Sassafrass

This one's for you, Gloria

Today, Women Employed is on a mission to honor the amazing women who have inspired us. I love this campaign. There is nothing about it that incites any guilt or sadness or despair that the world will never, ever change. It is all about gratitude and empowerment and recognizing our interconnectedness to each other. We need more of that.

The only challenge was to slow my thoughts that raced through the many women who have inspired me, the many women who have hoisted me up on their shoulders through their books or lectures or kind interactions. I could write post after post about bell hooks,.Judy Blume, Margaret Mead, Julia Kristeva, Helene Cixous, my sixth grade teacher Mrs. Markewycz. And then there is Elizabeth Cady Stanton, who called to me from the pages of a very boring textbook in my very first Women's Studies class, took hold of me and has never let go. There have been so many women who have stepped into my daily life, by happenchance or some lovely and divine meeting, and have said something brilliant or reminded me of the possibilities or shown me with their lives how I may want to live. My grandmothers and mother are at the top of that list. Ann Christophersen, one of the owners of Women and Children First, is on it as well. They are in good company with the director of my graduate school program, who saw a spark in me and demanded I turn it into a raging fire, and a kind elderly lady I visited from church, who sent me handwritten cards from two blocks away. There are so many women to honor and they each deserve much, much more than a sentence or small thank you sent out to the universe.

Today, though, I choose Gloria Steinem. It's not a surprise, not a stretch, but it is the choice and the woman who would not leave me. When I was a little girl, playing Barbies in my room and dreaming up ways to dress sexy, my mother used to joke that she feared Gloria Steinem would burst through the door,  at any time, see me and take away her feminist card. Still, I wore my Ms. magazine t-shirt to kindergarten even though that year I also agreed to be Aaron Bilton's stewardess when he grew up to be a pilot. I went on to strut my stuff in tight Calvin Kleins and Sergio Valentes  and fill notebooks with bride drawings, but knew early on I would always keep my own name and might just become a mom without having a man in my life. I can't remember a time when I didn't identify as a feminist, can't remember ever feeling like it was my responsibility to stand up alongside other women.

A lot of people and feelings and words and ideas grew that in me. But it was Gloria Steinem who first made it all make intellectual sense, when it went from being just a feeling about what was right or how I wanted to live my life to a purpose, a calling, an academic and professional pursuit.

I've read so many of Gloria Steinem's articles, books, and speeches that I could not narrow down just one quote that reached out to me the most. And what I've loved about every single thing she's written is that she just says it, she just puts it out there in an accessible and still analytical, intelligent and straightforward way. I can untie theory with the best of them and am happy to Venn Diagram complex arguments, but Gloria Steinem's words just make it all make even more sense. She speaks my language.

Gloria Steinem still resonates in every issue of Ms. that I get. She still whispers to me every morning from a magnet on my refrigerator that says, "The truth will set you free. But first, it will piss you off." And isn't that the damn truth?

She's been criticized for being too mainstream by some, and too radical by others. I don' t hear any of that. I just see Gloria Steinem, standing tall and majestic, clear and strong, leading generation after generation down the path to equity. I like that image, and I like to see myself in the crowd she's walking in. And I'm pretty sure all those other women who've inspired me, are there as well.

Who will you choose to honor in the Women Employed campaign to acknowledge amazing women? 

Be sure to Tweet your choice with @womenemployed and add it to your Facebook status update.

Another reminder that I am not blogging from the Oval Office

Why is this so darn cute when it comes to the President's kids and so freaking irritating when my own kid is crawling around near my desk when I am trying to finish up a work project?

Clearly, the Obama (and further back, the insanely adorable Kennedy) version of working from home has no translation for the Sassafam. That is, unless Sasha is squeaking out, "Please please please pleeeeeeeeeeeease can we we look at Star Wars stuff online? When can we look at Star Wars stuff on the compuuuuuuuter? Pleeeeeeeeeeease! Is it time yet? Is it time yet? Is it time to look at Star Wars stuff on the computer? Mommy! Mommy! Mommmmmmmyyyyy?!"

And then Barack gets all yelly and exasperated and says something that makes no parental sense like, "Seriously, dude! SERIOUSLY!"

Tonight at the dinner table, we talked about Prop 8

There were only a few minutes at a time today that I wasn't thinking about the same-sex marriage ban upheld by the California Supreme Court today. How could I not? Twitter and Facebook updates were explosive in response and I felt emotional all day to see how vigilant we must be to ensure that all people have the fundamental right to marry.

Then I wrote about it, knowing I would get the all-caps responses that I indeed got (and am getting). And wanting, in spite of the hate or ignorance or just ill-informedness or shelteredness that might be revealed in comments section, for the conversation to be opened.

After I picked up Lil E, we went over the details of other things present in our day -- how he ran to the sink to wash his hands in the bathroom, slipped, knocked his head pretty hard on the floor and had a goose-egg still swollen on his noggin;how the Spanish teacher wasn't there but really was there but by the time they realized she really was there, it was too late, and so they played on playground instead of having class today; how we would not be eating pizza on the floor in a picnic and would actually have to talk at the table together.

We did talk at the table. We shared our usual Four Things About My Day and the favorite parts of our day. He asks, as he usually does, what I'd been blogging about, and in the most age-appropriate language I could find, I told him.

We've discussed this all before. This time, I gave him the context of the November elections and the California Supreme Court review of the proposition. Then I asked him what he thought. I grew up having a valid voice over such issues at the kitchen table, and he has that, too. Even at four. Especially at four.

