s a r a h c a s m

A few days ago, I was playing a CD of Free to Be You and Me for Q.  I grew up on that album and remember loving it when I was a kid.   Although the album was made in the 70s, the content was still relevant (which is bittersweet).   Later that day, I read this post by Christine at Lite Mocha Mom, and it got me thinking about my convictions and what has influenced them.

I’ve been told that I’ve always been hyper-sensitive to injustice and inequity.  As, the story goes… when I was 3 years old I found out my Grandma had had her married name longer than her birth name.  My response?  “What? No man is gonna take my name away from me!”  That is a lot of conviction for a small kid.

My dad tells me that from a young age, I would point out things that were “not fair,” even if it didn’t benefit me to do so;  I am that way to this day.  Little miss convicted.  I have to say I am proud of it, though I have learned to pick my battles and have realised some battles are better avoided than fought.

I think this conviction is part of my temperament… wired into my brain somewhere, but I have to give credit to my parents for fostering it and exposing me to things that would support it and help it grow.  One of those things was music, and Free to Be You and Me influenced me a great deal when I was young.  The album dealt a lot with gender role stereotypes and expectations and those lessons have stuck with me; I find myself teaching them to my son.

One of my favourite songs from that album is this one:

(If the voice sounds familiar, it’s because it is Alan Alda)

My tastes changed with age.  As I entered adolescence, my musical preferences were influenced a lot by my friends and my older brother.   Spirit of the West was one of the bands that I gravitated towards and who ended up affecting my political views a lot more than I gave them credit for at the time.

Here is one of my favourite songs of theirs – from Labour Day called Take it From the Source:

I was sitting in Basil’s with a friend and coffee
Thinking the world a fine place to be
When the man on my right got up to leave
And left a little piece of his mind with me
He said, “faggots like you should be put in asylums”
Now tell me, who takes the blame
For his being scared, so unaware
That he would fire his fear without an ounce of shame?

Whatever happened to love thy neighbour?
Nothing more than a worn out cliché
Are all men created equal or has this too become passé?
You don’t need to open your mouth for me to read your lips
I can follow the language displayed on your finger tip

They don’t look before they leap
They don’t think before they speak
They just sharpen their tongues on you and me
Spit poison darts between perfect teeth
You’ve got to take it from the source
Look at where it’s coming from
You’ve got to take it from the source
They’re only wasted words on me

I guess I just don’t measure up
Strayed from the straight and narrow road
So you lock me up, throw away the key
’cause I don’t live by your dress code
That’s ok, I’ve heard it before
You can open the wound I feel no pain
I don’t need an armour suit ’cause
You’re the one with the ball and chain

I hope Q grows up to have a strong sense of justice and that he recognizes and calls out injustice when he see it, even if doing so is not in his favour.  I hope that I have a part in that, but that he also exposes himself to influences and experiences that cultivate it in him.

Did music you listen to influence your political views and sense of justice?  What has influenced you and what are you exposing your children to, to encourage them to think beyond their own lived experience?

I never thought when I wrote this post that I’d been surfing the web for jobs after midnight on a random night in February.  Yet, here I sit… with the sense of impending doom I have always gotten when job-searching.  I remember thinking when I finished my last job that I’d never have to look for a job again!  Seems naive, now.

There are so many things to consider now that I have to think about Q… childcare, specifically.   I need to make enough money to make paying for childcare worthwhile.

I have a few prospects of varying monetary potential.  While I am waiting to see how those pan out, I need some income to complement Mr. T’s.

I am not gonna lie – if given the choice, I’d stay home and keep doing what I am doing.  I would be the one who Q spends the majority of his time with, and I would be happy with that.  However if I do have to work, I want to enjoy it!  I want it to mean something to me, and I want to look forward to going – even if it means leaving Q and paying someone a lot of money to keep him safe and stimulated.

I need to figure out what that is.  I don’t want to settle, but I am starting to feel the pressure.

Who wants to give me a job?  Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller?

*WOHM = work out of the home mother

The other day while scanning some of the lists I have been included in on Twitter, a realization struck me… I was getting a small glimpse into how virtual strangers perceive me.   I had been given labels and placed in categories that I wouldn’t have necessarily chosen for myself – not that they are bad categories, I just never would have considered them… like, funny!

It fascinated me.  Based on a series of 140-character glimpses into who I am and what my life is like, people got impressions of me and grouped me into lists based on them!  I think that is really cool.

