Chicago Moms Blog

A candle in a monsoon

Let's play pretend. I would love to imagine that the Dow Jones was still at 14000, its all-time high of October, 2007...instead of breaking 8000 on Friday. I'd like NOT to worry about how much money on paper has been lost from my children's trust, and our 401ks. Only problem is, playing pretend might have been one of the contributors that got us into this.

Following this market is fascinating to me. I am a daughter of an ex-day trader, a wife of a banker and I have been bed-ridden for the past two months with my eyes glued on CNBC, Bloomberg, my computer trading screens and so on. Obsession would be a slight understatement.

The jargon alone could throw the general masses into brain-numbing confusion. "Libor" sounds like something that is going to jump out of the cold waters off Iceland and swallow an island whole. "Naked-shorts" sends my mind to the barely covered perky bottoms of teenagers at our high school football games, and merely keeping up on which bank is solvent, over leveraged or acquiring who is paralyzing. All of the factors are stumping the expert economists; there is no question it’s almost impossible to figure out what this means for me...my groceries, car payments, job security, and college funds!

Managing (Pretty) expectations

Alright, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I am going to voice some true concerns I have for my daughter. She is pretty. I know it, my husband knows it, and now....she knows it. (permission to boo me- granted). Let's face it. If you have the TV on, or read any magazines you too, live in an age-obsessed, beauty-awarded, superficial society most days. Simply look at the cover of last weeks NEW YORK MAGAZINE C'mon, little Chinese girls getting "subbed" for a prettier, cuter, younger version in the Olympic Opening ceremony? Not much shocks me, but that did. Oh the humanity! It's repulsive.

I have modeled for years. Pain-staking, judgmental years. "Your ears seem uneven?" or "What is under your eyes, are those shadows or just your skin?" or "Can you swivel your hips so we don't see that flap overhang on the suit?" or "Well, maybe you could try to squeeze into a normal size, if you can't fit into the '0'; it just wont look as good on you". Those are the direct quotes that I will share...the ones I won't would horrify you. I grew up getting praise for my looks as early as I can remember, and honestly, It creates far more issues than it's worth. I was guilty of the kind of thinking that believed beauty was a right, and worse that it meant something more than the superficial. The reality was a (much needed) harsh awakening. Like all parents, we want to spare our children some of the "useless" lessons that hurt. I have always had the "pretty-girl syndrome". Perhaps there isn't a formal, clinical definition, but mine goes like this: "Girl who has been LUCKY to have good genes and afforded helpful guidance in beauty upkeep is repetitively complimented for her looks early on. She then begins to EXPECT such validation at a young age, thereby, placing value and self-esteem in ALL THE WRONG PLACES" It has already begun with my 3-year-old. While sitting in the cart at a store a woman came up to her and said: "Aren't you the prettiest thing I ever did see?" My daughters reply: mock-bashful head tilt and then a princess purring: "Yes."

Nanny no-go!

The decision to get a nanny was quite easy for me. When my daughter was born, I stopped working and stayed home for 8 months. When an opportunity arose for me to work three days a week...I jumped! The nanny was perfect. She came to ME. She followed my nap schedules, and in a strange way filled a grandmother role (since my mother is out of country) and she was in her mid-50's. Of course there was some fears about leaving my child with someone, but that eased as I realized we were a team. She came to the ER when my 13-month old needed a chest x-ray. First little steps were taking from her arms to mine. Having a great part-time nanny proved to be the oil that helped the identity-crisis working-mom machine run smoothly for me...Until, I stopped working.

Pride for IOWA

The news coverage came on CNN as a “Severe Weather” update. We saw that Iowa City was flooding. It was still raining. We called my extended family for the crisis-check. You know, the call that says: “I’m concerned, are you OK?” Everyone was “fine” and we wished them well, offered them to come to stay with us in Chicago if need be, and said we would help in anyway we could.

