Imagine you met a man, imagine you were an average
heterosexual woman, and you met and fell in love with a man so gorgeous and
charming that you swooned every time you met his gaze. Imagine you fell in love
with this man at first sight, literally. Imagine you met him, your eyes met,
and you just knew. This is what the love songs and the movies and the wars are
all about. This. This love. This man. All clichés apply.
Imagine your love for him surprised you in ways you never,
ever thought possible. Imagine he forced you to give of yourself in every way,
that he demanded nothing short of the kind of self-denying devotion you swore,
as a self-respecting modern woman, you would die before giving. And yet, you
live, and you live for him.
Now imagine you knew that you would give years, decades
even, of your life to this man, but you also knew, from day one, that you would
have to give him up. Imagine you knew, from the moment he seemed to melt into
your very being, that he would one day turn from you, go his own way, and love
another. You will, in fact, take it upon yourself to groom this man for another
to love. Because, love him unconditionally as you do, you know he has his
little peccadillos that will prove problematic when the time comes for him to
leave you. He leaves the seat up. He is mercurial, perhaps a tad narcissistic.
And his table manners, well, you’ll do your best. But your love for him grows
and grows every year.He is actually a
genius. A virtuoso and a saint. And it is your job to show him and the world
what he is capable of.
Would you take him on? I mean, really, you didn’t have a
choice, did you? Your love for him is instinctual, visceral, and holy.
And one day, he will come home, smiling the goofy grin you
recognize from the nascent days of your love, and you will know.He is no longer yours. He belongs to another.
Another woman. Another life. Another world. And you will be left behind. Why?
Because you are his mother. And you always knew you would be.
Eat what they're served or serve what they'll eat?
Tiger mom or Attachment mom?
Sarah Jane or Sheninana Rainbow?
Helicopter or Free-range?
Educational TV or no TV?
Free-play or directed play?
Homeschool or public school? Or private school?
Dance or scouts? Flute or piano? Soccer or capoeira?
Disposable diapers? Cloth diapers? No diapers?
Disneyland or backpacking?
Forbid princesses or embrace them?
Time-outs or reasoning?
Modeling or insisting on "please, thank you, sorry, excuse me?"
Co-sleeping or crib?
Sleep-training? Night-weaning? Neither?
Sleep with your baby. Never sleep with your baby. Nurse all night long. Night nursing causes cavities. Fluoride can protect their teeth. Fluoride is poison. Talk to them constantly. Let them play by themselves. Hold them. Don't hold them too much. Make your own baby food. Make your own toys. No plastic! No TV! No sugar! Read from day one. Do all the research. Don't pay too much attention to the latest research. Don't dress your girl in pink. Dress your boy in pink. Pinterest her first birthday party. Teach your baby to swim, to read, to sleep, to entertain himself, to use the potty, to use sign language, to eat spicy foods. Nurse as long as she wants, stop nursing at 6 months, at one year, at two years, before she goes to college.
Everything in moderation. You can never read, nurse, play, listen, talk, sing, love too much.
School ruins kids. Homeschooling ruins kids. Socialization is key. Socialization is not important. Don't over-schedule your child. Make sure your child has lots of opportunities to learn languages, sports, STEM, music, art, survival skills, gardening, knitting, programming, cooking.
Don't helicopter parent. Be there for them always. Teach them independence and leave them alone. Make sure they wash their hands.
Your kid is perfect just the way he is. Your kid hit my kid! My kid is the smartest. Don't compare your kids. My kid isn't smart enough. My kid doesn't talk, sing, write, read, eat, dance, hike, sleep through the night, poop on schedule, take risks, takes too many risks. My kid knows calculus, reads at a 9th grade level, speaks fluent Japanese, builds elaborate lego structures, builds elaborate butter structures, sings opera, plays guitar, dresses himself, found a cure for the common cold.
Take time for yourself. Never leave your baby unless you have to. No caffeine, no nitrates, no lunch meats, no unpasteurized dairy, no melons, no sushi, no alcohol, no sugar.
Recent studies show all mothers are doing it wrong.
I've recently become very active on Twitter, you know, that other social media site, and I have learned very quickly that that is where the crazies are. Apparently there are gun nuts, with handles like @MomsDemandLies (a surprisingly unclever take on the organization Moms Demand Action) and @HitMan41 who spend all their time searching for Tweets that mention #GunSense and tweeting back non-sensical 'arguments' in favor of gun rights and the second amendment (as they interpret it). And then there's people like me who are stupid enough to argue back. I'd like to think that I'm giving these people the benefit of the doubt; that if they are presented with logical and polite arguments in favor of restricting gun access and common sense gun laws they'll capitulate and recognize the necessity of such laws. But I think I do realize now that these people aren't going to change their minds. I'm not sure whether they aren't capable of changing their minds, or if Twitter just isn't the right medium, or some combination of these and other factors, but it's hard not to feel hopeless after reading their arguments. So, for your reading pleasure, I thought I'd transcribe some of the most heinous, hysterical, and downright hateful tweets I've received on the subject. If you're likely to explode with anger, I suggest reading them with a kitten in your lap or something.
