Womanhood. Motherhood. And the Spaces in Between.

The Dreaded Date on the Calendar; Or Happy Birthday to Me!

2011-09-18T14:22:00.002-05:00

This week I turned 33. It's a completely random age. There's no special significance attached to it. There was no big party planned. Just a couple of little get-togethers with friends and lots of friendly and surprisingly affecting "Happy Birthday" messages on Facebook.

But for some reason this birthday has been bothering me more than most.

Usually I barely notice a birthday's approach. I long ago stopped looking forward to birthdays but they don't fill me with dread like they do for some. Ordinarily. But this year...

Maybe dread is too strong a word. But this year I was definitely watching the September days zoom past like a television spy watches the red numbers on a ticking bomb. The calendar seemed determined to bring me ever closer to another birthday; another year of ageing; another year closer to the end of all my years. Okay, maybe dread isn't too strong a word.

But I finally realized something yesterday. The problem lies in what I said earlier. "I long ago stopped looking forward to birthdays". Why? At what age did I decide that getting older wasn't something to celebrate? When we are little, getting older is something to revel in; truly something to cheer about.

By the time we get to be "grown-ups" we have forgotten that every year of our life is a gift; something to take joy in and be thankful for. Instead we see growing older as a curse, something that must be fought with unswerving dedication and more weapons than any military could boast. The products in our arsenal sound vaguely magical; "anti-ageing serum"; "anti-wrinkle renewing cream". They all promise to keep us looking not a day over 20, even after we're six years in the grave! Magic indeed.

I've decided that I hate the term "anti-ageing". (Almost, but not quite as much as I hate the word, "tween". *shudder*) "Anti-ageing" is really defined as "against ageing". Why? Why do we put SO much focus in our society on staying young? What is it we are so afraid of losing? Because the fact is when we age, we actually gain so much. We gain wisdom and insight. We gain a knowledge of ourselves and of others that was previously lacking.

I think what we really fear, is losing that zeal for life that the young possess. After all, as adults we sometimes think we know ourselves so well that we are sure we could never do THIS scary thing, or take on THAT daunting challenge. We sometimes "know what people are like" to the point of bitterness, positive that people will fulfil our worst suspicions about them. So we long for the innocence of youth. We yearn to be able to once again look at the world and see all the possibilities and adventures waiting for us.

Here's an idea. What if we took pride in the wisdom we've gained from our previous years of experience while still managing to anticipate the coming year with the glee of a little kid? If we could be proud of what we already know, but realize that there are still whole worlds waiting to be learnt, we may find a balance between youth and age, between insight and innocence.

Now if we could only manage to remain flexible enough to put our feet behind our heads, we'd be all set!

A Moment in a Park; Or How the World Can Sometimes Make You Gasp

2011-08-30T05:19:00.005-05:00

As a mom, it is impossible not to be daily aware of the beauty surrounding us in the world in which we live. There's nothing more gorgeous than my daughter's sleepy, morning smile; or her bright laughing eyes; or the fact that she giggles like mad over the word "fart".

So, I am regularly reminded that the world is a beautiful place. But sometimes, the sheer perfection of it can take my breath away.

The other day my daughter and I visited the English Gardens at Assiniboine Park. We were sitting on a bench. It was a lovely bench with clean, flexible wood and a curve that fit my spine exactly. Sitting on the bench, we were shaded by a big beautiful elm tree that was in full, green, leafy bloom. The size and density of the tree made me think that surely it had stood in this spot since before my Great-Grandparents came to this land.

From within the protection of the cool shade, we could watch the sun sparkle merrily on a bright pond that was decorated with lovely purple water lilies. Beyond the pond we could look out onto row upon row of multi-coloured flowers. Flowers that were expertly cultivated to appear random and wild. I knew that the flowers in the garden eventually gave way to the rolling green lawns and woodchip pathways that were a part of the giant greenspace that was ours to explore for free.

I was struck in that moment how TRULY blessed we are. Here we live in this place of freedom; in this country that allows us to voice our opinion about everything from the mundane to the momentous without fear. Here we live in this beautiful city that is home to so many cultures, proof positive that peace between differing peoples is possible. And here I was, sitting in a place of truly astounding beauty, watching a bright blue butterfly dance elegantly and lazily amongst the flowers.

The moment was so perfect and so brilliant that I felt suddenly afraid of losing it, in that peculiarly human way we have. But it was a silly fear, for here it is nearly a week later and my mind and heart can recall the moment with perfect clarity.

