Badgermama

jump
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

I can’t really express how sad it made me to see Jo in the hospital again. She’s okay and everything. I was just super upset. I brought her lunch from Sancho’s.

We talked about the food, the bad quality of the books in there, and got a little bit into It All. She is “in a 2-week hole” now, meaning you are legally committed for a longer stay, which I gathered from this really nice and friendly guy Craig, who ate the extra fish taco and who is in for his 2nd 2-week hole. You see I am learning the routine and the terminology, by proxy. They can let you out earlier.

I did something I didn’t think I would do, and spoke out to say, maybe you need to move on. And not wait for other people to make decisions for you. You don’t have to do that forever or permanent, just make some space, separate, and see how it goes. I was like, “take this totally with a grain of salt… just my opinion… a flawed one…” And I realize my opinion is shaped by my own life and choices. I have ended many relationships. Let’s say I have a lot of practice at it. And I know how it goes, and feels, and how you come out of it. She has never ended a relationship and can’t see out of where she is now. Maybe it was too harsh and meddling of a thing to say, but I could not help saying it. She kind of pulled herself together and said “We’ll decide. We’ll talk about it.” That seemed like a good response to me. Also, she said she would try to call her mom though it is hard to get the staff to do a long distance call for you.

Her expressions of being suicidal, her breakdown and hospitalizations have affected everyone… I did not cry in front of her. (With superhuman effort.) I drove off crying though. Went to school, turned in my work from this morning (I missed Bad Moms’ Coffee). Burst into tears again on the elevator. Worried about my thesis. Worried about Jo. Wondered what I would do if Rook left me, or died in a car crash with Moomin while I am away from them. Realized I just got my period. Then thought, “Hey. I’m right near the beach. I love the beach.”

So, I stared at the waves for a while. I saw some brown pelicans flying in a V. And seals sticking their heads up out of the crashing surf. Other lone people got out of cars and stood gazing out to sea, hands in pockets, squinting, and I imagined what they were looking for and why. Probably about the same thing as I was.

Then I drove further down the coast a mile or two, to the hanggliding cliffs. It is the domain of grizzled old geezers, a mixture of aerospace engineer types and working class airplane-lovers who have subscribed to Popular Mechanics since 1942. They check their hanggliders meticulously, suit up, then their buddies hold the wings while they zip and buckle themselves into a sort of high-tech body bag (convenient if you crash, they don’t have to un-splat you and shovel you with a spatuala into your coffin. You are pre-bagged.)

I talked to a guy who showed me around and took me to the edge of the cliff. “Watch out for that guy, he’s crazy” said the other airplane model-flying geezers and gliding nuts. They did not know how unfunny they were to me, the crazy jokes… “We can give you the number of his psychiatrist. Don’t go to the edge of a cliff with HIM” they said in the particular way that jocular old men who have once been in the military like to tease purple-haired women who look too young. I went to the edge of the cliff. thinking, kind of.. and this is cheesy but I thought, “I’m going to look over the edge of the cliff for Jo, who would be afraid to look.” It was very beautiful. Then I had some fairly trite thoughts about the beauties of human endeavor, the history of flight, culture, civilization, leisure, and horrible hanggliding accidents: probably the same thoughts nearly any person would have in that situation.

I would never hangglide. If there’s anything that freaks me out more than the thought of jumping off a cliff, it’s jumping off a cliff with my feet zipped into a bag.

All hail the power of the ocean, the wind, pelicans, sick humor, and conversation with strangers — they heal up my soul. Also, obviously… blogging.

liko
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

Last night I went to dinner with some other science fiction nerds and writers, went to a reading, heard great stuff, talked to people, petted the bookstore cat, read my vile, filthy, ridiculous parody called “Klah Whore of Pern” out loud to people who got the jokes, and played briefly with Liko. (The reading was a benefit for the Speculative Literature Foundation and Strange Horizons.

Moomin gets hauled to poetry readings and stuff all the time. He’s now old enough to where he knows that “poetry reading” means “A place where boring grownup stuff happens, and no one will pay attention to me, but I might get a bribe of chocolate and a new book.”

