LaurieWrites

Mother's Day For the Accidental Non-Mom

I wrote this. It was difficult. It is cross-posted at BlogHer.

Years ago a friend of mine frequently wore a t-shirt that had one of those retro comic strip characters - a woman right out of Mary Worth, maybe - holding her hand up to her mouth to stifle a scream. The thought bubble next to her head said, "Oh my God! I forgot to have children!"

Irony, right. I hated that shirt. I didn't get it. I couldn't imagine a time when I would ever (EVER!) forget something so important. You know, how some people say they forgot to eat? I don't get that either. And whereas I could fully acknowledge another person feeling that way, I knew even then that it would never be me.

Today is indeed Mother's Day, a day set aside for the billions of women who have mothered, intentionally, accidentally, biologically, adoptively - you name it, and please do, as my intention here is not to leave anyone out. I celebrate it for my mother, and my grandmother, and my aunts and my cousins who have kids. I celebrate it for my best friends who are incredible moms. I even got an e-mail from Bill Clinton, wanting me to celebrate it for Hillary.

I do not celebrate it for myself. And I was right about the shirt.

Elisa wrote yesterday about being childfree by choice, from a perspective that is completely different from mine, but which I respect immensely because it does what I love in situations like this - it states her truth, and it moves along.

Unlike her, I have absolutely always felt a biological and emotional imperative to parent. I am in a no-or-few-woman's land where this hasn't happened for me for a very particular set of circumstances that I'm not sure I can adequately explain, but mostly amount to issues of bad timing and relationship failure. I do not know for a fact that I am infertile, although at 37 my time is getting short to find out, reasonably speaking. I am not career-obsessed or convinced I have a professional mission that precludes having my own children. I am not, finally, willingly "child-free" as it's commonly understood and I'm not ambivalent about the matter either.

This is so not fun to write about, just so you know. It's awkward and uncomfortable. It's hard to be funny about it and I've been going for funny lately. It speaks to years of feeling like you're on the outside looking in, of not feeling like you can have a seat at a table you've been waiting for for years, and meanwhile, hello, your feet hurt and you're pissed off and all of the free appetizers are gone. But I do believe it's necessary, so I do it.

I've shared my perspective on the matter on BlogHer before, in posts about pre-emptive fear of infertility and how not having children doesn't necessarily make one "childfree".

The short story (beyond the whole "life isn't FAIR" bit that I'll spare you) is that I was a late bloomer when it came to dating, and when I finally did get going, I dated people who weren't "ready" for anything remotely resembling a family. I did this a few times, and spent a long time waiting for relationships to work out that just weren't going to, although I just didn't know that at the time. I was driven by my heart and not at all by my head, and it's really easy when the years are burning by to think that things will work out, because, well, they've got to, right, at some point? Well, not necessarily. I got burned in spite of my best efforts, I got scared, and in the few years since my last relationship, I have not come across anyone who would inspire me to take a chance quite yet.

And I've also elaborated on why I won't pick just anyone to parent with, just so I could.

In the meantime, I've pursued my education and changed my career path. I've traveled. I've immersed myself in art and music and culture, and a bunch of bad television when that gets to be too much. I have so many friends, sometimes I can't believe it. And my life overflows with family, which is the part that often gets left out of the story for women without children. I've helped my parents to care for my grandmothers, including my mother's mother who died in front of my eyes last September. I've been a support system for my sister, and she for me. I've spent a lot of time with my own mother, in a time of transition for our family that hasn't been easy. Oh, and I even had a dog, who died in March after 13 excellent years.

And in spite of the fullness of my life, there is my shadow side, the involuntary jealousy followed by a rack of guilt when friends have children or talk glowingly about the fulfillment of parenting, the pain when people say things like, "Oh, I don't know what I'd do if I just had my work and not my kids," the inability to adequately express online just how I feel about mommyblogging without coming off like a jerk, because that's not how I mean it at all. I WISH this had been my conscious choice, and that I could accept the choices I did make related to relationships and other things that lead to children as part of the plan that some ultimately benevolent universe has for me. I am not that peaceful about it. I made choices for which I'm responsible, for sure, but I didn't think they'd add up to not having children, if that makes any sense.

