The New Friend Test

Not many things in life rival the butterfly feeling of falling in love, but making a new girlfriend comes close. Whether it's that first time your swings synch up at recess, or when you get invited to spend the night, or later, when you catch someone rolling her eyes at the exact same time in a company meeting. This is all followed by an involuntary smile, a roller coaster flip-flop in your stomach, and the question with endless possibilities, "Could she be the one? My new best friend?" And unlike spouses, with best friends it's okay to go ahead and have more than one at the same time. Bonus!

There's the best friend from childhood (Nikki), high school (Ann), and the college best friend who becomes more like the sister you never had (Rachel). There's the best friend from work (Amy), from your days waiting tables (Doris and Jenn), the girls who have known you so long that if you didn't see them for six years you could pick up tomorrow without missing a beat (Jen and Elizabeth), and the best friends who get together once every month or two and eat all of the foods while laying their souls bare (Lane and Kristin). 

I have found though that as I age, I am less likely to enter into these Beaches-esque friendships that came so naturally in my youth. Partly because priorities shift -- there isn't as much time to contemplate the inner workings of the universe and your latest crush with a new friend when you're married with a full-time job and a few kids -- but that's not the only reason. It's also a lot of work, getting to know someone. When you're young, there isn't so much backstory to get caught up on before you hit BFF status; there aren't so many potential pitfalls in terms of likes, beliefs, and common ground. I miss the days of "You're in 4th grade? I'm in 4th grade! You like stickers?? Whoa...I also like stickers!!! Let's swap stickers and be best friends." 

So, in a nerd effort to cut to the chase, I've come up with a questionnaire. Much like an online dating service, I've mapped out some key questions whose answers would let me know if that new butterfly-feeling friendship is worth cultivating, or if we should just let it remain a passing smile when we pick up our kids at the same time and then go home to our separate lives. 

The questions themselves reveal a lot about me, the questioner, I'm sure. We aren't going to bond over what church you go to, or your favorite sports team, but if you have a line on a secret dish at a restaurant, or a new author I'm about to fall for, then we're in it for the long haul. 

Without further ado, I present: 

"The New Adult Friendship Compatibility Questionnaire" 

aka "The New Friend Test" 

aka "What's your major? For The Over 30 Set" 

To keep it brief, we're using Twitter rules for answers, 140 characters or less. And...go!

BASIC STATS:

• Married or single? Married eight years.
• Kids? 2 boys, three and six.
• Pets? 2 dogs, 2 cats, 6 goats. Bunch of chickens and bees, but they aren't really pets.
• Job? Executive producer by day, hobby farmer by night. Or mixed in the day.
• Age? 37 (I thought I was turning 38 last year, but I was wrong. Bonus year!)
• Sign? Sagittarius, but I don't put much stock in that. I didn't even spell it right without autocorrect.

FOOD / DRINK:

• Favorite restaurant? Rioja. Or Mercantile. Oh! Or Comida for tacos or Bones for noodles. Unless it's a crap chain, I pretty much like them all.
• What do you order? Anything seasonal or involving risotto. For brunch I always order the Eggs Benedict, scrambled not poached. 
• What's the best thing you can cook? I sear a mean scallop. And there isn't a pasta/sauce combo I can't handle.
• Last wish meal? Mussels and frites at Bistro Vendome, big fat bottle of red, Gabe telling me stupid jokes about the uptight group of businessmen at the neighboring table. Perfection. 
• Favorite drink? (Quick, over-140 character aside: My friend Kristin recently went to a "get to know your coworkers" fiasco, and during small group breakout her group had to share their favorite drink. Kristin went first and gave what I am sure was a lovely, evocative answer involving the dominant characteristics that come into play when she selects the perfect wine to match her mood and meal. The group response was stone faced. The remaining 9 answers ranged from coffee to strawberry lemonade to -- no kidding -- water. Kristin's coworkers will never be invited to our supper club.) Gin and lemonade in the summer, vanilla vodka and ginger ale in the winter. Wine when it's in my hand.

BOOKS:

• Favorite all time? The Grapes of Wrath. I've read it 4 times.
• Recent favorite(s)? Kitchens of the Great Midwest: A Novel, We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves: A Novel, The Engagements.
• Current read? American Ghost: A Family's Haunted Past in the Desert Southwest. It's kind of boring so far, so I think I'll not finish it (a very new habit of mine that I love), and move on to The Song of Achilles. 
• What book or author do you hate? Nicholas Sparks. Ugh. The worst. 
• What's your guilty pleasure read? YA novels by John Green, and anything by Blake Crouch.

MUSIC:

• Car radio presets? 90.1 CPR/NPR, 97.3 KBCO ("world class rock," same playlist as when I was in college!), 93.3 KTCL (slightly more hip modern rock), 98.5 KYGO (for a country fix). 
• What was the last concert you went to? Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night sweats. At Red Rocks! I love him so much. So so much.
• Favorite song ever? Angel From Montgomery. Bonnie Raitt's is the standard, but Delta Spirit just covered it at a concert this summer with Julie Davis from The Wheel and KILLED IT. Amazing. 
• Favorite song now? Girl Crush. Which I only ever listened to because I saw an article that country radio was boycotting it because they thought it was a devil lesbian song, so of course I checked it out. #dummies
• Guilty pleasure song? Taylor Swift's "Mean"...as sung by the cast of Glee. Yep. Shut up. Why you gotta be so mean?
• What band sums up your youth? Tie between Indigo Girls and Counting Crows.
• What 5 songs would you put on a mix tape right now? You Should've Seen The Other Guy (Nathaniel Rateliff), American Idiot (Green Day), Hold On (Alabama Shakes), Girl From the North Country (Bob Dylan), Murder in the City (Brandi Carlile). 

POLITICS:

• Who'd you vote for in the last presidential election? Obama!! 
• What's the most pressing political issue we are facing? Syrian refugees abroad; universal access to basic healthcare and safe, nutritious food at home. 
• Where do you frequent and/or boycott with your dollars? Boycott Walmart, Chick-fil-A, most all fast food. Frequent local restaurants, Vitamin Cottage, Ela Family Farms Organic CSA...and Amazon, if we're being totally honest. I love me some Amazon Prime. 

SPARE TIME:

• You have 4 hours alone, what do you do? I'm going to assume that all the animals are cared for, the boys are with Gabe, and the house is clean. The to do list is all checked off. Then I pour a giant glass of wine, grab my Kindle, and lock myself in my room for 4 solid hours and read a book without interruption or falling asleep.
• What hobby do you wish you'd made time for? Painting. I miss it. But apparently not enough to pick up a brush.
• Itinerary for your ideal weekend? Saturday I make biscuits and gravy after sleeping in (thanks Gabe!), we do some farm chores with the boys in the day, and let the animals graze while we all play outside. For dinner we make pizza together and then watch a "classic" movie from my youth all piled on the couch under one blanket. On Sunday we can go for a hike, then the boys have dinner with their granny and grandpa while Gabe and I catch a movie and have dinner out. Asleep by 9 pm. Bliss. 
• What was your latest binge watch? Justified on Amazon Prime. I'm just starting season 5, which I hear is the worst season. 