And I feel brightened and blessed by it once more.

More Poetry and Ramblings; Or Why Emily Dickinson's Legacy is Probably Safe...

2011-08-27T03:20:00.000-05:00

Just some more random rambling thoughts. Brought on, no doubt, by the still magical world of trees, sunshine and wind that reminds us of all things primal.

If I were a tree...

- if I were tall and strong - if my roots were sunk so deep in the soil that rain and storm and howling winds could not move me from my purpose - if I knew how to bend and dance when the wind tried to knock me down - if I knew that I could create greener more abundant life after scorching flames tried to destroy me - if I sought out the sun - if I knew that living in the light was nourishment and not just a way to highlight cracks and flaws - if I knew the ageless beauty of myself -

...if I were a tree how bravely could I live my life.

Will You Dance Tonight?

The wind howls its low keening rage.

The trees are skeleton silhouettes against the purple black; their fingers bending and grasping to catch the pelting snow.

It is a night when wise people stay inside and shutter the windows; cuddle up to loved ones, say a prayer and hope to wake to sunshine.

But the unwise are called to dance. They leave their warmth and chase down the ghosts who waltz in the cold. The frozen air can numb even ancient wounds.

Will you dance tonight? Will you shiver in the breeze with the trees?

Or will you stay covered and hidden? Will you keep yourself veiled away in safety and slumber, pretending the wind does not wail a warning?

In the Heat and Wind

There are worlds that exist just around the edges of our own.

They live just a half second outside of our own time; just a fingernail’s breadth past our dimension.

Sometimes you see them glimmer in the wavy air of a blisteringly hot day, or you may hear the voices of their people on the wind, because the wind never did learn about boundaries.

And, of course, we visit them in our dreams.

Santa, The Easter Bunny and The Tooth Fairy; Or The Happy Lies We Tell Our Children

2011-08-27T01:47:00.003-05:00

I VOWED when I became a mother that I would NEVER lie to my daughter.

If I want her to trust me enough to confide in me about anything and everything, then I need to be completely honest with her, always. How can I expect her to learn truthfulness, if I don't practice it myself?

I was prepared to be gentle and age-appropriate when answering sex questions, but, had no intention in pretending that babies come from the stork. I knew that I would have no problem telling her the truth about body parts and bodily functions. The phrases "down there" or "going tinkle" were not in my vocabulary. She would know the proper names for body parts and, really, the phrase "going tinkle" should just be eliminated from the global vocabulary.

I was ready to tell her the truth about drugs. ("No, marijuana will not give you 'reefer madness', but don't become stoner with no short term memory; and yes, heroin and cocaine will ruin your life.")

I knew that when she began asking questions about her absent father I would answer her simply, directly and with lots of reassurance and love. In short, there would be no subject that was taboo or off limits and everything would be answered with the truth as I know it.

Except. I forgot about Santa.

I hadn't really considered that when telling her all about Santa (how awesome he is; how he would bring her gifts on Christmas Eve; how he flies all over the world in a single night; how he uses reindeer to fly his sleigh; how elves make the toys he brings; how he would happily gobble up her cookies and milk; and every other part of the Santa Story) I was telling her about 20 lies in one fell swoop. Oops. Heck, I even sent her a fake video Christmas card from "Santa".

And don't even get me started with the "Easter Bunny Deception"! ("Yes, honey...a giant rabbit really does hop around the world the night before Easter and hide chocolates inside everyone's house. Um...sure...I guess he comes down the chimney too...") *sigh*

So, my very noble plan of telling my beautiful little girl the absolute truth at all times has fallen to pieces. However, when she finally cottons on to the secret around age 7 or 8, I have my defence all planned. Here's what I've got; tell me what you think:

"You see, sweetie, your innocence was just too beautiful to miss. Unfortunately, this world can be pretty tough. Sometimes people are mean and sometimes bad things happen. But there you were, so gorgeous with your big brown eyes and toothy grin; excited by all you were hearing about this magical man. A man who is so full of generosity and kindness that he spends all his time trying to make children happy. I couldn't bear to miss out on the chance to vicariously return to a time when magic was a real, tangible possiblity.

And I didn't want you to miss out on it either. Because, regretably, we all have but a few short years of complete innocence and I wouldn't have robbed you of that for anything. Not even for something as wonderful and important as the truth."

What do you think? Think she'll still trust me about the stork?

