Ashley Madison's Leather Clad Narcissistic Arrogant Photographer Vs. My Husband and the Pacific Coast Highway

 Ashley Madison subscribers are in big trouble it seems since hackers broke into the site's member's list. And while there is all this hulabaloo on the web that screams, "Serves them right" and all that jazz, I couldn't help but think about why it is that marriages fall apart aside from horrible abuse or mistreatment. Instead of salivating that those humans will get their due, perhaps it'd be more fruitful to have a discussion about why so many need to find something else...someone else to be fulfilled. Perhaps it is as the old saying says,"Familiarity breeds contempt". That may be true, but what if it also bred something else that we are all overlooking?

I've had this fantasy. Well I suppose I've had many. But this particular one was an escape. And although it was a different kind of escape than Ashley Madison provides, it was also similar in ways. It was an escape from the daily grind and took me far away geographically and, perhaps more importantly, mentally. It's been around for awhile and was devised in part after a fierce Steinbeckian phase of my readerly life. In it, I'd drive up the California coast on the back of a Harley, clad in leather and jeans, with my arms wrapped around some arrogant, narcissistic, artsy photographer-type. We'd travel where the wind blew us and sleep where the wheels stopped surviving on cheese, sourdough bread and California wine. Kinda nice right? Mmmmm hmmmmm.

I have always been a fantasizer. It started when I was just a kid. I never felt quite good enough as Logan Beth Luce. I just couldn't seem to get it right most times...at least in the eyes of those who were most important. I am not sure exactly when it happened, but I began to compensate for that inadequate feeling by fantasizing about things that I could do or be or happen to me that might make me a better version, might make me stand out, might in fact finally make me feel special. Luckily, that tendency to live in an alternate reality began to dissipate the older (and wiser) I became, but I will admit, when life's highly stressful, I still have a tendency to slip away back to the land of fantasy, back to the California Coast, to the Harley, to the wind in my hair.

Is it just me? Or do you all have fantasies as well? I mean we have certainly discussed ad nauseum here that this parenting thing can be a real ass-whipping from time to time. And we now know that there are MILLIONS looking for fantasies on that Ashley cheating site. So, I suppose it's natural to day dream or night dream or laundry dream about being somewhere else or being someone else...right? Perhaps, right...but I am starting to think that living your fantasies, that is, taking them OUT of your head may help to foster things other than contempt for the familar. 

What? No. NO!  I am not advocating running away with an arrogant photographer artsy type intellectual dude. Not at all. It's just that lately, I have had this urge to stop fantasizing and make some things--the recurrent fantasies into realities. If I can dream it, then I can do it.

So with some careful planning and budgeting I made the California trip a reality. No--again--not with the arrogant, narcissistic, intellectual artsy photographer but with my husband of 15 years and our five-year-old daughter. Instead of a Harley, we traveled in a Toyota Corolla. (It WAS supposed to be a convertible, but that is a DIFFERENT story. PS--Never rent from Budget! **Eyeroll**) Instead of the wind blowing us to and fro, we had tightly planned stops recommended by many thoroughly read articles about the PCH. And instead of the wheels stopping where they may, they stopped to let us sleep at some of the top recommended hotels along the coast. I know. I know. That doesn't sound at all like the fantasy I had in my head does it?

Well, you'd be right.. It wasn't. But you know what else? That trip...my trip, the real trip was BETTER than the fantasy. So much better. The views were breathtaking. The distance from home was exhilarating. The experiences were life-changing. It will be looked back upon as the trip of a lifetime. But really, I knew that the trip would be ALL that before I decided to make it a reality. But here's something I didn't know...the thing I want to share with you all...you can absolutely live a veritable fantasy with those that are your reality.  I am not sure why I didn't know this before. I am not sure why it took a trip across the country to teach me that, but I am so completely happy it did.