Liko’s almost two! I got to hold him while his dad, Jeremy of Daddy Dialectic, read a sort alternative mythological origin story, and his mom Shelley took photos. I always think that children in public places should be more of a Thing… we should have better manners about it collectively. Like, if everyone paid a few minutes of attention to the kids then the kids learn better manners and feel included, and the parents get a helping hand. It changes the tone and pace of life. I don’t always want to be doing it, and it’s nice to have grown-up time. Still, once the kids are there, it doesn’t work to ignore them. It means there are interruptions to conversation… Hanging out with other parents, you develop a collective ethic of taking care of each others’ kids, and each other.

Think of it as being like talking to emissaries from an alien planet… one where it’s socially acceptable to pee your pants, lick the cat, shriek loudly at random times, and eat squashed grapes off the floor. One can politely overlook such moments of culture clash, meeting the alien ambassador halfway and gently modeling the desired Earth-like behavior.

To encourage non-parents, I provide this handy list of techniques.

How to make friends with a small child

– smile at it shyly, then look away
– stick out your tongue, then look away as if completely innocent, then look back and smile
– encourage it to do something slightly naughty, yet harmless
– give it something fascinating and forbidden, like keys or a cell phone
– draw funny pictures of animals. Everyone is an artistic genius for a 2 year old.

How to make friends with a slightly older child

– rather than asking intrusive questions, make a remark about your likes, dislikes, areas of knowledge, or personal experiences.
examples:
“I ate a worm once when I was little.”
“I read the last Harry Potter book six times.”
“My favorite color is purple, but I also like black. Wouldn’t it be cool if everyone had to wear only their favorite color, all the time?”
“Once I broke my arm and the bone was sticking out and it was really gross.”
“I can wiggle my ears, and also, my little toe separately from all my other toes.”

This is how kids talk to each other, mostly. A slight element of boasting will not go amiss. The response will likely be a mutual sharing of strange bits of information. You will learn count-out rhymes, see feats of double-jointedness, and perhaps have details of scabs revealed to you.

The whole “how to deal with children” dynamic is brought to a head in small enclosed spaces where no one can get away, like airplanes. You’re there, you got seated next to a little kid… and you can either get all grumpy about it and curse your fate, and act mad at the kid and the parent who didn’t anesthetize it or put it in the cargo hold or teach it better manners, OR… you can whip out your own manners, and play with the kid to keep it quiet and amused.

bumblebee art project
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

Well, they’re out the door! All morning, and last night, I was packing and thinking of last-minute things for Moomin to take on the trip. By 9:30 am I was really, really ready for them to leave so that I could work. I’d work for 5 minutes and then Moomin would come in to play light sabers, or ask me to help him draw something.

Hello… I NEED TO WORK… but unfortunately so did Rook, who had some kind of programming emergency and a flood of work emails.

I will miss them horribly and yet I found myself wishing they would leave! I was not so subtle. “Do you need to me to HELP YOU PACK?” I kept asking Rook. “Maybe you should GET READY TO GO NOW…” and I pried him off the computer. “I packed you some extra food, for the TRIP… which you’re GOING on. “

Then finally I was like “I need to work! Leave already! OMG!”

Kisses all around. Mild chagrin. I’ll miss them, but actually it will be way more relaxing for me to drive up to the mountains by myself… alone… beautifully alone… in my tiny little truck. Highway 180 looks very promising and I noticed a small town named “Badger” which is a good omen. My plan is to work like crazy and then leave on Saturday morning very early.

I love to be completely ready to go on a trip the night before, and then to wake up and leave the house within 15 minutes, with no fussing or dawdling.

That’s how it’s going to be! Oh the glory of it!

Then I’ll get there and will be with the noisy herd of in-laws. Five children under 7, one still in diapers. I’ve had some really heinous vacations with that crew, as they are ambitious travellers. The worst would either be the ski week (I don’t ski) where we were all crammed into a very tiny house with no amenities and one bathroom… or the blizzard in January 2003 where we were trapped in the attic with only ramen noodles, cold bulgogi, and crackers for three days. This time it sounds like (keep your fingers crossed for me) a fairly luxurious resort. The web site said “jacuzzis in bedrooms” and “internet connection” and “in the heart of the national park”. Moomin loves playing with his cousins and it will be nice for everyone to be together. It’s all to celebrate Rook’s mom’s 70th birthday! Instead of the koh cui, the traditional Korean 70th, we’re going to a beautiful park. Knowing his dad we will probably also be encouraged to bow and do something formal at dinner one night.

newly purpled!
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

I repurpled my hair yesterday. It’s leftover manic panic purple mixed with Punky Color plum, violet, midnight blue, and something else I don’t remember.

