The Imperfect Parent

The Parental is Political

Julie Marsh — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 00:00:00 EDT

There's no doubt (except perhaps among loyal listeners of Rush Limbaugh) that the Republican party is splintering. From the emergence of the Tea Party movement to the backlash against RINOs (Republicans In Name Only) to the political odd couple on the Republican presidential ticket in 2008, it's nearly impossible to figure out how today's GOP defines itself or what the party wants to accomplish, other than to defeat Democratic initiatives.

Reading a recent Newsweek article titled "What Republicans Really Want," I was hoping for some Nick Marshall-esque (Mel Gibson's character in "What Women Want") insight. Perhaps this piece would define the Republican party better than they've been defining themselves, and I might get a better idea why I was right to leave the party or why I might consider returning.

Unfortunately, I was sorely disappointed.

The article touched on six major points: Job creation, the budget deficit and national debt, health care reform, our role in the Middle East, handling of terror suspects, and education. Read closely and it's apparent that the two sides of the aisle aren't that far apart on most of these points. But as the Newsweek writers point out:

"In zero-sum Washington, members of the opposition party have little incentive to help the president, especially if it means the credit for their actions could accrue to him and not them. If politics is the art of compromise, then politics as practiced in the capital is the art of preventing compromise at all costs."

Sad, but true, no matter which party's in power. As close as the two sides may be on some issues, they push back against one another purely out of spite. Those Republicans who do attempt to build bridges are denigrated by fellow GOP pols, pundits, and party faithfuls.

But the primary reason I was disappointed in the article is that there's no mention whatsoever of social issues. No discussion of federal funding for stem cell research, or gay marriage, or Don't Ask/Don't Tell, or separation of church and state, or even the enduring issue of abortion.

These omissions, along with the right to bear arms, climate change, and immigration policy, were glaring ones. But because it's the increasing social conservatism of the Republican party that has driven me away, those were the differences I'd most hoped to see addressed in the piece.

Looking beyond my personal priorities as a voter, it's obvious that social policy has become a greater defining characteristic of the GOP than it was in the past. All of these issues were in the spotlight at one time or another under the previous administration or during the 2008 presidential election. Ignoring what Republicans really want in the social arena was a significant oversight on the part of Newsweek.

So I'll help them out:

Republicans want to legislate morality in accordance with their standards of right and wrong, which are primarily defined by religion, but which are also apparently suspended at will by those in positions of political power.

Conversely, Republicans believe that anyone who does not share their beliefs cannot ascertain the difference between right and wrong. Without the threat of eternal hellfire, they have no reason to behave morally.

Republicans believe in personal freedom, so long as an individual makes choices in accordance with the values espoused by the party. Choices that differ from those values should be illegal. Punishment for penitent party faithfuls will be meted out by a deity; all others will be punished here on earth. By Republicans, of course.

In short, what Republicans really want is to play God. It's no wonder this atheist is tired of their games.

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Growing Pains

Elizabeth Thompson — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 00:00:00 EST

According to the old saying, the month of March usually starts with cold, unpleasant weather, but ends mild and becomes much more agreeable – atmospherically speaking, of course.

“We don’t have ANY days off from school in March!”

Yes, it’s true, there are NO holidays requiring a day off from school in March (go ahead and check, I’ll wait) so, I’ve grown accustomed to referring to September through February as “the holey months” when large blocks of the school calendar are crossed-off for one holiday, birthday, or teacher’s conference, after another.

Aaaaand, considering the snow days we’ve had to take in February, no wonder the schools are bugging me about my kids, and the number of sick days they’ve already had, this year.

“Your child has been absent 4,291 times, this year…”

I’ve had kids in school, full-time, long enough to know that the state requires schools to send those annoying little, “just so you know,” letters; however, judging my recent conversation with one of the school nurses (Ratched, I believe) and a letter I received from my son’s school, I’m still a little fuzzy on identifying the difference between “excused” and “unexcused” absences.

“Please make an appointment, so that we can discuss ways in which we can improve your child’s absentee record.”

Off the top of my head, I can only think of one real good one – send my kids to school…sick.

“Mrs. Thompson, your daughter has 15 absences, already!”

My oldest (she’s 16) called me from the nurse office, the other day.

“None of which are excused.”

Turns out, my calling the attendance office and telling them that, you know, my kid won’t be in school, because she is sick, has cramps, or bleeding like a stuck pig, whatever, is not good enough.

“Excuse me?”

You see, I don’t typically play the “I’ve got 4 kids, you know?” card, but all I wanted was for her to give the kid a Tylenol.

“I’ve received, signed and returned dozens of forms, from all 4 schools, so I am well versed in student absenteeism policies.”

We’ve also received numerous handouts, outlining the signs and symptoms to look for, when deciding whether or not your child is sick or, not (especially, this year, with swine flu) along with weekly reminders NOT to send your kids to school, you know, sick.

“All I wanted was for you to give the kid a Tylenol!”

Because, I’m pretty sure I signed that paper, too.

“Just so you know, the high school only allows 20 absences…THAT’S IT!”

I wasn’t ready for a lecture and, it was at this point in our conversation, I was pretty sure that I needed a Tylenol, too.

“I have her file here in front of me and see that most of your daughter’s absences are unexcused.”

Okay, so this time, the school nurse was right and I didn’t send in a doctor’s note, every time, because I don’t take my kids to the doctor, every time they are sick!

“So, is she getting the Tylenol or not?”

Since, you know, I didn’t see any reason why we both should continue arguing, what was quickly becoming a mute point, while my poor kid was sitting there, in her office, doubled over, in pain.

“Yes.”

I know the school nurse was only doing her job and is probably accustomed to dealing with very unreasonable people, every day (sound familiar?) but, did she really need to make me feel like crap, too?

“As far as sending her home, you can do what you want, but she’s not throwing up and she doesn’t have a fever.”

I am no doctor. However, raising 4 kids (sorry) and having spent an unimaginable number of sleepless hours, wiping down feverish little faces and cleaning up buckets of puke (you’re welcome) not to mention, seeing my 14 year-old through surgery (twice) and assisting in her recovery from pilonidal disease (you’re welcome, I’m sure) I do believe that I have become somewhat of an expert at growing a thick(er) skin (seriously, that was just plain nasty) especially, when it comes to knowing whether my kids are sick, or not.

“Okay, but I told her to suck it up and that you, my dear, are an ass!”

[click]

This was NOT one of those days.

“Yay, we get our braces this month!”

My oldest girls have been waiting a really long time for this – since I made the appointment, way back in November, actually – and they are perhaps the only teens thrilled to FINALLY having braces put on their teeth and, well, YAY!

“Are we going to have to stay home from school?”

[checks calendar]

I’m sending in a letter, signed by the orthodontist, maybe even a notary, along with a picture of their crooked teeth, just in case.

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The Parental is Political

Julie Marsh — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 00:00:00 EST

When I registered as an Independent, I did so because I didn't want to be affiliated with the Republican party anymore, but neither did I want to be a Democrat. I differ significantly enough with each party's platform that I refused to let either one count me among their ranks.

I suppose I could have registered as a Libertarian -- their platform seems to mirror my views most closely -- but I'm hesitant to join forces with either Bob Barr or Ron Paul. On the other hand, a search for "Independent Party" returns a range of wildly varying results -- not unlike the variation between views of candidates who've run as Independents.