Try and follow me here...even IF I somehow pulled off that fantasy in my head, the cycle, the wind, the wheels and all, there'd still be a reality waiting for me. There'd still be the consequences of the escape.. There'd of course still be my mom-brain that wouldn't stop thinking  about those children of mine. There'd still be the mortgage to pay back home. There'd still be my work, my writing. There might be flat tires on the bike and those hog wheels might stop us at a motel infested with bed bugs. And that's just it; when it comes to those fantasies that we conjure and sometimes concentrate on we forget that fantasies NEVER include inevitable realities.

But with my husband, Jeffrey, that inevitability WAS the fantasy. Let me explain. On the fantasy trip there's no way that the narcissistic photographer would have tolerated or understood my tendency to burst into tears at each overwhelmingly breathtaking ocean vista on the Pacific Coast Highway. But Jep did.  I am sure the fictional photographer would have guffawed at my sobs of joy when we pulled onto Mission Street in Carmel. But not Jeff. Nope. He knew enough to let the tears flow. He'd reach for my hand and remain quietly pensive knowing how very thick the wanderlust cords are that tie me.

That artsy dude may not have known or cared that the sight of a 15 year old gangly boy walking down to the ocean next to his older brother would instantly transport me to memories of my second son which would instantly make me think the sad thoughts that come with his addiction and his prison sentence. He wouldn't have known to tell a corny joke to us right at that moment to take me out of the gloom. But Jeffrey did. The photog wouldn't have rejoiced at the fearlessness my daughter had for the white foamy monster-waves that crashed the pacific shore. Heck...in my FANTASY, my daughter wouldn't have even have been there. That means I would have missed those high pitched squeals of delight that emanated from her when we crested those giant roller-coaster-San-Francisco-hills on our tandem bike and flew down them at light speed.  Without Ila and Jeff there, I wouldn't have belly-laughed to the point of exhaustion at the her dad's attempt to win Ila a giant bear at the strongman game on the Santa Cruz Boardwalk. Without them, the trip wouldn't have been fantastic.

In the human experience, I know that there is nothing so intoxicating as the zippy passion that happens with the newness of a relationship. The courting chemicals pulsate and make it so that every nerve ending is on fire and wide awake. That feeling, for reproductive's sake, is understandably heady and exhilarating. I suppose that is the pull of Ashley Madison's cheating site. That high is hard to deny. Long term relationships like the ones with our spouses and children lack that "I feel like I'm parachuting into the Grand Canyon" kind of feeling. But I would argue that while habitualization causes a loss in that way, we gain something so much more. With intimacy and familiarity, we are gifted a depth of understanding for one another, a tolerance and acceptance that I sometimes think we seek eternally. We shouldn't overlook the obvious humans in our lives. There is a distinct sweet satisfaction of living your dreams along side of someone whose dreams are similar, whose thoughts are in tandem with yours and whose experiences are parallel. 

My favorite part of the California Coast trip was a quiet moment at Carmel Beach.  There, sitting on our beach towels while Ila ran along the shore, Jeff and I unpacked our lunch. There was sourdough  bread and 8 kinds of cheese picked out at a local store. While we ate and watched our daughter, Jeff said, "I can't think of any other place I'd rather be." I couldn't either. It was quite a fantasy.

Sweet Freedom Vs. Child Protective Services: (How Free Range Parenting and the System Scare the Bejeesus Out of This Run-of-the-Mill Mama)

She walked around the block...all by herself at five years old...at five years old. She had her daddy's phone. She knows how to talk to Siri. She knows how to say, "Call Aidan" or "Call Mommy". There are no streets off of the block. That is to say that the block is self-contained.

But I worried...

She walked with resolution. Heading west. Her arms swung back and forth and her feet...her teeny teeny tiny feet were determined. She walked away--her small frame shrinking with distance. She didn't look back. Not once.

But I was scared...

As she rounded the corner, disappearing from sight, she remained here with us. Her essence swirled around my bedroom where I opened my window to listen for her. She was there in the living room, where her older brother fretted and talked to himself under his breath..."I don't know WHY they let her do that!!" She remained out in the front yard where her dad suddenly had the urge to mow the lawn, eyes squinting for the sight of her rounding the opposite corner.

We all held our breath...