Speaking of all different colors! I woke up at 4am and was barfing my brains out for hours. I had a hallucinatory moment, a wild, trembling, gut-shaking, trippy epiphany as I barfed into the 6th towel and stripped off my 2nd pair of sweat-soaked and vomity pajamas: thank god i have a washing machine.

I thought of all the times I have been sick and how non-trivial it was to deal with it. Now I have this amazing luxury… a washing machine and dryer in my house. Whoa!!! Do you people have any idea how grateful I am for it?

I flashed back to the time I had a laser colposcopy and was hemorrhaging for a couple of weeks. I had just moved out from my cosy co-op situation and was for real on my own for the first time in my life. I bled into every pad, towel, pair of underwear, pair of shorts…. I was really weak, and hadn’t unpacked my stuff yet, and didn’t have any furniture other than my futon, which was on the floor in a rising wave of papers, books, moldy bits of toast on plates, cups, and bloody clothes. I kept calling the doctor’s office, which went like this:

9:05 am
Me: I’m still bleeding, is there anything you can do? What should I do?
Phone-answerer at crazy GYN’s office: We’ll have our advice nurse call you back.

10:45am
Advice nurse: Are you bleeding more than two tablespoonfuls per hour?
Me: I have no idea.
Advice nurse: Are you soaking a maxipad more than once an hour?
Me: I don’t have any maxipads left.
Advice nurse: If it’s more than 2 tablespoonfuls per hour then go to the emergency room.
Me: But… I’m not sure… I don’t know how I’ll get there… I’m missing so much work…
Advice nurse: I’ll ask the doctor to call you.

4:45pm
Doctor: Stay in bed and it will be fine. Or, you can go to the ER.
Me: I’m bleeding on everything.
Doctor: Then go to the ER.
Me: What will they do? Will it help? I’m actually in a lot of pain, too.
Doctor: You should not be in pain. You have no nerves in your cervix. Go to the ER, or not. It is normal to bleed after the procedure. Get plenty of rest and fluids.
Me: I’m really confused about what to do. I’m sorry. I’m just bleeding everywhere, and it’s scary. *cries*
Doctor: Have you thought about getting psychiatric help?

(Repeat every day for 2 weeks. I won’t horrify you with what happened at the eventual ER visit but it involved the word “cauterization” and a lot of terrible screaming.)

I was rescued by the women I was dating at the time, who found a good gynecologist, (who stopped the bleeding, and no screaming this time), drove me to the appointment, did some of my laundry, and brought me groceries.

Man it was incredibly awful. If you do not want to end up like me on the floor with blood everywhere, I recommend that you not be poor, and that you obtain a washing machine by having your mom buy it for you like mine did. Thanks mom! I also could recommend a general smashing of the patriarchy, free and decent health care, the abolishment of the class system and nation-state, not having a cervix at all, mandatory HPV vaccination, and decent guaranteed housing for everyone (with abundant washing machines). A copy of “Our Bodies Ourselves” given out when one is about 8 years old would also be quite helpful.

That’s what was going through my head last night as I barfed as quietly as possible so as not to wake up and horrify my sleeping child.

"candid" armslength?
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

When I’m stressed and moody like this I worry that I’m not being a good parent or good for, good to, anyone around me… I’m either working hard or I’m stressing about working hard or I’m desperately pursuing relief from all of that.

Then I drift over to Moomin to play some parcheesi… and try to mask my guilt and how antsy I am to get back to work on my project. 20 minutes later I’m back at my desk.

I keep telling myself it’s temporary, but what if it’s not? What if ambition and love of work means that I will never quite change gears back out of this frame of mind?

I want to eat chocolate and curl up in bed or in the sun, and read Pern books, and burst into tears for no good reason…

That makes me think about moods. For example, is it good in general for me to be communicative about them? I operate on the theory that if I’m like this, it’s good to warn Rook and say that I’m moody and stressed and he should avoid me for a bit. But is that a good thing? What if really… I’m always saying that? Or what if it’s like I’m asking for a free pass to be an asshole, because I’m in a mood?

I do notice when other people do this. Especially with anger. When other people make a big point of warning me they’re angry and about to get angrier, that can be okay, but often is a red flag that they’re about to act like a complete jerk and they expect to be absolved from it. It’s also a threat, that they want you to know their anger is dangerous and you have to tiptoe around it. That’s not right.