When the Tea Party movement sprang up, I identified with their opposition to the bailouts of Wall Street and the Big 3 automakers. I understood the reasons for the banking bailout, but I was angry about it nonetheless (especially after the reports of post-bailout bonuses and retreats). Dissatisfaction with the fiscal policies of both the previous administration and the current administration is one viewpoint I share with all varieties of Tea Party adherents.

But that's where my support of the Tea Party movement ends. The increasing social conservatism of the Republican Party appears to have translated to the Tea Party movement (and that's what drove me away from the GOP). Where the Tea Party stands on social issues is "murky," according to CBS News Political Hotsheet:

Some members of the movement, like the Tea Party Nation, believe social issues are a defining characteristic. Others, like the Tea Party Patriots, want to focus on economic and governance issues and not wade into the social policy debates.

Bottom line: If Tea Party adherents of either side support Governor Rick Perry and former Governor Sarah Palin, then count me out.

Now there's the Coffee Party. Called "an alternative for frustrated left-leaning voters," the Coffee Party is a fledgling movement that's already attracted attention from CNN and the New York Times. While they haven't published a platform, an excerpt from one of the notes on their Facebook fan page gives a clear picture of what they value in a political candidate:

We are looking for men and women who serve or wish to serve in government with these qualities: honesty, integrity, intelligence, truth-seeking, believes in democracy, loyal to constituents, a problem-solver, can work as part of a team, and productive. After we hire or rehire them in November, they must work hard to advance civil rights and fight like hell for working class and middle class interests.

He or she must support job creation, fiscal responsibility, health care reform, immigration reform, climate change legislation, & financial regulatory reform to protect consumers (and prevent another economic meltdown like the one we saw in 2008).

Republican or Democrat, coffee or tea -- it's clear that there's great unrest among voters. Grassroots, bottom-up efforts are lauded, but eventually leaders must emerge. The Tea Party movement has been weakened in the eyes of moderates and Independents by the attention it's attracted from GOP lawmakers and right-leaning media outlets. The Coffee Party has received similar criticisms already because its founder volunteered on the Obama campaign.

In spite of the enthusiasm behind them and the dissatisfaction that provoked them, I expect that neither the Tea Party nor the Coffee Party will evolve into a viable third party. But I do believe they serve a valuable purpose in spurring reform. From ThisNation.com:

One or both of the two major parties is bound to "steal" their issues, incorporate them into their platforms and absorb their supporters into their ranks�In American political history, third parties have served the important purpose of refocusing the two major political parties on issues they have ignored or dealt with ineffectively.

Fiscal responsibility figures prominently in the discussions led by both the Tea Party and the Coffee Party -- not surprising in light of the vast government spending (which, by the way, didn't begin with the current administration). Republicans and Democrats alike have been playing fast and loose with our money, even rich people's money, for too long.

While Sarah Palin's relationship with the Tea Party is enough to dissuade me from participating in that movement, I plan to attend a local Coffee Party meeting on March 13 - National Coffee Party Day - to learn more. To find a meeting near you, visit the Coffee Party website.

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Mominatrix

Kristen Chase — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 00:00:00 EST

Sex and music are intimately bound so it's no surprise that someone decided to connect them almost literally in what could be deemed "The Music Lover's Sex Toys" or as they're known in the sex business, OhMiBod. These super smart toys allow iPod (and iPhone) users to raise the pleasure ante with toys that vibrate to the pulse of your music.

And as a connoisseur of music and sex separately and together, I jumped at the chance to try out the new OhMiBod Freestyle, courtesy of Eden Fantasys.

Now if you're thinking that the OhMiBod is just another schticky gag toy, you're wrong. Aside from the pretty hefty price tag, once you take it for a spin, it's obvious that this toy is far removed from the cheap thrills that you might associate with these types of vibrators.

The toy itself comes in a pretty secure box, which is a nice plus for those of us with kids, but a little frustrating when you need to actually use it in a reasonable window of time. Once I was able to pry it open, I found a long silicone covered shaft featuring a simple twisting control and a point of entry for a charger, which, along with the connector, was included. The directions are pretty intuitive: Charge the vibrator, then connect your headphones and your iPod or iPhone (or any MP3 player or computer for that matter) to the connector box and voilà - your OhMiBod is called into action, vibrating to the beat of your favorite music. Talk about a sensory overload of the very good kind.

The concept and execution of the OhMiBod are brilliant, however when it comes to a product like this, personal preference plays a huge factor. Pretty much anything that vibrates will get you off, but those things don't cost upwards of $125. So, before you start loading up sexy songs on your iPod and untangling your headphones, here are some important considerations:

1. If you tend to like continuous vibrations and not a rhythmic pulse, then you might be a bit disappointed (well, unless you've got ridiculous loud music with a continuous bass). Although you can stick the vibe on manual mode, it seems silly to buy it if that's all you're going to use it for.

2. Make sure you have good sexy music that you've organized it in a playlist before you get started. The last thing you need is for some lullaby to come on right before you're about to climax. And if you tend to use music for other things in your life (like working out or passing the time while you're cleaning), then you might actually find using that same music during your sex sessions to be distracting. It is nice, however, to be able to block out ambient noise with the headphones. And if you're trying to sneak around because of sleeping children, you're probably not blasting your CD player during sex. Having it play right into your ears is a pleasant alternative.

3. Speaking of songs, you'll notice short but obvious pauses in between songs, which can be pretty inconvenient depending on where you are in your pleasure journey. If you're loving the idea of this so far, then do yourself a favor and download a few long songs or mixes so you can avoid the breaks in your music. The last thing you need is for the song to change right when you need it to keep going.

4. The long shaft vibrating portion is just that, and while the size is definitely manageable for beginners or advanced "students" and the length makes it ideal for clitoral, vaginal, and anal play, the shape itself leaves a bit (or more) to be desired, especially if you've had a kids or generally require something with a little more curvature.

That being said, the OhMiBod freestyle is far from a gimmicky sex toy. It's actually a pretty versatile toy that's obviously well-made and designed, and makes the perfect gift for the right person. If you're looking for something to just get the job done, I'd save your money and get something with a few less bells and whistles. But if you've got a music lover who needs a new instrument this Valentine's Day or you're just needing to add a little sweet music into your life, the OhMiBod will definitely not be a one-hit wonder. In fact, it might just take you to the top of the charts.

Rating: 3.5 stars

Deal alert! Save 15% on the OhMiBod Freestyle and all your other purchased at Eden Fantasys now through 02/15/2010 -- just enter the code MOMINATRIX at checkout.

Find out more about great Valentine's Day gifts on a special Mominatrix podcast.

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Rugrat Reprieve

Rachael Brownell — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 00:00:00 EST

It's not as though one day I put away the high heels, threw down the cute panties and bras and embraced the muu muus and late-night candy, but it feels that way. The time-warping devolution from slim pretty thing to puffy 40-something started with having kids (doesn't it always) and ended with getting sober and a nasty divorce (in progress). Not as an excuse, mind you, only by way of a righteous explanation to convince you I'm not one of "those women" who hates herself, puts herself last, and lets her kids win every bid for time and attention.

Except when I am.

Time and again I've strived to fit exercise and health between work and family, sex and bathroom cleaning, diapers and homework. And failed. I've watched my online sisters do Shredheads and group weight loss challenges, like a kid sitting by a window doing homework during recess. I failed before I started, convinced it wouldn't work, that there wasn't time and then capitulated to the onward thrust of days. 40 came and went, a job ended, my 2nd husband moved out. Another year.