Lately, she's had a wish for freedom, "Sweet freedom" she calls it. Earlier that day, when we left our local library, she ran way ahead down the sidewalk away from her dad and me. She looked back once, twice...but the determination was there. When she reached the end of the walk, when it was time to cross the street, she yelled over her shoulder, "I know how to do this. Look left and right and left again." I recognized the need. I understood where she was coming from, but the fearful mom in me took over at that moment and answered, "It is not an option to cross a busy city street without your mom and dad." She complied but was clearly disappointed. Her chin touched her chest and she scuffed her feet. When we caught up to her, my husband offered a consolation. "How about you do the looking and let us know when we can go. We won't' hold your hand. You can lead us across the street."

And while that seemed to appease the pint-sized independent, it didn't fully quell the need for that sweet freedom. As we were driving home she said, "Mom, you know what I really want to do? I want to walk around downtown all by myself. Just walk around. Look in the shops. Go to the library. But I want to do it all by myself." I gulped and swallowed the boulder that suddenly appeared in my throat and she continued. "You always say that you are here to help me solve my problems. How can I do that? I really want to be free."

The drama in that statement brought a chuckle from my husband, but a wistful smile to my lips. "I really want to be free." How I completely understood this statement. How many times had I uttered it over the last 20 years...Those amazing moments where it's just you alone with your thoughts and your ponderings and the wonders of the world around you. Being solitary is such a tightly woven fiber in me...perhaps it was something that had already started to weave itself into the marrow of my daughter's being as well.

Like all parents, we want her to practice independence, to WANT to separate herself from us in a healthy way. So we couldn't dismiss this moment, and instead came up with this compromise...to let her walk around our block--6/10 of a mile--by herself. But even as the decision left my lips, the fear set in.

I am sure you think that my fear came from images of kidnappings or dog bites or bullies lurking in the bushes. I am sure that those things were the foundation of my son's nerves and surely her father's nerves as well. But the fear for me came from a seemingly even scarier place.

And while it wouldn't be the truth if I didn't admit that PART of my fear was the bogeyman and all that comes with those thoughts, it was "the system" I was afraid of...the "know better" humans who might report us as bad parents for allowing the independence-jaunt. I was more worried that at the end of the walk, Child Protective Services would be standing on my front porch accusing us of neglect. I mean, we've all seen the stories lately haven't we? The parents in Baltimore whose children were removed from the home because they were allowed to go to the park by themselves. How about the latest story about the Florida parents who lost custody of their two children for over a month because their ELEVEN year old son was playing basketball for 90 minutes in the driveway of their home...in the afternoon...after school...waiting for his parents, who happened to be stuck in traffic and in communication with said son, to come home. Therefore, dear readers, I was afraid to lose my child over a decision to let her experience a bit of freedom.

After an agonizing 7 minutes 29 secs (but who's counting??) the pretend mowing became too much for my husband and he jogged down to the corner. She was there...rounding the bend and he sprinted back without her knowledge, turned on the mower and began to whistle. When she rounded the final corner, her hands went up Rocky-style, a triumphant 5-year-old experiencing her "sweet freedom." For a split second, all the fear fell away and we all reveled in her pride and satisfaction. The smile on her face was worth it all...for a split second. But then IT happened.

"Mama, when I was walking back there a nice lady asked me if I was lost..."

OH. BOY. OH. SHIT.

"I told them NO! Then she asked me if I wanted her to walk me home. I told her no again!"

My palms began to sweat...and then I heard my husband's voice through my window...he was talking to someone!! We peeked out the window..."Is that the lady who asked if you were lost?" I asked Ila. "Sure is!" she chirped.

OH. BOY. OH. SHIT!

I watched my husband's face...he was smiling. They shook hands and he came toward the house. I instantly called an emergency wife/hubby meeting in my bedroom and pumped him for details.

Who were they?
Did they think we were awful parents?
Did they call the police?
Did they call CPS????????

