I had so much fun with part one of Twenty Things My Daughter Should Know, that I decided to come back with twenty more. And seeing as I spent ten minutes this morning watching Ben run at the sliding glass door with a shoe box on his head, bounce off, laugh and do it all over again, it's clear that I'm no closer to understanding men and that his future advice blogs will still have to wait. But I digress.
So Layla, as soon as you can read this, here is Part 2 of some of the the things in life that I think you should know. Remember to please hold all questions until you are at least sixteen. Trust me, it will take me that long to figure out how to explain half of these things to you.
1. You can be anything you want to be. As long as that "thing" isn't a Kardashian.
2. If you let other people determine your self-worth, they will always lowball you. Be your own person, determine your own value and try (as much as you can) to ignore everyone else.
3. I said it before, but it bears repeating. Seriously, seriously, SERIOUSLY never wax your own eyebrows, unless you enjoy looking like a bald alien for the better part of a year.
4. Some choices in life are impossible, like picking a favorite child or deciding which one of the guys from Vampire Weekend is the cutest. Life isn't black and white and it's okay to not have all of the answers.
5. They say being beautiful opens doors, but being fearless kicks the doors down and sets the room on fire. I haven't quite figured out fearless yet, but you can break the cycle of letting fear hold you back.
6. A wise man once said, "Turns out not where, but who you're with that really matters". If you like the people who surround you, you will always be somewhere great. And yes, Mommy considers Dave Matthews a wise man.
7. Having a little faith never hurt anyone.
8. There's no such thing as too much color, too many crayons, too much fun, or too much glitter.
9. I've learned so much more from things being hard than I have from things being easy. Struggle makes you grow up and get your act together. Without it, we'd all still be living in our parent's basements.
10. Assumption is the lowest form of communication.
11. Sometimes, nothing beats a good cry. Get mad, be upset, let it all out...and then move on.
12. Don't forget to smile.
13. Girlfriends are nice, but in my opinion, guys make the best friends. They're more laid back, they don't care about what you're wearing, and they have a tendency to be more adventurous (for the most part). But beware of the completely unfair, ridiculously untrue reputation that tends to follow a girl with mostly guy friends...other girls who aren't cool enough to understand will spread lies. Which actually brings my point full circle: A guy friend wouldn't do that.
14. Like most things in life, Justin Beiber is just a phase. It too shall pass.
15. If you watch carefully, you'll find that The Sound of Music has the answers to all of life's major problems: Marriage, children, music, problematic nuns, baronesses, love, DIY curtain clothes, yodeling, Nazis...it has a solution for everything.
16. Making someone else feel bad about themselves in order to make you feel better about yourself doesn't work. It just makes you a jerk.
17. Money is nothing but paper. It shouldn't be what drives you in life.
18. Dance like no one's watching. But close the blinds, because someone's probably watching.
19. Big words mean nothing if they're not used in the right context. They just make you sound obnoxious and like you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.
20. No matter what you do or who you turn out to be, I will always love you. I can't make you many guarantees in life, but I can guarantee that with absolute certainty.
I love you. Now please help me scrape your brother off of the sliding glass door.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
You Can't Please Everyone, So You've Got To Please Yourself
Wow. What a week.
I've been writing this blog for over a year now and during that time I've received very few complaints and any criticism I've been given has been both constructive and helpful. Friends and strangers alike have been supportive and encouraging and not a single person has ever been nasty or condescending. I've suspected for awhile that hearing nothing but good things was far too good to last, but I didn't suspect the good train would derail over something as miniscule as a popular series of books.
I can write about boobs, I can write about poop, I can write about women's rights and how I'm sick of women being called fat for not being a size zero. I can write about Osama Bin Laden, Government bailouts, and which politicians I would kick in the junk, given the opportunity. I've written about all of these things and more and no one has so much as batted an eyelash. But when I write about not liking a pathetically written, plot-less book trilogy suddenly all hell breaks loose.
Exactly one week ago when I posted my "Fifty Shades Of Oy Vey blog, I honestly didn't think much of it. In fact, my only real concern at the time was offending my sister-in-law, because she has a book review blog and I didn't want her to think I treading on her turf, so to speak. When she assured me that she understood my blog was less a book review and more of a manifesto against the bad books of the world, I proceeded to post with her blessing. I figured this would be one of those blogs that was more about me getting something that was bugging me off of my chest and less about how many people would read it. In fact, I wrote it thinking I would honestly be surprised if anyone other than my regular readers (who I love, by the way) even read it at all. I had no idea that this would be the blog that would finally piss people off. But piss them off it did and not a person in the world seemed shy about sharing their opinions with me.
I've learned over the years that the world is full of crazy people and nowhere is this fact more true than on the internet. Crazies come out in full force when protected by the cloak of internet anonymity and a real nut job can be hidden behind that cutesy Twitter handle with a Hello Kitty profile picture. Believe me, I know, because all of the Hello Kitty-loving crackpots in the internet world were out to get me this last week.
Because of the fact that nothing pleases a crazy person more than you instantly defending yourself, I decided to let the worst of my haters stew over their comments for awhile (assuming, of course that they hadn't moved on to harass someone new) while I composed my own responses, on my own time, on my own blog where I can delete any comments I don't like, if I were so inclined (maniacal laugh, maniacal laugh). Therefore, the following is my list of my top 3 favorite nonconstructive comments and my response to said comments:
1) "You're a talentless c**t!" (Via Twitter)
First of all, I'd love to say "Back at ya", but unlike the person who left this comment (anonymously at that) I like my criticism to be a little more creative. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but if you're aiming at insulting me, it might help to do it in a way that doesn't make me laugh at your complete and total lack of originality. Secondly, I have a number of faults and questionable personality traits (most of which I share openly and proudly on this very blog) but if there is one thing I know I'm not, it's talentless. I will toot the hell out of my own horn when it comes to this blog, loudly and unapologeticly. Better yet, I have some amazing friends who will even toot it for me. I may never be as famous as E.L. James or ever get a book deal of my own, but if it means I'm not writing crap, I'm more than okay with it.
2) "I'm going to tell everyone I know to read this blog so they all know how terrible it is!" (Via Twitter)
Attention people of the world: If you're looking for a way to insult a writer, the words "I'm going to tell everyone I know to read this" are not going to do the trick. I want people to read what I write. It is, after all, the main reason I have a blog to begin with. In fact, I feel like I owe this particular crazy a big, steaming bowl of gratitude for this comment. Thank you for encouraging people to read my work! You're super awesome! By the way, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that one of the main points of my '50 Shades' blog was that people love to read something controversial and people like the ones who left comments like this (yes, there were several) actually proved that point. If you really hated it, you wouldn't read it and you certainly wouldn't encourage anyone else to read it. Simple as that. As it is, the '50 Shades' blog is now my second most-viewed blog. So thanks again!
3) "You could live to be 100 and never write like E.L. James" (Via freelanced.com)
That's the goal! I really couldn't agree more and thank you for putting it into words for me! Cheers!