Yeah, me either.

My family does not pressure me, never has, but of course they worry. Last Christmas, I sponsored a Salvation Army "angel" at my workplace, where you learn the age, gender and name of a child and put together a package for her. I got a three-year old girl who loved Dora and pink. I went to Target and bought the cutest outfits I could put together, and some Dora toys (So much Dora!), and a pair of toddler-sized Uggs knock-offs. I put them all together in a package, and gave it to my mom to drop off with her stuff. She allowed herself to say to me later that all she could think when she saw it all was how much she wished I had a child, because my heart was so obviously in this, and besides she would be so very fashion-forward. And this was fine with me, because I was thinking the same thing.

I have considered alternatives. I've watched some single women in my life parent, and haven't been sure that I'm equipped for it at all. I want to be. If I could snap my fingers and be financially and emotionally solid enough to provide a life for a child on my own at this point, I would. My Google history contains more than a few adoption research missions, and when I was in Vietnam this March and saw a Western couple holding infant twins they had clearly come over to bring back home, I admit I hung around on the perimeter a little with tears in my eyes. It's just not time yet, although I feel it will be someday.

In the meantime, I move on, and I do not dwell on this situation daily, beyond occasional flashes of fear of a future spent not just childfree, but family-free, which I know is unlikely, but still. This Mother's Day is an okay day. I have work to do and a semester to finish. I don't feel pain or even more than the usual low-level anxiety about where my life is going, with or without a partner or children. I'll see my mom and my grandma and my aunt today and we'll eat cheeseburgers and drink some beers and it'll be great because I haven't seen my aunts and uncles since Christmas just about and I miss them. I'll see my godson who is one of my favorite people. I'll send my cousin an e-card because I'm proud of how she's met some challenges to be one of the best and most competent parents I've ever known. I'll - for the most part - be grateful for what I've got, and try not to focus on what I don't, just like every other day.

Childfree, childless, and other thoughts on the matter from around the Web:

Of COURSE Wikipedia has an entry for "childfree." And of course I disagree with it. Not all of us choose it willfully.

Childfree is a term used to describe individuals who neither have nor desire to have children. An alternative description is "childless by choice". The choice not to procreate has only been popular since the development of reliable birth control and therefore was not commonly seen before the 1960s. Additionally, such an option is rarely seen in non-industrialized countries. Childfree groups began to form in the 1970s, most notable among them The National Organization for Non-Parents and No Kidding!. There have been a significant number of books written about the childfree, although quantitative academic research on this group is just now emerging.

The childfree are a diverse group of people, much like the reasons behind the choice not to procreate; however, childfree people tend to be less conventional, more highly educated, and professional. Despite similarities, childfree individuals do not share a unified political or economic philosophy, and most prominent organizations tend to be social in nature. However, there are a range of social positions related to the childfree that some choose to endorse. To this end, some political and social activism is starting to emerge from a subset of this population.

So many assumptions there, really. Someone needs to edit it, but I don't have time.

SavvyAuntie wants Madison Avenue to stop wishing her a happy Mother's Day. I recommend reading the whole thing, especially if you've been involved in recent conversations online about who's marketing to whom, and what and where and why. (Hi there, there's a person on the other end of that pitch.)

For every Mom out there, there is a Non-Mom. Some by choice. Some yet to be. Some who just can't. None of these women want your Happy Mother's Day wishes. In fact, you are probably hurting some feelings along the way.

She's also Twittering today about missing her mom, among other things.

Cranny Anie has kids but I thought this was a beautiful message for the lot of us.

Let us be open-hearted to those who want, wish and can’t be mothers, those with children who have truly lost their way, those who are without family-emotionally or physically. Today’s “widows and Orphans” can come in many more faces: single, divorced, childless, -wrongly defined as being “have-nots”. We all possess the ability to pour our legacy out into our world. Be it into children, passionate work, abilities, gifts and lives so worth sharing. No one is meant to be excluded in God’s Family. Everyone is allowed a true HOME in this family, a safe, nurturing, truth-telling, accepting loving place and a significant meat and potatoes kind of a role.

Unscripted has a good article on "Mother's Day, Childfree Style."