DON'T THINK, JUST BLURT:

• Heels or flats? Flats.
• Makeup or bare? Bare.
• Appetizers or dessert? Both. 
• Skim or whole? Whole. 
• Was it blue and black, or white and gold? Blue and black.
• Movie or play? Movie. (I almost lied and said play on my own test.)
• Go for a run or mix a drink? Drink.
• Flowers or tomatoes? Tomatoes. 
• Camping or glamping? Camping. 
• Dirty or clean? Dirty. 
• Coffee or tea? Tea. 
• Large party or small get together? Small get together. 

Done! I showed you mine. Now, I dare you to show me yours. Because come on, no matter how old you get, truth or dare is the foundation of any true friendship.

(Question...Is it going to be weird when I start handing these out at PTO meetings and neighborhood barbecues? Or awesome? Yeah, that's what I thought. Awesome.)

The Face of Planned Parenthood

With the unprecedented social media blitz raining down on Planned Parenthood as we enter the latest way-too-long election cycle, I figured it was time to pipe up. It comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me that the hashtag #istandwithplannedparenthood would be one that I support. But for anyone who found their way to this blog via our Pare Down Facebook page, or a recipe on Pinterest, and who now wants nothing to do with Pare Down, I invite you to give this a read.


First, a little about me. I am a mother of two wonderful boys who were planned (kind of, they showed up more on their schedule than mine, but you get the gist) and wanted. My husband and I welcomed them into a home that was well stocked with clothes, diapers, a grip of baby gear, and hugs and kisses to spare. I loved setting up the nursery, and then adapting it to welcome a second son, almost as much as I loved the babies themselves. Almost. But come on, this was cute!

How lucky were we? Our boys were healthy. We had the means to support them. We had the emotional maturity to take care of them (insert booger joke here). I am grateful that I never had to face the choice of what to do in the case of an unwanted or unsafe pregnancy. But if I had, I would again feel grateful to live in a country where this very painful, very personal decision would have been both safe and legal. Because let's be straight on this one topic, when abortions were illegal they still happened. Rich women traveled to obtain them safely, and poor women resorted to more dangerous measures, but abortions were still being performed. There is a great short documentary from 1992 called When Abortion Was Illegal that is currently streaming on YouTube. Let those women tell you themselves how illegal abortion affected their lives, because unlike me they lived through it.

Again, I support safe and legal abortions. You don't have to. I don't have the ability (or desire) to change an anti-abortionist's stance on the issue any more than they could change mine. But that's a moot point, because abortion is legal. Signed, stamped, out-of-the-alleys-since-1973 legal. People can protest all they want, it's their American right, but like it or leave it abortion is here to stay.

What we do stand to lose is universal access to Planned Parenthood, that often vilified baby-hating abortion factory. This is where I take issue.

While I have never had an abortion, I have certainly taken advantage of Planned Parenthood. When you wonder what kind of woman would go there, the answer is me. I used to go there. A lot. For five years, while I was fresh out of college and struggling with an acting career, Planned Parenthood was my main source of health care.

When I lived in Chicago, Planned Parenthood provided yearly pap exams and discounted birth control. (Not that I was having sex. Are you kidding? My parents read this blog.) Even better, when I was living in Los Angeles and among that city's throng of nearly homeless acting hopefuls, my healthcare at Planned Parenthood was free. Yes, you read that correctly. At a time when I couldn't afford a latte, I could still see a doctor for any number of lady problems, and good ol' generic people problems, without having to cough up a dime. Granted I had to get buzzed in through a bullet-proof glass entryway to get there, but once inside it was just your average doctors office with crappy old magazines and daytime TV in the lobby.

It's odd that no one is talking about the other services that Planned Parenthood provides. Sure, a standard pelvic exam won't rile voters the same way that an inflammatory video does, but it's just as big a part of the story. Statistically, it accounts for the majority of the story. My own husband grew up being taught that the only service PP provided was that of abortion. This is untrue. Let it be known: For many of the nation's poor, and for those not-so-poor who may not have great reproductive coverage through their standard insurance, Planned Parenthood is a gateway to receiving quality, affordable healthcare. That's it. By threatening to steal their funding and forcing a number of their doors to close, we are denying many of this nation's men and women their right to receive basic exams, prescriptions, and yearly checkups.

So thank you, Planned Parenthood, for all that you provided me in the years when I would have had to go without ever seeing a doctor. Thank you for enabling me to take control of my body and make well-informed reproductive choices. I am so grateful for the care, and happy to report that my planned journey to parenthood has been a success.

The Internet, aka That Great Tamer of Expectation

Every once in a while I am thunderstruck -- gobsmacked if you will -- by the overall change that the internet has wrought on our lives. It affects us on a grand scale of course, with real time world events, online banking, and a constant stream of ADHD via Twitter et al. But sometimes I am still awed by the effect it has on the little things, such as the unchecked arc of expectation that used to make up our daily lives.

Take, for instance, this story from my youth. It came up last night and I was hit with the realization that it never would have happened today.

Our story takes place in 1983. I am six. My family of five is embarking on a 2-day, 18-hour car trip starting in the fire ant infested bowels of Dallas, TX and ending with Jello Pudding Pops at our grandparents' house in Salt Lake City, UT. I am sure our car sucked, as these were the lean years. Personal Blu-Ray players hadn't been invented even if we could afford them. There was no infinite distraction of Game Boys or YouTube or streaming Netflix. All I could count on were 2 annoying little brothers guaranteed to make anyone crazy, and a motion-induced puke about three hours in. Awesome.

But wonder of wonders -- this trip had a new adventure built in! If we were good, and promised not to fight or breathe or ask to go to the bathroom for the whole trip, then we would make a detour at...Four Corners National Monument! (Quick aside: Maybe my poor parents didn't realize how crappy this stop would actually be. They grew up in a time that charts even lower on the thrill scale than my own childhood. My mom saw The Wizard of Oz for the first time on something like a 12-inch black and white TV. It's all about context.)

Cue my wild expectations. With no concept of Four Corners other than the unfathomable idea of being in four states at one time (just imagine!), I transformed this sad roadside attraction into a live-action version of the "It's a Small World" ride. I would tap this stop for all it was worth; wandering from state to state, eating a giant caramel apple, chatting with the abundant local children of one state before I moved on to make new friends in another. And I was fairly sure these kids would ply me with gifts indicative of their local culture. I held my breath, and my urine, and aimed my hopes at unattainable heights.

So we loaded into the car. And we drove. And...finally...we arrived!

Imagine my enchantment.

"FourcornersMonument". Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:FourcornersMonument.jpg#mediaviewer/File:FourcornersMonument.jpg

I know, right? Even the picture radiates heat, boredom, and the deafening silence of wind. And this picture was taken post-1992 renovation, so it was even more rundown when I was there.

My sad six-year-old self took one look at what Four Corners actually entailed, burst into tears, and refused to get out of the car. The rest is family history.