No Drama; Or Why Sometimes it's Good to Go it Alone

2010-06-27T23:34:00.000-05:00

Not completely alone, of course. I'd be lost without my circle of friends and family. But I'm a single parent. Completely single. As in, there's no one but me. For reasons which will not be discussed here (and honestly are pretty much incomprehensible to me, anyway) my daughter's father isn't a part of her life. So, it's just her and I. Just me and my Beth. And it's awesome!

And in some ways, it's hard.

For one thing, it means being in parent mode 24/7. It means not being a part of a tag team; not being able to say, "Okay, parenting partner, you're up." But as I said, I have a fantastic network of people I can rely on, so I can't complain about this too much.

More difficult, is not having someone there on a daily basis to share in the wonder of my baby girl. Not having that other person to laugh with when she's being her super adorable, hilarious self. Or another person to sigh and gaze in amazement at the transcendent perfection of her face as she sleeps. Again, though, I turn to my group of marvelous friends and family whom I torture with endless stories, detailing her every waking minute. (Actually, I'm pretty sure they don't consider it torture.) So, I can't complain too much about this either.

Of course, there are also more financial things to worry about when it's just you earning the cash. From what I understand; though, even dual-income households are hurting these days. In the end then, there's only one true concern I have about being a "completely on my own" single parent; the worry about how my daughter will feel about her father as she grows up.

Overall, though, because of the amazing support of my friends and family, being a "completely on my own" single parent is doable. Which brings me to the point of this post. I'm sure I'll have A LOT of people who disagree with me but in some ways, I think things are easier with only one parent.

This is not to say that I think one parent is better than two. There is no doubt in my mind that having two happy, well-adjusted, loving parents who get along is the best possible option for a child. Even if the parents aren't together as a couple anymore, if they are those things - happy - well-adjusted - loving - then a child stands a great shot at staying out of therapy.

But if you have parents who are divorced and can't stand each other or who are still married despite the fact that they can't stand each other, then a child is in trouble. And so are the parents. Think about how much more stress you have to deal with if the other person in your parenting partnership is your enemy. No matter where the blame lies (and it's usually at both pairs of feet) constant arguing and competition and frustration is going to get exhausting really quick.

So, in a lot of ways, I'm lucky. I don't have to deal with the daily torment of an angry ex-partner. Or the helplessness of dealing with a parenting partner who doesn't think they have to include me in parenting decisions. Or the frustration of seeing a person I really don't like anymore raising my child. There is a sense of peace in that. And most of all, NO drama!

With all that being said, at some point in my daughter's life, I'm going to have to try to convince her that her father not being here has NOTHING to do with her. I'm hoping that the lack of parental drama in her childhood will make up for any anxieties she has to deal with as a result. Well, a lack of drama and a lot of hugs. I'm hoping that's the secret combination.

Bus Etiquette; Or The Bus Is Ridden By Lots of People, Not Just You!

2010-06-23T15:23:00.000-05:00

So, I don't know how to drive. That's right, I'm a 31 year old woman who doesn't know how to drive a car. When you can't afford to buy one, learning how to drive one tends to end up at the bottom of your to-do list.

As a result, I've spent nearly 17 years riding the bus in Winnipeg. Well not, you know, just riding buses. I mean, I've done other things in those 17 years. But I have ridden on a bus an average of 4 out of every 7 days for the last 17 years. That's A LOT of transit time.

My point is that I think I can fairly be considered an expert on bus riding etiquette. And there is an etiquette. Anytime you share a space with other people there are certain things that you all expect from each other. The following is, I think, a fairly exhaustive list. But if you think of one that I've left off, feel free to add it in the comments below. ;-)

1. Get up out of the handicap seats.
This rule doesn't just apply to moving for people in wheelchairs. If you are able bodied and healthy please stand up and move for the following people:
- the elderly
- people using crutches, canes, walkers or any other mobility assistance device
- very young children, like 1-4 years (little, uncoordinated legs have a hard time standing on a moving bus)
- strollers (I'll talk more about strollers later.)
- pregnant women (a caveat here - make sure the woman is either, A - OBVIOUSLY pregnant, as in she's skinny, skinny, skinny every where except her lower abdomen or, B - Says, "I'm pregnant, please let me sit down." If you think a woman might be pregnant, but you're not sure, offer her the seat anyway and just don't tell her why. She'll appreciate your kindness either way.)