He listened. He made a pouty face. He shook his head. His eyebrows framed a wrinkled nose.

"What do you think?" I asked. [The whole convo after the jump.]

3 little things I loved about the inauguration

What a dreamy day. I felt so in love with the ceremony and celebrations, the hope and the accountability, the crowds of people cheering and the memory of all of those people there in spirit and in memory. And of course, I was head over emerald heels with the Obamas.

As overwhelmed and emotional and high as I felt with the day on the whole, I hope I remember these three things:

1. Malia cam and Sasha silliness. I adored that the first child of the first family is a real kid, texting and taking pictures and even handing over the camera to Joe Biden for a closer peek at her dad on centerstage. I loved that Sasha was as entertaining as Aretha in some moments. I've listened closely to what the Obamas have said about their views on parenting and I imagine many other people have taken pointers from their seeming centeredness and stress on the kids' (and their own) responsibility. I like that. Shining out from the adorable, brightly colored coats and coordinating gloves, it shows. And I totally want to be Malia's Flickr friend to see those shots.

2.  The poem. Ohhh, the poem. Is there any better ritual than commissioning such fine art to commemorate a day? Every single line is perfection. Is it too much to dream that one day Lil E will stand in front of a classroom, reciting this memorized poem for an oratory assignment? Or that he will study it in a college class, doodling around the edges of the copy in front of him, Xeroxed many times over? Maybe those are my own dreams, but I hope he one day appreciates the beauty of this one work by this one writer, who that day was welled up with her own emotion, and who proudly has Chicago ties.

3. The clear love. I watched the new president and first lady walk toward the White House during the inaugural parade and was struck (once again, this is not the first time) by their connectedness. Even as she changed hands to wave at opposite sides of the crowd, she never lost contact with his hand. In this lovely, sweeping, rhythmic motion, Michelle Obama released one hand from his to raise it in a wave while grasping his hand with her other. That tiny moment spoke so much and it made proud of the force of life she seems to be beside him. (And if you haven't seen it already, this head shaking take on their connection is quite funny. Someone please point this woman to the Urban Dictionary.)

I'm taking requests for a new political manifesto theme song

How do you even begin to describe what today feels like? Any words I have to offer are inadequate. Heartfelt but inadequate.

This morning, I am grateful to open my eyes to a new day, to hear something other than what we have heard too loudly, too gratingly, for too long. I know that change won't come as swiftly as we all might like or need, but I am hopeful. More hopeful in our government than I have been during most of my voting life.

Maybe it's that I have a child now. Maybe it's that I feel our nation teetering on the edge of a cliff where there is no reproductive justice left for women, no arts or P.E. programs left in schools, never enough healthcare for uninsured kids, too tight of a restriction on who gets to marry whom, too many opportunities to go to war again or drill again or deny scientists the chance to see what stem cells really can do again.

Maybe it's that I get chills that he will not remember a time when this country didn't have an African American man at its helm. Perhaps it is because there is so much good that can happen, might just really happen, will happen in the years ahead, and that gives me hope for my lifetime and for his.

I will be watching in awe and I am sure, with tears. I will be prayerful and celebratory and thankful to see this point in time with my own eyes.

I am so fucking happy that I will no longer feel the anger rise up in me every time I hear and belt out and drum my fingers on the steering wheel when I hear this song.

Because everything comes back to how I'm single now. And hot breakfast. OH! And the almost-President!

The past few weeks have been a roller coaster of endings and beginnin gs and transitions that have had me smiling and hands up and screaming with glee, dipping into exhaustion and emotion, and inhaling and exhaling slowly, slowly, deeply to try to find some sort of restful center. And all within minutes, maybe seconds. That's just this time of life, and after a weekend of good stuff -- being with my grrrls and seeing a phenomenal show and just lazing about with my boy in our PJs until noon -- I feel ready (and I am totally ripping this line off from an old friend's Facebook status, but I know he won't mind a bit...or won't once I remind him of that one - ahem - $50 poetry prize from sophomore year of high school) meeting the press and then facing the nation.

I am Christmas morning excited about the inauguration. Our t-shirts are clean and folded and ready to wear (a particular feat since the walls, steps and landings leading to our basement storage unit and laundry are covered in two inches of solid ice).

I will send Lil E off to preschool, where I am sure he will incite the wee ones into Oh-rock Oh-bama glitter-and-pipe cleaner inaug mania.  And then I will head over to that House in Progress for a little presidential hype of my own.

I am thrilled to join Jeanne and many other fabulous bloggers for the Quaker Oats inauguration brunch. We will be toasting the hope of a nation.  And we will be celebrating Quaker's own commitment to change in this country with their Start with Substance Campaign, serving up 1 million bowls of oatmeal to families in need in the year ahead.  (Join the Facebook group here.)

It's a great cause and a wonderful opportunity to watch the page turn for these United States (and I hope, I hope, our individual quality of life as well) with my people. It's also crazy (and perhaps a teense more enticing) that all this celebration and the ten others around the country have caused a little NYT controversy (ohhh, the former journalist in me loves it when journalists get all salty about bloggers).

Where will you be on Inauguration Day? I will be with some of my favorite smart, funny, political, progressive women friends --  in person and in spirit -- and taking my Obamas with a little oatmeal, brown sugar and buzz on.

We're with you on this: Write to Marry Day

The world I want my son to live in is a place where he can marry anyone he loves that much.

