Readily A Parent

Bird is the Word

2012-05-21T03:00:00.001-02:30

I have no clue what that means. Honestly. Why do people say "bird is the word." Is it another one of those inane pop culture references I don't get? Do "people" even say it, or is a Newfoundland thing?

I remember hearing a song ages ago tha referenced that line, but it was an old song. So why is it all new again? I know I could google this and find the answer in moments, but I refuse to. Cause I can't frigging keep up with these language culture intrustions that I just don't get.

Would you like a "for instance?" No, I know you wouldn't. But I got nothing better to write about tonight.

Actually, I do, but I haven't got the time to invest in a good post. So you're stuck with me moaning about language and pop culture and the death of meaning again.

Sorry bout that.

No. Not really.

Some examples of words and phrases (I did the icons thing last time, you didn't really think I was done moaning about how meaningless modern life truly is, did you?) that annoy me, confuse me, or make me gassy with intolerance are:

Chuffed
Where the hell did this word come from all of a sudden? Why is every second FB update now "I'm well chuffed that..." What is my problem with this?

Okay, well, first of all, I hate anything that's overused. It's kinda like I hate sandwiches because I ate one every day, Monday to Friday, from age six to age twelve. There's something about overexposure that just turns my stomach.

Second of all, I don't always know what it means. And I hate not knowing stuff. But it's not me being a moron. It actually is one of those words with dual, opposing meanings. So you're either pleased, proud, ecstatically happy when you use it or displeased, slightly disgruntled, maybe even crazily apoplectic when you use it.

If you say, for instance, "I was chuffed that the baby was born looking so much like my wife," do I take that to mean that you think your wife is beautiful and are adamantly proud that the baby looks like her? Or does it mean that you suspect your wife was getting it on with another bloke and were hoping the baby's nose would be a tell?

See the problem here?

Finally. Chuffed. It's a sound train engines make. I think of Thomas the Tank Engine whenever I read or hear it. And I've managed to avoid the obsession with Thomas with both my boys. Think of the poor mothers who haven't. Take pity on them. You monsters!

So now I've pissed off most of you by letting you know that when you open your mouths all I hear is train engines switching tracks, how about some more examples? Yeah, I knew you'd be interested.

Okay, how about
(fill in the blank) Nazi
La Leche League does not burn babies in the hot fires of their oppresive view that formula fed children are lesser thans. Grammarians do not stick you in the gas chamber for using it's when you should've used its. And that dude on Seinfeld that wouldn't sell the soup - totally not like starving people for months on end while forcing them to engage in slave labour and playing petty little experiments on what they would do to prevent starvation.

Henceforth, unless you are referring to this man

or his followers, don't use the word Nazi. Be inventive. Come up with a word that actually means something other than a political idealogy opposed to the parasitical behaviours of Jews.

Oh, did that description make you cringe and squirm a little? Well that's what the word means. That and idealogically driven, crazed killer of anyone that did not meet the criteria of selection for the master race (okay, well maybe people who confuse its and it's do belong in that part..... kidding)

I'm allowed to joke about its vs. it's because I'm one of those fast-typing retards that makes that mistake sometimes without even thinking about it.

Either word in that sentence give you pause? One of those words people use without even thinking about it? Want to talk about cringe-worthy phrasing? If I hear you use the word retard in an offhanded or insulting way than I assume you're the village fool.

It's true. I've used the word on very rare occasions myself, with people I love and trust, to indicate its actual, literal meaning - that of the condition of being arrested in development.

But call me politcally correct Chrissy, I would never use it publically or in a joking way. Anyone that's read my stuff knows I take offense with words used to describe certain peoples used as insults. Or the way we just plain insult people by making fun of their differences. And I hate the way pop culture has gloamed onto this particular one again.

Gah. Heh. OMG. You asshats using these words make me want to *facepalm.

Photo Credit

Things I'm Not Cool Enough to Love

2012-04-25T01:53:00.001-02:30

I just don't get it.

There are these things that EVERYONE loves. And it's kinda like that thing that EVERYONE knew back in Elementary School where you pretended to know it too and would totally play along but were always afraid of getting caught as being THE ONE PERSON who doesn't really understand it.

And I'm sick of lying and worrying about getting caught. It's just too much stress everytime I open FB or Twitter and see these posts. I mean, I HAVE to respond, right? Cause if I don't, people might realise that I have NO FRIGGING CLUE what they're talking about. But if I respond inappropriately, well, then everyone will know I'm just a GREAT BIG FAKER.

Of course, the response seems to just be to repeat the name of the thing that's cool.

For instance:

If someone posts a picture like this


Photo Credit

The appropriate response is "OMG! Ryan Gosling." - hint: if he looks like you might recognise him from some movie and the photo is being posted by a female who is also being all gushy about him than 99.9% certainty it is, indeed, Ryan Gosling. Another clue would be if he has a smarmy hipster photoshopped phrase appearing over his picture saying something like "Girl, you go dip yourself a cool drink of well water while I pluck that chicken and stoke the fire to roast it."

If, for some reason you suspect it may not be Ryan Gosling - hint: it always is - than you can say something more generic like "OMG! Loves him!" Or you can repeat part of the photoshopped phrase with "He can" proceeding it, like"He can stoke my fire any day" or "He can pluck my chicken whenever he wants."

The thing I don't get though is, well, why the heck is everyone in love with Ryan Gosling? And how do I hire his publicist?

But it's not just Ryan Gosling I don't get. I also don't get this:

Photo Credit

I mean, I like bacon as an occasional treat - if my kids leave me any. And as a child I was totally amused by the fact that it was the PIG'S ASS that it came from - I told ALL my friends. And everytime I ate it I said "mmmmm, asssssssss," which usually earned me a slap across the head from my mother but was totally worth it. Yet, okay, childhood reminiscence aside, WHAT THE HECK is it with bacon? I don't even get the bacon obsession but what I REALLY don't get is the food-made-to-look-and-taste-like-bacon lovefest that's going on on the interwebs. Cause, yeah, bacon....it's the pig's ass (I am totally going to appropriate that phrase now to refer to things that are totally cool but you don't know why).

Anyway, I am well trained enough to realise that the expected response when a friend posts this is "OMG! Bacon!" or, if you're not absolutely certain if it's supposed to resemble bacon or not but it is definitely a foodstuff than you can say "omnomnom" (a phrase which I also don't get). And if it's like some crocheted semblance of bacon and especially if they've announced they made it themselves, you are not to respond with "what the fuck is that and why did you waste your time making it and punish my eyes with this photo of it?" The appropriate response is "Cute!" (please, do not forget the exclamation marks! Without them one may doubt your sincerity, especially if you have a tendency toward sarcasm!)

There are other things I really don't get, like

those supposed "spank bank" images for women of men doing housework. (I prefer sex to clean floors, personally)
cats with big eyes (totally scary and weird - they already stalk you)
adult mouths imposed on children's faces (creepy and never done right)
cupcakes made to look like anything but cupcakes (what's wrong with cupcakes? They're no pig's ear; they're silk purses. Leave em alone)
food porn in general (food only makes me wet when I spill soup in my lap)
big tits - you know, the really humungous ones (is there such a thing as too big? Like if she needs to hold them up with both hands and have counterbalancing silicone implanted in her ass?)

But they're a little more complicated and require more than just repeating the name of the image back. Of course, now that I've given away just how uncool I am no one is going to want to continue to read my blog anyway. BUT if you decide to take pity on nerdy ol' me than I'll write more on those other things I don't get later. I might even write seriously about them. Who knows.

One thing I do know is that I'm craving a cupcake made to look like Ryan Gosling but that tastes like bacon right now.

Not.

Dear Randy - and the Rest: An Apology - of sorts.

2012-04-17T10:25:00.000-02:30

Dear Randy,

I do apologise for two things:

I singled you out in my last post. After hearing the audio I realise that it was not just you that was offensive, it was the entire HitsFM morning crew. You did not deserve to be singled out. Your entire station was at fault.
I titled my last post on this issue “Don’t Be a Boob.” I intended that to be merely a play on fairly innocent words. However, as was pointed out to me, it could be taken as an insult. I freely admit that I did not consider that at that time and I am fully repentant if you felt insulted by it. I have offered to change the title. I have not done so yet because there are comments about that title, and to change it would make those comments look ridiculous and put them completely out of context. If you were offended, are offended, by my use of that phrase, I will immediately change it. It was not my intention to personally insult you.

Dear Randy, Kayleigh, and Brian,

I do not apologise for saying that your comments were offensive. They were. Nor for saying they were ignorant. They were. The fact that you – and those who support you – continue to argue that they were not frankly sickens me. If someone – especially more than one person – indicates to you that you were offensive, than you must understand that you did, indeed, offend them.
Whether the intent was there to be offensive or not is not important.