2. Remember that we're listening.
Whether you are talking to the person right next to you, a couple seats over, or you're on a cell phone, please remember that the other passengers can hear your conversation. So, at least try to limit the cursing and inappropriate (ie, racist, sexist,) remarks. We also don't necessarily need to know the intimate details of the hot date you had last night. Your sex life doesn't interest us. I'm sorry, but it's true. And I'd rather my child got her sex education from me as opposed to some weird stranger on a bus. I don't want to hear the words, "Mommy, what does, "smokin' hot ass mean?" Thank you very much.

3. Control, or at least try your hardest to control, your kids.
Being a parent is, at times, a little like being an animal wrangler. I understand this. And I know, from experience, that it can be tough to keep your kids seated, calm, and happy. You know what, I'd settle for seated. It's so dangerous for little kids to be running around on a moving bus. I once saw a little boy go flying forward and smash his forehead into one of the poles. The blood everywhere was not a sight I'd like to see again. Plus, if your little one is up and running around he's a lot more likely to end up tripping someone else. Also, don't completely ignore your child while he or she is auditioning for their role in Cirque de Soleil by hanging upside down from the hand straps.

4. Strollers may be necessary, but have some common courtesy.
As I've mentioned already, I don't drive. So I have always taken my daughter on the bus. When your children are babies trying to carry them around, along with all their gear is impossible. A stroller is an absolute necessity and if busing is your only option, the stroller must come on the bus. I totally get that. But don't leave them in the aisle! Or mostly in the aisle. Or, crammed in between seats. The front seats flip up for just that reason. If someone is sitting there, politely ask them to move. If they won't (I've seen this happen) engage the driver's assistance in making them move. The front seats on the bus are supposed to be earmarked for people with mobility issues and parents with strollers. There are signs and everything. So, don't take no for an answer. If I'm on the bus with you, I'll take your side, I promise.

5. If your kid is in school, they don't need to be in a stroller.
Closely related to number four, this is kind of a general parenting pet peeve of mine, but it pertains to bus etiquette too. If your child is old enough to be in nursery school (3 or 4 years old) they should be able to walk for long enough that you can leave the stroller at home. If you REALLY feel like your child is going to need a stroller because you're going on some kind of marathon walk after you get off the bus, the child can still be out of it while you're on the bus. Fold it up so that it takes up less room. Your 4 year old can sit on the seat. Oh, and try to make it an umbrella stroller instead of one of those gigantic strollers they make for twins and triplets!

6. Say, "Thank you" to the bus driver.
This isn't a big thing, just a bit of politeness, really. (I mean, come on - if you're Canadian, it should be in your DNA!) The driver works hard dealing with the public all day (customers can be real jerks sometimes). He or she deserves a polite thank you when you're getting off the bus. They've done you a service after all.

So, if you follow these guidelines everyone's ride will go a lot smoother. Except if it's a scorching summer day and there's no air-conditioning. Then, nothing helps. ;-)

Enjoy the ride!

The freedom of choice; Or why I'd like to thank Elizabeth Cady Stanton

2010-06-21T23:01:00.000-05:00

Woman will always be dependent until she holds a purse of her own.
- Elizabeth Cady Stanton

"The Home or Street Corner for Woman? Vote No on Woman Suffrage." Tom Fleming, 1915
(Rare Book Division, The New York Public Library)

I wish someone would have told me that, just because I'm a girl, I don't have to get married. ~Marlo Thomas

We've come a long way...

"Something which we think is impossible now is not impossible in another decade."

— Constance Baker Motley

First Black Woman in the U.S. to become a Federal Judge

But still have a way to go.

[Feminism is] a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians.
~Pat Robertson

Making a Budget; Or That Planning Thing with Money I Haven't Learned Yet

2010-06-21T16:53:00.000-05:00

Actually that title isn't exactly true. I can make a budget. I can make the most detailed, well-thought out, fiscally responsible budget you've ever seen. I mean seriously, I could make Alan Greenspan pea-green with envy over how perfectly balanced and lovely my budgets are. Making a budget is not difficult.

Following a budget is a whole other matter entirely. Because apparently it isn't enough just to write down your good intentions for your money, you have to actually follow through with what you've written down.

This is the usual scenario. See if you can relate.

I make a budget. Usually a budget that spans a few months. I plan out my very limited dimes and nickles to the last cent with very well-intentioned plans to be steadfast and to reliably pay those bills exactly as I've arranged. And I do. For the first month. And usually the second month. On occassion I even manage to go three months in a row following my beautiful budget. But by the fourth month it's always a wash.

