Superbowl 49--Nissan's Epic Commercial Fail!

'And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man on the moon

When you comin' home, Dad

I don't know when, but we'll get together then

You know we'll have a good time then."

(Harry Chapin)

Nissan--your maudlin Superbowl ad--what, WHAT were you thinking?  An absentee father misses most of his child's life to DRIVE A FAST CAR? 

Really? Really? You must not know...you and your executives must have never been at the other end of that life. Are there no single mothers working for your company? Are there no fatherless children? I cannot imagine that you asked them their opinions of that monstrosity. If you had...if you had asked you would have found out that being part of a family where the father is absent; where the father is non-existent in the everyday lives of homework, school, sports, play, friends, morals, values; where there is no father that creates a solid foundation for the shaping of another human being---well sirs and madams--that life is not glamorous or sleek or shiny at all. Not one bit.  

Allow me to enlighten you on what you just prettified.

• 80% of rapists with anger problems come from fatherless homes according to the Center for Disease Control.
• 90% of all homeless and runaway children are from fatherless homes.  

That's 32 times the average.

• 85% of all children who show behavior disorders come from homes in which the father is not involved with their everyday lives.
• 71% of all high school dropouts--you guessed--fatherless homes!

And speaking of education.....Did you know?

• That children whose dads are involved are 70% less likely to drop out of school.
•  They are more likely to get A's.
• They are more likely to join and enjoy extracurricular activities.

But Nissan, as bad as all that seems it can be much much worse--much worse. How about THIS:

Researchers at Columbia University found that children living in a one-parent household with a poor relationship with their father are 68% more likely to smoke, drink, or use drugs compared to all teens in two-parent households. Teens in single mother households are at a 30% higher risk than those in two-parent households.

Drugs? Alcohol? Smoking? Not convinced? Why don't we try these statistics on for size?

• 75% of all adolescents in chemical abuse centers come from families with fathers who were weekend dads. 
• 70% of  kids in state-run institutions come from fatherless homes.

This is NINE times the average. (US Dept. Of Justice)

• 85% of all youths in prison come from fatherless homes.

This is TWENTY times the average.

   

What?  Do you want me to stop? Too painful?  You bet your ass it's painful.  It is so incredibly searingly agonizing. Perhaps that's why I found myself shaking with rage watching you make it cool and suave and so very chic!

Cold statistics not doing it for you? Then let's talk about the moms of fatherless households. Yes. Let's talk about them.  Those moms, they aren't dumb.  Even if YOU didn't know about the steely hard reality and statistics of children with less than worthy fathers, THEY know. 

From very early in their children's lives, they know beyond a shadow of a doubt that their jobs are going to be hundreds of times more difficult. They know that keeping their children walking the responsibility-line will be a epic battle.  After all--dad's not responsible...why should his children be? 

Moreover, in those households where dads roll in on the weekends to take those single-mothers' children camping, or to the zoo, or to a Knicks game...those same moms become enemy number one. After all, how much fun is it to be the nagger, the cajoler, the keeper of the homework, chores and things like kindness and respect? That kind of adult gets OLD really quickly--so very very quickly. 

Take it from someone who knows--those moms get sick of themselves, sick of their voices, sick of the I-can't-let-my-vigilance-slip exhaustion.  They are tired of having to be the bad-guy, of not having backup, of hearing "if dad were here" and the incessant slamming doors. 

Moms of girls worry beyond all measure that her daughters will look for and find the same kind of men their fathers are--absent, unwilling, disrespectful, self-centered and self-serving.

Moms of boys agonize that their sons will end up being those irresponsible, disrespectful, self-centered and self-serving men just like their dear-old-dads. 

Those single-stalwart-moms--they are strong and they are tenacious and they have guts and hearts of steel.  They do everything possible to prevent those kinds of futures from coming true.  But alas--as you can see from the statistics above--that muscle, that resolve quite often isn't enough. 