In San Francisco and it's not too late? Proving that Craigslist can be a source of awesome as well as profane, check out today's gathering for women without children and those who have lost their moms.

...by choice or circumstance. We'll gather, create a special Mother’s Day acknowledgment of participant’s current realities, & celebrate the joys and/or sadness of this facet of our lives. We'll honor the thousands of year old mythological, cultural and historical annual celebrations of women, peace and creativity.

Noon The morning gathering will end with a light BRUNCH. Afternoon participants are invited to share our food as well.

2 p.m. – 4 p.m. GATHERING FOR WOMEN WITHOUT MOTHERS: In the afternoon, women w/o mothers will gather for a special honoring of the mother’s whom we have lost, or are unable to be with, through death or life circumstance. Please bring a photograph of your mother if you have one.

SeniorWriter Marlys Marshall Styne's Mother's Day card from a stepson she admits that she'd rather usually forget made a difference for her this year.

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There's nothing I can do for David; his own mother, who is in her eighties, is in charge. However, I need to be more compassionate. Thank you for the lovely card, David. I plan to write you a letter soon, and I may even buy you a cup of coffee when and if I see you. You may be helping to melt the hard heart of a lonely old woman who has always hated or ignored mother's day..

Sandy at Inspiration Every Day asks that women without children not be forgotten today.

In honor of Mother's Day, I decided to do a week of quotes on mothers. I'm wishing all you gals out there a happy mother's week! Even the childless ones like myself need to be recognized. We still do a lot of mothering; to our furry children, partners, friends and families!

Finally, Msfitzita says we all deserve banana pancakes today, and helpfully includes a recipe.

I believe that all women are mothers. We respond to pain as though it was our own, we heal wounds of the soul, we nurture and cherish relationships, we give of ourselves over and over again.

We are all mothers. Even those of us with no children to tend. Even those who have never had the chance to be pregnant at all.

I believe there is a mother in all of us.

And we all deserve mounds of pancakes glistening with butter and dripping with syrup at least once a year.

Embrace her philosophy or not, I'm totally on board with the last line. To this, I say, "rock on."

And come see me along with Suebob Davis, Teri Tith, and Laura Scott on the Who We Are: Childless In the Blogosphere panel at the BlogHer Conference in San Francisco this July. I may be sickeningly nervous, so please be kind.

Laurie White writes online at LaurieWrites. Her Grandma rocks, and so does her Mom. Happy Mother's Day! Check them out.

Epiphany

If Snow White added an eighth dwarf I'd be Angsty.

Cringe

Tomorrow I am taking a massive chance in my favorite city. I'm taking the train to New York tomorrow, to do a couple of things and visit with a couple of lovely people, but really just to read at Sarah Brown's Cringe event.

I am the queen of Internet attention deficit disorder, and there are very, very few blogs I read on a daily basis. Lots I check in on a few times a week, but daily is reserved for People.com, Flickr, and Sarah. I don't remember where or how I discovered her, but since I did I have rarely skipped a day checking out her words or her pictures. She is the kind of writer I would like to be, in many ways, and in some ways hope I already am when I cut the crap. Plus she's funny, and she's cooler than you. Sorry, that didn't come out very nicely. But you know how it is.

Sarah started up this series a few years ago, and it's turned into a book for her and a potential tv pilot. The deal is that people get up on stage and read selections from their diaries/letters/journals/detritus in general from their teen years. Since this whole blog is sort of an exercise in self-disclosure, I figured early on that I had to participate in this. A three-hour trip is all that stood in the way of the world hearing the story that I wrote, actually on purpose - about my HUSBAND John Taylor from Duran Duran, and our honeymoon trip to an island somewhere. I think it might have been Anguilla, which I didn't know from Dallas, Texas at that point except that i knew that DURAN DURAN FILMED VIDEOS THERE and JOHN TAYLOR WAS THE BASS PLAYER AND I HAD A FEDORA LIKE HIS THAT I ACTUALLY WORE IN PUBLIC AND HE WAS MY MAN, SO SUCK IT SUPERMODELS. I'll just be over here in my Forenza sweatshirt with the (help) cabbage roses on it, orange Sun-In hair and fake Jordache jeans with the little hippo or unicorn or whatever they gave little fat girls on the pocket as a consolation prize. Also, he wore jazz shoes, and therefore so did I.