Standing in the check out line one afternoon, reading horoscopes, debating the gum and M&Ms, I noticed"Oprah Magazine" and rolled my eyes at the lead story: "How to Get What you Really Want this Year." "Oh yah, right" I muttered as I placed the items on the conveyor... but then looked at the first subtitle: "A Healthier Body." Not slimmer, not tighter, not younger. Healthier. And something shifted. What if... What if... What if... in 2010 I could get healthy? What if I used this time, post-divorce, to tackle another Big Problem. I'd found a way out of alcoholism, out of an unhappy marriage, out of so many pickles these past few years. Why not attempt to conquer the intractable inertia over my body's lack of health? Why not?

The story begins with a young woman, divorced, unemployed, and overweight who documents her journey to health. For no other reason than I am sick of being tired and wrung out, I decided if she can do it, so can I. She chose Bikram Yoga, so I followed suit. I like the promise of "try this for 60 days and see the results." It's reminiscent enough of recovery (you get coins at 30, 60, and 90 days and other time increments) that I feel comfortable giving it a shot.

It turns out there are many reasons to fear Bikram Yoga (aka: "hot yoga"). 90 minutes in a room heated to 105 degrees Fahrenheit is only the beginning; 26 asanas, or poses, of increasing difficulty, one following the other so quickly there is barely time to panic; scantily clad very trim women and men; a huge full-wall mirror in the front of the room, into which one is encouraged to fix one's gaze on the (in my case) startling reality of 8 years without an exercise program. And this is just the beginning. My first class, I'm shocked at the state of my health. I can barely reach down to touch my toes, and the heat and exertion have me watching the clock after 15 minutes and praying for the class to end. Eventually it does. And I decide to suspend my disbelief long enough to do it again. And again.

It's been four weeks now, and as it happens, Bikram Yoga proves just enough sick torture chamber to keep me coming back. I can't go running, or walking, or do anything requiring proximity to home or children without the gravitational pull of guilt and chores sucking me back into its orbit. I can't buy a pilates CD, join Weight Watchers online, and discipline my flesh in the middle of my family room. I need to leave; exit my reality and enter another. A place where leaving early is frowned upon; where the encouragement is so constant the voices in one's head (the grocery lists, doubts about the divorce, mistakes recounted) aren't merely drowned out, they're decimated. I feel like all the demons of doubt and chubbiness are exorcised during class. I move mountains and beg childcare to get there. I sweat and cry and grunt. And I can't wait to go back again the next day.

I emerge on the other side of one of these classes, covered in sweat, reassured that my body can be brought back to the health and strength of the tomboy soccer player I once was. If I can do it, so can you. Come on! I double-dog dare you.

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Growing Pains

Elizabeth Thompson — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 00:00:00 EST

We live on a very busy street, used by commuters as a through-way between the train station and county road, so my husband Garth [not his real name] and I have always tried to remain vigilant about keeping the kids safely secluded in our very own big backyard.

“Can So-and-So come over?”

Did I mention, we’ve got a pool?

“No, it’s MY turn to have someone over!”

Riiiight.

“Mooooooom, there’s someone at the door!”

Of course, seeing as we’ve talked to each and every one of them, time and time again, about the danger of strangers, showing up at our door, all 4 of my kids came running from every direction to, you know, see who it was.

"It's our neighbor!"

Silence.

"Which one?"

We've lived in this house for almost 16 years and, sadly, I'm on speaking terms with only one of the families also living on our street -- my next door neighbor.

"It's the one you like!"

Oh, thank goodness.

"I got some of your mail, by mistake."

So, I invited her in, we spent the next few minutes catching up (has it really been THAT long) and parted on good terms.

"Maybe we can get-together; especially, if Mr. Screw Up keeps delivering each other's mail."

It's not that we don't like each other – I pretty much get along with most everybody, mostly – but, she’s only got the 1 kid and I’m pretty sure that she thinks I'm nucking futz, anyway.

But, she likes my kids… I think.

The neighbor on the other side of the fence (you know, the one I don't like) on the other hand, hates my kids and has yelled at them, for being too loud... playing outside… or, splashing around in our pool... on numerous occasions!

"Keep it down, over there!"

No, he doesn’t have any children (not that I know of, anyways) how’d you guess?

“Damn kids.”

Really? According to my other neighbor (you know, the one I like and sort of likes me) you wouldn’t even know that there are 4 kids, living in our 7 room house.

“Your kids are just way too polite.”

See?

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeighbor!”

Apparently, I’m raising a bunch of criminals – always saying hello to the neighbors and everything – who are constantly caught behaving badly, like:

The Boy (Turning 11, at the end of this month) Crime: Shooting hoops, playing fetch with the dog, laughing way too much and hollering stuff like, "Good mornin', Mr. Neighbor," and then, "Have a nice day," when ignored by Mr. Neighbor.

The Youngest (Age, 8) Crime: Playing on the swing set, working in the garden with her mother, digging for worms, pretends that fairies live in the woods behind our house and being too gosh-darned cute for her own good!

The Middle Girl (Age, 14) Crime: Riding her scooter to the milk store, swimming when it's hot outside, taking long walks with her camera, writes her own songs and reads way too many books!

The Oldest (Age 15 years-old) Crime: Watching old movies on Turner Classics and film noir. Doesn't like the outdoors, much. But, when she does venture out, is often found fussing over a project in her sketch book and generally enjoys the company of her siblings.

Then there’s, you know, their mother:

Me (Age, none of your business) Crime: Matriarch of This Full House. Skips showers, forgets to brush her teeth, goes in (and out) of her driveway at least a dozen times a day, picking her kids up from school, especially, on stormy days, leaves Christmas decorations up until Valentine's Day and (allegedly) breeder of some of the worst kids in the neighborhood!

“Hey, um, hi, how’s it going?”

[sound of crickets chirping]

Although, we may NOT be the most perfect family (or, best neighbors) I can't help but think that, just because we have lots of kids, running around and inviting lots of other kids to come over and play, or splash in our pool (during daylight hours, mind you) do we really deserve to be run out by the Neighborhood Homeowners' Association with torches and pitchforks?

[repeat, sound of crickets chirping]

Riiiight.

So, this year, I’ve decided to be the bigger neighbor (figuratively speaking, of course) by being the first one to say:

“Hey you kids…get off of my lawn!!!”

Even though, you know, they never seem to listen to me, either.

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Long Journey on a Short Bus

Karen Murphy — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 00:00:00 EST

Eric and I were in a hotel lobby. We had a date to climb the stairs to the second floor together so he could see me watching him jump down them again one by one, but before we could do that I had some business to take care of with the people behind the lobby counter. While he waited for me, Eric engaged the attentions of a suit-clad business-type man who was sitting on a bench reading a newspaper.

I was turning back to collect my son when I heard the telltale sound: skin meeting skin. Eric was touching people again. I know a high-five when I hear one.

Eric is a toucher. If he likes you (and he likes 99.7% of you) he will not hesitate to come up to within inches of your face and rest his hand on your leg. He adores hugs and initiates them often, patting you understandingly on the back or arm. Eric sees the oneness in everyone and just assumes there is no separation between you and him, so for him it’s just natural to poke your eyes, explore your ears, or sit on your lap.

“Eric,” I say. “Some people don’t like touching. Ask before you touch.” Eric looked at me as if actually considering the merits of this new concept that we’ve discussed only 2947 times before.

