And if I had a bugle i would blow it

Many of you know that for a couple of months now my husband and I have had seven kids. Our two nieces and two nephews have been staying with us since just before St. Patrick’s Day.  It’s family business, but suffice it to say their mom, my sister-in-law, is homeless and unable to care for them at this point.  There is no one else who could care for them right now, so we took them in.  I grew up in a house where I was told repeatedly “If you get pregnant don’t expect any help from me,” so I sort of came out of that with an unwillingness to help others in these situations.  But that all changed when I had children and nieces and nephews started popping out all over the place. I fell in love with those kids, all eight of them, so when four of them needed a stable place to live, there wasn’t really a choice. Of course they were going to stay with us.

            We absolutely do not have the money to afford four more kids on top of our three, but at least we have room for them. For a whole month they were living in a seedy hotel with ten people, so just having room to play or sit quietly and do homework is pretty awesome for them. We have a full basement, and it’s partially finished. That’s where the kids stay, on a set of bunk beds and a queen-size bed. We could use a couple more dressers and some major organizational supplies (especially for their shoes! My god, the shoes!!!), but otherwise they fit here just fine.

            Where I’ve been so pleasantly surprised is by everyone in our community. When people find out we’ve taken in these kids, they have surprised us over and over with generosity. A woman from the church my kids attend gave us a queen-sized bed. My brother-in-law and his girlfriend brought us a car full of groceries. My mom made little Easter baskets for seven kids instead of three. I talked to their school counselor, and told her where we were really having trouble was feeding the kids, so she hooked us up with the “Lunch in a Backpack” thing. That helped, but we were still struggling to feed these kids, all ages 5 to 10, who seem to be hungry at every moment of their waking hours. So I applied for food stamps, and we were approved for $608 a month. That’s about $150 a week, and all of us are so grateful.

            One evening when the kids were playing outside, a woman who knows their grandpa stopped by and gave us a nearly full platter of Subway Sandwiches, which was perfect timing as they hadn’t had much for snacks all day and I didn’t have any idea what I would be able to put together for dinner.

            The school system also hooked my nieces and nephews up with clothes! They sent three bags of clothes, some old and some new, including shoes, underwear, and socks. My eldest niece got three really beautiful dresses, and they all felt so special with their new things.

            One day, a friend stopped by and gave us a couple of grocery bags of snack foods!

            We have just been amazed at how everyone we know has helped provide for these kids. It matters.  So, so much.

            I’ve taken to making a weekly menu now, and buying groceries once a week. I stock up on bananas, clementines, apples, and pears, and buy the ingredients for the dinners I’ve chosen. I keep ingredients to make our own cookies on hand. All of the kids, even mine, are starting to eat more vegetables and a wider variety of foods. We haven’t gone as healthy as I know we should, but we’re moving that way (the other day, they ALL ate salad!!  SALAD!!).  Our house is so full now! The hubby and I had just begun talking about having another baby when all this happened, but we absolutely cannot handle that now, and that’s OK. Being a presence in these kids’ lives is more important right now, for sure. 

            So even though none of the people who have helped us read this blog, we are grateful.  I will try my best to pay this forward.

 

P.S. Any study or blogger who says having three kids is as difficult as having 6, or 7, or 10, is HAHAHAHAHAHA WRONG. 

           

Um, that's not feminism

Do what you wanna do, girl.  I got your back.

January Jones and Alicia Silverstone have made news recently.  Jones talked openly about encapsulating her placenta and taking it like a vitamin.  Silverstone practices kiss-feeding, or chewing up her kids’ food before feeding it to them. 

Now I haven’t done either of these things.  I’m interested in placenta encapsulation and if I have another baby, I will see if I can do it.  I’ve read about it and found absolutely nothing negative about it.  The only negativity comes from assholey Judgy McJudgertons.  I woke up the other day when my radio alarm went off.  I laid in bed and listened to my (former) favorite station, MOJO 92.5.  They play 70s and 80s music, and I dig it.  The two male and one female DJ then started in on some news—yep, they started in on January Jones.  It was sort of like this:

 

“Did you know January Jones ate her placenta?” 

“Ewwww.  That’s sick and wrong.”

“Totally.  She said other mammals do it, so she wanted to try it, and she said it gave her lots of energy.” 

“Hasn’t she ever heard of coffee?”  (insert jack-ass laughter)

“Well, you know, humans do a lot of things other mammals don’t.  Like wear clothes.” 