It's interesting, Nissan, at the end of your commercial, when the dad picks up his son from school in your shiny, shiny glistening lustrous car, he is crying.  I wonder why? Is it because he knows that that boy that he created, his son, is now grown and it's too late...Does he know that he missed it?  He missed the parent conferences and the 13 first days of school.  He missed his first home run and the high fives in the dugout.  He missed it when friends became bullies and dreams were dashed and when they came true.  He missed the lengthening of limbs and the lowering of voices. He missed a chance to mold minds in a positive way, to be an influence that lifts and guides and encourages. That dad...and all the other dads who choose to figuratively drive those fast cars instead of slow and steady ones...they are the problem. They are not to be idolized and commercialized.  And so I say to you, Nissan, shame on you. Shame shame shame for lauding a culture of sadness and emptiness and irresponsibility--all in the name of selling cars.   

But life is a series of checks and balances isn't it, Nissan.  And just as my rage was eating a hole into my very weary stomach, along comes a Toyota Camry commercial on...(can it be?) ...of all things, dads. And mercifully, gratefully they are a company who got it right. I know that this single-mom will happily buy their products and forever forgo yours, Nissan. Let hope all other humans who care about future generations follow suit. 

Miss the Toyota Camry commercial, Bold Dad? You can find it here.  Here's the transcript:

Truer words have never been spoken...

Being a dad, is more than being a father,

It's a choice.

A choice to get hurt, 

Rather than to hurt.

To be bold,

When others are scared.

A choice that says,

you'll be there

To show them right from wrong

By your words and by your actions.

Being a dad is more than being a father

It's a commitment

One that will make a wonderful human being...

Who will make their own choices 

someday.

A New Year's Resolution That Involves Wine and a Tiara? Sign Me Up!!

In April of this year, after some unforeseen and life-shaking circumstances, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I needed to make some changes. Life-quaking things often bring these realizations, and this time was no different, but as I pondered what to do, I became increasingly aware that my options were not abundant for so many reasons. I knew from experience that hoping that those around you would change, needing them to change for you, wishing and dreaming about the day they would wake up after experiencing three ghosts completely renewed in a Scroogian way–well–it wasn’t happening. The changes I needed to make had to be my own. But how?

After much prayer and much conversation with Dr. Speed Dial, I realized that like so many of us, much of my self-worth came from outside and not from within. I am not sure I ever really understood that loving myself was as essential as loving my children, my husband, and my God. I had fallen into the trap that oodles of parents fall into in which we give and we give and we give to all the others in our lives; hugs, kisses, advice, time, space, understanding, wisdom, our laps, our sanity, and love–we give so much love that quite often we forget. We do forget don’t we mommies and daddies? We forget that in order to KEEP giving to others, we must remember to give to ourselves. It is essential that we love who we are as much as we love those we hold dearest.

So although it was April, four months into the new year, I made an unorthodox albeit late resolution to give the gift of love to myself daily, to start loving myself right away. Living this way for the past 6 months, I have found that there are so many powerful results of loving oneself. For one, you begin to claim your life and become much surer of who you are. It feels damn good, and best of all, you never again have to hand over your personal power to someone else saying, “Here you go. Hope you don’t break it.” Nope not anymore.

Now, I know that that seems like a task that is easier said than done. After all, a parent’s days are so full of the responsibilities that come with loving others that there’s no way to find time to love ourselves. Au contraire! Loving ourselves is much simpler than it sounds. It doesn’t cost much if anything at all and after a bit of practice, the “how” to love ourselves becomes easy and automatic. Think this might be a resolution you can and should keep? Check out the list of things I did this year. They just might help you get started. Have any other ideas? I’d love to see them in the comments section!

