We are really starting our adventures in homeschooling. I’ve read voraciously about everything from radical unschooling to more traditional (and definitely more rigid) routes. I’m unquestionably an eclectic homeschooler, but I suppose our children will help define how it all turns out. Plus, my eldest is only 5, so I’m still enjoying my time exploring the options.
I don’t know why I sometimes act like I’m still on the fence. Really, I’m now fully convinced that homeschooling is the best option for us. Besides, we never really get the strange looks I hear others suffer from when we say we are homeschooling.
Since my dear husband is a brain surgeon and I’ve got a decent education, people don’t worry about if we’re “smart enough.” Plus, he taught Kindergarten before med school and I’ve done some teaching myself, so we can pull out those cards.
I do think the idea that you have to have an education to facilitate your child’s learning is a farce, though. My sister quit school very young. The fact is, she’s friggen brilliant and school bored her. She learned everything she needed to know without the drudgery and she’s a successful (and not just moderately) business co-owner with her husband today.
Many have documented successful homeschooling students regardless of the education levels attained by the homeschooling parents.
However, now that homeschooling is potentially in jeopardy in California, I realize it is time for me to take an official position on homeschooling. No more “we’re probably going to homeschool for a while” comments for me. Now that a judge in the 2nd Appellate Court in Los Angeles decided that public school is a good solution for the problem of child abuse (huh?), all of our rights are in jeopardy (see court docs here).
Most homeschooling organizations (e.g. CHN and HSLDA) are saying not to panic, but I do find myself watching the news about homeschooling with fervor I haven’t had since I first started entertaining the idea.
On the other hand, I think the worry is a bit silly and the logic flawed. If we expect those who teach children in California to have a teaching credential, for example, that would practically shut down most of the private schools – and even many of the expensive, chi-chi schools in L.A. have non-credentialed teachers.
Like having a credential guarantees you can teach kids? Then why are so many kids in public schools failing?
And honestly, from watching my children thus far, I’m not sure anyone needs to teach them anything, although out of paranoia or instinct or habit or all three.
I do think there is a place for public school. I’m just not sure what it is. Some kids do need an escape from the home, I suppose, but then shouldn’t we just call a spade a spade in that circumstance?
Some parents don’t have the patience, resources or desire to homeschool. Institutionalized education is certainly an alternative for those families. Alas, some parents don’t want to be around their children all day. Let’s be honest: Many folks can barely contain themselves until kindergarten – and thus free daycare until adulthood – kicks in.
Scoff if you will, but I hear parents say it all the time. “Once they’re in school, I’ll….” It’s sad, really, but it is so universal in our culture that it sounds almost normal to say that we are essentially so sick of children that we can’t wait until all we have to handle is before school, bedtime and weekend duty.
There are agendas, there, as well. What are some possible motives to pull all children away from their families at young ages? Per the precedent court case, is the teaching of “patriotism” to nation and state (that line is just too reminiscent of little children saying “Heil Hitler”) to mass quantities of little Americans necessary to assure enough volunteers for the military (who would have signed up for the Iraq war without a little brainwashing!). What about the economy? Kids in school means more mothers in the workforce. The bureaucracy behind public schools and the public schools themselves, create jobs.
So obvious. More later.
Toodles.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Monday, April 7, 2008
Blogging Me for Real
Okay, so I honestly started this blog just to have a sample blog I could show clients. Cuz I’m a righter. Yee Haw. No, seriously. I’ve never blogged publicly as “me” before. Does this make me a coward?
But now, looking at the stats, people are actually reading this thing. Okay, not many people, it’s true. Still, I feel like I have an obligation to my 67 new fans. I’ve gotta blog.
For fun.
A lot.
And I’ve also realized that I’m at the point in my writing career where I don’t really need to worry about what potential clients think of me or my personal life. That realization gives me a whole new feeling of freedom. Blog publicly. Fear ye!
I’ll leave the medical/science/journalism stuff on this blog for now, because I don’t really know what else to do with it. The epilepsy stuff I wrote for the brain surgeon, but then he never used it, so here it sits. In case you’re like, “What the hell is this epilepsy stuff?”
Anyway, I’m taking my first class since becoming a mom. When I think about it, I’ve been in class my whole life until procreating…and then I went to Mommy and Me classes (or Nanny and Me here in L.A.)….but this is my first class for me for like five years.
