A few years ago I was with my kids at a community event. A spring carnival or something with rides, ice cream, and a booth with people asking folks if they would sign up to have their cheeks swabbed for the Gift of Life's bone marrow registry. We got our ice cream, and I somehow started talking to a person whose life had been completely transformed by a bone marrow transplant. And another who was alive as a result of a transplant. Usually I wouldn't pay much attention to this type of event with little kids pulling at me to go this way, go that way, but maybe it was the marketing tactic, the hot sun beating down or me or the fact that I was suddenly hit with the idea that I could actually contribute something substantive in my lifetime that made me swab my cheeks with the q-tippy looking sticks and donate the $60 processing fee it would take to actually maybe help someone some day. I went home and honestly hadn't given it another thought until a couple of weeks ago.
In my more existential moments, I sometimes think to myself that we go to work, we try to be good people, we bring up our kids, but what do we really leave behind when we're gone? Some really awesome memories for those we love, maybe a great recipe for chocolate bread pudding, maybe even a legacy of some kind. But we don't leave much of a mark outside of our own families, sad but true.
Recently a 4 year old girl in my community and hometown of Montreal was diagnosed with a scary sounding cancer that essentially means her bone marrow is failing and if she doesn't get a transplant VERY soon, it will progress into an even worse disease that may have no cure. Not good. It got me thinking again about contributing to life in a meaningful way and I reached out to a family member of Jayden (the little girl) to see how I could help from afar.
After all, isn't something happening to our children the worst possible nightmare?
Turns out bone marrow is bone marrow no matter which city, state or country it comes from as long as it matches that of the recipient. So within the last few days, I've joined forces with some other ladies who also want to help find Jayden a match as well as the Gift of Life contact here in Boston, and we're planning, planning, planning.
I will continue to post info about drives being held in Montreal, Boston, NY and other places as they are scheduled. In the meantime, if you're between the ages on 18-60, GET TESTED! And if you can't for whatever reason, consider donating to the cause - it takes $60 to process the test kits and there's just not enough funds available. I can't think of any more rewarding life experience than helping to save a life.
Scheduled drives:
Follow FightForJayden on Twitter and Facebook for details on drives and how you can help. It doesn't matter where you are, please spread the word, copy my post and re-blog, whatever it takes - numbers are paramount and you just never know, you might help save a life.
Every night, I walk through the door at around 6:15 and my little girls run to greet me. Before I have my shoes off, they're often telling me tales from the day; what got painted, who was absent from school, and can we have a playdate with so-and-so on Wednesday?
Last night, my first grader's story was a little different.
"Ava and Alicia were mean to me at lunch. They told me my sandwich smells," she said.
"Well, what were they eating for lunch?," I asked before I could process what she was actually telling me.
"Turkey sandwiches." Hmm... Exactly what Alex had taken that day as well.
Then, it hit me. My gentle, sweet, (typically) good natured 6-year-old was having her first encounter with "mean girls" except these little girls don't know who they're dealing with. And I don't mean Alex.
This being a first for me as a mother, I wasn't sure exactly how to deal with it. I told my delicious girl that if someone is not nice to her, that she should get up and tell them bah-bye. Move to another seat. Talk to someone else. Take away the mean girls' power.
Fine, I might've muttered under my breath that they're messing with the wrong kid cuz I'll kick their asses Mommy-style because this morning, upon opening her eyes and listening to me tell her how I emailed her teacher about the incident, my little girl asked if I was going to come to school and kick asses.
Oops.
At drop-off this morning, she pointed out one of the little terrorists to me. The girl, weighing in at no more than 50 pounds complete with unbrushed hair and no parent with her at drop-off, was seated next to us as we waited for the first grade door to open signaling the beginning of the day.
I couldn't help it.
"Are you Ava?" I asked the child. I wished her mom or dad had been there. I was frothing at the mouth to tattle on her.
"Yup," she said.
