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Morning Routine

11.30.2016

Rudely awakened by the bleating of my first alarm at a ridiculously dark hour.  So strange to not feel refreshed and energized after 5 – 1/2 hours of fitful sleep! First put the coffee on, now the day can begin.  Oh my God, who is that mug shot in my mirror? Nick Nolte? Oh shit, it’s me. Stupid 40s, why do you hurt me?  Shower, then put on my pink fuzzy robe.  Grab my coffee cup and buckle up.  It’s about to get real.

Second alarm is 12 minutes later.  That one plays “Don’t Stop Believin'” for extra motivation.  I need it ’cause it’s time to wake the children.

It is unfortunate that only one of my children is a morning person. That child, while not thrilled to be getting up, will generally smile at me and get out of his bed and possibly start getting ready for school.  The other two are in no mood for pleasantries.  They are burrowing, they are growling.  They can only be lured from their beds with promises of pop tarts.  They don’t know that my pop tarts aren’t the real deal, but some facsimile from Trader Joe’s that claims to be “organic” and therefore full of nutrition, right?  But really, how can something called a “toaster pastry” be organic, or healthy, or even considered food?  That is one of the many mysteries I will not be solving this morning. 

After I have thrown food at the kids, I grab my coffee and head to my bathroom to try and make myself look like the competent professional I aim to be someday.  Not hungry yet, but I will likely be chowing on trail mix at my desk later this morning. I eat a lot of trail mix for someone who is not particularly outdoorsy.  I read and admired Wild, but I’m going to have to go another way with my transformative journey. The way that doesn’t include wildlife or sleeping on the ground.  As I dry my hair, I multitask by barking orders at the children.  Is it possible that they will someday figure out that they have to put clothes AND shoes on their body and brush their teeth EVERY day without my telling them?  Hasn’t happened yet.  Won’t happen today.  They are screaming at each other and eventually one of them throws a hardcover book at his brother’s head and there is more screaming and a little bit of blood.  I wipe up the blood, do some consoling and scolding and direct the children to the next steps in the getting ready process. “Brush your teeth or they will all turn green and fall out of your face! I hear that the Tooth Fairy charges YOU to haul away the green ones.”

Oh crap, I’ve got to put on real clothes!  Luckily, I have a dress I found at Ross Dress for Less for $14.99 which miraculously makes me look 10 pounds thinner. I don’t know if it’s the material, the cut or the print, but it’s magical wizardry!  I need to find six more of these dresses.

Grab my youngest son’s “sack lunch” because he has a field trip today.  I have no sacks, so it is in a paper wine bag from Trader Joe’s, ’cause I stock up on Three Buck Chuck when I purchase my organic pop tarts and trail mix.  The bag has a wine bottle on one side and a wine glass on the other.  Awesome. 

Time to go!  Each minute that passes after my set to-go time buys me exponentially more minutes in congested Austin traffic. 

But wait!  Shoes!  I tell the boys to put their shoes in a bin by the door every evening.  But do they put them there? Occasionally. Right now, five out of six feet are shoed.  Nobody can find the sixth shoe.  I search around frantically while approximately 1/3 of the hundreds of “dammits” and “shits” in my head come out of my mouth.  I consider that a victory.  And I find the shoe under the couch and consider that a victory as well.  Roar up to the school in my vaguely-colored minivan and practically push them out of the car. Now it’s time for traffic hell! This was one of Dante’s levels, right?

Did you know that things are just magnetically drawn to vaguely-colored minivans?  Cars come at my van like moths to a vaguely-colored flame.  And nobody wants to be behind a vaguely-colored minivan.  Furthermore, Dodge Ram drivers seem to think that their penises will fall off if a vaguely-colored minivan passes them, so they are on high alert and do their damnedest not to let it happen.  If I get cut off or somebody is practically driving up my butt, that person is most often piloting a Dodge Ram.  Hey guys, I don’t think the penis thing is true.  It doesn’t seem like real science.  Please stop trying to kill me.

I live 11 miles away from my job, but it takes me at least 40 minutes to get there.  Luckily this morning I have a sweet Neil Diamond playlist going.  “I AM, I CRIED!  I AM, SAID I!” Hell yeah, Neil.  I AM the bitch driving the vaguely-colored minivan you are stuck behind, Mr. Ram.  Suck it.