It is a screenwriting class. I have no idea why I’m taking it. Partially because it is only 45 bucks, the brain surgeon is on research and it is just down the street from my house. Partially it’s because a lot of what I write for pay is BORING. No offense, my dear clients, but you know it’s true.
If you look at my partial portfolio, you'll see what I mean. I do find ways to keep myself amused and luckily the people who hire me are often pretty cool, but really, few want to read what I write.
Enter my screenwriting class. I think I’m learning much more than many of my classmates, because I really have NO CLUE how to write a screenplay. Maybe tomorrow I’ll write more about that.
But my classmates are the most interesting parts of my class so far. Seriously, I just laugh through the whole class (seriously…or not seriously? Whatever.)
Toodles.
But now, looking at the stats, people are actually reading this thing. Okay, not many people, it’s true. Still, I feel like I have an obligation to my 67 new fans. I’ve gotta blog.
For fun.
A lot.
And I’ve also realized that I’m at the point in my writing career where I don’t really need to worry about what potential clients think of me or my personal life. That realization gives me a whole new feeling of freedom. Blog publicly. Fear ye!
I’ll leave the medical/science/journalism stuff on this blog for now, because I don’t really know what else to do with it. The epilepsy stuff I wrote for the brain surgeon, but then he never used it, so here it sits. In case you’re like, “What the hell is this epilepsy stuff?”
Anyway, I’m taking my first class since becoming a mom. When I think about it, I’ve been in class my whole life until procreating…and then I went to Mommy and Me classes (or Nanny and Me here in L.A.)….but this is my first class for me for like five years.
It is a screenwriting class. I have no idea why I’m taking it. Partially because it is only 45 bucks, the brain surgeon is on research and it is just down the street from my house. Partially it’s because a lot of what I write for pay is BORING. No offense, my dear clients, but you know it’s true.
If you look at my partial portfolio, you'll see what I mean. I do find ways to keep myself amused and luckily the people who hire me are often pretty cool, but really, few want to read what I write.
Enter my screenwriting class. I think I’m learning much more than many of my classmates, because I really have NO CLUE how to write a screenplay. Maybe tomorrow I’ll write more about that.
But my classmates are the most interesting parts of my class so far. Seriously, I just laugh through the whole class (seriously…or not seriously? Whatever.)
Toodles.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Miss M Loses a Tooth
Today, Miss M lost her first tooth. I cried. It’s certainly a milestone when one’s firstborn loses that tooth and I’m sentimental anyway.
A few weeks ago, I had one of her homeschooling friends over for a play date, who bit into a piece of toast (Ezekiel low-sodium) and started bleeding and crying. Her tooth was loose. I made a big deal of it, called her mom and told Miss M that one day soon she, too, would lose her tooth. What a glorious day it would be!
Not less than a week later, Miss M was using her teeth to open her Silly Strawberry toothpaste when OUCH! Her own bloody, loose tooth.
On a side note, Miss M lied (unusual for her) about how this happened for a moment, despite me being right next to the bathroom. She said she hit her face on the wall. The brain surgeon was like, “Oh my gosh! She knocked her tooth out,” but I knew better. She had no marks on her face and I didn’t hear a major slam against the wall. For a smart guy…(just kidding, Honey).
Anyway, it was the same tooth (bottom-middle-left and I don’t know the tooth number for you dentist types) as her friend and – once the shock wore off – she was thrilled. Then she told me the truth with a, “Sorry, Mom. I thought you would have been mad that I opened the toothpaste with my teeth.” (I wouldn’t have.)
But what really pissed me off was today (only two days later) at the YMCA, the brain surgeon comes to trade with me because I’m taking this writing class while he’s around during his research time. Miss M kept asking when the tooth fairy would come.
I was occupied with BooBoo and L-man when all of the sudden, Miss M is jumping up and down, bloodied like Carrie on prom night (face and hands), screaming that daddy pulled her tooth.
And when I say “screaming,” I mean in that way only a 5-year-old girl can do. It was an odd scene. Now the tooth fairy would come.
I can’t describe how annoyed I was, but the brain surgeon knew with just one look at me. “She asked me to pull it,” he stammered sheepishly.
And indeed, she was bloodied, but joyful. “I did, Mommy. I said, ‘pull it’ and he did and it didn’t hurt at all!”
I should have just been happy, but the truth is, I had unfinished plans. I wanted to photograph her tooth and videotape her wiggling it. So what if it had been a couple days? Most kids wiggled for at least a week and it takes me time to get my act together, but I had plans.
I had a dream – and the brain surgeon shattered it.