“That’s okay,” said the man. “High-five.”

My laser beam eyes shot spears of light into High Five Man, impaling him to the wall. Dude. You do not know who you are dealing with. You do NOT get between a mama and her kid during an Important Teaching Moment. DO NOT TELL MY KID IT’S OKAY. STFU.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Pipe down, mom, it’s just a high five. The guy said it was okay.

Sorry, but no. Eric is six. The touching thing is cute now. He looks at you with innocent blue eyes, tips his head over to the side and grins. Who can resist that? It won’t be cute when he’s twelve or twenty-one or forty, a little boy in a man suit. Best case scenario if his touching remains unchecked into adulthood: people will ignore him, hoping he’ll go away. Worst case, they’ll be frightened. Angry. They’ll wield torches and pitchforks.

I went bowling with friends up in Ontario two years ago. It was mid-afternoon on a weekday and we had the place to ourselves except for one other bowler. Down Syndrome Bowler was a little guy in his 20s, clearly accustomed to bowling alone. He looked over at me and shouted from four lanes over. “I got a strike!”

Seeing Eric’s future holding a bowling ball, I smiled and nodded at him. A strike. That’s not easy for anybody. The manager looked at me from behind the shoe counter. “Is this guy bothering you? If he’s bothering you, lemme know.” He turned to Down Syndrome Bowler and his voice changed. Meaner. I winced. “Hey Mike! I TOLD you to stop bothering the people! One more warning and you can’t come in here.”

Down Syndrome Bowling Guy turned away, quietly finished his game — alone — and left.

Words cannot express how much I do not want this for my son.

It’s either Eric learns to deal with people in an accepted way now, when he’s still cute and rejection is nearly impossible, or he’s going to suffer later. Which would you choose?

So, people, I’m sorry. It doesn’t really take a village to raise a kid, not in this case. In this case, Mama rules and that is that. Don’t tell me, “It’s okay,” when I’m trying to teach my kid something.

I know that when people see my son they respond two ways, often at the same time without even knowing it:

1. Disgust. He’s … different. Go away, Different Kid. I can’t look at you.
2. Awww, he’s cute! I want to hug him and take him home. Look, he talks!

I know this and I’m okay with it. We’re all human here. But most people feel guilty about the disgust part, and move right into the Aww, he’s cute. They feel they shouldn’t have conflicting feelings about a little boy with blond hair and blue eyes.

So they overcompensate. My kid touches them inappropriately and they say, “He’s okay.” It comes from guilt. But hey, take your guilt and keep it. I don’t need it and my kid doesn’t need it. And when I tell him that he shouldn’t touch you, keep your pie-hole shut. I’ve got Eric’s future interests at heart. When you look at him you see a cute kid, but I see the man he’ll be one day. And I want that man to be happy.

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Mominatrix

Kristen Chase — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 00:00:00 EST

UPDATE: The sexual resolution has begun -- see the list below or follow the Mominatrix along over at our blog.

Before you write one more well-meaning resolution that requires hours on the treadmill, an expensive gym membership, and squeezing your ass into tight yoga pants, let the Mominatrix help you write one that might change more than your year.

It might just change your life.

The Mominatrix is recruiting you to join her in a Sexual Resolution. So for the entire month of January, she'll help you whip your libido back into shape with daily sex-related assignments catered specifically to busy parents. That's right. From sleeping naked and going "commando," to buying a new sex toy and sending your partner a sext message, you naughty moms will submit yourself to 31 days of simple challenges that might just be the key to unleashing your own inner Mominatrix.

If you're more of a voyeur, then you can follow along at the Mominatrix's blog, where she'll document her own daily progress (yes, she's doing it too), as well as share helpful hints and special tips and adaptations for you overachievers.

31 Days. Thousands of very happy partners. But even better, thousands of very happy moms.

Let's start 2010 with a bang.

It's never too late to catch up! Here are the challenges so far:

Challenge #1: Wear a Thong

Challenge #2: Sleep Naked

Challenge #3: Read an Erotic Romance Story

Challenge #4: Have Fun With Lube

Challenge #5: Find Your G-Spot

Challenge #6: Make a Sex Playlist

Challenge #7: Hair Care Down There

Challenge #8: Get Fitted for a Bra

Challenge #9: Get a New Sex Toy. A Good One.

Challenge #10: Use Your Hands

Challenge #11: Kegels

Challenge #12: Send a Sext Message

Challenge #13: Shower Together

Challenge #14: Go Commando

Challenge #15: Accentuate Your Assets

Challenge #16: Try a New Sex Position

Challenge #17: Tweak Your Technique

Challenge #18: Watch Porn

Challenge #19: Take the Reins

Challenge #20: Use Your Mouth

Challenge #21: Talk Dirty to Me

Challenge #22: Tie Me Up

Challenge #23: Be a Tease

Challenge #24: Share a Sexual Fantasy

Challenge #25: Get Dolled Up

Challenge #26: Masturbate

Challenge #27: Doin' the Butt

Challenge #28: Resources and Education

Challenge #29: Mutuality & Reciprocity

Challenge #30: Sex With the Lights On

Challenge #31: Do as Many of the Previous Challenges as You Can in One Day/Night

Make your New Year's sexier by joining the sexual resolution: follow the Mominatrix's sex challenge all through the month of January, and add the button to your blog.

Prizes for participants and voyeurs provided by Eden Fantasys.

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Mominatrix

Kristen Chase — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 00:00:00 EST

Over the years, pornography has gotten a pretty bad rap from women, and for obvious reasons. For the most part, it's aimed at the male audience which tends to display women in a submissive and objectified position.

But as women's appetite for porn has grown, so have the films that are made to get them off. That's not to say that women don't enjoy a neighborly gang bang, but for the most part, women are looking for tasteful movies that take certain measures to ensure that the woman's pleasure is of the utmost importance, and not just a small item on a long do-her list.

However, finding women-friendly porn can be a daunting task, especially since it's not like asking your friend for a regular old movie recommendation. But finding the right movies and better, enjoying them with your partner, can be the key to kick starting your libido with just a little flip of the remote control.

Here's the Mominatrix's Quick Guide to Real Porn for Parents

1. Get over yourself

Women are a bit jealous by nature, mostly because the idea of your spouse getting off on watching another woman (or women) have sex can make you a little insecure, well unless you're into that kind of thing, but then you don't need to be reading this now, do you?

It can be a bit disconcerting to watch some skinny, large-breasted woman get it on, particularly if you're not feeling so confident about your own body. But remember that enjoying porn with your spouse can be a way to help you get new ideas, tweak your skills, and get you in the mood.

Let's face it. Parenting is not the sexiest of jobs, and many couples find themselves in a sexual rut -- same person, same position, and same location. You're only human after all and unless you've got an open relationship, the variety that you'll need to get to spice up your sex life is going to have to come from changing things up when it comes to what you're doing and how you're doing it.

If you're feeling particularly uncomfortable about watching porn together, start by reading a few erotic romance novels (you know, in your free time), and then watch a few titles on your own. There's a good chance a little switch in your brain will be flipped and you'll find yourself wanting sex more and more. Think of it like eating potato chips. Once you pop one in your mouth, it's really, really hard to not eat the entire bag.