On the other hand, sometimes my own mom would get in a state where it seemed like the rules changed. And there was “friend-Mom” who was in a good mood and there was one set of really slack rules for that. But the same behavior would not cut it, if she were stressed, tense, had a headache, etc. And it took me a long time as a kid to figure that out. So I have actually tried to explain to Moomin that I’m working extra hard and can’t play so much, and marked the end of my project on the calendar.

“Moods” and stress to me are not an excuse… they are a sign that something is wrong and needs adjusting in my life. So I’m accepting this mood and this slight craziness until my thesis is done, but after that, I am going to make sure I don’t keep pressuring myself and that I spend more time relaxing with Moomin and Rook and Chula.

excellent massage thing
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

Weeks of stress broke me yesterday at around 5 in the afteroon. What I need is something shallow and mindless. I don’t have TV, I don’t have any drugs really and don’t like them, and can’t drink because of ulcers. So I went to the mall.

Though I haven’t been to a mall for year I basically grew up in one. It was the only place to go and hang out for preteens and teenagers in suburban Houston, where air conditioning is a requirement of life and anyway there are fire ants everywhere and no parks.

My mallology is superb. I know what stores are good for what purposes. For this mall (at Stanford) there is nothing for me other than the Macys junior dept. sale rack or possibly Nordstroms. One is tempted perhaps by a sequined 90 dollar thing in Bebe, but one avoids going in… One sees the fancy-ass sundresses and knows that they will be 300 bucks and yet in 2 weeks similar looking sundresses will be in Marshalls or Target.

So the mall soothed me with its glittering promise… its tiny handbags… a feeling of being around people way wealthier than I am… People who wear expensive jewelry and have exfoliating body scrubs and pedicures twice a week. All around me there were women carrying tiny lapdogs… I’m so not kidding.

I went into one of those Expensive Gadget stores! And found this AMAZING foot squeezing thing. Massage chairs all poke my back too hard, but this foot and calf squeezer was a dream come true. I must have it. After 10 minutes in the thing… listening pleasantly to the clerks gossip about Store politics… I had brand new feet. My calves are almost always sore – ever since I was pregnant 3 times in a row they swell up and hurt like crazy.

(The store gossip is that Tanya will never, ever go work with Ron, not even to get into the city center store which is the best one to work at. Because she just can’t work with him. She has to draw the line somewhere. Joon said to her that he thinks Ron kind of “likes” her and Tanya said OMG that’s the problem. Does everyone *know*….? And he tells her to put out the stuff on the shelves all wrong even though Michael will just come on shift later and make her put it all back and he *knows* it. Joon was sympathetic. I thought of my cousin who works retail and probably has these conversations a lot.)

The Macys junior dept. was full of somewhat expensive crap. Apparently patches and fluttery tatters are “in” but whatever, I have my own ripped up jeans and can patch them at my leisure. Faux hippies, round #1612341324.

For 20 bucks I bought a dreadful tight black lace seethrough top with sort of tuxedo frills down the front and pearl snaps to fasten it and the sort of neckline that automatically makes my boobs look bigger. OH YEAH. A perfect antidote to scholarly overload and the 14-hour days I’ve been spending in the library. It was half price. Snaps always make a sleazy whorish garment much more perfect.

But that wasn’t all… I went and blew some money on getting a real massage from some super nice guy named Daniel who lectured me about posture and pelvic tilt and entertainingly said he was thinking of writing a comic book based on his strange experiences of being a massage artist. According to Daniel, hot stone massages are gimmicky and dumb. Deep tissue is the way to go. He is also an advocate of the ball-rolling thing that Minnie does. At this fancy Mall day spa I was even further into the strange world of People Who Are Richer Than I Can Imagine. They are in there spending 300 bucks on some glycoestrohoohaprotein eye cream and then more for the “products” that go with it and then get weekly spa treatments for their thigh cellulite. I could make fun of this and be appalled by it all day but the truth is… it’s luxury, and it’s pleasant. I enjoyed the massage and the new agey music, lemon water, foot soak, fake fireplace, fluffy bathrobe, and all that stuff. How easy it woudl be to be incredibly rich and spend an obscene amount of money (even worse than I do now, though my sins are fancy cheese and pots of $10 fig jam, not thousand dollar pairs of earrings.) You would just fall into expecting everything to be easy, expensive, high-quality, glitzy… and you would “need” it… despite it being morally wrong on some level.

superhero good guys
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

We finished reading “The Mouse and the Motorcycle” the other night and Moomin sighed and said, “Good. That’s over.”