The point of this blog is this: I've spent the better part of a year appreciating the praise and waiting in sweaty anticipation for the criticism. I figured the minute someone said something bad about my writing, no matter how much faith I have in it, I'd be so hurt that I'd instantly retreat to my car, blast Taylor Swift's "Mean" and cry (now that I've admitted in writing that I might actually do this, this blog will self-destruct five seconds after you're done reading it). The real surprise was that I didn't feel like never blogging again just because some random internet idiot felt the need to defend these books with a few choice, mean words. I'd be a liar if I said this whole experience didn't make me wonder why people can't respect a simple difference of opinions, but for the most part these comments just made me laugh and roll my eyes. Maybe it's because the good words still outweigh the bad or because I have more faith in myself and my writing than I thought, but either way, it feels like a win.
I'm stronger than I thought I was and that, my friends, is a damn good feeling.
I've been writing this blog for over a year now and during that time I've received very few complaints and any criticism I've been given has been both constructive and helpful. Friends and strangers alike have been supportive and encouraging and not a single person has ever been nasty or condescending. I've suspected for awhile that hearing nothing but good things was far too good to last, but I didn't suspect the good train would derail over something as miniscule as a popular series of books.
I can write about boobs, I can write about poop, I can write about women's rights and how I'm sick of women being called fat for not being a size zero. I can write about Osama Bin Laden, Government bailouts, and which politicians I would kick in the junk, given the opportunity. I've written about all of these things and more and no one has so much as batted an eyelash. But when I write about not liking a pathetically written, plot-less book trilogy suddenly all hell breaks loose.
Exactly one week ago when I posted my "Fifty Shades Of Oy Vey blog, I honestly didn't think much of it. In fact, my only real concern at the time was offending my sister-in-law, because she has a book review blog and I didn't want her to think I treading on her turf, so to speak. When she assured me that she understood my blog was less a book review and more of a manifesto against the bad books of the world, I proceeded to post with her blessing. I figured this would be one of those blogs that was more about me getting something that was bugging me off of my chest and less about how many people would read it. In fact, I wrote it thinking I would honestly be surprised if anyone other than my regular readers (who I love, by the way) even read it at all. I had no idea that this would be the blog that would finally piss people off. But piss them off it did and not a person in the world seemed shy about sharing their opinions with me.
I've learned over the years that the world is full of crazy people and nowhere is this fact more true than on the internet. Crazies come out in full force when protected by the cloak of internet anonymity and a real nut job can be hidden behind that cutesy Twitter handle with a Hello Kitty profile picture. Believe me, I know, because all of the Hello Kitty-loving crackpots in the internet world were out to get me this last week.
Because of the fact that nothing pleases a crazy person more than you instantly defending yourself, I decided to let the worst of my haters stew over their comments for awhile (assuming, of course that they hadn't moved on to harass someone new) while I composed my own responses, on my own time, on my own blog where I can delete any comments I don't like, if I were so inclined (maniacal laugh, maniacal laugh). Therefore, the following is my list of my top 3 favorite nonconstructive comments and my response to said comments:
1) "You're a talentless c**t!" (Via Twitter)
First of all, I'd love to say "Back at ya", but unlike the person who left this comment (anonymously at that) I like my criticism to be a little more creative. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but if you're aiming at insulting me, it might help to do it in a way that doesn't make me laugh at your complete and total lack of originality. Secondly, I have a number of faults and questionable personality traits (most of which I share openly and proudly on this very blog) but if there is one thing I know I'm not, it's talentless. I will toot the hell out of my own horn when it comes to this blog, loudly and unapologeticly. Better yet, I have some amazing friends who will even toot it for me. I may never be as famous as E.L. James or ever get a book deal of my own, but if it means I'm not writing crap, I'm more than okay with it.
2) "I'm going to tell everyone I know to read this blog so they all know how terrible it is!" (Via Twitter)
Attention people of the world: If you're looking for a way to insult a writer, the words "I'm going to tell everyone I know to read this" are not going to do the trick. I want people to read what I write. It is, after all, the main reason I have a blog to begin with. In fact, I feel like I owe this particular crazy a big, steaming bowl of gratitude for this comment. Thank you for encouraging people to read my work! You're super awesome! By the way, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that one of the main points of my '50 Shades' blog was that people love to read something controversial and people like the ones who left comments like this (yes, there were several) actually proved that point. If you really hated it, you wouldn't read it and you certainly wouldn't encourage anyone else to read it. Simple as that. As it is, the '50 Shades' blog is now my second most-viewed blog. So thanks again!
3) "You could live to be 100 and never write like E.L. James" (Via freelanced.com)
That's the goal! I really couldn't agree more and thank you for putting it into words for me! Cheers!
The point of this blog is this: I've spent the better part of a year appreciating the praise and waiting in sweaty anticipation for the criticism. I figured the minute someone said something bad about my writing, no matter how much faith I have in it, I'd be so hurt that I'd instantly retreat to my car, blast Taylor Swift's "Mean" and cry (now that I've admitted in writing that I might actually do this, this blog will self-destruct five seconds after you're done reading it). The real surprise was that I didn't feel like never blogging again just because some random internet idiot felt the need to defend these books with a few choice, mean words. I'd be a liar if I said this whole experience didn't make me wonder why people can't respect a simple difference of opinions, but for the most part these comments just made me laugh and roll my eyes. Maybe it's because the good words still outweigh the bad or because I have more faith in myself and my writing than I thought, but either way, it feels like a win.
I'm stronger than I thought I was and that, my friends, is a damn good feeling.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
The Dad I Never Had
On Father's Day, I always think about my dad. And this year is no exception.
Anyone who reads this blog on a regular basis might remember that my dad passed away last year and to say that we had a less than ideal relationship would be the understatement of the century. I've done a lot of thinking about him the last year and continue to wonder what's my fault, what's his fault and what is the fault of no one at all. I haven't reached any solid conclusions and doubt I ever really will since the person I need the answers from isn't around to answer any questions. But as I come to terms with the loss of the person I never really had, I've begun to realize that the dad I've always wanted has been standing right in front of me for years.
I remember clearly the moment in my relationship with Josh when I crossed a monumental line, never to return. We were still only dating at the time, but had volunteered to take my nephew (then only about a year old) to our friend's child's birthday party. I sat watching Josh play with the kids and thought to myself "Man, he's going to be a great dad". It was actually a pretty scary thought back then, because he was just a guy I was dating, though retrospectively I like to think that I knew then that he was going to be more than that. And even all those years ago, I knew that my-then-future-husband would be a great dad because he learned from the best.
It's true that you don't get to pick your family, and probably even more true that you don't get to pick your in-laws, but let me tell you that I seriously lucked out. In fairness, I love both of my in-laws, but being Father's Day, I want to focus on how much I love my father-in-law.