“Have you driven around this country?  There’s a reason for a lot of people to wear clothes!”  (insert more jack-ass laughter) 

So basically they judged something they know nothing about, and then participated in a quick bout of fat-shaming.  I got up and turned the station.  

Now, my opinion on both Jones and Silverstone is this:  I do not give a rip if Jones eats her placenta, and I don’t give a shit if Silverstone feeds her kid by chewing up his or her food first.  Because I’m pro-choice.   Want to breastfeed because it’s good for the baby?  Fine.  Want to breastfeed because it’ll help you lose weight faster?  Cool.  Don’t want to breastfeed because you have to go back to work and won’t have time or resources to pump?  All right.  Don’t want to breastfeed because you just don’t want to?  Fine by me, lady.  Want to fully follow the vaccination schedule?  Go ahead.  Want to selectively vaccinate or not at all?  I’ll support you.  Want to have the baby?  Cool. I’ll babysit.  Want an abortion?  I’ll go with you. 

I bet her placenta is DELICIOUS!

What I’m saying is that being pro-choice should cover more than just abortion.  Feminism should cover more than the false dichotomy of mothering versus being a good feminist. 

 

I’ve written before about how much it pisses me off when folks say they’re pro-choice.  So I wasn’t too shocked to hear that supposed feminist Amanda Marcotte wrote this article, because I already know she’s anti-choice when it comes to vaccination.  I was sort of surprised at how laughable the short piece was.  Marcotte’s argument boils down to her being grossed out, but she veils it as concern for the already beleaguered modern mother: 

That the burdens of getting "natural" fall nearly exclusively on the shoulders of women---especially when babies come---is reason enough to take a step back and wonder if this isn't the same old oppression of women repackaged in shiny new organic wrapping.

That’s a good one.  Yes, it’s all about oppressing the women.   Because nothing says “I trust and respect women” like saying “Your birth and parenting choices are nasty.  EWWW.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.  There are plenty of *OPSWAM in this country trying to send women back down to chattel status, Marcotte.  Saying that the “crunchy mom mafia” is degrading and oppressive to women is just ANTI-FEMINIST.    

I’m calling it.  The fourthwave of feminism is here, and we have open arms.  We accept that motherhood looks different for every single woman.  We support women even if their choices don’t feel to us like looking in a mirror.  And if Marcotte can’t say that, I’m not sure the Fourth Wave wants or needs “feminists” like her.

*Over-Privileged Straight White American Male (stolen from my friend Sam Edmonds and his eat-a-bag-of-dicks attitude).

Which Way Will WIC go?

I loved being on WIC from 2000-2005. I loved the cooking classes, free recipe books and never having to worry about food for my son. My ex-husband and I were very poor college students back then so knowing there would be cereal, milk and other food for our son in constant supply was a blessing indeed.

For me, WIC was pretty consistent. You went in about once a month, had your child weighed, measured and sometime a finger prick to check iron levels (a child can be on WIC until the age of 5 or until your income increases over poverty mark for the family size). Then, you got your folder of checks. These checks were good for specific items and varied in selection with the child’s age.

Once in a while they had me sign up for a class. One was on how to make macaroni and cheese from scratch (white base, add cheese, boil macaroni, put in oven) and another on the number of fruits and vegetables your child was to eat per day and how to make eating them fun and interesting (ants on a log!). Most classes came with government-printed recipe books and handouts. I thought it was fun, and honestly, a bit like junior high home-ec class, which I also liked quite a bit.

But I was surprised to hear that many women have had different experiences with WIC than I have. Reports of “pushy staff” and mundane visits have been ringing in my ears. Some even quit. I think it would take a lot for me to quit a free food program but when you hear that a mother “didn’t feel respected as a parent” that is definitely hard to take. I think that would push me over the edge.

WIC tried to pressure me into breastfeeding but in no way with a heavy hand. In the office, I succumbed to pressure to join a class just to learn about it but then cancelled. I was 19 and pregnant. All my brothers and sisters had been bottle-fed and I wanted my husband to be able to help. I worried about breastfeeding not working out. I could go on and on but I don’t want to make this a breastfeeding post. Suffice it to say, I just wasn’t ready to breastfeed. I was young, scared and had no frame of reference. I gave a sigh of relief when I got my first formula checks without hassle.

So, upon reading that WIC is actually trying to recruit low income families to join, I started to wonder why this would be needed. Isn’t the Right always saying we “poor people” want our free cheese? Guess we don’t if they are all up in our parenting business.