I tweeted that the argument comparing spoons for obesity and guns for murders is ridiculous. So I got many tweets in response along these lines: "guns & spoons are apt comparisons in that the gun doesn't cause violence in the same way spoons don't cause obesity." Why registering guns like cars is a bad idea: "that's called prior restraint, and is the antithesis of a right" "Perhaps then we need to regulate EVERY object that could be used to cause death.... like shoe strings..." "Yep, I'm all for licensing and registration in order to vote and have free speech" Are you registered to be protected by the Constitution? NO? Hahahaha, you're fucked.
Of course, wanting gun restrictions makes me a bigot: u just dont want poor ppl to afford guns #gunsense#bigot#classwarfare
And my favorites, the good old "making me register my guns is bad because...um...the Holocaust": "i wanna register as a jew...wait, on second though, probably NOT a good idea" Do they want gun owners to walk around wearing a pin to let ppl know they are gun owners too? "i'd register my religion, but that usually works out as well as registering gun" "she [Me] isnt familiar with the events immediately following KRYSTALNACHT."
This is what we're up against. These are well-reasoned, logical arguments against gun control. I'll never understand why politicians can't stand up against this. It's nonsense. Why is this so hard to combat in legislation? It's not like there's this incredibly rich, incredibly powerful lobbying organization that feeds voters this nonsense and bribes and threatens politicians so they bend to their will. Right?
By now, if you follow me on Facebook or Twitter and you're reading this now, congratulations, you're probably one of the few now willing to pay any attention to anything I post. (Hi Mom!) I've been posting quite a bit of stuff that you might consider "political," "controversial," and maybe even "wrong." I posted that I think the NRA are murderers, and I stand by that. I've signed some petitions to try to influence policy regarding gun laws and asked you to do so, too. I am aware that this can get annoying. When you're scrolling through Facebook you don't want to take the time to click off the page and, heaven forbid, type something like your email address and name onto a petition. Or maybe you don't want to put your name on something you haven't researched well yourself. Maybe you even intend to do that research...later. (If this is your concern, it might help a tiny bit to know that I try to stick to very reputable sources: the New York Times, mostly, and the petitions are from Everytown.org and Moms Demand Action, very reputable organizations, but I understand if you can't just take my word for it) I've certainly felt that way about what others have posted. So why post all this stuff if I think it's largely ineffectual? For one, I feel I need an outlet for my anger. I, selfishly, want to feel like I'm doing something, even if I know it's next to nothing. For another, I'm tired of clucking my tongue and moaning. I'm past that. I think I've finally reached boiling point. After Columbine I was shocked. After Virginia Tech I was sad. After Aurora, Colorado I was scared. After Sandy Hook I was deep in grief. After Isla Vista I am so. very. angry.
The number of gun deaths in America is....I don't even have an adjective for it. Staggering? Heartbreaking? Unacceptable? There are no words to express the crisis my country is experiencing. I don't feel equipped to make arguments about the second amendment or gun violence statistics. I started a post about that but abandoned it. I'm no expert on constitutional law, or history, or statistics. If you're interested it's easy to find such arguments in reputable sources such as the New York Times, the Washington Post, and nih.gov. But chances are, if you're reading this, you already know and understand these arguments. The question is when will we act? It is ridiculous that, in this country, founded on the noble principles of democracy and freedom, citizens should be dying in such vast numbers at the hands of other citizens. Any why? Because gun owners think guns are cool? OK, if you get your jollies from shooting stuff, fine, good for you. Do it in a gun club. Go deer hunting, or boar hunting, or whatever it is that floats your boat. But when your rights to own something cool infringes on the right of others to live we have a problem. The fact is that most people want common-sense gun laws. But the NRA is so powerful and so rich that their voice is heard above the voices of voting citizens. Think about that. An organization with lots of money has more influence than voters and people are dying because of it. Doesn't that strike you as wrong?