At one point, he was smitten with the lovely Claire who held his hand down the aisle as the flower girl to his ring bearer. Yesterday, he told me no matter how much the cute, curly-haired redhead with the infectious smile hugs him,  he is definitely done with girls and most likely will marry a boy so they can play bad guys and Batman and chase away the girls all day.  He's four. Next week, he will want to marry the dog from Martha Speaks. Regardless...and really, it is all regardless...I love the definitiveness in his voice. That gives me hope.

Whoever he grows up to be, whatever life he grows into, I want the choice of who stands beside him in front of a justice of the peace and God and his friends and our families to be his choice. And because I am getting divorced and he now has two homes and a preschooler's sensibility of what and who the ideal partner is, and because we go to a great church and quietly but still call ourselves Christian, I pray for this for him.

And for all of us.

Today, I am writing for Write to Marry Day, in support of every single person who once was a hopeful child and still carries that hope of marrying their same-sex partner.

I am not trying to get married and I am not voting on this issue. I am not a Californian. What I am is proud to join hundreds of other bloggers who believe in marriage equality and stand against California's Proposition 8. I'm with you, my friends.

Lil E and his band of merry betrothals and I are with you.

If you're not hearing what I have say, trust BadKitty. No really, she meows it soooo much better than I ever could.

Linkety Dinkety Doo: I haven't even gotten to Palin's shoes yet

Last week, during the Biden-Palin debate, I jokingly Twittered that I wished someone would please tell the Governor of Alaska to lay off the White Rain and Wet-n-Wild peach blush. I was kidding.

Sort of. But it is too easy to focus on Sarah Palin's appearance. While I'd like to do that in an ear-covering la la la, I can't hear what you're saying sort of way, I know it's not fair. It's not fair to focus on her make-up and up-do because what she is saying and what she stands for is so much scarier.

I want a woman in the White House, not just planning parties and hosting the holiday tours, but officially participating in the administration of this country (not unofficially as we all know many First Ladies have done). But I want a woman in office who is good for women. Sarah Palin isn't that woman.

This is only one of many, many reasons we're ardently, loudly, happily supporting Obama and Biden. In my fear of another eight years of Republican misogyny and in my attempts to downplay what is really on the line here -- reproductive justice, in particular -- I instead went right for the easy target.

Please, if you see me in Wal-Mart giving Sarah Palin a lecture on why should put back the Bonnie Bell tri-color eyeshadows already, just steer your cart past us. Instead, stop here, where much better stuff is being said on this election:

A Woman's Worth is written by author and blogger and single mother Goldie Taylor. I got this in an email forward from my mom's brigade of activist retired teachers and immediately went to the blog to read more. This post is worth reading and (yes, mom) definitely worth forwarding on.

The Repubs have mastered the art of co-opting feministing language for not-feminist agenda. Oh, and they've also gotten quite good at misquoting feminists as well. This one made me want to flood Sarah Palin's office with Starbucks cups printed with accurate quotes by activist women.

I want this t-shirt. Sometimes it just comes down to a simple tagline, right? A friend told me this week that she was going to download this on to postcards to pass out when election conversations inevitably turn into laments about how afraid we are. She said we need to keep the faith. And hey, I'll take almost any excuse to say, "Chill the fuck out, duder." (OK, I added duder...I can't resist that.)

This is also worth a laugh. And then some serious analysis on CNN or something. I mean, if you are lucid enough yet after Palin bingo. 

Mama votes. And talks. Radical, mais non?

Have I mentioned I'm slightly obsessed with the presidential election? I say slightly because I'm cruising Perez Hilton and then skimming the NYT, but trust a mama, the obsessed part has its own special place in conversation.

A few months ago, I gave a ride to a friend of mine -- a very gifted and brilliant woman who can whip any nonprofit or committee into shape in the timeframe of one well-agendaed meeting -- and during our trip from Lincoln Park to the West Loop, we talked politics. We talked at length about the candidates and what an exciting time in history (not to mention herstory it is...yep, that's for you, feministas). We were on a roll. That is, until I told her that I really just want to ask everyone I know who they are voting for and why.

Then, the sounds of the radio filled the car as a great, big awkward pause swelled up around the two of us.

"Well," she said with that fundraiser smile I know very well, "I am not sure most people are willing to admit that."

I got it. I'd hit my limit with my friend. She wasn't going to give up her endorsement, which is fine.  And on the slight chance it is someone other than the Dynamic Democratic Trio (I shudder to think), then I probably didn't want to hear the story of that vote anyway.

What strikes me, though, is what a vital vote this is, especially for women. Especially for women who care about reproductive justice and the war and little baby penguins floating away on the one ice cap left in the artic. For that reason, I think it is educational and exciting and important for us to understand why our grrrls are voting for the candidate they want to vote for, and even moreso, for us to continually define and voice that choice for ourselves.

For me, the truth is, my vote is not yet decided. I'm leaning, like many other women I know, toward Edwards, but I am still very open and attentive to Bar and Hill.

In the meantime, when my friends refuse to talk, at least I know I can turn to my grrrl Madeline, now stepping up as Political Nanny on Babble (go on, mama).  Join me there -- or in my car or at the 'bucks or at playgroup or wherever -- to talk about how we mamas are going to get our vote on.

The Edwards buzz

I admit it -- I am geeking out over this presidential election. I'm watching debates, reading articles and asking everyone I know with sincere fascination who they are leaning toward voting for and why. It's a little too close for comfort for some people (wah wah wah) but I am really just very interested in knowing the thoughts people have on the candidates. OK, I am interested in knowing the thoughts people have on the Democratic and Green candidates. I really don't have the time or patience or energy to keep myself awake or courtesy smile through any more Republican rhetoric at this point.