“What???!!! You liked it!”

“Yeah, but it was SO BORING.”

I realized what he meant. He wants superheroes, monsters, Greek gods, lightning bolts, battles against good and evil. Drama. The universe in danger.

“You have big paws.
You will do big things.”

He’s so peaceful, dreamy, and inward-looking that I assume he will like gentle and dreamy books. Yes, but only if there are epic battles in those dreams!

Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle was also pronounced “good but boring.” Meanwhile, he is deep in the lore of the X-men. In the 90s I watched that cartoon and I remember thinking that it was perfectly aimed towards a little kid’s developmental stage of wanting to understand the battles of good and evil. Why is there evil? Why do bad things happen? What can we do about it? What the heck is going on? In the few minutes of X-men I watched yesterday before I snuck off to eat my dinner at my desk, working, I saw angry villagers with torches shouting at Nightcrawler’s castle. I thought of Frankenstein and felt glad that Moomin has this powerful source of myth to feed into his imagination.

But… the mouse and the motorcycle!

In part I realize that it is my desire for him to be like me, to lie face down on the sidewalk for an hour staring at ants and imagining their point of view as they struggle over the tiny grains of sand in the concrete (boulders for them) with contemplative empathy and yet I also remember moments when I’d put a potato chip on an anthill, wait a bit, and then become an alien attacking from outer space as I turned the hose on them and watched them drown (guiltily, but it was fun.) DRAMA. I was the evil Goddess of Ants.

Here in this photo, we have the Good Guys all lined up for battle. The Bad Guys were elsewhere on an island, getting ready. Wonder Woman (who Moomin likes but gets annoyed with because she can’t stand up on her own), Darth Vader, Aquaman (who also can’t stand up), Purple Wing (mystery purple-haired girl with green wings and stripey tights), Lightning Green Dragon Blade (close relation of the Tapeworm Butt Fairy), an ambulance, and a car with a robotic laser arm driven by Hamtaro.

This is the kind of thing Moomin is thinking when he stands staring into space, whispering to himself. “Hold on! I’m coming!” (Pow! Pshhhhewwwww! *fight noises at whisper volume*) and then the aliens landed and Ralph’s motorcycle transformed into a motorcycle dragon transformer-bot with blasters and laser cannons and they flew into space…

Maybe those dreams are his big paws… and he will do big things with them…

incredibly cute kid on UN monument
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

I meant to interview people and take notes, but instead just took photos and chatted. It was too hard to take notes while I had Moomin with me. This little boy’s mom is just outside the frame of the photos and I wish I had taken one of her too… she was so nice!

The immigration rights march was very exciting. There were huge numbers of people, tens of thousands at least. More were arriving even as we left the city.

I heard some worries from people before the march that it would not be safe for children… there might be fights, or arrests, or tear gas, cops in riot gear – could I really justify taking Moomin to something “like that”? My response was to say that if we all brought our children to marches and rallies, then people would have different expectations. And they might behave more moderately.

Kids and families were everywhere, moms and dads and extended families with strollers. There were grandmas with long grey hair and bolivian hats. There were older men with big mustaches and mexican cowboy hats. There were tons of teenagers in groups, that looked to me like friends from school. danah boyd wrote about how the rallies have been framed as something that irresponsible teenagers do to get out of school – so I was especially struck by the way that whole families came and marched together.

I noticed the maoists with their newspapers, and various other flavors of communists out for May Day – International Workers’ Day. But the vast majority of marchers were there as part of a huge grassroots community effort. Churches and soccer teams and people who work together… the news spread and, at least around here, if you are Latino/a then there was (benign) social pressure not to go to work or school.

I had no pressure like that. But living in my city, I didn’t have the privilege not to notice the strike was about to happen. Quite a lot of businesses, and some schools, in my town shut down today. The only pressure came from my own strong beliefs. I think it is important to show solidarity for the things I believe in, and to raise Moomin in a way that shows him those beliefs in action.

I realized on the train on the way up that he was nervous because he thought we were going *to a war*. I think because I had talked about “fighting for rights.” Oops… I explained that it was a peaceful protest of unfair laws. That it was not a war or a fight, it was sort of like a parade! And that it was good to feel hope, from seeing all the people around you who are marching. I told him that all the people marching are like superheroes because they believe we can make the world a better place.