2. Don't judge a porn by its cover

If you're persuing porn titles at your favorite sex shop or flipping through your cable pay channels, keep in mind that the pictures and the descriptions are not exactly representative of the actual content, so it's best to get a personal recommendation or read a trusted resource before you take the plunge. But since asking for favorite porn flicks from your neighbor or playdate pal might be a little awkward, the Mominatrix suggests checking out Good Vibrations, a fantastic online sex shop that categorizes their porn based on the content. So whether you're on the search for soft core women friendly porn or the harder hitting titles, you'll know what you're getting yourself into before you buy it.

Keep in mind that most porn stars are young, shapely hotties because that's their job. If you don't dig the 18-year-old fake boob look, then search for "mature porn," "MILF," or "natural women." Oddly enough, the acronym "MILF" is used to describe women over 25, even if they haven't had kids. And don't be concerned that the terms "mature" and "natural" will afford you a size 20 senior citizen. Mature, natural women in porn are usually around 30 years old and have avoided major plastic surgery.

It is important for you to figure out what you actually enjoy watching, and don't be surprised if it's not necessarily what you enjoy doing. Some straight women actually prefer watching lesbian porn. And while a threesome may not be in your immediate future, perhaps the idea of three people pleasuring each other really gets you off. So do a little personal exploration and figure out what you really like to see, and what is an absolute turn off.

On that note, don't disregard an entire movie because it may list one thing that you don't like. There's a reason why they make remote controls. Considering there's a countless number of sexual acts in one porno, you can easily fast forward through the boring parts and get to the stuff that interests you most.

For assistance in finding the right porn for you, the Mominatrix highly recommends Violet Blue's The Smart Girl's Guide to Porn, which which offers acomplete rundown of everything you are and are not looking for in a porno. You can also find a wealth of information, as well as specific director and movie recommendations, in her online Smart Guide to Porn.

As far as specific films, you can't go wrong with anything from Candida Royalle, a well-known director whose movies are famous for being respectful but still ridiculously hot for both women and men.

3. You get what you pay for

You'll find plenty of websites that will offer you FREE! XXX! PORN!, which is most often amateur at best. And while it can be nice to save a few bucks, these sites may use under-aged women who may or may not have given adequate consent.

Also, online porn can open your computer to nasty viruses that are just looking to penetrate your operating system. Apparently, Firefox is considered the condom of browsers. Ah, yet another reason not to use Internet Explorer. And thanks to today's tech savvy kids, there's a really good chance your kids will be able to find your computer stash, which might just be worse than any sort of computer virus out there.

So skip the crappy, free stuff, and fork over a few bucks for a high quality DVD or pay-per-view movie that you know ensures the safety and consent of everyone involved. Sitting around a computer screen or laptop with your spouse isn't the most romantic of settings. If you're using porn to get you in the mood, then you might actually want to be somewhere that allows you to get at it while you're watching.

Investing in DVDs does mean you need a safe place for them. Many parents invest in a lock box for safe keeping. And considering how many adults were introduced to the world of pornography by finding their parent's stash of magazines and videos, it's not that far fetched an idea.

And don't forget that finding porn and enjoying it isn't rocket science, making it the perfect activity for parents. Heck, if teenage boys can procure it, then you should be able to get your hands on something titillating, even on no sleep and baby overload.

And best of all, you only need a few minutes for the effects to actually kick in, which parents, is about all the time you often have.

For more information, check out the Mominatrix Adult Films for Parents podcast

2 comments on this article

What's the Matter With Mommy?

Kelley Cunningham — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 00:00:00 EST

Have you ever tried to write a family newsletter at holiday time? Did you look back on the year and the only positive thing you could say about it is that you got through it?

Never fear! This Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwaanza use our helpful guide. You, too, can carpet-bomb the western world with an obnoxious form letter of your very own, even though your family is a sorry bunch of dysfunctional losers. Feel free to refer to yourself in the third person. This is guaranteed to further annoy your nearest and dearest. Here goes:

Circle One:
A. Season’s Greetings!
B. To all our blessed friends and family members, far and near!
C. Ho-Ho-Ho to all our vaguely-remembered former neighbors!

Circle One:
A. Can you believe that it’s “holiday time” already! How “time flies”!
B. Another year has passed and we have been blessed by health and happiness.
C. Another year shot to hell.

Circle one:
A. I’m writing to you all as the “matriarch” of the “wacky and wild” Harrington bunch to bring you “up to speed!”
B. I sit with pen in hand to update you on the gifts that have been bestowed upon our family.
C. I’m writing this because it’s better than watching the freakin’ Grinch for the fourth time today.

Circle one:
A. To start with, yours truly is “up to her eyeballs” with her new Mary Kay business!
B. I was in charge of the bric-a-brac section of the church’s rummage sale. We earned $22.75 and will donate the entire sum to the Church’s legal defense fund.
C. I’ve started a scrapbooking business and now my friends shun me.

Circle one:
A. Not that we need the money, mind you, with my Ted earning “VP” status this year!
B. Fred’s star continues to rise at Faceless, Automaton and Howe. His new title is Vice President, Company Line Division.
C. Ned continues to crush his own dreams and ambitions in return for money to live on.

Circle one:
A. Our loveable children are just a “bundle of energy”, and they sure keep me “hopping”!
B. Our immaculately-conceived children are growing by leaps and bounds, and we are in complete denial in regards to their budding sexuality.
C. Our children are still breathing, last time I checked.

Circle one:
A. Can you believe Ted junior is already 10! (oooh-I feel old!!!) He’s first in the state in reading, math and general adorable freckleface-ness, routinely pitches “perfect games” in little league, is the “world’s youngest” eagle scout, and loves to “tease” his little sister! Oh well, “boys will be boys”!
B. Fred junior is 10, has just received ultra early admission to Harvard, and is on the fast track for beatification.
C. Ned junior’s therapist says he’s making progress.

Circle one:
A. Little Madison is 8 (oooh, I feel old!!) and was a Donald Trump Honorable Mention Finalist in our county’s L’il Miss Future Trophy Wife pageant! You should see “Maddy” in her costume! You would just “eat her up”!
B. Our Lexington continues to amaze us with her gymnastic talent. This year Lexi won most improved in vaulting. She loves dollhouses, horses, and donating blood at the semi-annual Red Cross Blood Drive.
C. Bowery collects gum wrappers and likes TV.

Circle one:
A. The baby is now 6 (oooh-I feel old!) and has already skipped a grade! I suppose “brilliance” just runs in the family--ha!
B. Our baby shone during his solo of the “Ave Maria” the Vienna Boys Choir.
C. Thank goodness the baby is finally out of those goddamned Pull-Ups. I thought I’d never get the smell out of the house.

Circle One:
A. The Christmas decorations are finally done, thanks to “Martha Stewart”! This year’s theme is “Fruitcake Elves”!
B. The outdoor decorations took some time to get together this year, as the all-weather nativity scene is beginning to show its age. We were able to squeak out another year by leaning the magi up against the sheep.
C. Luckily we never got around to taking down the lights from last year. All we had to do was dig the extension cord plug out of the mud behind the garbage cans.

Circle One:
A. This year we had a “fun-filled” vacation in Orlando! Epcot was just like being in “Europe” (without all the B.O. and unusual food--ha!!!!)
B. Our vacation took us to lovely Branson, Missouri, with the highlight being the Marie Osmond concert.
C. We left the kids with Mom and took the bus to Vegas. Ned walked away from the craps table with a cool fifty bucks.