I have seen the “apologies” to some who wrote in. You continue to argue that people should not be offended. Well, I was. And after hearing from a number of other people who were, I decided to stand up for our rights.

What you said and the tone in which you said it was not directed solely at Mayim Bialik. You made very general, sweeping statements about women who breastfeed and especially those who do it for longer than what you (and any number of opinionated but wrong people, as I’ve come to realise) consider “normal.”

Even if they had been directed solely at Mayim, how does that make it any better? Insult one person or insult a group of people, you’re still insulting.

If such comments had been made about the colour of her skin, her physical ability, her sexuality or any other identifiable “minority” concern it would not have been tolerated and could’ve even fallen under hate speech. But us breastfeeders are just a bunch of dippy women who don’t realise how gross we are. So we need comments like “ewww” and “there’s being attached and then there’s that…”

Those will set us straight.

In fact such statements are not only offensive but are part and parcel of a culture of shaming that takes place for women who breastfeed, and especially upon some pie-in-the-sky best age for weaning. They are sexually discriminatory. And they lead to a culture of bullying

Since responding to your comments I have been accused of any number of things. Foremost is that I am bullying you. I maintain that I did nothing of the sort. I have heard public comments made that you have received insults over this. I did not send them. And I certainly have not seen them.

Had I seen them, I would’ve immediately contacted the person posting them and asked that they not turn this into a personal issue. After hearing Paddy Daly express on his backtalk show that you had been attacked I combed through every facebook group and tweet I could find to identify where these attacks were occurring. I didn’t find any. I personally contacted people who said you had been attacked to ask where. I received no response.

I assure you that my comments were made only in direct response to yours and that they were voiced by me because I had been asked by a number of other women to speak to this issue. A number of other women who were also offended.

Certainly being a public figure making public comments you understand that there are times people will disagree with you. I have personally received hate mail and even haphazard death threats over things I have written about. It’s part of stating things publically, especially when you decide to take on an “issue.” That does not excuse it. But I can’t believe you were entirely surprised.

Regardless, as stated, had I been able to locate the source of these apparent attacks, I would’ve immediately called for their cessation. I don’t believe in personally attacking anyone over their opinion. I don’t support it. I will never support it. If I did I would not be myself. I would, indeed, hate myself.

On the other hand, the vast number of personal attacks against me are very public. They began on Twitter. These comments were fully sexually harassing. They were personally offensive. And they were downright nasty. At that time I checked and both the HitsFm twitter account and VOCMBacktalk were following at least one of the aggressive tweeters. After attempting to ignore them, then asking them to stop, the barrage continued. No one defended me. No one stepped in and asked them to stop. I was left to deal with this on my own. I did it the best way I knew how, by answering like with like.

I would never had sat back and watched something similar unfold towards you.

Once I was finally able to get those comments to stop, I was asked, by other women who had been offended by your comments, if I would be calling into Paddy Daly’s show to discuss the issue. It had been made clear that it would be discussed, and these women feared that the only callers would be those that hold the same opinion as you: that what we do as nursing mothers is gross and despicable.
We’ve all heard it before. Many times. Our only surprise was that it came from such a public identity.

Trust me. I had other things to do. But I also had work to do for my community. I am a breastfeeding advocate - as I am an advocate for any other number of things. And when I am told that someone is afraid to speak but that they feel strongly about an issue, I do borrow their voice and speak for them. Because I’ve been there. I’ve done that. I knew it would draw the anger of ignorant people and the attention of trolls.

So I called in to Backtalk. I was shouted down when I tried to explain how your comments were offensive. My integrity and that of my friends was called into question. And finally I was asked why, if breastmilk (not, mind you, breastfeeding) was so important for my child, well why don’t I just pump off my milk and feed it to him in a cup so that no one can make rude comments.

Why don’t all the gay kids getting bullied at school stop acting so gay so they don’t get bullied?
Why don’t black people just stick with their own kind so that they don’t suffer racism?
Why don’t rape victims just shut up about the whole thing so no one can accuse them of being over-dramatic or lying?
Why don’t the disabled stop asking for all these accommodations if they don’t want to stand out?

Why? Because to ask a member of a minority group to change their actions, behaviours, or thoughts in order to accommodate the social desirability of the majority group is oppression. It is wrong. It is disgusting. And it goes against everything I – and I thought you – believe in.

And I won’t even get into the specifics of how ridiculous it is to ask a woman to spend time and money pumping just so you can be comfortable. And I'll try not to point out that you don't need to SEE a woman breastfeed to know she does breastfeed - I'm not ashamed of the fact that I breastfeed my son and I won't hide it.

As a result of the attention garnered –mostly because of the way I was attacked by your supporters -I was asked to speak on CBC radio about breastfeeding. At the time I was told that it would not be about Randy Snow. And , for the most part, it was not. It was about the comments and the culture those comments come from.

And popular media is a big part of that culture. Such a big part that people who don’t know me were encouraged to attack me because Randy Snow said he was being attacked, despite the fact that none of these people had seen these attacks. And I don’t doubt that some personal emails were received that were insulting. But I had nothing to do with that. Although the general public seems to think otherwise.

I’ve received personal emails too – ones telling me to “lay off Randy, he’s a nice guy.” And I don’t doubt that he is. In fact, that’s what I was counting on when I wrote my last post – that his decency would allow him to see how hurtful those comments were. But I never “laid on” Randy to begin with. I responded to your public comments and then I tried to clear up misconceptions about the length of time a woman should breastfeed. That is all.

For your station and your fans to say that none of this was a big deal and it means nothing is obviously a stretch of the truth. For if it hadn’t been a big deal it would’ve died. I’ve posted before about things that have offended me. They don’t always get that kind of attention. CBC contacted me because this was a story. And I accepted the interviews because as an advocate I saw it as a chance to spread a message of tolerance for breastfeeding mothers.

What it comes down to is this. This one of just a few “apology” letters I’ve seen:

What was said yesterday was in no way meant to come across as soapboxing or judgemental. What a woman chooses to do with her body and her children is entirely her choice. We would never begin to tell her what she is doing is wrong when it comes to something so personal.

The only reason it ever came up is that it was from Mayim Bayalik. Not that she isn't entitled to share her thoughts on the topic and very well could be an authority on it. It is just that she played Blossom and what we deal in primarily is pop culture.

We are actually surprised by the feedback we are getting from it. Not contructive opinions like yours but some people are being downright nasty over comments that we didn't think were in anyway controversial.

Thanks for your feedback though. It is never a bad thing to open a dialogue.

I opened a dialogue. I was attacked. During that dialogue you had a chance to see:

How many women and families were also offended.
How your comments are part of a bigger picture of shaming breastfeeding women for a multitude of supposed “sins.”
That this is an issue of national interest, given the sharing of the news items via CBC and MSN.

You claim you weren’t being purposefully offensive? Than apologise. Because the only other alternative is that you were purposefully offensive and you’re not willing to apologise. People were offended. You’ve seen why. Your comments were hurtful and yet very recognisable to many of us. What hurts the most, though, is that you won't simply acknowledge this and apologise, but instead encourage a backlash against those who were offended.

This is the point where you say “I’m sorry.”

It’s what I would do in your shoes.

Comments Policy

2012-04-14T17:52:00.000-02:30

Before I write my next post I would like to point out the new comments policy.

From now on, I will no longer respond to “anonymous” comments. Here on my blog, in my writing and other work as well as out “there” in the online world, my name and face accompany everything I say. I do this to keep myself honest. I do this to maintain my integrity. You don’t have to agree. So I have left the ability to comment anonymously open. However I will not respond to such comments and if they are inflammatory, I will remove them.

This applies across the board. If you agree with me but do so in an inflammatory way or by personally attacking another commenter your comment will also be deleted

I am sorry it has come to this, but far too many supposed adults do not have the integrity to stand behind what they say. I understand that at times, for personal reasons, people may want to remain anonymous which is why I have left the ability. But I will not tolerate abuse of anonymity.

Only once before have I deleted a comment, ironically also on a post about breastfeeding. In it, the comment author publically and personally attacked another commenter in a way I found offensive and inflammatory.

On only one other occasion before now have I stated I would delete comments. Also on a very charged issue. One in which I laid out what I see to be my role as an advocate. You might want to read that to get an idea of where I’m coming from.

Photo Credit (remixed)

Did You Know?

2012-04-12T20:46:00.002-02:30

Did you know that breastfeeding protects against breast cancer? It really does. Indeed, for every year of breastfeeding, breast cancer risk is lowered by approximately 4%.

Did you know that girls that are breastfed also have a lowered risk - 17% according to one study - of developing breast cancer as an adult? (although apparently for first born children this lowered risk is not seen).