And while it seems as if they were just lovely neighbors wondering about this five-year-old they've never seen by herself before, it didn't quell the massive nerves. It's a travesty this screwy system, one that won't remove children from homes where there are drugs and alcohol that flow undeterred, but will take a child away for going to the park. It's the unpredictability of it all that has me and other parents fumbling for what's right...And sadly we aren't fumbling for what's right for US. No. And that's the thing...we have to seemingly figure out what might not be right for the powers that be, and adding that to all the other parenting dilemmas just feels wrong.

I don't have answers. Really I don't have any. I know that I spent the better part of the evening after Ila's "walkabout" waiting for the phone to ring or for a hard knock at the door. And I know that that was wrong...just plain wrong. It should have been a day of celebration for my daughter's new found independence. After all, when it comes right down to it ultimately we have done our jobs right mamas and papas if our children fly out of our nests to unknown trees bravely and confidently. And I know that they will only be able to take those long flights after many many many shorter trial flights. After a serious discussion, my husband and I aren't sure if we will allow that walk around the block again for awhile. We just can't be sure how the outside world would react to another and it feels too precarious. But we're determined to find ways for Ila to do things on her own. The world won't stop us from helping her find that "sweet freedom."

POSTSCRIPT--Tonight putting at bedtime our freedom loving daughter said, "Mama and Daddy, I can't wait to jump out of a plane someday!"

Oh. Boy. OH. SHIT!!

Related articles

• 11-Year-Old Boy Taken Away by CPS for Being Left in Backyard Alone for 90 Minutes; Parents Charged with Neglect
• Free range parents cleared of neglect again

Mothers of Addicts--A Mother's Day Prayer For You

Mothers of addicts, I see you. Don't think I don't. I have an intimate knowledge of the very particular pain that you will feel this coming Sunday. Now I know. There are mothers out there, mothers whose children have died and who are far worse off than us. But ours, our pain is difficult to put into words. Our addicted children are indeed alive, but they're not living. They are here, on this earth, but not HERE (mentally and sometimes physically). Each day, mothers of addicts walk around with an empty crater the size of Mt. Vesuvius in the very center of our solar plexus. However, on Mother's Day, that emptiness mixes with powerful grief, soul-aching sadness and an oil-slick gloom that envelops us and permeates the day. But not this year, mamas. Let’s not do that this year. Let’s celebrate the day the way it is supposed to be celebrated. Okay, okay okay. I know what you are saying! “How? How can we possibly CELEBRATE motherhood when our children are in imminent danger?" Well, if you will, give me a chance to convince you on this Mother's Day to rejoice in your role INSTEAD.

I know it is a daily occurrence to have a moment where your thoughts wander, despite your best efforts, to where your addicted child might be, to what he or she might be doing at that very moment. These moments during the day are often fear-filled. We allow ourselves to go to the very darkest parts of our imagination. Why not try this INSTEAD--when a vision of your son or daughter lands squarely in the center of your mind, push fear aside and on Mother's Day instead feel LOVE. Be mindful of the love you have for that child. Concentrate on that emotion and wrap the familiar fear-feeling in an impenetrable bubble and let it float right over your head. Keep your mind steady on that loving feeling and if you want, when you're finished, wrap that LOVE in a bubble as well and send it out into the universe with explicit instructions to go and find that son or daughter. Send them your love. Who knows, it just may reach them. 

When you lay eyes on happy mamas surrounded by their children, at breakfast, at dinner, at the park, or on a walk. Don't...just don't wallow in the "I remember when's". Just don't. INSTEAD, think on those memories with the reverie that they deserve. Think about that day at the beach and the jingle-bells in a tin-bucket laughter that came from your son. Think about the day when you braided your daughter's hair. Go ahead. Revel in those memories. They are truly truly treasures. They are YOURS. No one, nothing can ever take those wonderful good-day memories away. Not the system, not the drugs, not the alcohol, not the bad choices, or the destructive behavior. Rejoice, mamas. Rejoice, laugh, smile and deeply sigh at all remembering on this Mother's Day.