Someday I'm going to write a book, a collection of essays entitled: "The Really Low End: Me and the Rhythm Section." (and yes it'll be grammatically incorrect like that. So rock 'n roll.)

In searching for my JT story, which I still can't find, I located my Precious Moments diary. SHUT UP. I KNOW. And when I found it, I immediately spent like an hour delving into my crazy little brain, circa 1985. I read the part to my mom aloud about how much I hated my family because they left me at home when they went to see the Christmas lights at the Mormon Temple. And in case anyone wonders why I take everything super seriously, my mother looked at me gravely and said, seriously, "You really didn't hate us did you?" Even at 14, totally healthy adolescent hatred was unacceptable in our home.

I laughed out loud when I saw that I had written the actual address for the American Top 40 Long Distance Dedications in the inside front cover, in pencil, just above the ominously inked "PROPERTY OF LAURIE," which I had clearly very carefully inked over and over and over, in case the masses who would be dying for a peek inside the pink cover didn't get the message. I even had "Property of LAURIE" stickers on the facing page, like that I obviously bought at a store. Someone sold stickers like that. I would pay big bucks to have those back, I'd just walk around slapping them on everything at this point. They'd have come in seriously handy in some roommate situations, and at work. Except I'd have to add "bitches" in ink now, now that that word contains such weighted ironic power, unlike in 1985 when it just meant more than one bitch was all UP IN YOUR GRILL.

I rejected my neurosis that I really HADN'T progressed that much in 20 YEARS, and I went back to the days when two things made my world go round: John Taylor, and Dante Aguilar, a boy I went to grade school with, who sat behind me in 7th grade and sang "Sexual Healing" to me in his cracking, uber-sexy Bolivian accent. "Get-tup get-tup get-tup get-tup." Really, there was no one hotter than him, all 13 years old and rocking the Catholic school uniform. And I'm sure my Peter Pan collar and green plaid jumper was just as appealing.

All I can say is, that wherever Dante is, and whomever he's involved with/married to, I hope she loves him right, because no one could POSSIBLY have been as devoted to him (as a concept anyway - like I knew what to do with a real person at that point? Ha.) as I was. Sarah says the key to a good Cringe reading is if it makes you - yeah - CRINGE when you read it. Done, totally taken care of. Oh my God, cringing all the livelong day. Still cringing, in fact, inside. My longing emanates from the page. The resigned detachment, the rationalization that it was a good thing when he dated my BEST FRIEND. The almost-running-into-him-at-the-mall if I hadn't had to go to the damned LIMITED to return my FORENZA sweatshirt for an even bigger one with the cabbage roses on it. Anyway, more of the world will learn of him tomorrow than he ever imagined, and I hope he's cool with that. It's a good thing it's a fairly common name. I looked around on Facebook and the other options in the voyeuristic world of "social networking" and I think that might be him? But I'm not sure? And hi, could someone else send that message? That "Hey I wrote about you in my diary alot 20 years ago and now I'm going to read it aloud to a lot of people in a bar in Brooklyn" message? Cause I'm not gonna lie, I'm having a little trouble with the semantics on this one.

I am amazed that more of this book was not written in colored ink, however. I have a tendency to write in obnoxious Sharpie colors even now. (Hello. Am 12.)

So Sarah has held a slot for this craziness, and I can't wait. I'm sure I'll be the really nervous one. In fact, my eye is twitching a little already. If you see me, say a kind word. I can't promise I won't write about you though.

Working on my paper, 1:30 a.m.

When I get spam about some awesome watches that I really ought to have from someone named Hilario Mooney, is it bad to wish that was a real person?

Catchup is so taxing.

First of all, this is crazy, and so is this, and why even as a journalist-wanna-be, I often find the news so disturbing. Just check out the whole CNN homepage, really, for all the sick and crazy this spinning top  has to offer.

I've been going through a serious case of blog abandonment. Really. Anybody still sticking with me out there I give you credit because I am phoning it in all over the place, including here.

