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I've Made It Through the Rain

Cheerleading is over. It ended today, Sunday, October 26th, 2008 at 9:54am and I think it's over for good.

I say "I think" for a few reasons. We still have a banquet to attend in November and McKenna still has thank you cards to write to her coaches. I also say "I think" it's over because it's slowly ocurred to me that should McKenna ask to cheerlead again next year, I will not be able to say "no". I can say no to Pop Warner, easily. But can I really tell my child "no" to doing something she enjoys? At some point, I have to trust her to make the right choices, in essence, I have to trust me and Rob on how we have parented her.

For the next 10 months, therefore, we have decided to fill her time and brain with other things. Sunday morning cheerleading is being replaced by church attendance and Sunday school. Her cute little uniform will be replaced with a leotard or jazz pants for either ballet lessons or musical theater class respectively (she thinks she wants musical theater and who am I to argue). Supporting a team will come in the form of helping us with Robbie, cleaning the house and assisting us with cooking dinner.

Am I a prude? Perhaps...but every parent should be, because in our prudishness, she knows that she is loved.

She's Friggin' Six!!!

As we all know, I am not a fan of cheerleading. I am a fan of McKenna, however, so when she asked me to sign her up for Pop Warner cheerleading, I obliged.

PROBLEM 1: Cheer: "We're gonna' pick up the pace, so put your foot on the gas, cause we're gonna' kick you in the _____." (rhymes with gas).

Yes, I have a problem with teaching that to 6-year olds, and yes, I said something to the commisioner of the Pop Warner league. Her response: "Oh, the Rockets are doing that? They're not supposed to do it this year. It's for next year." Right, teaching that to 7-year olds is much better...

PROBLEM 2: One of the football coaches is a complete asshole. He yells in the kids' faces at point blank range. Oh, did I mention that the kids are 6 years old? Recently, he was yelling at his son for not paying attention to what he was saying. He then took a swing at the boy as if to kick him, but the kid ran away (Dad ran a few steps after him, but realized it probably wasn't a good idea to do in public). You should know that I'm not sitting by and doing nothing about it. I just need to calm down before I talk to the president of league. As long as Pop Warner accepts the behaviors of that man, they will never get a dime out of me and I will make sure everyone I talk to knows what type of organization Washington Rock Pop Warner is.

PROBLEM 3: McKenna got her cheerleading pics taken. We decided to order just her picture with her on the cover of a magazine (a pretend magazine). The article titles were "Interview with McKenna Moore", "Name Her Moves", "Find Out How She Does It" and "#1 Squad in the State". Very cute. I then read the last title: "Check Out Page 41! Hot! Hot! Hot!" Now, I'm sure there are those of you out there that don't see this as a problem (my guess is that you're a man...). This, however, is a blatant sexualization of girls. Why not something like, "Learn Her Workout Habits" or "Check Out Her Reading List"? I know, some of you are thinking what a prude I've become and have possibly laughed out loud when reading the previous sentence. My question to you would be why is it funny to you? Why do you think I might be unrealistic? Just because "it's everywhere" doesn't mean we have to just stand by and let it be. I called the photography studio and asked for that particular headline to be removed. "Why? What does it say?" When I informed them of their own product and what was written on the magazine cover, the response was, "Really? That's odd? It is obviously referring to her.* Can we get you something else?"

This desensitization to how we treat young girls angers me to no end!!! After a brief verbal kick in the ass to the WOMAN on the other end of the phone, she finally said, "You know, you're right. Maybe we should order a new template." I doubt that will happen.

I think I'm going to start a campaign to call for an end to this type of marketing. Maybe there's already an organization out there. I'll have to check into it and post it on the site. Meanwhile, I look forward to receiving a free 8x10 of McKenna without her being referred to as "Hot! Hot! Hot!"

* Rob, I told you so ;-)

I'm In Love...

...with the rantings/clarifications of writer Tim Wise. This is for anyone who chooses participate in this year's presidential election. I would honestly love to hear your thoughts, for or against. You know where I stand...

Please click this link for a quick read (if nothing else, you'll understand my thoughts and feelings): http://www.redroom.com/blog/tim-wise/this-your-nation-white-privilege

Thanks for sending it Mom!

I Was Thankfully Overwhelmed

There is no doubt that I was overwhelmed when I had McKenna. This was so for a number of reasons: it was an unexpected pregnancy, we were married for just six months (do the math on that one…), I was the first of my closest friends to have a baby so no one was there to offer sound advice, and she was an unhappy, sick baby. My brain was preoccupied by everything relating to babies and being a mom. With Robbie, things are different. I’m enjoying his babyhood much more than I was able to enjoy it with McKenna, also for a number of reasons: he’s our second child, he was very planned (can’t be much more planned than in-vitro), we have been married now for seven years and have overcome our share of differences, I’m probably the last of my group of friends to have a baby so I have plenty of people to turn to when needed, and for the most part, he’s a healthy and happy baby (sans some digestive issues). Not overwhelmed at all.