"I'm Alex's mom," I told her, very succinctly, making very direct eye-contact. What I wanted to say next was "and I've got my eye on you, ya little shit." But I held back. And after an intense stare-down (which I easily won and yes I know she's 6), the mini mean girl knew I meant business.
I kissed Alex goodbye and felt confident that I'd armed her with the (appropriate) tools to defend herself should the mean girls start with her. That didn't stop me from checking my watch at noon and worrying about how lunch was going.
At precisely 2:25, I checked in. Lunch was fine, she said. She had no problems and had fun with a friend. I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd been thinking about my little girl all day.
Bullying abounds but you never think it'll be your kid. While this was (hopefully) an isolated incident, it really got me thinking - how much control do parents have when their kids suffer at the hand of another kid? The teacher said she'd talk to the kids involved - which did not happen today. I have parents phone numbers, do I call them if it happens again? What's the protocol for this?
I'm not the kind of person who backs down. If you know me then you know that I don't take much shit and I'm not afraid to stand my ground. While I hope my children grow up with a little less steel than I, I have every intention of teaching them to stand-up for themselves and not let anyone push them around, ever.
I first posted this exactly a year ago today after reading an article that supports idea. My views haven't changed, though with my kids being a year older and a year more mature, I might edit the time-out from 6:15 to 7pm. But what works for one dosen't necessarily work for the masses. Read on and 'Like' if you agree!!!
I love my kids. In fact, they are my world. I take them everywhere and have since the day they were born. As a result, they have wonderfully mature palettes (mussels anyone?) and are typically very well-behaved in public places.
Typically.
But not always. And when they melt down in public or talk in outside voices when we're inside a restaurant or (heaven forbid) on an airplane, I may or may not look around and give onlookers that please-pardon-my-kids-they-weren't-raised-in-the-jungle look or the would-you-bear-with-me-while-I-find-a-way-to-shut-these-damn-kids-up eyes. But you know, I don't find myself squirming with embarassment all that often because I'm aware of when it's appropriate to have kids with me and when they need to stay home.
Are you? While you may think you have the world's most fabulous offspring, if you're taking them to dinner after the time they're usually tucked into bed, chances are you're in for a real shitstorm, as are the nice folks at the next table. When I leave my kids at home for an adult night out, I don't really want to hear kids, yours or mine, crying at the next table.
No offense.
When I read this article entitled, The Kids Aren't Alright, in AdWeek today, I almost stood up and gave a standing ovation. Because as much as I love kids, both yours and mine (or whatever), there's a time and a place for everything.
So here's my spiel: restaurants - almost any restaurant on earth, from McDonald's to Morton's, are fair game for kids who can sit still for the amount of time it takes to order, eat, and pay. The caveat? Be out by 6:15pm. If you're craving sushi from Nobu and you're traveling with your mini-me's, be there when they open the doors at 5:45 so you and your noise can be gone by the time the grown-ups arrive to eat $100 sushi. Fair enough, right?
Movie theatres - simple. Kids won't be seen and not heard and you're not seeing Winnie the Pooh? Take off.
Airplanes. Ah, airplanes. I defy you to find me a parent who doesn't dread an upcoming flight with kids. I've been there, I'm sure you have too. Honestly, there's not much you can do about an unruly kid on a plane except this is is one those times when bribery is not only an acceptable parenting method, it's preferable. Parents - bring candy, gum, snacks, DVD's, and as many new toys as you can fit in your carry-on. Anything they're not allowed at home - BRING IT. You might not be doing your kids any favors in the short-term, but think about all the fury you'll be saved from enduring when neighboring passengers don't want to kick your (and your kids) asses right off the plane.