I'm struggling through the last two weeks of the semester, trying to get these stories done so I don't have to think about them anymore. I somehow don't think Jane Austen thought that about Emma, or maybe she did. "I say, I'm just going to SLAP an ending on heah so I don't have to THINK about these stupid people anymore!"

This is journalism, though - not ART. (Sorry.) I seem to have lost basic confidence in my writing ability, which is really nice when you're in a program that's supposed to help you become a better writer. I think I just went like three credits over my limit this semester, which turned everything upside down. Last semester I worked hard but it flowed. I kind of volleyed around from class to class but they all fit in my head. My law class was one of my worst academic experiences ever (except for the outcome - a testament to sheer begging and a teensy bit of fortitude) but even that wasn't this bad. I still have SO MANY PICTURES to wade through and edit. My Vietnam story is on its third draft. That's due tomorrow along with a profile that I really wanted to knock out of the park and a Web package too, which I feel completely ill-equipped to do. I hate tomorrow already! Hi tomorrow, Annie lied! Lack of confidence is so AWESOME!

This is what it's come down to: I was in Banana Republic at the mall yesterday trying to sneak photos of labels for a story I'm writing, and the totally cheerful sales guy wouldn't leave me ALONE to do my dirty work, dammit, he just kept trying to engage me in chit-chat about an Earth Day promotion, which is so last month, chief! Come ON.

Anyway, the photos are crap. They won't work. I should have had my teeny point and shoot with me which has better image stabilization but being prepared with the right gear at all times is just not possible.

If I can just make it to May 12 without completely cracking up I'll be in good shape. April was rough. May is proving to be a tiny bit better. I already know that I'll look back on this spring as one of "those" times - 'those" meaning when I was not eating sunshine for breakfast, unfortunately - and that upsets me. Things are happening, things are on the way. I am notoriously bad at waiting for those things, however.

I went and saw the Waifs twice last week because I'm obsessed with their music and I had two friends who wanted to go on separate nights. I'm here to tell you that music therapy is real. I sometimes forget and then I go to shows that make me so much happier than I was before I walked into the place two hours earlier and I'm blown away all over again. Seriously - they're on tour in the States for a good part of the year (and if you're here from the UK/Australia, you already know who they are probably, but they are playing quite a bit and I highly recommend attending.) I actually sang a song I made up extemporaneously into my new favorite thing, an Olympus recorder intended for podcasting but guess what? You can SING into it too. Even if you're not really a "singer." 

I did one thing this week that was a long time in coming and I feel good about it. To be a little bit gross, it made my heart fill up, something that was painful all of a sudden didn't seem so much so, and I think I'll be okay from now on.

Speaking of not being okay at all, I'm going to Brooklyn on Wednesday to read at Sarah Brown's Cringe event, which I've wanted to do for a very long time and I'm very excited about. I'll be reading something from my old journals, and finding the perfectly embarrassing moment to share with a room full of people has been an exercise in said embarrassment already. Oh my God. I may post what I read here, may not - depends.

Hard to say.

Music is the drug

The Virgin Festival people faked me out.

August 9th is shaping up nicely.

So I thought just before I fell asleep...

It's such a shame that I can't kiss the back of my own neck.

Good things, part three

I am a pain in the ass right now. I am all boring and emo and weird and my brain is like POW, like some kind of terrible place. I stopped the lists of happy things and I am going to finish them tonight, dammit. I am going to forget about my story for a half hour and I'm going to finish them.

Also, it turns out that a lot of times when I'm trying to think of happy things it kind of turns into TMI, as I'm really not a kisser and a teller. Scandal. My list is a little different in my head, is all I'm sayin'.

Refresher...parts one and two.