It wasn’t until this weekend, when talking to my Iowa born-and-raised cousin, that my heart filled with sadness and pride for the entire state. “Susie lost her whole house, her son’s room is floating…we finished grabbing boards and sand bags and she said: ‘Let’s go help Tim, he got it bad’”. Seriously? My cousin explained his shock that she didn’t consider her own desperate situation “bad”. He was calling to help raise money for his brother who had lost EVERYTHING. “What do you mean everything, Anthony? Furniture? Basement?” I asked. “Everything, as in he was out of town, and now has NOTHING.” He clarified. Yikes.

My Iowan family came by way of re-marriage. My adolescent ignorance created embarrassment toward the stark contrast of its grass-roots, blue-collar, hard-working farmer mentality and my international silver-spoon upbringing. People had children young, family was HUGE, and everyone thought “Boarding School” was some cross between military discipline and rehab. Slowly, after building true relationships with my new family, I saw them for what they were: Honest-to-goodness people who make do with what they have, work hard and celebrate the riches of community.

Discipline: The new Taboo

There are all kinds of things I shouldn't say around my fellow mom-friends. A good example would be how I truly think same-sex marriages might just be the stint in the bleeding crack of the institution itself. Perhaps lead by their example, we may see that choosing to commit to someone for love and respect, against the push of society, might just very well beg the question: "Is it a tinge indulgent that we buy in and out of these contracts, while some are trying this hard just to have the option?" The way I see the stats, it can't hurt the numbers...

Another doozy I try not to articulate is how entitled some of the "younger" deposits of citizens in our society have become, leaning on crutches of so many labels, and It scares me, maybe even affects how I raise my daughter-a little more stern than I expected. I'm not sure EVERYONE deserves a ribbon for participating. What is wrong with "wining" and "losing"? Is it that bad to learn that you are NOT "awesome"...at everything?

I really tone down my thoughts and opinions when it comes to some hard-hitting taboos, but I struggle most with the new one that I am witnessing more frequently....Disciplining our children.

Dead Dad Day- A parent misses being a child

I know, I know it sounds horrible. But it is how I feel. I am good with words, eloquent even (when I am trying). That's the thing. I can't festoon this kind of loss with pretty adjectives or bone-chilling analogies. It's just...hard. Grief has a manipulative way of creeping in and out. It swindles and sways its way through the days and years. I laugh out loud or cry at things I wish he were here to see. It is selfish. The selfishness that every child deserves. The unconditional love and guidance of a parent. He provided both, and he provided well.

Born in Zanzibar, he had an affair with the sea. The oldest son of 11 children, he was a leader. He lost his own mother at 16 years old in a tragic car accident (his first attempt at driving), so he was a survivor. Banished from his own home by his father in wake of their great loss, he was a fighter. He returned home months later to find his father had "left" so he learned quickly how to navigate the world of love,raising siblings, loss, protection and fear. I write this perhaps because I am proud, or moved, or just trying to remind myself of him; his story...beyond just being my dad.

The "burden" of choice.

A month ago, I was in a third interview with a reputable firm. I had made my way to the EVP and the Director of marketing. We started the negotiation of flex-time -at least 1 day from home.I didn't get the job. The consolation phrase was: "We'd hire you today if you could do 5 days a week." Fair enough. I get it. But then the man said(empathetically): "Funny? You never hear about men having to argue a case explaining their devotion to their career AND family.That is the burden of choice, I guess." I will reiterate that sentiment for emphasis; those were his words, not mine.

I smiled, shook hands, and walked out....pissed. After further consideration  I wondered if there might be some marginal truth in that statement? Women before me worked tirelessly, and often without accolades to reserve the right of title to modern day's "Supermom". I don't want to deep dive into the social and highly debatable issues of it all. Today...it's just a personal story of choice, fear, and the great unknown.

I'm uncomfortable, and that's a good thing.