The AdWeek article talks about an airline that has a new "no babies allowed" rule in first-class. My thoughts are why would babies be allowed in first-class like, ever? Why is this a new rule? And adults-only vacation destinations aren't anything new. Sandals Resorts has had a no-kids rule since it opened. Many hotels around the world have adults-only pools. Even as a mom, I found myself seeking them out on my last trip to Vegas. Don't take this the wrong way, but for three days I just didn't want to be around any kids, yours or mine. There are plenty of fabulous vacations to choose from if you want to bring kids. In fact, if you think about it, with all the travel options geared toward families, it really is a kid's world.
My last thought is geared toward those parents of kids who notoriously run around restaurants, can't sit still on a flight any longer than 20 minutes, and who chatter non-stop from previews to credits - in a few years it'll be fair game again and you won't have to deal with dirty looks from strangers. But until then, please, Mom and Dad, leave the kids at home.
Time Magazine released their latest issue today and unveiled a provocative cover that features a hot, blond mom standing with her boob exposed and her dumbstruck three-year-old suckling at it.
Without reading the story and based on the headline, you'd think it would be about that beaten-to-death "Mommy Wars" topic that rears its head every 25 minutes (and I've written about more than once). But it's not. It's actually a profile of Dr. Bill Sears, the 72-year-old doctor and author who began writing books 20 years ago that say parents must wear their babies as an appendage at all times, sleep with their babies lest they feel abandoned for 8 hours, breast-feed for at least one year to even be considered a mom, and pretty much arm your children with zero independence, no self-soothing skills and ensure that they need mommy and daddy for ev-er-y-thing until they at least 15. He even warns that that babies who cry too much — even those who are left to "cry it out" for short periods at night as they learn to go to sleep on their own — could suffer permanent brain damage, leading to a lower IQ, behavioral problems and more. No, seriously!
But my own opinions aside, I learned about the Time cover only secondary to a segment that aired on this morning's Morning Joe (below), during which Managing Editor Rick Stengel of Time Magazine appeared, most likely to promote the new issue, but also to be on the receiving end of a host and a guest, both of whom have vaginas, about the potentially gratuitous boob shot it portrays and the message that the headline, "Are you mom enough?" sends. I heard about it from my boss at work who saw the segment and said she thought of me as she is aware that I sometimes struggle with being a good full-time employee and being the type of mom my girls deserve. She too is a mom who works hard, and undoubtedly has stuggled with the same sometime feelings of guilt - both about kids and work - and has encouraged me to work hard but not to miss those moments with my kids that can't be recovered. I think about her advice often as I decide whether I can be spared at work for a few hours to chaperone a field trip or attend a religious service on a friday morning.
The opinion that moms must be all-mom-all-the-time in order to be a successful parent, along with Stengel's smug attitude about the cover, lit me a fire just hot enough to bother writing this post. Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of breast-feeding, I'm a fan of bottle feeding, hell, I'm just a fan of feeding your child using whatever method ensures nourishment. I've said it before, I don't judge how other parents parent, so long as a child is not put in harm's way.
What I'm not a fan of, is slinging mud at both sides just to see who screams louder. And you know, this cover, regardless of what's inside of it, will prompt countless conversations, blog posts, tweets, status updates, Pins, etc about who is the mightiest parent of them all. Is it the stay-at-home-mom who wore her baby until her back broke, nursed till baby was enrolled in kindergarten, and snuggled baby and (all previous kids) in the "family bed" forcing daddy to lock himself in the bathroom with nudie magazines and a sock? Or is it the parents who kept baby beside them until they decided it was time for his/her own room, nurse or bottle fed or combined the two till it was time, encouraged their kids to walk, talk, and eat at their own pace, and wore them once in a while just to get dinner on the table in a timely manner?
Really, who cares. That's so not the point for me. If you watch the segment below, the two points that do resonate for me are:
1) According to Stengel, the image on the cover "represents the attachment between mother and child." There is SO MUCH WRONG with this statement that it's crazy. According to Stengel, if you don't have a kid hanging off your boob, you have failed at bonding with your kid.
Loving that this comes from a MAN. I guess to complement this view, Stengel sees no way for dads to bond as strongly with their children, since they have no boobs. I mean, how could they? And if you're a mom who didn't nurse then obviously your bond with your kid is far less than if you had. I mean, obv.
