Sound-Off Sunday

That's right folks--it's already time for another installment of Sound-Off Sunday!  As I have mentioned, Sound-Off Sunday is an exciting, weekly post wherein I voice a common issue that drives many of us crazy.  Well, crazier, anyway.  Please let me know if you have a topic that you would like to see torn apart here.  I do not judge.  Publicly, anyway.

So, this week's Sound-Off involves the recent bane of my existence: day care.  I have been incredibly blessed over the past ten and a half months because my saint of a mother put her own life on hold in order to come to Chicago and watch my son during the day.  Having lived alone for the past decade, and as it had been 15 years since I had lived with my mom, I wasn't sure how things were going to go.  But now, near the end of her enlistment, I can honestly say that I could not have survived a single minute without her.  Sadly, however, it is nearing time for her to return to the life she put on hold for her daughter and her grandson.  Almost as sadly, this means I have to figure out what the heck to do with my kid during the day.

Seems simple enough, right?  Well, I have been looking, off and on, at day care options since before the baby was born.  In the city there are about a million choices--shockingly few of which are "acceptable."  There are Montessori schools, eco-friendly schools (where little Bobby gets to eat sprouts and spend 10 minute "Earth heal" reflection periods; I wish I were kidding), in-home day care centers and nannies.  The one common thread of these options is that they cost roughly what I paid for a year of college (yay State schools).  Per month.  And that's after you have weeded out "schools" where there are 45 children per angry teacher, the schools where you have to drive 2 hours to get the kid there, and the schools where their punishment policy is to send them out for Jimmy Johns.  Plus, when you do find a decent one, the admission is about twice as difficult to achieve than getting into Wisconson (the school, not the state--if you don't know how to get into the state, perhaps you are better suited for politics).  I now see why people say it's cheaper to have one parent stay home.  I'd be all for it, except for that no income thing. 

So my choices are to spend the next several weeks begging a decent day care center where pretentions are higher than my last law firm to watch my kid for a few hours a day, or to pay the very nice prostitute who approaches cars on Irving at 5:00 on a Tuesday to watch him.  What's a girl to do?  No, seriously, what's a girl to do?  Anyone?   

One of the most important lessons parents teach is how to get along with others--how to play nice; how to include everyone; how to help out others in need.  Unfortunately, this lesson is often met with a sorry fact of life--the clique.  Even more unfortunately, I am talking about among parents.

When I was pregnant, I immediately jumped onto the information superhighway in an effort to find other moms just like me.  I was really excited to finally be a part of an established group--we were all going through the same kinds of things, and many of us had even more in common.  So I jumped onto a popular "Motherhood Superior" type website and introduced myself.  I excitedly checked for the hundreds of comments that would welcome me with open arms into the community.  But even by day 5...nothing.  Huh.  Well, perhaps I could try a different site.  Still nothing.  Well, perhaps I could comment about a specific topic on which I happened to be experienced.  Not one word.  I was shunned by a community of women who didn't even know me.  Bitches.

So, I chalked it up to the fact that the instinctively knew I was more fun than they (what else could it be?) and moved along with life and impending motherhood.  But unfortunately, the minute I had the baby I saw that not only were parent cliques even more menacing in real-time, they were even more necessary.  Rival gangs of mom meetings throng my neighborhood, each vying for prime coffee house real estate for meetings and each presenting its own case for its superiority.  There's the over 30 group, the baby yoga group, the stroller walker group...you get the picture.  But sadly there was no group for the older, single, working, never-before-been-around-a-baby, excited and terrified mothers.  There was no group for me.  Once again, I was 15 and the designated driver for my much cooler friends.

Until recently.  A few nights ago, as I stepped out of my car with 3 bags, two boxes, one child, and countless pieces of garbage, a woman stopped to ask if I needed help.  God, yes.  Oh, with this stuff?  No, thanks.  She started to walk away, then suddenly stopped and asked if we had met before.  Yes, I think we have.  She lived a few doors down and I had always admired her seemingly perfect house, children and husband.  My son (a born flirt) smiled coyly at her and giggled, and that's all it took.  Oh, my goodness, how old is my baby?  Her eyes got big and she became excited.  Did I want advice on schools?  Was I looking for a nanny?  Was I interested in their weekly mom's night?  My brain struggled to keep up with her excitement--and mine.  This was it.  I was finally "in." 

Like high school, it took the attention of an adorable boy for the rest of the world to include me.  But it was worth it.  But as horribly infantile as cliques may be, maybe they can also be a necessary boost in our lives.  Just knowing that I have the option has meant the world to me.  I feel like I have this entire support group (in addition to my incredible support group of friends and family, of course) behind me.  I feel like I can take on the other moms because I have a gang at my back.  I feel like I should probably not admit any of this to my kid.

Martha Help Me...

Recently, I found myself doing something wholly offensive.  Well, not as offensive as the things you are undoubtedly thinking--this is a family blog, folks.  No, I found myself perusing Consumer Reports.  While this, alone, would be offensive to me 5 years ago (as you who know me are well aware), it gets worse.  I was looking at the reviews for...wait for it...sewing machines.

Yes, I--the woman who for the past decade refused to purchase any article of clothing unless it had a pretty, well-known label sewn in the back--was looking to purchase a sewing machine.  This fact would have caused my late grandmother to rise in a state of bliss.  From the time I was little, she was constantly trying to get me to do two "girl" things:  cook and sew.  And while I eventually gave into the cooking (hey, some guys think it's hot, so I went with it), I have steadfastly refused to even consider the latter.  It's gross.  Not the act, of course--sewing is not only highly practical, it is admittedly a kind of cool art form.  But it's the sheer girliness of the act.  Sewing connotes a kind of basic housekeeping skill that is the type that I have shunned for the entirety of my adult existence.  It is a terminal sin to be thought of as a woman in a law firm.  You can look like a woman (in fact, such is preferred), you may occasionally act like a woman (though free cards on this one are limited), but under no circumstances are you to actually be a woman.  It's the kiss of death.  And therefore it is a rule by which I have lived not only my work life, but my home life as well.