My father-in-law is the definition of a great man in every way possible. He's out-of-this-world intelligent, kind, honest, generous, open-minded and fair. As if that wasn't good enough, he's always been one of the most grateful people I know; He's grateful for his family, friends and his life in general. Talk about a guy who always has his priorities straight! He's a man of faith, strength and conviction. Best of all, he's always made me feel like his daughter (no "in-law" about it), even when I wasn't technically part of the family yet. My kids love him, my nieces and nephews love him, even random kids that just happen to pass him in the park love him. Maybe it's because they can sense that he's the grandpa that will offer ice cream and to push them on the swings and will almost never say no, but I've always believed that kids are the best judge of character and can see people for who they really are, and that's why they love him.
Because I had such a dramatically different relationship with my dad, I'm constantly reminding Josh how lucky he is to have such a great dad. He and his dad are very close and he really doesn't need much reminding, but I always feel the need to talk up my father-in-law nevertheless. I think there are men who grow up to be wonderful fathers because they don't want their children to miss out on their dads or suffer because of them, and I would definitely put my own brother in that category. Then there are men who grow up to be wonderful fathers because they grew up with a man who showed them the right way and therefore don't know any other way to be with their own children, like Josh. Those guys are the lucky ones.
Josh never had to fight for his father's love or wonder why that love loomed forever just out of his reach, and in a way, I will always envy him for that. A real dad knows that parenthood isn't just a responsibility or an obligation. It's a privilege. Your kids bring joy to your life in a way that nothing else or no one else in the world ever can. It's an honor to be a parent, and one that should never be taken lightly. My father-in-law understands this and it shows in the love he has for all of this children, even me.
I may not have grown up with the father I always wanted, but I have him now.
Happy Father's Day.
Anyone who reads this blog on a regular basis might remember that my dad passed away last year and to say that we had a less than ideal relationship would be the understatement of the century. I've done a lot of thinking about him the last year and continue to wonder what's my fault, what's his fault and what is the fault of no one at all. I haven't reached any solid conclusions and doubt I ever really will since the person I need the answers from isn't around to answer any questions. But as I come to terms with the loss of the person I never really had, I've begun to realize that the dad I've always wanted has been standing right in front of me for years.
I remember clearly the moment in my relationship with Josh when I crossed a monumental line, never to return. We were still only dating at the time, but had volunteered to take my nephew (then only about a year old) to our friend's child's birthday party. I sat watching Josh play with the kids and thought to myself "Man, he's going to be a great dad". It was actually a pretty scary thought back then, because he was just a guy I was dating, though retrospectively I like to think that I knew then that he was going to be more than that. And even all those years ago, I knew that my-then-future-husband would be a great dad because he learned from the best.
It's true that you don't get to pick your family, and probably even more true that you don't get to pick your in-laws, but let me tell you that I seriously lucked out. In fairness, I love both of my in-laws, but being Father's Day, I want to focus on how much I love my father-in-law.
My father-in-law is the definition of a great man in every way possible. He's out-of-this-world intelligent, kind, honest, generous, open-minded and fair. As if that wasn't good enough, he's always been one of the most grateful people I know; He's grateful for his family, friends and his life in general. Talk about a guy who always has his priorities straight! He's a man of faith, strength and conviction. Best of all, he's always made me feel like his daughter (no "in-law" about it), even when I wasn't technically part of the family yet. My kids love him, my nieces and nephews love him, even random kids that just happen to pass him in the park love him. Maybe it's because they can sense that he's the grandpa that will offer ice cream and to push them on the swings and will almost never say no, but I've always believed that kids are the best judge of character and can see people for who they really are, and that's why they love him.
Because I had such a dramatically different relationship with my dad, I'm constantly reminding Josh how lucky he is to have such a great dad. He and his dad are very close and he really doesn't need much reminding, but I always feel the need to talk up my father-in-law nevertheless. I think there are men who grow up to be wonderful fathers because they don't want their children to miss out on their dads or suffer because of them, and I would definitely put my own brother in that category. Then there are men who grow up to be wonderful fathers because they grew up with a man who showed them the right way and therefore don't know any other way to be with their own children, like Josh. Those guys are the lucky ones.
Josh never had to fight for his father's love or wonder why that love loomed forever just out of his reach, and in a way, I will always envy him for that. A real dad knows that parenthood isn't just a responsibility or an obligation. It's a privilege. Your kids bring joy to your life in a way that nothing else or no one else in the world ever can. It's an honor to be a parent, and one that should never be taken lightly. My father-in-law understands this and it shows in the love he has for all of this children, even me.
I may not have grown up with the father I always wanted, but I have him now.
Happy Father's Day.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
50 Shades Of Oy Vey
I have an issue. A big one.
As I've mentioned before I'm an avid reader and as a general rule of thumb, I think reading is a great way to spend your time, whether you're reading ESPN magazine or Charles Dickens. I've always believed reading expands your mind and improves your vocabulary in such a drastic way that it really doesn't matter what you're reading as long as you're reading something.
That is, until now.
For months I'd been hearing about the "Fifty Shades" trilogy. Written by an unknown mother-of-two, it became an instant sensation subsequently making the New York Times Bestseller List its bitch in practically no time at all after being released. Everyone from Ellen Degeneres to the moms at the school drop-off were talking about the books. Raving about them, actually. Everyone said they were dark, they were sexy, and they would leave the reader utterly captivated.
Everyone was wrong.
A few weeks ago when Josh gave me the trilogy for Mother's Day and I practically did back-flips across my living room out of sheer joy and excitement. Finally! The books I'd heard so much about! I dove into them immediately, with what I have to admit was the highest of expectations. Sure the hype surrounding the books was a big factor, but even more so was the fact they were written by someone completely unknown, and a stay-at-home mom of two at that. So right off the bat, I felt a certain sense of "Solidarity, sister!" and more than a little hopeful that if this woman could do it then hey, maybe I could too. And then I had to ruin it by actually reading the books.
I'm neither talented nor patient enough to sit here and give you all an actual review of the combined 1,600+ pages of these books, but here's my four sentence synopsis. The books follow the tumultuous relationship between Anastasia Steele, a character so grating and annoying she makes Bella what's-her-face from the 'Twilight' series come off like the Dali Lama, and Christian Grey, a controlling, domineering psychopath gazillionaire whose traumatic childhood is supposed to serve as a plausible excuse for an addiction to S&M. It's the classic "boy meets girl, boy wants to do kinky things, but girl is so amazing that boy decides to change his whole whips and chains lifestyle to accommodate her". It's extremely heavy on the sex, extremely light on plot, and basically reads like a rejected scrip for a Lifetime made-for-TV movie. It's unrealistic in every sense of the word and equal parts cheesy and gag-worthy (for instance, I am in no way a prude, but I honestly could have gone my whole life without knowing what an anal plug was...Yowza) and frankly not worth the paper they're printed on.