2) The hosts brought up a great point - if you're a dad who leaves work early to go cheer on your kid in little league you are a hero. But if you're a mom who needs to cut out early to take little Junior to the pediatrician? Well, that's coming outta your vacation time. And you can be sure that your promotion just moved a little further south, Mom.
Oh, the double-standards that abound in our modern, post-feminist, tech-savvy, contemporary society continue to astound. Personally, I feel lucky to have found a place of employment filled with managers who are moms and get that even though I'm not at the top of the food chain, my kids sometimes take priority, even between the hours of 8:30am and 5:30pm. Lucky me, but it's cover pieces like this that send a message to women that screams if you don't sell your soul to your children, you are not worthy of having any.
And that, my friends, couldn't be further from the truth.
I don't typically blast out my kids birthdays on my blog because, let's face it, who really cares. But this post isn't so much about a birthday as it is about the fact that there's this crazy thing that happens after your kid turns five and goes to kindergarten and then turns six and you notice all these changes, and some are big and others small, and is this happening at your house too????
Alex was my first child, often lovingly referred to (by me) as my "original" baby. She came just when I needed her most, and we've been a dynamic duo ever since (well, trio if you count her really cute lil sister). She has promised me that that we can live together forever and ever and I've promised her that I have never loved anyone as much as I love her and her sister. My feelings are 100 percent truth, and in all honesty, if things keep going this way, she may actually live up to her promise also.
Bottom line - she's an extraordinary kid and oh-so-loving. Which works out for me.
But in the last year, in between the tulips and butterflies and rainbows, there have been moments of OHMYGODWHOSEKIDISTHAT and I blame kindergarten.
A month or two ago, my not-quite-six-year-old came home and told me that two kids in her class were going on a date.
"A date?" I asked, keeping my voice even even if I was half in shock. "What's a date?"
"It's when a boy and a girl get together at night."
"What do they do on a date? What's the difference between a date and a playdate?" I was scared to hear what was next.
"The kids go out to a restaurant and eat dinner - a boy and a girl." I pressed her for more. "That's all I got," she said (for real). "But at the end you can kiss on the lips."
"Oh, and I forgot - you don't sit next to each other, you sit across from each other so you can look at each other."
I was totally appalled and not at all ready for this but the part of me that appreciates irony entertained the conversation. "They go out to eat? Who drives? Who orders? Neither kid can read! WHO PAYS!!!???"
We laughed. Because seriously, the whole thing was ridiculous.
Then the other day she came home from a playdate (with a girl) and proceeded to define "sexy" for me.
"It means stylish and pretty, mom," she told me like I'm an idiot.
While she wasn't wrong in her description, my heart sank. My sweet little six year old, my Spongebob Squarepants loving daughter who can't sleep unless I cuddle with her and still comes into my bed in the middle of the night several times a month - she was explaining what sexy means.
There's nothing to be done. As proof, we were listening to a popular morning show on the radio a few months ago and the word slut was being tossed around as casually as the forecast and before I could switch it (or even noticed), a little voice from the backseat says to me, "Mommy, what's a slut?"
I wasn't going there.
No matter how hard we try to shield our kids from the overly sexualized, less gentle world than my generation grew up in (and that's not saying much), it's just not possible. And I don't blame those kids who are teaching her these things prematurely. They're good kids who are learning from older siblings who have friends with older siblings.
So now she's six and in a few months she'll go to first grade and the social scene will only become more intense with each year. And each year, I'll lose a little more of the control that I struggle to hold on to due to the simple fact that I let her out into the world. And she'll lose a little more of that beautiful innocence that I wish she could possess forever.