So when I recently began a series of unfortunate events, I had to wonder if I am once again overwhelmed or if I’m just preoccupied. It was about a week ago when I began to notice a slow transformation of sorts. Nursing Robbie, for example, has brought out the exhibitionist in me. My boobs are exposed constantly, so much so that I forget to close up shop and I’ll walk in front of open windows with my newly engorged porn-star boobs clearly visible to any passersby. I say “boobs” instead of “breasts” simply as a way to put them into a schema that reflects how I feel about them. “Breast” implies fairly firm hand rubbing, flicking of nipples in between fingers and gentle tongue play that leads to stimulation down below. No, that’s definitely not the use for them lately. They’re “boobs”, objects that bring on an animalistic aggression in my son that can lead to blood if not guided correctly by the referee (that would be me). It’s anything but sensual. It’s more like the game Whack-a-mole, except he feverishly tries to attack the nipples before the milk drips down. I’ve become so carefree, in fact, that neighbors have come by and I just sit there, boob exposed, and we have a pleasant conversation. At least that’s my point of view. My neighbors may feel differently about that considering my porn-star boobs are not on a porn-star body.

There have been other small signs that have made me question whether I'm overwhelmed or if I’m preoccupied with mommyhood. I’ve put formula in my coffee instead of my non-dairy creamer. (Luckily, I realized it before I took my first sip, but a definite sign something is amiss.) I’ve had to turn around to go back home because I’ve forgotten to get out of my pajama bottoms and put on real clothes before I’ve left the house. I’ve burned my eggs because I have forgotten I was cooking (okay, that’s not so unusual for me). But I think the real moment of truth came last week when I was getting ready to go to the store.

I couldn’t wait to get out of the house. With Robbie cozy in one arm and a bottle of water tucked in the other, I locked up the house and headed toward my car. The magic doors to my Honda Odyssey popped open and I buckled up Robbie in his car seat. As I pressed the button to close the door and walked around to the driver’s side, I suddenly had a very Eckhart Tolle-living-in-the-now kind of moment. This is it. I am living the American dream. I have a beautiful son, an absolutely amazing daughter, a husband who is loving and caring to everyone, a roof over our heads, two cars, two jobs that are extremely secure, and enough money to buy the necessities that I was about to purchase. I was suddenly overwhelmed. As I’m living this moment, with the deepest feeling of peace running through me, I buckled myself in, turned on the car, and began to back out of the driveway. A jolt and crunching noise abruptly awakened me from what felt like a meditative state. Rob’s car was behind mine and I ran right into it.

Wow…how did I not see that? I jumped out to inspect the damage and except for some swapped paint chips, all was well. I had to laugh at my own idiocy, to the blindness of my own environment, especially since I had to walk in between the cars to put Robbie in. Yes, it was unusual that Rob’s car was parked directly behind mine considering we have a double-wide driveway. But how on earth was I going to explain this one?

When he and McKenna got home from camp, I suddenly felt like I couldn’t admit to another adult my absentmindedness, my carelessness, my recklessness. I didn’t even have time to process the event in my own mind for Robbie began crying immediately after impact. Counting on the presence of McKenna, I turned innocently to my six-year old with my husband watching. “McKenna, I have to tell something to Daddy and I don’t know how he’ll react,” begging her to ask the inevitable “What do you have to tell him?” Being the inquisitive child she is, she did just that. “Well, mommy was backing up her car today and I forgot Daddy parked his car behind mine.” The look on Rob’s face was one of sheer shock as he yelled, “NO, YOU DIDN’T!” I looked at him with a smile and remorseful eyes. Panicked, he ran outside to inspect the damage. McKenna, flustered at his reaction, needed an explanation. “I ran into Daddy’s car today,” I explained. She covered her mouth and giggled. Even she finds it crazy. Rob suddenly came back inside stating, “I need a beer before I do this,” and he ran into the kitchen. “Get one for me, please,” I called out. When he returned with the beers, we all headed outside.

Rob knelt down in front of his car and began to touch the front bumper in a way that made me long for my boobs to be breasts. He looked carefully back and forth between the front of his car and the back of my minivan. He stood up, looked at me with furrowed brows and a lighthearted shaking of the head that said, “Who are you and why did I marry you?” It suddenly occurred to me that cuteness always works. “Look at it this way. It’s like a Reese’s peanut butter cup. I got my peanut butter on your chocolate and you got some chocolate on my peanut butter!” I paused with a smile, hoping he’ll find me quirky enough to see this latest faux pas as an adventure rather than a problem. He simply shook his head, smiled a bit, took a sip of his beer and gave me a kiss.
All was well.

I don’t know if Rob thinks I’m losing my mind or if I’m preoccupied with being a new mom again. But the truth is, at least in the case of the Reese’s peanut butter cup, it was neither. I wasn’t preoccupied. I was pleasantly, joyfully and thankfully overwhelmed with all that I have.

Confessions of a Cheerless Mom

McKenna has begun cheerleading this week and I hope she hates it. I highly doubt that will happen since she is naturally loud and energetic, but it’s a wish.