I am very aware through my reading of history how lucky we are to be able to march like this and not fear that our “files” are being updated and we are not in terrible danger of being disappeared or shot. I take that privilege for granted (most of the time) but… that isn’t true for a lot of the people marching.

So, consider the bravery that takes if you come from a country where peaceful political protest and organizing are met with horrific violence. And consider how much fear there has been in the immigrant communities who worry that, even if they have legal working papers or have become citizens, maybe evidence of them at this march could get them deported. I hate to say it but this is not an unreasonable fear. I loved every person I saw today for their incredible bravery.

immigration, march, immigration march, sí se puede, immigrant, hr4437,
may1

chess on market street
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

Dear Dad,

We just read a book about science called “What Happens If…” and it has
some experiments that look kind of fun and sometime I want to do some of
those sciences. Also, we went to a march and we got in it. And in that other country we had lots of fun. We played chess but when the march started
we had to pause our game. Also, we got to get an ice cream sandwich from
the ice cream man. And we went to the playground, and also we saw the statue of Simon Bolivar. Also, the march was pretty loud alright, anyway, but I
didn’t even have to cover my ears.

Anyway, some guys wearing some
feathers also danced. One guy with big tall feathers played the drums. It
looked kind of fun but still I didn’t really want to do it.

friends on a fish
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

Dear Moomin,

I am in Stockholm, Sweden right now. I am going to
be playing games on the weekend, but today I have
just been seeing sights around the city with some
Danish people I am now friends with. Today we went
to see a huge old ship that they have in a museum
here, that is called the “Warship Vasa“. It is
over 300 years old, and it is nearly five stories
high (much bigger than our house).

I love you and I miss you. See you on Tuesday.

– Rook

Dear Dad,

What is that ship you were talking to me about? 5 stories high! Anyway,
300 years old is way older than me, because I’m only 6 and it’s 300! And
really that might be a little cool, you know!

Also, Hamster got to come over and we went over to Buck’s, which is one of
my favorite restonauts! Anyway, there are lots of statues hanging from
the ceiling for some strange reason. Well, I call them statues because
they kind of look like them. Anyway, they even have a statue of New York,
but it’s not hanging from the ceiling. Also, for dinner at Buck’s, I had
grilled cheese, gummy frogs, and also, fruit! Anyway, that dinner was
quite yummy all right. I’ll say.

Love,

Moomin

old hippie expounds to high school students
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

The public library “outdoor internet cafe” hops with action after school gets out. Here, a greasy-haired hippie guy amiably tells stories about how his friends died from shooting up and how he would never shoot up. Half of them listen; the other half are texting busily on their cell phones.

I asked some of the girls next to me if they had myspaces… they giggled, looked at me like I was crazy… and said no.

It’s a pleasant place to work out here despite the cars going by. The librarians blast out some really soothing cafe music to their outside speakers. Earlier this morning, some jazzy acoustic guitar, and for the last hour or so, music from India.

I cannot help but worry a little about the mildly crazed old longhair hanging out with the kids. But perhaps other people think the same of me, (and y’all know I’m harmless enough) and he is a well-intentioned guide to Adult Life for the kids in the ‘hood. Maybe he’s their soccer coach, or someone’s dad. Or just an old guy like my uncle, who could easily be hanging out on the street smoking out with with high school kids if he didn’t have family to take care of him.

It’s absolutely fascinating here. I want to come back here and eavesdrop some more, another day.

funny hat
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

The crossing guard wasn’t at Moomin’s school today. I dread seeing her like you wouldn’t believe. I hope she has found something satisfying to do with herself.

I used to idolize Mrs. Bolla, the crossing guard for my elementary school near Detroit. People would talk about her with a funny awe as if she were a hero. Maybe she worked as a crossing guard for free, or had set up independently on that corner because her own child was killed at that very intersection in a horrible tragedy. She had short, marcelled, iron grey hair under a military-looking cap, and wore a navy blue uniform with goldy bits that also looked military. I wonder if she had been a WAVE or had been in some other war. Brisk and kindly… remembering our names… very no-nonsense. I would make up stories about her past and try to imagine her house where I was sure she lived alone, with pet birds and african violets in pots in the kitchen and everything just so. Of course I have no idea if she lived alone. But in my mind her husband, Mr. Bolla, had also died in a tragedy that people probably didn’t mention because it was too horrible for small children like me to know. I imagined some unusual circumstance, perhaps an atomic bomb not TOO nearby or a violent thunderstorm combined with circumstance and luck – to where she would have to bring me home with her like Dr. Doolittle bringing home Tommy Stubbins after bumping into him in the rain. I would be lost in one of her old uniforms and a fuzzy bathrobe while she dried my own clothes in front of a fire and served me tea. We’d talk about books and politics. She had had a funny feeling I was unusually clever and interesting… what luck… Gradually I would become indispensible in her life. Her pet birds would perch on my finger, I would create a system for organizing her books and my intelligent enthusiasm would remind her of the youthful happiness she had lost – if only she had had a daughter like me! But how much better that we could be friends. Perhaps she would teach me a crucial skill like real magic, travelling in time, or tying complicated knots.