What's that? The NRA is made up of voting citizens and represents you and your rights? You think the NRA cares about your freedom? Freedom at what cost? The lives of innocents, of children? That's not the kind of freedom I want. You think the NRA cares about your safety? Then why does it block studies, just studies, to better understand the influence of guns on public health and safety? If they think the numbers are in their favor, that guns do in fact prevent more violence than they cause, why would they block such studies? They know guns kill people. They know guns are a risk to you and your family. They also know that gun sales line their pockets, and that's what they care about. That's what the NRA is all about. It's all about the Benjamins, baby. There's a word for this, for profiting from others' grief. Evil.
Now I said I wouldn't get into the arguments about gun ownership, etc, so sorry, I couldn't help myself. Did I mention I was angry? Are you angry? Are you angry enough to act? To exercise your rights as a citizen of this nation and stand up against evil? Or is that cat video on youtube a better use of your time? Maybe you'll sign a petition, after you read about Kim Kardashian. I'm guilty of it too. After all, I can't spend all my time thinking about this. I'd go crazy. Maybe I'm already there. But there are things we can do. There are things we MUST do. This must not happen again. Not one more.
It's been a week, so I thought I'd let you all know how my sugar free life is going. I'm sorry to report that I haven't experienced any drastic changes in my life. I'm not bursting with energy. Fruit doesn't taste any sweeter than usual (no, I didn't give up fruit, although some sugar free die hards say one must to have a truly sugar-free experience). And I've cheated a bit. I had ketchup twice. I've been putting honey in my tea and stevia in my coffee. I made "sugar-free" cookies with a healthy dose of honey. Mea culpa. It's only been a week, so cut me some slack. I have to say, though, that this has been very, very hard. Much harder than I thought it would be. My negative side effects from sugar withdrawal include:
1. Persistent headache
2. General crabbiness
3. Intense sugar cravings
4. Sugar-themed dreams
5. Boredom from loss of baking activities.
6. Aimless wandering through kitchen, opening cupboards, and sighing.
I have really questioned my sanity with this experiment. Questions I have asked myself include but are not limited to:
1. I wonder why the heck I'm doing this?
2. Food is one of the pleasures of life. Why should I deny myself one of life's simplest pleasures?
3.Who are these people who say sugar is so bad, anyway?
4. Why, God, why?
5. How long should I do this?
6. Why is sugar freaking EVERYWHERE!? You literally cannot look anywhere without seeing a candy bar ad, a shop window full of cookies, even a homeless guy with a doughnut someone gave him.
7. I'm really off the deep-end now, eyeing the homeless dude jealously
8. How am I going to live without x? (x = frappuccinos, ice cream, chocolate, jam, iced coffee with vanilla syrup, french toast, chocolate, pie on the fourth of July, homemade chocolate chip cookies in the winter, Wok of Flame's sweet and sour chicken, chocolate, s'mores when camping, ketchup on hot dogs, burgers, chicken, and eggs {yes, I like ketchup on my scrambled eggs, so deep is my addiction}, everything at Trader Joe's, and chocolate)
9. Oh, sweet Jesus why?
10. Did the Starbucks logo lady just wink at me?
You may say "You don't have to live without all of those things, just moderate yourself. Have pie on the fourth of July, it's a special occasion!"
But that's exactly the problem. I've said many times "Geez, I really need to cut back on the cookies," but when they're in front of me I just don't care. If they're there, I'll eat them. And as for "special occasions," they happen way more often than you think. Catie's at a friend's birthday party? Sure, I'll have a piece of cake, it's a special occasion. Date night? We pretty much have to have dessert, it's a date night law. Memorial day barbecue? I owe it to the fallen veterans to have this ice cream cone. See how it all adds up? I'm afraid I have to go all or nothing. Maybe after I've been without sugar long enough I'll be able to moderate myself. Or maybe I'll go sugar-crazy after prolonged sugar deprivation. One or the other.
This past weekend I went to my first concert in years. I'm not much of a concert goer---they tend to be expensive, and I don't have much interest in seeing a band or artist unless I'm, well, obsessed with them and know every word to every song. But when Pentatonix announced a European tour that included Dublin I jumped. And maybe hyperventilated a little. If you're not familiar with Pentatonix watch this. I highly recommend you sit down first.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lExW80sXsHs
You see, they're an a capella group that won a singing competition on the TV. Sound unlike something I would like? Yeah, I know, I'm so high-brow. I could sing (ahem) Pentatonix's (or PTX as we Pentaholics call them) praises, but you probably have other things to do today than read my blog. I sat down today not to write about much I love PTX, tempting though it is, but to write about the concert and fan experience.
