Responsibility and Regulations

A tragedy took place today in Connecticut, and already my Facebook page is full of calls for more gun regulations. The news will undoubtedly be full of articles and op eds by the end of the day, debating the subject in detail.

When I was seven and my little brother was five our dad took us out to the shooting range. He taught us gun safety and how to shoot straight. Then he braced us as we each took a turn firing his police handgun. There was no way for him as a police officer to not have a gun in our home. He taught us not only how to use one, but why not too. The power that slammed me back into his chest as I fired his gun kept me from even touching his locked gun box. It's still a vivid memory.

It's a pity that gun safety and respect is not a politically correct thing to teach your kids anymore. In me it shattered the fear factor that immobilizes most people in an emergency. Mine was the clear head that called 911 when shooting started in my neighborhood. None of the weapons involved were obtained legally by the way and the way the shooter ran across the street firing his weapon showed no one had ever taught him gun safety either. In my opinion, education is always a superior solution to regulation.

For personal safety I keep pepper spray around (I acquired it for bears when we lived in Alaska). In addition, we keep a couple of firearms locked away as a deterrent against a totalitarian government. Something I believe every law abiding citizen should do. Switzerland remained neutral during WW2 by requiring every citizen to bear arms. I don't think I'll ever have to use them. I'm not a conspiracy theorist. But that's why our founding fathers insured we have the right, and if we don't exercise it we take a serious risk.

More relevant to this tragic situation is the reality that psychos bent on destruction will find ways to achieve it, with or without guns. This is a human tragedy, which could only have had a human solution. Someone to see the distress of a lost screwed up person and care enough to intervene before he acted out in such a horrific way. We sideline the assholes in our society. No one has time to love them and figure out what's making them so screwed up.

Someone will argue that better funding of our state mental health facilities could result in reduced costs in state detention facilities. Maybe. But there will always be those who slip through the cracks because no one noticed they had a problem. We were all too busy.

I see other posts on Facebook that drive me crazy all the time. They masquerade as inspirational quotes about eliminating people from our lives who bring drama. Making it seem noble to look out for our own best interests at the expense of relationships where others depend on us.  In the wake of this tragedy, yes, we should hug our children close and treasure them. But maybe we should also take a moment to reach out to someone who drives us crazy. Especially within our own families. Maybe we should take a moment show them some love, to listen to what's going on in their heads. To be a human connection for someone at risk of losing their humanity. 

I'm not saying we have to let our lives be overrun by crazy people. But knowing our own boundaries and capability to act responsibly, reach out and love somebody who doesn't add anything to your life. Do it because someone you want to connect with, someone whose friendship has meant a lot to you, had nothing to gain from reaching out to you. Do it because you may be the one to prevent the next horrific tragedy from ever occurring. You'll never know. We only hear about the ones who slip through the cracks.

*** This post was featured in the Redwood Mpire Mensa Bulletin, June 2013 edition.

Going Stepford

Prerequisite: watch movie, The Stepford Wives, 2004 version, preferably on a date with your spouse.

Statistically speaking, the most important thing you can do for your children is keep your marriage strong. We are genetically wired to put our kids first, especially when they're babies. But if the best thing for your kids is happily married parents, then we may need to consciously reprioritize. One way to keep your marriage strong is to build memorable incidents of intimacy.

I don't know how the stereotype of intimacy at bedtime came to be, but I can think of nothing less inspiring than being attacked by my husband at the end of a long day of cleaning, errands and whining children who don't like what I made for dinner and can't sleep without a story. One of the tenets of a happy life is that you can't change other people, you can only change how you respond to them. I can't change the fact that he wants me anywhere and everywhere. He's male, and he married me. It goes with the territory. So I try to wear him out on my schedule, earlier in the day, as often as I can pull it off.

One of our favorites is what I call "Going Stepford". We're all modern women capable of doing anything a man can do. That's not in question. But on the rare occasions, when the house is really finally completely clean, it's fun to put on a dress and heels, set the table with candles and champagne flutes, send the kids to Grandma, and play the role of 50s domestic godess. If you can swing it and all the kids are in school, suggest he come home for "lunch". There's no way we could actually live the somewhat creepy Stepford ideals, and we wouldn't want to, but I doubt there is a man alive who hasn't fantasized about it.

Give him a memory he'll never forget to take him through the inevitable dry spells when you've been taking care of sick kids for two weeks and haven't bathed in nearly as long. Yes, that's how you make a marriage last for sixty years. Make sure the ups are up enough to carry you through the downs.

As a bonus, the anticipatory turn on I now experience as my house gets near to completely clean, gives me the oomph I need to finish.

Feeling Sick

I found this little gem in my files and enjoyed the distance I have at this moment from the horror I felt when I wrote it. 

Flossy felt like she had been buried in vomit up to her elbows then smeared with diarrhea.  Or maybe that was the toilet.  This was not the romantic image of raising children she had dreamed of.  This was parenthood, the front lines of the war on disease. She was in the trenches, where it's not enough to have to care for four explosive children.  You do it while exploding yourself.  There was not enough hot water in the world to wash away the stench, and only what she could boil in the house.  The hot water heater went out just before this latest battle, and it would likely all be over before the repair guy arrived.

Staring blankly at her dim reflection in the sliding glass door, after finally settling all the children in bed, she didn't recognize herself.  Neon green pajama pants her oldest daughter had sewn for her and a rainbow tie dyed t-shirt, also the gift of a child, looked harmonious, in a twisted way, with the greasy sloppily tied up hair.   Then she remembered that quick trip to the grocery store for more ginger ale and bread.  She left the house dressed like this!