So here's the plan. I'm going to do everything I can to instill decent values in my kids while they're under my roof. So with work and school and stuff, that leaves about two hours a day, plus weekends, to make my mark. I think it's going ok. They don't curse (Mommy! That's a BAAADDDD word!) and they know when they're saying something I won't like. They have nice table manners, say please and thank you, and other parents tell me that my girls are a pleasure to have in their homes. I'm sure they'll be privy to pretty much everything within the next few years, but I'll do whatever I can to protect those little people so they grow up to be big people who can feel proud to be who they are.
Happy sixth birthday to my delicious little girl...
I read a piece on HuffPo Parents today called 'Apologies To The Parents I Judged Four Years Ago.' Written by blogger Kara Gebhart Uhl, it basically tells the story of 90% of people pre-kids, and then 90% of us, post-kids. The other 10% of parents who can't relate to this piece are full of shit.
Before becoming parents, many of us, myself included, looked at what parents were doing with their kids and scoffed. I can remember coming back from a family member's house and saying, "cheese sandwiches? For DINNER?" like arsenic was being sprinkled between two pieces of (WHITE!!!) bread and being fed to the unknowing children.
Let the record show we eat many grilled cheese sandwiches - for ANY meal.
In short, I don't judge much anymore. Or at least, I keep the judging to a minumum. After all, I don't like feeling judged for my choices. Firstly, you never know what's going on inside of someone else's world and secondly, unless a child is in danger of any sort, it's really not my (or your) business whether their apple is organic or not. To all you Judgey Judgerson's, I'll let you in on a lil secret - being judgmental is not the key to anyone's heart.
I admit, this transformation didn't happen overnight. I had a friend who decided to Ferberize her first child - at four months no less! - thus getting in the way of our New Year's Eve plans (made months in advance since we were both new moms). I hated the idea of "cry-it-out" and no baby of mine was going to be made to feel sad in her crib even if mom and dad hadn't had anything resembling a full night sleep in nine months. However, a week later, she had a four month old who was sleeping, well, like a baby, while we were still being woken up night after night.
Oh, and you child leashers? I still can't wrap my ahead around that but hey, it's not my therapy bill.
That said, I can recall giving a bottle to my almost asleep baby while she lay flat on her back in her crib (midnight feeding, she would eat then sleep. A dream.) I've been known to let my kids watch too much TV after a long day at work, all of us cuddled together enjoying - GASP - Spongebob! before bedtime. There are times when they go to bed a few minutes before their regular bedtime - without the requisite 20 minutes of reading - because the day has kicked Mommy's ass and she needs serenity, like, now. And other days we get to bed too late because I missed my babies more than usual that day. Selfish, I know.
And even after not supporting my friend's choice to let her baby cry, I did it with my second child. After allowing baby #1 to rule the bedtime roost out of sheer desperation, I just could not do it the second time around. So I ate my words, and baby #2 wasn't so lucky - I was more prepared to battle it out this time. So while I wouldn't recommend letting your baby sleep with you, I do get it. And if you choose to take baby in your bed, I'll tell you I'm sorry, but I won't be judging.
For the most part, I think we're doing just fine.
We eat whole grains as much as we can and do lots of art together. We bake, we practice spelling, we dip broccoli in hummus. We have never had to leave a restaurant due to a disruptive child nor are their eyeballs surgically attached to video games to get them to behave so we can eat (though, if this is your thing, cool.)
I work full-time. I sometimes feed my children chicken nuggets or fish sticks for dinner, other times they eat roasted kale and tilapia. Before I was a parent I was a highly judgmental person. Since then, I really care way less about what other people do and more about what I should be doing.
But all around me, I'm aware that judgment abounds. Much like the blogger who wrote that piece, I can sense it. But I don't really care.
As long as I'm ok with what I'm doing, it's all good.
"Judge not Before you judge yourself. Judge not If you're not ready for judgement."
I first posted this in September 2010 and something happened the otherd ay that made me remember it. It's hilarious - enjoy.
This parody on moms is just so ridiculously true. It pretty much covers, well, EVERY.THING that makes annoying moms annoying. And how awesome is the word "Mompetitors"???