And I wanted to put it under her pillow. But I had to buck up and smile for the sake of my bloody little girl. I got excited. I jumped up and down. I cleaned her up. I went to class.
When I came home, I wrote a note from the tooth fairy and covered it with glitter glue. I found a yellow feather (from an art kit she received and not very vegan, I suppose) and placed it with the note and a shiny quarter in a bag (Call me cheap, but I’m not the type to leave a twenty). Then, I went in and felt under her pillow for the tooth.
This turned out to be remarkably easy, as the brain surgeon had placed it in Tupperware. Tupperware???
(By the way, if you want Tupperware, get it by ordering it from my friend at colbyandbigo@yahoo.com. She's a SAHM and will tell you all about why Tupperware is safer plastic and about her favorite products.
Anyhow, my daughter – who figured out that the Easter Bunny does not exist and that some of the Disney Princesses at parties are “imposters” – was beyond thrilled that the tooth fairy came and then volunteered to do a tooth wiggling reenactment for our video camera.
Toodles!
A few weeks ago, I had one of her homeschooling friends over for a play date, who bit into a piece of toast (Ezekiel low-sodium) and started bleeding and crying. Her tooth was loose. I made a big deal of it, called her mom and told Miss M that one day soon she, too, would lose her tooth. What a glorious day it would be!
Not less than a week later, Miss M was using her teeth to open her Silly Strawberry toothpaste when OUCH! Her own bloody, loose tooth.
On a side note, Miss M lied (unusual for her) about how this happened for a moment, despite me being right next to the bathroom. She said she hit her face on the wall. The brain surgeon was like, “Oh my gosh! She knocked her tooth out,” but I knew better. She had no marks on her face and I didn’t hear a major slam against the wall. For a smart guy…(just kidding, Honey).
Anyway, it was the same tooth (bottom-middle-left and I don’t know the tooth number for you dentist types) as her friend and – once the shock wore off – she was thrilled. Then she told me the truth with a, “Sorry, Mom. I thought you would have been mad that I opened the toothpaste with my teeth.” (I wouldn’t have.)
But what really pissed me off was today (only two days later) at the YMCA, the brain surgeon comes to trade with me because I’m taking this writing class while he’s around during his research time. Miss M kept asking when the tooth fairy would come.
I was occupied with BooBoo and L-man when all of the sudden, Miss M is jumping up and down, bloodied like Carrie on prom night (face and hands), screaming that daddy pulled her tooth.
And when I say “screaming,” I mean in that way only a 5-year-old girl can do. It was an odd scene. Now the tooth fairy would come.
I can’t describe how annoyed I was, but the brain surgeon knew with just one look at me. “She asked me to pull it,” he stammered sheepishly.
And indeed, she was bloodied, but joyful. “I did, Mommy. I said, ‘pull it’ and he did and it didn’t hurt at all!”
I should have just been happy, but the truth is, I had unfinished plans. I wanted to photograph her tooth and videotape her wiggling it. So what if it had been a couple days? Most kids wiggled for at least a week and it takes me time to get my act together, but I had plans.
I had a dream – and the brain surgeon shattered it.
And I wanted to put it under her pillow. But I had to buck up and smile for the sake of my bloody little girl. I got excited. I jumped up and down. I cleaned her up. I went to class.
When I came home, I wrote a note from the tooth fairy and covered it with glitter glue. I found a yellow feather (from an art kit she received and not very vegan, I suppose) and placed it with the note and a shiny quarter in a bag (Call me cheap, but I’m not the type to leave a twenty). Then, I went in and felt under her pillow for the tooth.
This turned out to be remarkably easy, as the brain surgeon had placed it in Tupperware. Tupperware???
(By the way, if you want Tupperware, get it by ordering it from my friend at colbyandbigo@yahoo.com. She's a SAHM and will tell you all about why Tupperware is safer plastic and about her favorite products.
Anyhow, my daughter – who figured out that the Easter Bunny does not exist and that some of the Disney Princesses at parties are “imposters” – was beyond thrilled that the tooth fairy came and then volunteered to do a tooth wiggling reenactment for our video camera.
Toodles!
Friday, March 28, 2008
Arm, Leg, Penis, Vagina
So, the L-man asked about his testicles for the first time yesterday. Specifically, he had just gotten out of the shower and asked (while checking out his discovery), “Mommy, is this the ball of my penis?” He said it kind of like, “Is this the ball for my bat?”
These are the moments where it is very hard to keep a straight face.