51. Driving my car for the first time and realizing "Holy shit, this is so awesome, I'm driving an orange car." That still happens occasionally.
52. Getting the truck stuck in the Wendy's drive-through in West Virginia and my sister having to direct me out - backwards - while it did that "I'm backing up" beeping that trucks do.
53. Eating conch everything and loving the Bahamas.
54. Margie laughing at Raghed in the restaurant, him throwing coins at Dave's head behind the bar.
55. Line dancing with Mac Johnson at Martin's Crosswinds.
56. Brunch with Andrew at the Parkway.
57. The lid flying off of Jimmy's ketchup bottle at Joe's Hamburgers.
58. Aunt Ellen screaming in the backyard...running the general store at the beach...calling the McDonald's in South Carolina and scoring a hundred toys because she told them she was running a camp for underprivileged children. Aunt Ellen pretty much everywhere.
59. That moment when the whole house goes to sleep.
60. Granddaddy coming in the house with the groceries, helping him unbag, carrying cans of green beans and tomato juice to the basement.
61. Ruby Engel's stories at the Dayton Manor Care.
62. Getting drunk on books in the Borders, in secondhand stores, in the library.
63. Standing so close, amazed by love, on the Metro platform.
64. Craig reciting "Once I Pass'd Through A Populous City" to me in the living room of that terrible apartment.
65. Smoking on the deck with Shobha, green trees everywhere.
66. Holding hands and talking by the harbor in Baltimore.
67. Gretchen's perfect wedding day.
68. Dancing with my sister, mom and Jane Fonda at the W Hotel in New Orleans.
69. Jesse on the tiny chair, "The card was lost. And it was stolen."
70. Angela and the Asti exploding in the backseat of Darian's dad's Granada.
71. Getting off the plane in Seoul, thinking, "Dude, I'm in KOREA."
72. Driving Sunshine home from the horrible hell she lived in, windows rolled down, Ohio air.
73. Lionel Richie show at JazzFest with Katie.
74. Soundgarden at Lollapalooza.
75. Dancing in Lisa's living room for hours to the music channels. 

So?

Way to piss me off:

Come into my office and say, "MEH. I'm not very happy with your hero Liebovitz."

I wake up warm and in 30 seconds it becomes clear that it's another day of trying to steer my mind away from the bad side streets it seems determined to travel this month...It's another day of tying knots in this rope so I can hang on. It's such a time-sucker that I don't have...time for. Brilliant.

Maybe it's the stress of finals, of having every word I produce elsewhere held up to scrutiny? Some of that is going well and some of it isn't. Everything is sideways. My feelings are firewalled. Can't focus - not one tiny little bit. I'm overreacting, responding to triggers in a way that I know is not productive. And I cannot tell you, cannot determine, where this started or why.

I need something, although I don't like to think about that so I don't. I can't exactly figure out what it is but I need something. I constantly have the feeling like I'm looking for my keys or my glasses except I don't know what it is that's lost. It's very disconcerting. Liz asked the other day if we had a personal theme song and I immediately thought of "Closer To Fine", I just wish I could adhere to the directive.

I want to throw out all the books and papers and pictures and start over. I like some of what I'm doing but I'm a little ready to get started, ready to move on, ready to move. I'm waiting on news of loan money that I know I shouldn't get, but the prospect of freeing up the next several months to "just" finish school and "just" fix my equipment situation - while at the same time giving me some space to look around for where I want to go next - is alluring. It is a little freaky at the same time, too - cutting the remaining ties is something I absolutely know I have to do, it's what this was all for in the first place, but at the same time it kind of makes me want to throw up. I guess it's no wonder I'm a little...at ends. Losing my religion.

I spent 45 unwasteable minutes on the Bonnaroo message boards yesterday, looking for people passing through DC who I could maybe catch a ride with, and concluded that it probably wasn't the year to go in spite of the excellent line-up. Plane tickets to Nashville are crazy cheap so that was an option I considered too. Nothing seemed better in that moment than the prospect of three days walking around in the sun, watching people, listening to music, soaking up a festival vibe that's sorely needed. Then I checked the dates again and realized the effect it would have on two days of a short-term class that I hear I can't miss, and the idea died sadly on the vine. There is so much to do in the next almost-year.

Again, 45 minutes I couldn't waste that I won't get back. As much as I love the Internet, right now I think we need to get a divorce, except it would screw up the online journalism plan I guess.

I'm going to some shows this week even though I have so much work due, because I simply don't want to miss them. I actually think it'll help - will put me in some kind of music therapy for a couple of hours that'll make all this other crap seem bearable. I'm also introducing a friend to one of my favorite bands and venues at the same time, so that should be good.

I stay in motion.