I hope WIC is taking surveys to see why people leave or refuse to join. WIC doesn’t seem to be as well-known as it used to be. Has it overstayed its welcome? I don’t think so. Perhaps there is pressure from higher up Government folks for WIC to produce impressive numbers to report back to those who elected to support and fund the program. I’ve learned in my past few months of grant writing that grantors (government or not) REALLY want to see what you do with THEIR money. Perhaps that’s it…WIC is pressuring parents to churn out super babies so they can keep their funding.

What’s your WIC story? I’d love to hear it.

Every Child a Wanted Child

Today is the 39^th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, and it’s Blog for Choice day.  I thought this was the appropriate time to share my second abortion story, because my second abortion didn’t involve complications or drawn-out denial or an abusive partner—it was a more typical experience, I think, and I think it’s just as important to share this story.   

After my first abortion, I didn’t go on birth control because I wasn’t seeing anyone and I didn’t see the point.  A couple of years later I started seeing someone, and became pregnant again (no condom.  Yes, stupid.)  I told the father and he told me he was supportive of whatever decision I made.  I didn’t hesitate.  It is still amazing to me that through the years, though I’ve been willing to sacrifice a lot of things for a man, and though I’ve avoided confrontation with others by being passive-aggressive, I’ve always, always been able to stand firm when it came to my reproductive choices.  It’s not even difficult for me. 

The father accompanied me and I went and got my abortion, by the same wonderful woman, Dr. Susan Wicklund.  And this time when the nurse asked me at my follow-up visit if I was interested in a birth control pill, I said yes. 

I don’t regret either of my abortions.  I couldn’t imagine being tied to either of those men in any way.  I grew up positive I didn’t want to have kids, which probably fueled my pro-choice slant from early on, and I only changed my mind when I met someone who somehow made me believe I could be a mother, who just took it for granted I could be a good mother, when I’d always seen myself as someone who’d be terrible at and who would also hate it.   

What Mary Oliver was lucky enough to have learned in her early years:

"First . . . one can rise early in the morning and have time to write (or, even, to take a walk and then write) before the world's work schedule begins. And . . . one can live simply and honorably on just about enough money to keep a chicken alive. And do so cheerfully." (from A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver, p. 120)

As a mother, running a household, I interject.

· Early to rise means early to bed. Early to bed means leaving much unfinished.

· Insomnia, anxiety, whatever things one might take pills for in the evenings, lets one drift through alarm clock warnings.Waking up late pisses on one’s chances for “cheerful.”

· Rising early for alone time requires silence that’s near-to-impossible to pull off in an apartment or an old creaky house. If one has a dog, the dog will always wake no matter how quiet one is; it will whimper to be let out to pee as one makes coffee.

· More often “early to rise” only means the other work starts sooner. To-do lists find one easily, first thing (as one has often planned it) and so kills one’s inspiration. Even without the penned to-do lists, the washer and dryer – which have sat quietly all night – seem now to whisper nasty things about wrinkles and mildew.

· Some kids – even teenagers – are naturally early risers, and they steal one’s writing devices to check their Facebook and play music videos. And toddlers have a lot to do in the mornings that requires one’s undivided attention (like sitting on the potty).

· To walk before the sun's up would mean one would need to carry a flashlight and an effective protective device and a cell phone because the world has mostly succeeded at convincing one that the world is dangerous and one is truly vulnerable.

· Work commutes mean out the door very early. Drives steal one’s otherwise personal time. It’s hard to take notes while driving, and kids lose things like hand-held recording devices.

· Sometimes, one has to live on just enough money to keep several chickens alive. All these chickens must be clothed and feed and taught to live within the fence line.

· "Enough to feed a chicken" means qualifying for free lunches and welfare and accepting handouts when they're given. Teenagers wear the stigmas that come along with such things burned into their foreheads.

· And the Writing Pen is often unruly and asks more and more of a mother as a writer and, meanwhile, back in reality, things pile up when one has been elsewhere, lost in words and stories and visions. All of those piled up things have a way of reshuffling one’s direction, over and over again. Alas, one's morning walk is a complication.

· The barnyard is demanding. This one doesn’t like playing rooster. And writing can makes one feel more like a dirty fox with dark intentions - a time stealer.



Mary, not this one on this day or any near day in the future.

For now, all I have are my damn sweet, late evenings.