Oh...in case you were concerned, this entry is not about post-partum depression.

I know…I’m a terrible mom. It’s not that I want her to be miserable. I just dislike almost everything that cheerleading stands for. Why does she have to be one of the robots, yes robots, which have to support the boys on the field? Don’t we get enough messages that women are not free to find joy from within themselves, but that joy comes from the men in their lives? As a middle-school teacher, I see evidence of that everyday. Girls will say and do blatantly mean things to each other and to their peers to create a social hierarchy that is centered upon how boys perceive them. The more a girl can do to have boys notice her, the more popular she is amongst the girls. If someone else comes along, a threat is felt and the nastiness begins.

Cheerleading, in my mind, is a (semi-)subtle way of sending that message yet again. “Cheer those boys on girls! It’s very important that we do our best to support those boys out there on the field.” These girls are trained from a very early age to fit a certain mold. “Smile!” “Keep your arms straight!” “Jazz hands!” Individuality is simply out of the question. “Hair must be decided upon by the coaches and team moms. All girls must then wear their hair in the agreed upon fashion (ex: braids, ponytails, etc).” While some may argue that it’s creating a sense of team work, I would argue that it creates a sense of communism. With the 2008 Olympics beginning this week in China, I’ve realized that it’s not that far of a stretch. Yes, I believe cheerleading is a “sport” and I understand the trust that gets developed between the team, but I’ve also seen how it can turn girls against each other. Case in point…this year, a bunch of my students were on the Pop-Warner cheerleading team which just so happen to place first at the national competition at Disney World. Great for them…no easy accomplishment. However, a couple of students confessed to me how they were outcast from the team because they refused to drink and have sex like the rest of “the team” was doing (yes, I’m talking 13-year olds). While I know the argument can be made that this can happen with any sports team, I would beg to differ. As a longtime coach of girls’ basketball, my husband has found that his girls are and have always been, very accepting of the individuality that each player brings to the team on every level. Personality differences, sexual orientation differences, academic differences, etc. It makes sense, considering that basketball is a team sport that thrives on the individual talents of each player. In cheerleading, that’s just not so. The more you are just like everyone else, the better you are. It’s a pack mentality that spills over into the personal lives of these girls.

Why did I sign her up for it then? Well, Rob and I have always encouraged McKenna to have a “polite bite” of everything and that includes activities. She’s tried soccer, swimming, T-ball, dance, gymnastics, and Girl Scouts, all of which she has enjoyed, but has not latched onto. I guess cheerleading is a logical step for an American girl and I’m hoping it will be another stepping stone on the way to something that clearly demonstrates that a girl can do and be whatever she wants and that her sense of self comes from herself, not from what boys say, think or do.

Until then, I will support her enjoyment of cheerleading. I’ll continue to show enthusiasm as she shares with me what new stretches or routines she has learned. But I will do it while reminding her that she brings something unique to the team, that her individual sense of self, her confidence, her humor, her ability to make respectful and responsible decisions is what makes her such an awesome cheerleader, an awesome team player and one amazing little girl.

If You Want to Visit...

I think I'm too relaxed about things. I probably don't wash my hands the fifty times you are "supposed to" when handling a newborn. I don't feel the need to sterilize everything the baby touches. Recently, a friend of mine emailed me wanting to set up a visitation date. She jokingly wrote "I can't wait to hold him. You will let me, right?" Below was my response...

Since you would like to hold him, please be able to provide the following:

1) Photo identification.
2) Criminal history report with a copy of a full set of fingerprints.
3) Three letters of recommendation stating years of experience holding infants, years of education received in infant care, and psychological reports on you and your immediate and extended family members. No letters may be written by family members or friends.
4) All articles of clothing worn upon arrival must be washed three times in Dreft and cannot contain remnants of allergens. Clothes will not be provided for you if this expectation cannot be met.
5) Fingernails must be manicured so that nails do not exceed 1/16th of an inch beyond the fingertip. Clear polish only.
6) Shiny jewelry, toys, unique noise-making or any other attention getting contraption will not be tolerated and are therefore prohibited. We wouldn't want to draw his attention away from his mother now, would we?
7) Women must wear a sports bra one full size below their standard wear. This is to deter baby from trying to feed from the wrong person.
8) Men with enlarged breasts must purchase a similar item to achieve same effect as in #7(see Cosmo Kramer for "The Bro").
9) All comments regarding child must be prefaced with phrases such as "This adorable boy...", "He is so lucky because..." and "Girls will melt when they notice..." Visitors must request in writing any additional phrases they wish to preface their statements with at least 48 hours ahead of scheduled appointment.
10) All comments regarding the mother, her pregnancy and/or her post-partum state must include phrases complimenting her with such terms as "exceptional", "phenomenal", "sexy", "hot" and "inspirational".
Failure to complete any of the above will immediately result in eviction from the property and from the life of both mother and child effective immediately. I look forward to your arrival.