Just when she thinks the end is near, Dad gets sick.  Yes, the man with whom she built this incredibly romantic life was now known to her as Dad.  Not at all surprising.  Her own name had been cast off some time ago in favor of Mom.  He was waiting for her in bed, with his vomit bowl and his ginger ale.  The end of a long agonizing day and her haven of rest was...ugh.  She sighed and curled up on the couch for a little respite.

Feeling scuzzy didn't mean it was actually so.  Truly, the carpet needed professional shampooing, but the rest of the house was mostly clean.  Two kids were ready to return to school in the morning.  The laundry was slowly catching up, though she doubted the efficacy of washing vomit towels in cold water.  Dishes were not too far behind thanks to her emergency supplies of disposable tableware.  Dad wouldn't care about the lack of clean socks in the morning.  He was on schedule to be moaning and running to the bathroom by turns come sunup.

If only she could take a bath.  When had a bath become the highest luxury she could aspire to?  Fortunately, it was something accessible in her normal everyday life.  Though perhaps she had become a little too dependent on those hour long vacations.  Missing them so desperately seemed wrong somehow.  At least her period was holding off for the hot water.  Nothing could make this worse than feeling like a bloody mess too.  Her body held off that one last little torment for now.  It had been a while since her last forty day cycle, but they were not completely unusual.  Unfortunately, the PMS part was the bit that got extended.  Another reason to want a long soak in a hot bath.  Every time she boiled enough water there was another child covered in excrement who needed it more urgently.

Sweet motherhood!  There was only one cure for this disgusting malaise.  Wandering slowly through the house shutting off lights and locking doors she breathed deep cleansing breaths, putting the day behind her as best she could.  Finally, walking into the kids bedroom, she found her sanity again.  Or if not sanity, the insanity that makes this life tenable.  The sleeping faces of her children, magically transformed into angelic beings so sweet and beloved as to bring tears to her eyes and a wild tightening about her chest.  That is after initially panicking and then locating the one who decided sleeping in the stuffed animal bin was preferable to cleaning off her bed.

The best part of some days is saying goodnight.

Success

About a fourteen years ago, when I was pregnant wth my first daughter, I caught a rerun of the Oprah Winfrey Show that had a real impact on me. Interviewed were two women who had done significant research into the backgrounds of highly successful women, and written a book about it. I don't remember their names, or the name of the book. I do remember them talking about their research and a few of the common traits they found. One was that most of the highly successful women were early readers. Others factors were like that, things that seemed not so much externally influenced.

One significant factor they uncovered was external. This is what etched itself on my memory. The most important thing you can do to raise successful daughters is to be successful yourself. That doesn't mean you have to make a lot of money or be at the top of your field. That means, whatever you decide to do, do it well. Make up your mind to pursue something, and pursue it. Your example is more important than anything else in determining the level of success your daughters will achieve.

The driving force in my mother's life was to be an excellent wife and mother. She cooked five meals a day, kept her house clean and laundry done, knew what was going on in her children's lives, and not only raised her own five well adjusted kids, but half a dozen others that landed on her doorstep over the years. She thrived on this and did not have outside ambitions to distract her from it. She was so successful that today many young mothers look to her for wisdom to apply to their own situations. My parents have found themselves counseling couples on the brink of divorce, and bringing them back into a healthy relationship. Wise counsel flows naturally out of their own struggles and experiences. Being raised in their home was like serving an apprenticeship in building a family.

The goals I have are a little different from my mother's. I care about being a good wife and mother, but it's not the only ambition that adds enthusiasm and purpose to my life. I'm not going to iron my kids blue jeans, and I can live with a slightly messier house. My passion is writing, and extending that love for family building outside of my own household. That's why I write this blog. When I get discouraged, I remind myself that if I move forward toward my goals even a little bit every day, I am doing the best thing I can to raise my daughters to achieve success in their own lives. What I might not do for myself, I am willing to do for my children.

So often we think of success in terms of our big dreams. My mom dreamed of running an orphanage, caring for hundreds of children instead of just a few. She's still pursuing that dream by supporting missions work overseas. I dream of changing the way displaced children are cared for in America. Of curbing the trauma often inflicted by our overburdened foster care system. Of putting the needed resources into the hands of young couples who have the passion and energy to raise families of hard to place children. That's too far off to be the thing I measure my success against, but it's still out there as the point on my horizon where my heart's compass directs me. The four lovely girls I am raising, dream of rescuing the orphans of India and Africa. Each generation is dreaming bigger. It gets me excited about their futures.

When we pursue something, we lay a track towards it that may never go all the way, but others will come behind, and ride the rails to their end, and begin to lay more track, until the dreams we thought impossible are achieved. That is how success flows from mother to child. That is how we have hope for our dreams. This is why I have to pick myself up when I get discouraged and lay another peice of track. I won't be the one to halt construction on a better future for my children, and for the world they will live in.

Maybe your mother wasn't successful. Half of my generation has divorced parents. I remember an article in my daughter's Teen Vogue about the pressure teens are under, taking care of irresponsible parents who refuse to grow up. You don't have to achieve something great in your life to be successful. You just have to lay the first tracks. Set your heart toward that thing out on the horizon
that calls to it, figure out a place on that path you can reasonably achieve, then move one small step in that direction. When your passion isn't enough to keep you going, here's your backup motivation; your success is a gift you pass on to your children, no matter what course you pursue.