I said, yes, many people call them balls, but the technical term is “testicles” and there are two of them.
He looked confused. “Is the other one in here?” He referenced his scrotum. I explained that it was, he found it, looked happy and went about his day.
We try to stick to anatomical terms for body parts. We’re science people and I’m straightforward about sex anyway, but it really freaks some people out. You certainly can’t say the word “vagina” in mixed company.
I do it anyway. I'm crazy like that.
And my kids do because they have no idea it freaks people out. For safety reasons, we do explain what a private part is and why it is private and read them a book we like, but otherwise, we just talk about all body parts in a matter-of-fact way.
Once, Miss M announced, very loudly in a crowd, “Mommy, my vagina has an itch!” That drew some disapproving stares, but whatever. She had a problem and she was just telling her mom. I’m not easily ruffled.
Another time when she was three, she interrupted her yoga teacher and said, “Sometimes my baby brother gets poop all over his penis, but it’s okay, because my mom cleans it off when she changes him.”
The yoga teacher was luckily cool (as most yoga teachers are) and didn’t skip a beat. “Well, that’s very nice of your mom,” she said. “Now, let’s all sway like a tree.”
The brain surgeon and I had to work at coming up with a family policy on nudity. In his family of origin, nakedness was not the norm and they didn’t openly discuss things like puberty, periods and sex.
In my family, everything was open for discussion. Most of my childhood was spent in a single-mom household with just one sister (though I have many siblings) and we were always getting ready together. Nudity didn’t matter at all.
We didn’t want any of our kids to feel weird about being naked and we didn’t want nudity to be a big thing, but we also don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable or inappropriate, and we want to make sure our kids knew what is safe.
We talked and read and read and talked and finally came across some information on the topic that made sense: Let the kids tell you what’s comfortable, because most kids reach a point where they feel uncomfortable having their opposite-gender parent see them naked and also where they don’t want to see their opposite-gender parent naked either (although the timing can be different for these). This is usually later (or not at all) for same gendered parents.
So, we decided just to be laissez-faire about it all and see what happens.
We aren’t nudest types, but we aren’t uptight. In other words, we tend to be naked only as a function of changing clothes or for bathing, but we don’t all run for cover either.
So as the kids grow, when they say, “DAD!” and are embarrassed if they see him changing or when my son freaks out if I walk in the bathroom (or if I freak out – it goes both ways), then that is that.
I also LOVE how our pediatrician handles nudity and the genital exam with our children.
Once they are old enough to have an opinion, he explains that there are very few times when it is okay for an adult to look at or touch a child’s private parts (mom, dad, doctor). He then explains that the parents should be there and say its okay. But, he says, most importantly, the child needs to be okay with it. He asks their permission before any exam, which, when necessary, are brief and appropriate.
We also talk to the kids about keeping secrets with other adults and so on. But mostly, we’re just with our kids. To me, it’s the best way to keep them safe.
Lastly, if you’re feeling down, just shout “vagina!” It will change your mood. I promise.
Toodles!
These are the moments where it is very hard to keep a straight face.
I said, yes, many people call them balls, but the technical term is “testicles” and there are two of them.
He looked confused. “Is the other one in here?” He referenced his scrotum. I explained that it was, he found it, looked happy and went about his day.
We try to stick to anatomical terms for body parts. We’re science people and I’m straightforward about sex anyway, but it really freaks some people out. You certainly can’t say the word “vagina” in mixed company.
I do it anyway. I'm crazy like that.
And my kids do because they have no idea it freaks people out. For safety reasons, we do explain what a private part is and why it is private and read them a book we like, but otherwise, we just talk about all body parts in a matter-of-fact way.
Once, Miss M announced, very loudly in a crowd, “Mommy, my vagina has an itch!” That drew some disapproving stares, but whatever. She had a problem and she was just telling her mom. I’m not easily ruffled.
Another time when she was three, she interrupted her yoga teacher and said, “Sometimes my baby brother gets poop all over his penis, but it’s okay, because my mom cleans it off when she changes him.”
The yoga teacher was luckily cool (as most yoga teachers are) and didn’t skip a beat. “Well, that’s very nice of your mom,” she said. “Now, let’s all sway like a tree.”
The brain surgeon and I had to work at coming up with a family policy on nudity. In his family of origin, nakedness was not the norm and they didn’t openly discuss things like puberty, periods and sex.
In my family, everything was open for discussion. Most of my childhood was spent in a single-mom household with just one sister (though I have many siblings) and we were always getting ready together. Nudity didn’t matter at all.