40 Simple Ways to Start Loving Yourself Right Away:

1. Take a bubble bath wearing a tiara, holding a glass of wine in one hand and a good book in another.
2. Embrace the unknown. You never know what opportunities will come from it.
3. Wear sequins.
4. Need a reminder? Make a list of reasons of why you love yourself. Read it before bed.
5. Stretch in the mornings. There are fabulous short, quick and speedy yoga videos to get your juices flowing. Try them out. It feels so good.
6. Clean out closets.
7. Reach out to others. It just takes one person with whom you can be vulnerable. Do you know someone like that?
8. Have media black-out days.
9. Ask for help.
10. Know that you are good enough ALL THE TIME. Even when you don’t feel like that’s true…no…ESPECIALLY when you don’t feel like it’s true.
11. Do your very, very best to stop judging people…including yourself.
12. Increase the amount of greens you eat.
13. Listen to new types of music…and even if it’s in the kitchen…DANCE.
14. At least once a year, treat  yourself to new clothes.
15. Change your alarm clock to something that makes you smile! Got a favorite song? Have that wake you up. Nothing says, “I hate myself” like starting off your day with an annoying repetitive blast!
16. Be good to your body.
17. Wear fuzzy socks in the winter.
18. Know that you deserve love…and ONLY be with those who do.
19. Be vibrant and colorful. If not in dress, then in word and action.
20. Have integrity. Nothing helps one sleep better than knowing that all intentions were kind and good in nature.
21. Do something that you’ve been afraid to do.
22. Eat dark chocolate.
23. Find amazing new role models. My new go-to-for-inspiration is Amy Ferris, author of Marrying George Clooney! Don't know her? Oh..You must make time!!
24. Get more sunshine.
25. Stop–just stop–trying to fit in. You are fine…you are just fine the way you are.
26. Get out everything that you’ve been holding onto.
27. Decide how you want to be treated by others and do not accept anything that doesn’t coincide with that decision.
28. Write a letter to yourself as a child. Tell him or her the things they need to hear.
29. Run away. (For a short trip with yourself or a friend or a child.)
30. Be brave.
31. Talk to strangers.
32. Make the most of every opportunity.
33. Dress up for yourself.
34. Use Facebook. There you’ll be connected with acquaintances who may become your dearest friends, you’ll find like-minded humans, read interesting articles and find needed diversions from stress and anxiety.
35. Bake, create, ski, write, read, play games, do puzzles, do something, do ANYTHING preferably that is not related to a mommy or daddy duty.
36. Forgive…That does not mean forget, accept or all is fine and dandy. Forgiveness, as Dr. Maya Angelou tells it, is saying, “I am done with it because it’s best for me and my wellness.” Forgive…be done with it.
37. Speak to yourself with kind tones, with words of wisdom, coo and coddle and use a voice that is meant for the smallest infant.
38. Rely on yourself. Be loyal to yourself.  Do all for yourself that you used to wish someone else would do for you.
39. Accept and revel in genuine compliments!
40. Be your own best friend!

Ode to the Flannel Nightgown

All this talk lately about yoga pants being the perfect piece of clothing for women just seems so silly to me. I can't understand this line of thinking, truly I can't. It seems absolutely implausible. Obviously these clothing-scientists-of-sort have never ever experienced the pure and unadulterated bliss that one gets when donning a flannel nightgown.  Ah yes,  poor under appreciated flannel nightgown! Isn't it about time that someone sing your praises?  So with that in mind, here are the top 6 things that make flannel nightgowns ROCK!

1. No Waist Band.  That's right ladies--no elastic or drawstring or fold down bandeau! Who needs 'em? They rest directly on the certain special body part that dogs us, um you know, at that time of the month, after a satisfying meal, or after a holiday-week-gorge-fest (perhaps ESPECIALLY after a holiday gorge fest!) Although there is SOME give in the spandex that makes up our lauded yoga pants, that waistband is still there cutting into, putting pressure on and reminding us like a nagging wife of the bloat and unwanted fat cells that have set up shop on our stomachs. Flannel nightgowns, on the other hand, bell out at JUST the right place. If we're standing, they never even graze our bulging bellies. Furthermore, it seems to me those yoga pants add even more salt to the abdomen-wound when we sit down! Don't tell me that you've never experienced the unbridled unpleasantness of a waistband that immediately folds down with every sit-down.  A flannel nightgown never ever needs to be fished out of the folds of flab and hitched up over the top! Never! Ever!