Here is a sampling of some of the best and surprising lists I have been added to:

• ethical
• wordcrafters
• social-media
• conversationalists
• publishing
• comics-and-humor
• politics-justice-advocacy
• funniest-ever
• just-nice-people
• givers
• toronto-gta-awesomesauce
• racial-justice
• people-i-love
• peeps-invited-to-my-sleepover
• blogs-i-love

How awesome are those!?  If these lists are any indication, I must be putting out something of value… good to know.

I just read this post by Maria at Bored Mommy.  The following was a comment that was left on her blog (unedited).

“Why is it that you call yourselves “mommies”? It’s infantile, like being called a girl instead of a woman. If giving birth (or adopting) and raising a child is so important, why don’t you insist on the dignity of the word “parent”? Or “mother” — if you insist on focusing on gender as well? I am a parent and I was “mommie” only to my children and then only when they were young. No wonder men and childfree women don’t take you seriously: You are endlessly self-absorbed, boring, juvenile, and have nothing to say for yourselves beyond your reproductive status and childrearing.

I take issue with a lot of what is in this comment, some of which I’ll tackle, some I won’t dignify with a response.

First of all, I call myself “mommy” because that is what I am – that is what my son calls me.   There are many words that describe me, but at this point, I am most proud of mommy.  Call me mother, mommy, mom, mama, ma… it doesn’t change who I am and what my relationship is to my son.  I don’t consider any one more dignified than another because they all boil down to the fact that I am responsible for raising the most amazing kid I’ve ever known.

I rarely refer to myself as mommy in the public or online sphere – mostly because my blog preceded my endless self-absorption and preoccupation with my reproductive status and child rearing efforts.  I don’t discourage it or shy away from it, though; I talk about being a mommy, about my son, about what I’ve learned from him; I share stories of his growth and his milestones…

There is no job that I have ever taken more seriously than raising the human who calls me mommy, and if there is anything  infantile about the word, it is because it is tailored to children who are learning to talk!

Yes, I am a parent, but I prefer to not be called that.  I have no interest in being gender-neutral.  There is nothing wrong with my gender, in fact, I embrace it.  I am a woman – you can even call me girl for all I care, just don’t strip me of my gender identity.

Ultimately, this comment left on Maria’s blog is not about me; it is about the woman who left it.  However, to her I say… I am one proud mommy.

Dear Q,

In a momentary lapse of judgement, clarity . . .sanity, I surrendered my happiness to the expectations of someone else. Actually, it wasn’t even that person’s expectations that I surrendered to, but my assumption of what those expectations were.

There are many lessons to be learned from this about assumptions, expectations, happiness, and sacrifice.  I am going to focus on expectations.

In this world, there are few things more powerful than expectations. They govern our emotions, our actions, and our reactions.  If they are not met, we feel fear, anger, disappointment, frustration, sadness, and sometimes. . . relief.  When they are met, we feel elated, satisfied, happy, relieved, and sometimes. . . disappointed.  The emotional reaction is relative to the expectations.

Expectations are complicated and more powerful than this world would have you believe.  Society expects specific behaviour of people who belong to any given collective, including racial identity, gender identity, sex, ability status, economic status, education level, age, religion, etc.  Failure to meet these expectations is often met with fear and persecution.   The expectations form the box within which each person is (awkwardly) placed.  The boxes, built with expectations, are all labeled and neatly stacked with others that are presumably the same – in nice homogeneous stacks.  At least, that is what this would would have you believe.

Society also expects things of individuals.  Individuals expect things of individuals.  These expectations vary relative to the individual for whom they are created.  Parents have expectations of their children – from cleaning up, to getting married.  Teachers have expectations of their individual students.  Children have expectations of their parents and their teachers.  The general public has expectations of public figures, athletes, politicians, artists, musicians.  Bosses have expectations of their employees.  Employees have expectations of their bosses – respect, money.  Customers have expectations of service providers, etc.  The list is endless.

They say that money makes the world go ’round, but no one tells you that the structure that money flows within is built on expectations.  It’s deep and it’s complex and it’s powerful.

If this sounds confusing, that is because it is; it’s supposed to be.

Manage your expectations – check them.  Where do they come from?

Of whom do you expect things? Why?
Who expects things of you? Why?

Are your expectations reasonable? Are they just?  Assess your reactions to unmet expectations of other people.  Are they reasonable?  Are they just?

I will tell you that meeting expectations, or at least appearing to, is far easier than not.  It is difficult and sometimes dangerous to defy them – it can lead to jail, death, but also freedom.

We are bound by expectations.  They keep us in our boxes and make us safe and predictable.  But in so doing, they leave us crumpled, trapped, and gasping for air.