The crossing guard at Moomin’s school was not like that. Instead she had a ragged smoke-smeared voice, bleary eyes, and a hacking cough. Kind of haggard and leathery, like Mick Jagger. When I got back from helping with hurricane stuff, which she somehow heard about, she would say… every day… with a searching and worshipful gaze… “are you still helping the katrina people?” And more than once she went into excruciating… tedious… detail about how noble I was, while I scuffed my floppy pink boots and looked everywhere but her hideously adoring eyes. “Thank you! Thank you… for … mostly people don’t want to help… people like me…” The conversation recurred for a while then died down to a specially meaningful, heavy, wet “Hello… how ARE you…” and perhaps a remark about Katrina or the weather – which I dreaded and which she would whip out twice a day. From halfway down the block she’d be staring and waiting to pounce on me with it. Then as I came back down the hill to get back in my car she’d do it AGAIN as if she had forgotten she had just greeted me 15 minutes before from the other direction.

So every day for many months I have felt guilty about the dread and loathing I have for this trivial daily incident. And I am sure she is a halfwitted, completely addled ex-junkie who got sent by some welfare agency to do this job of being a crossing guard and I should have been the cheery light of her life along with the laughing throngs of happy children, instead of finding her unbearable. Oh the guilt of knowing that in her mind she is probably sipping tea with me in the kitchen after having saved me from escaped circus animals and exhibiting the nobleness of her characters and I’m teaching her the secret of life. It serves me right for imagining my cosy life with Mrs. Bolla.

"bedtime" with green lantern
Originally uploaded by Liz Henry.

Your toddler goes stiff as a board and won’t get in her car seat? Oh my god, how will you persuade her to co-operate?

I can’t believe someone just asked that question and about 30 people on my local mom-list answered with a variant of be nicer/persuade/explain/distract/wait-it-out. One person boldly used the word “stern.” One other mom hinted that getting mad might be difficult to overcome.

Hello…. you are an enormous, powerful grownup and you have stuff to do.

I liked my sister’s response. “A simple karate chop to the belly should do it.” Hahahah! Just kidding, people… I hate the pro-spanking rhetoric, and would never hit my kid.

Since when did being mad, stern, or displeased go out of style? It’s like there’s no middle ground between weak-spined bribery and child abuse.

One of my most effective tactics is to warn that I might be about to get mad. This has to be done with a serious frown. And if I’m mad, it doesn’t help to pretend I’m not mad. If I’m in a hurry and need to drive somewhere, why should I pretend to be infinitely patient?

The line, there, to me, is to not tell the kid they’re bad. You can snarl out, “I’m getting really mad because you’re not buckled into your carseat and I’m in a hurry.” But you should not add to that sentence, “…you damn brat.” Are we clear on the difference?

The worst suggestion was for the mom to offer a trip to the zoo and then when the kid refuses to go in her car seat, then shrug and say “Okay, I guess little kids who don’t go in their car seat don’t get to go to the zoo!” and go in the house again. It strikes me that this will lead to a screaming meltdown and will only teach the 18 month old that her mom’s a huge bitch. I guess maybe it works in that the kid gets to experience “consequences.”

Everyone’s got a different style of parenting, sure. But now we can’t ever have a moment of being pissed off? We’re supposed to raise kids without ever frowning or disapproving? I have a horrible feeling this is part of the patriarchal message to women that they should “be nice” at every single moment.

Tickling, offering special toys, singing a little song, and specially yummy food when you’re in the carseat … I don’t think so. How about a million dollars and a f#&%$#! pony while you’re at it?

Now that we’ve cleared that up, you can all go yell at your kids.