As the concert date approached I was surprised at the need to suppress rising tide of fan hysteria. I thought I had grown out of the artist worship that had plagued me in my teens. Like Austen's Marianne Dashwood I could never "love anything by halves." If I ever liked something I loved it, I obsessed over it, I couldn't get enough of it. And the fact that Austen wrote this of her young protagonist leads me to believe that this is not a unique experience. Take a moment to think back to your adolescence. What was it that got you up in the morning? What adorned your angst-ridden doodle journal? For me it was
<3 Mrs. Brian Rosenworcel <3
Mrs. Thundergod
GUSTER
Guster was (and, I suppose, still is) a band of three Jewish guys from Massachusetts. One played the bongos. The other two sang in heart-breaking harmony. They were a bit like a three-person, slightly more Rock-y Simon and Garfunkel. Every song reduced me to tears. Their lyrics spoke to me. It was more than just hero-worship. I did think they were brilliant artists, of course, but more than that, I felt they really knew me. They understood what I was going through as a diminutive late-bloomer with transition issues. Guster, and only Guster, really got me.
In the interest of equal representation, Either Way, from Guster's 1998 album, Lost and Gone Forever, performed recently. I have to admit, this song still hits me right in the feels.
By the time my seventeenth birthday rolled around I had been to around the concert block. I had been dragged privileged to attend innumerable classical concerts, as well as musicals, operas, and the odd acoustic finger-snapper at Freight and Salvage. But I had never been to a real rock concert (don't scoff, to me Guster was rock) at a standing-room only venue. My friend Kyla and I scored tickets (she, more excited about the opening act, Great Big Sea, which also occasionally made it to my mix-tapes) and my mother escorted us to the Fillmore. We waited in line until our feet ached and then, once inside, literally right up against the stage, we waited some more. I nodded my head through Great Big Sea's set and then nearly passed out when Guster took the stage. It was a transcendent experience. I sang along until my voice was gone. I danced, I screamed. It was a bit of Beatle-mania, only I felt I was the only one who felt that way. After all, Guster spoke to me alone. How could anyone but the four of us (me, Adam, Ryan, and the Thundergod) really understand?
When the concert was over I insisted we shiver in the San Francisco fog until the band appeared. We waited. We shivered. We waited some more. Eventually Kyla and my mother said it was time to go home. I huffed. Then I sulked. Then I cried. Then I went ape-shit crazy. Oh my God, I thought, Guster doesn't even know I'm alive. To them I was just another bobbing head in the audience. They had no idea that their music was meant for me, that I was the only one who truly understood them and they were the only people who really understood me. I started questioning the meaning of my life in the way only an almost-seventeen-year-old does. Without Guster I am Nobody. Oh, the humanity!
I did eventually get over the disappointment (probably by lunch time the next day) and moved on. I still loved Guster, but I also loved Leonardo DiCaprio, Gene Kelly, and this super-cute sophomore in the Fall play. Subsequent concerts (including two more Guster concerts) didn't have quite the same effect on me. I guess I grew up a little. But something happened to me on the way to the Pentatonix concert. I love this band, but I'm hardly obsessed with them. I admire their musicality, their talent, their mission of acquainting young people with complex, expertly arranged and performed a capella music. (Just as a quick aside, because I can't resist, PTX succeeds with this mission. I have never before seen teenagers screaming and generally losing it over an original cello piece. Kevin Olusola is The Man). It's nothing like what I felt for Guster, thank goodness. But before the concert I felt the old anxiety/excitement rising up in me like a beautiful and dangerous serpent. It's fun to feel that excited. Unless, of course, you're me, in which case it feels more like a panic attack. Again, the concert was a transcendent experience. I sang until my voice was gone. I danced, I screamed. And my husband, bless his heart, danced and screamed with me. And then, after the concert, this happened:
Avi, the most amazing bass in the history of ever.
Kevin, the man, beatboxer, cellist, singer, Yale graduate. There's nothing this guy can't do.
Mitch, queen contralto. As awesome for his talent as he is for his authenticity.
I met the band. They signed my t-shirt. We took pictures. And I wish so much I could tell my sixteen-year-old self that, as cool as it was, they were just human. Very talented and slightly bewildered humans. They were extremely nice, and more than a little tolerant of overzealous selfie-takers. But I realized that there was no way for a connection to be forged between us. It was such a weird environment. They were obliging fans with a need to be recognized and made to feel special. I'm sure there were more than a few post-millennial teenage Johannas in the audience (in fact, I'm pretty sure I stood next to one) who felt the overwhelming and exclusive kinship I felt for Guster. I really hope they got what they needed.