Be aware of what is expected of you.  As often as possible, manage the expectations others have of you as an individual.  Don’t imply that you will when you won’t.   Don’t suggest you won’t if you intend to.

If this seems daunting, it’s because it is.  Expectations are hard to navigate and this world will condition you to not even realise that they are there.

Be strong.  Be you.  Be free to seek your true happiness based on what you know to be true, not on what someone else expects you to believe.  Above all, be.

Love always,
Mom

I have always believed that two people in the same situation at the same time experience (and remember) it differently.  People perceive things differently, interpret things differently, and remember the pieces that are important to them, good or bad.  No two people have the same experience.

A strange thing happened to me the other day that confirmed this for me.  I got home after lunch with a friend and realized that I had missed a call on my cell phone.  There was a message.  I listened to the message and could hear strange background noises.  Curiosity kept me from skipping and erasing it.  I heard my friend’s voice – the one who I had been with for lunch.  I heard her placing her order at the restaurant and realized that she must have called me accidentally while we were out.

I listened to that message for 3 minutes and nothing, not one thing, sounded even vaguely similar to the lunch I remembered sharing with my friend.  It was surreal.  I even heard my own voice and didn’t recall saying what I heard.

What her phone ‘heard’ and mine recorded was vastly different than the experience I remembered having only moments before – and that doesn’t even take into account the perceptions, interpretations, and assumptions that people make.

The whole thing was just surreal.  She and I had parallel experiences that, at the time, we thought we were sharing.

Haiti was struck by an earthquake.  A devastating one.  It has likely killed hundreds of thousands of people, but no one really knows because victims are trapped under rumble – babies, children, toddlers, teenagers, women, men, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, grandmothers, grandfathers…

Natural disasters have no target.  Earthquakes know not whose lives they take.  There is no political motivation.  There is no motive of revenge.  It is not tactical or strategic.  It is science – plate tectonics and other things that I have a lot of interest in, but very little clue about.

I have heard unsettling responses in the aftermath of the quake – and I am not going to dignify any idiotic, racist public figures by talking about theirs.  I am thinking of people I know, people I follow on Twitter, people I overhear in public.

The most striking response I’ve heard has been the we have problems here at home, why should so much of our money leave the country.  Really?  People are dying.  People are buried alive.  People are suffering with no food, water, shelter, or infrastructure.  And, you are making this about money?  Really?  You are worried about national identity and taking care of our own?  That degree of nationalism scares me.  To think that sharing citizenship with someone makes them more deserving of your care is frightening.

Don’t resent that attention is being given to Haiti in the media, on Twitter, by celebrities.  Don’t make this about you.  Don’t make this about your country.  This is not about you – it is about the people of Haiti.

Take a second and think beyond your borders.  Think beyond what is happening in your country.  The people of Haiti deserve your attention because they are suffering.  They may not be the only ones in the world, but that doesn’t mean they suffer any less.

When in doubt, love (and give… time, money, whatever).

If I was being paid for this job, I’m pretty sure I would have been fired by now.

I am a SAHM (stay at home mom).  The job description is pretty extensive and the rewards are the opposite of monetary.  I do love being a SAHM and spending time with my son – in fact, I am hard pressed to think of anything I’d rather do with my days.

I have the mom-thing down pretty well by now.  I am confident that I am doing a good job in that department (aside from the fact that he is sitting in his highchair, eating crackers and watching TV while I write this).  Q is excelling in his fine & gross motor, language, and social skills.  He is friendly, active and extremely good-natured.

No, the M in SAHM would not get me fired… but, the H might do me in.

Home.  I hate doing housework.  I do not keep up with dishes, laundry, vacuuming, tidying, sweeping, wiping, dusting (what is that), putting things away, making phone calls to get things done around the house, running errands, grocery shopping, cooking… the list is endless and my motivation, minimal.

Don’t get me wrong… I love, love having a clean, organized house.  It clears my head and makes me feel more peaceful.  The problem is getting it in that state and then keeping it there.

Right now as I scan my living space, I see a pile of dishes, clothes on the living room floor, toys strewn everywhere, and visible crumbs on a carpet that I could have sworn I vacuumed only yesterday (in fact, the vacuum is still parked in view as evidence).

So, here I sit thinking about the piles of clean laundry in our bedroom that desperately need to be put away, the bathrooms that need my attention, the garbage that is less than fragrant, the kitchen table that still dons a Christmas tablecloth, and the computer room  that is currently doubling as a storage area.

Thinking about it just makes me wanna take a nap.  Ugh.