My vote is still up in the air. I have to say that John Edwards is a strong contender for me, although Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton are definitely on my short list as well. I want to read more, watch more, investigate more before I call out my choice (which you can bet your bippy I will, and proudly). Until then, I give lots of credit to the Edwards camp for being so blog savvy and for making alliances and meeting with bloggers to get out their message. This isn't just catering to me and my bloggy buddies, this is right now, and for that, I'm impressed.

Our meeting with Elizabeth Edwards has received some nice little press, including a front and center spot on the  campaign blog and a cross-posting on The Daily Kos. Some of our questions and discussion points are noted, clips from our reactions on our personal blogs are posted and I am very happy to see my own little Sassafrass link right there among the reporting.

Also, be sure to check out the column on the meeting and the possibility for changing campaign strategy on the View from a Broad. The MOMocrats are putting up some great writing and asking some tough questions that I think every voting mom will want to take a look at. Many of us mama bloggers are also putting out the call to the other candidates to meet with us, share their vision and field some questions that might just shape our votes. Any takers?

My vote will include some strong statements about the issues that are most important to me -- reproductive justice, ending this fucking war, reworking the healthcare and insurance system of chaos and funds for education. That might mean a vote for JE, and it might mean a vote for Hill or Barack. We will see. We will see.

If you are the poli-talky kind, speak up! Who are you voting for? What's the deal with that?

[photo via SVMomsBlog]

Shhhh, mama's on the phone with Elizabeth Edwards

I don't talk on the phone much anymore. Most of my colleagues and friends ping me on IM or email me at all hours. But for Elizabeth Edwards, I will happily make an exception and sit on my land line for hours and hours.

This afternoon Elizabeth Edwards sat down in person with more than twenty bloggers from Silicon Valley Moms Blog. Even though my first impulse was to hop a plane to SF to sit at the table with them all, instead I locked myself in the bedroom and participated by phone with a great group of women representing the Chicago Moms Blog and newly-launched DC Metro Moms Blog.

If you've not yet heard Elizabeth Edwards speak, you should.

And so the Mommy Cult meetings begin

So last night was the first Mommy Cult co-op parent meeting of the year. All the parents of kids new to the Seventh Circle of Strangeness and Land's End Tote Bags were there, nervously wondering if they'd be able to abide by the supposedly strict "kiss and go" policy on the first day. The returning parents chatted about potty training and summer trips and got shooshed by the director for talking while a new board member (get this) read the bylaws and handbook aloud to the whole room.

What?! We're not trusted to read through or happily ignore these documents in the privacy of our own living rooms?

And as if that wasn't opportunity enough to scribble all the theme-days and future parent meetings in my calendar (and file my nails and wonder who was winning America's Got Talent at that very moment), the director then explained a new incentive raffle we could all enjoy on a monthly basis. As in the past, everyone who arrives at the meetings on time is eligible for a raffle. I've personally taken home a sweet Toys for Tots pocket calendar, you can win a pass on one of your monthly Parent of the Day responsibilities. This year, though,  some months (and get ready for the excitement here, grrrls), parents can be eligible for some drawings if they bring the nifty folder color-coded by classroom and filled with the bylaws, handbook, calendar and other goodies that is supplied to each family at the beginning of the co-op school year.

Why? Good question.

Apparently, this is an ideal place to store co-op info and for that reason, every mama needs to haul it to every meeting along with her calendar, checkbook and Diet Coke.

This is not a snazzy binder nor is it filled with information you really need to have on hand when announcements about when Teddy Bear Day will be held and what each kid should bring along with his sippy cup for Jesus' Birthday Celebration Party. It is a 50-cent folder full of paper that, yes, is helpful, but no, is not necessary to keep copies of in the glove box.

These shooshy, incentivized moments both amuse and irritate me. While I'm OK with my kid being treated like a kid at co-op, I'm just not so keen on being treated that way myself. And while this is a good, safe, nice place that I am very happy for Lil E to be (truly), there are those things that keep me shaking my head every first Wednesday of the month from August through June.

Bruce just laughs when I tell him the stories of taking votes on what color the snot should or shouldn't be in the sick policy. But we have this arrangement -- he works as Parent of the Day for our family every month so I can work.  He reads books, changes diapers, plays trucks and wipes noses of kids with all colors of nastiness coming out of there "illegally at co-op" noses. I sit through hours of culty goodness. If we were to trade (somewhere in the 'burbs, Bruce just cringed while leading some boot camp class through squat thrusts), Bruce would actually get more lauded (More than the title of Baby Whisperer in the nursery room?, you ask...hard to believe but yes) with the little golf clap of encouragement that comes when any man is ever seated at the long line of tables, "It is SO GOOD to see dads in the room! Hooray, Dads!"  (ladies, I know you feel my eye-rollish wonder at how in the hell the last sixty years of feminism has done so much and yet not seemed to penetrate these meetings...and don't get me started on how impossible it is to communicate our different last names to the Powers That Be).

I wouldn't mind working the room. In fact, the few days a year I schedule myself in, I do love to spend the day with Lil E and his buddies, pulling them apart from fighting over the pushy cars and holding a pile of them on my lap as they sing together during all-co-op music time.

For now, it is all fair and fine. But I wonder sometimes if it would be a relief to take ten toddlers to the potty at once every month and whether I'd actually miss all the meeting madness if I renegotiated the co-op contract.