We didn’t want any of our kids to feel weird about being naked and we didn’t want nudity to be a big thing, but we also don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable or inappropriate, and we want to make sure our kids knew what is safe.
We talked and read and read and talked and finally came across some information on the topic that made sense: Let the kids tell you what’s comfortable, because most kids reach a point where they feel uncomfortable having their opposite-gender parent see them naked and also where they don’t want to see their opposite-gender parent naked either (although the timing can be different for these). This is usually later (or not at all) for same gendered parents.
So, we decided just to be laissez-faire about it all and see what happens.
We aren’t nudest types, but we aren’t uptight. In other words, we tend to be naked only as a function of changing clothes or for bathing, but we don’t all run for cover either.
So as the kids grow, when they say, “DAD!” and are embarrassed if they see him changing or when my son freaks out if I walk in the bathroom (or if I freak out – it goes both ways), then that is that.
I also LOVE how our pediatrician handles nudity and the genital exam with our children.
Once they are old enough to have an opinion, he explains that there are very few times when it is okay for an adult to look at or touch a child’s private parts (mom, dad, doctor). He then explains that the parents should be there and say its okay. But, he says, most importantly, the child needs to be okay with it. He asks their permission before any exam, which, when necessary, are brief and appropriate.
We also talk to the kids about keeping secrets with other adults and so on. But mostly, we’re just with our kids. To me, it’s the best way to keep them safe.
Lastly, if you’re feeling down, just shout “vagina!” It will change your mood. I promise.
Toodles!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Valentine’s Blog: Teenage pregnancy and Juno
I love the movie Juno. The writing was brilliant and the script was well acted. I’m not in total agreement that Ellen Page is a fabulous actress yet…I saw a snippet of a Barbara Walters' interview and she seemed to be playing to her personality…but she was fully entertaining and depicted teenage pregnancy well.
Diablo Cody: Well I'm just fascinated with her.
I love the Juno soundtrack, too.
But that isn’t why I love the movie Juno.
Juno was more personal to me. The reason is that my sister is a poster child for teenage pregnancy. And when I say “for teenage pregnancy,” I mean “for” teenage pregnancy.
The other reason I love the movie Juno is that my sister is opinionated and mouthy like Juno (albeit a bit more silly), but that’s another post. Here's a trailer for Juno.
When responsible adults hear the story of my sister, they all say, “Well don’t tell me daughter that one!”
And the funny thing is, I don’t think my mother or I would be so vocal about how proud we are of her if it weren’t for all the crappy, awful, nasty, ignorant, judgmental and just plain ridiculous commentary everyone feels obliged to offer about teenage pregnancy.
And there is something really entertaining about proving rude people wrong.
My sister first encountered her now husband when she was 14. He was two years older and dating a babysitter of ours. He was a surfer on a skateboard and lived next door. She fell in love with his longish blond locks and shirtless tanned boychest. She announced she would marry him. Then we moved away.
She kept tabs on him, though, and invited him to her 15th birthday party. Love bloomed and somehow (okay, we all know how) in the midst of it all, my then 15-year-old sister became pregnant. I was barely 10 and she was going to be a mother.
Everyone wanted someone to blame, so of course the burden of blame fell upon our mom. Certainly, if she was doing things the right way, this wouldn’t have happened. No one considered that the two loved each other or that it might end up okay. Everyone was sure they were doomed.
They talked abortion. They talked adoption. Then they talked marriage.
All through the movie, I wondered what Juno would do and I have to say, I was a little disappointed. No spoilers here for those who haven’t seen it, but I was a bit sad.
My sister, a stubborn gal, refused a wedding proposal. “I’m not letting anyone marry me just because I’m pregnant,” she swore. Whether it was ultimately the pressure of the families or her mushy feelings for her man, she relented – eight months pregnant and looking quite eggalicious! I, the 10-year-old maiden of honor, could not stop laughing during the ceremony and neither could my sister. We laughed as tears streamed down our faces in front of over 200 guests in a reception hall. We were probably the least composed bride and bridesmaid duet in history.
This Valentine’s Day marks my sister’s 26th wedding anniversary. Two children, a house, a business and many adventures together, the love she shares with her husband is still going strong. In fact – dearly departed grandparents aside – they now have the longest running marriage in our family.
That isn’t to say they didn’t struggle. As two teenagers with a little baby, I’m sure there were many times they both wanted to give up or just walk away, but they persevered. They’ve got a beautiful family to show for it and are a tale of teenage pregnancy that most don’t want their daughters to hear.