Did you know that on Friday, April 13th, HitsFM, of previous blog fame, will be having a Pay and Play event to raise funds for the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation?

What a perfect pair, breastfeeding promotion and breast cancer fundraising! (Yes, that pun was intended)

And did you know that there are some great breastfeeding songs out there?

Like this Hip Hop Number, "Food For Thought," by Njeri Earth.

There's this one, too, though they probably can't play it on the radio as I'm not sure there's an audio recording:

Then there's the animated version of the punk rock all-mom band The Mothers song Milk Pistols, transformed into the Cowgirls (note, if requesting this song it is by The Mothers, not the Cowgirls, but this is the video)

Dear Randy Snow: Don't Be a Boob

2012-04-11T01:16:00.003-02:30

Dear Randy Snow,

I could write you as a parenting columnist. Or as a parenting advocate. I could write as a breastfeeding advocate or in some kind of official role.

But I'm writing as a parent. As the mother of a three and a half year old boy, like Mayim Bialik's Fred. Like Fred, my boy also continues to nurse. In all the things I do day-to-day parenting-wise, it's the one thing I KNOW I'm not doing wrong. The one thing. Honestly.

But, apparently, you think it's wrong. I'm not sure why. I have no idea why you even had to comment on it. And why that comment had to be so judgmental and offensive is beyond me. The truth is, Randy, I didn't hear your comment. Because, frankly, I'm not a listener. But I heard of your comment and the tone in your voice as you ridiculed Mayim for continuing to breastfeed.

"In the book, she talks about how she breastfeeds her three-and-a-half-year-old son, Fred. Three and a half! What?! I just got over Alicia Silverstone's bird-feeding thing with her son, and now this?!"

UPDATE: You can access the audio here. It wasn't just Randy and it's worse than I originally reported. Scroll down to the media player: 99.1HitsFM
UPDATE2: They've taken it down. I meant to record it before they did. But, you know, life gets in the way.

But do you know, Randy, that when you said that, you didn't just ridicule Mayim. You didn't even "just" ridicule every mother out there who breastfeeds into the toddler and preschool years. You ridiculed children. Little three-and-a-half-year old children. Your ridiculed MY SON, Randy. And that's not acceptable. Not in the least.

It might seem wrong to you, that my son, who indeed is no longer a baby, continues to breastfeed. But it has nothing to do with you. Nothing at all. And unlike the standard stunned member of the public at the mall, you're a voice that people listen to. So when you comment on something that has nothing to do with you two things happen:

You strengthen the voice of those who also feel appropriate commenting on things that have nothing to do with them - their judgmental opinion is now "celebrity-endorsed."
You feed into a systemic cultural practice of judging - especially parents - on things that are a matter of personal choice.

And the third thing you do? Watch this video clip of my little boy. Pay careful attention to the 55 second mark.

You make my son question something he loves.

Read that again, Randy. And let it sink in... you made a little boy feel sad.

My son loves breastfeeding. It's not the only thing he loves, but, yes, it's in his top-ten for sure. He loves the bonding time with me. He loves the "deelicious" milk. He loves how it soothes and relaxes him.

And I love it too. The part I especially love is knowing that I am doing everything humanly possible to grant him a long and healthy life. My milk didn't suddenly lose its health benefits and antibodies or even its nutritive value when he turned one or two years old. It's all still there. And given that he has a disorder that means that tumours can grow in his body anytime anywhere and breastmilk is the one known safe anti-tumorgenic substance I can give him, guess what? I'm not going to stop. No matter what you think or say.

But my son is sad. He's sad because people like you see fit to comment on something that he loves. They tell him he's too old for it. Or that big boys don't need it. Or even that it's foolish. People say these things to my son and it confuses him and saddens him.

And now you, a public figure, have said it. And I can't let that go. You hurt my son. You hurt the other three and four and five year olds that may have listened to your show and heard your painful words. You hurt the mothers who are trying only to do what's best for their child.

I'm not going to pay a lot of attention to what you said, Randy, because frankly I never do. We don't listen to HitsFM. We're pretty much CBC people, occasionally K-Rock, and when we want to dance in the kitchen while making supper, we tune into OZFM.

But a lot of people will pay attention. It saddens me that in a province with lowest breastfeeding rates in the nation, where our government and health authorities are working tirelessly to promote breastfeeding, someone like you can undermine all that work with a single, thoughtless, throw-away statement.

To them, all I can say is "who is Randy Snow." And what right does he have to dictate what you do? My kids understand it, I hope your audience does too...

And Now For Something Completely Different

2012-03-23T02:07:00.000-02:30

You ever have one of those weeks where your children don't sleep? At all. And everything you plan to do at night when they're in bed - all those selfish things you do for yourself, like blog, don't get done?

Yeah. I'm having one of those. So although I want to respond to the comments on my last post and I also wanted to get a post up for World Poetry Day, I haven't and I didn't.

Better late than never right?

I was working on something else but it's turning out good enough that I might submit it somewhere. So can't share with ye lot. Sorry. You get one from the dustbin instead. Pleased? I'm sure you are.

An Ocean of Contrary

My son is an array

of outward tags and haphazard buttons

gaudily adorned with

hasty, crooked tie and

blanketswept hair.

School mornings are misery:

face fogged with the envy

of unpossessed playmates,

pockets stuffed with

provoking toys.

At night he becomes

a squawking seagull:

voice shrilling down darkened hallway;

wings beating against the mattress.

The blanket lifts in the sweep of them.

Morning spits out

a flagged turtle.

Stilted and slow his eyes shatter open.

Hatred pours from his surface

like the smell of tar in summer.

Front door open and shoulder

slung with day’s weapons,

his wave freezes in crescendo

as he smiles the words I love you,

and screams at the gathering snow.

False Feminists in Politics

2012-03-18T03:39:00.000-02:30

I still remember when Kim Campbell became the first female Prime Minister of Canada. As a young teenager looking for female role models and tiring of Thatcher and Mother Theresa as my sole sources (okay, perhaps I exaggerate), I was excited to see a feminist representative leading our country. Sure she got the job by default, but hey, we'll take it however we can get it. It was easy to get swept up in the fanfare of her victory.

Yet, despite Campbell's assertions otherwise, she was not really a feminist. Sure, she said she was, claimed she was raised to be one. However she made the distinction that "all feminists do not necessarily walk in ideological lockstep." (The Politics of Kim Campbell).

Really? Because feminism is a concept, an ideal, a philosophy and a way of life. Merely believing that women should have equal opportunity or equal rights does not make you a feminist. I know it's confusing because every woman out there who has a bit of brain in her will declare herself a feminist and put her own spin on it, but feminism is not about individual freedoms, nor is it about equality - not solely. How can it be? All people are not equal, so creating equality for women, well what does that look like? Will we be equal to the white, upper class, post-doc educated men? Or to the black, immigrant, non-English speaking men?

So what is feminism, you might ask? It's too complicated to explain, right? Not really. Feminism is the fight to end sexist oppression. As a fight, it involves action. It's not something you can give mouth space to only. And in ending sexist oppression, it seeks to end ALL sexist oppression. Not just one or two areas that are easy to deal with - like rape laws - as Campbell did.

If we look at feminism according to bell hooks' definition and understand the true interconnectedness of feminism with all struggles against supremacist capitalism than it's damn near impossible for someone such as Campbell to be a feminist. Campbell would argue that one can be a feminist without being left-leaning. But I'm not sure it's even possible to be a politician and a feminist, by rights. And it is certainly impossible to be a Conservative politician, engaged in creating wealth gaps and slashing social programming and still consider oneself a feminist.

And yet, in general, we swallow it hook, line and sinker when a woman rises to a position of power and declares herself a feminist. It's taken as both proof of the validity of the feminist promise and a victory of sorts when they do. But herein lies one of the largest dangers of false feminism, especially with regards to politics. For if some white, upper middle class women make their way into politics, or the heads of boardrooms, or CEOs of major companies, than we find ourselves facing the argument that the fight for equality is over. Wente is one of the white, upper-middle class elites who would have us believe this. I responded to her arguments before.

Not only does this false promise lead to backlash against feminists for promoting a "movement" that is no longer necessary, but often those women in the positions of power simultaneously undermine feminist principles by declaring their more left-leaning female colleagues "radical" or "liberal" feminists. I don't believe there's such a thing as a conservative feminist, but that's an argument for another day. They also tend to misrepresent feminism in order to further their own political goals.

Campbell was the first female Prime Minister of Canada, just as Kathy Dunderdale is the first female Premier of Newfoundland and Labrador. Their rise to the penultimate position was similar - a sort of default. Dunderdale was given the nod by outgoing premier Danny Williams. There was no chance the PC party would lose the following election, so she was pretty much guaranteed her spot. Not that I don't believe Campbell nor Dunderdale put in the work to get their positions - but it's unfortunate that it came about the way it did, because it does allow the patriarchy to question the validity of their advancement, thus questioning the validity of any woman's advancement. By painting themselves as feminists and claiming their victory as a female victory, they paint us all like them.