Here's the problem. When you're on a very limited income and your mandatory expenses (rent, bills, food, etc) require nearly all your monthly intake, it leaves a very small amount for miscellaneous/recreational expenses. (By the way, this is also true if you are making a great deal of money, but are still living beyond your means - you know, paying more rent/mortgage than you can afford, have a high car payment, etc.)

While I can usually manage to go a few months denying myself and my daughter fun little extras like a movie, or a dinner out, sooner or later, I get tired of just existing. That's when the trouble starts.

I get frustrated and start to feel like, "Why the hell can't we have some fun? If I want to take Beth out for lunch, why can't I? If I want to buy her an ice cream cone on a nice summer evening, I should be able to." But my frustration is not appeased with a burger and an ice cream cone. I get a little rebellious (against who, I'm not sure) and say, "Screw it. I'm spending money and you can't stop me!" Again, I'm not entirely sure who I'm telling to "screw it" since the only one who ends up screwed is me.

Because before I know it, I've blown through the $200.00 that was supposed to buy us food for the month and am left with barely a can of corn to call my own. So, because, obviously my daughter and I need to eat, Hydro doesn't get paid. Or phone. Or rent. (Never a good idea!) And next month, I'm in the same broke place, but with bills that have grown and are now overdue.

So far, my only answer to this dilema is to start making more money but try to keep my mandatory expenses the same. That's my goal and it looks like I'm going to be there in the next year or so. I certainly hope so. Cause I sure like the peace of mind and comfort that comes from knowing that all your bills are paid and your cupboards are full.

Either that or I'll just win the lottery. What? It's a sound plan.

Comparisons; Or The Art of Finding Parents Who Are Worse Than You

2010-06-20T22:03:00.001-05:00

We've all done it. Don't lie. You know what I'm talking about. That thing that parents do to other parents.

You're on a bus, in a store, at the doctor's office, or any of the plethora of places one might find a child having a meltdown. The child is screaming at the top of their lungs, red-faced, choking on their own rage because they desperately want - no, no they NEED - that thing that they wanted...that...thing...well, they don't really remember what the thing was, but that's not the point. Whatever it was, their cruel and unkind parent would not give it to them and now they must voice their shock and outrage at being treated so shabbily by someone who purports to love them. And voice it they do. Loudly. Over and over and over again. And many times, they even manage to add some crocodile tears into the bargain.

Now, while every child inevitably tries this same ploy in their efforts to gain more worldly goods, it seems that every parent will differ in their approach to dealing with it. But generally we can be grouped into five categories:

1. The Pushover - The name speaks for itself. Quick to flip flop on their stance, this parent will happily fork over whatever their little tyrant is demanding if only the shrill shrieking will cease.
2. The Competitor - This parent is sure that if they can just scream louder than their offspring, the child will stop screeching to try and make out the sage advice that's being bellowed at them.
3. The Beggar - Desperate to make the wailing stop, this parent often gets down close to the child and says things like, "Please, stop it." and "I need you to stop yelling."
4. The Briber - Closely linked to The Beggar (and often embodied in the same parent) The Briber can usually be heard to utter things like, "If you stop crying and are a good little boy, I'll give you a cookie when we get home."
5. The Ostrich - This parent is convinced that if they just pretend that the demon which has temporarily taken hold of their precious angel isn't actually manifesting itself, then said demon will disappear and their beautiful cherub will reappear.

In the past month or so, while out with my daughter, I have twice resorted to "The Beggar" and once to "The Ostrich", instead of being a "good mommy" and removing her from the public place until she'd calmed down. As a result of these experiences you'd think that I'd be more charitable to my fellow parents. But no. When I see a parent using any of the 5 tantrum coping techniques I tend to think, "Ugh! Can't you control your kid?" The answer that I should be giving myself is, "Can you control yours?"

Of course, there are always going to be parental behaviours I despise. (The Pushover and The Competitor really do set my teeth on edge.) But I need to learn to stop mentally flaying parents who are genuinely trying their best. Even if I think they're making a mistake by bribing their kids with the promise of sweets, or by passing over the toy, I need to be more charitable to my brothers and sisters in parenthood. In short, I need to cut them some slack and get that judgey look off my face.

Who's with me? Cause you know you do it too. Oh, you do so. No? Hmmmm...well, maybe I'm just a bitch, then. ;-)

Happy Parenting, Everyone!

Poetry and Ramblings; Or Why Maya Angelou Should Rest Easy

2010-06-18T12:09:00.000-05:00

Thoughts From A Park

When next you see a tree, find the highest leaf, the one that grows at the very top, that reaches the farthest toward the sky. That leaf, resting high above the ground, had its beginnings in an ancestor who was sunk deep into a hole and covered with dirt.