But I still think it's a lovely tale.
Toodles.
Diablo Cody: Well I'm just fascinated with her.
I love the Juno soundtrack, too.
But that isn’t why I love the movie Juno.
Juno was more personal to me. The reason is that my sister is a poster child for teenage pregnancy. And when I say “for teenage pregnancy,” I mean “for” teenage pregnancy.
The other reason I love the movie Juno is that my sister is opinionated and mouthy like Juno (albeit a bit more silly), but that’s another post. Here's a trailer for Juno.
When responsible adults hear the story of my sister, they all say, “Well don’t tell me daughter that one!”
And the funny thing is, I don’t think my mother or I would be so vocal about how proud we are of her if it weren’t for all the crappy, awful, nasty, ignorant, judgmental and just plain ridiculous commentary everyone feels obliged to offer about teenage pregnancy.
And there is something really entertaining about proving rude people wrong.
My sister first encountered her now husband when she was 14. He was two years older and dating a babysitter of ours. He was a surfer on a skateboard and lived next door. She fell in love with his longish blond locks and shirtless tanned boychest. She announced she would marry him. Then we moved away.
She kept tabs on him, though, and invited him to her 15th birthday party. Love bloomed and somehow (okay, we all know how) in the midst of it all, my then 15-year-old sister became pregnant. I was barely 10 and she was going to be a mother.
Everyone wanted someone to blame, so of course the burden of blame fell upon our mom. Certainly, if she was doing things the right way, this wouldn’t have happened. No one considered that the two loved each other or that it might end up okay. Everyone was sure they were doomed.
They talked abortion. They talked adoption. Then they talked marriage.
All through the movie, I wondered what Juno would do and I have to say, I was a little disappointed. No spoilers here for those who haven’t seen it, but I was a bit sad.
My sister, a stubborn gal, refused a wedding proposal. “I’m not letting anyone marry me just because I’m pregnant,” she swore. Whether it was ultimately the pressure of the families or her mushy feelings for her man, she relented – eight months pregnant and looking quite eggalicious! I, the 10-year-old maiden of honor, could not stop laughing during the ceremony and neither could my sister. We laughed as tears streamed down our faces in front of over 200 guests in a reception hall. We were probably the least composed bride and bridesmaid duet in history.
This Valentine’s Day marks my sister’s 26th wedding anniversary. Two children, a house, a business and many adventures together, the love she shares with her husband is still going strong. In fact – dearly departed grandparents aside – they now have the longest running marriage in our family.
That isn’t to say they didn’t struggle. As two teenagers with a little baby, I’m sure there were many times they both wanted to give up or just walk away, but they persevered. They’ve got a beautiful family to show for it and are a tale of teenage pregnancy that most don’t want their daughters to hear.
But I still think it's a lovely tale.
Toodles.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Sleep Mutha-Mother, Sleep!
The problem with staying up too late is that I become a grouchy mother, which is not good.
Toodles.
Toodles.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Taking his name...
Okay, so I still consider myself a feminist. There are so many definitions of the word "feminist" and the topic of "feminism" that it is hard to fit into any one box (pun intended), but I'm basically for me being able to do whatever the hell I want, despite the fact that I don't have an (attached) penis.
I didn't take the brain surgeon's last name, but that doesn't really make me a feminist.
We had a discussion at dinner about that the other night. Some of the men (more brain surgeons) in attendance said that not taking the man's name was equal to castration. WHAT? Are some people really that insecure? What does taking a man's name (and thus giving up your own) have to do with castration?
My question is, why do people care at all? I mean, take his name if you like it or want to or whatever and don't take his name if you are opposed to the tradition, prefer your own name for whatever reason, and so on. Unless you are a woman from a long matriarchal line in a matriarchal society, you probably have some man's name anyway...In fact, I'm hyphenated with my two dads' last names.
But my name was my name and I didn't really feel like getting a new one and my husband didn't care either way. We also didn't think it mattered if our family all had the same last name as we don't believe we are defined by our last name. Our family is a family either way.
In fact, my sister and I had different last names (and different fathers, but that is its own LONG post) growing up and it didn't change how we felt about each other at all...We are as close as close can be.
Back in the day (well maybe not "the" day), women were betrothed and the name was a property thing. I'm not really up to holding up that tradition, but again, I really don't see how it matters much.