There's risk in that. For individual achievements are not truly achievements for your gender. Feminism is not about an Oprah Winfrey style life. It's about making life better for all - even your political opponent, believe it or not. And this is where Dunderdale, in particular, completely fails. She started out claiming that she was bring a different perspective to politics, as a woman. Well, others have shown how false a concept that is. Merely being a woman doesn't make her approach any different than those of the men in her party. If she truly were a feminist, yes, there would be a difference.

Under Dunderdale's leadership, we saw the promise of a huge investment in childcare. And yet, what did it amount to? Pouring more money into a system that has been acknowledged worldwide not to work. Meanwhile, one of her cabinet members made it clear that parents using childcare outside the province's licensing were responsible for any abuses in care. Two women, leading our province, who would rather protect their party's status quo than protect women and children. Does that sound like any kind of feminism to you?

She promised action on employment insurance for women and parents, but she hasn't done a thing about it since.

She threw her support behind a Prime Minister who is perhaps the very antithesis of feminist principles.

But most the most disgusting, the most revolting undermining of feminist power and principle that she has engaged in happened just recently, during the House, when the topic of a "threatening" phonecall to one of her cabinet members came up. Kathy Dunderdale, former social worker and self-declared feminist, sat by while members of her party used International Women's Day and the very real issue of gendered violence to attack an opposing member.

I've read the Hansard transcripts of that day, but the whole event is best summarised in Geoff Meeker's blog. Jerome Kennedy, Minister of Natural Resources, rose to "defend" Joan Burke, Minister of Advanced Education and skills, from a phonecall, that was indeed harsh and perhaps even threatening, though I doubt it was truly intimidating, that came from Jim Bennett, Member for St. Barbe (and a Liberal).

As if it weren't bad enough that Kennedy painted himself as a defender of poor, weak, female Burke, he then goes on to compare the phonecall Burke received to sexual and spousal abuse. He completely degrades real victims of gendered violence by using the social construct of it to defend his own actions in delaying the report of this phonecall. According to Kennedy,

One of the myths that were debunked many years ago, Mr. Speaker, in terms of violence against women and reporting of everything from sexual abuse to spousal abuse was that people act immediately. There are situations, Mr. Speaker, in which people do not know what to do.

Yeah, you read that right. Not only does he minimise the true extent of such violence by using it in comparison to a single, slightly threatening phonecall, he also shows an utter lack of awareness behind the real reasons for delayed reporting or not reporting sexual and domestic violence. Perhaps someone ought to direct Kennedy to the #ididnotreport hashtag on Twitter. Fear, shame, accommodation, these are some real reasons for not reporting violence. It not being a convenient time to upset the opposing party's plans for debate is, unremarkably, not.

I can't believe that Dunderdale, who has been a member of women's status groups and worked as a social worker, would've not seen the significance of Kennedy's statements. The moment I read the transcript it was like a punch in the gut. But Dunderdale, leader of the party, Premier of the province, and supposed women's rights supporter, did nothing to halt Kennedy's ongoing attack against victims of violence.

He raises the comparison again, later in the transcripts. And again, nothing is said nor done, except by opposing members.

I'm not naive enough to think that Dunderdale would've stood up in the house and told Kennedy to shut his big gob. But I do know that she could've stopped him, at the very least stopped the comparisons he was trying to draw, quietly. And I suspect she knew exactly what he was going to say before the House opened that day.

False feminism is one thing; declaring your personal victories as feminist victories is one thing; but exploiting the real suffering of women in order to draw false conclusions for political gain? That's sexist oppression. The very thing feminism stands against.

Island Snow

2011-12-06T21:06:00.000-03:30

Look I'm updating my blog!

Nothing all kinds of awesome. It's just that I wrote this for the CBC Canada Writes challenge for True Winter Stories. And I didn't get shortlisted (booo!!!). So I figure I'll share it with you lot.

Here you go. It's not completely true, but it's that first winter in Newfoundland as I remember it.

Island Snow

Winter followed on the heels of our moving van. We drove across the island, shadowed by it, two or three weeks behind. By the time the last box was unpacked or placed in the attic, it whispered around our new-to-us house with whisps of wind and casual frosty dustings.

As we settled into our new neighbourhood, the cold settled into the earth. Never before had I seen grass crack under the weight of its own iciness. Or watched the sweat bead into frozen teardrops on my father’s face.

Painting "Frozen Rocks" by Vadim Vaskovsky.
To see more of his Newfoundland scenes visit http://www.vaskovsky.com/art-island.html

The cold preceded the snow by a good two weeks. We struggled into sweaters, frozen in waiting. New friends laughed at our talk of ice-skating and sledding. They looked at our ankle-high boots, then at each other, secretive eyebrows raised.

It started at night. It was still coming in the morning. Between the frost-rimed windows and the whitened sky, it was hard to tell where one dimension ended and the other began. Everything was blurred and dulled –softened by the thud of snow.

It continued for two days straight.

On the third day, we rose to the glare of a sun-glared field of snow, ice crystals reflecting harsh light into our morning windows.

It crunched beneath our feet, bruised our knuckles inside our woolen mitts.

Gone was the barbed wire-fence. Gone, the trickly river behind us. Gone, all the toys and tools we’d carelessly dropped.

It reached halfway to the roof of our shed. It seemed like walls pressing in on us, the gradual pressure transforming us into something harder, more finely formed.

The cold broke. Inside our multi-layered, multi-piece snowsuits, we sweltered. Two pairs of mitts and wool socks inside boots seemed excessive; we snuck behind the shed and stripped down to sweater and snowpants, soggy woolen mittens dangling from our sleeves.

My eldest brother discovered that the distance between the top of the snowdrift and the roof of the shed was the exact length of his body. It didn’t take us long to scrabble up his back, over his shoulders and onto the slippery tarred roof. It took even less time to discover that once our bodies had broken through the jagged edges of ice-crust a few times, the snow beneath was soft and wet.

We jumped, climbed and jumped again all afternoon. Carefully avoiding the barbed wire fence beneath and our mother’s eyes at the window, we crafted a replacement for ice-skating and sledding that embraced the abundance of snow.
Eventually the holes our bodies slammed into the snow became deeper. Wet slush sucked at our boots as we climbed up to the new ground level. The layers we had abandoned beckoned us with their warmth and dryness.

Back behind the shed we forced wet, swollen, woolen sweater-clad arms back into coats, sank into the snow, and sucked the dangling blobs of ice from the long hairs of our mitts.

Later, the holes we had created became tunnels. A world was built beneath the snow’s surface.

Stones and Rubble

2011-08-01T18:28:00.000-02:30

Stones and Rubble

Here is what I want to tell you:

About the time I saw a boy, standing ghoulishly alone on a dark road, his presence a terror we swerved from.
Where? I wondered. Why? Again.

There was a leaf that fell once as I was climbing, scaling the park’s sentinel, rough bark gritting through thighs, legs wrapped around and arms outstretched. Its falling was a murky dream through water. Three times it flipped upon itself, twisted in the wind and flew. Still green, still lively, broken from my shaking, flying, wind-driven, to its death.

When tears leap to eyes, do all throats close off? Choking on mourning, unable to swallow, frozen eyes as thoughts leap like freed backyard frogs behind them. I wonder this.

Moments frozen in memories become rocks in the stomach, lading the heart with grit and stone.

Worm-gnawed flashes of your skin and smile. Worried laughter pipes through terror. Chips of mortar fell from you in dust so fine it was not noticed.

The boy stood braced to the darkness, a mask of lumpy misproportions. At his feet, roadside rubble.

Justice for Ayn: #BlogforAyn

2011-07-22T01:36:00.001-02:30

This past week I wrote about a stunning case of child "protective" services gone awry in Abbotsford, BC.

Ayn, an impish and beautiful nine year old girl with severe autism was taken from her family based on the assumption that her father - with two other children one of whom is also severly autistic - has more than he can handle.

When ministry workers told Derek, her father, that they wanted to take Ayn, he - like any parent - said, essentially, "over my dead body." And now, because he hasn't signed an agreement that states he voluntarily let them take her, he's facing an ongoing uphill legal battle to get her home.

Let me put it on the line here: Ayn is not neglected; Ayn is not abused. Ayn is not in immediate danger - not any more than any of our children.

However, since she's gone into care, Ayn has been subjected to abuse and neglect and is in plenty of danger.