I will say, with absolute certainty, that this never would have happened to my kids. Not that I am a better parent - I'd probably use the same "attraction" on said drive if for no other reason than to extract myself from the car, escape the constant chatter of two competing video players, and snap an appropriately ironic picture for Facebook. No, this wouldn't happen now because my 5-year-old would be able to see Four Corners via a simple Google Image search (like the one I did to find the picture above), realize how bogus the stop would be, and choose to focus on his Transformers instead. Tears averted.

But my story isn't unique. I'm not the only one who suffered from ideas born in a time when ignorance fueled imagination. Take this tale from 1996. I'm 18 years old, the world is still a few years shy of widespread internet use, and my family takes their first real vacation to the Bahamas. (Which beats the pants off of Four Corners, by the way, and was unlike anywhere I'd ever seen.)

While on said vacation, my mom and I met a local woman who was enchanted to learn that we were from Denver. (Who wouldn't be, right?) It turned out that her church group would be traveling on a ministry trip to Denver at the end of that year. "The Mile High City!" she marveled, "Aren't you ever scared that you're going to fall off?"

Wait. What?

Living at sea level, on a flat little island in the ocean, the poor woman had absolutely no concept of elevation. We tried to explain, but words don't do justice when what you picture in your head probably looks a little like this:

and reality looks a lot more like this:

Cue the crushing disappointment.

I don't have any big wrap up here, just a weird nostalgia for ignorance that might have been. And also this warning: If you visit Denver any time soon and happen to lose your footing, try to fall wheat-side.

Hey! Me! Ugh, shut up.

WARNING: This is one of those "F-bomb" posts that I refer to in the "About" section to your left. If you aren't into F-bombs, then you can skip this and go HERE to read about that time I made jam. The pictures are pretty, and it's good jam. I just pulled one out of the freezer this morning. And now, for the rest of you, a blog in F major.

I am a self-proclaimed genius. And like most self-proclaimed geniuses (geniusi?) I am also an expert. An expert on what? Glad you asked. I am an expert on your life.

That's right folks, after knowing you for five years, five months or five minutes, I am the kind of expert who feels totally at ease doling out unsolicited advice on what books you would enjoy, the type of supplemental formula your finicky baby would probably stomach, the color that would look good in your guest room or on your wooden stairs (hey, Kate), and how many chickens you could probably fit into your small urban backyard.

Not only that, I am really in tune with the bigger questions. Want to change careers? Come and see me, I'll have a dozen suggestions. Need to organize your living room or downsize your belongings? I can point you towards a darling book and a killer website. Need to know how to better communicate with your spouse or child? Step up friend, this font of knowledge is here for you.

Wondering how I have any friends left? Yeah...me too.

When advice is solicited, I do love to help out a pal. I mean, who doesn't have opinions on how their friends should be living? As a people, we make a thousand judgments a day about the choices of others, and it's okay. How else would we know where to position our own lives if we didn't have the barometer of our friends', family's and even total strangers' decisions to test out changes in the atmosphere? A judgment in this sense isn't a negative, it's a necessity. And when a sentence begins with, "Hey, I could really use some help with..." then we are well within our rights to tap those everyday thoughts and let the opinions flow. But sometimes, yes sometimes, I open my mouth and out pours a flood of advice that was neither asked for nor, most likely, appreciated. It is at these times that I would do well to heed the voice in my head, which is saying (not too quietly), "Hey! Danielle! Shut the fuck up."

Seriously, self, do us all a favor and give those thoughts a rest. No one likes a know-it-all. (The irony of making this statement in the form of a public blog is not lost on me.)

If you are at all like me, wouldn't you also benefit from a nice round of Shut The Fuck Up? Or, as my family says, Shelta.

Quick detour: When we were young, my uncle lived with us for a while one summer and worked construction. The guys on the job were always telling each other to "shut the fuck up," as good natured young fellas will do, but this wasn't really appropriate job site language. As a result, "shut the fuck up" was shortened to the colloquial "shut the." When my uncle was relating this story to my parents, one of my little brothers (who were totally interchangeable at the time) misheard and asked them all what "shelta" meant. And from that day until this, "shelta" has been my family's loving way of telling each other to zip it.

So, how do I move forward with this newfound self-awareness? As an opinionated thinker who is constantly mulling over the activities going on around me, I'm not going to change my core self. I wouldn't want to. I like that I'll never be at a loss for a position in a lively debate, and truth be told, I'll probably always be trying to get you to read the last great thing that I read (Wiley Cash, A Land More Kind Than Home). But when you come to me as a friend and want to share a story or thought about your life, or we are just hanging out with our kids on a random afternoon, I can find a way to keep my personality intact and also refrain from telling you what you should do.

In order to keep myself on track I have created a mantra, complete with special font and faded overlay, that is directly influenced by the motivational posters found in break rooms across America.

I should have added a fourth: Occupy your mouth with food or drink. Until I master these new skills, perhaps we should only meet up for Happy Hours?

(Don't) Let Them Eat Cake

I make no secret of the fact that I live in a lovely community suffering from a longstanding invasion of ignorant asshats (see HERE). So, I should not have been surprised by the most recent local activity but it has indeed caught me off guard. Why did I expect more? Because this issue involves the children in our county and their health.

Graphic courtesy of http://www.schoolnutritionandfitness.com/

Douglas County School District has become the only district in the state of Colorado to opt out of the Michelle Obama-championed new federal student lunch guidelines at the high school level. What a distinction! While I love the general idea of bucking the system and taking a stand, this opt-out represents one of the worst decisions that our should-have-been-voted-out-there's-always-next-time school board has had a hand in.

In response, I had a whole blog planned on the history of school lunches, the current guideline updates, and ways to embrace the healthier changes and fight childhood obesity while teaching our kids to enjoy a balanced meal. I'm going to skip that though, in favor of a Q&A, in which I cast the school board/naysayers in the roll of Inquisitor, and myself as the Voice of Reason. (This casting is totally biased, of course, but that's a perk of writing your own blog.)

A quick background and some resources, if you are into things like research and fact checking:

• USDA fact sheet on the National School Lunch Program
• 2012 NYTimes article on the new guidelines and compromises made by all parties to get the proposal passed 
• Recent Denver Post article on DCSD opting out, complete with comments (and a name you should recognize!)
• Chef Ann Cooper, Renegade Lunch Lady
• The USDA Farm to School grant program
• Adam Sandler's iconic Lunch Lady song 

And now, to the inquisition!

INQUISITOR: The government is overstepping its bounds by dictating the composition of school lunches. What's next? Will we be forced to investigate and evaluate the sack lunches kids bring in the door?

VOICE OF REASON: Public schools are subject to government oversight. With government funds, comes government accountability. This is why DCSD lost its eligibility to be reimbursed for free and low-cost school lunches when it decided not to participate in the new school lunch program. But you know that. And I'm sure you weighed that estimated $167,000 yearly reimbursement (not too many poor kids in Douglas County!) against the $3M a year in revenue that the school district takes in from its in-house Subway franchises. Nope, not even Jared and his giant pants can make Subway sandwiches worthy of our kids in the eyes of the federal guidelines, so losing those fast food chains would have been a hit to the ol' pocketbook. 