I just know I would never marry a man who equated it to "castration" or one who didn't have the self-esteem to handle a woman who makes her own decisions on such things.
Thank goodness the brain surgeon I married is cool.
Toodles.
I didn't take the brain surgeon's last name, but that doesn't really make me a feminist.
We had a discussion at dinner about that the other night. Some of the men (more brain surgeons) in attendance said that not taking the man's name was equal to castration. WHAT? Are some people really that insecure? What does taking a man's name (and thus giving up your own) have to do with castration?
My question is, why do people care at all? I mean, take his name if you like it or want to or whatever and don't take his name if you are opposed to the tradition, prefer your own name for whatever reason, and so on. Unless you are a woman from a long matriarchal line in a matriarchal society, you probably have some man's name anyway...In fact, I'm hyphenated with my two dads' last names.
But my name was my name and I didn't really feel like getting a new one and my husband didn't care either way. We also didn't think it mattered if our family all had the same last name as we don't believe we are defined by our last name. Our family is a family either way.
In fact, my sister and I had different last names (and different fathers, but that is its own LONG post) growing up and it didn't change how we felt about each other at all...We are as close as close can be.
Back in the day (well maybe not "the" day), women were betrothed and the name was a property thing. I'm not really up to holding up that tradition, but again, I really don't see how it matters much.
I just know I would never marry a man who equated it to "castration" or one who didn't have the self-esteem to handle a woman who makes her own decisions on such things.
Thank goodness the brain surgeon I married is cool.
Toodles.
Friday, October 5, 2007
UCLA Visionary Ball 2007
Last night we went to the 2007 Visionary Ball at UCLA. I expected to be thoroughly bored as well as tortured by another pile of cheesy pasta, which is standard vegetarian fare at these gynormous events.
Happily, it was much better than I expected.
The cool Pathfinder neurosurgery robot was hanging out at the pre-dinner cocktail party and the patient stories were very touching. There was one patient in particular, Hank, who I’ve met a number of times and who spoke and made me so proud of my man!
Then a woman spoke about having a rare disorder that caused her and her two boys (now 5 and 11) to undergo a total of 8 neurosurgeries. I cried. I’m such a wimp.
There were three key honorees.
The first was Michael Phelps, Ph.D. He is famous for inventing positron emission tomography (PET), so I thought he was really cool. PET is a molecular imaging technique that can be used to check out various systems (neurological, cardiovascular, etc.) as well as detect cancer and evaluate a patient’s response to treatment. Anyway, despite his rather boring persona, I was hugely impressed. He is both Norton Simon Professor (what does that mean?) and Chair of the UCLA Department of Molecular and Medical Pharmacology.
The next honoree was Peter Morton. He is one of the founders of the Hard Rock Café and the Hard Rock Hotel. Besides being butt-ass rich, he’s an environmentalist and philanthropist, apparently, as they screwed up and mentioned those two things about 50 times.
Tim Allen received the Rodney Dangerfield “Rodney Respect Award,” which is about the corniest award title I’ve ever heard of. Jamie Lee Curtis was on hand to introduce him, but she ended up introducing Joan Dangerfield, who appeared quite surgically and hair-extension enhanced, despite being clearly decades younger than her late husband, to whom she was married for 11 years. She was surprisingly articulate and seemed genuine as she crumbled to tears when talking about Rodney.
Happily, it was much better than I expected.
The cool Pathfinder neurosurgery robot was hanging out at the pre-dinner cocktail party and the patient stories were very touching. There was one patient in particular, Hank, who I’ve met a number of times and who spoke and made me so proud of my man!
Then a woman spoke about having a rare disorder that caused her and her two boys (now 5 and 11) to undergo a total of 8 neurosurgeries. I cried. I’m such a wimp.
There were three key honorees.
The first was Michael Phelps, Ph.D. He is famous for inventing positron emission tomography (PET), so I thought he was really cool. PET is a molecular imaging technique that can be used to check out various systems (neurological, cardiovascular, etc.) as well as detect cancer and evaluate a patient’s response to treatment. Anyway, despite his rather boring persona, I was hugely impressed. He is both Norton Simon Professor (what does that mean?) and Chair of the UCLA Department of Molecular and Medical Pharmacology.
The next honoree was Peter Morton. He is one of the founders of the Hard Rock Café and the Hard Rock Hotel. Besides being butt-ass rich, he’s an environmentalist and philanthropist, apparently, as they screwed up and mentioned those two things about 50 times.