The abuse: Within 70 hours of going into care, Ayn was put on two antipsychotic medications (risperdal and seroquel - both used typically to treat schizophrenia). Ayn has not been medicated before. Derek nor Ayn's mother approved drugs for their daughter. Since then she's also been put on another powerful antipsychotic (Chlorpromazine) which is administered at twice the recommended daily dosage for her age!

The neglect: For 18 days straight little Ayn cried for her daddy. Finally, on the 19th day, ministry workers asked Derek for a photograph to give to her. Is letting a child cry for 18 days straight not neglect?

The danger: Everytime Ayn acts out, she is medicated. Everytime Ayn asks for her Daddy, she is told he's not coming. Everytime Ayn cries, her father cannot hold her. She is being cared for by people who do not love her and would rather drug her than cope with her autistic behaviours. Does that not sound dangerous to you?

Ayn deserves better. Derek deserves better. Our society deserves to be better than this.

What can you do?
No one can force the ministry to give Ayn back. But together we can raise our voices to show them that the world is watching and they better treat Ayn - and Derek - better than this.

>> First I would urge you to familiarise yourself with the story. Read my column, join the facebook group or check out the news coverage of this case.

>> Then, please, go sign the petition.

>> If you can spare any money, consider donating to help pay for legal fees and experts. This fundraising site, created by Kat over at Kat's Cafe also features a widget you can add to your blog to encourage others to donate.

>> If you blog yourself, please, blog about Ayn. You can come back here and link in. You can also tweet your blog post under the #BlogforAyn hashtag and we'll make sure it gets seen by everyone! If you don't blog, but are on Twitter, feel free to RT the #BlogforAyn tweets to help spread the news.

>> Finally, if you've signed the petition and are wondering what kind of difference your one click will make, consider extending your influence by writing to those who have the power to reverse this decision:

Prime Minister Stephen Harper
Office of the Prime Minister
80 Wellington Street
Ottawa, ON K1A 0A2
Canada
Fax: (613) 941-6900
E-mail: pm@pm.gc.ca

Premier Christy Clark
Premier of British Columbia
Parliament Buildings
Victoria, BC, V8V 1X4
Canada
Fax: (250) 387-0087
E-mail: Christy@christyclark.ca

and

Mary McNeil
Minister of Children and Family Development
Room 306 Parliament Buildings
Victoria, BC V8V 1X4
Canada
Fax: (250) 387-9722
E-mail: mary.mcneil.mla@leg.bc.ca

Please do read what some other fabulous bloggers have to say about Ayn's story. If you're blogging it, link in here:

Things Left Unsaid

2011-06-28T22:34:00.000-02:30

Chantal Joffe, Yellow Raincoat
courtesy of http://www.likeyou.com/en/node/15189

… What you don’t know

Is that I have always told you

The truth, covered up under

A yellow rain slicker….

- Stephanie Hemphill

And sometimes the rain pours so hard that the raincoat becomes slicked to my body – a second skin. The covered truth burrows inside, warm and cozy under my heart. It bangs against my ribs when it wants set free. But the tumbling of the rain drowns out its knocking.

What wouldn’t you blog about? What do you leave unsaid?

I’m a private person – which I know is somewhat of a dichotomous place to be as a “life blogger” (I much prefer that term to “mommy blogger”) and a family columnist. After all, I discuss my life and my family in all forms of media. And I have always told the truth.

But that doesn’t mean I tell all the truth, or that the layers of truth have not become firmly glued into a plywood of a story – planks for building public houses.

I have read other bloggers discuss their husband’s suicide, their own suicide attempts, their children’s special needs, their path to fertility, even just their insecurities. And I don’t think it’s wrong to write about those things. But I wouldn’t.

Sure I’ve touched upon my sons’ illnesses, my husband’s struggles. But those are not my stories to tell. I will not be the actor who upstages before the soliloquy has even started.

And so there are things left unsaid. Things that maybe would help you understand the things I have said. And there are things buried deep under the truth, like burrowed animals in the winter, waiting for the thaw when they’ll drag themselves out ravenous and hungry for the world.

What wouldn’t you blog about? It’s a strange question, because it asks you to answer a negative. I know bloggers – bloggers who always tell the truth – the often gory, sometimes funny, and always identifying truth. And I know some of the things they haven’t said on their blogs. There are truths we all keep close.

Because what is a blog? It’s just another face we present to the world.

And what is the truth? It’s a many layered experience. It’s personal and it’s private. And it’s subjective.

So while I believe there are bloggers who blog with integrity, I don’t think there’s a single person who can claim to blog “the truth.” And while many bloggers will write their personal and private stories, I don’t believe those are the full truth either.

What wouldn’t you blog about?

I am her -ummm She - no - "that" woman

2011-06-21T10:37:00.000-02:30

I am the mother that sends her six-year-old to school in mismatched socks.
I am the woman whose house looks like a tornado hit it - every single day.
I am the mom who shows up late for school events even though I'm a "stay-at-home" mom.
I can never find anything.
My library books are always late.
I don't accept your invitations to go out and don't contribute to every little fundraiser.
I'm a mess.
You can tell all those things just by loking at me.

I'm also the mother with three young, high-needs children: one with ADHD and on with Neurofibromatosis Type 1.
I work 15+ hours from home without childcare or help - which means I'm usually up till 3am finishing my work after everyone else goes to sleep.
I worry about money every single day and recently redid our budget only to realise that we're about $500 short every month on our basic expenses.
My husband has challenges of his own and the fact that he goes to work nearly every single day when he could well be on disability is enough to impress me.
Despite all that I spend the majority of my time worrying about other people and trying to help them.
You can't tell these things by looking at me. You'd have to actually talk to me. Talk to me as if I'm real. Talk to me as if you care.

But all you care about is how hyper my son is and how his socks don't match.

Hyper-Aware

2011-05-04T12:51:00.000-02:30

May is Neurofibromatosis awareness month.

Which is kind of ironic for those of us living with NF - either as people with the disorder, or as parents of children with the disorder. The fact is, I'm always aware. It's like a tickle at the back of my throat. Even when everything is going great and we have no worries, I'm still aware. Aware that everything won't always be great; worried that things aren't as they seem.

This week Emerson has fallen off his tricycle and skinned his face; he has gotten into the knife drawer and put a handy gash in his finger; he's fallen and jumped off of more chairs than I can count. He's a boy. Almost three. He will get hurt.

Yesterday another mom told me she admires my calmness when he is hurt. How I can take charge and take care and not turn into a sobbing mess.

But let's face it, gashes and fat lips, even asthma attacks and hives - they're pretty easy to take care of. There's a branching tree of decisions you can make: is this serious; can I take care of it myself or should we go to the hospital; should I use a bandaid or a gauze pad; etc. etc. etc.

Neurofibromatosis, on the other hand, has no orderly decision tree. For three months Emerson has been limping off and on. A couple of days his speech has been slurred and his balance seems off. Tired? Maybe. Brain tumour? Possibly. Spinal cord tumour? Perhaps. Plexiform tumour in his leg? Might be.

And we mention it to the pediatrician, and we mention it again, and we mention it again. But until he's limping every day for several days she doesn't really care.

But I care. Everytime I see him limp I search for the decision tree and instead I find the disaster scenario. You know the one. The one that reads: He's got a tumour on his spine. One morning I'll get him out of bed and he won't be able to walk. They won't operate. If they do it'll come back. We'll do radiation. How are we going to afford the trips to the hospital? I need to find more work. The house is going to get a lot messier.....

Typical mom thoughts, right? Or not. Not for those with "normal" kids.

Neurofibromatosis is not something I think about every moment of every day. But it is something I think about every day. At least once. Changing his diaper I notice new spots. Watching him sheild his eyes from the sun I wonder if that's a symptom of an optic glioma (memo: ask Google). Calling to schedule and resechedule and check up on results of tests and appointments. He gets a pimple or a hive and I mark it in my memory to check for later. Because if it's still there next week it's not a pimple or a hive but a neurofibroma.

Sometimes I think about it so much that I forget my other children don't have it. When Harrison seems particularly obtuse in learning a new subject I remind myself that kids with NF have a higher incidence of learning disabilties. When Teaghan complains of her stomach hurting again, my first thought is stromal tumour. Those are on the days when I'm tired. When I've been on the phone with more doctors. When I forget where I've placed my coffee ten times in a row and we're only an hour into the morning. Those are the days when I can't keep the kids names straight, let alone keep their disorders straight.

I am always aware of NF. It's a part of our lives. Its the shadow under which we live, but it's also part of the glue of our family. It's a large part of what's kept me at home; it has made me new friends; it has led to me being able to support others as well.

And it's made me acutely aware of the suffering of others. There are times, yes, when I see or hear another parent complaining about their child's asthma or allergies and I think - God you don't know how good you have it. But that's just on the really bad days when I've been climbing the disaster tree. Most days I can react with the knowledge and the certainty that they've got shadows and glue in their family too. And sometimes I can help, with support or information. And sometimes all I can do is say "I know how you feel."