I know that sounds harsh and makes me sound like a real bonafide literary douche bag, so I feel like now would be a good time to confess to you guys that under ordinary circumstances, I absolutely love chick lit. My love for the genre is my dirty little secret and there's nothing more I love on a stressful day than a fun, easy read to take me away to another world. What I'm trying to say here is, despite what you're about to read, I am by no means a book snob. The problem is, these particular books aren't fun, the characters are so unrealistic and two-dimensional that it makes reading about them feel like a chore, and whatever place the writer is trying to take me to is a place I don't think I really want to go. And as much as I want to maintain my feeling of solidarity with a fellow writer mom and applaud her success, I've found that I just can't. And the reason that I can't is because I'm baffled about why these books are so successful in the first place.
Allow me, if you will, to climb back up on my soapbox for a minute. After reading these books, I was retrospectively amazed that they were written by a woman, and a mother at that, as opposed to a horny eighth grade boy. The writing is cringe-worthy, unless you happen to love reading the phrases "sultry grey eyes" or "looked up at him through my lashes" over and over again, in which case, read these books, please, because you will probably love them and forever hate that random raving domestic diva lunatic who wouldn't even use them for kindle in her fireplace. However, if you're willing to bear with me for a minute, I feel like I have some good reasons behind disliking these books.
First and foremost, let's take a minute to be honest here. These books are popular because they "push the envelope" and this might be my biggest issue of all. I'm all for testing your boundaries, challenging yourself, and making the world notice you because you don't do everything like everyone else. I'm just tired of seeing the envelope pushed in what I feel is the wrong direction. In other words, I'm tired of the shock value. I'm sick of people being famous for being controversial, loud-mouthed or just plain ridiculous (Snooki, anyone?!). I can tell you why these books are so famous in three letters: S-E-X. That's it. They're not popular because they are well-written, they're not popular because they will make you think about the world in a way you never have before, they're popular because every five pages there's a long, drawn out, descriptive sex scene. Basically, it's book porn and I personally thought the sex factor got old fast, but from what I've heard, it's precisely that factor that made most people keep coming back for more. It's the old adage that sex sells and it must be true since all three books continue to dominate (no pun intended) the top three positions on the New York Times Best seller list for fourteen consecutive weeks, which in my humble opinion just proves that sex, controversy, and our addiction to peeking into other people's lives via reality TV are the ingredients for making millions.
Secondly, these books light the fire under countless improbable myths about relationships. The books are a "will they/won't they" emotional roller coaster filled with drama from beginning to end. I repeatedly wanted to reach through the books and slap the characters (though probably not in the way they would have wanted, if you catch my drift) because I want to know where the law is that relationships have to be dramatic. They don't. I am by no means a relationship expert, but I do know that you don't have to get over a big, dramatic hurdle in order to have a successful relationship. What's worse is that these two characters are in no way compatible with one another, but along comes the contemptible Anastasia Steele who decides that if she doesn't like this guy the way he is, she will simply change him. And she does so successfully. HELLO! Red flag, anyone? Rule number one of relationships is the same thing I tell my kids when I make them broccoli for dinner: "You get what you get and you don't get upset". Here in reality, there is no magically changing someone. You either love people for who they are or you move on. These books further contribute to the Disney Princess inspired/Meg Ryan movie ideals of what a relationship "should" be like and our collective misconstrued perceptions are probably why most relationships don't work out in the first place.There is no "should". There are happy relationships but no magical "happily ever after" and certainly no Christian Grey coming to rescue you from your woes in his own personal helicopter. Sorry kids, it just doesn't work that way. These books facilitate so many nonsensical beliefs that I'd suggest they be banned, if only they wouldn't be joining the ranks of actual brilliant works like "To Kill A Mockingbird" or "Catcher In The Rye" and thereby be placed on a literary pedestal until the end of time. And believe me when I say that is the absolute last thing I want to see happen to these books.
By now you might be thinking that I'm reading entirely too much into what are supposed to be fun books and I will admit that you're probably right. It's not like someone held a gun to my head to read them, so maybe I should just sit back with the rest of the world and accept whatever garbage is slung my way because at least people are still making an effort to write books. But maybe I shouldn't. And maybe you shouldn't either. Maybe we should consider raising our standards. Maybe it's time to push the envelope in the right direction for a change.
Until then..."Laters, baby"...
As I've mentioned before I'm an avid reader and as a general rule of thumb, I think reading is a great way to spend your time, whether you're reading ESPN magazine or Charles Dickens. I've always believed reading expands your mind and improves your vocabulary in such a drastic way that it really doesn't matter what you're reading as long as you're reading something.
That is, until now.
For months I'd been hearing about the "Fifty Shades" trilogy. Written by an unknown mother-of-two, it became an instant sensation subsequently making the New York Times Bestseller List its bitch in practically no time at all after being released. Everyone from Ellen Degeneres to the moms at the school drop-off were talking about the books. Raving about them, actually. Everyone said they were dark, they were sexy, and they would leave the reader utterly captivated.
Everyone was wrong.
A few weeks ago when Josh gave me the trilogy for Mother's Day and I practically did back-flips across my living room out of sheer joy and excitement. Finally! The books I'd heard so much about! I dove into them immediately, with what I have to admit was the highest of expectations. Sure the hype surrounding the books was a big factor, but even more so was the fact they were written by someone completely unknown, and a stay-at-home mom of two at that. So right off the bat, I felt a certain sense of "Solidarity, sister!" and more than a little hopeful that if this woman could do it then hey, maybe I could too. And then I had to ruin it by actually reading the books.
I'm neither talented nor patient enough to sit here and give you all an actual review of the combined 1,600+ pages of these books, but here's my four sentence synopsis. The books follow the tumultuous relationship between Anastasia Steele, a character so grating and annoying she makes Bella what's-her-face from the 'Twilight' series come off like the Dali Lama, and Christian Grey, a controlling, domineering psychopath gazillionaire whose traumatic childhood is supposed to serve as a plausible excuse for an addiction to S&M. It's the classic "boy meets girl, boy wants to do kinky things, but girl is so amazing that boy decides to change his whole whips and chains lifestyle to accommodate her". It's extremely heavy on the sex, extremely light on plot, and basically reads like a rejected scrip for a Lifetime made-for-TV movie. It's unrealistic in every sense of the word and equal parts cheesy and gag-worthy (for instance, I am in no way a prude, but I honestly could have gone my whole life without knowing what an anal plug was...Yowza) and frankly not worth the paper they're printed on.
I know that sounds harsh and makes me sound like a real bonafide literary douche bag, so I feel like now would be a good time to confess to you guys that under ordinary circumstances, I absolutely love chick lit. My love for the genre is my dirty little secret and there's nothing more I love on a stressful day than a fun, easy read to take me away to another world. What I'm trying to say here is, despite what you're about to read, I am by no means a book snob. The problem is, these particular books aren't fun, the characters are so unrealistic and two-dimensional that it makes reading about them feel like a chore, and whatever place the writer is trying to take me to is a place I don't think I really want to go. And as much as I want to maintain my feeling of solidarity with a fellow writer mom and applaud her success, I've found that I just can't. And the reason that I can't is because I'm baffled about why these books are so successful in the first place.