2. Otherworldly.What other garment can make you feel like Jane Eyre?  Just button it up to the top, add an English accent and walk down a long hallway holding a candle and BOOM! Instant Victorian Heroine! Let's see yoga pants do that?

3. So Warm!!  I mean, after all, flannel is the go-to material this season! So many of us love those flannel sheets that get dusted off during the coldest of months! Who wouldn't want to be able to WEAR those flannel sheets (so to speak) from the time they get home from work until they have to get dressed the next day?  While yoga pants CAN take you from work to play to the grocery store, they cannot warm you on a cold winter night the way that the flannel nightgown can.

4. Go Commando! Buy a floor-length flannel nightgown and no one-NO ONE-will ever know if you choose to walk around sans undies.  Hell, flannel material is so forgiving no one would ever know if you decided to forgo ALL lingerie. (Unless you are Dolly Parton...then I'm not so sure.) And well, with yoga pants...well...we ALL know when a woman is...ehem...without her underwear. And speaking of wedgies....

5.  No Wedgies--Not sure if this needs any explanation especially if
you've ever tried to sleep in yoga pants or walked behind an underwearless-yoga-pants-wearing woman!




6.. Body Type-Schmody-Type! Although yoga pants are worn by all shapes and sizes, it doesn't necessarily mean that they flatter everyone. I know for myself, my thighs, hips and rear end tend to be on the curvy side (stop smirking...) so, unless I wear a tunicky thing on top, I am often self-conscious with the way the material on yoga pants cling to these body parts. I don't know about you, but it isn't a wish of mine to frame my large derriere in clingy, glittery, shiny spandex.  Yet, I have never met a woman who doesn't do a flannel nightgown right. Tall or short, fat or skinny, large-chested or Kardashian-bottomed, flannel nightgowns are just fine on any body type!

So what do you say?  To hell with the yoga pants lovers! Let's start a flannel nightgown revolution! Pull up a chair, grab a pint of Ben and Jerry's and let's toast the only garment that won't remind afterwards why we should have put the ice cream down!

December Is...

December. The mere word seems to send so many into a tailspin.  It is a word that has become synonymous with stress and rushing around like a colony of ants. We can forget can’t we?  We can let all of the necessities and commitments feel like lead burdens around our neck. We have those December list don’t we? And we check them twice.

But December isn’t have-to’s and need-to’s.  It isn’t watching the Joneses and feeling green with envy. December isn’t meant for stress and strife, and it isn’t about obligation. December isn’t envying what the other moms, or dads, or co-workers are doing, and it certainly isn’t doing it better.  December isn’t rampant maniacal running to and fro. It isn’t “I haven’t got a thing to wear!” December isn’t meant to be the month of dreading and draining and dragging. It shouldn’t be must-do’s and “oh my I am out time!” It’s December. It’s December. Have you forgotten? Try and remember what this month means to some, to a child?  If the mere mention of December brings about anxiety and stress, perhaps it’d be better if we tried to remember what December IS?

December is tinsel and twinkle and treasure.

It is sparkle and snowflakes and celebration.

It is candlelight, strings-of-light, and starlight.

December is tradition great and small.

It is taking a running leap at a patch of ice on the sidewalk and careening toward a snowbank at warp speed.

It is the shoosh of ice skates on a frozen pond and the rumble of plows that drive by on a winter night.

December is the thrill of flying on a snowboard, a sled or on skis. It is the cold air stinging your cheeks.

It is itchy toes warming up.

December is honoring our heritage and our beliefs.

It is lighting candles in celebration, in remembering.

It is prayer.

It is majesty.

December is snuggling under a fuzzy blanket with just the soft light and sweet smell of the tree to accompany you.

December is food; mouth-watering, sweet, salty, stunning, glorious food that gathers us together.

It is the satisfying hum from the voices of those you love all in one place.

It is smiling.

It is kissing and hugging.

It is giving of your time, of your talent, and of things that are needed.

December is slow and steady and stillness

December is music; both old and new.

December is magic and moments.

December is love.