What was the other part? Oh yeah, government oversight of kids' sack lunches. That's kind of an inflammatory argument based on nothing, right? Did Rush put you up to this? There is no precedent or law that prohibits parents from feeding their kids a bucket of Cheetos if they want to. Being food stupid, on a private level at least, is totally in alignment with federal regulations. Phew!

INQUISITOR: The guidelines are too strict. Our chef made a pizza that adhered to the guidelines and the kids hated it. And his burrito had to be created in miniature in order to comply. What do you say to that, huh?

VoR: Who decided that our kids need foods like pizza, burritos, cheeseburgers and fries in their daily lunch? Because they like them? If we based our children's diets on what they liked, my kids would eat nothing but macaroni and cheese and Whoppers malted milk balls for dinner. Stop luring kids to the lunch line with empty calories covered in melted cheese. Here's a crazy thought: don't serve pizza. At all. The menus aren't set by the new regulations, just the guidelines. So, and I'm just spitballing here, what if the PTO sponsored a school-wide recipe contest, kids and parents could get involved, and there could be a taste-testing night to raise money for the school? Winning recipes, with nutritional information, could be handed over to the district chef and/or school lunch supervisor and incorporated into the lunch menu. Too crazy? You'd rather stick to selling wrapping paper? Okay, then take ten minutes, harness the power of social media, and call out for help from the world of food and mom bloggers. Provide them with information on cost stipulations and nutritional content per serving and see what those wacky kitchen creatives come up with. Or google it. Someone has probably already done this.

INQUISITOR: Just because you give a kid an apple, you can't make him eat it. We have the healthiest trash cans in the state - the kids are throwing away more than they eat! 

VoR: Until healthy lunches are the new normal, there is going to be a learning curve. Remember turning 21? No? That's because you were blackout drunk. A natural reaction to your new access to the magical world of booze. But your liver couldn't keep up with that kind of routine for the rest of your life, so you adapted and started to drink in moderation at least most of the time. So it will be with our kids. As booze is to a hangover, so too is trashing your lunch to hunger. (Bonus lesson: This will also teach kids a natural consequence that is a direct result of their actions!) It will also help when you stop trying to feed students pseudo-cardboard, non-fat pizza. Again, pizza is now a treat in this new world and not a school lunch staple, so it can be delicious, gooey and full of fat outside of school bounds. For the school day let's find some new recipes, like hummus/cucumber/pita sandwiches for instance, and teach the kids about cucumbers. Involve them in the school garden. If there isn't a school garden, plant one! Seeds are cheap and the child labor is built in, which is part of the reason I myself had kids. I'm sure an inventive biology teacher can adapt a lesson on Mendel's genetics to be taught outside while the ninth graders weed the pea patch. Torn away from their classrooms and textbooks, the kids may actually listen and (holy shit!) become inspired.

INQUISITOR: For some kids, this is their only guaranteed meal in a day, and it is being wasted.

VoR: A truly hungry child will eat the healthy meal. A truly hungry child, who may not have access to fresh produce on a regular basis, will eat the apple and maybe take a second one as well. A truly hungry child needs the nutrition provided by the new guidelines, since a standard piece of pizza may fill their stomaches but leave them nutritionally starving. 

INQUISITOR: Well what about our cooks? They aren't allowed to give seconds, so extra food goes right into the trash.

VoR: Come on, work with me on this one. Lunch rooms must adhere to strict food and cleanliness guidelines, which makes them perfect candidates for donating extra meals to churches and soup kitchens. All that takes is a little coordination and a phone call. If you are lucky enough to live in the Denver area, check out We Don't Waste. I'm pretty sure they'll take the call. 

INQUISITOR: When I grew up, school lunches were delicious. Can't we leave well enough alone?

VoR: When you grew up, school lunches weren't competing with fast foods, and you only had 2 options daily, Take It or Leave It. "Foods" that can be found in current high school cafeterias weren't even invented when you went to school.

INQUISITOR: But what about a parent's right to choose without unnecessary government - 

VoR: Enough! Enough with the justifications and the inflammatory what ifs. The Voice of Reason is going to lose her mind! Seriously, where is the common sense? Even the schools adhering to the guidelines are lobbying to get french fries to count as a vegetable and pizza sauce to count as a serving of tomatoes. If you used all of this loophole energy and transferred it into trying to make the system work, we could have nutritious foods in our schools, kids who have a greater knowledge of where food comes from and how it affects their bodies, and parents would have an ally in the age old battle of getting kids to eat broccoli. Is the new system perfect? Nope. But let's try it and then when we encounter hiccups work towards a logical solution rather than writing off the whole system as broken and tossing it away. Let's not make this about economics and politics and instead refocus on the real message of raising a healthy generation of kids. If we as a community are going to unite and take a stand, let's work together to introduce our children to exotic vegetables and a new variety of spices instead of reaching a point of mutiny to protect their access to a five dollar foot long sub. 

Damn. Being the only voice of reason in the discussion is exhausting. And angry-making, apparently. This issue makes me nuts. What do you all think?

It's my flag, too

In honor of the recent Fourth of July barbecue frenzy weekend, I am doing something drastic. Today I am reclaiming the flag. Granted, it's a Pinterest-inspired project made from an oh-so-trendy pallet and cast-off spray paint, but I'm doing it. And for me, it's a big deal.

Over the last few years I have come to associate the American flag -- be it on a porch, a bumper sticker or a t-shirt -- with the following ideologies:

• Republicanism
• Christianity
• The far right
• Pro-gun activists
• Anti-choice activists
• Conservatives
• Fox News
• Bullies
• The Tea Party
• Climate change deniers 
• Creationists
• Southern traditionalists
• Haters in general

Because of this, I have given up the flag as something that doesn't represent me. My ideals. My beliefs. My way of life. And I did this willingly, blindly, and stupidly. Because the flag, and what it stands for, is bigger than just me.

The American flag does, in fact, encompass a set of ideals I would never claim as my own. But as this is still the land of the free and the home of the (not-always-but-we-try-to-be) brave, then it also stands for:

• Democracy
• The Green Party
• Hinduism
• Judaism 
• No religion-ism
• Pro-choice activists
• Gay rights activists
• Community activists
• Pacifists
• Slow Food movements
• Ecologists
• Scientists
• Dreamers
• Bronies

The flag represents the freedom to believe - or not believe - in whatever we choose. By its very definition, it stands for all of us. And that's the point.

No party or group owns it. Rush Limbaugh does not have more of a connection to the American flag than Jon Stewart does. Republicans can't exclusively claim it; Progressives don't automatically forsake it. Our country, as these fifty united states, houses thousands of ideals and nationalities and belief systems. Together. As one nation (that until 1954 wasn't required to be "under God"), indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. And that utopian message, an ideal to aim for and struggle to achieve, I can get behind.

There is room here for all of us; for all of our beliefs. Beliefs that we are legally allowed to voice without fear of pain or imprisonment. (Really, how freaking lucky are we?!) Beliefs that make us stronger even when they don't bring us together. I can have Obama - or Hillary! - and you can still have Romney. Or Palin. And while that last option makes me want to throw up in my mouth and pass out condoms at churches, she has her place in America too.