Circle One:
A. Now for the sad news (Boo-Hoo): Grandpa Henderson has finally left us! He said he would make it until Willard said his name on the Today show, and goshdarnit, he was right! He died doing what he loved: whittling!
B. With sorrow we report the passing of Grandfather Farquehar. His memorial service at the National Cathedral was attended by hundreds who remembered his life as one full of God’s blessings.
C. Not surprisingly, Grandpa finally kicked. He had been gone a few days when we found him, his hand still clasping the remote and the TV still tuned to the Weather Channel.

Circle One:
A. We’ve just been “up to our ears” with “household projects”! We were chosen as a This Old House project and we’re getting $250,000 worth of renovations...free! You know, Steve and Norm are REALLY nice guys!
B. We sold our house and donated the money to Habitat for Humanity. We thought it would be a growth experience for the kids.
C. We finally got around to cleaning out the garage.

Circle One:
A. Well. must dash! I’d better get back to wrapping all those presents!!!
B. I’m due at choir practice so, alas, I must bid you adieu.
C. I’d better run. I think the Christmas tree is on fire.

Circle One:
A. We can’t wait to receive your card! Does your child’s name here still have that adorable “harelip?!!!”
B. Please send some photos of your little angels.
C. Last warning…send us a card this year or you’re cut off.

Circle One:
A. From all of us Hendersons...have a “happy”!!!!
B. From our family to yours: may the blessings of the season be upon you.
C. Here’s hoping a little eggnog will help you survive this cursed season.

Circle One:
A. P.S. Don’t forget to put those cookies out for “you-know-who”!!! Maybe I should get him some Snackwell’s -- ha!
B. P.S. Don’t forget that Jesus is the reason for the season.
C. P.S. Don’t forget to save your receipts.

4 comments on this article

Mominatrix

Kristen Chase — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 00:00:00 EST

The art of striptease and pole dancing as an alternative exercise form is certainly not a new idea. After all, sex is considered exercise, and what better way to burn calories and hone your skills in the bedroom with a combination of both. And with popular workout DVDs like Sheila Kelley's "S Factor" and Carmen Electra's "Aerobic Striptease," exercise movements, such as the Chicago-based Flirty Girl Fitness, and even local gyms offer everything from pole instruction to lap dancing, there's no shortage of opportunities for moms to trim their ass while shaking it.

And now, metro Atlanta moms can join in the fun at Tips or Taps, a new erotic dance and exercise studio located about 30 minutes Northeast of Atlanta in suburban Kennesaw. Nestled in a quiet trip mall near the Town Center, a popular local shopping destination, Tips or Taps offers a variety of options for the curious beginner or seasoned expert. Owner Molly Hopkins was prompted to open the studio by many of her friends and customers at her local lingerie shop, Livi Rae, who were interested in this sort of exercise program but didn't want to make the drive into the city.

The studio was easy to find, though smartly tucked away from the road and shopper traffic. Even so, the windows were carefully adorned with dark curtains to keep onlookers hoping for a free show at bay. The decor is inviting and subtle, or as subtle as hot pink and black walls, four poles, and a few racks of lingerie and platform high heels can be. It's certainly sexy, perhaps even raunchy, but without the burning desire to keep your shoes on, wash your hands, and bathe in disinfectant.

The warmth of Hopkins' welcome in her adorable Southern accent, along with the friendly encouragement from the teachers (and moms themselves) Tori and "Nine" offset the wickedly cold dance studio, most likely due to our early morning class and not because poles or nipples must be kept at a certain temperature.

Not surprisingly, we weren't complaining about the cold after a few stretches coordinated to the upbeat music blaring from the sound system.

The beginner pole dancing class is part of an 8-week series that teaches students the basics of pole work. Light in cardio, but heavy in upper arm and core strength, the class is aimed at helping you master various pole tricks, including walks, spins, and other moves that I'm pretty sure I didn't think were humanly possible.

The workout itself is not blatantly sexy or erotic, as participants are required to wear socks and not high heels and spend most of their time trying not look like a demented firefighter or in my case, a scared shi-less kid just trying to make it down the pole without falling off. I'm guessing that after a few weeks of practice and instruction, you'll be able to combine your mastery of the moves with a bit of sensuality.

But this is to say that it's much harder than it looks. Or really, it's much harder to make it look sexy.

I was hoping my ballet background would afford me some advantage. And for the first two moves, which were basic sexy walks and light on-the-floor spins, it did. But after that, I was left at the mercy of my extremely weak upper body, sweaty palms, and fear of heights, all of which made many of the moves ultra-challenging. Granted, it's not like you're hanging upside down at the top of a 6-foot-pole on your first day, but the idea of jumping a good 3 feet off the ground and suspending yourself with only your inner thighs and arm strength can be intimidating. It's a credit to instructors Tori and "Nine," who were extremely encouraging and positive throughout the entire class, even when I'm pretty sure I looked like a roast pig hanging from a barbeque.

Granted, the instructors reminded us that most erotic dancers do not, in fact, do any of these moves, even the basic spins and tricks we were learning. And while I don't see myself attempting a local amateur night (as they kindly suggested), I will say that it did make me feel better when I found myself getting a little frustrated.

The various moves are presented based on difficulty (easy ones first, obviously), with each being demonstrated by the instructors and then taught to the group with individual support and assistance when needed. When most of the class was able to complete a move, we'd try something else -- another spin, trick, or combination of both to work on fluidity.

Or, if you were me, you'd just try to complete a move without sliding down the pole like you're headed out for an emergency 911 call.

To combat the sweaty palms, an issue that hinders many pole entertaining wannabes, we'd intermittently spray the pole and our hands with alcohol -- a technique that is used to keep from sliding or slipping. Additionally, we were instructed to actually rub the pole, alternating with rubbing our palms on our thighs or shorts to keep them dry.

Alas, it seems as though the more I rubbed, the sweatier they got, which was pretty darn frustrating.

Good thing there's another line of work for gals in my situation. VIP Room, anyone?

This particular class targets upper body muscles, all of which are used to keep you upright, balanced, and attached to the pole; the stronger your upper body, the more control you'll have during the spins and various moves. Even two days after the class, I'm still sorer than I've ever been doing any sort of upper body weight program. You will also suffer a series of bruises, which are apparently par for the course. I'm sporting fist size bruises on my inner thighs, and smaller but still sizable ones on both my hips and knees.

Aside from the sore body and countless bruises, I have a newly found respect for pole entertainers (not dancers, do not call them dancers), as it was made quite apparent to me that not just any woman with a set of tits and sense of rhythm can perform, and better, make it look effortless and sexual. But I was always pleasantly surprised that even a pretty tall and lanky mom of three with the arm muscles of a 7-year-old chess club captain could hold her own as well.

And while I'll definitely be sticking to my day job, I'm already trying to figure out when I'm going to take my next class -- this time with leather gloves to combat the sweaty palms and some sort of padded suit so I don't look like I got in a fight at the grocery store.

To take a sample class, join an existing class series, or schedule a mom's night out party, visit Tips or Taps. You can also find them on Facebook and Twitter.

3 comments on this article

Mominatrix

Kristen Chase — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 00:00:00 EST

So you might have thought that Thanksgiving is not the sexiest of holidays, and you're probably right. Between family hovering over you, huge amounts of food rolling around in your belly, and the day long football fest, the last thing on your mind is probably sex.

But considering the message of Thanksgiving is all about "giving thanks," what better time to show your appreciation in the bedroom. Besides, it'll give you something to look forward to while you're trying not to kill your in-laws.