Allow me, if you will, to climb back up on my soapbox for a minute. After reading these books, I was retrospectively amazed that they were written by a woman, and a mother at that, as opposed to a horny eighth grade boy. The writing is cringe-worthy, unless you happen to love reading the phrases "sultry grey eyes" or "looked up at him through my lashes" over and over again, in which case, read these books, please, because you will probably love them and forever hate that random raving domestic diva lunatic who wouldn't even use them for kindle in her fireplace. However, if you're willing to bear with me for a minute, I feel like I have some good reasons behind disliking these books.
First and foremost, let's take a minute to be honest here. These books are popular because they "push the envelope" and this might be my biggest issue of all. I'm all for testing your boundaries, challenging yourself, and making the world notice you because you don't do everything like everyone else. I'm just tired of seeing the envelope pushed in what I feel is the wrong direction. In other words, I'm tired of the shock value. I'm sick of people being famous for being controversial, loud-mouthed or just plain ridiculous (Snooki, anyone?!). I can tell you why these books are so famous in three letters: S-E-X. That's it. They're not popular because they are well-written, they're not popular because they will make you think about the world in a way you never have before, they're popular because every five pages there's a long, drawn out, descriptive sex scene. Basically, it's book porn and I personally thought the sex factor got old fast, but from what I've heard, it's precisely that factor that made most people keep coming back for more. It's the old adage that sex sells and it must be true since all three books continue to dominate (no pun intended) the top three positions on the New York Times Best seller list for fourteen consecutive weeks, which in my humble opinion just proves that sex, controversy, and our addiction to peeking into other people's lives via reality TV are the ingredients for making millions.
Secondly, these books light the fire under countless improbable myths about relationships. The books are a "will they/won't they" emotional roller coaster filled with drama from beginning to end. I repeatedly wanted to reach through the books and slap the characters (though probably not in the way they would have wanted, if you catch my drift) because I want to know where the law is that relationships have to be dramatic. They don't. I am by no means a relationship expert, but I do know that you don't have to get over a big, dramatic hurdle in order to have a successful relationship. What's worse is that these two characters are in no way compatible with one another, but along comes the contemptible Anastasia Steele who decides that if she doesn't like this guy the way he is, she will simply change him. And she does so successfully. HELLO! Red flag, anyone? Rule number one of relationships is the same thing I tell my kids when I make them broccoli for dinner: "You get what you get and you don't get upset". Here in reality, there is no magically changing someone. You either love people for who they are or you move on. These books further contribute to the Disney Princess inspired/Meg Ryan movie ideals of what a relationship "should" be like and our collective misconstrued perceptions are probably why most relationships don't work out in the first place.There is no "should". There are happy relationships but no magical "happily ever after" and certainly no Christian Grey coming to rescue you from your woes in his own personal helicopter. Sorry kids, it just doesn't work that way. These books facilitate so many nonsensical beliefs that I'd suggest they be banned, if only they wouldn't be joining the ranks of actual brilliant works like "To Kill A Mockingbird" or "Catcher In The Rye" and thereby be placed on a literary pedestal until the end of time. And believe me when I say that is the absolute last thing I want to see happen to these books.
By now you might be thinking that I'm reading entirely too much into what are supposed to be fun books and I will admit that you're probably right. It's not like someone held a gun to my head to read them, so maybe I should just sit back with the rest of the world and accept whatever garbage is slung my way because at least people are still making an effort to write books. But maybe I shouldn't. And maybe you shouldn't either. Maybe we should consider raising our standards. Maybe it's time to push the envelope in the right direction for a change.
Until then..."Laters, baby"...
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Plan B
Here's the thing: I really want to be a writer. When it all boils down to it, I don't care
if it's writing for SNL or writing a book that no one ever reads and
eventually uses exclusively as a door stop, I just want to write. I hope someone
somewhere has a pleasant experience reading what I write, but even if they don't, I'll be
doing this way past the point of the world begging me to stop.
That being said, the road to success is paved with speed bumps, dead ends, and being pulled over for speeding around every corner. In my short life as a blogger I've discovered that I either have too much experience for a project or, more likely, too little experience for a bigger, better project and it's usually the latter that I really want to do (which is why I'm currently seething in jealousy as James Franco gets to write blogs for the Huffington Post. Come on, dude! You already have a job!). Coupled with my paper-thin self-esteem and tendency to feel sorry for myself at the drop of a hat, I've come to realize that all this "paying my dues" business really, really sucks. The rejection alone is enough to drive a sane person insane and reduce a person who already dabbles in insanity into a shaking, obsessive-compulsive mess. I am determined to overcome the rejection (I mean hey, if I can overcome being rejected by 90% of the guys in my high school, I can certainly overcome this) but in the meantime, I'm a firm believer in remaining proactive. And to me, proactive means a back-up plan.
But now this issue is, what to do with an English degree if you're not writing? The logical choice would be to fall back on the good old theory that those who cannot do teach. But what about those of us who aren't logical, but instead remain illogical, delusional, or just plain crazy? What are our options? I've spent a lot of time pondering this and like most reasonable solutions to career problems, mine came to me in a dream.
As much as I love to write, I love to read and I've always believed that those loves go hand-in-hand. Reading has made me a better writer and I've been inspired by Augusten Burroughs, Wally Lamb, Jennifer Weiner and everyone in between. There's nothing I love more than curling up in a comfortable chair with a good book and a glass of wine, which has to be why my subconscious gently nudged me to a solution so simple, I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner.
I had a dream that I opened up a combination library and bar. If it sounds like a really sexy idea to you, please feel free to take a second to pump the brakes. The image in my mind is more "sitting in worn leather chairs discussing the merits of Joyce Carol Oates over tumblers of whiskey" and less "frat boys doing shots of vodka out of some drunk girl's belly button". The servers would be actual librarians who could tell you which wine would pair well with the book you're reading. And because I don't want it to come across as too pretentious and there's nothing I love more in the world that a good pun, my library bar would have an awesome pun-tastic name. In my dream I couldn't decide between "Tequila Mockingbird" and "Girls Gone Oscar Wilde", but I think either way I have a winner. It will be both sophisticated and fun, a place where book nerds like me can unite with fellow book nerds and have a good time. It will be like one giant, fun book club meeting. It will be legandary.
Okay, so maybe it's not the most practical plan b but at this particular moment in my life, funding and operating something that doesn't even exist anywhere sounds a hell of a lot easier than becoming a published writer, and more fun too.
By the way, subscribers to this blog will drink free. And James Franco is not invited.
That being said, the road to success is paved with speed bumps, dead ends, and being pulled over for speeding around every corner. In my short life as a blogger I've discovered that I either have too much experience for a project or, more likely, too little experience for a bigger, better project and it's usually the latter that I really want to do (which is why I'm currently seething in jealousy as James Franco gets to write blogs for the Huffington Post. Come on, dude! You already have a job!). Coupled with my paper-thin self-esteem and tendency to feel sorry for myself at the drop of a hat, I've come to realize that all this "paying my dues" business really, really sucks. The rejection alone is enough to drive a sane person insane and reduce a person who already dabbles in insanity into a shaking, obsessive-compulsive mess. I am determined to overcome the rejection (I mean hey, if I can overcome being rejected by 90% of the guys in my high school, I can certainly overcome this) but in the meantime, I'm a firm believer in remaining proactive. And to me, proactive means a back-up plan.