Cross-posted at Chicago Moms Blog.

8 things I know I know

Your grrrlfriend's been tagged. I like to read memes but, like all those email surveys about yourself, I do not normally raise my hand to participate. I sit quietly at the back of the class and (in those times only) listen attentively. Once in a while, for a good friend or blogger I adore, I must respond when called upon.

Courtesy being called upon by Susiej, here are The 8 Things I Know:

1.  In the midst of a trauma, people's real character shows through in its most raw form. This can reveal amazing and disappointing traits and it is a truth that, once you see, you won't forget.

2.   There are some things that really are soothing in tough situations: A hot bath with bubbles, a good back massage, coloring with crayons, taking ten deep breaths, screaming out the lyrics of a blasted Ani DiFranco song, a good cry, talking to your grandma.

3.  It is not worth it get all worked up about algebra.

4.  Everyone needs to stand before something big -- the ocean, a medieval castle, the grounds of a concentration camp, the Grand Canyon, a mountain, the Lincoln Memorial -- in order to feel small for just a few moments. It is a vital connection to the universe and to the people who've stood in that place before you.

5.  Everyone should read bell hooks. Twice. Well, except bell hooks because she wrote it and that pretty much covers it.

6.  Going to a city alone and building a life for yourself there will serve you for the rest of your life in more ways than you can imagine, no matter who you meet, how long you stay and where else you go.

7.   Building a circle of people around you of people who have personalities full of the good details is a good thing. A circle of people who make you laugh until your ribs hurt, who really can be an emergency contact, who say thank you, who lend you clothes for special occasions and books they know you'll love and, who know the same silly camp songs, who ask you questions about yourself and who you want to ask questions, who remember moments together, who share different passions and still connect to yours, who care about social justice, who tease you back, who apologize sincerely -- those kinds of details.

8.  You know more than you think you know.

Now on to you, friends:
BadBadIvy
Foodmomiac
Robin
HSJ Writer

And you, too: What do you know? Leave your personal words of wisdom in comments.

MotherTalking Notting Hell: The longest post ever about the shortest conversation of all time

Rachel Johnson is funny.

If I were to place her on the grrrlfriend spectrum, I'd guess she's the one who would be quite frank about how often her kids were bathed when they were young and could turn a few quick pomtinis into one of those nights you long for with your favorite women, lingering over politics and parenthood and the why itsy-bitsy panties are fabulously inappropriate to wear when you're preschool mommy of the day. 

At least that's what I imagined when I got the invitation to interview her as a part of her tour across America to promote Notting Hell.

After actually reading Notting Hell months earlier and giving way too much late night debate with myself over the boom of questionably-called "mommy lit" and whether I was being very American in thinking this very well might be Bridget Jones all growed up, I jumped at the chance to chat with Rachel Johnson, if only for a few minutes in between signings.

I admit, my inner Brenda Starr came running -- clicky heels, eyelash extensions, steno pad and all -- to the surface.

True to my J-school preparation, I spaced my three serious and two cheeky questions (prompts, really, a la Charlie Rose or JuJu Chang) on my yellow notepaper, ready to listen, nod, uh-huh and write down furiously.

Alas, the interview barely happened.

Thanks to time zone confusion and a packed schedule, my moment of glory gave way as Rachel* ran from one event to meet her agent and I heard the cry from the crib, "Mommy, I'm all done with nap! I want to GET OUT NOW."

I put my pomtini back up on the bar (OK, we all know it was my third cup of coffee and I carefully balanced it on a pile of co-op schedules, calendars and a file folder full of post ideas, but for a brief lapse in real time, it was felt like a shiny walnut gateway to me).

Maybe another time. Interviewing British columnists-turned-fanfared-mommy-authors one moment, wiping a tush the next. It's a glamorous life, this blogging mama thing.

And then as Lil E and I zoned out with a fishy cracker snack to a little post-nap Bob the Builder, the great bartender in the blogosphere nudged my drink back toward me. Rachel called.

"JESSICA!," she yelled enthusiastically into the phone. And then apologies and chatter about her crazy schedule and something I expected less than her actual return phone call, "You're the blogger! You're my first blog interview!"

I beamed. It's not like I am some kind of blogebrity or any of that craziness. I am quite a newbie and honestly, it made me smile to be in good company.

Rachel answered one of my questions, something about all the product name-dropping in Notting Hell and the culture of consumerism among mommies in that book and many, many neighborhoods. In the whirlwind of finally speaking and a conversation that reminded me of when I catch my best friend from grad school in the midst of one of her doggie walking business "client appointments," I think I wrote down three random quotes. My notes read: Baby Gap practically gives clothes away for free -  Character friendships/competition (which is actually part of a question I intended to ask but never squeezed in) - Yummy mummy group with perfect hair and...?

Not exactly the investigative stuff of award-winning human interest features. But it was easy to just listen and laugh as Rachel talked a mile a minute for just about four miles/minutes before she landed in her literary agent's office and had to hang up.

I was dizzy when I said goodbye. And I was glad, even if I didn't gather up blog-propelling goodness in a 300 second interview, I got a bit of Rachel on the phone.

I did have enough time to tell her I'd be at a MotherTalk salon later in the week where she'd be leading a circle of women in a book discussion. There'd be another chance to get all that note-taking in, not that it really seemed to matter.

Hours later, as the witching hour before dinner approached and I was on hold with the pediatric nurse to discuss Lil E's emerging seasonal allergies, an unfamiliar number beeped in on the other line. When I checked my messages later, I smiled to hear Rachel's voice for one more brief moment.