So why, may you ask, am I now straying from this rule?  Because I want to make my kid a blankie.  That's it.  Nothing life-changing or sinister or earth shattering.  I simply want to make a comfy lovie for my kid and I can't do that without a sewing machine.  WHO AM I???  It's crazy--such an impulse would never have crossed my brain prior to having a child.  So what is the difference?  Is it hormones?  Let's just leave that one at, I don't think so.  Is it necessity?  Nope, the kid has a million blankets.  Or is it (gasp) biology?  Have such urges always been underneath the surface, just waiting for the chance to escape?  Who knows.  All I know is that the thought of it made me vomit slightly in my mouth, before I cyber-ran, screaming, to view the Gucci spring collection.  Don't get me wrong--I will ultimately purchase the damn machine.  And I will make the stupid blanket.  But I won't like it.  Some things, no matter how ingrained, must be fought.

Routine: friend or foe?

I have alwas been a creature of habit.  Ok, that's putting it nicely.  I'm a bit...extreme.  I LOVE my routines.  For example, upon entering a hotel room in which I will be staying, I promptly put all of my things away.  Everything.  In its place.  I can't go eat first, I can't sleep first--everything must be in its spot.  Ok, that sounds strange now that I put it in writing.  But you get the idea.  I LOVE my routines.

Hangin on Tough to my routine.

With a child, routines become even more necessary.  When he eats, when he sleeps, whether he sleeps, I should say--all of these things necessarily affect daily life.  And when his routine gets messed up, the day gets crazy.  Ask any of my friends--when I am off of his routine, both he and I let the world know it.  The problem is that life (especially my life) doesn't often fit the routine perfectly.  Things come up: meetings, dinners, New Kids on the Block concerts.  All of these activities (ok, not really the last one) have the potential to create upheaval that lasts for days (ok, fine, the last one too).  So I stick to our routine to the very best of my ability.  Sure, it's not always convenient, but the trade-off is that I sleep and he sleeps and we are both relatively pleasant individuals.  It's comfortable and it makes the day work for us.

But the problem, of course, is the total destruction that comes with not following the routine, once it is...well, routine.  Not only does going off of the routine throw me for a loop, it sends me into such a state of panic, I can't function.  If it's a big routine-buster, such as a vacation or work trip or the like, the result is such a huge sense of freak-out, it takes me days to recover.  The end result is missing out on the fun things, and expanding my world even on the not so fun things, that may throw a wrench into my daily life.

So the question is, should I try to create more, smaller changes to the routine so that I may wean myself from its comforts?  Or should I simply give in and never again vary from the constant of daily life so that such chaos is kept at bay?  I ask you, dear readers, for your thoughts on this one.  Are you slaves to your daily life?  Do you vary it at all?  Are you running families and does this affect things?  Are you even out there?  Did you vote today?

Sound-off Sunday

Welcome to our weekly special that I like to call "Sound-off Sunday."  Basically, it's me griping about a topic that recently hit me--so essentially the same as any other day, except, you know, on Sunday.  Please feel free to flay me in the comments section if you disagree with my sound-offs.  I enjoy the attention.

I'll start this week's session with a question that is much harder than it sounds:  why do we have children?  Obviously if you ask this question of a million people you will get a million different answers.  But what originally prompted the question was a situation in which my friend "Rebecca" finds herself.  Rebecca's current position is that she is not planning on having any.  My response to this is: awesome.  The response she most often receives to this is: that is incredibly selfish.  Wait, what?  Not having kids is selfish?  Interesting.  I'm not sure how in a world so overpopulated we do not have enough food, jobs or safe housing for everyone, choosing not to have a kid is the selfish choice.  I am primarily certain of this because I have never in my life made a decision that wasn't 100% selfish.  And I adore my little contribution to overpopulation.  So I am fascinated by this response.

But what really prompted today's post is a show I happened to watch yesterday.  Ok, let's get this out of the way--it was on the E! channel.  When you are brain dead most of the day due to exhaustion, trust me, E! is about the most you can digest.  Anyway, the show was called "My Kid is Going to be Famous."  It was a "reality" show in which parents who put their kids in a constant parade of talent and/or beauty contests are tailed.  And it was painful.  There are many variations of this show out there, and every one makes my head and my heart hurt.  The parents are frequently either ambivalent or defiant as to the fact that they are pushing their children into events solely for the purpose of re-doing their own childhood.  The kids are frequently doing it either for their parents' love and attention or out of fear.  As I said, it's painful.  But this post is not about my judgment of other parents.  It's about not judging those who aren't.

While these kids may enjoy the activities, and while I have no doubts that they have developed precious skills as a result, I can't in good faith believe that the parents began the process for an reasons but their own.  And as I hinted above, I have yet to come up with a "public good" argument for having children.  But, again, not having kids is what is considered selfish.  So my point, dear readers, on this beautiful Sunday morning is let he among us without sin be the first to condemn (from the Rent version of The Bible).  Whether your friends, relatives, neighbors, grocers, etc. choose to or not to have children--it is his or her decision.  I advise respecting it because mirrors can be harsh.  Now please excuse me, as my son has infant golf lessons to attend.