I wish I didn't. But I do.

Awareness? We've got plenty. But the world out there knows so very little. It's hard to imagine that something that consumes our life so totally is a word that many people can't even pronounce. And I know there are other parents - with kids with NF or kids with other disorders and diseases - who feel exactly the same.

Why I Won't Be Celebrating Bin Laden's Death

2011-05-02T09:13:00.000-02:30

A man is dead. Most of "us" would not say he was a good man, but there are many of "them" that will. Regardless of what kind of man he was, or perhaps intrinsically because of the kind of man he was, there will be an aftermath to his death - of that we can be certain.

Many are celebrating. I will not.

Why not?

1. "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord." Romans 12:19
Had he been killed ten years ago, when he remained an imminent threat after his declaration of personal war against Christian nations, it would've been an act of war. Killing him ten years later is an act of vengeance only. What has been accomplished? Will it bring back the dead? Will it end the fighting? No. I think we can agree that in actuality nothing has been accomplished by his death - other than the American government finally carrying out their threat to kill him. His death now is an act of vengeance only. As someone who doesn't believe in the death penalty (though trust me individual cases stretch me on that) I can't support killing even world enemy number one.

2. "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals upon his head. Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." Romans 12:20-21
Ours is not the first generation to be torn by religious fanatacism. Many religions were born of war; many religious leaders were military leaders. It's a story as old as time. And the Bible is full of it. While it's not The Art of War, the Bible contains plenty of insight on how to defeat enemies. Again, what his Bin Laden's death accomplished? I said nothing, but that's not true. What it's done is created a likely rallying point for others of his ilk. One man has fallen; ten will take his place. Have we forgotten the crusades? Do we neglect to remember Christianity's birth by blood onto the world scene? Although we don't remember the names of any of the leaders of those battles, their death surged the soldiers of Christ forward even more. To them the enemy was not a person, but a lamb set for slaughter. Religious fanatics believe they are serving as the hand of God. Reacting with further violence, especially directed and targeted violence will not slow them. It will only incite them further. Showing them God's will in us, however, may serve to give them pause before the killing blow. If we concentrate more on building schools, providing aid, and atttempting to understand the place from which our enemy is coming we have the ability to cut off fanatacism before it starts. There will always be lunatics in the world and God will always be used as an excuse for evil, but the power behind an individual lunatic lies in his ability to persuade others that he is acting as the hand of God. The ONLY way to prevent that is to offer an alternative view of God's work - to feed the hungry, quench the thirst, and overcome evil with goodness.

3. It's not over
Why celebrate the end of nothing? Bin Laden's death has ended his life, and a small part of the American military schedule. But it has not defeated Al Queda and it will not prevent future terroritic acts. I fear it will have the exact opposite effect. What is there to celebrate? Are you feeling at peace today? Do you feel safe and secure because of one man's death? If so, I envy you.

Why in the Name of Entertainment

2011-04-30T23:21:00.000-02:30

If your child was in pre-school and her care provider invited someone to come in and talk about dieting and watching your weight with the three-to-four year old girls, would that be acceptable? Or how about if your son’s Kindergarten teacher wore a revealing tank top and regularly kissed the male principal in order to get special treatment for her class? Would you find that an agreeable environment for your child? Perhaps it would be okay with you if the Grade 1 classroom teacher told your children to sign up for Facebook in order to find out more information about a topic they were studying, knowing full well that there are minimum age requirements to use Facebook.

As a parent, would you sit back and allow these things to happen without a murmur of dissent? Or would you protest, pull your child from the system, go to the media and make your voice heard?

If you’d sit back and let this happen, don’t bother reading the rest of this; it doesn’t apply to you.

To the rest of you: do you let your child watch TV? Do they regularly watch DVDs? Do you intently watch everything with them? If not, you may be surprised at what your child has already been exposed to.

I know I got quite a shock when watching Barbie and the Diamond Castle with my daughter one day. They had been showing it at our son’s school so I assumed it was okay. I even went to Common-Sense Media to check the ratings and special information provided by experts and other parents. I had watched most of it with her before, but had been sidetracked occasionally by the needs of another child, or the call of the laundry machine.

I had talked with my daughter about the commercialization in the movie and alerted her to the fact that the movies are in part made to sell the toys. She was aware that watching the movie did not mean she would get the toys. I had even taken extra-special attention to balance her viewing of the “quest for a prince and a palace” style of movie with extra readings of The Tough Princess and Do Princesses Wear Hiking Boots.

I felt I was an in-tune and savvy mom, allowing her exposure but tempering it with extra information and discussion. But strangely enough I didn’t think I had to discuss the topic of casual sex with my daughter to prepare her for watching a Barbie movie aimed at three-to-seven-year-old children. And yet, imagine my shock when I saw a buxomly waitress dump a pitcher of water (?) over a cad/minstrels head and declare “that’s for leaving without a goodbye.”

Click here to see the whole scene on Youtube.

Oh sure, my four-year-old didn’t understand what it meant, but I sure did. And my daughter asked why the waitress had done it.

They see more than we know, as Angela, a savvy mom of two, discovered when watching My Little Pony: Twinklewish Adventure with her daughter. The super-slimmed down and sexed up ponies are not happy enough to be sparkly pink and slender, some are still watching their weight. In the movie, an adult pony is offered a cookie which she declines by saying “I’m watching my figure.”

Check out time-mark 7:23 in this Youtube vid.

Angela’s five-year-old daughter, who had viewed that scene a few times already, turned to her mother and said “Mommy, what’s a figure?” Nothing escapes her attention. She’s a brilliant, beautiful girl suddenly exposed to the idea that some people are not happy with their bodies.

And for what? What purpose did either of those scenes serve in the movies they were in? Why does the Lego Clutch Power movie feature only one female lego character and why did they need to paint on cleavage and have her use sexpot charms to get her way with the rest of the team? Is that the lesson we want our sons and daughters seeing?

If these things happened in our schools or daycares we wouldn’t sit idly by. But because they are considered “entertainment” and not “education,” TV shows, movies, websites and toys get away with more than we can imagine in terms of questionable content. And because they are entertainment, we parents have the tendancy to view them as “harmless” fun.

By the time a girl reaches her teens she will have been exposed to hours of images and talk that show her that her body is not her temple but her torment. By the time a young man starts dating he will have been exposed to a multitude of images of young girls as sex figures and men as powerful. He will already have been introduced to the concept of female manipulation and passive-aggressive behavior.He will have started distrusting girls already.

Companies like Zoobles create special interactive websites for children featuring a prominent link to their Facebook page. Sure if a child clicks on the link they show a warning saying that you’re about to leave the page and to “please make sure you have a parent’s permission.” In my mind, if they have to post a warning, they know it’s wrong.

And that’s the thing. Didn’t the script-writers or producers of the My Little Pony video know it was wrong to encourage young girls to “watch” their figures. Didn’t the Lego team realize that having one female character – and I neglected to mention the black skeleton dude who supplied comedy – and making that character out to be a sexy, manipulative and insecure team member would teach young boys something ?

Or have we slipped so far that these things are considered appropriate and I’m a lone voice yelling into the wind?

Vamanos Destroy the World

2011-04-01T15:08:00.001-02:30

Dora.
The name that makes every parent's heart collapse in the certain knowledge of an hour or more of shouty Spanglish and faked enthusiasm.
Despite all you wish for, no evil twin pops up and says "No, I'M the map," nothing incriminating ever pops out of backpack, and Swiper never rehabilitates himself. Formulaic, inane, and kids love it.
And I'm okay with that.
I put up with two years of Dora when my daughter thought that Dora really was her best friend.
And now my son is asking for "Doha Boots, pay Doha Boots!" when I say he can watch TV.
My husband can't stand the big-headed little Spanglish girl and is really upset at the fact that her parents seem to let her wander all over the world without any supervision - except that of a helpless, boot-wearing monkey.
But I'm okay with it.
Until my son found THE BOOK
Due to my daughter's obsession, we had plenty of Dora books. Only one I actually bought myself, but when a kid has an obsession that makes it super-easy for relatives at gift-giving time.
I can totally handle the insipid story-lines of the Dora phonics reader. And the buttons on the interactive books have to be pressed at least ten times before I lose my mind.
But then there's "Dora and the Mermaid Kingdom"
That book irritates me.
No, actually it makes me irate, angry and prone to ranting.
Dora's cleaning up the beach. We get to help her find garbage. Then a clam opens up and shills a story about the mean octopus. He's dumping garbage all over Mermaid Kingdom and nobody knows what to do. Until Mariana finds the magic crown so she can wish the garbage away. But the crown gets lost, Dora finds it, and saves the day. Lovely story, what?
Except there's this

Even my two-year-old knows that a juice box is not garbage, it's recycling! And then there are the two cans - which look suspiciously like beer cans and with their sharp bits are not something I would want my unsupervised four-year-old (how old is Dora anyway?) handling. They too are not Basura, but recycling.

