Raw Drip

In case you were wondering about the lack of new material lately, I can assure you - I’m not dead yet.  I’ve just been really, really busy planning Dick’s birthday surprise. 

Birthdays are getting harder every year.  Not only are we getting older, but the stuff we really want to get and to give is getting much more expensive.  With Dick, for instance, gone are the days of buying him some new $50 software or the latest $100 gadget.  As far as tech toys are concerned, he’s priced himself out of the $200 spending cap I have on birthdays.   That leaves a card & some birthday cake as his usual gift.  Last year, I gave him a piece of the Berlin Wall I won for $25 on eBay - a gift that I suspect may been “accidentally” left behind during our frantic relo to Florida this spring.  Aside from that, I think last year’s gifts may have consisted of a firm handshake and joke about his graying temples.  For Dick, the birthday situation is made worse by the fact that Tabitha’s birthday is exactly 7 days after his.   For the past 3 years he’s pretty much gotten the kind of after-thought gift that screams, “I don’t have time for this!” and, maybe a slice of birthday cake if he’d been really, really good. 

But this year, I vowed it would be different.  This year, he’d actually get a birthday present that might make him feel acknowledged, appreciated, and maybe even slightly less old.  I know that this is exactly the kind of gift I want for my birthday.  In fact, I’m pinning my hopes on jewelry - the kind that’s large enough to be considered vulgar and showy to all the women out there who are jealous of my youth, natural beauty and stunning good fortune… 

So, after much consideration, I decided to splurge a little for the only two things that he and most men never get enough of, and actually want for their birthdays - sleep and sex.  Let’s face it, as working parents we don’t get either of those things as often as we need or want, and when we do, sometimes the quality is, well, a bit lacking.

(DISCLAIMER: World, let it be known that my “quality” remark is strictly referencing sleep and NOT sex as regards my husband.  He is a sexual dynamo  - a stallion, a powerhouse - and I have absolutely nothing to complain about.) 

It took me well over 4 years, WAY more than $200, and a ton of lies, bribes & manipulation to get away from the life-sucking death-grip of our own offspring for just slightly over a day, but we managed it.  And, for the record, it was totally worth it.  We stayed at a lovely beach resort where we ate in restaurants largely devoid of children - without paper place mats or free crayons at the hostess station.  We slept in past 10 a.m. on expensive white sheets with a cashmere blankie, and we had sex in broad daylight without once saying, “Sorry, but can we wrap this up, soon? I’ve only got 10 minutes before nap time is up and I need to go to the bathroom”.   Yes, our time away was luxurious - it was special and it was wonderful. 

Sadly, today, the day after Dick’s birthday was the toughest for him - like a reality whiplash. Not only was he facing the world a year older, but he was doing so at home - with two children, a job, a mortgage, a wife, a demanding career and, on top of that his first really relaxing zen-like retreat in 4 years was over.  Bummer.  Yep, it sucked to be Dick today. 

I, however, have another 4 + months before I have to face down the spectre of the big three-seven.  In the meantime, I’m flying high still enjoying the burst of energy I obtained from this weekend’s much needed downtime.  When I think about it, essentially, I got to enjoy Dick’s birthday way more than he did and without that pesky aging thing killing my buzz.  In fact, I liked this brand of “giving” so much, I think I’ll give him something really great again next year - maybe a Caribbean cruise, a spa visit or a new Marc Jacobs handbag!  Yeah, maybe birthdays aren’t so bad after all…

Know one ever tells you that you’ll spend much of your time as a parent holding back a flood of unspoken words - most of them angry or sarcastic.  At least, that’s how it is for me.  Maybe I’m in the minority here, but between all the stuff I don’t say to Dick so I can continue to remain married and all of the stuff I don’t say to my children so that I can delay the inevitable therapy bills until, at least their teen years, I spend a good deal of each day mentally slapping my hand over my own mouth to stifle the bitchy woman within.

As Adam complains for the eighty-zillionth time about some aspect of the meal I’ve just prepared and served him:

• What I say:  “I appreciate your comments but less complaining, please and more focus on eating your meal…”
• What I really want to say: ”…because if I hear one more word out of your ungrateful little mouth, it’ll be the last meal you ever eat!”

As Dick asks me where the mustard is while standing in front of an open refrigerator door - mustard in plain view:

• What I say:  “Mustard’s right up front, dear…”
• What I really want to say: ”…By the way, I can’t tell if you’re more blind than stupid, or more stupid than blind, you clueless robot.”

As Tabitha uses her hitting hands on her big brother:

• What I say:  “Tabitha, we don’t use hitting hands, only gentle hands. Please stop and apologize to your brother…”
• What I really want to say: ”…Alright!  You go, girlfriend!  I’ve been wanting to smack that little punkass all day long.  Next time, really lean into your punch.”