If you have other children, healthy unaddicted children, don't let anything taint how you enjoy them, They need you just as much. They love and laugh and disappoint and grow and change and have hopes and dreams and fears and wants just like your addicted child does. I know that sometimes, all that encompasses being a mama of an addict can make it so you are only focusing on what seems like the most imminent emergency. But not today. Take a look at those other faces. Look right into their eyes. Be proud. Be present. Be contented in their company. Marvel at how they have grown since the last Mother's Day. 

Lastly, mamas. Lastly. If you can't keep your mind off of the addiction, off of the child for whom your heart often bleeds and aches, then be grateful.  Yes. I said grateful. For we all know that although few and far between and hardly worth the pain, there ARE some things that have been good that have come from an addicted child. Be grateful for the friends who have rallied around you, supported you, joked with you and let you cry. Be thankful for the strength of character that you have developed through each and every crisis. Give thanks for empathy that has deeply changed your view of the world and the humans that inhabit it. Feel indebted to each smile, laugh and giggle that come despite all of the pain. Look around. Do you live near mountains? A lake? The ocean? Take in all the beauty around you. There IS so much beauty in this world.

Mamas, there may be flowers tomorrow, or breakfast in bed. There may be rudimentary drawings and books entitled "What I love Best About My Mom." For some of you, there may not be any token given at all. Either way, either way, let's give ourselves a gift tomorrow. Let's be completely and utterly satisfied and incandescently fulfilled in our roles as mamas. Let us take care of our tired hearts and minds tomorrow mamas. Let's give them a day of rest before they once again begin their vigilance on Monday. 

A Mother's Fingers

A mother's fingers start the day gently pushing blond wispy hair from her child's closed eyes. They reach up under a fleecy pajama shirt to rub a warm sleepy back trying to ease the morning into drowsy skin.

A mother's fingers deftly work stuck buttons into tight holes and they squeeze together quickly as a reminder that the child's fingers need to do the work on a coat zipper (even when those fingers are late for work).

Those digits on a mama's hand clasp the seatbelt buckle and secure the strap tight across her child's chest. And before they pull away, they pause, ever so slightly, to cup the irresistible round cheek of that five-year-old.

On the way to school, pointer digits tap in time to Taylor Swift's newest song and occasionally help the rest of the hand turn into an imaginary microphone. 

Those same fingers grip the steering wheel tightly, white-knuckling it, as mama's chatty daughter recounts a sad story of mean kids and disappointments. They comb through mama's hair and stroke her chin as she tries to find the right words, soothing words, soul-building words that will linger with that little girl all day, all week, and for a lifetime. 

Crossing the street, mama's fingers itch to reach out and hold the hand of the fiercely independent pint-sized powerhouse. Instead, they discreetly snag a backpack strap but ache for the days of infant death-hold finger-grasps.

Fingers can be quite impatient especially on a mother vacillating between doing-it-herself because she's late and the knowledge of the child's need to unpack at her locker all-by-herself. They intertwine with each other and flex and pulse. They listen as she exasperatedly sighs and help to punctuate her agitation with the distracted kindergartener by rubbing her forehead hard. But in the end, they soften and gently take hold of the angel-girl's shoulders. They clutch her tiny back in a fierce goodbye-see-you-later hug.

At this time of day, it seems that mama's fingers go to sleep. They become the property of a working woman. They move through the work day holding pens, passing papers, patting backs, opening doors, tying shoes, sticking band-aids, clicking on keys, reassuring, waving, and pointing.

But mama calls them back again in the late afternoon when their family is back together. They shake off the dirt and unclench from the disappointments of the day. The meanspiritedness of, say, a friend is forgotten and so those fingers no longer find themselves chewed upon. As her daughter chats away about the day's events, they fiddle with her barrette.  Fingers are amazing math instruments and become 'fifteen' when one hand rests along side of two tiny finger-splayed hands at homework time. They pretend they belong to Rachel Ray when chopping, stirring and whipping up a tasty dinner. They wrinkle and prune and make a bevy of beautiful mermaid-princesses at bathtime. Afterward, those grateful fingers soak up the warmth that radiates through the fluffy towel at drying-off-time and they can't wait to turn the pages of their favorite book right before bed. 