And because I can't leave well enough alone and I feel a weird obligation to tackle big issues I know nothing about, reflecting on this experience helps me understand zealotry in other forms. What if as a sixteen-year-old I had been drawn to a religious text or leader, to a cult, or a gang? We all feel this way as young people, yet it's as easy to dismiss Guster-lovers as it is to condemn and vilify gang members and religious zealots. Not that I have any answers, but I always find it helpful to see other humans through a lens of shared experience.
Edited: I just can't leave this post alone. Nick Hornby addressed this kind of stuff hilariously and insightfully in the novel Juliet, Naked. Check it out.
I was recently reading up on alcoholism, you know, as you do, and I discovered something pretty disturbing. The National Institute on Alcohol Use and Alcoholism lists the following symptoms of alcohol addiction:
Craving—A strong need, or urge, to drink.
Loss of control—Not being able to stop drinking once drinking has begun.
Dependence—Withdrawal symptoms, such as nausea, sweating, shakiness, and negative emotional states such as anxiety, after stopping drinking.
Tolerance—The need to drink greater amounts of alcohol to feel the same effect.
I realized that if I substituted the words "eat sugar" for drinking in each of these symptoms, it describes my relationship with sweets pretty well. Now, I don't mean to minimize alcoholism. On the contrary. Alcohol addiction is a very serious disease that has affected my family deeply. It may seem silly to compare something like sugar to alcohol. After all, I can drive just fine after eating cake, right? And no sane jury these days would let someone off a murder charge on the Twinkie defense. But more and more evidence is coming to light on the dangerous (yes dangerous!) nature of sugar. Obesity, diabetes, heart disease, metabolic disorders, and cancer have all been linked to sugar consumption. And there is research that now shows that sugar addiction is real.
"But, Johanna," you may be thinking, "surely you don't eat that much sugar. You're nowhere near obese. These are not things you need to worry about."
The scary thing is that I do eat a huge amount of sugar, and sometimes I don't even realize it. There's the sugar I put in my tea, in my oatmeal, and in my cookies and cakes (I like to bake.) But then there's the sugar in my bread, on my burger, and on my pasta. We try to stay away from processed foods, but we do buy ketchup, bread, sauces, and cereals at the store. It's all chock full of sugar, and it's this hidden sugar that's particularly insidious because it changes how our bodies and brains react to sugar. The more sugar I eat, the more sugar I want. "Tolerance," anyone?
About a year ago I announced on Facebook that I was officially done with soda. How's that going? Well, it could be better. I crave soda, especially with certain meals. (Can someone please explain to me why caesar salad tastes so much better when accompanied by Coke?) I have about a soda a week, which when you compare that to how much most Americans (and Irish, too, I think) drink, is pretty darn good. But it's the craving part that scares me. And it isn't just soda. When I wake up in the morning I think about my nice cup of coffee, you know, the one with at least 2 teaspoons of sugar in it. At about 11 o'clock I want, no, I crave a nice cup of tea, you know, the one with 2 teaspoons of sugar in it, and sometimes a pastry, too. I'll often have juice or tea with lunch, and from then on I'm thinking about my relaxing time on the couch after the girls have gone to bed with, you guessed it, a nice cup of tea and cookies. It frightened me when I realized how much of my day is driven by when and how I'll get my next sugar fix. And when I don't get my time on the couch with tea and cookies, or even if I don't have that to look forward to, I feel depressed and anxious. I have trouble taking pleasure in the rest of my day. In short, I go through withdrawal.
You hear that addicts have to "hit bottom" before they seek help. I may not have hit bottom in the sense that my life is now falling apart, but when I realized how my sugar addiction is affecting my family, I decided it was past time for a change.
You may have seen on Facebook that I baked a cake yesterday. I captioned the picture I posted, rather defensively, "Happy 'what, so I decided to bake a cake, you got a problem with dat?' Day." The real reason I baked a cake, though, was because I felt I had to. There were no cookies in the house. I couldn't face the rest of my day without the promise of sweets. So instead of doing my usual afternoon activities with my kids, I baked a cake. And, of course, this did not escape my kids' notice. So when the steaming, gooey monstrosity came out of the oven they decided dinner was over. Goodbye lovely Mexican soup. Hello bananas foster upside down cake. And because I was going to indulge, I couldn't very well deny my children a slice as well. And, to be perfectly honest, I didn't have the energy to say no. So on a Wednesday night, for no reason other than that I needed a sugar fix, we all sat down and ate cake. That's when I realized that this is not OK. This is not what I want for my kids.
Hi, my name is Johanna, and I am a sugar addict. I need help. So I'm going cold turkey. No refined white sugar. No store-bought bread. No corn flakes. And no cookies or cake. It'll be hard. Extremely hard. But I have to do it. If you're with me, let me know. I need a sponsor.
