Roar!

My son is a monster. I am almost ok with that, and then again I sort of feel like I'm in the mom-o-sphere of 12 step programs and I've just admitted my painful secret. I know this is some kind of extension of the terrible twos, but I truly felt like a terrible mother when he threw sand on Maddie today and made her cry, called his buddy Dutch a baby, and then ran around punching and kicking all of the adults. I should add that he was wet, sandy, and naked from the waist down as he did this.

He is just wild!

It's not like I don't give him boundaries. And yet, I'm definitely into not having too many boundaries -- I think. Sometimes I wish one of those super-nannies would come to my house and unknot this terrible mess. He just has so much anger in him. It's painful to watch. And hear. His latest lovely phrase is "fucking stupid." Nice, right? I'm trying the ignore it and it'll go away strategy. So far, not working. But nothing works.

Probably the most painful is the daddy-ness of it all. Daddy is cool. Mommy is ... well there are some not nice words for what mommy is. Not his buddy, that's for sure. Like last night he woke up at 2am with a nightmare and all he wanted was daddy, but I didn't want to wake Larry. He cried and cried for daddy, but eventually he fell asleep in my arms. Boy, I felt second rate. I guess I'm the "lay down the law" and Larry's the fun dude. But Larry is not one of those dads who just lays all the hard stuff on the mom, not at all. He disciplines him and keeps him in line, and Dylan listens to him.

And Dylan is also aggressive with Larry, too (not just with me, I mean). Tries to hurt him, push the limits. Larry says I over-react and that his anger comes from that. Perhaps I do, but I don't think that's the source. Is it his little sister? Is it all on her? That's a lot for a 5 month old too shoulder. It's so painful to see him so angry, and it kills me to have to discipline him constantly. I want to say yes, not no. I want to hug him, not yank him off of his friends, or his father, or - the worst - his helpless baby sister.

And yet, he is so scared of monsters. Nightmares every night. Fear before bed. We have to check under his bed dresser, behind the door. Monsters monsters everywhere.

So I go to test out strollers at Buy Buy Baby a few weeks ago and I see this display of books about different jobs. You know, each book is about a different profession: doctor, fireman, etc. And the books are cut out in the shape of the person, so the cover is almost a little doll. And, of course, most of the professions are men. Except, and I am not kidding you, princess and ballerina.

I do not think you have to be a feminist to appreciate that this is just not cool.

So I talk to the manager, Matt, who is very VERY nice and he says he will talk to the buyer for me. Two days ago, he actually called me back and says the buyer told him there are other books "for girls" but these have not sold well. They are nurse and teacher.

So there you go. Our professions are apparently still limited to the only acceptable ones as of 1920, with the exception of the imaginary profession (I don't think you can actually get a job as a princess, right?). And the idea that boys would actually be interested in reading one of the "girl" books is apparently preposterous - why would a boy want to read something with a girl on the cover?

Let me also point out that these are books aimed at 3-year-olds. Say what you want about nature vs. nurture, but there is no acceptable argument that justifies only showing our boys and girls that women have 4 acceptable and feminized professions. And we wonder why there's a math divide along gender lines! We wonder why women take on "caring" professions that pay less. We wonder why girls want to be princesses (and we wonder why women are so convinced that they can change men, just like in the fairy tales). Could it possibly be from the media they are exposed to? Sounds crazy, I know.

And, by the way, just for a reality check: The trash collectors on our block are often women, there are two female fire fighters at our local fire house and both of them fought in Iraq. We are friends with male nurses, teachers, and dancers ... but no male princesses, I have to admit.

Do me a favor. Buy feminist kids' books and keep your mouth open when you see crap like this. I am disgusted.

Ok, trying to update this thing regularly.

It's raining tonight, but I was out with Len ... without any kids!!! so I walked her up to the bus stop just for the thrill of walking around without other people attached to me. I should be following Weight Watchers since I did not lose any weight last week (only been on the program 2 weeks -- too early to give up) but Len bought me delicious chocolate chip cookies and a latte and I said screw it. Plus, I had to eat huge amounts of food today because I was so nursing hungry. Or maybe because it was a yucky afternoon of hanging around the house (and around the kids and Larry, who was doing work on our house) that I just snacked. But I don't think so - I think I was starving. I haven't been full in weeks, even after a big meal.