I have two children, both girls. One is rather outgoing and somewhat of a risk-taker (sort of like me) while the other is more cautious and slightly stand-offish, especially in new situations. She's five, so it's not unusual, but it's sometimes a bit unfamiliar to me. Once she's comfortable in her surroundings though, she's perfectly fine.
The stand-off'ish child is my oldest and she has always been more reserved than my little one. It's possible that this part of her personality is what lead to a rough experience at a pretty rustic summer camp last summer and an excited anxiousness surrounding the beginning of elementary school this September. She's not the first person to introduce herself on the playground but she's not the last either. She is extremely smart, engaged, interested in playing and learning, but still, she doesn't break free from my grasp to hit the scary house on Halloween nor will she open your fridge door to see what's inside. On the flip side, she's polite, attentive, and fun to be around.
She doesn't like going in other people's cars. Since I have had a pretty flexible schedule until recently, she never really had to. Now it becomes a bit of an issue when there's snow or rain and one of the generous other moms offers her and her adult a ride home from school (which is within walking distance). There's an after-school birthday party next week that which, in order to go, she would need to take a ride one way with friends we both know very, very well, and get picked up by her own dad. In between, she'll be treated to jumpy houses, cake, pizza, party favors and whatever else is included in a kindergartner's birthday party.
First she said she refused to go unless I take her. Problem is (I'm a very bad mom), I cannot leave work to take my child to a birthday party.
I've told her I already RSVP'd that she'd be there. That brought tears. So I told her she didn't have to go, but everyone in the class would be there. I also told her that she can't have a birthday party of her own this year because since she ditches everyone else's party, no one will come. She didn't really care as long as her own family would celebrate with her.
Her dad believes we should encourage her to go without necessarily forcing her, but using language that would give her less choice in the matter, resulting in her going to the party. While I agree with him, my fear is that of the throwing the kid in the pool scenario: does that kid really learn to swim or will she forever fear water?
Ok, I realize this is small stuff in the grand scheme of things but it's the problem of the week. I hope it's my biggest problem, like, ever, but the point is why is there no handbook for this stuff????
Last night when I asked her if she wanted to go to the store to pick out a present for the birthday boy (my attempt to gently see where she currently stands on topic - after all, she's five and changes her mind as often as the light turns green), her response was that she's not sure she's going.
"But I'm thinking about it, Mom. I'm thinking about it."
This post first appeared on TDG on June 28, 2011 and was originally published at The Parenting Connection on June 25, 2011. But I really, really like it. And you will too.
About a year ago, I made the leap from being a work-at-home-mom who blogged, maintained my webstore, and freelanced, to going back to work outside of my house in an actual office. For the preceding three years, most of my work had happened within the confines of my home office, with the exception of events and the occasional meeting. Often, it happened with a small child in my lap.
I was the quintessential work-at-home-mom.
Going back to work didn’t happen overnight. For months I was restless. Don’t get me wrong – my schedule was a dream. I had the privilege of doing drop-off and pick-up, carpooling between play-dates, attending mommy and me classes, and I had my own thing on the side. It was any mom’s dream job.
Except it wasn’t my dream job.
During my down time between shuttling back and forth from ballet and music class, I came to the conclusion that I was – dare I say it – bored. I was enjoying my days, but I wanted more. And in order to achieve my personal goals, I knew I had to get out of my yoga pants, and back into my work clothes.
I needed to be clever. I had been out of the work force for a while, but it hadn’t been all diapers and wipes. In that time, I had become a member of the blogger community and I’d also learned a little HTML code by way of my webstore. But what’s more is that I had been paying attention. I knew social media was becoming less of a sub-culture and more of a force to be reckoned with. I was intrigued by this new platform and I had the unique experience of being both a blogger and a former PR person. And I’d been to journalism school. This combination, I quickly learned, made me marketable. So I forged ahead and landed a gig that suited my goals and my Mom needs. Flexibility was paramount since I wasn’t interested in being that mom who introduced herself to the other parents at graduation. I wanted to attend pediatrician appointments yet still be included in business development meetings at work. I wanted a lot, but luckily, I was able to find it.