At the end of the day, those fingers are so grateful to be running through that blond hair again. They pull the covers up under that cute little yawning jaw. Happily, they are quite often taken and held by the daughter's tiny fingers, the ones they had longed to hold earlier in the day. The mama smiles and uses her thumb to trace the outer edges of each of the child's fingers moving in time to the mother's lullaby.

At last, after that mama uses those fingers to lock doors, shut off lights,  and brush her teeth and hair, she climbs into bed and clasps those fingers in prayer thanking the universe for the chance to be the mother of this daughter.

Grace

If you look the word "grace" up in the dictionary you would find these two definitions: 

    1. N Christian belief of the free and unmerited favor of God, as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings.

       2. V To do honor or credit to (someone or something) by one's presence.

Grace--a blessing bestowed by both God and humans is an awe-inspiring gift. Grace--Lately, I have been thinking about it in all of its splendor and experiencing it all around me. Has it always been here? Or am I simply more cognizant of the abundance of it? I am not sure to be honest. I am just not sure. 

What I am sure of is that Grace has been a constant companion these last six months and I hope beyond all measure that it is here to stay and that I am wise enough now to keep it close. It is an old cliche...out of bad comes good. Lord knows that I have often written about this phenomenon, but I often struggled with a tangible label for the pure and intoxicating good that comes smack in the middle of true trials. But not anymore. It is Grace. Grace comes in the worst moments and brushes hair from my face so that I can see clearly. It strokes the back of my hand to calm me and fills me with light--enough to blind any darkness. 

In September, when Son2 went to jail it was Grace that reminded me that he was now safe from the addictions that turned him into a stranger. And it was the Grace in that incarceration that brought us together braiding thick strands of healing-love during nightly phone calls and weekend visits. 

This past half-year, Grace has followed me and refused to let me wallow. She came in the form of laughter with a life-long friend in a coffee shop after a particularly hard visitation. Grace handed me a fierce and meaningful diversion in the form of a Boston show that shines light on the stigma that often accompanies mental illness. It is this diversion that I dove headfirst into when I felt powerless to help my own son's illness.

Grace bolstered and lifted me at my lowest by introducing me to a prayer mentor who connected me with my God who had been so completely out of reach for the longest time. Grace was there when that same prayer mentor gathered complete and utter blessed strangers who took to praying fervently on behalf of my son. 

When searching for a residential treatment program for Son2, Grace showed up in the form of my "won't-give-up" attitude. She stood firmly next to a probation officer's tenacity and compassion. Grace was there on the other end of a phone line in the form of a kind voice attached to a motherly woman who upon hearing my fear-cracked voice clucked and shushed and walked me through rehab's bureaucratic obstacle courses.

And just two days ago, Grace didn't abandon us on the momentous day of my son's release. She showed her face first thing in the morning when a friend sent a powerful "we are in this together" message. She was on full display in the long embrace between Son2 and his step-dad. Grace even showed herself in his biological dad's tears and quivering chin. Grace soothed me when she showed herself in the understanding smile of Ashley, the social services case worker, and her careful explanations that ensured that my son understood the process. 

Driving down the highway, as the exit for the treatment center loomed large and grew closer, I closed my eyes overcome with fear and sadness and nausea. I prayed for Grace to take my hand. I prayed that she'd help Son2 find a welcoming place in which he'd spend the next year. Exiting the car, I prayed that Grace would stop my legs from buckling and my teeth from chattering. I prayed that Grace would help me be what it was that my child needed me to be. It was sheer Grace that provided the strength that allowed me to walk up the treatment center's steps with resolve and to open that door and to look back at a crumbling Son2 with an encouraging smile. 

And as we entered the tiny office to say our last goodbyes to my weary and frantic child, I was sure that even Grace couldn't keep me from collapsing under the weight of distress and poignancy of the moment. But right then...right then...a blessing bestowed.

A woman, the center's director, walked purposely toward us. Her empathy was palpable. Her eyes were warm and understanding. She reached for me. She took my hand and she said. I am here for your son. I am here for you. 

My name is Grace. 


  

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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!