So yes I am taking back the flag, and in doing so realize that I should never have let it go. As much as it is yours, and hers and his, so too it is mine.

This Is My Peace Symbol

I am a liberal, progressive, humanist, Democratic Socialist. These are not monikers that I use every day. Why? Well, I live in one of the wealthiest, most conservative counties in Colorado. It's difficult to make friends if you start a conversation with "Hi, Jesus isn't real and I'd like to talk to you about raising taxes." Don't get me wrong, I don't hide my views. My friends, my family, and my governor all know how I feel about the issues. Representative Mike Coffman, if he reads his own email, certainly gets an earful. I vote with my ballot and, more often, with my dollar.

I'm no fool. I know that my point of view isn't popular where I live, and the words

Liberal

Progressive

Humanist

Democratic Socialist

outside the context of a living person, and a family, are considered poison by many in my community. So in everyday life I try to be a moral human being, do my own thing, indulge in an occasional rant, and get by without rocking the boat unnecessarily.

I do however have a sticker on my car. My oh-so-Colorado, kid-friendly, dog-friendly Subaru Outback sports one small, adorable, piece of insight into my personality.

I bought it because I love our president and what he stands for. I believe in cool heads, compromise, and taking care of the common man. I believe in intelligence and social progress. I believe in strong women, organic gardens, and getting kids up off the couch and moving. I believe in powerful couples and rock solid families who face daily adversity with honor, humor and love. For all of these reasons, I shelled out $4.99, plus shipping, to voice my support of these ideals. Truth be told, I also bought it because I thought would look cute on my car. My neighbors do not find it so cute.

There is a large dent, the size of a rock or a can of soup or the side of a baseball bat, near the roof on the back. I found this one day leaving the grocery store. Maybe I backed into a low hanging branch without noticing. Maybe someone accidentally bumped into me with a 50-ft Hummer. Or, more likely, someone took offense at my right to express my own views, benignly on my own car, and decided to send a message of their own.

Since moving into Douglas County (yes, I've now named you), I have been cut off and flipped off by other cars more often than I care to count. Just a few weeks ago a giant truck, driven by a small man, cut me off and watched me in his rearview mirror until he was certain I had seen his "Does your Obama sticker make you feel stupid yet?" bumper sticker. Taking a cue from my husband, I laughed and waved and drove on.

I'm usually pretty good at keeping my outward cool, reveling in my own enlightened superiority (it's my own mind in my own car - I'm allowed) and doing my best to ignore the fact that I don't fit in to the social fabric of my surroundings. On my less than stellar days, I'll smile and give them a single finger salute. Nothing too crazy on either side. But things escalated last Friday.

While driving home with my mom and two young sons in the car, yet another small man in a giant truck - this one complete with trailer - roared past us on the road in an effort to get in front of us and flaunt his wares. Trouble was, he crossed into our lane without clearing our car. Woopsie-doodle. Two short blasts of the uber-friendly Subaru horn should have been enough to alert him of this error.

Did we get the "Whoa, my bad" wave we expected, and have him return to his lane like a normal human being? Nope. This b-hole was itching for a fight. We got the middle finger out the window, a string of "Fuck you!"s, and a truck with trailer that proceeded to run us off the side of the road (thankfully into an opportune turn lane) in order to prove his point.

And what was his point?

They're hard to read, so let me spell out a few of the better ones:
Shoot more bitch less.
Embrace the recoil.
You can't beat a woman who shoots.
I love guns and Starbucks. (WTF?)
Extremely rightwing.
This is my peace symbol.

I can only assume that my happy orange sticker and a bad day somehow justified him putting my family's life in danger in order to further his asshole agenda. In order to show me what a man he was, and how much he hated Obama, and me, and loved the Second Amendment (which I doubt he can recite or correctly interpret) and his guns (of which I am sure at least one was in his truck), he felt he was within his rights to intimidate, bully, and put our lives at risk. If this altercation had happened 15 feet earlier or later, he would have successfully driven us over the median and into oncoming traffic.

Well done, sir. Successfully played. Your thought-provoking actions and eloquent articulations have completely changed my point of view. I am thrilled to have a mind such as yours, with what I can only assume to be a matching temper and level of education, to be in constant possession of a firearm. My family and I will sleep better with visions of your peace symbol in our minds. God bless you, patriot, and God bless the United States of America.

Maybe I should move.

My Little Bronies, Sweet Little Bronies

My boys love My Little Pony, or as Aidan calls it, "Little My Pony." It reminds me of being a kid myself. One summer, for 3 wonderful days, Applejack and I were best friends. Then the neighbor dog got her and turned her into a chew toy. Childhood can be cruel.

Odd glamour shot I stole off of eBay. Creepy say what?

Oh Applejack, I miss you still. What a great toy for a nerdy, bookish little kid like me! Ponies were much like Care Bears in their embracing of individuality, friendship, and celebrating the differences in others. Every pony was unique. Aside from the commercials that branded Ponies as "girl" toys, they were perfect.

When Jude developed his current obsession with the Ponies, I couldn't have been happier. Until I went to get him a few for Valentine's Day. All I can say is, WTF Mattel? What have you done to the Ponies??

In my day, those cute sturdy little ponies definitely sported Disney eyes and super shiny manes, but they still looked like ponies. As a refresher, ponies are short, stout, kid-sized.

And THIS is the current rendition of My Little Pony and Jude's favorite character Twilight Sparkle:

Notice anything different, on this current "girl" toy? How about her super slender physique? Her giant bedroom eyes? And, most telling, her lack of a muzzle?! It's a pony! This one looks part anorexic teenager, part squirrel.

Suffice it to say, I'll take Ponies over Super Heroes (less "Hulk smash!" more "You're my best friend!") but if I had had daughters instead of sons I'd be writing Mattel some hate mail. According to the show, friendship is magic...but so too is food, the innocence of childhood, and a pony with enough snout to breathe and legs sturdy enough to keep it upright.

(Un)Happy Meals

So, like all good parents, we decided to take McDonald's away from the kids a few weeks ago. Kids love that!

No, we didn't do it because it is so gloriously unhealthy. Let's face it, sometimes we all need a fat burger and some fries. We did it because we felt like hypocrites when we were feeding the chickens organic fruits and veggies and allowing our kids to consume the flesh of a thousand sad cows in one filthy bite. And, that's how I sold Jude on it as well.

I talked to him about the difference between happy animals - like our chickens, and the cows we see in the fields around our house - and the cows and chickens who live their lives like this:

Harris Ranch feedlot

"Free range" factory farm chickens

And I have to say, I'm proud of Jude's response. He didn't freak, like I'd anticipated. Instead he wanted McDonald's to change their policies so that he could return to their burgers and, more importantly, their toys. He asked if we could go home, after our stop at animal-friendly Good Times (free range beef and Humane-certified chickens - it can be done!), and write Mr. McDonald a letter. He wanted me to put it in his mailbox. So, by the power of the internets, let's see if we can get it there. (He was dictating, hence the reference of himself in third person.)