Give thanks in the bedroom.

Chances are you're thankful for the same things every year -- your health, your family, your 17-inch dildo. Hmm, well, this year, show your thanks in the bedroom instead. Sure, the idea of getting it on with family around might not seem that appealing, but the combination of turkey and a series of parades and holiday movies should have your guests completely mesmerized. Sneak off for a quickie while they're all engrossed by the A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. Just make sure to leave out plenty of leftovers in case they get hungry.
Recreate the first Thanksgiving

Given the historical nature of this holiday, what better way to celebrate than to reenact the first Thanksgiving. Well, sort of. Snag a sexy pilgrim outfit and a "Native American" get-up and see if your beads are an acceptable trade.
Give yourself an excuse to indulge

When you get a hankering for another round of turkey and mashed potatoes, go for it. Sex burns calories, and if your Thanksgiving is like most of America's then you're probably slamming a few thousand in one sitting. But when you've got a sex appointment later on, then you won't have to feel guilty about taking another piece of pie.
Sexify your meal

You'd be surprised to know that many of the typical Thanksgiving foods are actually aphrodisiacs*. Play around with your menu to ensure you'll get a proper thank you later on.

*The Mominatrix is not responsible for your in-laws doing it in your bedroom.
Take advantage of the Black Friday deals

Did you think that the big sales only applied to GPS units and Christmas sweaters? Think again. You'll find a bunch of awesome deals at various online sex shops, no waiting in line required. So now's the time to add to your vibrator collection, or stock up on goodies for dirty Santa. And don't forget to shop the Mominatrix Holiday Gift Guide, where you can score 15% off on everything at Eden Fantasys.

Have a happy and sexy Thanksgiving, everybody!

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Mominatrix

Kristen Chase — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 00:00:00 EST

Thanks to the invention of Internet, it's probably been a pretty long time since you've set foot in a sex store. And in most cases, especially if you're a parent, that's probably a good thing. It's hard enough trying to find enough time to get your hair done, let alone making a stop at the local adult store. So you peruse the virtual shelves of your favorite online purveyor of dildos and anxiously await the non-descript brown box arrive to at your door.

But if you happen to live in the Atlanta Metro area, or are in the mood to take a road trip, you might want to visit the The Liberator Factory Store. Located about 25 miles northeast of downtown Atlanta, this place is hardly your typical sex toy store. Aside from the fact that it's housed in an industrial park that's a bit off the beaten path and not in a sleazy strip mall, this open, spacious warehouse is connected to the actual Liberator factory, where everything (yes, everything) is created. The store itself features their signature pillows and larger furniture pieces, but also includes everything else that you'd typically see in a sex toy shop, except if that sex toy shop was set up like a department store.

A couple of rings of the bell on the metal door and a staff person will welcome you in and allow you to roam freely without breathing down your neck. Instead of a make-up counter, there are rows of dildos and vibrators sitting outside of their packaging so that you can actually see how it feels and what it sounds like. The glass cases that house the more expensive glass and stainless steel toys are surrounded by several racks of their signature lingerie line that's also created in the factory that is housed beyond the large steel doors. And rather than a crowded space full of whips, leather, and goofy gag gifts, you'll find space to move and explore the various accoutrements at your own discretion.

Even better, the staff leaves you alone, and let's face it, gawk and giggle, making themselves available for any questions and personal recommendations, if you choose to ask. During my visit, I was assisted by Autumn, a mom herself who made me feel comfortable with her quick, matter-of-fact reviews and simple tutorials, not only for items that I had never seen before, but for ones that I had seen and even own, offering new tricks that I might not have ever thought of on my own.

I was even fortunate enough to get a personal tour of the entire facility where every component of their product is made and then shipped to various worldwide destinations (like your bed, perhaps?). All the fabrics are cut and sewn on site in what is like an orchestra of fancy machines and dutiful sewers. The sex furniture and shapes are made with eco-foam, which is pre-used, and either carefully shredded for equal distribution within their pieces like for their Cocoons and Loungers (basically glorified bean bag chairs), or cut into the solid pieces like their widely-known Ramp and Wedge.

Believe me, the foam is very serious business.

Since the store is fairly off the beaten path, particularly for folks West or South of the city, the big draw for visiting the shop is purchasing one (or more) of their signature sex shapes all of which (as well as the lingerie) are made on site. As you can guess, shipping something like a Ramp, their new Hipster, or something like Esse can be pretty pricey, so the ability to pick it up and shove it into the back of your car with the same discounts and deals you'd be afforded on their website can be worth the long drive. And if you're not sure whether you want to drop a cool couple of hundred dollars on a piece of sex furniture or a Liberator shape, then this is a great way to figure it out. And getting your hands on a few highly recommended toys makes them way easier to rationalize, particularly the more expensive ones that you might have just clicked right by during your online window shopping.

So fellow Atlantans, if you're looking for a fun lunch time trip, or heck, even your next mom's group outing, forget the germy jumpy castle meccas and mozy on over to the Liberator Factory Store. Aside from a nap, It's definitely a satisfying way to spend an hour or two of your day.

Stay tuned for the Mominatrix review of the Liberator shapes.

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Growing Pains

Elizabeth Thompson — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 00:00:00 EDT

My kids love Halloween and start planning their respective costumes soon after the first day of summer vacation.

“I’m going to be a dead cheerleader!”

However, now that they’re getting older, I’m having a hard time finding the idea of having them dress up as a dead… anything… as being all that festive, really.

“Okay, but how about a devil, or something?”

My 8year-old, most especially.

“Being a devil is boring!”

Not from where I sit.

“Actually, I think you’d really be good at it.”

Perhaps—channeling my inner-Stevie Nicks – it’s because I am getting older, too.

“What?”

Never mind, sarcastic humor is wasted on the young.

“Plus, a lot of my friends are gonna be dead cheerleaders, too.”

To think, last year it was High School Musical.

“I want to be a dead cheerleader, too!”

Besides, having watched my parents fight, tooth and nail, just to be able to live without the constant pain, or worry that both their bodies are slowly betraying them, well, I truly believe in the magically restorative powers of seeing their grandchildren dressed as fairy princesses and Winnie the Pooh.

Every year, I really dread the thought of taking my kids shopping for their Halloween costumes.

On the other hand, as a child, I remember my mother and father coming home from work one day and excitedly handing me a shopping bag from the now defunct Two Guys discount store.

“It’s your Halloween costume.”

I reached in, gently pulled out the cardboard box and noticed right away that it was a witch’s costume, for the bright green mask staring back at me, right through the plastic cellophane cover and I still remember it feeling a lot like Christmas.

My twin brother was Casper the Ghost that year.

“Make sure you’re back before the street lights come on.”

For years, both my parents worked full-time jobs and then cleaned office buildings at night, so my grandmother would send us off with our pumpkin heads and Trick-or-Treat with the other neighborhood kids.

I don’t recall any of their parents being around to watch, or remind them to use the walkways, rather than run straight across lawns and rush their way through flower patches, either.

Then, some jerk decided to put razor blades in some apples and, well, parents started insisting that kids wait until they got home so they could check our candy first.

Halloween wasn’t as much fun, for a while, after that.

Then, in 8th grade, my slightly eccentric yet amazingly artistic Aunt decided that I should attend my first Halloween Dance as something a little more exotic.

“How about a Geisha Girl?”