"Jessica!" she launched again and then left her apologies and cell phone number and abbreviated travel schedule should I like to call her back for another interview attempt.

And really, it didn't sound at all like an author whose book I powered through and wondered about and took note of the pleasingly unsuspected ending. It sounded like that grrrlfriend who wants to talk but is so in her own life that you can't be frustrated at all you've only chatted in passing; you're cheered up a wee bit just to hear her on your voicemail.

By coincidence or divine timing or the crazy way this city strings people together, I had that MotherTalk event ahead of me.

I'd been following MotherTalk since I met Andi Buchanan, who gave new life to virtual book discussions and literary salons among bloggers and authors and the women who read them, at The MotherLode last fall. Since then, I'd met my friend Danielle of Foodmomiac fame.  Danielle got the invitation to the salon and asked me to join her at the event hosted by Kim from Hormone-Colored Days and Scrambled CAKE on Chicago Parent.  Kim, who I'd emailed about meeting in person last year but could never make work. It -- and we -- all came together out in the suburbs with a room full of women, a table full of local snacks and bottles of wine opened exactly at the right point of a Friday night for a mama.

We met, we mingled, we scribbled each other's names into an ice breaker sheet with descriptors written down like, "I work outside the home" and "I'm a blogger" and "I believe No Child Left Behind is ruining our educational system" and "I have a really fat ass." 

Oatmeal, with a capital G

This morning at breakfast, Lil E begged Bruce and I to tell him a story. And really, how can you resist a kid with a chin covered in oatmeal, waving a plastic kiddie spoon around in front of you? Bruce began.

"Once upon a time, there was a little boy..."

On the heels of his last words, Lil E waved his spoon again, "Mommy, tell me a diff'rent story!"

I took my turn and when I saw the next request about to come, I got there before he could.

"Lil E, you tell us a story." And so he took a turn.

"Once upon a time, there was a daddy who looooooved to watch Lil E play golf. He HIT! da ball out of the sand and onto the green and he use his driver and putter to hit in da hoooooole."

The he stopped with a satisfied pause. I asked him for more, maybe share a mommy story.

"Once upon a time," he leapt in with a decided nod, "there was a mommy who loooooved to work. She work at da cafe and Lil E cryyyyyy because he wants his mommy."

In the silence, he nodded and took a big bite of his breakfast. Of course, I teared up. Of course, Bruce made a sympathetic face and then quickly changed the subject. And of course, that damn guilt -- the one I so ardently push away with all of my intellectualizing and passion for my work and for those hours spent typing away at the only free wi-fi spot in our neighborhood -- crept up behind one swift, simple toddler story early this morning.

Dagger, meet heart. Heart, meet dagger.

In which I worry that I sound like a know-it-all snooty pants mommy blogger when Im really quite a newbie

It has been a crazy month or four. I think I made that clear by my relative absence in the New Year, followed up by a post that may have made even you reach for the Xanax.  In the midst of it of all, I decided that it was time to recommit to the mommy-blogging, to focus some good energy on what I'm doing right here at Sassafrass, to feel good about taking my blog to the next level (wherever that may be in the big, badass blogosphere, trying to speak some techie language that might as well be...well, anything but English or the rudimentary Spanish or French that comes after eight years of studying in school).

I was delighted to be interviewed for this article on mommy blogging, and talked pretty openly about some of the boundaries and brashness I have for myself when I'm writing here. I said my bit and even approved the quotes and then I saw it in print. And then I started to worry, the way I might after I leave a party -- Should I have said that? Was that funny or just too much? Did she get my complex, intellectual sense of irony? Or did she think I was a big old complainer?

Read it and be honest. And kind. Do I come off too know-it-allish here? Or, as my brother would say, is it just a case of "da troof's da troof, baby"?

And please, whatever you do, don't forward it to the Playgroup Mommies.

How the voting really goes

This morning, I packed up the boy, explained that we'd be stopping off to vote before heading to co-op, tucked my cheat sheet in the stroller basket and headed out.

It is warm here but humid and rainy, and no one is in front of the polling place handing out buttons or last-minute flyers, like I remember as a kid. A few of the judges were taking pulls on cigarettes and Dunkin' Donuts.  Down in the basement of the Catholic school, four judges stand behind a cluttered table and they don't require my voter registration card or even an ID. They just ask for my signature and that I return the magnetic pen when I am finished marking my vote.

And when I do finish, I opt not to use the privacy screen as I push my ballot into the electric ballot-counter-sucker-upper since Lil E and I are flanked only my the older gentleman who hands me a paper receipt when I am done. After all my rah-rah rallying and my big suffrage speech yesterday, I don't even get a sticker to show Lil E what a good American I am.  And I have to admit, I am a little disappointed.

Maybe I like the ritual of voting as much as I like casting the ballot. Maybe I've just never been comfortable being quietly political. If I am going to make my voice heard - with a magnetic pen or poster paint - I guess I want it to be really heard. If I am going to wade through all those judges (why oh why do I always forget to research the judges? It happens every. single. time.), then I guess I want to wear a little USA sticker to show that I actually did take five minutes out of my day to do my civic duty.

We head out and cut across the parking lot, past the campaign signs and recycle bins, toward the other church where co-op is held.

"That was voting," I tell Lil E over the stroller proudly, "How cool was that?"