That ancestor seed was tiny, nothing really, just a small, round, hard thing. But inside she was full of promise. And with each passing day, year, and decade she shot forth her children. One year, only a skinny trunk stood, sickly looking and easily snapped. But it was pushed forth by its mother to emerge from the dirt and reach for the sky. Then more generations were born from the skinny trunk and soon it had grown strong and thick, nourished by its mother's roots and by its children's ability to find the sun.

As each year, decade, and century passed the tree multiplied until its generations became innumerable. Each generation reached a little higher than the last, building on the foundations their ancestors had laid, but stretching themselves in new directions, trying always to get closer to the light.

Even those branches who lost their battle against the wind and rain and bowed their heads back toward the earth, gave birth to new branches with new leaves who sought out the sun, pushing themselves ever higher. And for those branches who were broken by the storm, there was a soft place to land as they fell back to lie with their Grandmother in the soil. There they have helped her nourish all the new generations.

So, when next you see a tree, find the highest leaf, this new addition to an ancient ancestry, and watch it. You will see that from time to time it will tip its face downward to remember where it came from before turning its face once more toward the sun, and the next generation.

A Tanka Poem of Loss

The sun hits the street
Brightest orange on blackest tar
I miss the green leaf
I miss the clean, see-through stream
I'm so far from home

If Genies Were Real

I wish I had more joys and fewer trials.
I wish I knew how to create bliss.
I wish I weren't so fatalistic.
I wish my Dad could live forever and never leave me parentless.
I wish I didn't think morbid, scary thoughts sometimes.
I wish my Mom could be here to see me as a mom.
I wish she could shout down words of encouragement from heaven.
I wish I had a direct line to heaven.
I wish I was more sure about everything under heaven.
I wish I were happy more.
I wish I cried less.
I wish people didn't have the power to hurt me.
I wish I didn't give people the power to hurt me.
I wish I had someone to share my life.
I wish I had a pretty little house with a porch and a garden and shiny windows.
I wish I could be June fucking Cleaver.
I wish I could be perfectly happy as me.
I wish I was healthier.
I wish I was prettier, thinner.
I wish I didn't wish I was prettier, thinner.
I wish I had a million wishes.

Silly Limericks That Mean Nothing (But are fun to read out loud)

There once was a cat with no fur,
So all he could do was say, "brr!"
Till one day he found
some hair on the ground.
Now in his curls he's quite dapper!

There once was a bird named Henri
who found himself stuck up a tree.
He started to cry,
then remembered to fly,
and cried out, "oh silly me!"

An Introduction; Or Why I Crave the Demise of Wonder Woman

2010-06-18T01:04:00.000-05:00

Never fear, this blog is not a call to action against the beautiful, Amazonian, superhero. I'm talking about a completely different kind of "Wonder Woman". You've met her; she's the one in all the ads we see and hear a million times a day.

She's the full-time Mom who works all day and still finds time to cook a big dinner for her family, clean her house up to hospital specifications, and work-out for at least two hours everyday. (How else is she supposed to keep that size zero figure?) She also eats "whatever she wants" but somehow doesn't gain an inch. Oh, and she's an animal in the sack; never too tired and always has perfect techniques. (She learned them from all those Cosmo tutorials.)

She's also the woman that frowns at any problems you have with your kids. After all, look at her kids - always tidy in their designer labels and always apoplectic for Kool-Aid or Ovaltine or Sunny D.

In short, this woman is perfect; a veritable wonder. She's also complete crap. She doesn't exist outside of paper and ink; she is created from cellulose and airbrushing. We all know this.

And Yet.

Yet, we search for her in the mirror on a daily basis. We want to live her life with all its ease and comfort; where a problem never lasts longer than 30 seconds and is easily solvable by a friend who just happens to be carrying around the exact product we need to fix everything.

But it is not the advertising that we need to escape. It is our compulsion for an untrue life that must end.

We need to realize that in our lives we have so much more than merely a snippet of perfection. Perfection is boring. In our imperfect lives we have love and anger, hope and fear, joy and doubt, chaos and order, silliness and sadness. These things exist in a balance and cannot exist separately.

It is not our job to be Wonder Woman. It is our job to be, simply, Woman.

So, here in this small part of an infinite cyberspace I'm going to try to remind all of us (especially me!) the importance of reality. I will share with you my day to day struggles with:

Womanhood. Motherhood. And All the Spaces in Between.