She pulled out one of her best silk robes (it was white, with a gold dragon wrapped around the middle), then she took one of her best wigs (the one that made her look like Cher), secured it to my hair with two chopsticks and proceeded to transform me even further with some of her best makeup and her favorite fan made of real ivory.

“You look beautiful!”

I felt it, too.

“What the heck are you supposed to be?”

Unfortunately, none of my classmates were feeling it – never mind, they probably didn’t even know what the heck a Geisha was supposed to look like, anyway – and, well, I just started telling people that I was a casualty of the Orient Express.

“What?”

Apparently, they hadn’t read any Agatha Christie… either… needless to say, I left the party with a deflated head of hair, smeared eye makeup and a slightly bruised ego, to match.

“Trick or Treat!”

My parents were home early, that night.

“Wow…what happened to you?”

Go figure.

“I know; pretty scary, right?”

My father just stood there, staring at me, while mother jumped up, mumbling something about her Polaroid camera.

“Actually, you look very beautiful!”

So, I smiled and, well, it sort of felt like Christmas, all over again – I wonder, what happened to that picture?

“Well, okay, if you really want to be a dead cheerleader."

Halloween happens only once a year – thank goodness – besides, my parents love everything their grandchildren do, say, or wear and live to undermine any decisions my husband, Garth [not his real name] and I make, for them, anyway.

“Plus, I want to wear my High School Musical outfit, again!”

Well, that my friends, then pretty much changes everything... right?

3 comments on this article

The View From Here

Amy Sue Nathan — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 00:00:00 EDT

It all started in 10th grade on the dark wood fold-down seats of my high school auditorium. The lights dimmed. I sat there landlocked as a dozen of my best, best friends, all Jewish, appeared on stage in full habits as nuns in The Sound of Music.

I’d appeared in my elementary school productions of Oklahoma and The King and I, but this was authentic theater with a somewhat in-tune orchestra -- not an upright piano and a tape recorder. This production had costumes made not of paper bags and aprons -- but real polyester. I was a theater-goer.

I continued loving theater – Broadway Theater -- throughout my young adulthood, easily seeing shows as they stopped in Philadelphia on their way in or out of New York. It became even easier when I lived in North Jersey as a yuppie.

It never occurred to me that it might one day be difficult to see a Broadway show until I lived in Cleveland. Everything about life is more difficult in Cleveland -- and for my young family’s ten month stint there I’m not sure we ventured out for more than Barney on Ice. The theater was even more of problem when I lived in Tucson because the smaller the city the more gargantuan the feat to secure theater tickets. Whatever show is in town is, really, the only show in town – and all the good seats are gone before the tickets go “on sale to the public.”

When I moved to Chicago – and they touted Broadway in Chicago – I figured I was in luck and in many cases I have been, seeing many shows in the ten years I’ve lived here.

But divorce takes a toll on theater going. The price is prohibitive – and the whole idea of going to the theater alone or finding someone who wants to see the show I want to see when I want to see it is exasperating. Theater-going should not be mentally exhausting – this is one thing I know for sure.

While my enthusiasm for theater never waned, my attendance was recently at an all-time low.

Imagine my excitement when I received a group email offering tickets to Avenue Q already purchased by someone I know. She has done that “buy a block of tickets” thing we all say we’re going to do. She had twenty tickets available, first come, first served.

I’d just been talking to a girlfriend about Avenue Q – she saw it in New York and wanted to see it again when it swung through Chicago. Her sister wanted to see it too. We were set. When the show came the three of us would go. And then, as if by magic, this ticket opportunity landed in our collective email boxes – it was something akin to luck.

My friend emailed The Ticket Lady on our behalf – staking our claim on three of the twenty tickets and recounted the chain of events.

The Ticket Lady called her to confirm.

“You want three tickets?” The Ticket Lady asked.

“Yes,” my friend said, “me, Amy and my sister. ”

“Oh,” said The Ticket Lady. “I thought you would bring your husband.”

“He doesn’t want to go,” my friend said. “But my sister is buying a ticket.”

The Ticket Lady hemmed and hawed. "Right-EO," she said. "But then there’s that fourth ticket."

“You didn’t say the twenty tickets had to be bought in pairs,” my friend replied.

“Well, I just assumed.”

“Um, Ticket Lady,” my friend said. “If you wanted the tickets purchased in pairs, or wanted it to be a couples’ night, why did you send the email to Amy?”

My friend hesitated as she repeated this part of the story to me. Being single in a very married suburb makes you different. That didn’t mean she wanted to say it out loud, but she did.

She said, “I thought her boyfriend might be in town.”

“Boyfriend?” I said. “Does she know something I don’t?”

I was devastated at my lapse in judgment, thinking I was on that ticket list – unlike so many of the lists from which I’d been deleted since my divorce seven years ago.

As my friend continued recounting this story her voice took on the familiar drone of a Charlie Brown adult. In my mind I wandered back to the time I was a couple and admitted to myself that in many ways it’s easier -- even when it’s miserable.

My friend spent the months preceding show time peddling that fourth ticket to keep the Ticket Lady off our – or my -- back. I spent my time jumpstarting a “Single People Like Theater Too” campaign, complete with buttons and bumper stickers. I even priced megaphones on Ebay. Well, I thought about it.

I understand all too well that like the biblical animals heading for the ark, suburbanites travel in pairs – but Noah had that whole repopulate the world thing going on. And while theaters are dark places, they are hardly romantic. Many of my friends barely talk to their husbands let alone want to make out in Row K. Worse than anything, my love of theater was tainted by this woman’s idea of who should see this show with her tickets. I paid almost $100 for one ticket -- and even with that I was only truly welcome if I arrived in tandem.

I can clap as loud as two people, I thought.

On show night, my friend and I and her two sisters had an extravagant Italian dinner without the the eight couples who were dining somewhere else -- no doubt sitting boy/girl/boy/girl-- probably with place cards.

When we arrived at the theater I close-mouthed smiled at the Ticket Lady. She waved enthusiastically with teeth showing and eyebrows raised. She gave me a thumbs-up as if she was so glad to see me there, me -- the one-ticket wonder.

I’ve never gotten another one of her emails.

She writes her own script and sets the ticket prices high for admittance to her personal dress circle. And while most of my friendships flourish in many ways with phone calls and lunches, birthday celebrations, private jokes and conversations in confidence, even those appalled by the dimly lit stage from which Ticket Woman viewed the world – whose mouths dropped open at the mere mention of me not being included because of my propensity to need one seat instead of two, still exit stage left when I ask if anyone wants to see Jersey Boys.

They’ve all seen it.

Undoubtedly, in twos.

But then one day a friend mentioned my theater debacle. “I’d love to go out and not worry about anyone but myself,” she said. “or always have to be part of a group that expects things a certain way.” And then she whispered: “ Sometimes I wish I was you.”

She lifted my chin off the floor and handed it back to me.

“You might not get invited as much as you’d like. I’m guilty of that too. I think in pairs. but your friends like you because you’re you – not because of who you’re with or married to or what you have.”

I’m quite sure with that backstage pass my friend wished she was drinking something other than a mocha latte.

Irrevocable changes to my personal script altered everyone’s perception of the parts I could play when I stepped out on life’s stage – even mine – but it never occurred to me that my current role anyone else really wanted.

Did they close their eyes and imagine they were single, the way I have wished I was Freulien Maria, Mary Poppins, Elphaba or Christine? Are they longing for a curtain call while I am solidly into my second act?

Perhaps I have the best seat in the house after all.

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