But now this issue is, what to do with an English degree if you're not writing? The logical choice would be to fall back on the good old theory that those who cannot do teach. But what about those of us who aren't logical, but instead remain illogical, delusional, or just plain crazy? What are our options? I've spent a lot of time pondering this and like most reasonable solutions to career problems, mine came to me in a dream.
As much as I love to write, I love to read and I've always believed that those loves go hand-in-hand. Reading has made me a better writer and I've been inspired by Augusten Burroughs, Wally Lamb, Jennifer Weiner and everyone in between. There's nothing I love more than curling up in a comfortable chair with a good book and a glass of wine, which has to be why my subconscious gently nudged me to a solution so simple, I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner.
I had a dream that I opened up a combination library and bar. If it sounds like a really sexy idea to you, please feel free to take a second to pump the brakes. The image in my mind is more "sitting in worn leather chairs discussing the merits of Joyce Carol Oates over tumblers of whiskey" and less "frat boys doing shots of vodka out of some drunk girl's belly button". The servers would be actual librarians who could tell you which wine would pair well with the book you're reading. And because I don't want it to come across as too pretentious and there's nothing I love more in the world that a good pun, my library bar would have an awesome pun-tastic name. In my dream I couldn't decide between "Tequila Mockingbird" and "Girls Gone Oscar Wilde", but I think either way I have a winner. It will be both sophisticated and fun, a place where book nerds like me can unite with fellow book nerds and have a good time. It will be like one giant, fun book club meeting. It will be legandary.
Okay, so maybe it's not the most practical plan b but at this particular moment in my life, funding and operating something that doesn't even exist anywhere sounds a hell of a lot easier than becoming a published writer, and more fun too.
By the way, subscribers to this blog will drink free. And James Franco is not invited.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
It's All Been Done
I recently had the opportunity to write for a great site run by two of the greatest guys I know. The site is called Film Informants ( https://www.facebook.com/FilmInformants) and I would highly recommend checking it out if you're a movie enthusiast. A big thanks to Adam and Jeremy for giving the opportunity to clog up their awesome blog with my snarky ranting. I appreciate the opportunity and as always, you guys rock. Anyway, this is what I wrote:
I'm a movie fanatic. Comedies, dramas, documentaries, I love it all.
But for quite some time now I've been noticing a disturbing trend. Hollywood has gotten, for lack of a better word, lazy. The movie industry is becoming less and less creative and no one even cares. And it shows.
Practically everything these days is a remake of a classic, in hopes of marketing the same story to a new generation, otherwise known as utilizing a billion dollar budget on a stale story performed by sub-par actors. Everything from The Karate Kid, to Footloose, to 21 Jump Street have been remade over the last couple of years, and they never hold a candle to the originals (Replacing Ralph Macchio with Jayden Smith?! OH the humanity!). It recently made news that Michael Bay took on the project of remaking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, which put him squarely in the number one spot on my hit list as I have no doubt that he will take a classic staple of my childhood and turn it into nothing more than creepy CGI turtles blowing shit up. I honestly cringe at the thought of all of the great movies that will someday be remade into limp reproductions of the amazing originals. I'll put it this way, if Michael Bay (or anyone else for that matter) decides to redo "The Breakfast Club", I might never watch another movie again as long as I live.
There's also been an increased interest in making books into movies, though this has been, for the most part, considerably more successful than the remakes. 2011's 'The Help' was, in my opinion, one of the best book-to-movie adaptations I've seen in awhile and it managed to pull in a respectable 169 million dollars domestically. This, of course, is a small number compared to the hype-machines that are Twilight ('Eclipse' was it's highest grosser, bringing in 300 million domestically) and The Hunger Games (393 million domestically and still going strong in a dollar theater near you), which honestly may have been one of the worst book-to-movie adaptations I've ever seen (Come on! They didn't even explain the rules of the games! I adored the books, but I'm sorry, the movie broke my literary heart and I could probably go on about my disappointment forever. Don't worry, I won't). But book adaptations, no matter how successful they are or aren't, still seem like a bit of a cop out to me. When you begin with a book, the story has already been written for you and there's usually a decent following so just add a spoonful of hype and a dash of Zack Efron and you have a recipe for a successful movie, insofar as "successful" means teenage girls will flock to it and it will make a respectable amount of money.
Hollywood's third and final tool to avoid doing any actual work is the wide wonderful world of sequels. Despite the fact that it's been ten years since Men In Black 2, they're back with Men In Black 3. I haven't seen it yet, but I'm guessing it involves gooey, creepy looking space creatures, erasing memories, and clever Will Smith one-liners, much like its predecessors. Okay fine, I'll probably see it, but only because I'm a child of the 90s and therefore can't resist the temptation of spending a couple of hours with Will Smith (what IS it about that guy??). With the upcoming releases of Ice Age 4 and Madagascar 3, it's obvious that creatively, Hollywood isn't doing much better in the kid's department. In other words, when in doubt, just continue with a story that you already know people like and will pay to go see. Success!
Maybe I'm just cynical, but when you take all these things and couple them with the fact that a movie costs around $12 per person unless you go before 2 PM, it doesn't exactly make me want to sprint to the movie theater for just anything. A worthwhile movie needs a well-written plot, decent actors, nice cinematography or at the very least, a shirtless Bradley Cooper. Not to mention the fact that for us, actually getting out and going to a movie is a rare date night and involves finding a baby sitter and engaging in beauty regiments that don't involve sticking my wet hair out of a car window and letting nature do all the work. So it has to be worth it and frankly these days it's usually not.
If I sound bitter, it's only because I am. I remember the good old days when I anxiously bit my nails throughout the Oscars because I wanted all of the movies to win, as opposed to these days when I either a) Have never even heard of the nominated movie or b) Have no desire to watch the nominated movie. I miss going to a movie and wishing I could immediately watch it all over again as soon as it ends. I miss the days when a trip to Redbox didn't feel like a tedious chore of sifting through hundreds of straight-to-DVD choices before I realize that I am wasting my time. Most of all, I miss the days of not sounding like a 90 year-old reminiscing about the "good old days" when it comes to film. I just miss the excitement of a great movie, one that doesn't need to be the top story on every talk show to convince me I want to go see it. I just want to see something that lives up to the expectations I have for it. I want to see something that isn't a slightly different version of a movie I've already seen, a crappy adaptation, or yet another sequel. I want to be impressed. Actually, I just want to see something that doesn't suck.
Come on Hollywood, is that so much to ask?
I'm a movie fanatic. Comedies, dramas, documentaries, I love it all.
But for quite some time now I've been noticing a disturbing trend. Hollywood has gotten, for lack of a better word, lazy. The movie industry is becoming less and less creative and no one even cares. And it shows.