The Most Meaningful Moment

After pulling the flannel nightgown over my head, I sat down in my worn rocking chair and text Son1:

I leaned my head back waiting for a response and smiled. It had been a particularly satisfying weekend. Son1 was home from college with Magicalfairyprincessgirlfriend so they could rehearse for a Christmas show they'll be performing in soon. The time spent together was chuck full of intellectual college-type talk; psychological theory, professors who rock, assignments that don't, time spent with roommates and on and on. 

I opened my eyes and looked at the phone...no response. Hmmm. Usually I get a text from Son1 when he arrives safely back into the arms of his dorm suite because, well, I may perhaps be a bit of a worrier...just maybe, and he knows me so well. (And...no...I didn't expect him to answer if he was driving...Magicalfairyprincessgirlfriend would answer for him typically under that scenario.)

I continued to stare at the screen, willing it to answer. It didn't and so I text:

Knowing myself, I got up from my chair and went to the bathroom to wash my face and to keep my mind occupied. I scrubbed away still smiling at the time spent with those two crazy kids...adults...kid-adults...Anywhooo...I was smiling, smiling large. I smushed that smile along with the rest of my face into a fluffy towel, patted it dry and walked back to my chair where the phone rested. Nothing...nothing at all. Just two lonely green talk bubbles with my texts echoing on a vast white screen. And looking back on it now, that's when it probably happened...my gruesome mom-imagination kicked in...It started as a flash of an image; a car turned over laying on its roof, two pieces of my heart laying in hospital beds. Cell phones flung hither and yon not to be found and so no way for the emergency officials to know how to find me...the mom.  From there my brain moved on to some freak snow storm that somehow fell just on the Mass Turnpike, dumping feet and feet of the slippery white stuff and forcing Son1 to pull off the road. There they'd sit, stranded...gas light on...contemplating wrapping the seat upholstery around their feet so that they could walk to safety. (Clearly I watch wayyyy too much reality tv!) 

I stood up quick and waved my hand to clear my frantic and overworked mind, picked up the phone and text:

When he didn't answer, I moved on to Magicalfairyprincessgirlfriend--no answer there. I decided on one more desperate text:

After 6 or 7 (or maybe 8)  direct phone calls to both Magicalfairyprincessgirlfriend's and Son1's phone, both of which went directly to voice mail fueling the cellphone-has-flown-out-of-the-car-during-a-bloody-car-wreck theory, I went sort of crazy. (Okay, crazIER than just five minutes before.) I will spare you the minute details of that mini-breakdown but they just may include a frantic call to my local state police office inquiring about how to find out about accidents on state roads, a Facebook message to Magicalfairyprincessgirlfriend's mother and perhaps one to a suite-mate of Son1's (although if pressed I will plead the 5th...) Those details may also include a manic and rude awakening of Son1's step-father where I MAY have cried a bit telling him the gruesome details of what I thought had befallen my two dear college students...All of those things MAY have taken place (but once again, if asked directly I will deny, deny and deeeeee--ny!)

Just as I was about to unleash my wrath on a bureaucrat at the state police office who actually had the gall to speak to me as if I was a tad out of my mind (CAN YOU IMAGINE????) the phone buzzed with a call on the second line. It was Son1 apologizing...his phone had died and there was no time to charge it before he and Magicalfairyprincessgirlfriend had to dash off to acapella rehearsal. 

Instantly...instantly my shoulders came out of my ears, the nervous maniacal stomach butterflies flew away and I found myself laughing out loud. I plopped down on my bed, and while some of you are probably wondering if my relief soon turned to anger, it didn't. Not at all. 

Here's the thing--he's doing it. Son1 is doing it. Everything that I have ever dreamed for him; every-single-thing. I wanted him to take risks. He is. I wanted him to get involved. He is. I dreamed that he'd use his God-given talents. He is. I hoped that he'd know how very worthy he was of friends, and camaraderie, and relationships galore. He does. I imagined him growing and thinking and changing in an intellectual community that carried him into adulthood. He's doing just that. 