I eventually get to my parking garage, which is three blocks from work.  Not terrible, unless it is raining.  The thing that IS terrible is the garage stairwell.  It smells like a whole lotta urine and at the bottom there is often some sort of weird surprise like old pants or empty cough medicine bottles or dead crickets.  Today I realize, after exiting the stairwell, that I have forgotten my badge in my car. I have to run back up four flights of stairs, causing me to breathe heavily and suspect I am huffing a urine cloud.  That can’t be good.

But wait, the harrowing times aren’t over!  The three blocks to work are filled with crazed Austin commuters and I must make my way across the streets like I’m playing a live version of Frogger. I am almost run over by a guy in a Prius who didn’t see me in the crosswalk because my magical dress made me look so incredibly thin.  We stare at each other in horror for a second and then he smiles apologetically and gives me a wave, like “Glad I didn’t run you over! Have a nice day!”  Whew.  I’m finally at my building. I work at the courthouse, where there is usually a line to get through the metal detector at the entrance, because courthouses are one of the few places in Texas where your concealed weapons are not welcome.  Never fear, you can still bring them to the state mental hospital or your film studies class at the university, where they are totally appropriate.  I don’t make it through without setting off the buzzer and must be “wanded” by a police officer.  Not gonna lie, that was the best part of my morning.

I make it to my desk, just barely on time and breathe a sigh of relief.  My cube-mate smiles the serene, well-rested smile of a child-free woman and says, “Good morning!”  I say, “I’m gonna need to drop six bucks on a ridiculous coffee beverage with syrup and whipped cream in about an hour.  Need anything?”  I think I deserve it.

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Be Better

9.26.2018

I am raising three sons.  Man, just typing that made me tired. It is not easy and I worry constantly that I’m not doing it well or that I could be doing better.  I feel like I get things right about fifty percent of the time.  And I suppose the other half can be classified as “learning experiences.”   Oh yes, learning experiences a-plenty, every day!  And I’m not even halfway through their childhood.  There is no chance in hell that I’m going to give up caffeine in the next 10 years.  Please feel free to send Starbucks gift cards my way.

 I have an overarching goal in my parenting: I’m trying my absolute best not to raise assholes.  World, you’re welcome! My boys know I have high standards…not for cleanliness (don’t come over if a clean floor is on your “must haves” list) but for many other things.  For example, two of my children are able to communicate with me by text these days, and as everyone knows I do not appreciate texts with bad grammar and stupid texting language.  My boys know that they better fix their spelling and under no circumstances are they allowed to “K” me.  I know it’s not how everybody feels, but I do and that is the way I want to be treated. I have made that clear. Stupid texting language is a smack to my eyeballs.  Be better or don’t text me.  It’s a boundary I have set and so far they respect it.  

I’ve always set boundaries with them.  I think when you care about someone, it is important let them know how you want to be treated.  And learning to respect people’s boundaries is one of life’s more important skills. My kids were never allowed to demand things from me.  If they demanded, they did not receive.  From the time they were toddlers, I expected them to say “please” if they asked me for something and “thank you” after I gave it to them.  They might be loud and crazy little hooligans, but they damn well better be polite little hooligans.  I didn’t want them to think I was their personal servant, just because I was their mother.  I want it to be clear that I am a separate person from them and while I am happy to help them and do things for them, they need to show appreciation and not entitlement.   I’m also no nonsense when it comes to talking about or touching other people’s bodies.  I’ve made sure that my kids know that their bodies belong to them and other people’s bodies belong to other people.  That you don’t get into someone’s space or touch them without permission. That you can tell people when you don’t want a hug and they can tell you the same.  This does not prevent them from trying to beat the crap out of each other multiple times a day, but apparently they are more respectful of the space and bodies of their peers. It’s not a total win, but it’s not a loss!

I’ve also tried to hammer home the point that one’s commentary on someone else’s body or looks is unnecessary and not good conversation.  I am mindful to not make careless remarks about other people’s looks or weight around my sons.  They know that I think that jokes about someone’s looks are stupid and that people who make those jokes are trying to deflect from their own poor self esteem.  And that poor self esteem is probably warranted because they don’t know how to carry on a good conversation or tell a funny joke.  I want them to be better than that. 