As the children complain about going to bed at night:

• What I say: “I know how you feel.  It’s hard to turn off your body and go to sleep, but getting your rest will give you lots and lots of energy to play tomorrow…”
• What I really want to say: ”…Besides, if you don’t stop your incessant yammering and go to bed soon, I may fall on you in an exhausted heap, accidently suffocating you under all of my mommy blubber.  Now, you wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?”

(WARNING: I’ve violated my own “no politics” policy in the following post.  If you like my writing enough that you wish to remain blissfully ignorant of my political views, then I suggest you cruise by in a couple of days for more of the usual.  Otherwise, read on loyal drips, and thank you.)

September 6, 2008

Dearest Tabitha,

Yesterday I overheard two 30-something women in the ladies restroom discussing their political views and the upcoming presidential election.  Woman #1 claimed that she had no strong feelings about either of our presidential contenders.  Woman #2 was clearly in the “I hate John McCain, but I hate Obama even more” camp.  Between the echoed tinkling of urine streaming into the toilet bowls, woman #1 & woman #2 reached an agreement on one thing: they are both going to vote for McCain because his running mate is a woman, Sarah Palin.   Both women spoke of how they had very limited knowledge of McCain’s stance on most of the issues, and yet both claimed that they knew all they needed to know about Sarah Palin’s stance on the issues from the latest copy of People magazine. 

“I’ll bet she’s the first VP we’ve had in a while who can hunt, kill, dress, cook & serve dinner!”, one of them said.

“Well, it’s about time we got a woman in the White House.  I don’t care if she can hunt or not, she’s a woman so she’s got my vote!”, said the other one.

Why am I writing a letter to tell you about an overheard conversation in a ladies restroom?  It’s because that conversation scared the crap out of me and for the first time in my life, I was more scared for you and your generation than I was for my own.  Okay, so I’ve spent the past 4 years in a constant state of fear - worrying first about your brother, and then about you.  Your every little need is of concern to me and your father and we strive to meet all them all of the time.  In fact, I think it’s because your daddy and I are always “in the weeds” trying to satisfy all of the demands of parenting that we lose our perspective from time to time.  But this restroom conversation was just the jolt I needed to be reminded of all that’s at stake in this election for everyone, but especially for you, my dearest daughter.

Here’s the thing - I’m not afraid for your future because two women want to elect an ultra-conservative female politician to our nation’s highest office.  What I am afraid of is the fact that these women were very clear - they’re going to vote for Sarah Palin (not John McCain) and they’re doing so first, and foremost, because she’s a woman.  For them, “it’s about time we had a woman in the White House” is reason enough for them to cast their vote in McCain & Palin’s favor. 

When I hear men say that they’re NOT voting for McCain because his running mate is a woman, I’m forced to consider the flawed logic of my anonymous restroom pals, as well.  Both stances are equally ignorant, speaking to a thought process devoid of anything even remotely resembling intellectual rigor.  Not only is it offensive, it’s worrisome as well.  Rather than strive to raise the level of political discourse, many of my fellow women are fit to settle for a version of gender equality that results from lowering themselves to the same narrow-minded, sexist views notoriously held by so many of our pig-headed male counterparts.  Casting something so precious as your vote - your voice in the political process - soley based on something as superficial as gender is hardly dignifying the legacy of our forebearer’s sacrifices.  In fact, I’d venture to say that there are suffragists rolling in their graves listening to this kind of logic!   

I fear that my generation has become complacent.  If the two 30-somethings I overheard the other day are the tip of an iceberg, then many of my generation no longer see our human right to exercise choice in the voting booth, in the bedroom, or in the workplace as a power that comes with tremendous responsibilities; responsibilities that require thoughtful analysis and careful consideration.  Instead, as I listened to the anonymous female voters verbally cast their ballots based on a profile in People magazine, it occurred to me that the only thing they’ve really done is to cast aside their right to participate meaningfully in the political process, instead settling for the mere ability to participate at all.  That’s not how you exercise the right of choice. That’s how you walk out with an “I Voted” sticker on your lapel.

Whatever the outcome of the election this November, I just want you to know, dearest daughter, that some of us didn’t make our decisions lightly.  We tried to be active participants who read the lengthy articles in all of the different newspapers to obtain a more balanced perspective of our choices,  We tempered the media’s analysis with our own life experience and threw in a bit of judgement for good measure.  It wasn’t easy.  It was time-consuming and, for some of us, it was hard to turn our backs on such a momentous opportunity - to elect a woman Vice President - but it was a beautiful burden to bear. 

It would be nice to wrap up my letter to you with a famous woman’s quote, but in the spirit of equality, I’ll quote a famous man here.  Winston Churchill once said, “The price of greatness is responsibility.”  So true.

Do me a favor and own your greatness, okay? 

I Love You,

Mom