Mamas, for years we dream and we want and we hope and imagine for our children. While we're in the thick of it...the raising years, the nail biting years, the holy-moly-where-did-this-surly-alien-being-come-from years it doesn't feel as if any of those dreams, wants, hopes and imaginings will ever come to fruition.  How could they when they can't pack a backpack, or pick up garbage that is right in front of them, or manage to wash their underwear more than once a month (if that...)? It seems as if all the things that we wish for our children will never ever come true. But let me tell you Mudders...it will happen. It WILL, and when it does, when we finally understand that they are off...that their wings are spread and they are flying at an altitude that seems downright amazing...when that moment of  realization hits--the feeling, well, it's breathtakingly beautiful. Even if just five minutes before because of a mistake on their part you were convinced that they were lying dead in a ditch somewhere, you will laugh...laugh out loud, because honestly I am not sure that there will ever be a moment more important, more meaningful than the one where it dawns on us that our children are going to be just fine as adults. Just fine indeed. 

An Open Letter to my Son's Drug Dealer | Mamalode

Thanks, dear drug dealer. Just thank you.



An Open Letter to my Son's Drug Dealer | Mamalode

An Open Letter to the Drug Addict Who Turned In My Son

Dear Drug Addict, Drug Dealer, Ex Friend of My Son,

You turned him in to the police. In his words, you ratted on him. To him, you are a narc, a stool pigeon. He, my son, is angry and disillusioned  and hurt. After all, you sniffed together, toked together, sold drugs to other people's children' together and stole together to support your habits. He doesn't understand why his "boy" turned him in. He--will never forget this act of disloyalty. He will never forgive it.

Then there's me. How do I feel about you? Believe it or not I am so incredibly grateful, so very grateful. In fact, this blog post is meant as a thank you. Thank you for turning him in. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thanks...

I will admit that from the moment the two of you met, way back in kindergarten, I warned my son about you. I told him that you were bad news. But he didn't listen, and you and he bonded over illicit illegal activities and your broken homes.  But I was wrong. I am surprisingly happy that the two of you found each other. If you hadn't, he may still be out there, on the streets, doing drugs, getting high, selling to the sons and daughters of worried parents. He'd still be out there with you or someone else stealing, taking things that belonged to others and selling them in a way that gives no regard to the many he was hurting. Instead, he's sitting in a cell awaiting his indictment.  And for the first time, for the first time in two years, he's clean. He's detoxed. He's sleeping. He's had to face reality without the haze and fog of illegal substances.

Although his health alone is enough to thank you, it isn't the biggest reason that I am grateful. Nope. Not the biggest reason at all. You see for the last two  years I have been fighting a losing battle against formidable fierce foes, and no matter what weapon I used against them, I was sorely beaten. The biggest enemy, the giant named "The System" fights back with ludicrous laws and wields its powerful apathy, relentless relentless apathy. I will admit that I have crawled into many corners licking my wounds because of this enemy and had all but given up. But then you came along, and with one fell swipe of a  pen took down that system and all of its  might. And you may not know this but by doing so, by turning him in to save yourself, you became a soldier in my army to fight against all that you love; drugs, crime, lying, sneaking and dishonesty.

Because of you, I have slept for the first time in two years without worry, without nightmares that taunt me with my son's seemingly impending death, without fear.  For the first time  in many many months I have hope.  Because of his arrest, he'll plea in court. He'll take a plea and go to rehab. Rehab! And then he'll spend the next five years on probation.

Now I am not sure what my son will do in rehab or out of rehab. It may be a fresh start or a dead end. Those decisions are his and his alone. But whatever happens in the future, no matter what, you have given this long suffering mother a reprieve. If he chooses to take some help then I can rest easy. If he chooses to return to his life of drugs and law breaking, I can also rest easy for five years, thanks to a probation sentence that will return him to jail if he violates the terms.

So you see, oh Man-who-turned-my-son-in, you have done what I thought was impossible, what I have unsuccessfully tried to do for two years. You managed not only to get my child out of the toxic poisonous environment that perpetuated his drug use and pain, but by selling him out you set in motion a safety net that makes it so he is, for awhile, not without support. And for that, I am forever in your debt...