I have learned, is us moms are not alone. We a millions strong. We are a community with a common goal: Keep our babies alive, and keep our sanity while doing it. So, this is my plunge into blogging. I am sharing my experience in momming. Is it a bit self-serving? Sure. I said I was trying to keep my sanity. But I can honestly say I have learned a few things along the way (a sock on a door knob can save your toddlers life….more on that later). I will clarify, if you are looking for the DIY mom, that’s not me. You know, the mom making mini-heart shaped pie pops for the kids to take to daycare on valentine’s day. Though I did try to use a baby wipe as a coffee filter once…

So I hope you can learn something, and if I teach you nothing else from my experience, you have to laugh, or you will never make it out alive.