I have seen a lot of ugly things. I lived in Saudi Arabia for several years (as an Arab girl.) I remember my father letting soldiers use his phone and showers during the Gulf crisis. When I lived in Australia the news was hard to watch, in Copenhagen its outright disturbing. Honestly, sometimes news SHOULD be. At the risk of sounding a little like Tony Robbins during the 90's, I had a strange compulsion to clap and say "Yes! That was uncomfortable, I'm gonna change something!" after seeing a recent movie. Laugh if you must, but It's true for me, particularly when I see disturbing movies.Time is such a hot commodity in the life of a mother, of anyone really. It is hard to "squander" free time on anything other than a guaranteed good time. A lot of parents think, I'm paying a babysitter, I'm buying $11.00 tickets, and $8.00 popcorn, I damn-well better feel good and laugh. I'm guilty of the thought process too, but I think there is something truly gained by being uncomfortable in the movies. I get the point: "My life is hard enough, I'm tired, I'm _____, so I don't want to come out of a movie upset." But being unhappy with something is one of the great catalysts for change. I notice a lot of us ( not everyone) see less and less of it with so many no-brainier options around us.

AUTISM: The Musical on HBO. Don't miss it!

AUTISM: The Musical is a profoundly engaging documentary following families with children on the Autism spectrum as they prepare for a musical. (They are actually part of the conceptualizing and writing process). As a mother, it both breaks my heart and puffs it up to watch and learn how incredible these children and their parents are. The lens with which the movie shows you the intimate lives of several of the families allows for an honest look at what has too often been a taboo.

I am no expert, I have no psychology degree, I don't even have a school-aged child yet. (she is two) I am absolutely certain someone, somewhere else could describe it all more clinically, from a broader perspective and a deeper general knowledge of the subject matter; but this is how I saw it, this is how it made me feel...

Each of the kids have their own personal challenges, for some it is groups, or articulating original thought in verbal words. In one of the more emotional scenes for me, a young boy self-assess by saying: "Why do I go into my own world? I, I sometimes need friends, friends that can't be mean..." There is an inner conflict of rational self-awareness where he seems to question himself as an outsider and a human kindness that encourages him to be accepting. It was stunning.

Man (woman) is pregnant.

Okay. I have serious beef with this bun in the oven (applause for triple-pun use). I was on a business trip, in a bar when I saw the news clip: "First pregnant Man." Whaaaat? I swiveled my chair, tuned out the salesman and paid attention. I have always wanted this (when I was puking every 30 minutes and had to take Zofran for 5 months, I kept warning my husband this day would come, and I would throw him into the vast test trials.) I find it fascinating and frightening what the medical arena is churning out. (stem cells from teeth...c'mon,who thunk that up?)And..surprise, surprise. It's a big-media spin. Sigh.

Look, I get it. I understand the need for generating interest, perhaps even sensationalizing things to compete with 24 hour news channels, but can we get serious here? This is a WOMAN who had her boobs removed, took testosterone to be a he, but kept her uterus. More power to him. They want a family, and they have that right, as they should. But not only is describing it to you a pronoun nightmare, it is a waste of my time. Don't get me wrong. I am annoyed for reasons you probably aren't imagining. Would it be difficult to explain to my child? Sure, but that shouldn't effect what someone else wants to do with their

I Think therefore I am (not happy enough)

I was reading Eckhart Tolle's book: The Power of Now and before you start rolling your eyes, or guffawing, here me out. In the book he discusses how we are NOT our thoughts, that sometimes (I am paraphrasing, obviously) it is best to just BE. To disconnect from the thoughts and focus on being free from your own mind. This has been a tough Chicago winter. The snow has piled on us. The skies hang low with grey cloud cover, and as mothers, we are spreading pretty thin trying to come up with new ways to entertain little ones, keep our spirits high without sunshine, and still balance a somewhat positive outlook.

The day before Easter (The official second day of spring) this year, my daughter and I built a self-ironic snow bunny with the six inches of snow that fell. We made it work. To be honest, I came up with the idea, but when she jumped at the actual implementation, I was filled with dread. Get both of us in snow gear. (check), find the missing mitten (check) spend thirty minutes in the snow (sigh). I am done. Done, done done with the snow, and winter and cold.

Here is what I find interesting…as soon as I let go of thinking about it all, and just got in the snow, watched her laugh and took each second as it was, be it funny, or silly or cold, it was easier to process. It was that simple. I think we all know that we live in a world where we, as mothers, feel the need to