Taking a moment to shove a piece of Nutrigrain bar in his mouth, he quietly harkens back to the Chicagoans on election days of yore and nodding, says:

"Mommy, I want to go vote again."

Annnnnnd (one more) Chicago scene.

ps. Election junkies - If you've already paged through the paper and seen enough of the red ties and dramatic graphics on your local news, here's an interesting read on why this Election Day is being talked about as the beginning of Year of the Woman 2.0. In the meantime, I'll keep voting until we actually need to refer to one year in our millennium as Year of the Man.

pps. Maybe next election, I'll just order my own sticker (like the one pictured here) so I can just get on with the issues already.

Sticker price: Election Day (bahbahbahbuuuuh-whooosh) 2006

I am one of those people who have to vote.

As the daughter and granddaughter of staunch union members, it is in my blood. I have many memories of walking the picket line on very cold winter days with my mother and her Chicago Public School teacher friends. And I am fiercely proud of that.

As a feminist, I am invested in equity, particularly those people who have been or are marginalized in this culture.  As a woman, I know that I need to punch my card every time I can to make sure that my rights are not whittled away by a misogynistic agenda or referendum or corporate lobby.

As a mother, I want to do every single thing I can to carve a path for my son so his world is safer and more just. I also want him to see that voting isn't just about the little sticker at the end (neither is using the potty, but there's plenty of time for him to catch on to all that) but is one (big) way we make sure our voices are heard in an over-stimulating, multi-mediaed society.

Every single time I head over to the Catholic school across the alley from my apartment, walk down the rickety ramp in my loud, clompy kickass boots (yes, the ones that walked me through grad school and many marches), and head to my little booth in the corner of the basement polling place, I send a thank you to Elizabeth Cady Stanton.

Elizabeth Cady Stanton is a hero of mine and one of those women that I believe all women in this country owe a thousand votes of gratitude. 

She's best known as Susan B. Anthony's political partner and one of the keys to unlocking the vote for women in this country.  Cady Stanton did have an incredible, impactful partnership with Anthony, and I admire what they achieved together.

Liz, seated on the left, just wants you to
stand up for your rights.

As her own person, Cady Stanton was a gifted writer, a passionate speaker and a brilliant organizer who called on women to do something radical: simply stand up when they were speaking. Cady Stanton was a part of a revolution that gave women the floor, and eventually, more property rights, grounds for divorce, and the privilege to vote. 

Like Elizabeth Cady Stanton, I am committed to reproductive justice for women. I care deeply about the environment, minimum wage, immigration, education and many other hotly-debated topics in this election. Most of all, I am politically on fire to keep abortion safe and legal in this country. Tomorrow, when I vote, I will be carrying my Planned Parenthood endorsement sheet with me. 

Tomorrow, I will be marking my vote with both fear and hope. For our country. For our lives as women. For my son. 

As much like a country song that sounds, I really do take pride in that moment. Because it was hard-won by suffragists like Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Because it was engrained in me by my parents' protests and picket signs. Because I get a sticker (OK, we all know Lil E will get the sticker). 

Because I really do believe that it matters.

Photo credit:
Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony / Library of Congress via Wikipedia.com

Fully Motherloded

Pardon me, grrrlfriends. I had all kinds of good intentions while I was at the Motherlode. I was going to post reports on who I met, what I saw, what I was learning. I wanted to make you feel like you were there.

But then, as conferences often go, I found myself at the end of the day exhausted and over-caffeinated, with a brain on fast forward, a pile of doodled and illegible notes, loads of email to sort through and in dire need of some cuddle time with Bruce and Lil E. I packed in all in and promised myself to post it all once I returned home to Chicago. But as road trips with toddlers often go, the 8 hour drive home became a 13 hour drive, including 2 hours just to get out of Toronto. Just when I was thinking a particular block of Yonge Street looked strikingly like Times Square, those crazy Canadians shut down an entire expressway. Not just a lane or a few exits or stretch of downtown. The whole thing.

We were left with no other choice but to sit among thousands of other cars, stocked up on snacks and squabbling over the map. The good part is I now have a much better idea of how Bruce and I would be on Amazing Race (which is a little less Cho Bros -woohoo- and a little more Rob and Kimberly -ugh- than I previously pretended).

Getting home felt wonderful (and getting home without a second immigration interview, even better). No matter how nice a hotel is, it always feels good to crawl into your own bed, under your own covers.

What I always forget, however, is that getting home isn’t the end of the road trip. There are days to recuperate, schedules to try to recover, more email, more exhaustion and over-caffeination. Throw a birthday party, Halloween and my turn to be Parent of the Day at co-op into the mix, and well…posting just falls lower and lower on the to-do list.

 
Now that you are probably as weary as I am, I will skip over the many details of the many conversations and sessions that I participated in and how I am all kinds of geared up to join other mothers in changing the world. Immediately. Right now. Today. Or at least after I finish this reheated cup of coffee.

 
Here are a few (just a few) people you should read/find online/get to know. These women have some incredible work in progress and are publishing/researching/speaking/mobilizing/blogging/writing/acting out to empower women and give mamas more voice in the world:

 

Andi Buchanan of Literary Mama and many other endeavors. Do remember when I waxed obsessive over her books and blog? I had one of those eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee moments when I worked up the nerve to meet her. (Did I really say, “I need to meet you. I love your work. I love you.”?). Check out the salons she’s been hosting on MotherTalk and the blog tours she’s organized for women to read and review books. Talking with her for a few minutes was like checking in with an old grrrlfriend, and that a small and significant thrill for newbie me.