So, I just walked around in the rain and felt everything lift and it was gorgeous. I got home and Larry was crabby, and I was like, hey, I'm going upstairs to do job apps - see ya. I felt kind of bad because I think he really needed to talk, but I just needed to not be needed for an hour. I need to be alone with me. I need to need me. I need to fill my own needs for a while.

And they never turn out to be just my needs, anyway. I mean, I'm applying for jobs to keep my family afloat, not upstairs painting my nails. Not that there's anything wrong with painting my nails -- I need to do that stuff more. It's so hard to justify it to myself, though. It seems I have so little time with both kids sleeping (and when I'm not at work) that I have to use every precious second. Larry doesn't get that - I mean men don't, not just my poor put-upon husband. He can watch hours of t.v. and not even think once about the dishes in the sink or stay up late and not think about how he needs sleep because he's going to have to get up to nurse all night and then get up with the baby in the morning and get everyone ready to go in the morning. He can just get up, put his clothes on, and walk out the door. So he doesn't get why I'm stressed in the morning. And he doesn't get that in order to not be super stressed in the a.m. (and be late for work), I have to get everything done the night before. So, he thinks I'm a workaholic. But if I suggest I would be less of one if the dishes were done, the clothes were folded, and the lunches magically made for me .... well, that's nagging :)

I've decided to make this more of a mom in the city blog and to start posting regularly again.

It's interesting, because we've basically just had a watershed moment, when we decided to buy a house 3 blocks from where we currently live. It's a great house and everything seems to be going smoothly. I feel like a real grown up in some ways (I usually feel like I'm about 12 years old in terms of maturity level and accomplishments) because it's a major house with a major mortgage, one I'm not entirely confident we can afford the monthly payments on, but it also seems like my job is going to work out and larry's biz is picking up (I am so proud of him - and he'll probably kill me for saying that - but I constantly get such positive feedback about his work, and it seems like he's really found his niche), so I'm hopeful that we can do this house thing (and if not, I guess we're screwed). Hopefully here, necessity will be the mother of invention.

Anyway, we did look in New Jersey and the areas are nice and it would be nice to have trees and good school options and be close to my folks without needing to take the bridge and all of that. But it just all seemed so neat and clean and perfect in this way that didn't allow for any of the good grit we are used to. It was all so white, too. I guess our neighborhood is pretty white, and I feel like something of a racist that we did not buy on the other side of broad, but come on, there were crack pipes in the house we looked at! I'm always on the defensive - I know. But the thing with the taxes in NJ meant that we had to look at smaller houses and in the end they weren't much bigger than the house we already have or they were just gross or in industrial areas. Because what we want, or at least I want, more than anything is to be not just in a neighborhood, but in a community. Maybe I need to be in a community that has some adversity to weather, because I really love the way my community is coming together to solve its problems and I want to be a part of that. It makes me feel like I have a meaningful life and that I'm surrounded by dynamic people.

It all goes back to that Woody Allen line: It's important to make a little effort in life once in a while. Otherwise, we're all just sitting around in our pajamas watching tv and being carted from place to place in our hovercraft eating junk food. i don't want a junk food life. I want to make effort. Maybe that's why I'm always making my life more complicated than it needs to be: alternative work schedules/childcare arrangements, volunteering, cooking when i could order pizza, creating programs at work when i could just clock in and out. Writing. Having kids. Having kids definitely complicates life, they create hills and valleys out of the flat line of life, and god those valleys are fucking hard, but oh those hills can make you cry with sweetness. I want my kids to see a life of effort. I want them to know its not about tv and junk food and hovercraft. So we don't have a driveway, we have to improve our school, we have to walk to our "backyard" otherwise known as the playground. But when we get there, all our friends are there and we don't have to play alone.

I don't want to play alone, no matter how much house I could get for my money.

If you think I'm nuts (and why not, my husband and family are certainly convinced I am) then check back for more insane rantings about the people who jog vs. the people who buy their groceries using a double stroller.