Practically everything these days is a remake of a classic, in hopes of marketing the same story to a new generation, otherwise known as utilizing a billion dollar budget on a stale story performed by sub-par actors. Everything from The Karate Kid, to Footloose, to 21 Jump Street have been remade over the last couple of years, and they never hold a candle to the originals (Replacing Ralph Macchio with Jayden Smith?! OH the humanity!). It recently made news that Michael Bay took on the project of remaking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, which put him squarely in the number one spot on my hit list as I have no doubt that he will take a classic staple of my childhood and turn it into nothing more than creepy CGI turtles blowing shit up. I honestly cringe at the thought of all of the great movies that will someday be remade into limp reproductions of the amazing originals. I'll put it this way, if Michael Bay (or anyone else for that matter) decides to redo "The Breakfast Club", I might never watch another movie again as long as I live.
There's also been an increased interest in making books into movies, though this has been, for the most part, considerably more successful than the remakes. 2011's 'The Help' was, in my opinion, one of the best book-to-movie adaptations I've seen in awhile and it managed to pull in a respectable 169 million dollars domestically. This, of course, is a small number compared to the hype-machines that are Twilight ('Eclipse' was it's highest grosser, bringing in 300 million domestically) and The Hunger Games (393 million domestically and still going strong in a dollar theater near you), which honestly may have been one of the worst book-to-movie adaptations I've ever seen (Come on! They didn't even explain the rules of the games! I adored the books, but I'm sorry, the movie broke my literary heart and I could probably go on about my disappointment forever. Don't worry, I won't). But book adaptations, no matter how successful they are or aren't, still seem like a bit of a cop out to me. When you begin with a book, the story has already been written for you and there's usually a decent following so just add a spoonful of hype and a dash of Zack Efron and you have a recipe for a successful movie, insofar as "successful" means teenage girls will flock to it and it will make a respectable amount of money.
Hollywood's third and final tool to avoid doing any actual work is the wide wonderful world of sequels. Despite the fact that it's been ten years since Men In Black 2, they're back with Men In Black 3. I haven't seen it yet, but I'm guessing it involves gooey, creepy looking space creatures, erasing memories, and clever Will Smith one-liners, much like its predecessors. Okay fine, I'll probably see it, but only because I'm a child of the 90s and therefore can't resist the temptation of spending a couple of hours with Will Smith (what IS it about that guy??). With the upcoming releases of Ice Age 4 and Madagascar 3, it's obvious that creatively, Hollywood isn't doing much better in the kid's department. In other words, when in doubt, just continue with a story that you already know people like and will pay to go see. Success!
Maybe I'm just cynical, but when you take all these things and couple them with the fact that a movie costs around $12 per person unless you go before 2 PM, it doesn't exactly make me want to sprint to the movie theater for just anything. A worthwhile movie needs a well-written plot, decent actors, nice cinematography or at the very least, a shirtless Bradley Cooper. Not to mention the fact that for us, actually getting out and going to a movie is a rare date night and involves finding a baby sitter and engaging in beauty regiments that don't involve sticking my wet hair out of a car window and letting nature do all the work. So it has to be worth it and frankly these days it's usually not.
If I sound bitter, it's only because I am. I remember the good old days when I anxiously bit my nails throughout the Oscars because I wanted all of the movies to win, as opposed to these days when I either a) Have never even heard of the nominated movie or b) Have no desire to watch the nominated movie. I miss going to a movie and wishing I could immediately watch it all over again as soon as it ends. I miss the days when a trip to Redbox didn't feel like a tedious chore of sifting through hundreds of straight-to-DVD choices before I realize that I am wasting my time. Most of all, I miss the days of not sounding like a 90 year-old reminiscing about the "good old days" when it comes to film. I just miss the excitement of a great movie, one that doesn't need to be the top story on every talk show to convince me I want to go see it. I just want to see something that lives up to the expectations I have for it. I want to see something that isn't a slightly different version of a movie I've already seen, a crappy adaptation, or yet another sequel. I want to be impressed. Actually, I just want to see something that doesn't suck.
Come on Hollywood, is that so much to ask?
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
The Boob Heard Around The World
Let's talk about boobs. Specifically, these boobs:
Unsurprisingly, I have some thoughts on what has now undoubtedly become one of the most controversial magazine covers of all time, but before we get to that, I want to share a story with you guys.
When I was pregnant with Layla I, like most women who are pregnant with their first child, was thrilled and excited about all of the things I'd be able to do, including breastfeeding. I read every baby/parenting book I could get my hands on and spent nine months preparing to transform myself into the best mom ever. I figured I would breastfeed for at least a year and then make my own baby food. I hadn't even laid eyes on my baby yet, but I wanted to do everything in my power to give her every advantage possible, beginning on day one. All of my books said "breast was best", so breast it was.
Unfortunately, it turned out that nature had other plans.
I'll spare you all the specifics, but after three weeks of trying to breastfeed, trying different pumps, teas, ointments, herbal remedies, positioning the baby at every angle known to mankind and endless consultations with various (often frustrated) lactation specialists, I was diagnosed with lactation failure, a condition in which you physically can't produce milk no matter how hard you try, that effects about 15% of women in the United States. As a die-hard perfectionist and overachiever, the word failure clung to me like a bad smell. I started Layla on formula (because frankly, a kid's gotta eat) and would cry every time I fed her. So much for being the perfect mom. She was brand new and I felt like I had already failed her. Shame doesn't even begin to cover what I felt.
As is the case with most things in life, my defective boob situation got worse before it got better.
I was one of the first of my friends to get married and have kids and as a result found myself pretty isolated and invariably privy to the random moms of the playground, doctor's office and grocery store, women who would physically shudder when they saw a can of formula, whom I later dubbed "the Boob Nazis". I was years away from the tight-knit group of mom friends I have now, years away from sympathetic ears and examples of both breast and bottle feeding done right. Back when Layla was born, I was more or less on my own and the Boob Nazis of the world had no qualms about telling me how wrong my choice to not breastfeed was, despite the fact that it wasn't technically a choice. And I heard everything from "you're just being lazy" to "I would rather leave my baby with a serial killer than feed him formula" (yes, someone actually said that to me. To my face. But that one was so ridiculous that I had to laugh it off). The cruelest comment was hurled at me when Layla was about nine months old by a woman at the park with three kids crammed into a two-seater stroller who, when I tried to justify the bottle I was feeding my baby said "It's shouldn't be called lactation failure. It should be called motherhood failure". That one, I'm sad to say, I didn't laugh off.
By the time Ben came, I had come to the conclusion that I couldn't change my own personal biology and that was okay. If I woke up one morning and decided that I wanted to be six inches shorter, people would tell me that it was impossible and I was crazy for thinking I could do it, so why should my ability (or lack thereof) to breastfeed be any different? It had taken a few years, but my skin was thicker and my resolution was strong. And I was pleasantly surprised to find that once I no longer felt like a walking target, I was no longer treated like one.