Fine, whatever, a little eensy mistake. Except throughout the book the "garbage" is represented with pictures of plenty of recycling in it.

And then there's the last page

Do you see the "garbage" the mermaids are picking up? Does any of it look like it belongs in the trash?

The first time I read it I held out hope. At the end, Dora would teach the mean octopus that he didn't need to dump all his "garbage" in the ocean because most of it could be diverted into recycling streams.

Silly me. At the end, simplistic, big-headed little Dora makes the octopus promise to put all the garbage in the dump from now on.

Lo Hicimos indeed.

We just taught children that:
1.The only way to save the mermaid kingdom (read: the environment) is with magic
2. Anything we need to dispose of, whether dust, food wrapper or juice box, is "garbage."
3. The way to get rid of items we no longer need is to take it to the dump.

Brasura!

I'll sacrifice a bit more Spanglish lessons in exchange for some real learning, please?

Great Gorillas

2011-03-10T15:36:00.001-03:30

Nope, not going to write about my love affair with the bonobos. I'm saving that story for a book.

Great Gorillas. I've given up swearing, yelling, and negative talk for Lent. I'd tell you how hard I expect that to be, but that would involve negative talk. So, to put a positive spin on it: I anticipate that I will rise to the challenge with the same vigor I put into folding laundry.

Here are some other things that have made me say Great Gorillas this week:

My two year old dumped an expensive jug of Tropicana orange juice on the kitchen floor. It's quite obvious to me that he mistook it for cleaning liquid and wanted to help mop the floor. What a sweet little helper he is.

He then squirted red paint all over the entrance carpet. I'm amazed by his artistic skills and his perserverance. I literally had to pry the paint from his hands after telling him to stop - he has that much invested in his artistic experiences.

He then dissapeared the DVD remote. He tells me he put it in the toilet. But he didn't flush. So that's wonderful. I've reached in as far as I can and haven't found it. I think he may be trying to play a little game with me and has hidden it elsewhere. You should have seen the joy on his face as he watched Mommy shove her hand down the toilet drain - wet up to her elbows. What fun games we play!

Through a Twitter conversation I've discovered that the Rice Krispies packaged squares now come with a feature that allows you to write a love note on them. Isn't that just sweet! I know there are many moms who cannot spare the ten minutes to make their own rice krispies, how wonderful of them to produce the prepackaged kind with their shiny wrappers. I've a suggestion for a love note to your child: "I love you so much I can't take my eyes off of you for the two minutes it takes to microwave marshmallows." Surely your child will feel the love.

Nutella has provided a website full of breakfast recipe suggestions featuring their product. Isn't it wonderful that they care so much about your child getting a healthy wholesome breakfast. I know so many children who are forced to eat uninspired fare like plain oatmeal for breakfast. Their moms could surely use the inspiration Nutella provides.

Margaret Wente. What a brilliant woman. Oh I just can't get over her ability to take something that seems so sensible and make it completely blurred and unlike reality at all. She's got a true gift! And people just flock to her columns because they really get discussion going on important topics.

The biggest Great Gorilla moment, though, was when I found out that Kraft has been happily fortifying their products with genetcially engineered milk. Buying from dairies that use synthetic Bovine Growth Hormone is one of the many consumer-friendly ways in which they keep their costs down. I was nearly dissapointed when I realised that Canada doesn't allow the use of rBGH in milk, but it promptly occured to me that Kraft dinner is equally cheap and tasty in both the US and Canada. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Canada doesn't allow the use of rBGH at Canadian dairies, but does allow products containing milk produced in such ways to sell in Canada. Isn't that just delightful! I spent a whole morning researching the topic to make sure. So I have Kraft to thank for inspiring me to educate myself!

What wonderful things have happened to you this week?

How F*cked Up Celebs Can Help You Talk With Your Kids

2011-03-09T13:42:00.000-03:30

My kids don't watch TV and see ads. When they do watch TV it's pre-selected videos that Mommy and Daddy have vetted. Although we've loosened our stance a little, most of these movies are pretty tame stuff or - if featuring violence - have some learning potential.

The main reason I don't want them watching TV has little to do with program content and more to do with ads. Ads, brands, marketing and the constant flow of pop-culture junk are, to me, more dangerous than watching a violent show.

Despite my trying to raise them in a cave, they are aware of pop-culture. They hear it from their friends and schoolmates all the time. My son has come home reciting the entire plot-line of shows he's never seen. My daughter asks for toys and accessories that she heard about from friends.

You can't protect them forever and you can never protect them from everything. It is not my intention to never let them watch ads or be swayed by marketing. I keep those things at bay because I know that at 6, 4, and 2, they are too young to look at anything with a critical eye. As long as they believe in the tooth fairy, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, they're not ready to walk on the ground of media literacy.

But they hear things. Of course they do. Last night they heard my husband remark that he had finally caught on to the whole Charlie Sheen debacle. Over supper, he said a quick word about it. Something like "that Sheen, eh? Tiger blood? Really?"

My eldest heard it and immediately started quizzing us: "Who are you talking about?" "Who has tiger blood?" "Can people have tiger blood?"

Part of me wanted to just brush it off with another "oh it's just something silly that grownups are talking about." But he's six. And he is developing a critical intellect. And it's time to start opening the floodgates, just a teensy bit - a tiny trickle of our media-obsessed pop-culture to test his ability to understand and critically evaluate what so much of the world seems obsessed with.

And, though I hadn't expected to have this talk this early, it gave us the chance to let our son know what we thought about drugs.

The conversation went something like this:

Charlie Sheen does not have tiger blood.
Then why did Daddy say he does?
Because Charlie Sheen said he has tiger blood.
Is he lying?
Sort of.
Is he lying or is Daddy lying?
No one's really lying. Charlie Sheen...
Who is that anyway?
He's an actor - you know, he plays pretend on TV.
Oh. Have I seen him? Do you know him?
No. He's in a tv show for grownups. You don't watch it. And we don't know him. He's a man who thinks he's very important and lot of other people think so too, but Mommy and Daddy don't think so.
Why did he say he has tiger blood?
You know how we don't want you to take Mommy and Daddy's pills, and we don't want your brother and sister to take your pills? Because they're dangerous, right? Well, some people take pills and other drugs because they think it will make them feel good. But they don't really. So they take more. And they keep taking more and then soon the drugs make them very sick and sometimes it damages their brain so that they can't think right.
So he doesn't know how to think? Why does he lie?
Because he doesn't know he's lying, honey. He's mentally ill. His brain is sick - the same as your tummy gets sick. When yor tummy gets sick you can't eat and sometimes you throw up. Well his brain can't think and sometimes it makes him say things that aren't true -bad things come out just like throw-up.
But why does he think he has tiger blood?
Because he thinks he's a hero - a really strong man - and that he got that way by having strong tiger blood in him.
But he's not?
No, he's just a man. He has a lot of money and a lot of people listen to him, but he's just a man who's sick. And a lot of people are making fun of him and trying to get him to say more lies and silly things because they think it's funny. But we know it's not right to make fun of people, right?
So they're making him lie?
No, what they're doing is listening to his lies. And because he doesn't know he's lying he thinks that they're listening to really important things he has to say. So he tries to come up with more important things to say, but they're always lies. Remember, his brain doesn't work right.
Because of the drugs?
Yes (SCORE!).
But that's mean - people shouldn't make fun of him.
Sometimes people forget that people that play pretend on TV are real people. They pretend to be someone else so much, that the people who watch TV don't know when they're pretending and when they're not.
But that's silly.
Yes it is.

And then the conversation naturally drifted into other topics. I mentioned that he has children and that he can't see them anymore because he might be dangerous to them. And my boy wanted to know why. So I gave a possible story of Sheen thinking he could fly and jumping off his roof with one or more children. And my son asked why other people would let him do that and then my daughter interrupted with a story of her own and we let the conversation naturally drift.

I don't know why people would let him do that. I'm glad I didn't have to answer that one because I'm not ready to discuss enablers with him yet.

But the whole thing made me realise that maybe he's ready to have the media world in it's full gore and glory unleashed on him. There's so much potential for learning there: drug abuse, scandal, body image, and just the general foolishness of it all.

I love that he thinks it's all very strange and questionable. That's exactly what I wanted - to let him live a life that wasn't inundated with this junk to the point where he couldn't question it.