I’m thinking of all of this as I try to figure out how and why so many men seem stunned that women’s bodies are not there for the taking or for their inspection and critique. And they are shocked and dismayed that women are speaking up about this and deeming it unacceptable. How on earth did they not know this?   And what does this mean for me, when raising sons?  If so many men are surprised that we women do not enjoy being groped in the middle of a conversation or that we wouldn’t be thrilled to see their penises at work or that hearing denigrating comments about women’s bodies is insulting to all of us, does that mean that at some point my sons will be shocked by this too?  Or is society changing so much that they will see girls and women as equals?  There are still school dress codes that are geared toward female students’ attire, under the assumption that even today’s boys have so little self control that they will not be able to learn if they see a girl’s collar bone or too much of her leg or *GASP* a bra strap.   I expect better from my sons.  It is natural to want to look at people you find attractive or interesting, but then you need to move your eyes to your school work and get on with it, because that’s what you are there for and your classmates do not exist for your ogling.  Don’t be a creepy asshole.   

I’ve been hearing about a lot of people who feel that #metoo has turned into a witch hunt and that it’s ruined romantic interactions between men and women.  Obviously, I don’t agree.  Women don’t want to be treated in a subhuman way. This doesn’t mean that all women no longer want to interact romantically with men, it means we don’t want to be considered prey anymore.  We are not targets, we are people and we have our own boundaries, needs and desires and we’d like them to be heard and respected.  Instead of whining about the unfairness of it all, a mature response might be to look at your own behavior.  I wish that everyone would ask themselves some key questions: How have you treated other people when you wanted something from them?  How do you talk about other people and their bodies and their sexuality?  Has the word “slut” or some other derogatory term come out of your mouth when you were talking about a girl or woman? (I suppose you could say this about a boy or man, but let’s be realistic, these terms are meant to denigrate women.) Have you touched someone in a way that was unwelcome?  Did you immediately stop at that point or did you continue?  Have you tried to coerce someone into sex when they were telling you verbally or non-verbally that they were not interested in having sex with you? Were you paying attention to what they wanted?  Did you care? Because you should, if you don’t want to be an asshole!  

If you aren’t a predatory creep (and let’s throw caution to the wind and assume that most people aren’t) then it really comes down to: 1) Treating everyone as if they were a separate human being from you and therefore knowing that they have their own needs and desires that may not match yours. 2) Paying attention to that person’s words and actions and responses to you.  3) Caring about what that person’s words and actions mean, even if it disappoints you and is the opposite of your wishes.  4) Respecting that other person’s boundaries and walking away if that is indicated.  Four step process, guys. You can even skip the Step 3 “Caring” part if you’re kind of an asshole, but not a complete one.  You can even do this if you’re drunk.  If you find that you are too drunk to do this, you can call a car service to come get you and take you home so that you don’t assault or harass someone.  What a time to be alive! It’s just that easy.  It really just comes down to noticing what the other person in your interaction wants and making that as important to you as fulfilling your own desires. If you have a question about what that person wants, you might have to come right out and ask.  But then you will have a really good chance of knowing the answer.  It’s a win-win.

But you know, you can even be better than that if you are brave enough.  I think a lot about those guys who were out biking and stopped the assault Brock Turner was committing.  They saw something wrong and they stopped it.  I wish this wasn’t so surprising to me.  They didn’t choose to mind their own business, because a guy was getting “twenty minutes of action” and it would break some sort of guy code to prevent that from happening.  And I bet there were people who watched creepy Brock leave with a woman who was too intoxicated to walk steadily.  Just like there were probably people at that house party 35 years ago who watched two drunk and aggressive guys follow their female friend up to the bathroom.  And apparently there were people in a dorm room watching  and saying nothing while their shitty drunk frat brother waved his dick in their drunk female friend’s face and told her to kiss it.  And I hope that this is changing and that people (men specifically, but women too) aren’t afraid of being called a cock blocker if it means that they can help prevent an assault.   I think there will always be entitled garbage people in the world who see other humans as conquests and who will do whatever they can to get what they want. They are not looking for a mutually satisfying interaction with another person, they care about their own needs, only.  If this is you, then you are at best an asshole and at worst a predator and you probably should hate #metoo, because it’s going to put a crimp in your lifestyle.  I certainly hope most people are not like that.  But you don’t have to be a bystander, either.  And you could even be a stand-up person who says something when you see terrible behavior taking place.  I’m hoping to raise stand-up men.  The world needs more of them.