Finally, I was back. Doing a job, getting paid by someone else. Talking with other human beings (over three feet tall), attending meetings, eating lunch without tiny voices making demands and without little bodies who wouldn’t sit still even after being warned one, two, three times that a time-out is imminent if they didn’t stay in their seats.
Here’s the part where you’re expecting me to admit how much I missed the tiny voices, the little bodies, the counting. But the thing is, I didn’t. And still, most days, I don’t. I don’t because I know that my absence during the day makes me a better mom the rest of the time. I’ve learned the alchemy of quality over quantity. My working outside of the house brings me a sense of accomplishment that I was missing before. It fills the intellectual void that is crucial to my, and therefore my family’s well-being.
Working moms vs. stay-at-home moms. The debate endures with interesting points of view for both teams. But for this Mama the choice is clear, and one year later I’m more sure than ever.
I read a post this morning by a blogger I love to not love ("we don't use the word hate, Mommy") who told a story about a call she had from a friend. Her friend, she recounted, wanted to know how she would feel if one of her own kids were gay. The blogger's response was that she would be sad for a while and she might mourn her dreams of the elaborate weddings (to members of the opposite sex) she foresaw after birthing her children as they went down the drain. (Seriously? The biggest hope I had for my kids upon their births was their ability to one day sleep through the night, followed closely by their capacity to feed themselves, because spooning baby mush into my kids mouths was not generally one of my greatest pleasures as was promised in the brochure.) But I digress.
This topic of gay kids is actually something I've thought about many times, mostly because many of my own friends have come out in the last decade or so, and while I imagine that there are many factors that come into play when deciding if and when to come out, I would think that a parent's response (followed by the attitude of the judgey community many of us come from) might play a big role in finding the courage to make this private debut.
To be honest, my general response to hearing a friend is gay is generally along the lines of, "no kidding, finally. Pass the ketchup." I mean, it's my opinion that everyone deserves a little happiness. And who you choose to spend your life with, sleep with, live with or bear children with has no bearing on my life. But whether the people I care about choose mates with whom they might find lasting happiness? That matters.
The other thing is, I don't dream of my daughters' weddings. I didn't dream about my own wedding day prior to the nightmares it lent itself to during the planning stages. I do, however, look forward to a day when my children are made as happy as I am by their own children and that has nothing to do with being married to a boy or being married to a girl or even being married. It just has to do with being a parent. And while I know that my opinion wouldn't get me invited to dinner with members of the GOP (which is totally fine by me), it just is my opinion.
In debating these points over the dinner table, I've heard closed-minded opinions like, "children deserve to be brought up in a home with a mother and a father" or "what message are we sending by endorsing same-sex couples raising kids?"' and my response is ALWAYS the same:
How many conventional marriages end up in divorce? What percentage of married couples actually exhibit loving behaviors within their own homes? How many kids from homes with both Mom and Dad witness unhappiness, loneliness, tension, stress and animosity?
Look, I'm not saying that same sex couples don't fight, don't have stress and don't break-up. All I'm saying is that kids need love, positively and unequivocally. Whether it's from parents of the opposite sex, same-sex parents, black and white parents or a single parent, it's really about love and stability. And where and who and how that love is delivered, as long as it's within the confines of a safe and calm environment, I'm in.
So if my kids decide they want to love someone of the same gender, I won't die. I won't kick and I won't scream. I will be grateful that they have found someone they want to love in a world where the idea of "soul mate" and marriage" seems as antiquated as the notion of "barefoot and pregnant." In other words, what's important to me isn't the need to live by conventions determined by society, but rather it's more important that the people I love make choices that just might lead to their ultimate happiness, however that may look.