Maybe tonight I'll show him this Dove Self-Esteem Fund ad

and then show him this Pond's Flawless White ad

And then we can discuss how one hypocritical company can have two completely different advertising campaigns (I'd show him an AXE ad but he's only 6). Or how making people feel good - whether by telling them they're good enough or by telling them they can be better (with their product) - sells things like moisturizer.

Think he's ready for it?

The Rulebook

2011-03-03T21:41:00.000-03:30

Dear Children:

For nine months I grew you. I endured bladder infections, fainting spells, around the clock vomitting and kidney stones. I brought you forth into the world in the midst of great pain: back labour, malpresentation, placental tearing, vaccumming, episiotomy, c-section and more.

I nursed you. I cluster nursed you. I danced up the hill outside our house at three am singing Thunderstruck by ACDC because the song, dance, upward movement and fresh air was the only thing that would get you to sleep. I walked to playgrounds at midnight and swung with you on my lap because the swinging was the only thing that would get you to sleep and you refused to be put down. I rocked for five hours straight while nursing when you had the ear infection that wouldn't let you sleep.

I gave up dairy, soy, eggs, legumes and seafood when your food allergies meant my milk would make you sick. I cooked for you because I wanted to and because you coudn't eat any commercially prepared food. I continue to cook for you, catering every meal so there's at least one thing each of you likes. Preparing vegetables so that you cannot taste, see, or smell them, cooking meat so that it's tough because you hate "smooth meat." Packing lunches that accomodate your sentsitivites, your classmates allergies and your pickiness.

I have wiped drool from your chin, snot from your nose, and shit from your ass. I have wiped pee from every surface in my home. I have wiped vomit and blood and puss from surfaces that never should have seen them. I have wiped your faces with my spit, and your noses with my sleeve. I have wiped tears from your eyes almost every time you cry.

I have taught you how to speak. I have read to you for countless hours, enduring the fifth rereading of the same book in one night because you have insisted and I have appreciated your hunger for the written word. I have bicycled your legs to strengthen them, held your hands as you tiptoed to improve your balance, held your legs as you balanced on a ball to improve your stomach muscles.

I have cut out paper dolls, blended soap and paint, drilled holes for your screws, made easels and blackboards. I have mixed cupcakes and marshmallow fondant. I have planned parties. I have created posters from nothing but a handful of photos and our combined imagination. I have helped you write your first stories, listened to your first poem and attended more living room fireplace concerts than I can count.

I have removed splinters, burst blisters, slathered cream on rashes. I have checked for lice and for tumours. I have brushed every last bit of cradle cap from your head though I know it will return next week. I have stopped bloody noses and iced bumped heads. I have brought you to the hospital and shouldered the blame for your injuries. I have sat with you in an ambulance, in an MRI waiting room, in a genetics office, in a late-night emergency room and prayed for your health and your life.

I would do it all again. Every last thing. Even the c-section. Even the snotty, bloody, vomit.

Because I love you. Because that is what mother's do.

But please, please, please don't ask me to play pretend with you ever again. I love playing pretend. I love to pretend. But I do not love your ceaseless instructions and intrusive rules. If you tell me once more what the character I'm pretending to be is supposed to say and do and then yell at me for getting one word wrong, I do believe that I will be the one spewing bloody, snotty, vomit. For the love of all that is between us, please don't make me be kitty's mother, or school bus driver, or pit crew ever again.

Tiger rides are still cool, though.

Love You,
Mom

And Now for Something Completely Different

2011-03-01T11:24:00.000-03:30

You know how you can make really good friends blogging. You come across another blogger who's style you like and watchyakno they like yours too and next thing you know your friendship is as solid gold as Elton John's Candle in the Wind.

You know what I'm talking, bout, right?

So anyway, of course the day will come when you feel like you want to reach out to that new friend, to give him or her something they'll really like. And since you can't slip him the tongue online or give her a home pedicure, you do the next best thing and give them a digital present.

Like this lovely one Heather from Note from Lapland sent me:

You see, because of our very special and strong relationship, she knows the tenderness in my heart for a good bit of monkey porn - or bonobo porn to be more specific.

And because of the very special relationship I have with a Very Bored Housewife, I know about her feelings regarding sexual encounters. She quite readily states:

For me, it really is a no brainer, if both parties are up for it (to coin a phrase) and there is no other party in the wings that may be hurt by this chance encounter then why not?

So, for my lovely friend in Catalunya, I give this gift. Because I know she also feels like oxen have been ignored for far too long.

Ox Molests a Lady - watch more funny videos

But wait! I'm not done. You see I have another close friend who also loves a good ox story. And I know for a fact that she's curious about the things men do and talk about and how beer is involved more than boobs so for her, I've found this historical presentation on what happens when a few men drink too much beer and get into a pissing match over whose ox is ~~biggest~~ fastest.

So, Bianca, this is for you:

Now ladies, I dare your husbands to give you better gifts than those!

This oxcentric post has been brought to you by the crazed whims of my mind and the silliness of online chatting.

Is It Really Necessary

2011-02-25T11:16:00.001-03:30

Is it really necessary:

When making a typo during your long-winded facebook comment to then make another comment correcting your mistake? We all know it was a typo - nobody thinks you really believe actually is spelt actuallt.

When tweeting your blog posts to apologise for possibly tweeting them too much? If you think it's too much than we definitely do.

When commenting on someone's blog post to go back and comment about your own comment and ways it could have been misconstrued? Unless someone's arguing with you than leave your word analysis for your own blog 'kay?

When running a giveaway on your blog requiring people to follow you and three other people on twitter, like you on facebook, leave a comment, subscribe to your newsletter and get inbox rss delivery of your blog?Newsflash: your $30 commercial plunder ain't worth all that effort and your blog ain't worth the gold standard of inbox delivery.

Having three or four facebook pages for yourself, your blog and your public self and your alice-in-wonderland-ate-a-mushroom self and asking me to join them all? I'm going to get finger cramps scrolling past your thrice and frice? repeated posts.

When deciding someone you follow on Twitter is annoying and unfollowing them to then tweet an annoying tweet about how you're unfollowing them because they're annoying? Until we have #unfollowmonday or #um (who's with me?) keep it to yourself.

Subjecting your blog readers to your constant grammatical and spelling mistakes and declaring that your mistakes are what make you so readable? Take a grammar lesson and get a life.

Being a blogger who continuously writes critiques of how other people blog and handle social media in order to take out your frustrations with having a bad day?
Oh yeah, that one is necessary.

What's your pet peeve?

Tattoo Placement

2011-02-24T10:12:00.000-03:30

Husbands: if you decide to get a particularly ghastly tattoo on your upper arm, consider which arm to put it on by thinking about what side of the bed you sleep on and what your wife will see last thing before she closes her eyes at night and first thing when she opens them in the morning.

Poe's sad and haunting eyes have tormented me all night and caused me great terror (beyond that of discovering all three kids in my bed) in the morning.

And for a lesson in how not to lauch your writing career using those idiotic mass article sites, like evoices or - say Helium - check out my other tattoo advice here

This Is What Sleep Deprivation Does To You or Ah Motherhood Part 2

2011-02-23T19:15:00.000-03:30

Part 1
So although I knew on Friday that my toddler had an earache and although we went to the doctor yesterday where she advised he had a viral ear infection and although my son has been cranky, clingy, and upset all day, it took me until about 6:30pm tonight to realise that he had an earache. Tylenol works wonders.

Part 2
I avoid processed foods. We really avoid food colouring because of my oldest son's ADHD. Tongight I made macaroni and cheese. My son declared he only likes the macaroni and cheese from a box. He told me not to make it like I did last time (my homemade stuff). I will not buy macaroni and cheese in a box. The "cheese" sauce is more like chemical soup. So instead I pureed garlic, broccoli, corn, carrots, cheese and milk to make my own cheese sauce. I added a dash of mustard powder and a dash of tumeric. The colour was still a bit off. So what did I do? I dropped in some red food colouring.
Brilliance!

Ah Motherhood: admitting our failures since Eve.

Ah Motherhood

2011-02-23T13:08:00.001-03:30

It's not yet lunch time and so far the two year old has eaten:

A banana/orange juice/strawberry yogurt/ frozen blueberry smoothie
A large wedge of canteloupe
Three navel oranges
Three mini candy-canes (memo to self: find a new hiding place)
Half an ice-cream sandwich (memo to self: check floor for treat wrappers before giving treats)
One slice whole-wheat toast with peanut butter
One bowl of mixed berries with milk
One bowl of popcorn
10 cheesy crackers
One glass of milk
One glass of natural apple juice
Three or four servings of "boob"

And all I can think about is how bad his diet was today because of those damn candy canes!

Ah Motherhood: making imbeciles of us all since Eve.

*Cheese! He snacked on cheese too! Oh, yeah, now I feel better