 
Amy Tiemann of  Mojo Mom. This is a site and blog I’m loving these days. Through Mojo Mom, Amy’s mission is to “provide support and inspiration to help each woman answer the question, Who am I, now that I am a Mom?”  She recognizes the journey into motherhood as a transformative and creative opportunity for self-discovery. How much do all mamas need some support for that?

 
Ann Douglas, an author who has written profusely on parenting and pregnancy. I thought her witty presentation on the study of pregnancy and parenting books spanning the last century was not just a good perspective on information for new mamas, but good fun and good poke at how much we invest in all that advice.

 
Ann Crittenden, the author of If You’ve Raised Kids, You Can Manage Anything. She is an economist journalist and feminist who did a study comparing baby and parenting books to business management rhetoric. She found that the language and message of how to be a good CEO and how to be a good parent were nearly identical. She was fascinating and a great storyteller. I can't wait to read this book. Honestly, if I could, I would buy each of you a copy of her book just based on the keynote she gave. But since all of my paycheck seems to have ended up in Canadian loonies, well...I'll just recommend you add it to your holiday gift list.

Andrea Doucet, author of recently-released Do Men Mother? Fatherhood, Care, and Domestic Responsibility She presents a very interesting look at men as primary caregivers and the concept of men mothering children. Her concepts include single parent fathers, primary caregiver fathers and gay fathers. Somewhat controversial, even in the side convos I caught bits of at the conference, and very interesting to think about mothering as a verb and relationship rather than a biological construct.

Black Woman and Child, a magazine “provides pregnancy and parenting information strongly rooted in African culture.” I picked up a couple of copies and was immediately engaged. This is a mag that seems to be quickly gaining momentum.

 
Judith Stadtman Tucker of Mothers Movement Online. I had a little silent squeal of delight when I spoke with her for a few minutes following a panel. Wow. Her analysis of women’s comments on message boards and blogs and the difference in language of choice and change was so. right. on.

 

I missed out on the big blogging panel (boo boo triple boo) because my presentation was shuffled into another session in the next room. I was disappointed to miss out on this gathering and the insights of other mother bloggers. I’ll keep at it, though. I am determined to be on one of those kickass panels one day. In the meantime, I will do my very best to fight past the caffeine crashes and mounds of unpacked suitcases to post my way to that panel participation.

Photo credit: Around the world by Jenny W. / www.sxc.hu

 

 

The Motherlode of Linkety Dinkety Doos

I'm in the manic mode before a big road trip, half paying attention to the to-do list and half operating from the whirl of priorities in my head. I am on my way to Toronto, where I'll be attending and presenting at the Association of Research on Mothering's tenth anniversary conference, The Motherlode: A Complete Celebration of Mothering.

If I stop for a moment and breathe (and I mean, really breathe), I am thrilled. So thrilled that I can barely discuss all the details. I get this same way when I see Shawn Colvin on stage or Oprah's on creating family heirlooms or something I am uncontrollably passionate about. I get so wrapped up in my excitement, I have to change the channel for a moment or close my eyes. It is the same over-stim Lil E got the first time I placed the the brightly-colored caterpillar in front of him during tummy time: No, no, I love it too much!

I'm talking  mommy blogging as a part of the Mothering & Community Activism workshop, a session that speaks to the Sharpie and poster board hording part of my core being.  That enthralled/intimidation over-stimulation swelled when I read through the list of researchers, writers, academics, performers, artists, students and keynote speakers who will share the time in analyzing, advocating for and empowering mothers and motherhood. In my new feature, Linkety Dinkety Doo, I'm sharing a few of my faves who I will be stalking for autographs like I did as a dorky fifteen year old who eyed a hammered John Cusack while sliding up to the bar at Harry Caray's  unabashadly applauding asking to coffee honored to hear or meet or maybe (goddesses help me) both. 

I will report back from inside The Motherlode. Until then, get out your highlighters and Red Bull, crank up the Ani and get to obsessing reading. You won't be sorry. These women - and the many good works they are doing for women - is amazing.

These are just a few of the esteemed women presenting at ARM's The Motherlode this week:

*Judith Stadtman Tucker from Mothers Movement Online is a woman whose work you’ll want to read. She has incredible political insight and is an empowering force in motherhood advocacy. The MMO's e-newsletter is a must-read in my inbox (even before those hil.fucking.arious Maxine cartoon forwards. You do know I'm joking, right? I always read Maxine first thing.).

 

* Literary Mama’s Andrea Buchanan will be speaking in several sessions. Buchanan’s work seems to be everywhere and it is worth snagging for yourself. You might know her from Mother Shock or Mother Talk. And you've probably have one of her books on your nightstand. My favorites are It’s A Boy: Women Writers On Raising Sons and Literary Mama: Reading for the Maternally Inclined.

* Beth Osnes, co-founder of Mothers Acting Up, who wrote a passionate book on spirituality and early motherhood, two areas of living that speak straight to my own heart.

 

* Ann Crittendon, who skillfully weaves economics and motherhood into fascinating reads.

 

* Hope Edelman, who delivered an incredibly engaging keynote at ARM’s Grandmothers and Grandmothering conference. The landmark researcher on women who have lost their mothers and later, “motherless mothers” is author of four poignant books and many articles on motherhood. If you haven’t already, read her work. She has insights that I think serve all mothers.

 

I'm off, just for now, just to get back to packing six potential outfits and dreaming of dill pickle potato chips just across the Canadian border. Until the Toronto conference correspondence, ta-ta!