So, by now you're probably wondering what that long rant had to do with the cover of Time Magazine and here it is. Within the first ten seconds of seeing the cover of the magazine, a line from one of my favorite songs popped into my head; "The steel-eyed, tight jaw say it all". In other words, the look on her face is defiant, challenging you to disagree with her, encouraging you to compare yourself to her and find yourself lacking, a Boob Nazi at her finest. The title underneath her ("Are you mom enough") is frankly the icing on the shit cake. It implies that this woman who is parading her child across an International magazine is a better mom because she continues to selflessly breastfeed her child.. I don't think she is a better mom and I definitely don't think her actions can fall into the selfless category anymore. In fact, I think that, if anything, she's exploiting her child for the sake of pushing her own agenda. Breastfeeding is fantastic, but at a certain point it doesn't really benefit a child anymore, not to mention the fact that it's just plain creepy to see someone who's old enough to write their name and ride a bike on a magazine with a mouthful of ta-ta. I question exactly how much she was thinking of her child by agreeing to be on this cover. Did she stop to think about how this will literally follow him around for his entire life? If he ever runs for a political office, this will definitely come back to haunt him. When he gets married and his best man gives a speech at the rehearsal dinner, $100 says he shows this picture. He'll be teased at school and ridiculed for God knows how long. And for what? So she can prove she's super mom? Ha!
My bottom line is this: Motherhood is not a competitive sport and I am so incredibly sick of seeing it treated like one. Showing someone up, outdoing someone, or telling a perfect stranger in a grocery store or park that they are a failure as a mother because they aren't doing things the way you did them is simply not okay. I'm deeply offended by this magazine cover, not because of the act of breastfeeding itself, but because it facilitates the debate that this is a black and white, right or wrong issue. It's not. In fact, I challenge Time Magazine to do an alternative cover, with healthy, active bottle fed kids. To acknowledge the fact that lactation failure exists, or that parents who adopt have to formula feed or that how you feed your baby is your choice (because it is a choice, Boob Nazis of the world) and what really matters is that you are a loving, caring parent who is taking care of your child to the best of your abilities. The lesson that took me years to learn is that as long as my kids think I'm a good mom, that's enough for me.
I am "Mom Enough" and my kids, not what they drank as infants, are the proof.
When I was pregnant with Layla I, like most women who are pregnant with their first child, was thrilled and excited about all of the things I'd be able to do, including breastfeeding. I read every baby/parenting book I could get my hands on and spent nine months preparing to transform myself into the best mom ever. I figured I would breastfeed for at least a year and then make my own baby food. I hadn't even laid eyes on my baby yet, but I wanted to do everything in my power to give her every advantage possible, beginning on day one. All of my books said "breast was best", so breast it was.
Unfortunately, it turned out that nature had other plans.
I'll spare you all the specifics, but after three weeks of trying to breastfeed, trying different pumps, teas, ointments, herbal remedies, positioning the baby at every angle known to mankind and endless consultations with various (often frustrated) lactation specialists, I was diagnosed with lactation failure, a condition in which you physically can't produce milk no matter how hard you try, that effects about 15% of women in the United States. As a die-hard perfectionist and overachiever, the word failure clung to me like a bad smell. I started Layla on formula (because frankly, a kid's gotta eat) and would cry every time I fed her. So much for being the perfect mom. She was brand new and I felt like I had already failed her. Shame doesn't even begin to cover what I felt.
As is the case with most things in life, my defective boob situation got worse before it got better.
I was one of the first of my friends to get married and have kids and as a result found myself pretty isolated and invariably privy to the random moms of the playground, doctor's office and grocery store, women who would physically shudder when they saw a can of formula, whom I later dubbed "the Boob Nazis". I was years away from the tight-knit group of mom friends I have now, years away from sympathetic ears and examples of both breast and bottle feeding done right. Back when Layla was born, I was more or less on my own and the Boob Nazis of the world had no qualms about telling me how wrong my choice to not breastfeed was, despite the fact that it wasn't technically a choice. And I heard everything from "you're just being lazy" to "I would rather leave my baby with a serial killer than feed him formula" (yes, someone actually said that to me. To my face. But that one was so ridiculous that I had to laugh it off). The cruelest comment was hurled at me when Layla was about nine months old by a woman at the park with three kids crammed into a two-seater stroller who, when I tried to justify the bottle I was feeding my baby said "It's shouldn't be called lactation failure. It should be called motherhood failure". That one, I'm sad to say, I didn't laugh off.
By the time Ben came, I had come to the conclusion that I couldn't change my own personal biology and that was okay. If I woke up one morning and decided that I wanted to be six inches shorter, people would tell me that it was impossible and I was crazy for thinking I could do it, so why should my ability (or lack thereof) to breastfeed be any different? It had taken a few years, but my skin was thicker and my resolution was strong. And I was pleasantly surprised to find that once I no longer felt like a walking target, I was no longer treated like one.
So, by now you're probably wondering what that long rant had to do with the cover of Time Magazine and here it is. Within the first ten seconds of seeing the cover of the magazine, a line from one of my favorite songs popped into my head; "The steel-eyed, tight jaw say it all". In other words, the look on her face is defiant, challenging you to disagree with her, encouraging you to compare yourself to her and find yourself lacking, a Boob Nazi at her finest. The title underneath her ("Are you mom enough") is frankly the icing on the shit cake. It implies that this woman who is parading her child across an International magazine is a better mom because she continues to selflessly breastfeed her child.. I don't think she is a better mom and I definitely don't think her actions can fall into the selfless category anymore. In fact, I think that, if anything, she's exploiting her child for the sake of pushing her own agenda. Breastfeeding is fantastic, but at a certain point it doesn't really benefit a child anymore, not to mention the fact that it's just plain creepy to see someone who's old enough to write their name and ride a bike on a magazine with a mouthful of ta-ta. I question exactly how much she was thinking of her child by agreeing to be on this cover. Did she stop to think about how this will literally follow him around for his entire life? If he ever runs for a political office, this will definitely come back to haunt him. When he gets married and his best man gives a speech at the rehearsal dinner, $100 says he shows this picture. He'll be teased at school and ridiculed for God knows how long. And for what? So she can prove she's super mom? Ha!
My bottom line is this: Motherhood is not a competitive sport and I am so incredibly sick of seeing it treated like one. Showing someone up, outdoing someone, or telling a perfect stranger in a grocery store or park that they are a failure as a mother because they aren't doing things the way you did them is simply not okay. I'm deeply offended by this magazine cover, not because of the act of breastfeeding itself, but because it facilitates the debate that this is a black and white, right or wrong issue. It's not. In fact, I challenge Time Magazine to do an alternative cover, with healthy, active bottle fed kids. To acknowledge the fact that lactation failure exists, or that parents who adopt have to formula feed or that how you feed your baby is your choice (because it is a choice, Boob Nazis of the world) and what really matters is that you are a loving, caring parent who is taking care of your child to the best of your abilities. The lesson that took me years to learn is that as long as my kids think I'm a good mom, that's enough for me.
I am "Mom Enough" and my kids, not what they drank as infants, are the proof.
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