Dear McDonald's,

Jude and Mama don't like your food because you be mean to your cows and chickens. Please be nice to them because you guys be really mean to your chickens and cows. Jude misses your toys and Jude loves animals. He cares for them very much. And when we get goats Jude will be very nice to them and not be mean so they don't head butt him and kick him in the face.

Thank you very much for listening to this note.

From,
Jude and Mama

Let's put the social back in social media

I write a guest blog, Hey Neighbor, for Dwell Denver Real Estate once a month. This is July's post.

*****

Hey Neighbor,

So I like Facebook as much as the next person. And it's fun to check in on my "friends." But what I really seem to be missing out on right now is checking in with my FRIENDS. The real people. The ones who live across town that I still only see at a yearly barbecue and the occasional big event, like weddings and reunions. The ones I used to grab coffee with daily when we worked in the same office. The pals who can just share a look with you in a crowded room and you know exactly what they are talking about.

In the spirit of being truly social - with eye contact, and body language, and the sharing of food and drink - I am challenging myself (and you) to use Facebook to create a real life happening instead of relying on a virtual "like" or "share" to feel connected. I'll even offer up party ideas. Now all we have to do is create an event and invite our "friends" to become our real life FRIENDS once again. Super easy, no collecting of emails or addresses, just a few clicks of the mouse. 

(No shame if you don't know how to create a Facebook event. Follow the guide here.)

10 Ideas for Facebook Events with Friends

(How you doin'?)

1. 
   Alumni Happy Hour. Organize a Happy Hour with friends you know from a particular time or place. It's a great way to see a bunch of buddies in one swoop and everyone has something in common. (Jonesy's, Vita, and Billy's Inn all have worthy happy hour specials.)
2. Playdate. This is a no-brainer, and a great way to introduce friends who have kids. Dave and Buster's is a fun, easy option for dads hanging out with older kids on a too-hot summer day, while the Denver Zoo is always a hit with moms and kids of all ages. (FYI - the snack bar by the bears serves alcohol...!)
3. Pinterest Party. Admit it, Facebook and Pinterest are the two biggest Internet time sucks of your day. Why not combine them and have a night with the ladies? Guests would bring a drink or dish they found on Pinterest (like this! or this! orthese!) and the host would pick a Pinterest DIY project and provide the supplies. 
4. Denver Dive Bar Crawl. How about a once-a-month get together with friends that rotates between Denver's best neighborhood locals? With friends spread out across the city, you could take turns picking the date and place. Just make sure you assign the next host before parting ways! I'll even get you started: Berkeley has relied on Patrick Carroll's since before the neighborhood was trendy, Virginia Village / South Cherry Creek boasts a laid back brew-pub with The Bull and Bush, and Lodo is graced with the very un-Lodo-ish Herb's Hideout. 
5. Old-timey Canning Party. Get your late summer canned goods on! Hit up great produce deals of the week at organic produce suppliers like Sprouts, your local Farmer's Market, or a Pick Your Own farm. Then head to the friend's house with the biggest kitchen, crank up some music, and follow the easy instructions on your box of pectin. Need a preview of the process? Check out my solo Strawberry Freezer Jam endeavor. Next time, I'm adding company!
6. Brunch. There's a reason that it's so common it's cliche - who doesn't love brunch?! Head to an eatery with bottomless mimosas, bellinis, or bloody marys to get the conversation flowing - Breakfast on Broadway, Panzano, or Maddie'sperhaps?
7. 14-ers Club. Start with the easy ones, and work your way up. Make a goal of once a month and you'll have a reason to get together with friends for years! And your Facebook photos will improve dramatically.
8. Matchmaker, matchmaker. Ever think that certain friends would hit it off, either romantically or as friendlies, if only they knew each other? What's holding you back? Select a few like-minded friends and meet up at the Museum of Contemporary Art, the Botanic Gardens, or Canvas and Cocktails. It will give you something to do, but still offer plenty of opportunities for finding out all that you have in common.
9. Friends with Friends Lunch. Sometimes I am surprised by the "friends" that certain Facebook friends and I share. This is a great excuse for an intimate gathering with a few pals. Who knows what kind of fun things you'll learn about the people you thought you knew! Some easy and delicious lunch suggestions: Sushi Sasa, Marcos Coal-Fired Pizza, or Hi*Rise.   
10. Six Degrees Get Together. This one has infinite possibilites! Using Facebook as a tool to make new friends in real life, start an event at an easy gathering place, like a picnic in Wash Park, and invite 6 friends...who then should invite six more friends...who each invite six more friends...and keep it going until you've reached six levels. Make sure there is plenty of food and booze to share, and try to find the common person that eventually links you to each new friend you meet! 

Who's with me? Or did you need to get back to FarmVille?

Privacy Lost

I miss my privacy. This may seem strange coming from a blogger (with tens and tens of readers!), but as a writer I choose what I share. Only the better recipes make the cut. The funniest stories, the cutest pictures of my kids. Even my foibles and heartaches are carefully selected - this isn't a trip to the therapist after all.

At my previous job, my boss often accused me of being afraid of the Internet. I think he based this on my resistance to embracing every new technology that was introduced. Little does he know, I also dislike the old technologies. I don't tweet, and unless you are a professional comedian or a food truck, I don't think you should either. Wanda Sykes has my favorite take on Twitter - "No one cares. Get a diary and lock that shit up!" I concur. And don't get me started on FourSquare. I think I can pass on being the virtual mayor of my local Starbucks, and the world at large doesn't care where I am having dinner. And quite frankly, I may not want them to know I'm there.

Facebook is the bane of my existence. We have a love hate relationship and I've almost called the whole thing off more than once. On one hand, it's a great way to get a snapshot of what old pals are doing with their lives - especially ones that live far away, or friends that used to trigger that "I wonder what they're up to now?" brand of nostalgia. But it's impossible to keep a tight lock on who sees what, and suddenly "friends" of "friends" (AKA dirty pedophile creepers) are commenting on pictures of my kids, and where we've decided to move, and I have to make triple sure I lock all the doors at night.

Youtube. That sweet sweet mecca of voyeurs and exhibitionists alike. Unless I am entertaining my kids with bootleg episodes of Ninja Turtles (thanks, cartoon nerds, I owe you) or learning how to sew a zipper, I avoid it at all costs. You will not find my family there. Why? Because the Internet never forgets, and the general population uploads their lives, and yours, without a second thought. It is weird, and wrong, that my boys will never have the experience of making a fool of themselves at a party and then 20 years later the only evidence being a friend's hazy memory and your word against theirs. I have a great video of Jude making up a funny little song about diarrhea (ah, boys) which could have been the next "Charlie bit my finger," but is it really fair if I open up his life to general consumption for a few moments of faux fame without his knowledge or permission? I say no. Parents of Youtube Sensation Kids make me a little ill.