Tim Allen received the Rodney Dangerfield “Rodney Respect Award,” which is about the corniest award title I’ve ever heard of. Jamie Lee Curtis was on hand to introduce him, but she ended up introducing Joan Dangerfield, who appeared quite surgically and hair-extension enhanced, despite being clearly decades younger than her late husband, to whom she was married for 11 years. She was surprisingly articulate and seemed genuine as she crumbled to tears when talking about Rodney.
So, Jamie Lee Curtis introduces Joan Dangerfield to introduce Tim Allen, but they actually have a video feed of dead Rodney (well, alive in the feed) introducing Tim.
Now, I have no idea what you receive a Rodney Respect Award for, but Tim Allen is DAMN funny. I know the world knows this, but I’ve never watched Home Improvement or any of the Santa Claus movies in my life. Not only is he funny, but he was so off-the-cuff brilliant and he effortlessly incorporated snippets of the whole night into his little sketch. Fabulous.
On other notes, the food was pretty good at the Four Seasons, despite the size of the crowd. Thelma Houston, former multi-Grammy winner, sang a few songs after Tim left, but the audience was scrambling for the valet parkers by then.
Dr. Neil Martin, bigwig and ultra-boss of my dear lover, had to operate and didn’t show up at the event (borderline giant faux pas) and was missed by all.
Parting gifts included an official Rubix Cube, a Thelma Houston CD and a lovely (stolen) centerpiece (Hey, we're on resident's salaries).
Mind Power
Do some people have psychic powers?
I've definitely seen what appear to be trends in behaviors, but I have no clue really. I'd think there would be a bunch of double-blind, case-control scientific studies on it considering how many people are into the paranormal.
I'm not sure about psychics exactly, but I do think some people have much more strongly developed powers of perception than others. When I was about a week pregnant with my third child in April of 2006, my oldest child, then 3, placed her hands on my stomach and looked up at me (in front of my husband) and said, "Mommy, there's a baby in your tummy. I had NO idea I was pregnant. I even said, "No Hunny, I'm just bloated."
I was using two forms of birth control and breastfeeding my second child (who had just turned 1), so I didn't think pregnancy was even a possibility.
Two days later, my eldest told my mother that I had a baby in my tummy, and that I told her I didn't, but that she was sure I did and that it was a baby sister.
A few months later, when we had the ultrasound that confirmed the baby was a girl, I was so excited to tell my daughter. She just said, "I already knew that, Mommy."
I read a thing about the show "Medium," which I do not watch, but it was an interview with the woman who stars and the real woman it is based on. Apparently she has been hugely successful helping the police solve unsolved crimes using psychic abilities. Who knows?
I've personally had lots and lots of what might be psychic moments, but they are usually so silly and I always blow it off as a coincidence. But maybe there are no coincidences.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Working Mothers
Working mothers, I think, can be just as productive as other working men and women, but flex schedules help. For my situation, it works perfectly. I work off hours and can be available at weird times, which works for my clients -- many of whom are on the East Coast.
Women can add tremendous value to any business, but businesses need to think outside of the traditional 9-to-5 box. The fact that men can (or choose to) shirk more parenting responsibilities should be all the more reason to support flex schedules, telecommuting, etc.
With technology today, there isn't a lot of need to be in an office. Many of the people I work with (mostly men) work from a home office a significant portion of the time.
My friends and I joke, though, that not much has changed since the 50s, except that now women are expected to add paying work to the list! Men "help" more...They watch the delivery of their children (if they don't pass out first) and do an occasional dish.
Okay, that is so not true of my husband. He is pretty fabulous, but is a rare gem in the sea of husbands around here!
I suppose if your job involves physical labor, that is another story. If you are a secretary, I can see the problem if phones need answering and what not (though that can be accomplished remotely as well...I do it all the time) or with doctors (who truly can't just leave). But for most professional jobs that use common technology (phones, internet), that isn't an issue. For example, I know quite a few lawyers who work part time, on flex time, or telecommute the majority of the time.
The beauty of technology is that you don't always have to be there. Actually, I can think of some examples in medicine where this is true now, too.
I've seen studies that say multitasking is good, multitasking is bad, taking breaks is good, prolonged focus is good, but I think the jury is still out.
I do believe women being better at multitasking, but that it isn't necessarily a good thing. I guess I haven't seen anything conclusive either way. I have heard that creativity and efficiency increases when you have children, but if we do have increased neural connections, I assume they would function in a multitude of positive ways.
It is why women rock!
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