Then we take these small annoyances, and add the greater infringements on privacy with Google Analytics (doesn't it ever bother you that after typing a mere "substi" the first search option provided is an eerily correct "substitute tomato paste for tomato sauce"?), Apple's ability to track your movements even when your phone isn't in use (not kidding - this is actually a default setting on Angry Birds - WTF?), and the NSA's interest in the phone conversations and grammatically challenged emails of the general public. Even our grocery store loyalty cards, while providing a cheap gas incentive, create profiles of our general likes and wellness based on buying habits. I despise this, and I want a way out. Or at least some form of protection.

So maybe you think I am being extreme, but for people who don't mind this infringement on their privacy, I would counter that you are being naive. Did you know that ad agencies utilize mapping software for their clients that will create a profile when you log onto the client's website that then tracks all of your keystrokes and mouse movements while on that site? From hospitals to online porn shops, they all know you were there and what you did. And what if you are one of the citizens whose phone is being tapped? Do you want someone else listening in on a fight with your spouse, or that embarrassing medical question you eventually had to call a nurse about, or your last two-hour marathon conversation with your best friend during which you finally told her the truth about that "blackout" night in college? These moments may not be incriminating, but they are intimate. You, as the owner of your life, should be the sole proprietor of your stories.

On a darker side, it does not take a great leap of the imagination to see the connection between a person Googling "herpes," to visiting a medical website, to that website selling your information to both the herpes pharmaceutical companies as well as the healthcare industry, resulting in a computer full of Valtrex ads and a higher medical premium. DuckDuckGo, a slightly inferior but far more private search engine, explains this really well on their site. Knowing that the things I do in the "privacy" of my home are stored by a corporation and are available to the government, or shifty employees, does give me pause before I delve into all that the web has to offer.

So what do we do? It is impossible to completely unplug without becoming a hermit, or a parent whose children will take advantage of their technological incompetence. I am constantly struggling with ways to take the best of what technology has to offer while trying to keep my privacy and my physical - and virtual - life intact. So yes, I use duckduckgo.com for all my herpes research and my husband has switched to an ad-free fastmail account in an attempt to start extricating the omnipresent Google from his life. We've locked down our picture websites so that only invitees can stalk our children. We've asked friends and family to be a little more cautious with their smart phones, Facebook, and Instagram accounts especially in reference to our kids.

And this is key I think.

When the same government that relies on NSA intel refuses to craft regulations that protect the average person from being spied on and recorded by the new Google Glass (yeah, go figure), we have to rely on each other at the very least. I can't keep the government out of my email, but with your help I can keep my kids off of Youtube. So here is my promise. I hope to have yours in return.

A pledge to my Family, my Friends...and my "Friends"

• I promise to respect your personal boundaries with regards to social media and will not upload pictures of you, or information about you, without your permission. 
• I promise to tell you of the permissions settings on my social media accounts so that you know if a picture is for my personal enjoyment or if it will be beamed out to friends of friends of friends across the world.
• I promise not to take and share pictures of your children without getting your permission, and under no circumstances will I ever use your child's full name or tag our location. Ever.
• I promise not to record and upload funny-to-me-embarrassing-to-you moments before you have a chance to process what happened in real life. But if it's really good, maybe you'll let me use it on my blog...
• I promise not to share personal information about you in my status updates, or to refer to private matters on your Facebook wall. 
• I promise not to judge the abundance of Valtrex ads on your laptop when you let me borrow it to check my email.
• I promise to use common sense when deciding what information is worth sharing with the world at large, always keeping in mind that the Internet is never private and that it will not allow us to forget. 

Life is Better

Gabe and I celebrated our 6th wedding anniversary yesterday. That was one great party...from what I remember. I look really happy in the pictures. It was just such a blur - show up, pull on fancy dress without ruining makeup or hair, walk down the aisle, put the ring on the wrong finger, cut the cake, dance a little, and suddenly we apparated in a hotel room and found ourselves ordering Silver Mine Subs and high-fiving each other for pulling off such a grown up act.

In honor of that high five and the six successful years that have followed, I'd like to share six lessons that have served us well. I'm not saying that we practice these 100% of the time, but I can say that life is better when we do.

Life is better when...

...you assume that your partner is always on your side.
...you don't bother with whose turn it is to do something, like change a diaper or do the laundry, and just do it.
...you do little things to make each other's day better, or easier, without attaching the price tag of being acknowledged.
...you regularly take time alone, sans kids and responsibilities, to remind yourselves why you like each other and wanted to start all this madness in the first place.
...you discuss a problem immediately rather than letting it stew and intensify.
...you can laugh, often, at yourself and each other.

Ashes to dust, dirt to trees

I crossed a parenting milestone this week when Jude, 4 years old and urged on by the deaths of five of our chicks and my grandpa last fall, asked me if everyone dies.

This is one of those moments when the world stops and you know your answer will have lasting effect. I am about to shape my child's first impression of death.

"Yes buddy," I say, "everyone dies."

His face crumples as he says in a tiny voice, "Oh no, even me?"

My heart shatters. I want to say, "No, no not you. Never you. By the time you get old they'll find a cure for death and you and me and Daddy and Aidan and your Granny and Grandpa and all of your family will be together always." I want to cure death so that it doesn't keep my son up at night. I want to avoid the upcoming trips in the car, when he is at his most open, during which he'll ask if his best friend Sammy will die. As endearing as it is I don't want to be present when he asks if Barack Obama will die and then, upon my answer, sobs out the words, "But he's my favorite president!"

This is when other parents are able to turn to Heaven and let their children know that if they are good, and go to church and say their prayers, then after they die a loving God will welcome them to Paradise and they'll all live happily ever after, amen. I want Heaven to be real now, just as I wanted it to be real at my grandpa's funeral when family members spoke of my grandparents being reunited in Heaven and dancing together for eternity. I want to be able to tell my child this story too. I want to believe.

But I don't. The best I can do is save my son from the devastation of growing up and thinking that I lied to him in this moment when he needed me most. I step away from the temptation of the story that I know will stop his crying and I carefully revisit the narrative that began a few days prior with the death of our first chick.

When we die, our bodies turn to dust. This dust then turns into dirt, and the dirt becomes a tree. Or grass. Our bodies help new things grow. He asks if my grandpa has turned into a fruit tree and I feel no qualms with skipping over the blasphemy of caskets and embalming and tell him yes, Grandpa Cyril is a fruit tree. Probably apple. For the moment this calms him, and he sleeps.

The conversation does not end here, and I am certain we'll be revisiting the topic for a while. In classic Jude fashion, he has declared the Circle of Life dumb. But I feel my shoulders release just a fraction when he tells me that even though he hates dying, he loves that he will become a tree. I love it to. I realize that talking through death with Jude, enlightening him on this grander scheme of decay and renewal, makes me more comfortable with the idea as well.

I promise Jude that as he gets used to the idea of dying it won't seem so scary and he won't think about it as much. I also promise that I'll do my best, years and years and years from now, to make sure that my tree is planted next to his tree and that our leaves will always be touching. It's a picture that we both need to hold on to.

Some people think that Atheists don't believe in anything. This is untrue. I believe in easing my son's pain while still telling him the truth. I believe in the Circle of Life, as dumb as it may be. I believe that death seems far less terrible when our bodies give way to new growth. I believe in cremation and in taking these fertile ashes somewhere special to scatter, or bury, and thereby create hallowed ground through regeneration. I believe that my children can grow up to view death as a natural progression of life, to cherish the time that we are together, and not to fear our eventual demise. I find comfort in these beliefs, and I hope that Jude will too.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda

I had a professor in college who wanted to eradicate the word "very" from the English language. His reasoning? If a writer had to resort to using it, then their adjective wasn't strong enough and they needed to pick another one. He was very smart.

I would also like to kill off a word. Not an obvious one, like "moist" or the love-to-hate-it "panties." The word on my chopping block is much more fraught with the poisonous nuances of guilt and shame. It's a word that I hope to erase from my vocabulary in order to lift a shroud from my life and protect my children from its dark and foreboding presence. So who gets voted off the island, sent to swim with the fishes, goes down for the big sleep?

Should.

I hate it.

Is there anything more crippling to the present moment than niggling thoughts of what you should be doing? Reading a novel when you should be starting your taxes. Checking in on Facebook when you should be writing a grant proposal. Going to a movie when you should be seeing live theatre. Eating a brownie when vegetables should be on the menu.

And the constant running list. The shoulds that always live in the background. I should:
do yoga
take the kids to the library
learn Spanish
make a grocery list
hang the pictures stacked in the closet
answer that email I've been avoiding
get a haircut
fold the laundry
sweep
buy a broom
replace batteries in all the dead toys
make a Goodwill drop
create a filing system to help out next year's taxes...

In reality, there is no such thing as a should. It is a bogus construct designed to instill unrest. Nothing is ever good enough when there is something more that should be done. Well, fuck you should. I declare you null and void.

And really, outside of this random rant, there is no such thing as a should. There is doing, and not doing. So how to kick should to the curb? Time for an action plan.

1. Question the reasoning behind the should.
Why should or shouldn't I be doing something? Outside of this moment, does anyone besides me care about the implied morality of what I am doing? Sometimes all it takes to release an old idea is to face it head on. So screw you, Nancy Reagan, I didn't always say "No" and I turned out just fine. 

2. Drop the guilty implications of should.
What is the point of "I shouldn't be doing this?" Whether it's polishing off a box of cookies or robbing a bank, either stop the action or at the very least don't ruin it by adding shame. Savor those cookies. Steal those dollars. Be in the moment. Then go for a walk or split the take with a favorite charity. 

3. Break the habit of should.
Sometimes I think I use a should for no good reason other than making myself unhappy. Not on purpose, just as a lazy form of ennui. Case in point, everyone's favorite "I should exercise more." This is not an action item, this is a way to feel less than while still watching TV. Which is lame. Let my jeans chastise me by being too tight if they must, I don't need to add insult to injury. I'm back to the idea of "do it, or don't." Exercise, or don't. Thinking on the should of the matter results in a whopping nothing. And some of the shoulds are even more mundane. Alone, "I should start packing for my trip" may not be that big of a deal, but left unchecked it can multiply into a giant list of actions that a better person would be taking while crappy ol' me just plugs along. Enough! If a giant fist punched me in the face every time I said "should," I'd stop saying it pretty quickly. I'm smart like that. Time to extend that same self-preservation skill to my general happiness and sense of worth. 

4. When saying or thinking the dreaded should, take a moment to reset.
If I "should" be sending an overdue birthday card, am I able to stop what I am doing and crank out the card? If yes, do it and move on. If no, either decide not to send a card and live with that, or decide to send the card as soon as I am able and return to the task at hand.

5. Let the "should cycle" die by not using it with my kids.
It's pretty easy to rework a "You should share with your brother," into "If you don't feel like sharing then you can go to your room and play by yourself for a while. But if you'd like to play together I'd love to have you stay here with us. Your choice." No guilt. Lesson imparted. Child retains a small sense of control and dignity.

Man, I should have made this list years ago!

Parenting. Whoa.

"They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to but they do.

They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you."

~Philip Larkin, from This Be the Verse

We all know that no one escapes childhood unscathed. Even those of use with "good" parents enter adulthood with our own particular brand of baggage courtesy of mom and dad. Reflecting on my own childhood is one thing, though. Knowing that I am now actually messing up my kids in my own special way is a totally new level of hell. It's enough to make me crazy.

My head is constantly full of conflicting advice and parental chatter. For example, when I can't help but kiss Jude 1000 times in a row, will this someday be construed by a therapist as a disregard for boundaries and an invasion of personal space? Because I prefer to carry Aidan in public instead of allowing him to walk, am I introducing a lifelong dependency on his overbearing mother? How long do we let the boys bathe together? One is a better sleeper since we used the "cry it out" method and the other still wants to be rocked to sleep...is that okay? If I let Jude pick out his shirt but force him to wear socks, am I sending mixed messages? Will my boys be vain if I keep telling them how cute they are? If I tell them when I'm proud does that teach them to value my praise above their own feelings? And by taking them to a political rally, will I be ensuring their future experimentation with Republicanism as a form of rebellion?

I need a drink. (Can I drink in front of them?)

It's a lot to deal with. Larkin ends his poem with the sage advice "Get out as early as you can, And don't have any kids yourself." Well shit. Since it's too late to exercise my right choose the only option I am left with is to celebrate the highlights of my parents' careers, forgive them their shortcomings, and hope that one day my boys will do the same.

I give you:

Stuff My Parents Taught Me That Didn't Fuck Me Up 

(...an ode of sorts)

1. We are your parents, first and foremost. You won't always like us but we won't let this stop us from protecting you.
2. If we mess up, we'll apologize. Even if it's years later. We're not perfect. 
3. We will have dinner as a family whenever possible without the crutch of TV, books or magazines, or any electronic device.
4. From school plays to soccer games, one or both of us will be at all of them.
5. You are responsible for cleaning your own room. Live like a pig or don't. 
6. Crying is an acceptable response to any situation, even for the boys.
7. Dark humor is totally appropriate.
8. If you ask us for help we'll give you all we've got.
9. No R-rated movies until you're old enough. No violent movies or video games in our house ever.
10. We don't care what your friends' parents are doing. Please refer to #1.
11. Until you come of age, you cannot drink in our home. We're not those parents.
12. If you drink at someone else's home call us for a ride and we won't freak until the next morning.
13. If you are going to curse, fine, but you better watch your fucking mouth at school and in front of your grandparents.
14. Graduation from high school is mandatory. After that you can figure out what's best for you.
15. You can ask us anything and we'll tell you the truth, even if it's painful and ugly.
16. We have no expectation of your adulthood other than wanting you to be happy and not to hurt others. 
17. Life will be easier if you marry someone who likes your family. 
18. If you get lost and refer to it as an adventure you'll either learn to take things less seriously or develop a lifelong distrust of the word adventure. It's up to you.
19. What is is. If you can't change it, then you can at least control how you react to it.
20. A good credit score will help you in life. You'll learn this one way or another.
21. You can always move home.
22. No matter what, even if you grow up to be a murderer, we love you. 

That last one is a direct quote. Thanks, mom and dad.